The Life of the Grasshopper 



are the Ants. I have seen them nibbling at 

 the ends of the Cicada's legs; I have caught 

 them tugging at the tips of his wings, 

 climbing on his back, tickling his antennae. 

 One, greatly daring, went to the length, be- 

 fore my eyes, of catching hold of his sucker 

 and trying to pull it out. 



Thus worried by these pigmies and losing 

 all patience, the giant ends by abandoning 

 the well. He flees, spraying the robbers 

 with his urine as he goes. What cares the 

 Ant for this expression of supreme con- 

 tempt! Her object is attained. She is now 

 the mistress of the spring, which dries up 

 only too soon when the pump that made it 

 flow ceases to work. There is little of it, 

 but that little is exquisite. It is so much to 

 the good, enabling her to wait for another 

 draught, acquired in the same fashion, as 

 soon as the occasion presents itself. 



You see, the actual facts entirely reverse 

 the parts assigned in the fable. The hard- 

 ened beggar, who does not shrink from 

 theft, is the Ant; the industrious artisan, 

 gladly sharing his possessions with the suf- 

 ferer, is the Cicada. I will mention one 

 more detail; and the reversal of characters 

 will stand out even more clearly. After five 



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