The Life of the Grasshopper 



give not a quiver more and not a quiver less; 

 she who was gnawing the remains of a Lo- 

 cust does not let go the morsel, does not lose 

 a mouthful. To look at those heartless ones, 

 you would really say that the singer was 

 making a noise for the mere pleasure of 

 feeling himself alive. 



It is a very different matter when, towards 

 the end of August, I witness the start of the 

 wedding. The couple finds itself standing 

 face to face quite casually, without any 

 lyrical prelude whatever. Motionless, as 

 though turned to stone, with their foreheads 

 almost touching, the two exchange caresses 

 with their long antennas, fine as hairs. The 

 male seems somewhat preoccupied. He 

 washes his tarsi ; with the tips of his mandi- 

 bles he tickles the soles of his feet. From 

 time to time he gives a stroke of the bow: 

 tick; no more. 



Yet one would think that this was the very 

 moment at which to make the most of his 

 strong points. Why not declare his flame 

 in a fond couplet, instead of standing there, 

 scratching his feet? Not a bit of it. He 

 remains silent in front of the coveted bride, 

 herself impassive. 



The interview, a mere exchange of greet- 



