The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



heart beats with excitement. Can I have succeeded 

 without any trouble at the first attempt? We will 

 see. A candle blown out that moment and still 

 retaining a red tip to its wick is lowered by a wire 

 into a small test-jar filled with my product. Capi- 

 tal! The candle lights with a little explosion and 

 burns with extraordinary brilliancy. It is oxygen 

 right enough. 



The moment is a solemn one. My audience is 

 astounded and so am I, but more at my own suc- 

 cess than at the relighted candle. A puff of vain- 

 glory rises to my brow ; I feel the fire of enthusiasm 

 run through my veins. But I say nothing of these 

 inner sensations. Before the boys' eyes, the master 

 must appear an old hand at the things he teaches. 

 What would the young rascals think of me if 

 I allowed them to suspect my surprise, if they 

 knew that I myself am beholding the marvellous 

 subject of my demonstration for the first time in 

 my life? I should lose their confidence, I should 

 sink to the level of a mere pupil. 



Sursum cor da! Let us go on as if chemistry 

 were a familiar thing to me. It is the turn of 

 the steel ribbon, an old watch-spring rolled cork- 

 screw-fashion and furnished with a bit of tinder. 

 With this simple lighted bait, the steel should take 

 fire in a jar filled with my gas. And it does burn; 

 it becomes a splendid firework, with cracklings and 

 a blaze of sparks and a cloud of rust that tarnishes 

 the jar. From the end of the fiery coil a red drop 

 breaks off at intervals, shoots quivering through the 

 layer of water left at the bottom of the vessel 



92 



