Almost as famous as the Cicada, the Field Cricket, the denizen of the greenswards, figures among the limited but glorious number of the classic insects. He owes this honour to his song and his house. One thing alone is lacking to complete his renown. By a regrettable omission, the master of the art of making animals talk gives him hardly two lines. In one of his fables he shows us the Hare seized with terror at the sight of his ears, which scandalmongers will not fail to describe as horns at a time when to be horned is dangerous. The prudent animal packs up his traps and makes off: “Adieu, voisin Grillon,” dit-il; “je pars d’ici; Mes oreilles enfin seraient cornes aussi.” The Cricket answers: “Cornes cela! Vous me prenez pour cruche! Ce sont oreilles que Dieu fit.” The Hare insists: “On les fera passer pour cornes.” [63] And that is all. What a pity that La Fontaine did not make the insect hold forth at greater length! The good-natured Cricket is depicted for us in a couple of lines which already show the master’s touch. No, indeed, he is no fool: his big head might have found some capital things to say. And yet the Hare was perhaps not wrong to take his departure in a hurry. When slander is at your heels, the best thing is to fly. Florian [64] was less concise in his story, which is on another theme; but what a long way we are from the warmth and vigour of old La Fontaine! In Florian’s fable Le Grillon, there are plenty of flowery meadows and blue skies; Dame Nature and affectation go hand in hand; in short, we have the feeble artificialities of a lifeless rhetoric, which loses sight of the thing described for the sake of the description. It lacks the simplicity of truth and also the saving salt of humour. Besides, what a preposterous idea, to represent the Cricket as discontented, bewailing his condition in despair! All who have studied him know, on the contrary, that he is very well pleased with his own talent and his hole. This, moreover, is what the fabulist makes him admit, after the Butterfly’s discomfiture: I find more force and more truth in the apologue by the nameless friend to whom I owe the Provençal piece, La Cigalo e la Fournigo. He will forgive me if for the second time I expose him, without his consent, to the dangerous honour of print. Here it is: LE GRILLON L’histoire des bêtes rapporte Qu’autrefois un pauvre grillon, Prenant le soleil sur sa porte, Vit passer un beau papillon. Un papillon à longues queues, Superbe, des mieux décorés, Avec rangs de lunules bleues, Galons noirs et gros points dorés. [66] “Vole, vole,” lui dit l’ermite, “Sur les fleurs, du matin au soir; Ta rose, ni ta marguerite Ne valent mon humble manoir.”