The life of Jean Henri Fabre, the entomologist, 1823-1910Fabre, Augustin
Science
The life of Jean Henri Fabre, the entomologist, 1823-1910
Fabre, Augustin
Entomologists -- France -- Biography; Fabre, Jean-Henri, 1823-1915
THE LIFE OF
JEAN HENRI FABRE
THE ENTOMOLOGIST
1823–1910
BY THE ABBE
AUGUSTIN FABRE
TRANSLATED BY
Bernard Miall
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1921
TO MY PARENTS
IN TOKEN OF GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION
FOR THE LABOURS AND THE EXAMPLE
OF THEIR LIVES
NOTE BY TRANSLATOR
Those who wish to become more fully acquainted with Jean-Henri Fabre’s
delightful Souvenirs Entomologiques will find them, arranged in a
different order, in the admirable series of translations from the pen
of Mr. Teixeira de Mattos, published by Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Company,
New York; a series which will, before long, be complete and contain the
whole of the ten volumes of Souvenirs. Other translations are The Life
and Love of the Insect, translated by Mr. Teixeira de Mattos; Social
Life in the Insect World, translated by myself; Wonders of Instinct,
translated by Mr. Teixeira and myself; and Fabre, Poet of Science
(another biography), by Dr. G. V. Legros, translated by myself.
Post-war conditions have made it necessary somewhat to abridge the
author’s text, which fills two volumes. If, however, as I hope, these
pages send the reader to my friend Mr. Teixeira’s delightful versions
of the Souvenirs, their principal aim will be fulfilled.
Bernard Miall.
1921.
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
I was eighteen years old; I was dreaming of diplomas, of a doctor’s
degree, of a brilliant university career. To encourage me and incite me
to emulation, one of my uncles, rather more well-informed than those
about him, addressed me much as follows:
“Put your back into it, my boy! Go ahead; follow the footsteps of your
fellow-countryman and kinsman, Henri Fabre of Malaval, who has done
what you want to do, and has become an eminent professor and a learned
writer.”
It is hardly credible, but this was the first time I had heard any one
mention this famous namesake of mine, whose family, nevertheless, used
to live on the opposite slope of the puech against which my tiny native
mas was built.
His remark was not unheeded, and the name then engraved upon my memory
has never been erased from it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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