THE DWELLERS IN THE MOUNTAINS 55 



by the tread of cattle. A cuckoo calls to us the 

 first I have heard this year ! Have I any money in 

 my pocket to turn for luck ? 



Timid, white birds, with tails three times as long as 

 their bodies, scurry away before us, reminding one of 

 the mountain women in their hurried, shy behaviour. 



Venerable trees spread their giant branches over 

 our heads to shelter us from the glare of the 

 heavens. 



By the side of the path is a wretched, broken-down 

 hut, probably the last one in the village, amongst 

 these mountains. Intrepidly I glance within and see 

 the family squatting round the smoking pot : the 

 father, the mother, the grandmother, and the many, 

 many children. Thus they sit all through their 

 lives, only cuddling up closer together as the cold 

 increases. 



It is not the inward, mystical power of love, but 

 custom, mutual poverty, an equally low moral 

 standard, and a lack of ambition which hold them 

 together. They scarcely ever speak, and write still 

 less, hence the harmony of their lives. 



How different is it with us, where the lives we 

 lead and the way we are educated produce so many 

 differences of character ! Each one of us, directly 

 his intelligence is awake, begins to think, feel, and, 

 above all, speak differently from his fellow-creatures. 

 And this is why there are so many misunderstandings, 

 and why one feels so lonely in the crowd. 



