fabre, poet of science-第48章

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his　name。　（16/17。）



But　what　matter！　The　hermit　of　Sérignan　was　not　discouraged；　he　was

disturbed　only　by　the　failure　of　his　strength；　and　the　fear　that　he　could

not　much　longer　exercise　that　divine　faculty　which　had　always　consoled　him

for　all　his　sorrows　and　his　disappointments。　He　could　scarcely　drag　his

weary　limbs　across　the　pebbles　of　his　Harmas；　but　he　bore　his　eighty…seven

years　with　a　fine　disdain　for　age　and　its　failings；　and　although　the　fire

of　his　glance　and　that　whole；　eager　countenance　still　expressed　his　passion

for　the　truth；　his　abrupt　gestures；　touched　with　irony；　his　simple　bearing；

and　the　extreme　modesty　of　his　whole　person；　spoke　sufficiently　of　his

profound　indifference　toward　outside　contingencies；　for　the　baubles　of　fame

and　all　the　stupidities　of　life。



At　a　few　miles'　distance；　in　another　village；　that　other　great　peasant；

Mistral；　the　singer　of　Provence；　the　poet　of　love　and　joy；　the　minstrel　of

rustic　labour　and　antique　faiths；　was　pursuing；　amid　the　homage　of　his

apotheosis；　the　incredible　cycle　of　his　splendid　existence。



This　glory　had　come　to　him　suddenly；　this　fame　〃whose　first　glances　are

sweeter　than　the　fires　of　dawn；〃　and　which　was　never　to　desert　him　for

fifty　long　years。



The　wind　of　favour　which　had　sweetened　his　youth　continued　to　propel　him　in

full　sail。　He　had　only　to　show　himself　to　be　at　once　surrounded；

felicitated；　worshipped；　and　his　mere　presence　would　sway　a　crowd　as　the

black　peaks　of　the　high　cypresses　are　swayed　by　the　great　wind　that　bears

his　name。　Like　Fabre；　he　had　remained　faithful　to　his　native　soil；　that

soil　which　the　great　naturalist　had　never　been　able　to　leave　without　at

once　longing　impatiently　to　return　to　its　dusty　olives　where　the　cigale

sings；　its　ilex　trees　and　its　thickets；　and　so　he　lived　far　from　the

cities；　in　a　quiet　village；　with　the　same　horizon　of　plains　and　hills　that

were　balmy　with　thyme；　leading　in　his　little　home　an　equal　life　full　of

wisdom　and　simplicity。



The　hermit　of　Sérignan　was　the　Lucretius　of　this　Provence；　which　had

already　found　its　Virgil。　With　a　very　different　vision；　each　had　the　same

rustic　tastes；　the　same　love　of　the　free　spaces　of　wild　nature　and　the

scenes　of　rural　life。　But　Mistral；　wherever　he　looked；　saw　human　life　as

happy　and　simple；　through　the　prism　of　his　creative　imagination　and　the

optimism　of　his　happy　life。　Fabre；　on　the　contrary；　behind　the　sombre

realities　which　he　studied；　saw　only　the　ferocious　engagement　of　confused

living　forces；　and　a　frightful　tragedy。



Thus　their　two　lives；　which　were　like　parallel　lines；　never　meeting；　were

in　keeping　with　their　work。　And　while　Mistral；　still　young　and　triumphant

despite　the　years；　was　at　Maillane　overwhelmed　with　honours　and

consideration；　the　poor　great　man　of　Sérignan　lived　an　obscure　and

inglorious　existence。



He　had　the　greatest　trouble　to　live　and　rear　his　family；　and　almost　his

sole　income　consisted　of　an　uncertain　sum　of　120　pounds　sterling　annually；

which　he　had　for　some　years　received；　in　the　guise　of　a　pension；　by　the

generosity　of　the　Institute；　as　the　Gegner　prize。



Finally　his　situation　was　so　precarious　that　he　decided　to　sell　to　a　museum

that　magnificent　collection　of　water…colour　plates　in　which　he　had

represented；　life…size　and　with　an　astonishing　truth　of　colour；　all　the

fungi　which　grow　in　Provence。



He　wrote　to　Mistral　on　the　subject；　after　the　visit　which　the　latter　paid

him　in　the　spring　of　1908：　the　only　visit　of　the　kind。　Before　meeting　in

Saint…Estelle；　the　Paradise　of　the　Félibres；　they　had　wished　not　to　die

before　at　least　meeting　on　this　earth。



Fabre　wrote　to　mistral　the　following　letter；　which　I　owe　to　the　kindness　of

the　great　poet：



〃I　have　never　thought　of　profiting　by　my　humble　fungoid　water…

colours。。。Fate　will　perhaps　decide　otherwise。



〃In　this　connection；　permit　me　to　make　a　confession；　to　which　your　nobility

