134 SOCIAL LIFE IN THE INSECT WORLD 



sound of our footsteps, we must add the purity of the 

 sound, and its soft tremolo. I know of no insect 

 voice more gracious, more limpid, in the profound 

 peace of the nights of August. How many times, per 

 arnica silentia luncs, have J lain upon the ground, in 

 the shelter of a clump of rosemary, to listen to the 

 delicious concert I 



The nocturnal Cricket sings continually in the gardens. 

 Each tuft of the red-flowered cistus has its band of 

 musicians, and each bush of fragrant lavender. The 

 shrubs and the terebinth-trees contain their orchestras. 

 With its clear, sweet voice, all this tiny world is 

 questioning, replying, from bush to bush, from tree 

 to tree ; or rather, indifferent to the songs of others, 

 each little being is singing his joys to himself alone. 



Above my head the constellation of Cygnus stretches 

 its great cross along the Milky Way ; below, all around 

 me, palpitates the insect symphony. The atom telling 

 of its joys makes me forget the spectacle of the stars. 

 We know nothing of these celestial eyes which gaze 

 upon us, cold and calm, with scintillations like the 

 blinking of eyelids. 



Science tells us of their distance, their speeds, their 

 masses, their volumes ; it burdens us with stupendous 

 numbers and stupefies us with immensities ; but it does 

 not succeed in moving us. And why ? Because it lacks 

 the great secret : the secret of life. What is there, up 

 there ? What do these suns warm ? Worlds analogous 

 to ours, says reason ; planets on which life is evolving 

 in an endless variety of forms. A superb conception 

 of the universe, but after all a pure conception, not 

 based upon patent facts and infallible testimony at the 



