Bramble-bees and Others 



I see, on the margin of the brook, the exact 

 position of the alder-trees whose tangled roots, 

 deep under the water, were a refuge for the 

 Crayfish. I should say: 



"It is just at the foot of that tree that I had 

 the unutterable bliss of catching a beauty. She 

 had horns so long . . . and enormous claws, 

 full of meat, for I got her just at the right 

 time." 



I should go without faltering to the ash 

 under whose shade my heart beat so loudly 

 one sunny spring morning. I had caught sight 

 of a sort of white, cottony ball among the 

 branches. Peeping from the depths of the 

 wadding was an anxious little head with a red 

 hood to it, O what unparalleled luck! That 

 is a Goldfinch, sitting on her eggs. 



Compared with a find like this, lesser events 

 do not count. Let us leave them. In any 

 case, they pale before the memory of the pa- 

 ternal garden, a tiny hanging garden of some 

 thirty paces by ten, situated right at the top 

 of the village. The only spot that overlooks it 

 is a little esplanade on which stands the old 

 castle^ with the four turrets that have now be- 



^The Chateau de Saint-Leons, standing just outside 

 and above the village of Saint-Leons, where the author 



394 



