Custom makes as many victims as imprudence, and the natives of the country really run more risk than travellers, because they are less cautious and more daring. One of our neighbours, a friend of my parents, Comte de Mont—— , returning home one night on horseback, missed the ford, which he thought he knew well, and was drowned in the Sioule, which was then in flood. The news of this accident was announced to my mother in too sudden a manner, and gave her a shock from which she never recovered.
With the exception of some trifling incidents, which might have happened to anybody, I can remember nothing that occurred, that deserves to be recounted, from the time that I was weaned till I was ten years old. I had, however, somewhat of the same character which Plutarch remarked in Alcibiades.
I was brought up almost entirely by my maternal grandmother, la Presidente de Salaberr}^ One day at dinner, she said to me,
"My boy, will you have some spinach?"
"I don't like spinach," I replied.
"At your age you ought to like everything, my boy. You will have some spinach."
"I will not eat it."
"You will eat it;" and down came my plate with the spinach on it.
My own recollection of the event is hazy, but it appears that I took the plate, and threw the spinach
