understood very well that he, a rabbit of little faith, would not know
how to die like them. Instead of being saved by God, he preferred to
save himself.

* * * * *

The second Paradise was that of the birds. It lay in a fresh grove,
and their songs flooded the leaves of the alders and made them
tremble. And from the alders the songs flowed onward into the river
which became so imbued with music that it played on the rushes.

At a distance a hill stretched out; it was all covered with springtime
and shade. Its sides were of incomparable softness. It was fragrant
with solitude. The odor of nocturnal lilacs mingled with that which
came from the heart of dark roses whence the hot white sun quenches
its thirst.

Now, suddenly, at intervals, the song of the nightingale was heard
expanding; it was as if stars of crystal had fallen upon the waves
and broken there. There was no other sound but the song of the
nightingale. Over the whole expanse of the silent hill nothing was
heard but the song of the nightingale. Night was merely the sobbing of
the nightingale.

Then in the groves dawn appeared, all rose-red because it was naked
amid the choirs of birds who still sang from a full throat for their
wings were heavy with love and morning dew. The quails in the grain
were not yet calling. The tom-tits with their black heads made a noise
in the thicket of fig-trees like the sound of pebbles moved by water.
A wood-pecker rent the azure with its cry, and then flew toward the