The Life of the Fly 



trouble me, to smile or to be shocked at my 

 investigations. So far, so good; but observe 

 the irony of things: now that I am rid of 

 passers-by, I have to fear my cats, those as- 

 siduous prowlers, who, finding my prepara- 

 tions, will not fail to spoil and scatter them. 

 In anticipation of their misdeeds, I establish 

 workshops in mid-air, whither none but gen- 

 uine corruption-agents can come, flying on 

 their wings. At different points in the en- 

 closure, I plant reeds, three by three, which, 

 tied at their free ends, form a stable tripod. 

 From each of these supports, I hang, at a 

 man's height, an earthenware pan filled with 

 fine sand and pierced at the bottom with a 

 hole to allow the water to escape, if it should 

 rain. I garnish my apparatus with dead 

 bodies. The Snake, the Lizard, the Toad 

 receive the preference, because of their bare 

 skins, which enable me better to follow the first 

 attack and the work of the invaders. I ring 

 the changes with furred and feathered beasts. 

 A few children of the neighbourhood, allured 

 by pennies, are my regular purveyors. 

 Throughout the good season, they come run- 

 ning triumphantly to my door, with a Snake 

 at the end of a stick, or a Lizard in a cab- 

 bage-leaf. They bring me the Rat caught 



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