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diff --git a/old/66762-0.txt b/old/66762-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 18b3f13..0000000 --- a/old/66762-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7782 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Life of the Caterpillar, by Jean-Henri -Fabre - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Life of the Caterpillar - -Author: Jean-Henri Fabre - -Translator: Alexander Teixeira de Mattos - -Release Date: November 17, 2021 [eBook #66762] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file - was produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF THE CATERPILLAR *** - - - - THE LIFE OF THE - CATERPILLAR - - - BY - J. HENRI FABRE - - TRANSLATED BY - - Alexander Teixeira de Mattos - FELLOW OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON - - - NEW YORK - DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - 1916 - - - - - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - TRANSLATOR’S NOTE 5 - - CHAPTER - I THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: LAYING THE EGGS 9 - II THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE NEST; THE COMMUNITY 27 - III THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE PROCESSION 56 - IV THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: METEOROLOGY 90 - V THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE MOTH 111 - VI THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE STINGING POWER 128 - VII THE ARBUTUS CATERPILLAR 150 - VIII AN INSECT VIRUS 161 - IX THE PSYCHES: THE LAYING 186 - X THE PSYCHES: THE CASES 217 - XI THE GREAT PEACOCK 246 - XII THE BANDED MONK 279 - XIII THE SENSE OF SMELL 300 - XIV THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 331 - - - - - - - - -TRANSLATOR’S NOTE - - -This, the sixth volume of the Collected Edition of Fabre’s -Entomological Works in English, is the first that I am preparing for -publication since the author’s death, on the 11th of October, 1915, at -an exceedingly advanced age. It contains all the essays, fourteen in -number, which he wrote on Butterflies and Moths, or their caterpillars. - -Three of these, the chapters entitled The Great Peacock, The Banded -Monk and The Sense of Smell, are included under the titles of The Great -Peacock, The Oak Eggar and A Truffle-hunter: the Bolboceras Gallicus in -a volume of miscellaneous extracts from the Souvenirs entomologiques -translated by Mr. Bernard Miall and published by the Century Company. -The volume in question is named Social Life in the Insect World; and I -strongly recommend it to the reader, if only because of the excellent -photographs from nature with which it is illustrated. - -Chapter III. of the present volume, The Pine Processionary: the -Procession, has appeared in the Fortnightly Review; and Chapter XIV., -The Cabbage Caterpillar, the last essay but one from the author’s pen, -written, I believe, within two or three years of his death, was first -printed in the Century Magazine, some time before its publication in -the original. It does not form part of the Souvenirs entomologiques. -The remaining essays are new in their English guise. - -Once more I wish to record my gratitude to Miss Frances Rodwell for the -faithful assistance which she has lent me in the preparation of this -volume, as in that of all the earlier volumes of the series. - - -Alexander Teixeira de Mattos. - -Chelsea, 1916. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE EGGS AND THE HATCHING - - -This caterpillar has already had his story told by Réaumur, [1] but it -was a story marked by gaps. These were inevitable in the conditions -under which the great man worked, for he had to receive all his -materials by barge from the distant Bordeaux Landes. The transplanted -insect could not be expected to furnish its biographer with other than -fragmentary evidence, very weak in those biological details which form -the principal charm of entomology. To study the habits of insects one -must observe them long and closely on their native heath, so to speak, -in the place where their instincts have full and natural play. - -With caterpillars foreign to the Paris climate and brought from the -other end of France, Réaumur therefore ran the risk of missing many -most interesting facts. This is what actually happened, just as it did -on a later occasion in the case of another alien, the Cicada. [2] -Nevertheless, the information which he was able to extract from a few -nests sent to him from the Landes is of the highest value. - -Better served than he by circumstances, I will take up afresh the story -of the Processionary Caterpillar of the Pine. If the subject does not -come up to my hopes, it will certainly not be for lack of materials. In -my harmas [3] laboratory, now stocked with a few trees in addition to -its bushes, stand some vigorous fir-trees, the Aleppo pine and the -black Austrian pine, a substitute for that of the Landes. Every year -the caterpillar takes possession of them and spins his great purses in -their branches. In the interest of the leaves, which are horribly -ravaged, as though there had been a fire, I am obliged each winter to -make a strict survey and to extirpate the nests with a long forked -batten. - -You voracious little creatures, if I let you have your way, I should -soon be robbed of the murmur of my once so leafy pines! Today I will -seek compensation for all the trouble I have taken. Let us make a -compact. You have a story to tell. Tell it me; and for a year, for two -years or longer, until I know more or less all about it, I shall leave -you undisturbed, even at the cost of lamentable suffering to the pines. - -Having concluded the treaty and left the caterpillars in peace, I soon -have abundant material for my observations. In return for my indulgence -I get some thirty nests within a few steps of my door. If the -collection were not large enough, the pine-trees in the neighbourhood -would supply me with any necessary additions. But I have a preference -and a decided preference for the population of my own enclosure, whose -nocturnal habits are much easier to observe by lantern-light. With such -treasures daily before my eyes, at any time that I wish and under -natural conditions, I cannot fail to see the Processionary’s story -unfolded at full length. Let us try. - -And first of all the egg, which Réaumur did not see. In the first -fortnight of August, let us inspect the lower branches of the pines, on -a level with our eyes. If we pay the least attention, we soon discover, -here and there, on the foliage, certain little whitish cylinders -spotting the dark green. These are the Bombyx’ eggs: each cylinder is -the cluster laid by one mother. - -The pine-needles are grouped in twos. Each pair is wrapped at its base -in a cylindrical muff which measures about an inch long by a fifth or -sixth of an inch wide. This muff, which has a silky appearance and is -white slightly tinted with russet, is covered with scales that overlap -after the manner of the tiles on a roof; and yet their arrangement, -though fairly regular, is by no means geometrical. The general aspect -is more or less that of an immature walnut-catkin. - -The scales are almost oval in form, semitransparent and white, with a -touch of brown at the base and of russet at the tip. They are free at -the lower end, which tapers slightly, but firmly fixed at the upper -end, which is wider and blunter. You cannot detach them either by -blowing on them or by rubbing them repeatedly with a hair-pencil. They -stand up, like a fleece stroked the wrong way, if the sheath is rubbed -gently upwards, and retain this bristling position indefinitely; they -resume their original arrangement when the friction is in the opposite -direction. At the same time, they are as soft as velvet to the touch. -Carefully laid one upon the other, they form a roof that protects the -eggs. It is impossible for a drop of rain or dew to penetrate under -this shelter of soft tiles. - -The origin of this defensive covering is self-evident: the mother has -stripped a part of her body to protect her eggs. Like the Eider-duck, -she has made a warm overcoat for them out of her own down. Réaumur had -already suspected as much from a very curious peculiarity of the Moth. -Let me quote the passage: - - - “The females,” he says, “have a shiny patch on the upper part of - their body, near the hind-quarters. The shape and gloss of this - disk attracted my attention the first time that I saw it. I was - holding a pin, with which I touched it, to examine its structure. - The contact of the pin produced a little spectacle that surprised - me: I saw a cloud of tiny spangles at once detach themselves. These - spangles scattered in every direction: some seemed to be shot into - the air, others to the sides; but the greater part of the cloud - fell softly to the ground. - - “Each of those bodies which I am calling spangles is an extremely - slender lamina, bearing some resemblance to the atoms of dust on - the Moths’ wings, but of course much bigger.... The disk that is so - noticeable on the hind-quarters of these Moths is therefore a - heap—and an enormous heap—of these scales.... The females seem to - use them to wrap their eggs in; but the Moths of the Pine - Caterpillar refused to lay while in my charge and consequently did - not enlighten me as to whether they use the scales to cover their - eggs or as to what they are doing with all those scales gathered - round their hinder part, which were not given them and placed in - that position to serve no purpose.” - - -You were right, my learned master: that dense and regular crop of -spangles did not grow on the Moth’s tail for nothing. Is there anything -that has no object? You did not think so; I do not think so either. -Everything has its reason for existing. Yes, you were well-inspired -when you foresaw that the cloud of scales which flew out under the -point of your pin must serve to protect the eggs. - -I remove the scaly fleece with my pincers and, as I expected, the eggs -appear, looking like little white-enamel beads. Clustering closely -together, they make nine longitudinal rows. In one of these rows I -count thirty-five eggs. As the nine rows are very nearly alike, the -contents of the cylinder amount in all to about three hundred eggs, a -respectable family for one mother! - -The eggs of one row or file alternate exactly with those in the two -adjoining files, so as to leave no empty spaces. They suggest a piece -of bead-work produced with exquisite dexterity by patient fingers. It -would be more correct still to compare them with a cob of Indian corn, -with its neat rows of seeds, but a greatly reduced cob, the tininess of -whose dimensions makes its mathematical precision all the more -remarkable. The grains of the Moth’s spike have a slight tendency to be -hexagonal, because of their mutual pressure; they are stuck close -together, so much so that they cannot be separated. If force is used, -the layer comes off the leaf in fragments, in small cakes always -consisting of several eggs apiece. The beads laid are therefore -fastened together by a glutinous varnish; and it is on this varnish -that the broad base of the defensive scales is fixed. - -It would be interesting, if a favourable opportunity occurred, to see -how the mother achieves that beautifully regular arrangement of the -eggs and also how, as soon as she has laid one, all sticky with -varnish, she makes a roof for it with a few scales removed one by one -from her hind-quarters. For the moment, the very structure of the -finished work tells us the course of the procedure. It is evident that -the eggs are not laid in longitudinal files, but in circular rows, in -rings, which lie one above the other, alternating their grains. The -laying begins at the bottom, near the lower end of the double -pine-leaf; it finishes at the top. The first eggs in order of date are -those of the bottom ring; the last are those of the top ring. The -arrangement of the scales, all in a longitudinal direction and attached -by the end facing the top of the leaf, makes any other method of -progression inadmissible. - -Let us consider in the light of reflection the elegant edifice now -before our eyes. Young or old, cultured or ignorant, we shall all, on -seeing the Bombyx’ pretty little spike, exclaim: - -“How handsome!” - -And what will strike us most will be not the beautiful enamel pearls, -but the way in which they are put together with such geometrical -regularity. Whence we can draw a great moral, to wit, that an exquisite -order governs the work of a creature without consciousness, one of the -humblest of the humble. A paltry Moth follows the harmonious laws of -order. - -If Micromégas [4] took it into his head to leave Sirius once more and -visit our planet, would he find anything to admire among us? Voltaire -shows him to us using one of the diamonds of his necklace as a -magnifying-glass in order to obtain some sort of view of the -three-master which has run aground on his thumb-nail. He enters into -conversation with the crew. A nail-paring, curved like a horn, -encompasses the ship and serves as a speaking-trumpet; a tooth-pick, -which touches the vessel with its tapering end and the lips of the -giant, some thousand fathoms above, with the other, serves as a -telephone. The outcome of the famous dialogue is that, if we would form -a sound judgment of things and see them under fresh aspects, there is -nothing like changing one’s planet. - -The probability then is that the Sirian would have had a rather poor -notion of our artistic beauties. To him our masterpieces of statuary, -even though sprung from the chisel of a Phidias, would be mere dolls of -marble or bronze, hardly more worthy of interest than the children’s -rubber dolls are to us; our landscape-paintings would be regarded as -dishes of spinach smelling unpleasantly of oil; our opera-scores would -be described as very expensive noises. - -These things, belonging to the domain of the senses, possess a relative -æsthetic value, subordinated to the organism that judges them. -Certainly the Venus of Melos and the Apollo Belvedere are superb works; -but even so it takes a special eye to appreciate them. Micromégas, if -he saw them, would be full of pity for the leanness of human forms. To -him the beautiful calls for something other than our sorry, frog-like -anatomy. - -Show him, on the other hand, that sort of abortive windmill by means of -which Pythagoras, echoing the wise men of Egypt, teaches us the -fundamental properties of the right-angled triangle. Should the good -giant, contrary to our expectation, happen not to know about it, -explain to him what the windmill means. Once the light has entered his -mind, he will find, just as we do, that there is beauty there, real -beauty, not certainly in that horrible hieroglyphic, the figure, but in -the unchangeable relation between the lengths of the three sides; he -will admire as much as we do geometry the eternal balancer of space. - -There is, therefore, a severe beauty, belonging to the domain of -reason, the same in every world, the same under every sun, whether the -suns be single or many, white or red, blue or yellow. This universal -beauty is order. Everything is done by weight and measure, a great -statement whose truth breaks upon us all the more vividly as we probe -more deeply into the mystery of things. - -Is this order, upon which the equilibrium of the universe is based, the -predestined result of a blind mechanism? Does it enter into the plans -of an Eternal Geometer, as Plato had it? Is it the ideal of a supreme -lover of beauty, which would explain everything? - -Why all this regularity in the curve of the petals of a flower, why all -this elegance in the chasings on a Beetle’s wing-cases? Is that -infinite grace, even in the tiniest details, compatible with the -brutality of uncontrolled forces? One might as well attribute the -artist’s exquisite medallion to the steam-hammer which makes the slag -sweat in the melting. - -These are very lofty thoughts concerning a miserable cylinder which -will bear a crop of caterpillars. It cannot be helped. The moment one -tries to dig out the least detail of things, up starts a why which -scientific investigation is unable to answer. The riddle of the world -has certainly its explanation otherwhere than in the little truths of -our laboratories. But let us leave Micromégas to philosophize and -return to the commonplaces of observation. - -The Pine Bombyx has rivals in the art of gracefully grouping her -egg-beads. Among their number is the Neustrian Bombyx, whose -caterpillar is known by the name of “Livery,” because of his costume. -Her eggs are assembled in bracelets around little branches varying -greatly in nature, apple- and pear-branches chiefly. Any one seeing -this elegant work for the first time would be ready to attribute it to -the fingers of a skilled stringer of beads. My small son Paul opens -eyes wide with surprise and utters an astonished “Oh!” each time that -he comes upon the dear little bracelet. The beauty of order forces -itself upon his dawning attention. - -Though not so long and marked above all by the absence of any wrapper, -the ring of the Neustrian Bombyx reminds one of the other’s cylinder, -stripped of its scaly covering. It would be easy to multiply these -instances of elegant grouping, contrived now in one way, now in -another, but always with consummate art. It