of　character　encourages　me。　Until　latterly　I　had　lived　modestly　on　the

product　of　my　school…books。　To…day　the　weathercock　has　turned　to　another

quarter；　and　my　books　no　longer　sell。　So　here　I　am；　more　than　ever　in　the

grip　of　that　terrible　problem　of　daily　bread。　If　you　think；　then；　that　with

your　help　and　that　of　your　friends；　my　poor　pictures　might　help　me　a

little；　I　have　decided　to　let　them　go；　but　not　without　bitterness。　It　is

like　tearing　off　a　piece　of　my　skin；　and　I　still　hold　to　this　old　skin；

shabby　as　it　may　be；　a　little　for　my　own　sake；　much　more　for　my　family's；

and　much　more　again　for　the　sake　of　my　entomological　studies；　studies　which

I　feel　obliged　to　pursue；　persuaded　that　for　a　long　time　to　come　no　one

will　care　to　resume　them；　so　ungrateful　is　the　calling。〃　（16/18。）



At　the　instigation　of　the　poet　the　prefect　Belleudy　took　it　upon　him　to

intercede　with　the　Minister；　from　whom　he　finally　wrung　a　grant　of　40

pounds　sterling；　〃in　encouragement　of　the　sciences。〃　Finally　he　ventured　to

reveal　the　situation　to　the　General　Council　of　Vaucluse；　and　to　require　it

to　contribute　at　least　its　share；　in　order　to　ensure　a　peaceful　and　decent

old　age　to　a　man　who　was　not　only　the　greatest　celebrity　of　the　department；

but　also　one　of　the　highest　glories　of　the　nation。　He　pleaded　so　well　and

so　nobly　that　the　assembly　granted　Fabre　an　annual　sum　of　20　pounds

sterling；　〃as　the　public　homage　which　his　compatriots　pay　to　his　lofty

science　and　HIS　EXCESSIVE　MODESTY。〃　（16/19。）　At　the　same　time；　in　a

generous　impulse；　the　Council　placed　at　his　disposal　all　the　scientific

equipment　of　the　departmental　laboratory　of　agricultural　analysis；　which

was　no　longer　used；　there　was　indeed　talk　of　suppressing　it。



Now　that　the　burden　of　his　days　weighed　so　heavily　on　him；　and　his　task　was

virtually　finished；　everything；　by　the　customary　irony　of　things；　was

coming　his　way　simultaneously：　not　only　what　was　necessary　and

indispensable；　but　even　something　that　was　superfluous。



So　one　day　all　these　delicate　instruments；　useless　to　a　biologist　who　by

the　very　nature　of　his　labours　had　done　without　them　all　his　life；　and　had

never　wearied　of　denying　their　utility；　arrived　at　Sérignan。　He　did　not

possess　even　one　modest　thermometer；　and　as　for　the　superb　microscope　over

which　he　so　often　bent；　the　only　costly　instrument　in　his　rustic

laboratory；　it　was　a　precious　present　which；　at　the　instigation　of　Duruy；

Dumas　the　chemist　had　given　him　years　before；　but　a　simple　lens　very　often

sufficed　him。　〃The　secrets　of　life；〃　he　somewhere　writes；　〃are　to　be

obtained　by　simple；　makeshift；　inexpensive　means。　What　did　the　best　results

of　my　inquiry　into　instinct　cost　me？　Only　time；　and　above　all；　patience。〃



It　was　then　that　a　few　of　his　disciples；　finally　affected　by　such

abandonment；　decided　to　celebrate　his　jubilee；　hoping　thus　to　reveal　both

his　name　and　his　wonderful　books　to　the　crowd　that　knew　nothing　of　him。

（16/20。）



It　was　time；　a　little　longer；　and；　according　to　his　racy　phrase；　〃the

violins　would　have　come　too　late。〃　The　old　master　is　daily　nearer　his

decline；　his　sight；　once　so　piercing；　is　now　so　obscured　that　he　can　barely

see　to　sign　his　name；　in　a　small；　tremulous　hand；　confused　and　illegible。

His　muscles　are　so　feeble　now　that　he　can　walk　only　in　short　steps；　on　his

wife's　arm；　leaning　on　a　cane；　and　he　would　soon　be　piteously　exhausted

were　not　some　seat　available　within　immediate　reach。　Very　soon　now　he　will

no　longer　hope　to　make　the　tour　of　this　Harmas；　which　his　feet　have　trodden

daily　for　thirty　years。　In　this　failure　of　the　body；　all　that　survives　are

the　two　sparkling　cavities　of　his　eyes　and　his　extraordinary　memory。



But　he　is　far　from　being　mournful：　he　feels　only　an　immense　lassitude；　and

an　infinite　regret　that　perhaps　he　will　not　be　able　to　bring　his　series　of

〃Souvenirs〃　to　the　point　he　had　desired；　not　wishing　to　die　until　he　has

pushed　his　career　as　far　as　is　in　his　power；　without　having　worked；　on　his

feet；　until　the　very　hour　when