THE CICADA 



On the contrary, it is the Ant who, driven by hunger, 

 begs and entreats the singer. Entreats, did I say? It 

 is not the right word. She brazenly robs him. 



In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country 

 are parched with thirst, and vainly wander round the 

 withered flowers in search of refreshment, the Cicada 

 remains perfectly cheerful. With his rostrum— the deli- 

 cate sucker, sharp as a gimlet, that he carries on his chest 

 ' — he broaches a cask in his inexhaustible cellar. Sitting, 

 always singing, on the branch of a shrub, lie bores through 

 the firm, smooth bark, which is swollen with sap. Driv- 

 ing his sucker through the bunghole, he drinks his fill. 



If I watch him for a little while I may perhaps see 

 him in unexpected trouble. There are many thirsty 

 insects in the neighbourhood, who soon discover the sap 

 that oozes from the Cicada's well. They hasten up, at 

 first quietly and discreetly, to lick the fluid as it comes 

 out. I see Wasps, Flies, Earwigs, Rose-chafers, and 

 above all, Ants. 



The smallest, in order to reach the well, slip under 

 the body of the Cicada, who good-naturedly raises him- 

 self on his legs to let them pass. The larger insects 

 snatch a sip, retreat, take a walk on a neighbouring 

 branch, and then return more eager and enterprising 

 than before. They now become violent brigands, deter- 

 mined to chase the Cicada away from his well. 



[27] 



