The Cicada: his Music 



suspecting the impression produced by the 

 clash of the cymbals upon those who inspire 

 it. All that I can say is that their impassive 

 exterior seems to denote complete indiffer- 

 ence. Let us not insist too much : the private 

 feelings of animals are an unfathomable 

 mystery. 



Another reason for doubt is this: those 

 who are sensitive to music always have deli- 

 cate hearing; and this hearing, a watchful 

 sentinel, should give warning of any danger 

 at the least sound. The birds, those skilled 

 songsters, have an exquisitely fine sense of 

 hearing. Should a leaf stir in the branches, 

 should two wayfarers exchange a word, they 

 will be suddenly silent, anxious, on their 

 guard. How far the Cicada is from such 

 sensibility ! 



He has very clear sight. His large faceted 

 eyes inform him of what happens on the 

 right and what happens on the left; his 

 three stemmata, like little ruby telescopes, 

 explore the expanse above his head. The 

 moment he sees us coming, he is silent and 

 flies away. But place yourself behind the 

 branch on which he is singing, arrange so 

 that you are not within reach of the five 

 visual organs; and then talk, whistle, clap 

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