The Life of the Fly 



ment. My peculiarity must seek its origin 

 elsewhere: that I will swear. But I do not 

 find it in my father, either. The excellent 

 man, who was hard-working and sturdily- 

 built like grandad, had been to school as a 

 child. He knew how to write, though he took 

 the greatest liberties with spelling; he knew 

 how to read and understood what he read, 

 provided the reading presented no more 

 serious literary difficulties than occurred in the 

 stories in the almanack. He was the first of 

 his line to allow himself to be tempted by the 

 town and he lived to regret it. Badly off, hav- 

 ing but little outlet for his industry, making^ 

 God knows what shifts to pick up a livelihood, 

 he went through all the disappointments of 

 the countryman turned townsman. Perse- 

 cuted by bad luck, borne down by the burden, 

 for all his energy and good-will, he was far in- 

 deed from starting me in entomology. He 

 had other cares, cares more direct and more 

 serious. A good cuff or two when he saw me 

 pinning an insect to a cork was all the encour- 

 agement that I received from him. Perhaps 

 he was right. 



The conclusion is positive: there is nothing 



^The author's father kept a cafe in more than one small 

 town in the south of France. — Translator's Note. 

 126 



