THE STORM
AND, in fact, it was very hot when Uncle Paul and Jules started out.
With a burning sun, they were sure to find the caterpillars in their
silk bag, where they do not fail to take refuge to shelter themselves
from a light that is too glaring for them; at an earlier or later hour,
the nests might be empty, and the journey a fruitless one.
His heart full of the naïve joys proper to his age, his mind preoccupied
by the caterpillars and their processions, Jules walked at a good pace,
forgetting heat and fatigue. He had untied his cravat and thrown his
blouse back on his shoulders. A holly stick, cut by his uncle from the
hedge, served him as a third leg.
In the meantime the crickets chirped louder than usual; frogs croaked in
the ponds; flies became teasing and persistent; sometimes a breath of
air all at once blew along the road and raised a whirling column of
dust. Jules did not notice these signs, but his uncle did, and from time
to time looked up at the sky. Masses of reddish mist in the south seemed
to give him some concern. “Perhaps we shall have rain,” said he; “we
must hurry.”
About three o’clock they were at the pine wood. Uncle Paul cut a branch
bearing a magnificent nest. He had guessed right: all the caterpillars
had returned to their lodging, perhaps in prevision of bad weather. Then
they sat in the shade of a group of pines, to rest a little before
returning. Naturally they talked about caterpillars.
“The processionaries, you told me,” said Jules, “leave their nests to
scatter over the pines and eat the leaves. There are, in fact, a great
many branches almost reduced to sticks of dry wood. Look at that pine I
am pointing at; it is half stripped of leaves, as if fire had passed
over it. I like the way the processionaries travel, but I can’t help
pitying those fine trees that wither under the miserable caterpillar’s
teeth.”
“If the owner of these pines understood his interests better,” returned
Uncle Paul, “he would, in the winter, when the caterpillars are
assembled in their silk bags, have the nests collected and burn them, in
order to destroy the detestable breed that will gnaw the young shoots,
browse the buds, and arrest the tree’s development. The harm is much
greater in our orchards. Various caterpillars live in companies on our
fruit trees and spin nests in the same way as the processionaries. When
summer comes, the starveling vermin scatter all over the trees,
destroying leaves, buds, shoots. In a few hours the orchard is shorn and
the crop is destroyed in its budding. So it is necessary to keep a
careful lookout for caterpillar nests, remove them from the tree before
spring, and burn them, so that nothing can escape; the future of the
crop depends on it. It is fortunate that several kinds of creatures,
little birds especially, come to our aid in this war to the death
between man and the caterpillar; otherwise the worm, stronger than man
on account of its infinite number, would ravage our crops. But we will
talk of the little birds another time; the weather is threatening, we
must go.”
See how the reddish mist in the south, thicker and darker every moment,
has become a large black cloud visibly invading the still clear part of
the sky. Wind precedes it, bending the tops of the pines like a field of
grain. There rises from the soil that odor of dust which the dry earth
gives forth at the beginning of a storm.
“We must not think of starting now,” cautioned Uncle Paul. “The storm is
coming; it will be upon us in a few minutes. Let us hurry and find
shelter.”
Rain forms in the distance like a dim curtain extending clear across the
sky. The sheet of water advances rapidly; it would beat the fastest
racing horse. It is coming, it has come. Violent flashes of lightning
furrow it, thunder roars in its depths.
At a clap of thunder heavier than the others Jules starts. “Let us stay
here, Uncle,” says the frightened child; “let us stay under this big
bushy pine. It doesn’t rain here under cover.”
“No, my child,” replies his uncle, who perceives that they are in the
very heart of the storm; “let us get away from this dangerous tree.”
And, taking Jules by the hand, he leads him hastily through the hail and
rain. Beyond the wood Uncle Paul knows of an excavation hollowed out in
the rock. They arrive there just as the storm breaks with all its force.
They had been there a quarter of an hour, silent before the solemn
spectacle of the tempest, when a flash of fire, of dazzling brightness,
rent the dark cloud in a zigzag line and struck a pine with a frightful
detonation that had no reverberation or echo, but was so violent that
one would have said the sky was falling. The fearful spectacle was over
in the twinkling of an eye. Wild with terror, Jules had let himself fall
on his knees, with clasped hands. He was crying and praying. His uncle’s
serenity was undisturbed.
“Take courage, my poor child,” said Uncle Paul as soon as the first
fright had passed. “Let us embrace each other and thank God for having
kept us safe. We have just escaped a great danger; the thunderbolt
struck the pine under which we were going to take shelter.”
“Oh, what a scare I had, Uncle!” cried the boy. “I thought I should die
of it. When you insisted on hurrying away in spite of the rain, did you
know that the bolt would strike that tree?”
“No, my dear, I knew nothing about it, nor could any one know; only
certain reasons made me fear the neighborhood of the big branching pine,
and prudence dictated the search for a less dangerous shelter. If I
yielded to my fears, if I listened to the voice of prudence, let us give
thanks to God, who gave me presence of mind at that moment.”
“You will tell me what made you avoid the dangerous shelter of the tree,
will you not?”
“Very willingly; but when we are all together, so that each one may
profit by it. No one ought to ignore the danger one runs in taking
shelter under a tree during a storm.”
In the meantime the rain-cloud with its lightnings and thunders had
moved on into the distance. On one side, the sun was setting radiant; on
the opposite side, in the wake of the storm, the rainbow bent its
immense bright arch of all colors. Uncle Paul and Jules started on their
way, without forgetting the famous caterpillars’ nest which might have
cost them so dear.
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