would take up too much -time, however. Let us keep to the Pine Bombyx. - -The hatching takes place in September, a little earlier in one case, a -little later in another. So that I may easily watch the new-born -caterpillars in their first labours, I have placed a few egg-laden -branches in the window of my study. They are standing in a glass of -water which will keep them properly fresh for some time. - -The little caterpillars leave the egg in the morning, at about eight -o’clock. If I just lift the scales of the cylinder in process of -hatching, I see black heads appear, which nibble and burst and push -back the torn ceilings. The tiny creatures emerge slowly, some here and -some there, all over the surface. - -After the hatching, the scaly cylinder is as regular and as fresh in -appearance as if it were still inhabited. We do not perceive that it is -deserted until we raise the spangles. The eggs, still arranged in -regular rows, are now so many yawning goblets of a slightly translucent -white; they lack the cap-shaped lid, which has been rent and destroyed -by the new-born grubs. - -The puny creatures measure a millimetre [5] at most in length. Devoid -as yet of the bright red that will soon be their adornment, they are -pale-yellow, bristling with hairs, some shortish and black, others -rather longer and white. The head, of a glossy black, is big in -proportion. Its diameter is twice that of the body. This exaggerated -size of the head implies a corresponding strength of jaw, capable of -attacking tough food from the start. A huge head, stoutly clad in horn, -is the predominant feature of the budding caterpillar. - -These macrocephalous ones are, as we see, well-armed against the -hardness of the pine-needles, so well-armed in fact that the meal -begins almost immediately. After roaming for a few moments at random -among the scales of the common cradle, most of the young caterpillars -make for the double leaf that served as an axis for the native cylinder -and spread themselves over it at length. Others go to the adjacent -leaves. Here as well as there they fall to; and the gnawed leaf is -hollowed into faint and very narrow grooves, bounded by the veins, -which are left intact. - -From time to time, three or four who have eaten their fill fall into -line and walk in step, but soon separate, each going his own way. This -is practice for the coming processions. If I disturb them ever so -little, they sway the front half of their bodies and wag their heads -with a jerky movement similar to the action of an intermittent spring. - -But the sun reaches the corner of the window where the careful rearing -is in progress. Then, sufficiently refreshed, the little family -retreats to its native soil, the base of the double leaf, gathers into -an irregular group and begins to spin. Its work is a gauze globule of -extreme delicacy, supported on some of the neighbouring leaves. Under -this tent, a very wide-meshed net, a siesta is taken during the hottest -and brightest part of the day. In the afternoon, when the sun has gone -from the window, the flock leaves its shelter, disperses around, -sometimes forming a little procession within a radius of an inch, and -starts browsing again. - -Thus the very moment of hatching proclaims talents which age will -develop without adding to their number. In less than an hour from the -bursting of the egg, the caterpillar is both a processionary and a -spinner. He also flees the light when taking refreshment. We shall soon -find him visiting his grazing-grounds only at night. - -The spinner is very feeble, but so active that in twenty-four hours the -silken globe attains the bulk of a hazel-nut and in a couple of weeks -that of an apple. Nevertheless, it is not the nucleus of the great -establishment in which the winter is to be spent. It is a provisional -shelter, very light and inexpensive in materials. The mildness of the -season makes anything else unnecessary. The young caterpillars freely -gnaw the logs, the poles between which the threads are stretched, that -is to say, the leaves contained within the silken tent. Their house -supplies them at the same time with board and lodging. This excellent -arrangement saves them from having to go out, a dangerous proceeding at -their age. For these puny ones, the hammock is also the larder. - -Nibbled down to their veins, the supporting leaves wither and easily -come unfastened from the branches; and the silken globe becomes a hovel -that crumbles with the first gust of wind. The family then moves on and -goes elsewhere to erect a new tent, lasting no longer than the first. -Even so does the Arab move on, as the pastures around his camel-hide -dwelling become exhausted. These temporary establishments are renewed -several times over, always at greater heights than the last, so much so -that the tribe, which was hatched on the lower branches trailing on the -ground, gradually reaches the higher boughs and sometimes the very -summit of the pine-tree. - -In a few weeks’ time, a first moult replaces the humble fleece of the -start, which is pale-coloured, shaggy and ugly, by another which lacks -neither richness nor elegance. On the dorsal surface, the various -segments, excepting the first three, are adorned with a mosaic of six -little bare patches, of a bright red, which stand out a little above -the dark background of the skin. Two, the largest, are in front, two -behind and one, almost dot-shaped, on either side of the quadrilateral. -The whole is surrounded by a palisade of scarlet bristles, divergent -and lying almost flat. The other hairs, those of the belly and sides, -are longer and whitish. - -In the centre of this crimson marquetry stand two clusters of very -short bristles, gathered into flattened tufts which gleam in the sun -like specks of gold. The length of the caterpillar is now about two -centimetres [6] and his width three or four millimetres. [7] Such is -the costume of middle age, which, like the earlier one, was unknown to -Réaumur. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE NEST; THE COMMUNITY - - -November arrives, however, bringing cold weather; the time has come to -build the stout winter tabernacle. High up in the pine the tip of a -bough is chosen, with suitably close-packed and convergent leaves. The -spinners surround it with a spreading network, which bends the adjacent -leaves a little nearer and ends by incorporating them into the fabric. -In this way they obtain an enclosure half silk, half leaves, capable of -withstanding the inclemencies of the weather. - -Early in December the work has increased to the size of a man’s two -fists or more. In its ultimate perfection, it attains a volume of -nearly half a gallon by the end of winter. - -It is roughly egg-shaped, tapering to a certain length below and -extended into a sheath which envelops the supporting branch. The origin -of this silky extension is as follows: every evening between seven and -nine o’clock, weather permitting, the caterpillars leave the nest and -go down the bare part of the bough which forms the pole of the tent. -The road is broad, for this axis is sometimes as wide as the neck of a -claret-bottle. The descent is accomplished without any attempt at order -and always slowly, so much so that the first caterpillars to come out -have not yet dispersed before they are caught up by the others. The -branch is thus covered by a continuous bark of caterpillars, made up of -the whole community, which gradually divides into squads and disperses -to this side and that on the nearest branches to crop their leaves. Now -not one of the caterpillars moves a step without working his spinneret. -Therefore the broad downward path, which on the way back will be the -ascending path, is covered, as the result of constant traffic, with a -multitude of threads forming an unbroken sheath. - -It is obvious that this sheath, in which each caterpillar, passing -backwards and forwards on his nocturnal rambles, leaves a double -thread, is not an indicator laid down with the sole object of -simplifying the journey back to the nest: a mere ribbon would be enough -for that. Its use might well be to strengthen the edifice, to give it -deeper foundations and to join it by a multitude of cables to the -steady branch. - -The whole thing thus consists, above, of the home distended into an -ovoid and, below, of the stalk, the sheath surrounding the support and -adding its resistance to that of the numerous other fastenings. - -Each nest that has not yet had its shape altered by the prolonged -residence of the caterpillars shows in the centre a bulky, milk-white -shell, with around it a wrapper of diaphanous gauze. The central mass, -formed of thickly-woven threads, has for a wall a thick quilt into -which are absorbed, as supports, numbers of leaves, green and intact. -The thickness of this wall may be anything up to three-quarters of an -inch. - -At the top of the dome are round openings, varying greatly in number -and distribution, as wide across as an ordinary lead-pencil. These are -the doors of the house, through which the caterpillars go in and out. -All around the shell are projecting leaves, which the insects’ teeth -have respected. From the tip of each leaf there radiate, in graceful, -undulating curves, threads which, loosely interlaced, form a light -tent, a spacious verandah of careful workmanship, especially in the -upper part. Here we find a broad terrace on which, in the daytime, the -caterpillars come and doze in the sun, heaped one upon the other, with -rounded backs. The network stretching overhead does duty as an awning: -it moderates the heat of the sun’s rays; it also saves the sleepers -from a fall when the bough rocks in the wind. - -Let us take our scissors and rip open the nest from end to end -longitudinally. A wide window opens and allows us to see the -arrangement of the inside. The first thing to strike us is that the -leaves contained in the enclosure are intact and quite sound. The young -caterpillars in their temporary establishments gnaw the leaves within -the silken wrapper to death; they thus have their larder stocked for a -few days without having to quit their shelter in bad weather, a -condition made necessary by their weakness. When they grow stronger and -start working on their winter home, they are very careful not to touch -the leaves. Why these new scruples? - -The reason is evident. If bruised, those leaves, the framework of the -house, would very soon wither and then be blown off with the first -breath of wind. The silken purse, torn from its base, would collapse. -On the other hand, if the leaves are respected, they remain vigorous -and furnish a stout support against the assaults of winter. A solid -fastening is superfluous for the summer tent, which lasts but a day; it -is indispensable to the permanent shelter which will have to bear the -burden of heavy snows and the buffeting of icy winds. Fully alive to -these perils, the spinner of the pine-tree considers himself bound, -however importunate his hunger, not to saw through the rafters of his -house. - -Inside the nest, therefore, opened by my scissors I see a thick arcade -of green leaves, more or less closely wrapped in a silky sheath whence -dangle shreds of cast skin and strings of dried droppings. In short, -this interior is an extremely unpleasant place, a rag-shop and a -sewage-farm in one, and corresponds in no way with the imposing -exterior. All around is a solid wall of quilting and of closely-woven -leaves. There are no chambers, no compartments marked off by -partition-walls. It is a single room, turned into a labyrinth by the -colonnade of green leaves placed in rows one above the other throughout -the oval hall. Here the caterpillars stay when resting, gathered on the -columns, heaped in confused masses. - -When we remove the hopeless tangle at the top, we see the light -filtering in at certain points of the roof. These luminous points -correspond with the openings that communicate with the outer air. The -network that forms a wrapper to the nest has no special exits. To pass -through it in either direction, the caterpillars have only to push the -sparse threads aside slightly. The inner wall, a compact rampart, has -its doors; the flimsy outer veil has none. - -It is in the morning, at about ten o’clock, that the caterpillars leave -their night-apartment and come to take the sun on their terrace, under -the awning which the points of the leaves hold up at a distance. They -spend the whole day there dozing. Motionless, heaped together, they -steep themselves deliciously in warmth and from time to time betray -their bliss by nodding and wagging their heads. At six or seven -o’clock, when it grows dark, the sleepers awake, bestir themselves, -separate and go their several ways over the surface of the nest. - -We now behold an indeed delightful spectacle. Bright-red stripes -meander in every direction over the white sheet of silk. One goes up, -another comes down, a third moves aslant; others form a short -procession. And, as they solemnly walk about in a splendid disorder, -each glues to the ground which it covers the thread that constantly -hangs from its lip. - -Thus is the thickness of the shelter increased by a fine layer added -immediately above the previous structure; thus is the dwelling -strengthened by fresh supports. The adjoining green leaves are taken -into the network and absorbed in the building. If the tiniest bit of -them remains free, curves radiate from that point, increasing the size -of the veil and fastening it at a greater distance. Every evening, -therefore, for an hour or two, great animation reigns on the surface of -the nest, if the weather permits; and the work of consolidating and -thickening the structure is carried on with indefatigable zeal. - -Do they foresee the future, these wary ones who take such precautions -against the rigours of winter? Obviously not. Their few months’ -experience—if indeed experience can be mentioned in connection with a -caterpillar—tells them of savoury bellyfuls of green stuff, of gentle -slumbers in the sun on the terrace of the nest; but nothing hitherto -has made them acquainted with cold, steady rain, with frost, snow and -furious blasts of wind. And these creatures, knowing naught of winter’s -woes, take the same precautions as if they were thoroughly aware of all -that the inclement season holds in store for them. They work away at -their house with an ardour that seems to say: - -“Oh, how nice and warm we shall be in our beds here, nestling one -against the other, when the pine-tree swings aloft its frosted -candelabra! Let us work with a will! Laboremus!” - -Yes, caterpillars, my friends, let us work with a will, great and -small, men and grubs alike, so that we may fall asleep peacefully; you -with the torpor that makes way for your transformation into Moths, we -with that last sleep which breaks off life only to renew it. Laboremus! - -Anxious to watch my caterpillars’ habits in detail, without having to -sally forth by lantern-light, often in bad weather, to see what happens -in the pine-trees at the end of the enclosure, I have installed -half-a-dozen nests in a greenhouse, a modest, glazed shelter which, -though hardly any warmer than the air outside, at least affords -protection from the wind and rain. Fixed in the sand, at a height of -about eighteen inches, by the base of the bough that serves as both an -axis and a framework, each nest receives for rations a bundle of little -pine-branches, which are renewed as soon as they are consumed. I take -my lantern every evening and pay my boarders a visit. This is the way -in which most of my facts are obtained. - -After the day’s work comes the evening meal. The caterpillars descend -from the nest, adding a few more threads to the silvery sheath of the -support, and reach the posy of fresh green stuff which is lying quite -near. It is a magnificent sight to see the red-coated band lined up in -twos and threes on each needle and in ranks so closely formed that the -green sprigs of the bunch bend under the load. - -The diners, all motionless, all poking their heads forward, nibble in -silence, placidly. Their broad black foreheads gleam in the rays of the -lantern. A shower of granules drops on the sand below. These are the -residues of easy-going stomachs, only too ready to digest their food. -By to-morrow morning the soil will have disappeared under a greenish -layer of this intestinal hail. Yes, indeed, it is a sight to see, one -far more stimulating than that of the Silk-worms’ mess-room. Young and -old, we are all so much interested in it that our evenings almost -invariably end in a visit to the greenhouse caterpillars. - -The meal is prolonged far into the night. Satisfied at last, some -sooner, some later, they go back to the nest, where for a little -longer, feeling their silk-glands filled, they continue spinning on the -surface. These hard workers would scruple to cross the white carpet -without contributing a few threads. It is getting on for one or even -two o’clock in the morning when the last of the band goes indoors. - -My duty as a foster-father is daily to renew the bunch of sprigs, which -are shorn to the last leaf; on the other hand, my duty as an historian -is to enquire to what extent the diet can be varied. The district -supplies me with Processionaries on the Scotch pine, the maritime pine -and the Aleppo pine indifferently, but never on the other Coniferæ. Yet -one would think that any resin-scented leaf ought to suit. So says -chemical analysis. - -We must mistrust the chemist’s retort when it pokes its nose into the -kitchen. It may succeed in making butter out of tallow-candles and -brandy out of potatoes; but, when it tells us that the products are -identical, we shall do well to refuse these abominations. Science, -astonishingly rich as it is in poison, will never provide us with -anything fit to eat, because, though the raw substance falls to a large -extent within its domain, that same substance escapes its methods the -moment that it is wanted organized, divided and subdivided indefinitely -by the process of life, as needed by the stomach, whose requirements -are not to be met by measured doses of our reagents. The raw material -of cell and fibre may perhaps be artificially obtained, some day; cell -and fibre themselves, never. There’s the rub with your chemical -feeding. - -The caterpillars loudly proclaim the insurmountable difficulty of the -problem. Relying on my chemical data, I offer them the different -substitutes for the pine growing in my enclosure: the spruce, the yew, -the thuja, the juniper, the cypress. What! Am I asking them, Pine -Caterpillars, to bite into that? They will take good care not to, -despite the tempting resinous smell! They would die of hunger rather -than touch it! One conifer and one only is excepted: the cedar. My -charges browse upon its leaves with no appreciable repugnance. Why the -cedar and not the others? I do not know. The caterpillar’s stomach, -fastidious as our own, has its secrets. - -Let us pass to other tests. I have just slit open longitudinally a nest -whose internal structure I want to explore. Owing to the natural -shrinkage of the split swan’s-down, the cleft reaches two fingers’ -breadth in the centre and tapers at the top and bottom. What will the -spinners do in the presence of such a disaster? The operation is -performed by day, while the caterpillars are slumbering in heaps upon -the dome. As the living-room is deserted at this time, I can cut boldly -with the scissors without risk of damaging any part of the population. - -My ravages do not wake the sleepers: all day long not one appears upon -the breach. This indifference looks as though it were due to the fact -that the danger is not yet known. Things will be different to-night, -when the busy work begins again. However dull they may be, the -caterpillars will certainly notice that huge window which freely admits -the deadly draughts of winter; and, possessing any amount of padding, -they will crowd round the dangerous gap and stop it up in a trice. Thus -do we argue, forgetting the animal’s intellectual darkness. - -What really happens is that, when night falls, the indifference of the -caterpillars remains as great as ever. The breach in the tent provokes -not a sign of excitement. They move to and fro on the surface of the -nest; they work, they spin as usual. There is no change, absolutely -none, in their behaviour. When the road covered chances to bring some -of them to the brink of the ravine, we see no alacrity on their part, -no sign of anxiety, no attempt to close up the two edges of the slit. -They simply strive to accomplish the difficult crossing and to continue -their stroll as though they were walking on a perfect web. And they -manage it somehow or other, by fixing the thread as far as the length -of their body permits. - -Having once crossed the gulf, they pursue their way imperturbably, -without stopping any more at the breach. Others come upon the scene -and, using the threads already laid as foot-bridges, pass over the rent -and walk on, leaving their own thread as they go. Thus the first -night’s work results in the laying over the cleft of a filmy gauze, -hardly perceptible, but just sufficient for the traffic of the colony. -The same thing is repeated on the nights that follow; and the crevice -ends by being closed with a scanty sort of Spider’s web. And that is -all. - -There is no improvement by the end of the winter. The window made by my -scissors is still wide open, though thinly veiled; its black spindle -shape shows from the top of the nest to the bottom. There is no darn in -the split texture, no piece of swan’s-down let in between the two edges -to restore the roof to its original state. If the accident had happened -in the open air and not under glass, the foolish spinners would -probably have died of cold in their cracked house. - -Twice renewed with the same results, this test proves that the Pine -Caterpillars are not alive to the danger of their split dwelling. -Expert spinners though they be, they seem as unconscious of the ruin of -their work as the spools in a factory are of a broken thread. They -could easily make good the damage by stopping up the breach with the -silk that is lavished elsewhere without urgent need; they could weave -upon it a material as thick and solid as the rest of the walls. But no, -they placidly continue their habitual task; they spin as they spun -yesterday and as they will spin to-morrow, strengthening the parts that -are already strong, thickening what is already thick enough; and not -one thinks of stopping the disastrous gap. To let a piece into that -hole would mean weaving the tent all over again from the beginning; and -no insect, however industrious, goes back to what it has already done. - -I have often called attention to this feature in animal psychology; -notably I have described the ineptitude of the caterpillar of the Great -Peacock Moth. [8] When the experimenter lops the top off the -complicated eel-trap which forms the pointed end of the cocoon, this -caterpillar spends the silk remaining to him in work of secondary -importance, instead of making good the series of cones, each fitting -into the other, which are so essential to the hermit’s protection. He -continues his normal task imperturbably, as though nothing out of the -way had taken place. Even so does the spinner in the pine-tree act with -his burst tent. - -Your foster-parent must perpetrate yet another piece of mischief, O my -Processionary; but this time it shall be to your advantage! It does not -take me long to perceive that the nests intended to last through the -winter often contain a population much greater than that of the -temporary shelters woven by the very young caterpillars. I also notice -that, when they have attained their ultimate dimensions, these nests -differ very considerably in size. The largest of them are equal to five -or six of the smallest. What is the cause of these variations? - -Certainly, if all the eggs turned out well, the scaly cylinder -containing the laying of a single mother would be enough to fill a -splendid purse: there are three hundred enamelled beads here for -hatching. But in families which swarm unduly an enormous waste always -takes places and restores the balance of things; if the called are -legion, the chosen are a well thinned-out troop, as is proved by the -Cicada, the Praying Mantis [9] and the Cricket. - -The Pine Processionary, another crucible of organic matter of which -various devourers take advantage, is also reduced in numbers -immediately after the hatching. The delicate mouthful has shrunk to a -few dozens of survivors around the light globular network in which the -family passes the sunny autumn days. Soon they will have to be thinking -of the stoutly-built winter tent. At such a time, it would be a boon if -they could be many, for from union springs strength. - -I suspect an easy method of fusion among a few families. To serve them -as a guide in their peregrinations about the tree, the caterpillars -have their silk ribbon, which they follow on their return, after -describing a bend. They may also miss it and strike another, one -differing in no respect from their own. This new ribbon marks the way -to some nest situated in the neighbourhood. The strayed caterpillars, -failing to distinguish it from their own ribbon, follow it -conscientiously and in this manner end by reaching a strange dwelling. -Suppose them to be peacefully received: what will happen? - -Once fused, the several groups assembled by the accident of the path -will form a powerful city, fitted to produce great works; the concerted -weaklings will give rise to a strong, united body. This would explain -the thickly-populated, bulky nests situated so near to others that have -remained puny. The former would be the work of a syndicate -incorporating the interests of spinners collected from different parts; -the latter would belong to families left in isolation by the luck of -the road. - -It remains to be seen whether the chance-comers, guided by a strange -ribbon, meet with a good reception in the new abode. The experiment is -easily made upon the nests in the greenhouse. In the evening, at the -hours devoted to grazing, I remove with a pruning-shears the different -little branches covered with the population of one nest and lay them on -the provisions of the neighbouring nest, which provisions are also -overrun with caterpillars. Or I can make shorter work of it by taking -the whole bunch, well covered with the troop, of the first pouch and -planting it right beside the bunch of the second, so that the leaves of -the two mingle a little at the edges. - -There is not the least quarrelling between the real proprietors and the -new arrivals. Both go on peacefully browsing, as though nothing had -happened. And all without hesitation, when bed-time comes, make for the -nest, like brothers who have always lived together; all do some -spinning before retiring to rest, thicken the blanket a little and are -then swallowed up in the dormitory. By repeating the same operation -next day and, if necessary, the day after, in order to collect the -laggards, I succeed without the slightest difficulty in wholly -depopulating the first nest and transferring all its caterpillars to -the second. - -I venture to do something better still. The same method of -transportation allows me to quadruple the output of a spinning-mill by -adding to it the workers of three similar establishments. And, if I -limit myself to this increase, the reason is not that any confusion -manifests itself in this shifting of quarters, but that I see no bounds -to my experiment, so cheerfully do the caterpillars accept any addition -to their number. The more spinners, the more spinning: a very judicious -rule of conduct. - -Let us add that the caterpillars which have been transported cherish no -regrets for their old house. They are quite at home with the others and -make no attempt to regain the nest whence they were banished by my -artifices. It is not the distance that discourages them, for the empty -dwelling is only half a yard away at most. If, for the purpose of my -studies, I wish to restock the deserted nest, I am obliged once more to -resort to transportation, which invariably proves successful. - -Later, in February, when an occasional fine day allows of long -processions on the walls and the sand-covered shelf of the greenhouse, -I am able to watch the fusing of two groups without personally -intervening. All that I have to do is patiently to follow the -evolutions of a file on the march. I see it sometimes, after leaving -one nest, enter a different one, guided by some fortuitous change of -route. Thenceforward the strangers form part of the community on the -same footing as the others. In a like fashion, when the caterpillars -walk abroad upon the tree at night, the scanty groups of the outset -must increase and gather the number of spinners which an extensive -building requires. - -Everything for everybody. So says the Pine Processionary, nibbling his -leaves without quarrelling in the least over his neighbours’ mouthfuls, -or else entering—and being always peacefully received—another’s home -precisely as he would his own. Whether a member of the tribe or a -stranger, he finds room in the refectory and room in the dormitory. The -others’ nest is his nest. The others’ grazing-ground is his -grazing-ground, in which he is entitled to his fair share, one neither -greater nor smaller than the share of his habitual or casual -companions. - -Each for all and all for each. So says the Processionary, who every -evening spends his little capital of silk on enlarging a shelter that -is often new to him. What would he do with his puny skein, if alone? -Hardly anything. But there are hundreds and hundreds of them in the -spinning-mill; and the result of their infinitesimal contributions, -woven into a common stuff, is a thick blanket capable of resisting the -winter. In working for himself, each works for the others; and these on -their side work as zealously for each. O lucky animals that know -nothing of property, the mother of strife! O enviable cenobites, who -practise the strictest communism! - -These habits of the caterpillars invite a few reflections. Generous -minds, richer in illusions than in logic, set communism before us as -the sovran cure for human ills. Is it practicable among mankind? At all -times there have been, there still are and there always will be, -fortunately, associations in which it is possible to forget in common -some small part of the hardships of life; but is it possible to -generalize? - -The caterpillars of the pine can give us much valuable information in -this respect. Let us have no false shame: our material needs are shared -by the animals; they struggle as we do to take part in the general -banquet of the living; and the manner in which they solve the problem -of existence is not to be despised. Let us then ask ourselves what are -the reasons that cause cenobitism to flourish among the -Processionaries. - -One answer suggests itself inevitably, to begin with: the food problem, -that terrible disturber of the world’s tranquillity, is here -non-existent. Peace reigns as soon as the stomach is certain of being -filled without a struggle. A pine-needle or even less suffices for the -caterpillar’s meal; and that needle is always there, waiting to be -eaten, is there in inexhaustible numbers, almost on the threshold of -the home. When dinner-time arrives, we caterpillars go out, we take the -air, we walk a little in procession; then, without laborious seeking, -without jealous rivalries, we seat ourselves at the banquet. The table -is plentifully spread and will never be bare, so large and generous is -the pine; all that we need do is, from one evening to the next, to move -our dining-room a little farther on. Consequently, there are no present -and no future cares on the subject of provisions: the caterpillar finds -food to eat almost as easily as he finds air to breathe. - -The atmosphere feeds all creatures on air with a bounty which it is not -necessary to crave. All unknown to itself, without the agency of any -effort or labour, the animal receives its share of the most vital of -elements. The niggardly earth, on the contrary, surrenders its gifts -only when laboriously forced. Not fruitful enough to satisfy every -need, it leaves the division of the food to the fierce eagerness of -competition. - -The mouthful to be procured engenders war between consumers. Look at -two Ground-beetles coming at the same time upon a bit of Earth-worm. -Which of the two shall have the morsel? The matter shall be decided by -battle, desperate, ferocious battle. With these famished ones, who eat -at long intervals and do not always eat their fill, communal life is -out of the question. - -The Pine Caterpillar is free from these woes. He finds the earth as -generous as the atmosphere; he finds eating as easy as breathing. Other -instances of perfect communism might be named. All occur among species -living on a vegetable diet, provided however that victuals are -plentiful and obtainable without a hard search. An animal diet, on the -contrary, a prey, always more or less difficult to secure, banishes -cenobitism. Where the portion is too small for one, what excuse would -there be for guests? - -The Pine Processionary knows nothing of privation. He knows as little -of family ties, another source of unrelenting competition. To make -ourselves a place in the sun is but a half of the struggle imposed upon -us by life: we must also, as far as possible, prepare a place for our -successors; and, as the preservation of the species is of greater -importance than that of the individual, the struggle for the future is -even fiercer than the struggle for the present. Every mother regards -the welfare of her offspring as her primary law. Perish all else, -provided that the brood flourish! Every one for himself is her maxim, -imposed by the rigours of the general conflict; every one for himself -is her rule, the safeguard of the future. - -With maternity and its imperious duties, communism ceases to be -practicable. At first sight, certain Hymenoptera [10] seem to declare -the contrary. We find, for instance, the Mason-bees of the Sheds [11] -nesting in myriads on the same tiles and building a monumental edifice -at which all the mothers work. Is this really a community? Not at all. -It is a city in which the inhabitants have neighbours, not -collaborators. Each mother kneads her pots of honey; each amasses a -dowry for her offspring and nothing but a dowry for her offspring; each -wears herself out for her family and only for her family. Oh, it would -be a serious business if some one merely came and alighted on the brim -of a cell that did not belong to her; the mistress of the