Kabanata Kabanata 148 · PARVULUS

Paris has a child, and the forest has a bird; the bird is called the

sparrow; the child is called the gamin.

Couple these two ideas which contain, the one all the furnace, the

other all the dawn; strike these two sparks together, Paris, childhood;

there leaps out from them a little being. _Homuncio_, Plautus would

say.

This little being is joyous. He has not food every day, and he goes to

the play every evening, if he sees good. He has no shirt on his body,

no shoes on his feet, no roof over his head; he is like the flies of

heaven, who have none of these things. He is from seven to thirteen

years of age, he lives in bands, roams the streets, lodges in the open

air, wears an old pair of trousers of his father’s, which descend below

his heels, an old hat of some other father, which descends below his

ears, a single suspender of yellow listing; he runs, lies in wait,

rummages about, wastes time, blackens pipes, swears like a convict,

haunts the wine-shop, knows thieves, calls gay women _thou_, talks

slang, sings obscene songs, and has no evil in his heart. This is

because he has in his heart a pearl, innocence; and pearls are not to

be dissolved in mud. So long as man is in his childhood, God wills that

he shall be innocent.

If one were to ask that enormous city: “What is this?” she would reply:

“It is my little one.”