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PREFACE
THE INSECT'S HOMER
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ORANGE and Sérignan, the latter a little Provençal village that should be as widely celebrated as Maillane,[1] have of late years rendered honour to a man whose brow deserves to be girt with a double and radiant crown. But fame—at least that which is not the true nor the great fame, but her illegitimate sister, and which creates more noise than durable work in the morning and evening papers—fame is often forgetful, negligent, behindhand or unjust; and the crowd is almost ignorant of the name of J. H. Fabre, who is one of the most profound and inventive scholars and also one of the purest writers and, I was going to add, one of the finest poets of the century that is just past.
- ↑ Maillane is the birthplace of Mistral, the Provençal poet.—Translator's Note.
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