THE BUILDING OF THE CITY
“THEY are noble workers” began Uncle Paul, “Many a time, when the
morning sun begins to warm up, I have taken pleasure in observing the
activity that reigns around their little mounds of earth, each with its
summit pierced by a hole for exit and entrance.
“There are some that come from the bottom of this hole. Others follow
them, and still more, on and on. They carry between their teeth a tiny
grain of earth, an enormous weight for them. Arrived at the top of the
mound, they let their burden fall, and it rolls over the slope, and they
immediately descend again into their well. They do not play on the way,
or stop with their companions to rest a while. Oh! no: the work is
urgent, and they have so much to do! Each one arrives, serious, with its
grain of earth, deposits it, and descends in search of another. What are
they so busy about?
“They are building a subterranean town, with streets, squares,
dormitories, storehouses; they are hollowing out a dwelling-place for
themselves and their family. At a depth where rain cannot penetrate they
dig the earth and pierce it with galleries, which lengthen into long
communicating streets, sub-divided into short ones, crossing one another
here and there, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending, and opening
into large halls. These immense works are executed grain by grain, drawn
by strength of the jaws. If any one could see that black army of miners
at work under the ground, he would be filled with astonishment.
“They are there by the thousands, scratching, biting, drawing, pulling,
in the deepest darkness. What patience! What efforts! And when the grain
of sand has at last given way, how they go off, head held high and
proud, carrying it triumphantly above! I have seen ants, whose heads
tottered under the tremendous load, exhaust themselves in getting to the
top of the mound. In jostling their companions, they seemed to say: See
how I work! And nobody could blame them, for the pride of work is a
noble pride. Little by little, at the gate of the town, that is to say
at the edge of the hole, this little mound of earth is piled up, formed
by excavated material from the city that is being built. The larger the
mound, the larger the subterranean dwelling, it is plain.
“Hollowing out these galleries in the ground is not all; they must also
prevent landslides, fortify weak places, uphold the vaults with pillars,
make partitions. These miners are then seconded by carpenters. The first
carry the earth out of the ant-hill, the second bring the building
materials. What are these materials! They are pieces of timber-work,
beams, and small joists, suitable for the edifice. A tiny little bit of
straw is a solid beam for a ceiling, the stem of a dry leaf can become a
strong column. The carpenters explore the neighboring forests, that is
to say the tufts of grass, to choose their pieces.
“Good! see this covering of an oat-grain. It is very thin, dry, and
solid. It will make an excellent plank for the partition they are
constructing below. But it is heavy, enormously heavy. The ant that has
made the discovery draws backward and makes itself rigid on its six
feet. No success: the heavy mass does not move. It tries again, all its
little body trembling with energy. The oat-husk just moves a tiny bit.
The ant recognizes its powerlessness. It goes off. Will it abandon the
piece? Oh! no. When one is an ant, one has the perseverance that
commands success. Here it is coming back with two helpers. One seizes
the oat in front, the others hitch themselves to the side, and behold!
it rolls, it advances; it will get there. There are difficult steps, but
the ants they meet along the route will give them a shoulder.
“They have succeeded, not without trouble. The oat is at the entrance to
the under-ground city. Now things become complicated; the piece gets
awry; leaning against the edge of the hole, it cannot enter. Helpers
hasten up. Ten, twenty unite their efforts without success. Two or three
of them, engineers perhaps, detach themselves from the band, and seek
the cause of this insurmountable resistance. The difficulty is soon
solved: they must put the piece with the point at the bottom. The oat is
drawn back a little, so that one end overhangs the hole. One ant seizes
this end while the others lift the end that is on the ground, and the
piece, turning a somersault, falls into the well, but is prudently held
on to by the carpenters clinging to the sides. You may perhaps think, my
children, that the miners mounting with their grain of earth would stop
from curiosity before this mechanical prodigy? Not at all, they have not
time. They pass with their loads of excavated material, without a glance
at the carpenters’ work. In their ardor they are even bold enough to
slide under the moving beams, at the risk of being crippled. Let them
look out! That is their affair.
“One must eat when one works so hard. Nothing creates an appetite like
violent exercise. Milkmaid ants go through the ranks; they have just
milked the cows and are now distributing the milk to the workers.”
Here Emile burst out laughing. “But that is not really and truly so?”
said he to his uncle. “Milkmaid ants, cows, milk! It is a fairy tale
like Mother Ambroisine’s.”
Emile was not the only one to be surprised at the peculiar expressions
Uncle Paul had used. Mother Ambroisine no longer turned her spindle,
Jacques did not plait his wickers, Jules and Claire stared with
wide-open eyes. All thought it a jest.
“No, my dears,” said Uncle Paul. “I am not jesting; no. I have not
exchanged the truth for a fairy tale. It is true there are milkmaid ants
and cows. But as that demands some explanation, we will put off the
continuation of the story until to-morrow.”
Emile drew Jules off into a corner, and said to him in confidence:
“Uncle’s true stories are very amusing, much more so than Mother
Ambroisine’s tales. To hear the rest about those wonderful cows I would
willingly leave my Noah’s Ark.”
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