The Harmas 



one day, will try to some extent to unravel 

 the tough problem of instinct, I write also, I 

 write above all things for the young. I want 

 to make them love the natural history which 

 you make them hate; and that is why, while 

 keeping strictly toi the domain of truth, I 

 avoid your scientific prose, which too often, 

 alas seems borrowed from some Iroquois 

 idiom!' 



But this is not my business for the moment : 

 I want to speak of the bit of land long cher- 

 ished in my plans to form a laboratory of liv- 

 ing entomology, the bit of land which I have 

 at last obtained in the solitude of a little vil- 

 lage. It is a harmas, the name given, in this 

 district, 1 to an unfilled, pebbly expanse aban- 

 doned to the vegetation of the thyme. It is 

 too poor to repay the work of the plough; but 

 the sheep passes there in spring, when it has 

 chanced to rain and a little grass shoots up. 



My harmas, however, because of its modi- 

 cum of red earth swamped by a huge mass of 

 stones, has received a rough first attempt at cul- 

 tivation : I am told that vines once grew here. 

 And, in fact, when we dig the ground before 

 planting a few trees, we turn up, here and 

 there, remains of the precious stock, half-car- 



J The country round Serignan, in Provence. — Trans- 

 lator's Note. 



15 



