The Hermit of Serignan 



shrink from displaying themselves in broad 

 daylight. 



I have prepared beforehand the great glass cage, 

 peopled with twenty-five inhabitants, each with his 

 tile. Every night, from the middle of April, as 

 darkness falls, there is great animation in the glass 

 palace. By day seemingly to be deserted, it be- 

 comes a cheerful scene. Hardly is supper finished 

 when the whole household hastens thither. A lan- 

 tern hung upon the glazed window enables us 

 to follow what happens. This is our distraction 

 after the bustle of the day; it is like a visit to the 

 theatre. And in this theatre the plays are so inter- 

 esting that, as soon as the lantern is lit, all of us, 

 old and young, come to take our places in the 

 stalls; even down to Tom, the house-dog. Indif- 

 ferent to the affairs of the Scorpions, like the true 

 philosopher that he is, Tom lies at our feet and 

 sleeps, but only with one eye, the other being always 

 open upon his friends, the children. 



Close to the glass panes, in the region discreetly 

 lit by the lantern, a numerous assembly has presently 

 gathered together. Some come from a distance; 

 they solemnly emerge from the shadow, and then, 

 suddenly, with a swift easy rush like a slide, they 

 join the crowd in the light. They investigate their 

 surroundings, fleeing precipitately at a touch as 

 though they had burned each other. Others, hav- 

 ing mixed with their comrades a little, suddenly 

 make off distractedly; they recover themselves in 



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