The Marmot with the Collar
Diary of a Philosopher

Let us record for centuries to come the most astonishing of adventures.

I set out at the very moment when the first beam of the Moon shone over my Burrow. I was all enthusiasm, and I don’t think my spirit had ever been more alert. Except for the rear quarters, which happened to drag a little, I felt brisk and cheerful.

The night, as I said, was magnificent. No clouds in the sky, no mists on the ground. I could count the Pines on the crags of the lower mountains, so clear was the air. The Snow lay, glistering in the Moonlight. It seemed composed of an infinity of little crystals, each of which was surrounded by an aureole, rich in all the colours of the rainbow. My path was simply one of constant enchantment; it was sown with flashes, beams, sparkles, coloured lights, iridescent spangles, stars that scintillated magically, golden or azure. Despite the zeal which carried me forward, I stopped more than once to consider these marvels. Everything was silent in this night full of lights, and it seemed that the noise of the Snow which creaked under my paws must resound as high as the starry vaults. I could hear myself breathe; I not only felt, I could hear my blood pulsing in my veins. I recalled what the White Hare had said to me, and I understood that Winter could be the season of great thoughts. Unhappily, Winter is cold; the more I clomb, the more the air stung my face.

I do not know how long this fantastic journey lasted. There is no way to count the hours in the universal stillness. This dreamer of a White Hare – did he not say that time in those nights stops and reflects?

I think even so that it took more than an hour, contrary to what I had hoped on my departure. I felt toward the end the touches of fatigue; I began to breathe laboriously, and I had shivers that boded ill. At last, I arrived at the foot of the granite pyramid. It was visible from afar. I was still very much awake, and I had no thought of falling asleep. I set myself to work forthwith, scraping the Snow with all four paws. The frozen crust was soon passed. But in my haste I made a mistake. I drove the gallery too close to the rock, which obliged me to descend at first almost perpendicularly. Even though I pushed the Snow behind me, it would keep on falling back and hindering my course. I had to proceed in a spiral, which is far from comfortable. At the third turn of the spiral, the upper stages fell in. I began to think that I would never make an end of it. The wind had piled up the Snow in this place. At last I reached the ground, just at the point where the Burrow opened. I had at this moment ideas that were still distinct, so at least it seemed to me; but the rear quarters were horribly heavy. I paid no attention; I was about to reach my goal, I had achieved victory. There remained only one last difficulty – hardly worth mentioning. Near to the opening, at one half-Marmot length, the gallery of the Burrow was walled up, as alway. I set myself forthwith to the task of opening a passage. That took me still more time. I was employing all the strength and courage that remained to me, and I was advancing only slowly. It was hopeless. Never did Marmot construct such masonry. At last, I reached the other side. My paw plunged into the void. Alas! This is my last memory.  I feel it still, who remember nothing more. I think that I uttered, without intending it, a little cry of triumph. All is lost in a profound night. My memory has retained nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing. But what I do know is that I awoke yesterday morning, in this Burrow, with eighteen Marmots – fathers, mothers and children – a tribe.