1 66 The Life of the Spider 



While this Httle world is busily fussing, making 

 its arrangements for departure, I make my own. 

 Every aperture in the room is closed, so as to 

 obtain as calm an atmosphere as possible. A 

 small chafing-dish is lit at the foot of the table. 

 My hands cannot feel the heat of it at the level 

 of the web whereon my Spiders are weaving. 

 This is the very modest fire which, with its 

 column of rising air, shall unwind the threads 

 and carry them on high. 



Let us first enquire the direction and strength 

 of the current. Dandelion-plumes, made lighter 

 by the removal of their seeds, serve as my 

 guides. Released above the chafing-dish, on 

 the level of the table, they float slowly upwards 

 and, for the most part, reach the ceiling. The 

 emigrants' lines should rise in the same way 

 and even better. 



The thing is done : with the aid of nothing 

 that is visible to the three of us looking on, a 

 Spider makes her ascent. She ambles with her 

 eight legs through the air ; she mounts, gently 

 swaying. The others, in ever-increasing num- 

 bers, follow, sometimes by different roads, some- 

 times by the same road. Any one who did not 