house would -give her to understand, by means of a sound drubbing, that manners such -as those are not to be endured! She would have to skedaddle very -quickly, unless she wanted a fight. The rights of property are sacred -here. - -Even the much more social Hive-bee is no exception to the rule of -maternal egoism. To each hive one mother. If there be two, civil war -breaks out and one of them perishes by the other’s dagger or else quits -the country, followed by a part of the swarm. Although virtually fit to -lay eggs, the other Bees, to the number of some twenty thousand, -renounce maternity and vow themselves to celibacy in order to bring up -the prodigious family of the one and only mother. Here, communism -reigns, under certain aspects; but, for the immense majority, -motherhood is forthwith abolished. - -Even so with the Wasps, the Ants, the Termites [12] and the various -social insects. Life in common costs them dear. Thousands and thousands -remain incomplete and become the humble auxiliaries of a few who are -sexually endowed. But, whenever maternity is the general portion, -individualism reappears, as among the Mason-bees, notwithstanding their -show of communism. - -The Pine Caterpillars are exempt from the duty of preserving the race. -They have no sex, or rather are obscurely preparing one, as undecided -and rudimentary as all that is not yet but must one day be. With the -blossoming of maternity, that flower of adult age, individual property -will not fail to appear, attended by its rivalries. The insect now so -peaceable will, like the others, have its displays of selfish -intolerance. The mothers will isolate themselves, jealous of the double -pine-needle in which the cylinder of eggs is to be fixed; the males, -fluttering their wings, will challenge one another for the possession -of the coveted bride. It is not a serious struggle among these -easy-going ones, but still it presents a faint picture of those mortal -affrays which the mating so often produces. Love rules the world by -battle; it too is a hotbed of competition. - -The caterpillar, being almost sexless, is indifferent to amorous -instincts. This is the first condition for living pacifically in -common. But it is not enough. The perfect concord of the community -demands among all its members an equal division of strength and talent, -of taste and capacity for work. This condition, which perhaps is the -most important of all, is fulfilled preeminently. If there were -hundreds, if there were thousands of them in the same nest, there would -be no difference between any of them. - -They are all the same size and equally strong; all wear the same dress; -all possess the same gift for spinning; and all with equal zeal expend -the contents of their silk-glands for the general welfare. No one -idles, no one lounges along when there is work to be done. With no -other stimulus than the satisfaction of doing their duty, every -evening, when the weather is favourable, they all spin with equal -industry and drain to the last drop their reservoirs of silk, which -have become distended during the day. In their tribe there is no -question of skilled or unskilled, of strong or weak, of abstemious or -gluttonous; there are neither hard-workers nor idlers, neither savers -nor spendthrifts. What one does the others do, with a like zeal, no -more and no less well. It is a splendid world of equality truly, but, -alas, a world of caterpillars! - -If it suited us to go to school to the Pine Processionary, we should -soon see the inanity of our levelling and communistic theories. -Equality is a magnificent political catchword, but little more. Where -is it, this equality of ours? In our social groups, could we find as -many as two persons exactly equal in strength, health, intelligence, -capacity for work, foresight and all the other gifts which are the -great factors of prosperity? Where should we find anything analogous to -the exact parity prevailing among caterpillars? Nowhere. Inequality is -our law. And a good thing, too. - -A sound which is invariably the same, however often multiplied, does -not constitute a harmony. We need dissimilarities, sounds loud and -soft, deep and shrill; we need even discords which, by their harshness, -throw into relief the sweetness of the chords. In the same way, human -societies are harmonious only with the aid of contraries. If the dreams -of our levellers could be realized, we should sink to the monotony of -the caterpillar societies; art, science, progress and the lofty flights -of the imagination would slumber indefinitely in the dead calm of -mediocrity. - -Besides, if this general levelling were effected, we should still be -very far from communism. To achieve that, we should have to do away -with the family, as the caterpillars and Plato teach us; we should need -abundance of food obtained without any effort. So long as a mouthful of -bread is difficult to acquire, demanding an industry and labour of -which we are not all equally capable, so long as the family remains the -sacred reason for our foresight, so long will the generous theory of -all for each and each for all be absolutely impracticable. - -And then should we gain by abolishing the struggle for the daily bread -of ourselves and those dependent on us? It is very doubtful. We should -be getting rid of this world’s two great joys, work and the family, the -only joys that give any value to life; we should be stifling exactly -that which makes our greatness. And the result of this bestial -sacrilege would be a community of human caterpillars. Thus does the -Pine Processionary teach us by his example. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE PROCESSION - - -Drover Dingdong’s Sheep followed the Ram which Panurge had maliciously -thrown overboard and leapt nimbly into the sea, one after the other, -“for you know,” says Rabelais, “it is the nature of the sheep always to -follow the first, wheresoever it goes; which makes Aristotle mark them -for the most silly and foolish animals in the world.” [13] - -The Pine Caterpillar is even more sheep-like, not from foolishness, but -from necessity: where the first goes all the others go, in a regular -string, with not an empty space between them. - -They proceed in single file, in a continuous row, each touching with -its head the rear of the one in front of it. The complex twists and -turns described in his vagaries by the caterpillar leading the van are -scrupulously described by all the others. No Greek theoria winding its -way to the Eleusinian festivals was ever more orderly. Hence the name -of Processionary given to the gnawer of the pine. - -His character is complete when we add that he is a rope-dancer all his -life long: he walks only on the tight-rope, a silken rail placed in -position as he advances. The caterpillar who chances to be at the head -of the procession dribbles his thread without ceasing and fixes it on -the path which his fickle preferences cause him to take. The thread is -so tiny that the eye, though armed with a magnifying-glass, suspects it -rather than sees it. - -But a second caterpillar steps on the slender footboard and doubles it -with his thread; a third trebles it; and all the others, however many -there be, add the sticky spray from their spinnerets, so much so that, -when the procession has marched by, there remains, as a record of its -passing, a narrow white ribbon whose dazzling whiteness shimmers in the -sun. Very much more sumptuous than ours, their system of road-making -consists in upholstering with silk instead of macadamizing. We sprinkle -our roads with broken stones and level them by the pressure of a heavy -steam-roller; they lay over their paths a soft satin rail, a work of -general interest to which each contributes his thread. - -What is the use of all this luxury? Could they not, like other -caterpillars, walk about without these costly preparations? I see two -reasons for their mode of progression. It is night when the -Processionaries sally forth to browse upon the pine-leaves. They leave -their nest, situated at the top of a bough, in profound darkness; they -go down the denuded pole till they come to the nearest branch that has -not yet been gnawed, a branch which becomes lower and lower by degrees -as the consumers finish stripping the upper storeys; they climb up this -untouched branch and spread over the green needles. - -When they have had their suppers and begin to feel the keen night air, -the next thing is to return to the shelter of the house. Measured in a -straight line, the distance is not great, hardly an arm’s length; but -it cannot be covered in this way on foot. The caterpillars have to -climb down from one crossing to the next, from the needle to the twig, -from the twig to the branch, from the branch to the bough and from the -bough, by a no less angular path, to go back home. It is useless to -rely upon sight as a guide on this long and erratic journey. The -Processionary, it is true, has five ocular specks on either side of his -head, but they are so infinitesimal, so difficult to make out through -the magnifying-glass, that we cannot attribute to them any great power -of vision. Besides, what good would those short-sighted lenses be in -the absence of light, in black darkness? - -It is equally useless to think of the sense of smell. Has the -Processional any olfactory powers or has he not? I do not know. Without -giving a positive answer to the question, I can at least declare that -his sense of smell is exceedingly dull and in no way suited to help him -find his way. This is proved, in my experiments, by a number of hungry -caterpillars that, after a long fast, pass close beside a pine-branch -without betraying any eagerness or showing a sign of stopping. It is -the sense of touch that tells them where they are. So long as their -lips do not chance to light upon the pasture-land, not one of them -settles there, though he be ravenous. They do not hasten to food which -they have scented from afar; they stop at a branch which they encounter -on their way. - -Apart from sight and smell, what remains to guide them in returning to -the nest? The ribbon spun on the road. In the Cretan labyrinth, Theseus -would have been lost but for the clue of thread with which Ariadne -supplied him. The spreading maze of the pine-needles is, especially at -night, as inextricable a labyrinth as that constructed for Minos. The -Processionary finds his way through it, without the possibility of a -mistake, by the aid of his bit of silk. At the time for going home, -each easily recovers either his own thread or one or other of the -neighbouring threads, spread fanwise by the diverging herd; one by one -the scattered tribe line up on the common ribbon, which started from -the nest; and the sated caravan finds its way back to the manor with -absolute certainty. - -Longer expeditions are made in the daytime, even in winter, if the -weather be fine. Our caterpillars then come down from the tree, venture -on the ground, march in procession for a distance of thirty yards or -so. The object of these sallies is not to look for food, for the native -pine-tree is far from being exhausted: the shorn branches hardly count -amid the vast leafage. Moreover, the caterpillars observe complete -abstinence till nightfall. The trippers have no other object than a -constitutional, a pilgrimage to the outskirts to see what these are -like, possibly an inspection of the locality where, later on, they mean -to bury themselves in the sand for their metamorphosis. - -It goes without saying that, in these greater evolutions, the guiding -cord is not neglected. It is now more necessary than ever. All -contribute to it from the produce of their spinnerets, as is the -invariable rule whenever there is a progression. Not one takes a step -forward without fixing to the path the thread hanging from his lip. - -If the series forming the procession be at all long, the ribbon is -dilated sufficiently to make it easy to find; nevertheless, on the -homeward journey, it is not picked up without some hesitation. For -observe that the caterpillars when on the march never turn completely; -to wheel round on their tight-rope is a method utterly unknown to them. -In order therefore to regain the road already covered, they have to -describe a zig-zag whose windings and extent are determined by the -leader’s fancy. Hence come gropings and roamings which are sometimes -prolonged to the point of causing the herd to spend the night out of -doors. It is not a serious matter. They collect into a motionless -cluster. To-morrow the search will start afresh and will sooner or -later be successful. Oftener still the winding curve meets the -guide-thread at the first attempt. As soon as the first caterpillar has -the rail between his legs, all hesitation ceases; and the band makes -for the nest with hurried steps. - -The use of this silk-tapestried roadway is evident from a second point -of view. To protect himself against the severity of the winter which he -has to face when working, the Pine Caterpillar weaves himself a shelter -in which he spends his bad hours, his days of enforced idleness. Alone, -with none but the meagre resources of his silk-glands, he would find -difficulty in protecting himself on the top of a branch buffeted by the -winds. A substantial dwelling, proof against snow, gales and icy fogs, -requires the cooperation of a large number. Out of the individual’s -piled-up atoms, the community obtains a spacious and durable -establishment. - -The enterprise takes a long time to complete. Every evening, when the -weather permits, the building has to be strengthened and enlarged. It -is indispensable, therefore, that the corporation of workers should not -be dissolved while the stormy season continues and the insects are -still in the caterpillar stage. But, without special arrangements, each -nocturnal expedition at grazing-time would be a cause of separation. At -that moment of appetite for food there is a return to individualism. -The caterpillars become more or less scattered, settling singly on the -branches around; each browses his pine-needle separately. How are they -to find one another afterwards and become a community again? - -The several threads left on the road make this easy. With that guide, -every caterpillar, however far he may be, comes back to his companions -without ever missing the way. They come hurrying from a host of twigs, -from here, from there, from above, from below; and soon the scattered -legion reforms into a group. The silk thread is something more than a -road-making expedient: it is the social bond, the system that keeps the -members of the community indissolubly united. - -At the head of every procession, long or short, goes a first -caterpillar whom I will call the leader of the march or file, though -the word leader, which I use for want of a better, is a little out of -place here. Nothing, in fact, distinguishes this caterpillar from the -others: it just depends upon the order in which they happen to line up; -and mere chance brings him to the front. Among the Processionaries, -every captain is an officer of fortune. The actual leader leads; -presently he will be a subaltern, if the file should break up in -consequence of some accident and be formed anew in a different order. - -His temporary functions give him an attitude of his own. While the -others follow passively in a close file, he, the captain, tosses -himself about and with an abrupt movement flings the front of his body -hither and thither. As he marches ahead he seems to be seeking his way. -Does he in point of fact explore the country? Does he choose the most -practicable places? Or are his hesitations merely the result of the -absence of a guiding thread on ground that has not yet been covered? -His subordinates follow very placidly, reassured by the cord which they -hold between their legs; he, deprived of that support, is uneasy. - -Why cannot I read what passes under his black, shiny skull, so like a -drop of tar? To judge by actions, there is here a small dose of -discernment which is able, after experimenting, to recognize excessive -roughnesses, over-slippery surfaces, dusty places that offer no -resistance and, above all, the threads left by other excursionists. -This is all or nearly all that my long acquaintance with the -Processionaries has taught me as to their mentality. Poor brains, -indeed; poor creatures, whose commonwealth has its safety hanging upon -a thread! - -The processions vary greatly in length. The finest that I have seen -manœuvring on the ground measured twelve or thirteen yards and numbered -about three hundred caterpillars, drawn up with absolute precision in a -wavy line. But, if there were only two in a row, the order would still -be perfect: the second touches and follows the first. - -By February I have processions of all lengths in the greenhouse. What -tricks can I play upon them? I see only two: to do away with the -leader; and to cut the thread. - -The suppression of the leader of the file produces nothing striking. If -the thing is done without creating a disturbance, the procession does -not alter its ways at all. The second caterpillar, promoted to captain, -knows the duties of his rank off-hand: he selects and leads, or rather -he hesitates and gropes. - -The breaking of the silk ribbon is not very important either. I remove -a caterpillar from the middle of the file. With my scissors, so as not -to cause a