But a steep ascent heaves in sight and gives him a fine part to play. He now, on the stiff slope, takes the lead, holding the heavy mass with his toothed arms, while his mate seeks a purchase to hoist the load a little higher. Thus, by a combination of well-managed efforts, the one above gripping, the one below pushing, I have seen them together mount acclivities where the stubborn determination of one alone would have come to naught. But not all have the same zeal at these difficult moments: there are some who, on slopes where their assistance is most needed, seem not in the least aware of the difficulties to overcome. While the unhappy Sisyphus exhausts himself in endeavours to pass the dangerous place, the other quietly leaves him to do his best and, himself encrusted on the ball, rolls down with it, when it comes to grief, and is hoisted up with it anew. Let us suppose the Scarab fortunate enough to have found a loyal partner; or, better still, let us suppose that he has met no self-invited colleague. The burrow is ready. It is a cavity dug in soft earth, usually in sand, shallow, the size of one’s fist and communicating with the outside by a short channel just large enough for the passage of the ball. As soon as the provisions are safely housed, the Scarab shuts himself in by stopping up the entrance to his dwelling with rubbish reserved for the purpose in a corner. Once the door is closed, no sign outside betrays the banqueting-hall. And, now, welcome mirth and jollity! All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds! The table is sumptuously laid; the ceiling tempers the heat of the sun and allows but a mild, moist heat to penetrate; the calm, the darkness, the concert of the crickets overhead all favour the digestive functions. So great has been my illusion that I have caught myself listening at the door, expecting to hear the revellers burst into that famous snatch from the opera of Galatée: [3] Ah! qu’il est doux de ne rien faire Quand tout s’agite autour de nous. [4]