Needless to say, I slept very little, waking two or three times in the night to pace aimlessly, feverishly about. Finally, I would return to my work, rereading, expanding, and amending my thoughts. I had to correct more than one of the canary’s observations, either because I had misunderstood or because he had not expressed himself clearly enough. His definition of the world was one such example. Three weeks after he came to live in my house, I asked him to repeat his definition of the world.

“The world,” he said, “is a fair-sized garden with a fountain in the middle, a few flowers and shrubs, a little grass, clear air and a scrap of blue up above; the canary, who is the master of this world, lives in a vast white circular cage, from which he views all these things. Everything else is illusion and lies.”

The language he used underwent a few changes, too, and I realized that certain of my conclusions, which I had thought quite straightforward, were, in fact, positively rash. I could not yet write the article I intended to send to the National Museum, to the Historical Institute, and to various German universities, not because I lacked material, but because I still needed to compile and confirm all these observations. Latterly, I did not even leave the house or answer letters and I had no time for friends or relatives. I was pure canary. Each morning, one of the servants was tasked with cleaning the cage and giving the canary his food and water. The canary said nothing to him, as if he knew that the servant lacked any scientific training. Besides, the servant carried out this task in a very summary fashion, for he was not a lover of birds. One Saturday, I woke up feeling ill, my head and back aching. The doctor ordered complete rest; I had been overtaxing my brain and must neither read nor think; I must not even attempt to find out what was going on in the city and the world. I remained like this for five days, and on the sixth, I left my bed, only to discover that the canary had escaped while the servant was cleaning out its cage. My first impulse was to strangle my servant; overcome with rage, I slumped into a chair, my head spinning, unable to speak. The servant defended himself, swearing that he had taken every possible care, but that the bird had cunningly escaped . . .

“Didn’t you look for him?”

“We did, sir. At first he flew up onto the roof, and I went after him, then he flew over to a tree and hid. I’ve been asking everywhere, the neighbors, the local farmers, but no one has seen him.”