commotion in the ranks, I cut the piece of ribbon on which -he stood and clear away every thread of it. As a result of this breach, -the procession acquires two marching leaders, each independent of the -other. It may be that the one in the rear joins the file ahead of him, -from which he is separated by but a slender interval; in that case, -things return to their original condition. More frequently, the two -parts do not become reunited. In that case, we have two distinct -processions, each of which wanders where it pleases and diverges from -the other. Nevertheless, both will be able to return to the nest by -discovering sooner or later, in the course of their peregrinations, the -ribbon on the other side of the break. - -These two experiments are only moderately interesting. I have thought -out another, one more fertile in possibilities. I propose to make the -caterpillars describe a close circuit, after the ribbons running from -it and liable to bring about a change of direction have been destroyed. -The locomotive engine pursues its invariable course so long as it is -not shunted on to a branch-line. If the Processionaries find the silken -rail always clear in front of them, with no switches anywhere, will -they continue on the same track, will they persist in following a road -that never comes to an end? What we have to do is to produce this -circuit, which is unknown under ordinary conditions, by artificial -means. - -The first idea that suggests itself is to seize with the forceps the -silk ribbon at the back of the train, to bend it without shaking it and -to bring the end of it ahead of the file. If the caterpillar marching -in the van steps upon it, the thing is done: the others will follow him -faithfully. The operation is very simple in theory but very difficult -in practice and produces no useful results. The ribbon, which is -extremely slight, breaks under the weight of the grains of sand that -stick to it and are lifted with it. If it does not break, the -caterpillars at the back, however delicately we may go to work, feel a -disturbance which makes them curl up or even let go. - -There is a yet greater difficulty: the leader refuses the ribbon laid -before him; the cut end makes him distrustful. Failing to see the -regular, uninterrupted road, he slants off to the right or left, he -escapes at a tangent. If I try to interfere and to bring him back to -the path of my choosing, he persists in his refusal, shrivels up, does -not budge; and soon the whole procession is in confusion. We will not -insist: the method is a poor one, very wasteful of effort for at best a -problematical success. - -We ought to interfere as little as possible and obtain a natural closed -circuit. Can it be done? Yes. It lies in our power, without the least -meddling, to see a procession march along a perfect circular track. I -owe this result, which is eminently deserving of our attention, to pure -chance. - -On the shelf with the layer of sand in which the nests are planted -stand some big palm-vases measuring nearly a yard and a half in -circumference at the top. The caterpillars often scale the sides and -climb up to the moulding which forms a cornice around the opening. This -place suits them for their processions, perhaps because of the absolute -firmness of the surface, where there is no fear of landslides, as on -the loose, sandy soil below; and also, perhaps, because of the -horizontal position, which is favorable to repose after the fatigue of -the ascent. It provides me with a circular track all ready-made. I have -nothing to do but wait for an occasion propitious to my plans. This -occasion is not long in coming. - -On the 30th of January, 1896, a little before twelve o’clock in the -day, I discover a numerous troop making their way up and gradually -reaching the popular cornice. Slowly, in single file, the caterpillars -climb the great vase, mount the ledge and advance in regular -procession, while others are constantly arriving and continuing the -series. I wait for the string to close up, that is to say, for the -leader, who keeps following the circular moulding, to return to the -point from which he started. My object is achieved in a quarter of an -hour. The closed circuit is realized magnificently, in something very -nearly approaching a circle. - -The next thing is to get rid of the rest of the ascending column, which -would disturb the fine order of the procession by an excess of -newcomers; it is also important that we should do away with all the -silken paths, both new and old, that can put the cornice into -communication with the ground. With a thick hair-pencil I sweep away -the surplus climbers; with a big brush, one that leaves no smell behind -it—for this might afterwards prove confusing—I carefully rub down the -vase and get rid of every thread which the caterpillars have laid on -the march. When these preparations are finished, a curious sight awaits -us. - -In the uninterrupted circular procession there is no longer a leader. -Each caterpillar is preceded by another on whose heels he follows, -guided by the silk track, the work of the whole party; he again has a -companion close behind him, following him in the same orderly way. And -this is repeated without variation throughout the length of the chain. -None commands, or rather none modifies the trail according to his -fancy; all obey, trusting in the guide who ought normally to lead the -march and who in reality has been abolished by my trickery. - -From the first circuit of the edge of the tub the rail of silk has been -laid in position and is soon turned into a narrow ribbon by the -procession, which never ceases dribbling its thread as it goes. The -rail is simply doubled and has no branches anywhere, for my brush has -destroyed them all. What will the caterpillars do on this deceptive, -closed path? Will they walk endlessly round and round until their -strength gives out entirely? - -The old schoolmen were fond of quoting Buridan’s [14] Ass, that famous -Donkey who, when placed between two bundles of hay, starved to death -because he was unable to decide in favour of either by breaking the -equilibrium between two equal but opposite attractions. They slandered -the worthy animal. The Ass, who is no more foolish than any one else, -would reply to the logical snare by feasting off both bundles. Will my -caterpillars show a little of his mother wit? Will they, after many -attempts, be able to break the equilibrium of their closed circuit, -which keeps them on a road without a turning? Will they make up their -minds to swerve to this side or that, which is the only method of -reaching their bundle of hay, the green branch yonder, quite near, not -two feet off? - -I thought that they would and I was wrong. I said to myself: - -“The procession will go on turning for some time, for an hour, two -hours perhaps; then the caterpillars will perceive their mistake. They -will abandon the deceptive road and make their descent somewhere or -other.” - -That they should remain up there, hard pressed by hunger and the lack -of cover, when nothing prevented them from going away, seemed to me -inconceivable imbecility. Facts, however, forced me to accept the -incredible. Let us describe them in detail. - -The circular procession begins, as I have said, on the 30th of January, -about midday, in splendid weather. The caterpillars march at an even -pace, each touching the stern of the one in front of him. The unbroken -chain eliminates the leader with his changes of direction; and all -follow mechanically, as faithful to their circle as are the hands of a -watch. The headless file has no liberty left, no will; it has become -mere clock-work. And this continues for hours and hours. My success -goes far beyond my wildest suspicions. I stand amazed at it, or rather -I am stupefied. - -Meanwhile, the multiplied circuits change the original rail into a -superb ribbon a twelfth of an inch broad. I can easily see it -glittering on the red ground of the pot. The day is drawing to a close -and no alteration has yet taken place in the position of the trail. A -striking proof confirms this. - -The trajectory is not a plane curve, but one which, at a certain point, -deviates and goes down a little way to the lower surface of the -cornice, returning to the top some eight inches farther. I marked these -two points of deviation in pencil on the vase at the outset. Well, all -that afternoon and, more conclusive still, on the following days, right -to the end of this mad dance, I see the string of caterpillars dip -under the ledge at the first point and come to the top again at the -second. Once the first thread is laid, the road to be pursued is -permanently established. - -If the road does not vary, the speed does. I measure nine centimetres -[15] a minute as the average distance covered. But there are more or -less lengthy halts; the pace slackens at times, especially when the -temperature falls. At ten o’clock in the evening the walk is little -more than a lazy swaying of the body. I foresee an early halt, in -consequence of the cold, of fatigue and doubtless also of hunger. - -Grazing-time has arrived. The caterpillars have come crowding from all -the nests in the greenhouse to browse upon the pine-branches planted by -myself beside the silken purses. Those in the garden do the same, for -the temperature is mild. The others, lined up along the earthenware -cornice, would gladly take part in the feast; they are bound to have an -appetite after a ten hours’ walk. The branch stands green and tempting -not a hand’s breadth away. To reach it they need but go down; and the -poor wretches, foolish slaves of their ribbon that they are, cannot -make up their minds to do so. I leave the famished ones at half-past -ten, persuaded that they will take counsel with their pillow and that -on the morrow things will have resumed their ordinary course. - -I was wrong. I was expecting too much of them when I accorded them that -faint gleam of intelligence which the tribulations of a distressful -stomach ought, one would think, to have aroused. I visit them at dawn. -They are lined up as on the day before, but motionless. When the air -grows a little warmer, they shake off their torpor, revive and start -walking again. The circular procession begins anew, like that which I -have already seen. There is nothing more and nothing less to be noted -in their machine-like obstinacy. - -This time it is a bitter night. A cold snap has supervened, was indeed -foretold in the evening by the garden caterpillars, who refused to come -out despite appearances which to my duller senses seemed to promise a -continuation of the fine weather. At daybreak the rosemary-walks are -all asparkle with rime and for the second time this year there is a -sharp frost. The large pond in the garden is frozen over. What can the -caterpillars in the conservatory be doing? Let us go and see. - -All are ensconced in their nests, except the stubborn processionists on -the edge of the vase, who, deprived of shelter as they are, seem to -have spent a very bad night. I find them clustered in two heaps, -without any attempt at order. They have suffered less from the cold, -thus huddled together. - -’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good. The severity of the night -has caused the ring to break into two segments which will, perhaps, -afford a chance of safety. Each group, as it revives and resumes its -walk, will presently be headed by a leader who, not being obliged to -follow a caterpillar in front of him, will possess some liberty of -movement and perhaps be able to make the procession swerve to one side. -Remember that, in the ordinary processions, the caterpillar walking -ahead acts as a scout. While the others, if nothing occurs to create -excitement, keep to their ranks, he attends to his duties as a leader -and is continually turning his head to this side and that, -investigating, seeking, groping, making his choice. And things happen -as he decides: the band follows him faithfully. Remember also that, -even on a road which has already been travelled and beribboned, the -guiding caterpillar continues to explore. - -There is reason to believe that the Processionaries who have lost their -way on the ledge will find a chance of safety here. Let us watch them. -On recovering from their torpor, the two groups line up by degrees into -two distinct files. There are therefore two leaders, free to go where -they please, independent of each other. Will they succeed in leaving -the enchanted circle? At the sight of their large black heads swaying -anxiously from side to side, I am inclined to think so for a moment. -But I am soon undeceived. As the ranks fill out, the two sections of -the chain meet and the circle is reconstituted. The momentary leaders -once more become simple subordinates; and again the caterpillars march -round and round all day. - -For the second time in succession, the night, which is very calm and -magnificently starry, brings a hard frost. In the morning the -Processionaries on the tub, the only ones who have camped out -unsheltered, are gathered into a heap which largely overflows both -sides of the fatal ribbon. I am present at the awakening of the numbed -ones. The first to take the road is, as luck will have it, outside the -track. Hesitatingly he ventures into unknown ground. He reaches the top -of the rim and descends upon the other side on the earth in the vase. -He is followed by six others, no more. Perhaps the rest of the troop, -who have not fully recovered from their nocturnal torpor, are to lazy -to bestir themselves. - -The result of this brief delay is a return to the old track. The -caterpillars embark on the silken trail and the circular march is -resumed, this time in the form of a ring with a gap in it. There is no -attempt, however, to strike a new course on the part of the guide whom -this gap has placed at the head. A chance of stepping outside the magic -circle has presented itself at last; and he does not know how to avail -himself of it. - -As for the caterpillars who have made their way to the inside of the -vase, their lot is hardly improved. They climb to the top of the palm, -starving and seeking for food. Finding nothing to eat that suits them, -they retrace their steps by following the thread which they have left -on the way, climb the ledge of the pot, strike the procession again -and, without further anxiety, slip back into the ranks. Once more the -ring is complete, once more the circle turns and turns. - -Then when will the deliverance come? There is a legend that tells of -poor souls dragged along in an endless round until the hellish charm is -broken by a drop of holy water. What drop will good fortune sprinkle on -my Processionaries to dissolve their circle and bring them back to the -nest? I see only two means of conjuring the spell and obtaining a -release from the circuit. These two means are two painful ordeals. A -strange linking of cause and effect: from sorrow and wretchedness good -is to come. - -And, first, shrivelling as the result of cold. The caterpillars gather -together without any order, heap themselves some on the path, some, -more numerous these, outside it. Among the latter there may be, sooner -or later, some revolutionary who, scorning the beaten track, will trace -out a new road and lead the troop back home. We have just seen an -instance of it. Seven penetrated to the interior of the vase and -climbed the palm. True, it was an attempt with no result, but still an -attempt. For complete success, all that need be done would have been to -take the opposite slope. An even chance is a great thing. Another time -we shall be more successful. - -In the second place, the exhaustion due to fatigue and hunger. A lame -one stops, unable to go farther. In front of the defaulter the -procession still continues to wend its way for a short time. The ranks -close up and an empty space appears. On coming to himself and resuming -the march, the caterpillar who has caused the breach becomes a leader, -having nothing before him. The least desire for emancipation is all -that he wants to make him launch the band into a new path which perhaps -will be the saving path. - -In short, when the Processionaries’ train is in difficulties, what it -needs, unlike ours, is to run off the rails. The side-tracking is left -to the caprice of a leader who alone is capable of turning to the right -or left; and this leader is absolutely non-existent so long as the ring -remains unbroken. Lastly, the breaking of the circle, the one stroke of -luck, is the result of a chaotic halt, caused principally by excess of -fatigue or cold. - -The liberating accident, especially that of fatigue, occurs fairly -often. In the course of the same day, the moving circumference is cut -up several times into two or three sections; but continuity soon -returns and no change takes place. Things go on just the same. The bold -innovator who is to save the situation has not yet had his inspiration. - -There is nothing new on the fourth day, after an icy night like the -previous one; nothing to tell except the following detail. Yesterday I -did not remove the trace left by the few caterpillars who made their -way to the inside of the vase. This trace, together with a junction -connecting it with the circular road, is discovered in the course of -the morning. Half the troop takes advantage of it to visit the earth in -the pot and climb the palm; the other