The Hermit of Serlgnan 



his fore legs, more delicate and agile than the rest, 

 he softly pats the dreadful mask, to his eyes an 

 exquisite face; voluptuously he nibbles at it, tickles 

 with his jaws the face touching his, as hideous 

 as his own. His tenderness and naivete are superb. 

 The dove, they say, invented the kiss. I know 

 of a precursor: the Scorpion. . . . 



For a good hour I watch, unwearied, these in- 

 terminable wanderings to and fro. Part of the 

 household lends me the assistance of its eyes. De- 

 spite the lateness of the hour, our combined atten- 

 tion allows nothing essential to escape us. We ad- 

 mire the curious yoking of the couples which our 

 presence does not disturb in the least. We find 

 it almost graceful, and the expression is not exag- 

 gerated. Semi-translucid and gleaming in the light 

 of the lantern, the happy pair seem carved from 

 a block of yellow amber. With arms outstretched 

 and tails coiled into graceful spirals, they gently 

 stroll about with measured paces. 



At last, about ten o'clock, a separation takes 

 place. The male has come across a potsherd whose 

 shelter appears to him suitable. He releases one 

 of his consort's hands, but only one, and still hold- 

 ing her firmly by the other he scratches with his 

 legs and sweeps with his tail. A grotto opens. He 

 enters it, and gradually, without violence, he draws 

 the patient female into it. Presently both have 

 disappeared. A little bank of sand closes their 

 dwelling. The couple are at home. 



To disturb them would be a blunder; I should 

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