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  • Format: ePub

I was a foundling. But until I was eight years of age I thought I had a mother like other children, for when I cried a woman held me tightly in her arms and rocked me gently until my tears stopped falling. I never got into bed without her coming to kiss me, and when the December winds blew the icy snow against the window panes, she would take my feet between her hands and warm them, while she sang to me. Even now I can remember the song she used to sing. If a storm came on while I was out minding our cow, she would run down the lane to meet me, and cover my head and shoulders with her cotton…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
I was a foundling. But until I was eight years of age I thought I had a mother like other children, for when I cried a woman held me tightly in her arms and rocked me gently until my tears stopped falling. I never got into bed without her coming to kiss me, and when the December winds blew the icy snow against the window panes, she would take my feet between her hands and warm them, while she sang to me. Even now I can remember the song she used to sing. If a storm came on while I was out minding our cow, she would run down the lane to meet me, and cover my head and shoulders with her cotton skirt so that I should not get wet. When I had a quarrel with one of the village boys she made me tell her all about it, and she would talk kindly to me when I was wrong and praise me when I was in the right. By these and many other things, by the way she spoke to me and looked at me, and the gentle way she scolded me, I believed that she was my mother. My village, or, to be more exact, the village where I was brought up, for I did not have a village of my own, no birthplace, any more than I had a father or mother-the village where I spent my childhood was called Chavanon; it is one of the poorest in France. Only sections of the land could be cultivated, for the great stretch of moors was covered with heather and broom. We lived in a little house down by the brook.

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Autorenporträt
Hector-Henri Malot was a French author born on May 20, 1830, in La Bouille, Seine-Maritime, France. Initially, he studied law at the Paris Law Faculty between 1850 and 1853, but he eventually shifted his focus to literature, which became his true passion. Malot worked as a dramatic critic for the French newspaper Lloyd Français and also as a literary critic for L'Opinion Nationale. His writing career began with his first book, Les Amants, published in 1859. Malot gained prominence for his compelling storytelling and his ability to create engaging narratives, with works that often explored themes of social change, family relationships, and the complexities of human emotions. He achieved greater recognition with his novel Sans Famille, which became widely known and remains one of his most celebrated works. Malot's literary output was extensive, with more than forty novels to his name, and his influence on French literature was notable. He passed away on July 18, 1907, in Fontenay-sous-Bois, France, at the age of 77. Malot's contributions to the literary world left a lasting impact, and he remains a well-regarded figure in French literary history. His father was a man named Malot, and details about his mother's name are less widely documented.