The Life of the Caterpillar 



would seem to affirm, with organs quick to 

 perceive the great atmospheric fluctuations. 



Rural lore abounds in meteorological fore- 

 casts derived from animals. The Cat, sit- 

 ting in front of the fire and washing behind 

 her ears with a saliva-smeared paw, fore- 

 tells another cold snap; the Cock, crowing at 

 unusual hours, announces the return of fine 

 weather; the Guinea-fowl, with her screech- 

 ing, as of a scythe on the grindstone, points to 

 rain; the Hen, standing on one leg, her plu- 

 mage ruffled, her head sunk on her neck, feels 

 a hard frost coming; the pretty green Tree- 

 frog inflates his throat like a bladder at 

 the approach of a storm and, according to 

 the Provencal peasant, says : 



"Ploiira, ploiira; it will rain, it will rain!'* 



This rustic meteorology, the heritage of the 

 centuries, does not show up so badly beside 

 our scientific meteorology. 



Are not we ourselves living barometers? 

 Every veteran complains of his glorious 

 scars when the weather is about to break. 

 One man, though unwounded, suffers from 

 insomnia or from bad dreams; another, 

 though a brain-worker, cannot drag an idea 

 out of his impotent head. Each of us, in 

 1 08 