half remains on the ledge and -continues to walk along the old rail. In the afternoon the band of -emigrants rejoins the others, the circuit is completed and things -return to their original condition. - -We come to the fifth day. The night frost becomes more intense, without -however as yet reaching the greenhouse. It is followed by bright -sunshine in a calm and limpid sky. As soon as the sun’s rays have -warmed the panes a little, the caterpillars, lying in heaps, wake up -and resume their evolutions on the ledge of the vase. This time the -fine order of the beginning is disturbed and a certain disorder becomes -manifest, apparently an omen of deliverance near at hand. The -scouting-path inside the vase, which was upholstered in silk yesterday -and the day before, is to-day followed to its origin on the rim by a -part of the band and is then abandoned after a short loop. The other -caterpillars follow the usual ribbon. The result of this bifurcation is -two almost equal files, walking along the ledge in the same direction, -at a short distance from each other, sometimes meeting, separating -farther on, in every case with some lack of order. - -Weariness increases the confusion. The crippled, who refuse to go on, -are many. Breaches increase; files are split up into sections each of -which has its leader, who pokes the front of his body this way and that -to explore the ground. Everything seems to point to the disintegration -which will bring safety. My hopes are once more disappointed. Before -the night the single file is reconstituted and the invincible gyration -resumed. - -Heat comes, just as suddenly as the cold did. To-day, the 4th of -February, is a beautiful, mild day. The greenhouse is full of life. -Numerous festoons of caterpillars, issuing from the nests, meander -along the sand on the shelf. Above them, at every moment, the ring on -the ledge of the vase breaks up and comes together again. For the first -time I see daring leaders who, drunk with heat, standing only on their -hinder prolegs at the extreme edge of the earthenware rim, fling -themselves forward into space, twisting about, sounding the depths. The -endeavour is frequently repeated, while the whole troop stops. The -caterpillars’ heads give sudden jerks; their bodies wriggle. - -One of the pioneers decides to take the plunge. He slips under the -ledge. Four follow him. The others, still confiding in the perfidious -silken path, dare not copy him and continue to go along the old road. - -The short string detached from the general chain gropes about a great -deal, hesitates long on the side of the vase; it goes half-way down, -then climbs up again slantwise, rejoins and takes its place in the -procession. This time the attempt has failed, though at the foot of the -vase, not nine inches away, there lay a bunch of pine-needles which I -had placed there with the object of enticing the hungry ones. Smell and -sight told them nothing. Near as they were to the goal, they went up -again. - -No matter, the endeavour has its uses. Threads were laid on the way and -will serve as a lure to further enterprise. The road of deliverance has -its first landmarks. And two days later, on the eighth day of the -experiment, the caterpillars—now singly, anon in small groups, then -again in strings of some length—come down from the ledge by following -the staked-out path. At sunset the last of the laggards is back in the -nest. - -Now for a little arithmetic. For seven times twenty-four hours the -caterpillars have remained on the ledge of the vase. To make an ample -allowance for stops due to the weariness of this one or that and above -all for the rest taken during the colder hours of the night, we will -deduct one-half of the time. This leaves eighty-four hours’ walking. -The average pace is nine centimetres [16] a minute. The aggregate -distance covered, therefore, is 453 metres, a good deal more than a -quarter of a mile, which is a great walk for these little crawlers. The -circumference of the vase, the perimeter of the track, is exactly 1 m. -35. [17] Therefore the circle covered, always in the same direction and -always without result, was described three hundred and thirty-five -times. - -These figures surprise me, though I am already familiar with the -abysmal stupidity of insects as a class whenever the least accident -occurs. I feel inclined to ask myself whether the Processionaries were -not kept up there so long by the difficulties and dangers of the -descent rather than by the lack of any gleam of intelligence in their -benighted minds. The facts, however, reply that the descent is as easy -as the ascent. - -The caterpillar has a very supple back, well adapted for twisting round -projections or slipping underneath. He can walk with the same ease -vertically or horizontally, with his back down or up. Besides, he never -moves forward until he has fixed his thread to the ground. With this -support to his feet, he has no falls to fear, no matter what his -position. - -I had a proof of this before my eyes during a whole week. As I have -already said, the track, instead of keeping on one level, bends twice, -dips at a certain point under the ledge of the vase and reappears at -the top a little farther on. At one part of the circuit, therefore, the -procession walks on the lower surface of the rim; and this inverted -position implies so little discomfort or danger that it is renewed at -each turn for all the caterpillars from first to last. - -It is out of the question then to suggest the dread of a false step on -the edge of the rim which is so nimbly turned at each point of -inflexion. The caterpillars in distress, starved, shelterless, chilled -with cold at night, cling obstinately to the silk ribbon covered -hundreds of times, because they lack the rudimentary glimmers of reason -which would advice them to abandon it. - -Experience and reflection are not in their province. The ordeal of a -five hundred yards’ march and three to four hundred turns teach them -nothing; and it takes casual circumstances to bring them back to the -nest. They would perish on their insidious ribbon if the disorder of -the nocturnal encampments and the halts due to fatigue did not cast a -few threads outside the circular path. Some three or four move along -these trails, laid without an object, stray a little way and, thanks to -their wanderings, prepare the descent, which is at last accomplished in -short strings favoured by chance. - -The school most highly honoured to-day is very anxious to find the -origin of reason in the dregs of the animal kingdom. Let me call its -attention to the Pine Processionary. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: METEOROLOGY - - -In January a second moult occurs, leaving the caterpillar less fair to -the eye, while at the same time endowing him with some very peculiar -organs. When the moment has come to shed their skins, the -Processionaries cluster higgledy-piggledy on the dome of the nest and -there, if the weather be mild, remain motionless day and night. It -would seem as though the fact of their contact, of their mutual -discomfort, while thus heaped together, furnishes a resistance, a -fulcrum, which favours the process of excoriation. - -After this second moult, the hairs on the middle of the back are of a -dull reddish colour, which is made paler still by the interposition of -numerous long white hairs. But this faded costume is accompanied by the -singular organs which attracted the attention of Réaumur, who was -greatly perplexed as to their function. In the place originally -occupied by the scarlet mosaic, eight segments of the caterpillar are -now cleft by a broad transversal gash, a sort of thick-lipped mouth, -which opens and gapes wide at the caterpillar’s will, or closes without -leaving a visible trace. - -From each of these expanding mouths rises a tumour with a fine, -colourless skin, as though the creature were exposing its tender inside -and inflating it, for the appearance is almost that which would be -presented by the viscera protruding through skin incised by the -scalpel. Two large dark-brown dots occupy the front face of the -protuberance. At the back are two short, flat tufts of russet bristles, -which in the sunlight shine with a rich brilliancy. All around is a -radiating border of long white hairs, spread almost flat. - -This protuberance is extremely sensitive. At the slightest irritation -it goes in again and disappears under the dark integument. In its place -opens an oval crater, a sort of huge stoma, which swiftly brings its -lips together, closes and entirely disappears. The long white hairs -that form a moustache and imperial around this mouth follow the -movements of the contracting lips. After first radiating from a centre -and lying flat, these hairs rise like levelled wheat which the wind has -caught from beneath and meet to form a transversal crest, perpendicular -to the creature’s back. - -This hairy erection produces a sudden modification in the caterpillar’s -aspect. The red shiny bristles have disappeared, buried under the dark -skin; the white hairs, now standing on end, form a hirsute mane; an -ashy tinge has crept into the general colour of the costume. - -When calm is restored, as soon happens, the slits open and yawn afresh; -the sensitive protuberances emerge, quick to disappear once more should -any cause for alarm occur. These alternate expansions and contractions -are rapidly repeated. I provoke them at will in various ways. A slight -puff of tobacco-smoke immediately causes the stomata to yawn and the -protuberances to emerge. One would think that the insect was putting -itself on its guard and displaying some special apparatus of -information. Before long the protuberances go in again. A second puff -of smoke brings them out once more. But, if the smoke is too abundant, -too acrid, the caterpillar wriggles and writhes without opening his -apparatus. - -Or else I touch one or other of these uncovered protuberances, very -delicately, with a bit of straw. The pimple affected immediately -contracts, draws into itself, like the horns of the Snail, and is -replaced by a gaping mouth, which in its turn closes. Usually, but not -always, the segment excited by the contact of my straw is imitated by -the others, both front and back, which close their apparatus one by -one. - -When undisturbed and in repose, the caterpillar generally has his -dorsal slits expanded; in moving, he sometimes opens and sometimes -closes them. In either case expansion and contraction are frequently -repeated. Constantly coming together and retreating under the skin, the -lips of the mouth-like opening therefore end by losing their brittle -moustaches of russet hairs, which break off. In this way a sort of dust -collects at the bottom of the crater, a dust formed of broken hairs, -which, thanks to their barbs, soon collect into little tufts. When the -slit expands rather suddenly, the central projection shoots out on the -insect’s sides its load of hairy remnants, which the least breath blows -into a cloud of golden atoms highly disagreeable to the observer. I -shall have something to say presently of the itch to which he is at -such times exposed. - -Are these peculiar stomata designed merely to collect the adjoining -bristles and to grind them to powder? Are these fine-skinned papillæ, -which inflate and ascend from the depths of their hiding-place, -intended to get rid of the accumulation of broken hairs? Or is it the -sole function of this peculiar apparatus to prepare, at the expense of -the caterpillar’s fleece, an irritant dust which shall act as a means -of defence? Nothing tells us so. - -Certainly the caterpillar is not armed against the enquirer who from -time to time takes it into his head to come and examine him through a -magnifying-glass. It is even very doubtful whether he troubles at all -about those passionate caterpillar-lovers, Calosoma sycophanta [18] -among insects and the Cuckoo among birds. Those who consume such fare -have a stomach expressly fashioned for the purpose, a stomach that -laughs at blistering hairs and possibly finds an appetizing stimulant -in their sting. No, I do not see the motives that prompted the -Processionary to cleave his back with so many slits, if he merely -strips himself of his hair to throw an irritating dust in our eyes. -There must certainly be something else in question. - -Réaumur mentions these openings, of which he made a brief study. He -calls them stigmata and is inclined to take them for exceptional -breathing-holes. That they are not, O my master; no insect contrives -air-holes on its back! Moreover, the magnifying-glass reveals no -channel of communication with the interior. Respiration plays no part -here; the solution of the enigma must lie elsewhere. - -The protuberances that rise from those expanded cavities are formed of -a soft, pale, hairless membrane, which gives the impression of a -visceral hernia, as though the caterpillar were wounded and exposing -its delicate entrails to the air. The sensitiveness just here is great. -The lightest touch with the point of a hair-pencil causes the immediate -indrawing of the protuberances and the closing of the containing lips. - -The touch of a solid object even is not essential. I pick up a tiny -drop of water on the point of a pin and, without shaking it off, -present this drop to the sensitive projection. At the moment when -contact occurs the apparatus contracts and closes up. The recoil of the -Snail’s horns, withdrawing the visual and olfactory organs into their -sheaths, is no prompter. - -Everything seems to prove that these optional tumours, appearing and -disappearing at the caterpillar’s will, are instruments of sensorial -perception. The caterpillar exposes them to obtain information; he -shelters them under his skin to preserve their delicate functions. Now -what is it that they perceive? This is a difficult question, in which -the habits of the Processionary alone can afford us a little guidance. - -During the whole winter, the Pine Caterpillars are active only at -night. In the daytime, when the weather is fine, they readily repair to -the dome of the nest and there remain motionless, gathered into heaps. -It is the hour of the open-air siesta, under the pale December and -January sun. As yet none leaves the home. It is quite late in the -evening, towards nine o’clock, when they set out, marching in an -irregular procession, to browse on the leaves of the branches hard by. -Their grazing is a protracted affair. The flock returns late, some time -after midnight, when the temperature falls too low. - -Secondly, it is in the heart of winter, during the roughest months, -that the Processionary displays his full activity. Indefatigably at -this time of year he spins, adding each night a new web to his silken -tent; at this time, whenever the weather permits, he ventures abroad on -the neighbouring boughs to feed, to grow and to renew his skein of -silk. - -By a very remarkable exception, the harsh season marked by inactivity -and lethargic repose in other insects is for him the season of bustle -and labour, on condition, of course, that the inclemencies of the -weather do not exceed certain limits. If the north wind blow too -violently, so that it is like to sweep the flock away; if the cold be -too piercing, so that there is a risk of freezing to death; if it snow, -or rain, or if the mist thicken into an icy drizzle, the caterpillars -prudently stay at home, sheltering under their weatherproof tent. - -It would be convenient to some extent to foresee these inclemencies. -The caterpillar dreads them. A drop of rain sets him in a flutter; a -snowflake exasperates him. To start for the grazing-grounds at dark of -night, in uncertain weather, would be dangerous, for the procession -goes some distance and travels slowly. The flock would fare ill before -regaining shelter did any sudden atmospheric trouble supervene, an -event of some frequency in the bad season of the year. So that he may -be informed in this particular during his nocturnal winter rambles, can -the Pine Caterpillar be endowed with some sort of meteorological -aptitudes? Let us describe how the suspicion occurred to me. - -Divulged I know not how, my rearing of caterpillars under glass -acquired a certain renown. It was talked about in the village. The -forest-ranger, a sworn enemy to destructive insects, wanted to see the -grazing of the famous caterpillars, of whom he had retained a too -poignant memory ever since the day when he gathered and destroyed their -nests in a pine-wood under his charge. It was arranged that he should -call the same evening. - -He arrives at the appointed hour, accompanied by a friend. For a moment -we sit and chat in front of the fire; then, when the clock strikes -nine, the lantern is lit and we all three enter the greenhouse. The -visitors are eager for the spectacle of which they have heard such -wonderful things, while I am certain of satisfying their curiosity. - -But, but ... what is this? Not a caterpillar on the nests, not one on -the fresh ration of branches! Last night and on the previous nights -they came out in countless numbers; to-night not one reveals himself. -Can it be that they are merely late in going to dinner? Can their -habitual punctuality be at fault because appetite has not yet arrived? -We must be patient.... Ten o’clock. Nothing. Eleven. Still nothing. -Midnight was at hand when we abandoned our watch, convinced