The Sisyphus: the Instinct of Paternity 



leaving garments stained with blood and 

 sweat on its sharp crags; I have strained 

 every nerve, drained myself dry, spent my 

 strength recklessly in the struggle to hoist 

 up to safety that crushing burden, my daily 

 bread; and hardly is the loaf balanced when 

 it slips off, slides down and is lost in the abyss. 

 Try again, poor Sisyphus, try again until the 

 load, falling for the last time, smashes your 

 head and sets you free at last. 



The Sisyphus of the naturalists knows 

 none of these bitter trials. Untroubled by 

 the steep slopes, he gaily trundles his load, 

 at one time bread for himself, at another for 

 his children. He is very scarce in these 

 parts; and I should never have managed to 

 procure a suitable number of subjects for my 

 purpose but for an assistant whom I ought 

 to present to the reader, for he will play his 

 part more than once in these narratives. 



I speak of my son Paul, a little chap of 

 seven. jNIy assiduous companion on my 

 hunting-expeditions, he knows better than any 

 one of his age the secrets of the Cicada, 

 the Locust, the Cricket and especially the 

 Dung-beetle, his great delight. Twenty 

 paces away, his sharp eyes will distinguish 

 the real mound that marks a burrow from 

 casual heaps of earth; his delicate ears catch 



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