THE CIGALE 67 



Four years of hard labour underground, and a month 

 of feasting in the sun ; such is the life of the Cigale. Do 

 not let us again reproach the adult insect with his 

 triumphant delirium. For four years, in the darkness- 

 he has worn a dirty parchment overall ; for four years 

 he has mined the soil with his talons, and now the mud- 

 stained sapper is suddenly clad in the finest raiment, and 

 provided with wings that rival the bird's ; moreover, he 

 is drunken with heat and flooded with light, the supreme 

 terrestrial joy. His cymbals will never suffice to celebrate 

 such felicity, so well earned although so ephemeral. 



