The Collaborators 



and lighting upon the sacred insect of the dead, 

 carved in emerald, in some Pharaonic crypt. O in- 

 effable moment, when truth suddenly shines forth! 

 What other joys can compare with that holy rap- 

 ture! The shepherd was in the seventh heaven; 

 he laughed in response to my smile and was happy 

 in my gladness. 1 



There was truly good reason for the natu- 

 ralist and his young friend to exult. Henri 

 Fabre had just discovered what he had 

 vainly been seeking for more than thirty 

 years. He now knew the secret of the Sa- 

 cred Beetle's nest; he knew that the loaf 

 of the future nursling was not in the least 

 like that which the insect rolls along the 

 ground for its own use. He was now in a 

 position to correct the error of centuries 

 which he himself had accepted on the word 

 of the masters. And thanks to whom? 

 Thanks to a shepherd barely " brightened by 

 a little reading " who had acted as his as- 

 sistant. The poet was indeed right who 

 said: 



" On a souvent besoin d'un plus petit que soi." 

 (Of those less than ourselves we oft have need.) 



So much the worse for the proud who 



1 Souvenirs, v., pp. 27-29. The Sacred Beetle and 

 Others, chap, i., "The Sacred Beetle." 

 269 



