4 FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



who showed me how to explore the interior of a Snail in a 

 plate filled with water. The lesson was short and fruitful. 1 



My first introduction to chemistry was less fortunate. It 

 ended in the bursting of a glass vessel, with the result that 

 most of my fellow-pupils were hurt, one of them nearly lost 

 his sight, the lecturer's clothes were burnt to pieces, and the 

 wall of the lecture-room was splashed with stains. Later on, 

 when I returned to that room, no longer as a pupil but as a 

 master, the splashes were still there. On that occasion I 

 learnt one thing at least. Ever after, when I made experi- 

 ments of that kind, I kept my pupils at a distance. 



It has always been my great desire to have a laboratory in 

 the open fields not an easy thing to obtain when one lives 

 in a state of constant anxiety about one's daily bread. For 

 forty years it was my dream to own a little bit of land, fenced 

 in for the sake of privacy : a desolate, barren, sun-scorched 

 bit of land, overgrown with thistles and much beloved by 

 Wasps and Bees. Here, without fear of interruption, I might 

 question the Hunting-wasps and others of my friends in that 

 difficult language which consists of experiments and observa- 

 tions. Here, without the long expeditions and rambles that 

 use up my time and strength, I might watch my insects at 

 every hour of the day. 



And then, at last, my wish was fulfilled. I obtained a bit 

 of land in the solitude of a little village. It was a harmas, 

 which is the name we give in this part of Provence to an 

 untilled, pebbly expanse where hardly any plant but thyme 

 can grow. It is too poor to be worth the trouble of plough- 

 ing, but the sheep pass there in spring, when it has chanced 

 to rain and a little grass grows up. 



My own particular harmas, however, had a small quantity 

 of red earth mixed with the stones, and had been roughly 

 cultivated. I was told that vines once grew here, and I was 

 sorry, for the original vegetation had been driven out by the 

 three-pronged fork. There was no thyme left, nor lavender, 



1 See Insect Adventures, retold for young people from the works of Henri Fabre. 



