Romance of the Rabbit | Page 2

the book had been written by an Englishman
whose name, correctly spelled, should perhaps be Francis James.
Since then his life has been wholly devoted to literature and he has
published a considerable number of volumes of poetry and prose which
by their very titles give a clue to the spirit pervading the author's work.
Among the more important of these are: _De l'Angelus de l'Aube à
l'Angelus du Soir, Le Deuil des Primevères, Pomme d'Anis ou
l'Histoire d'une Jeune Fille Infirme, Clairières dans le Ciel_, a number
of series of _Géorgiques Chrétienne_, etc.
The present volume consists of a translation of _Le Roman du Lièvre_,
one of the most delightful of Francis Jammes' earlier books. In it he
tells of Rabbit's joys and fears, of his life on this earth, of the
pilgrimage to paradise with St. Francis and his animal companions, and
of his death. This book was published in 1903, and has run through
many editions in France. A number of characteristic short tales and
impressions of Jammes' same creative period have been added.
To turn a work so delicate and full of elusiveness as Jammes' from one
language into another is not an easy task, but it has been a labor of love.
The translator hopes that she has accomplished this without too great a
loss to the spirit of the original.
G.E.

ROMANCE OF THE RABBIT

BOOK I

Amid the thyme and dew of Jean de la Fontaine Rabbit heard the hunt
and clambered up the path of soft clay. He was afraid of his shadow,
and the heather fled behind his swift course. Blue steeples rose from
valley to valley as he descended and mounted again. His bounds curved
the grass where hung the drops of dew, and he became brother to the
larks in this swift flight. He flew over the county roads, and hesitated at
a sign-board before he followed the country-road, which led from the
blinding sunlight and the noise of the cross-roads and then lost itself in
the dark, silent moss.
That day he had almost run into the twelfth milestone between Castétis
and Balansun, because his eyes in which fear dwells are set on the side
of his head. Abruptly he stopped. His cleft upper lip trembled
imperceptibly, and disclosed his long incisor teeth. Then his
stubble-colored legs which were his traveling boots with their worn and
broken claws extended. And he bounded over the hedge, rolled up like
a ball, with his ears flat on his back.
And again he climbed uphill for a considerable time, while the dogs,
having lost his scent, were filled with disappointment, and then, he
again ran downhill until he reached the road to Sauvejunte, where he
saw a horse and a covered cart approaching. In the distance, on this
road, there were clouds of dust as in Blue Beard when Sister Anne is
asked: "Sister Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anything coming?" This
pale dryness, how magnificent it was, and how filled it was with the
bitter fragrance of mint! It was not long before the horse stood in front
of Rabbit.
It was a sorry nag and dragged a two wheeled cart and was unable to
move except in a jerky sort of gallop. Every leap made its disjointed
skeleton quiver and jolted its harness and made its earth-colored mane
fly in the air, shiny and greenish, like the beard of an ancient mariner.
Wearily as though they were paving-stones the animal lifted its hoofs
which were swollen like tumors. Rabbit was frightened by this great
animated machine which moved with so loud a noise. He bounded
away and continued his flight over the meadows, with his nose toward
the Pyrenees, his tail toward the lowlands, his right eye toward the
rising sun, his left toward the village of Mesplède.
Finally he crouched down in the stubble, quite near a quail which was
sleeping in the manner of chickens half-buried in the dust, and

overcome by the heat was sweating off its fat through its feathers.
The morning was sparkling in the south. The blue sky grew pale under
the heat, and became pearl-gray. A hawk in seemingly effortless flight
was soaring, and describing larger and larger circles as it rose. At a
distance of several hundred yards lay the peacock-blue, shimmering
surface of a river, and lazily carried onward the mirrored reflection of
the alders; from their viscous leaves exuded a bitter perfume, and their
intense blackness cut sharply the pale luminousness of the water. Near
the dam fish glided past in swarms. An angelus beat against the torrid
whiteness of a church-steeple with its blue wing, and Rabbit's noonday
rest began.
* * * * *
He stayed in this stubble until evening, motionless, only troubled
somewhat by