The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



was dangerous to other animals, and to man, 

 or whether it was not, in the latter case, a 

 negligible accident. He therefore experi- 

 mented upon a bird: 



I make a Tarantula bite the leg of a young, well- 

 fledged Sparrow, ready to leave the nest. A drop 

 of blood flows: the wounded spot is surrounded 

 by a reddish circle, changing to purple. The bird 

 almost immediately loses the use of its leg, which 

 drags, with the toes doubled in; it hops upon the 

 other. Apart from this, the patient does not seem 

 to trouble much about his hurt; his appetite is good. 

 My daughters feed him on flies, bread-crumb, apri- 

 cot-pulp. He is sure to get well, he will recover 

 his strength; the poor victim of the curiosity of 

 science will be restored to liberty. This is the 

 wish, the intention of us all. Twelve hours later, 

 the hope of a cure increases ; the invalid takes nour- 

 ishment readily; he clamours for it, if we keep him 

 waiting. But the leg still drags. I set this down 

 to a temporary paralysis which will soon disappear. 

 Two days after, he refuses his food. Wrapping 

 himself in his stoicism and his rumpled feathers, 

 the Sparrow hunches into a ball, now motionless, 

 now twitching. My girls take him in the hollow 

 of their hands and warm him with their breath. 

 The spasms become more frequent. A gasp pro- 

 claims that all is over. The bird is dead. 



There was a certain coolness among us at the 

 evening meal. I read mute reproaches, because 

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