Jean Servien was born in a back-shop in the _Rue Notre-Dame des
Champs._ His father was a bookbinder and worked for the Religious
Houses. Jean was a little weakling child, and his mother nursed him
at her breast as she sewed the books, sheet by sheet, with the
curved needle of the trade. One day as she was crossing the shop,
humming a song, in the words of which she found expression for the
vague, splendid visions of her maternal ambition, her foot slipped
on the boards, which were moist with paste. Instinctively she threw
up her arm to guard the child she held clasped to her bosom, and
struck her breast, thus exposed, a severe blow against the corner
of the iron press. She felt no very acute pain at the time, but
later on an abscess formed, which got well, but presently reopened,
and a low fever supervened that confined her to her bed. There, in
the long, long evenings, she would fold her little one in her one
sound arm and croon over him in a hot, feverish whisper bits of her
favorite ditty: The fisherman, when dawn is nigh, Peers forth to
greet the kindling sky...Above all, she loved the refrain that
recurred at the end of each verse with only the change of a word.
turn and turn about, General, Lawyer, and ministrant at the altar
in her fond hopes
General
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