The Life of the Caterpillar 



If the road does not vary, the speed does. 

 I measure nine centimetres 1 a minute as the 

 average distance covered. But there are more 

 or less lengthy halts; the pace slackens at 

 times, especially when the temperature falls. 

 At ten o'clock in the evening the walk is little 

 more than a lazy swaying of the body. I 

 foresee an early halt, in consequence of the 

 cold, of fatigue and doubtless also of 

 hunger. 



Grazing-time has arrived. The caterpil- 

 lars have come crowding from all the nests 

 in the greenhouse to browse upon the pine- 

 branches planted by myself beside the silken 

 purses. Those in the garden do the same, 

 for the temperature is mild. The others, 

 lined up along the earthenware cornice, would 

 gladly take part in the feast; they are bound 

 to have an appetite after a ten hours' walk. 

 The branch stands green and tempting not a 

 hand's breadth away. To reach it they need 

 but go down; and the poor wretches, foolish 

 slaves of their ribbon that they are, cannot 

 make up their minds to do so. I leave the 

 famished ones at half-past ten, persuaded that 

 they will take counsel with their pillow and 

 *$ l /2 inches. Translator's Note. 



