236 THE LIFE AND LOVE OF THE INSECT 



This luxurious game leaves them indifferent ; none of 

 them pays attention to it. Amid the hubbub, the Crickets 

 hop, the Moths beat the ground wdth the stumps of their 

 wings, the Dragon-flies quiver ; and the passers-by take 

 no notice. They tread them underfoot, they topple them 

 over, they push them away with a stroke of the tail ; 

 in short, they absolutely refuse to look at them. They 

 have other business in hand. 



Almost all of them move along the glass wall. Some 

 of them obstinately attempt to scale it : they hoist them- 

 selves on their tails, fall down, try again elsewhere. 

 With their outstretched fists they knock against the 

 pane ; they want to get away at all costs. And yet the 

 grounds are large enough, there is room for all ; the walks 

 lend themselves to long stroUs. No matter : they waiit 

 to roam afar. If they were free, they would disperse in 

 every direction. Last year, at the same time, the 

 colonists of the enclosure left the village and I never saw 

 them again. 



The spring pairing-season enjoins journeys upon them. 

 The shy hermits of yesterday now leave their cells and 

 go on love's pilgrimage ; heedless of food, they set out in 

 quest of their kind. Among the stones of their terri- 

 tory there must be choice spots at which meetings take 

 place, at which assemblies are held. If I were not afraid 

 of breaking my legs, at night, over the rocky obstacles 

 of their hills, I should love to assist at their matrimonial 

 festivals, amid the delights of hberty. What do they 

 do up there, on their bare slopes ? Much the same, 

 apparently, as in the glass enclosure. Having made 

 their choice of a bride, they take her about, for a long 

 stretch of time, hand in hand, through the tufts of 

 lavender. If they miss the attractions of my lantern, 



