The Cicada: his Music 



ber of singers is checked by each of us, as 

 are the depth and rhythm of the song. We 

 are now ready, with ears pricked up to hear 

 what will happen in the aerial orchestra. The 

 mortar is let off, with a noise like a genuine 

 thunder-clap. 



There is no excitement whatever up above. 

 The number of executants is the same, the 

 rhythm is the same, the volume of sound the 

 same. The six witnesses are unanimous: 

 the mighty explosion has in no way affected 

 the song of the Cicadas. And the second 

 mortar gives an exactly similar result. 



What conclusion are we to draw from this 

 persistence of the orchestra, which is not at 

 all surprised or put out by the firing of a 

 gun? Am I to infer from it that the Cicada 

 is deaf? I will certainly not venture so far 

 as that; but, if any one else, more daring 

 than I, were to make the assertion, I should 

 really not know what arguments to employ 

 in contradicting him. I should be obliged at 

 least to concede that the Cicada is extremely 

 hard of hearing and that we may apply to 

 him the familiar saying, to bawl like a deaf 

 man. 



When the Blue-winged Locust takes his 

 luxurious fill of sunshine on a gravelly path 



79 



