It is with some degree of awe¹ that I touch upon the enigma² of my impressions at the commencement of my life. I am almost doubtful whether they had reality within my own experience, or whether they are not, rather, recollections mysteriously transmitted—I feel an almost sacred hesitation³ when I would fathom⁴ their depths.  
I came forth⁵ from the darkness of unconsciousness very gradually, for my mind was illumined only fitfully, but then by outbursts of splendor⁶ that compelled and fascinated my infant gaze. When the light was extinguished, I lapsed⁷ once more into the non-consciousness of the new-born animal, of the tiny plant just germinating⁸.
 
The history of my earliest years is that of a child much indulged and petted to whom nothing of moment happened; and into whose narrow, protected life no jarring came that was not foreseen, and the shock of which was not deadened with solicitous⁹ care. In my manners I was always very tractable¹⁰ and submissive. That I may not make my recital¹¹ tedious, I will note without continuity and without the proper transitions those moments which are impressed upon my mind because of their strangeness, those moments that are still so vividly¹² remembered, although I have forgotten many poignant¹³ sorrows, many lands, adventures, and places.
 
I was at that time like a fledgling swallow living high up in a niche¹⁴ in the eaves, who from time to time peeps out over the top of its nest with its little bright eyes. With the eyes of imagination it sees into the deeps of space, although to the actual vision only a courtyard and street are visible; and it sees into depths which it will presently need to journey through. It was during such moments of clairvoyance¹⁵ that I had a vision of the infinity¹⁶ of which before my present life I was a part. Then, in spite of myself, my consciousness flagged, and for days together I lived the tranquil¹⁷, subconscious¹⁸ life of early childhood.
 
At first my mind, altogether unimpressed and undeveloped, may be compared to a photographer's apparatus¹⁹ fitted with its sensitized glass. Objects insufficiently²⁰ lighted up make no impression upon the virgin²¹ plates; but when a vivid splendor falls upon them, and when they are encircled by disks of light, these once dim objects now engrave²² themselves upon the glass. My first recollections are of bright summer days and sparkling noon times,—or more truly, are recollections of the light of wood fires burning with great ruddy flames.