Recollections of Childhood 



sand straws along, as it rushes towards the 

 abyss. Fleeting though they be, let us make 

 the most of them. At nightfall, the wood- 

 cutter hastens to bind his last fagots. Even so, 

 in my declining days, I, a humble woodcutter 

 in the forest of science, make haste to put my 

 bundle of sticks in order. What will remain 

 of my researches on the subject of instinct? 

 Not much, apparently; at most, one or two 

 windows opened on a world that has not yet 

 been explored with all the attention which it 

 deserves. 



A worse destiny awaits the mushrooms, 

 which were my botanical joys from my earliest 

 youth. I have never ceased to keep up my ac- 

 quaintance with them. To this day, for the 

 mere pleasure of renewing it, I go, with a halt- 

 ing step, to visit them on fine autumn after- 

 noons. I still love to see the fat heads of the 

 boleti, the tops of the agarics and the coral- 

 red tufts of the clavaria emerge above the 

 carpet pink with heather. 



At Serignan, my last stage, they have lav- 

 ished their seductions upon me, so plentiful are 

 they on the neighbouring hills, wooded with 

 holm-oak, arbutus and rosemary. During 

 these latter years, their wealth inspired me 

 with an insane plan : that of collecting in effigy 



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