The Life of the Caterpillar 



It is as I thought. The day passes and the 

 four caterpillars remain bare. Next day, 

 however, one, one alone, decides to clothe 

 himself. His work is a tiara with metallic 

 facets, in which the light plays with flashes of 

 every colour of the rainbow. It is very rich, 

 very sumptuous, but mightily heavy and cum- 

 brous. Walking becomes laborious under 

 that load of metal. Even so must a Byzan- 

 tine emperor have progressed at ceremonies 

 of state, after donning his gold-worked dal- 

 matic. 



Poor little creature! More sensible than 

 man, you did not select that ridiculous mag- 

 nificence of your own free will; it was I who 

 forced it on you. Here, to make amends, is a 

 disk of sorghum-pith. Fling off your proud 

 tiara, thrust it from you quickly and place in 

 its stead a cotton night-cap, which is much 

 healthier. This is done on the second day. 



The Psyche has his favourite materials 

 when starting as a manufacturer: a vegetable 

 lint collected from any ligneous scrap well 

 softened by the air, a lint usually supplied by 

 the old roof of the maternal hut. In the 

 absence of the regulation fabric, he is able to 

 make use of animal velvet, in particular of the 

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