The Collaborators 



He tells us of his watches in the trenches before 

 Sebastopol; he speaks of his sudden terror when, 

 at night, all alone on outpost duty, squatting in 

 the snow, he saw fall beside him what he calls a 

 flower-pot. It blazed and flared and shone and lit 

 up everything around. The infernal machine 

 threatened to burst -at every second ; and our man 

 gave himself up for lost. But nothing happened: 

 the flower-pot went out quietly. It was a star- 

 shell, an illuminating contrivance fired to recon- 

 noitre the assailant's outworks in the dark. 



The tragedy of the battle-field is followed by 

 the comedy of the barracks. He lets us into the 

 mysteries of the stew-pan, the secrets of the mess, 

 the humorous hardships of the cells. And, as his 

 stock of anecdotes, seasoned with racy expressions, 

 is inexhaustible, the supper hour arrives before any 

 of us has had time to remark how long the eve- 

 ning is. 



Favier first attracted my notice by a master- 

 stroke. One of my friends had sent me from Mar- 

 seilles a pair of enormous Crabs, the Maia, the Sea- 

 spider or Spider-crab of the fishermen. I was 

 unpacking the captives when the workmen returned 

 from their dinner: painters, stone-masons, plasterers 

 engaged in repairing the house which had been 

 empty so long. At the sight of those strange ani- 

 mals, studded with spikes all over the carapace 

 and perched on long legs that give them a certain 

 resemblance to a monstrous Spider, the onlookers 

 gave a cry of surprise, almost of alarm. Favier, 

 for his part, remained unmoved; and, as he skil- 



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