that it -would be vain to prolong the sitting. You can imagine what an abject -fool I looked at having thus to send my guests away. - -Next day I thought that I dimly perceived the explanation of this -disappointment. It rained in the night and again in the morning. Snow, -not the earliest of the year, but so far the most abundant, whitened -the brow of the Ventoux. [19] Had the caterpillars, more sensitive than -any of us to atmospheric changes, refused to venture forth because they -anticipated what was about to happen? Had they foreseen the rain and -the snow, which nothing seemed to announce, at all events to us? After -all, why not? Let us continue to observe them and we shall see whether -the coincidence is fortuitous or not. - -On this memorable day, therefore, the 13th of December, 1895, I -institute the caterpillars’ meteorological observatory. I have at my -disposal absolutely none of the apparatus dear to science, not even a -modest thermometer, for my unlucky star continues in the ascendant, -proving as unkind to-day as when I learnt chemistry with pipe-bowls for -crucibles and bottles that once contained sweets for retorts. I confine -myself to visiting nightly the Processionaries in the greenhouse and -those in the garden. It is a hard task, especially as I have to go to -the far end of the enclosure, often in weather when one would not turn -a Dog out of doors. I set down the acts of the caterpillars, whether -they come out or stay at home; I note the state of the sky during the -day and at the moment of my evening examination. - -To this list I add the meteorological chart of Europe which the Temps -publishes daily. If I want more precise data, I request the Normal -School at Avignon to send me, on occasions of violent disturbances, the -barometrical records of its observatory. These are the only documents -at my disposal. - -Before we come to the results obtained, let me once more repeat that my -caterpillars’ meteorological institute has two stations: one in the -greenhouse and one in the open air, on the pines in the enclosure. The -first, protected against the wind and rain, is that which I prefer: it -provides more regular and more continuous information. In fact, the -open-air caterpillars often enough refuse to come out, even though the -general conditions be favourable. It is enough to keep them at home if -there be too strong a wind shaking the boughs, or even a little -moisture dripping on the web of the nests. Saved from these two perils, -the greenhouse caterpillars have only to consider atmospheric incidents -of a higher order. The small variations escape them; the great alone -make an impression on them: a most useful point for the observer and -going a long way towards solving the problem for him. The colonies -under glass, therefore, provide most of the material for my notes; the -colonies in the open air add their testimony, which is not always quite -clear. - -Now what did they tell me, those greenhouse caterpillars who, on the -13th of December, refused to show themselves to my guest, the -forest-ranger? The rain that was to fall that night could hardly have -alarmed them: they were so well sheltered. The snow about to whiten -Mont Ventoux was nothing to them: it was so far away. Moreover, it was -neither snowing yet nor raining. Some extraordinary atmospheric event, -profound and of vast extent, must have been occurring. The charts in -the Temps and the bulletin of the Normal School told me as much. - -A cyclonic disturbance, coming from the British Isles, was passing over -our district; an atmospheric depression the like of which the season -had not as yet known, had spread in our direction, reaching us on the -13th and persisting, in a more or less accentuated form, until the -22nd. At Avignon the barometer suddenly fell half an inch, to 29.1 in., -on the 13th and lower still, to 29 in., on the 19th. - -During this period of ten days, the garden caterpillars made no sortie -on the pine-trees. True, the weather was changeable. There were a few -showers of fine rain and some violent gusts of the mistral; but more -frequently there were days and nights when the sky was superb and the -temperature moderate. The prudent anchorites would not allow themselves -to be caught. The low pressure persisted, menacing them; and so they -stopped at home. - -In the greenhouse things happen rather differently. Sorties take place, -but the staying-in days are still more numerous. It looks as though the -caterpillars, alarmed at first by the unexpected things happening -overhead, had reassured themselves and resumed work, feeling nothing, -in their shelter, of what they would have suffered out of doors—rain, -snow and furious mistral blasts—and had then suspended their work again -when the threats of bad weather increased. - -There is, indeed, a fairly accurate agreement between the oscillations -of the barometer and the decisions of the herd. When the column of -mercury rises a little, they come out; when it falls they remain at -home. Thus on the 19th, the night of the lowest pressure, 29 in., not a -caterpillar ventures outside. - -As the wind and rain can have no effect on my colonies under glass, one -is led to suppose that atmospheric pressure, with its physiological -results, so difficult to define, is here the principal factor. As for -the temperature, within moderate limits there is no need to discuss it. -The Processionaries have a robust constitution, as behoves spinners who -work in the open air in midwinter. However piercing the cold, so long -as it does not freeze, when the hour comes for working or feeding they -spin on the surface of the nest or browse on the neighbouring branches. - -Another example. According to the meteorological chart in the Temps, a -depression whose centre is near the Iles Sanguinaires, at the entrance -of the Gulf of Ajaccio, reaches my neighbourhood, with a minimum of -29.2 in., on the 9th of January. A tempestuous wind gets up. For the -first time this year there is a respectable frost. The ice on the large -pond in the garden is two or three inches thick. This wild weather -lasts for five days. Of course, the garden caterpillars do not sally -forth on the pine-trees while these are battered by such a gale. - -The remarkable part of the business is that the greenhouse caterpillars -do not venture out of their nests either. And yet for them there are no -boughs dangerously shaken, no cold piercing beyond endurance, for it is -not freezing under the glass. What keeps them in can be only the -passage of that wave of depression. On the 15th the storm ceases; and -the barometer remains between 29.6 and 30 in. for the rest of the month -and a good part of February. During this long period there are -magnificent sorties every evening, especially in the greenhouse. - -On the 23rd and 24th of February, suddenly the Processionaries stop at -home again, for no apparent reason. Of the six nests under cover, only -two have a few rare caterpillars out on the pine-branches, while -previously, in the case of all six, I used every night to see the -leaves bending under the weight of an innumerable multitude. Warned by -this forecast, I enter in my notes: - -“Some deep depression is about to reach us.” - -And I have guessed right. Two days later, sure enough, the -meteorological record of the Temps gives me the following information: -a minimum of 29.2 in., coming from the Bay of Biscay on the 22nd, -reaches Algeria on the 23rd and spreads over the Provence coast on the -24th. There is a heavy snowfall at Marseilles on the 25th. - - - “The ships,” I read in my paper, “present a curious spectacle, with - their yards and rigging white. That is how the people of - Marseilles, little used to such sights, picture Spitzbergen and the - North Pole.” - - -Here certainly is the gale which my caterpillars foresaw when they -refused to go out last night and the night before; here is the centre -of disturbance which revealed itself at Sérignan by a violent and icy -north wind on the 25th and the following days. Again I perceive that -the greenhouse caterpillars are alarmed only at the approach of the -wave of atmospheric disturbance. Once the first uneasiness caused by -the depression had abated, they came out again, on the 25th and the -following days, in the midst of the gale, as though nothing -extraordinary were happening. - -From the sum of my observations it appears that the Pine Processionary -is eminently sensitive to atmospheric vicissitudes, an excellent -quality, having regard to his way of life in the sharp winter nights. -He foresees the storm which would imperil his excursions. - -His capacity for scenting bad weather very soon won the confidence of -the household. When we had to go into Orange to renew our provisions, -it became the rule to consult him the night before; and, according to -his verdict, we went or stayed at home. His oracle never deceived us. -In the same way, simple folk that we were, we used in the old days to -interrogate the Dor-beetle, [20] another doughty nocturnal worker. But, -a little demoralized by imprisonment in a cage and apparently devoid of -any special sensitive apparatus, performing his evolutions, moreover, -in the mild autumn evenings, the celebrated Dung-beetle could never -rival the Pine Caterpillar, who is active during the roughest season of -the year and endowed, as everything would seem to affirm, with organs -quick to perceive the great atmospheric fluctuations. - -Rural lore abounds in meteorological forecasts derived from animals. -The Cat, sitting in front of the fire and washing behind her ears with -a saliva-smeared paw, foretells another cold snap; the Cock, crowing at -unusual hours, announces the return of fine weather; the Guinea-fowl, -with her screeching, as of a scythe on the grindstone, points to rain; -the Hen, standing on one leg, her plumage ruffled, her head sunk on her -neck, feels a hard frost coming; the pretty green Tree-frog inflates -his throat like a bladder at the approach of a storm and, according to -the Provençal peasant, says: - -“Ploùra, ploùra; it will rain, it will rain!” - -This rustic meteorology, the heritage of the centuries, does not show -up so badly beside our scientific meteorology. - -Are not we ourselves living barometers? Every veteran complains of his -glorious scars when the weather is about to break. One man, though -unwounded, suffers from insomnia or from bad dreams; another, though a -brain-worker, cannot drag an idea out of his impotent head. Each of us, -in his own way, is tried by the passage of those huge funnels which -form in the atmosphere and hatch the storm. - -Could the insect, with its exceptionally delicate organization, escape -this kind of impression? It is unbelievable. The insect, more than any -other creature, should be an animated meteorological instrument, as -truthful in its forecasts, if we knew how to read them, as the lifeless -instruments of our observatories, with their mercury and their catgut. -All, in different degrees, possess a general impressionability -analogous to our own and exercised without the aid of specific organs. -Some, better-gifted because of their mode of life, might well be -furnished with special meteorological apparatus. - -The Pine Processionary seems to belong to this number. In his second -costume, when the segments bear on their dorsal faces an elegant red -mosaic, he differs apparently from other caterpillars only by a more -delicate general impressionability, unless this mosaic be endowed with -aptitudes unknown elsewhere. If the nocturnal spinner is still none too -generously equipped, it must be remembered that the season which he -passes in this condition is nearly always clement. The really -formidable nights hardly set in before January. But then, as a -safeguard in his peregrinations, the Pine Processionary cleaves his -back with a series of mouths which yawn open to sample the air from -time to time and to give a warning of the sudden storm. - -Until further evidence is forthcoming, therefore, the dorsal slits are, -to my mind, meteorological instruments, barometers influenced by the -main fluctuations of the atmosphere. To go beyond suspicions, though -these are well based, is for me impossible. I lack the equipment -necessary to delve more deeply into the subject. But I have given a -hint. It is for those who are better favoured in the matter of -resources to find the final solution of this interesting problem. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE MOTH - - -When March comes, the caterpillars reared in domesticity never cease -processioning. Many leave the greenhouse, which remains open; they go -in search of a suitable spot for the approaching metamorphosis. This is -the final exodus, the definite abandonment of the nest and the -pine-tree. The pilgrims are much faded, whitish, with a few russet -hairs on their backs. - -On the 20th of March I spend a whole morning watching the evolutions of -a file some three yards in length, containing about a hundred -emigrants. The procession toils grimly along, undulating over the dusty -ground, where it leaves a furrow. Then it breaks into a small number of -groups, which crowd together and remain quiescent save for sudden -oscillations of the hind-quarters. After a halt of varying duration, -these groups resume their march, henceforward forming independent -processions. - -They take no settled direction. This one goes forward, that one goes -back; one turns to the left and another to the right. There is no rule -about their marching, no positive goal. One procession, after -describing a loop, retraces its steps. Yet there is a general tendency -towards that wall of the greenhouse which faces the south and reflects -the sun’s rays with added fervour. The sole guide, it would seem, is -the amount of sun which a place obtains; the directions whence the -greatest heat comes are preferred. - -After a couple of hours of marching and countermarching, the -fragmentary processions, comprising each a score of caterpillars, reach -the foot of the wall. Here the soil is powdery, very dry, easy to -burrow in, although made somewhat firmer by tufts of grass. The -caterpillar at the head of the row explores with his mandibles, digs a -little, investigates the nature of the ground. The others, trusting -their leader, follow him with docility, making no attempts of their -own. Whatever the foremost decides will be adopted by all. Here, in the -choice of a matter so important as the spot whereat the transformation -shall take place, there is no individual initiative. There is only one -will, the leader’s. There is only one head, so to speak; the procession -may be compared with the chain of segments of an enormous worm. - -Finally some spot is recognized as propitious. The leading caterpillar -halts, pushes with his head, digs with his mandibles. The others, still -in a continuous line, arrive one by one and likewise come to a halt. -Then the file breaks up into a swarming heap, in which each of the -caterpillars resumes his liberty. All their backs are joggling -pell-mell; all their heads are plunged into the dust; all their feet -are raking, all their mandibles excavating the soil. The worm has -chopped itself into a gang of independent workers. - -An excavation is formed in which, little by little, the caterpillars -bury themselves. For some time to come, the undermined soil cracks and -rises and covers itself with little mole-hills; then all is still. The -caterpillars have descended to a depth of three inches. This is as far -as the roughness of the soil permits them to go. In looser soil, the -excavation would attain a much greater depth. The greenhouse shelf, -supplied with fine sand, has provided me with cocoons placed at a depth -of from eight to twelve inches. I would not assert that the interment -might not be made still lower down. For the most part, the burial is -effected in common, by more or less numerous clusters and at depths -which vary greatly, according to the nature of the soil. - -A fortnight later, let us dig at the point where the descent -underground was made. Here we shall find the cocoons assembled in -bunches, cocoons of sorry appearance, soiled as they are with earthy -particles held by silken threads. When stripped of their rough -exterior, they are not without a certain elegance. They are narrow -ellipsoids, pointed at both ends, measuring twenty-five millimetres in -length and nine millimetres [21] in thickness. The silk of which they -are composed is very fine and of a dull white. The fragility of the -walls is remarkable when we have seen the enormous quantity of silk -expended on the construction of the nest. - -A prodigious spinner where his winter habitation is concerned, the -caterpillar finds his glands exhausted and is reduced to the strictly -necessary amount when the time comes for making the cocoon. Too poor in -silk, he strengthens his flimsy cell with a facing of earth. With him -it is not the industry of the Bembex [22], who inserts grains of sand -in her silky web and makes a solid casket of the whole; it is a summary -sort of art, devoid of delicacy, which just casually sticks together -the surrounding earthy refuse. - -Moreover, if circumstances demand it, the Pine Caterpillar can do -without earth. In the very midst of the nest I have sometimes—very -rarely, it is true—discovered cocoons which were perfectly clean. Not a -scrap of alien matter defiled their fine white silk. I have