There is another advantage to be gained from our games in the dark.
But if these games are to be a success I cannot speak too strongly
of the need for gaiety. Nothing is so gloomy as the dark: do not
shut your child up in a dungeon, let him laugh when he goes, into
a dark place, let him laugh when he comes out, so that the thought
of the game he is leaving and the games he will play next may protect
him from the fantastic imagination which might lay hold on him.
There comes a stage in life beyond which we progress backwards. I
feel I have reached this stage. I am, so to speak, returning to a
past career. The approach of age makes us recall the happy days of
our childhood. As I grow old I become a child again, and I recall
more readily what I did at ten than at thirty. Reader, forgive me
if I sometimes draw my examples from my own experience. If this
book is to be well written, I must enjoy writing it.
I was living in the country with a pastor called M. Lambercier.
My companion was a cousin richer than myself, who was regarded as
the heir to some property, while I, far from my father, was but a
poor orphan. My big cousin Bernard was unusually timid, especially
at night. I laughed at his fears, till M. Lambercier was tired of
my boasting, and determined to put my courage to the proof. One
autumn evening, when it was very dark, he gave me the church key,
and told me to go and fetch a Bible he had left in the pulpit. To
put me on my mettle he said something which made it impossible for
me to refuse.
I set out without a light; if I had had one, it would perhaps have
been even worse. I had to pass through the graveyard; I crossed it
bravely, for as long as I was in the open air I was never afraid
of the dark.
As I opened the door I heard a sort of echo in the roof; it sounded
like voices and it began to shake my Roman courage. Having opened
the door I tried to enter, but when I had gone a few steps I stopped.
At the sight of the profound darkness in which the vast building
lay I was seized with terror and my hair stood on end. I turned,
I went out through the door, and took to my heels. In the yard
I found a little dog, called Sultan, whose caresses reassured me.
Ashamed of my fears, I retraced my steps, trying to take Sultan
with me, but he refused to follow. Hurriedly I opened the door and
entered the church. I was hardly inside when terror again got hold
of me and so firmly that I lost my head, and though the pulpit was
on the right, as I very well knew, I sought it on the left, and
entangling myself among the benches I was completely lost. Unable
to find either pulpit or door, I fell into an indescribable state
of mind. At last I found the door and managed to get out of the
church and run away as I had done before, quite determined never
to enter the church again except in broad daylight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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