* * * * *

Therefore because the country of each of them was a different land where each could dwell only by himself, Rabbit’s companions chose not to separate, but to die together in this land harrowed by winter.

One evening the doves which had become like dead leaves fell from the branch on which they were perched, and the wolf closed his eyes on life, his muzzle resting on the sandal of Francis.  For two days his neck had been so weak that it could no longer support his head, and his spine had become like the branch of a bramble bespattered with mud, shivering in the wind.  His master kissed him on the forehead.

Then the lamb, the sheep-dogs, the hawks, the owl, and the ewe gave up their souls, and finally also the little spaniel whom Rabbit in vain had sought to keep warm.  She passed away wagging her tail, and it grieved stubble-colored Rabbit so much that it took until the following day before he could touch the bark of the oaks again.

* * * * *

And in the midst of the world’s desolation Francis prayed, his forehead on his clenched hand, just as in an excess of sorrow a poet feels his soul escaping him once more.

Then he addressed him of the cleft lip.

“Oh Rabbit, I hear a voice which tells me that you must lead these (and he pointed to the bodies of the animals) to Eternal Blessedness.  Oh Rabbit, there is a Paradise for beasts, but I know it not.  No man will ever enter it.  Oh Rabbit, you must guide thither these friends, whom God has given me and whom he has taken away.  You are wise among all, and to your prudence I commit these friends.”

The words of Francis rose toward the brightening sky.  The hard azure of winter gradually became limpid.  And under this returning gladness, it seemed as if the graceful spaniel were about to raise her supple, silken ears again.  “Oh my friends who are dead,” said Francis, “are you really dead, since I alone am conscious of your death?  What proof can you give to sleep that you are not merely slumbering?  Is the fruit of the clematis asleep or is it dead when the wind no longer ruffles the lightness of its tendrils?  Perhaps, Oh wolf, it is merely that there is no longer sufficient breath from on high for you to raise your flanks; and for you, doves, to make you expand like a sigh; and for you, sheep, to cause your lamentations by their sweetness to augment even the sweetness of flooded pastures; and for you, owl, to reawaken your sobbing, the plaint of the amorous night itself; and for you, hawks, to rise soaring from the earth; and for you, sheep-dogs, to have your barking mingle once more with the sound of the sluices; and for you, spaniel, to have exquisite understanding born again, that you may play with Rabbit again?”

* * * * *

Suddenly Rabbit made a leap into the azure from the molehill where he had lain down, and did not drop back.  And lightly as if he were passing over a meadow of blue clover he made a second bound into space, into the realm of the angels.