Jean-François Millet, peasant and painter; . d to the sea-shore to reap the sea-weed—a rich but dangerous harvest Some of the men of Gruchy werehired by smugglers, and spent long nights in avoiding the coast-guards. The Millets never indulged in this suspicious industry.*We never ate that bread, said Millet; my grandmother wouldhave been too unhappy about it. Millet, the painter of peasants, was born October 4th, 1814, inthe village of Gruchy, commune of Greville, canton of Baumont(Manche). He was the second child of Jean-Louis-Nicolas Millet,farmer, and his legal wife, Aimee-Henriette-Adelaid
Jean-François Millet, peasant and painter; . d to the sea-shore to reap the sea-weed—a rich but dangerous harvest Some of the men of Gruchy werehired by smugglers, and spent long nights in avoiding the coast-guards. The Millets never indulged in this suspicious industry.*We never ate that bread, said Millet; my grandmother wouldhave been too unhappy about it. Millet, the painter of peasants, was born October 4th, 1814, inthe village of Gruchy, commune of Greville, canton of Baumont(Manche). He was the second child of Jean-Louis-Nicolas Millet,farmer, and his legal wife, Aimee-Henriette-Adelaide Henry. Theeldest child was a daughter (Emilie), who later married an inhabitantof the village, named Lefevre. His grandmother was his godmother. She called him Jean, afterhis father, and Francois, after a saint whom she loved and whose pro-tection she constantly invoked. St. Francis of Assisi, the faithfulobserver of the things of nature, was a happy choice of a saint forthe man who, later, was to be the passionate lover of the works of. -a c I O e o c3 C ID 3O PEASANT AND PAINTER. 25 God. Proud of having- a boy to rear, the grandmother tended him asher own child and her hearts favorite. In the vague recollections ofhis babyhood, Millet could always see her busy about him, rockinghim, warming him in her bosom, and singing all day long songs whichdelighted him. I have lived more than thirty years in Millets inti-macy, and I know that the thought of her face, as nurse and comforter,was an ever-recurring image in the heart of her grandson. Whilehe was still a little child, she would come to his bedside in themorning, and say, gently: *Wake up, my little Francois; youdont know how long the birds have been singing the glory ofGod ! Her religion, as Millet told me later, was mixed with her loveof nature. All that was beautiful, terrible, or inexplicable seemedto her the work of the Creator, to whose will she bowed. It wasa beautiful religion, added he, for it gave her the streng
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherlondo, bookyear1881