obtained -similar specimens by placing caterpillars under a bell-glass in a pan -provided only with a few pine-twigs. Better still: an entire -procession, a good-sized one too, gathered at the opportune moment and -enclosed in a large box containing no sand nor any material whatever, -spun its cocoons with no other support than the bare walls. These -exceptions, provoked by circumstances in which the caterpillar is not -free to act according to his wont, does not in any way invalidate the -rule. To prepare for the transformation, the Processionary buries -himself, to the depth of nine inches and more, if the soil permit. - -Here a curious problem forces itself upon the observer’s mind. How does -the Moth contrive to ascend from the catacombs into which the -caterpillar has descended? Not in the finery of her perfect state—the -big wings with their delicate scales, the sweeping antenna-plumes—dare -she brave the asperities of the soil, or she would issue thence all -tattered, rumpled and unrecognizable. And this is not the case: far -from it. Moreover, what means can she employ, she so feeble, to break -the crust of earth into which the original dust will have turned after -the slightest of showers? - -The Moth appears at the end of July or in August. The burial took place -in March. Rain must have fallen during this lapse of time, rain which -beats down the soil, cements it and leaves it to harden once -evaporation has set in. Never could a Moth, unless attired and equipped -with tools for the purpose, break her way through such an obstacle. She -would perforce require a boring-tool and a costume of extreme -simplicity. Guided by these considerations, I institute a few -experiments which will give me the key to the riddle. - -In April I make a copious collection of cocoons. Of these I place ten -or twelve at the bottom of test-tubes of different diameters and, last -of all, I fill the apparatus with sandy soil, sifted and very slightly -moistened. The contents are pressed down, but in moderation, for fear -of injuring the cocoons below. When the month of August comes, the -column of earth, damp at the outset, has set so firmly, thanks to -evaporation, that, when I reverse the test-tube, nothing trickles out. -On the other hand, some cocoons have been kept naked under a metallic -cover. These will teach me what the buried cocoons would not be able to -show. They furnish me, in fact, with records of the greatest interest. -On issuing from the cocoon, the Pine Bombyx has her finery bundled up -and presents the appearance of a cylinder with rounded ends. The wings, -the principal obstacle to underground labour, are pressed against the -breast like narrow scarves; the antennæ, another serious embarrassment, -have not yet unfolded their plumes and are turned back along the Moth’s -sides. The hair, which later forms a dense fleece, is laid flat, -pointing backwards. The legs alone are free, fairly active and endowed -with a certain vigour. Thanks to this arrangement, which does away with -all awkward projections, the ascent through the soil is made possible. - -True, every Moth, at the moment of quitting her shell, is this sort of -swathed mummy; but the Pine Bombyx has in addition an exceptional -aptitude rendered necessary by the fact that she hatches under the -ground. While the others, once out of the cocoon, hasten to spread -their wings and are powerless to defer their development, she, by -virtue of an indispensable privilege, remains in her compact and -wrapped-up condition as long as circumstances demand it. Under my -bell-glasses I see some who, though born upon the surface, for -twenty-four hours drag themselves over the sand or cling to the -pine-branches, before untying their sashes and unfurling them as wings. - -This delay is evidently essential. To ascend from beneath the earth and -reach the open air, the Moth has to bore a long tunnel, which requires -time. She will take good care not to spread her finery before emerging, -for it would hamper her and would itself be rumpled and badly creased. -Therefore the cylindrical mummy persists until the deliverance is -effected; and, if liberty happen to be acquired before the appointed -moment, the final evolution does not take place until after a lapse of -time in conformity with usage. - -We are acquainted with the equipment for emergence, the tight-fitting -jerkin indispensable in a narrow gallery. Now, where is the -boring-tool? The legs, though free, would here be insufficient: they -would scrape the earth laterally, enlarging the diameter of the shaft, -but could not prolong the exit vertically, above the insect’s head. -This tool must be in front. - -Pass the tip of your finger over the Moth’s head. You will feel a few -very rough wrinkles. The magnifying-glass shows us more. We find, -between the eyes and higher up, four or five transversal scales, so set -as to overlap one another; they are hard and black and are trimmed -crescent-wise at the ends. The longest and strongest is the uppermost, -which is in the middle of the forehead. There you have the centre-bit -of your boring-tool. - -To make our tunnels in granitic rocks we tip our drills with diamond -points. For a similar task the Bombyx, a living drill, wears implanted -on her forehead a row of crescents, hard and durable as steel, a -regular twist-bit. Without suspecting its use, Réaumur was perfectly -aware of this marvellous implement, which he called scaly stairs: - -“What does it profit this Moth,” he asks, “that she should thus have -the front of her head formed like scaly stairs? That is just what I do -not know.” - -My test-tubes, learned master, will tell us. By good fortune, of the -numerous Moths ascending from the bottom of my apparatus through a -column of sand solidified by the evaporation of the original moisture, -some are making their way upwards against the side of the tube, -enabling me to follow their manœuvres. I see them raising their -cylindrical bodies, butting with their heads, jerking now in one -direction, now in another. The nature of their task is obvious. The -centre-bits, with an alternating movement, are boring into the -agglutinated sand. The powdery wreckage trickles down from overhead and -is at once thrust backward by the legs. A little space forms at the top -of the vault; and the Moth moves so much nearer to the surface. By the -following day, the whole column, ten inches in height, will be -perforated with a straight, perpendicular shaft. - -Shall we now form an idea of the total work performed? Let us turn the -test-tube upside down. The contents, as I have said, will not fall out, -for they have set into a block; but from the tunnels bored by the Moth -trickles all the sand crumbled by the crescents of the drill. The -result is a cylindrical gallery, of the width of a lead-pencil, very -cleanly cut and reaching to the bottom of the solid mass. - -Are you satisfied, my master? Do you now perceive the great utility of -the scaly stairs? Would you not say that we have here a magnificent -example of an instrument superlatively fitted for a definite task? I -share this opinion, for I think, with you, that a sovereign Reason has -in all things coordinated the means and the end. - -But let me tell you: we are called old-fashioned, you and I; with our -conception of a world ruled by an Intelligence, we are quite out of the -swim. Order, balance, harmony: that is all silly nonsense. The universe -is a fortuitous arrangement in the chaos of the possible. What is white -might as easily be black, what is round might be angular, what is -regular might be shapeless and harmony might just as well be discord. -Chance has decided all things. - -Yes, we are a pair of prejudiced old fogeys when we linger with a -certain fondness over the marvels of perfection. Who troubles about -these futilities nowadays? So-called serious science, the science which -spells honour, profit and renown, consists in slicing your animal with -very costly instruments into tiny circular sections. My housekeeper -does as much with a bunch of carrots, with no higher pretension than to -concoct a modest dish, which is not an invariable success. In the -problem of life are we more successful when we have split a fibre into -four and cut a cell into shavings? It hardly seems so. The riddle is as -dark as ever. Ah, how much better is your method, my dear master; above -all, how much loftier your philosophy, how much more wholesome and -invigorating! - -Here at last is the Moth at the surface. With the deliberate slowness -demanded by so delicate an operation, she spreads her bunched wings, -extends her antennæ and puffs out her fleece. Her costume is a modest -one: upper wings grey, striped with a few crinkly brown streaks; -under-wings white; thorax covered with thick grey fur; abdomen clad in -bright-russet velvet. The last segment has a pale-gold sheen. At first -sight it appears bare. It is not, however; but, in place of hairs like -those of the other segments, it has, on its dorsal surface, scales so -well assembled and so close together that the whole seems to form a -continuous block, like a nugget. - -Let us touch this trinket with the point of a needle. However gently we -rub, a multitude of scales come off and flutter at the least breath, -shining like mica spangles. Their concave form, their shape, an -elongated oval, their colouring, white in the lower half but reddish -gold in the upper, give them, if we allow for the difference in size, a -certain resemblance to the scales surrounding the heads of some of the -centaury tribe. Such is the golden fleece of which the mother will -despoil herself in order to cover the cylinder of her eggs. The nugget -of her hind-quarters, exfoliated spangle by spangle, will form a roof -for the germs arranged like the grain in a corn-cob. - -I was anxious to watch the actual placing of these pretty tiles, which -are fixed at the pale end with a speck of cement, leaving the coloured -end free. Circumstances did not favour me. Inactive all day, motionless -on some needle of the lower branches, the Moth, whose life is very -short, moves only in the darkness of the night. Both her mating and -egg-laying are nocturnal. On the morrow, all is finished: the Bombyx -has lived. Under these conditions, it was impossible, by the doubtful -beams of a lantern, to follow satisfactorily the labour of the mother -on the pine-trees in the garden. - -I was no more fortunate with the captives in my bell-glasses. A few did -lay their eggs, but always at a very advanced hour of the night, an -hour which found my vigilance at fault. The light of a candle and eyes -heavy with sleep were of little avail when it came to analysing the -subtle operations of the mother as she puts her scales in place. We -will say nothing of the little that was imperfectly seen. - -Let us close with a few words of sylvicultural practice. The Pine -Processionary is a voracious caterpillar who, while respecting the -terminal bud, protected by its scales and its resinous varnish, -completely denudes the bough and imperils the tree by leaving it bald. -The green pine-needles, that mane in which the vegetable vigour of the -tree resides, are shorn to the roots. How are we to remedy this? - -When consulted on the subject, the forest-ranger of my parish told me -that the custom is to go from tree to tree with pruning-shears fitted -on a long pole and to cut down the nests, afterwards burning them. The -method is a troublesome one, for the silken purses are often at -considerable heights. Moreover, it is not without danger. Attacked by -the hairy dust, the destroyers soon experience intolerable discomfort, -a torture of irritation which makes them refuse to continue the work. -To my thinking it would be better to operate before the appearance of -the nests. - -The Pine Bombyx is a very bad flyer. Incapable of soaring, almost like -the Silk-moth, she flutters about and blunders to earth again; and her -best efforts barely succeed in bringing her to the lower branches, -which almost drag along the ground. Here are deposited the cylinders of -eggs, at a height of six feet at most. It is the young caterpillars -who, from one provisional encampment to another, gradually ascend, -attaining, stage by stage, the summits upon which they weave their -final dwellings. Once we grasp this peculiarity, the rest is plain -sailing. - -In August we inspect the lower foliage of the tree: an easy -examination, for it is carried on no higher than our heads. Towards the -far end of the twigs it is easy to espy the Bombyx’ eggs, packed into -cylinders that resemble scaly catkins. Their size and their whitish -colour make them show up amid the sombre green. Gathered with the -double pine-needle that bears them, these cylinders are crushed under -foot, a summary fashion of stamping out an evil before it spreads. - -This I have done in the case of the few pine-trees in my enclosure. And -the same might be done in the wider forest expanses and more especially -in parks and gardens, where symmetrical foliation is one of the great -beauties of the tree. I will add that it is wise to prune every bough -that droops to earth and to keep the foot of the conifer bare to a -height of six feet or so. In the absence of these lower stairs, the -only ones that the Bombyx with her clumsy flight can reach, she will -not be able to populate the tree. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE PINE PROCESSIONARY: THE STINGING POWER - - -The Pine Processionary has three costumes: that of infancy, a scanty, -ragged fleece, a mixture of black and white; that of middle age, the -richest of the three, when the segments deck themselves on their dorsal -surface with golden tufts and a mosaic of bare patches, scarlet in -colour; and that of maturity, when the rings are cleft by slits which -one by one open and close their thick lips, champing and grinding their -bristling russet beards and chewing them into little pellets, which are -thrown out on the creature’s sides when the bottom of the pocket swells -up like a tumour. - -When wearing this last costume, the caterpillar is very disagreeable to -handle, or even to observe at close quarters. I happened, quite -unexpectedly, to learn this more thoroughly than I wished. - -After unsuspectingly passing a whole morning with my insects, stooping -over them, magnifying-glass in hand, to examine the working of their -slits, I found my forehead and eyelids suffering with redness for -twenty-four hours and afflicted with an itching even more painful and -persistent than that produced by the sting of a nettle. On seeing me -come down to dinner in this sad plight, with my eyes reddened and -swollen and my face unrecognizable, the family anxiously enquired what -had happened to me and were not reassured until I told them of my -mishap. - -I unhesitatingly attribute my painful experience to the red hairs -ground to powder and collected into flakes. My breath sought them out -in the open pockets and carried them to my face, which was very near. -The unthinking intervention of my hands, which now and again sought to -ease the discomfort, merely aggravated the ill by spreading the -irritating dust. - -No, the search for truth on the back of the Processionary is not all -sunshine. It was only after a night’s rest that I found myself pretty -well recovered, the incident having no further ill effects. Let us -continue, however. It is well to substitute premeditated experiments -for chance facts. - -The little pockets of which the dorsal slits form the entrance are -encumbered, as I have said, with hairy refuse, either scattered or -gathered into flakes. With the point of a paint-brush I collect, when -they gape open, a little of their contents and rub it on my wrist or on -the inside of my fore-arm. - -I have not long to wait for the result. Soon the skin turns red and is -covered with pale lenticular swellings, similar to those produced by a -nettle-sting. Without being very sharp, the pain was extremely -unpleasant. By the following day, itching, redness and lenticular -swellings had all disappeared. This is the usual sequence of events; -but let me not omit to say that the experiment does not always succeed. -The efficacy of the fluffy dust appears subject to great variations. - -There have been occasions when I have rubbed myself with the whole -caterpillar, or with his cast skin, or with the broken hairs gathered -on a paint-brush, without producing any unpleasant results. The -irritant dust seems to vary in quality according to certain -circumstances which I have not been able to discover. - -From my various tests it is evident that the discomfort is caused by -the delicate hairs which the lips of the dorsal mouths, gaping and -closing again, never cease grinding, to the detriment of their beards -and moustaches. The edges of these slits, as their bristles rub off, -furnish the stinging dust. - -Having established this fact, let us proceed to more serious -experiments. In the middle of March, when the Processionaries for the -most part have migrated underground, I decide to open a few nests, as I -wish to collect their last inhabitants for the purpose of my -investigations. Without taking any precautions, my fingers tug at the -silken dwelling, which is made of solid stuff; they tear it into -shreds, search it through and through, turn it inside out and back -again. - -Once more and this time in a more serious fashion, I am the victim of -my unthinking enthusiasm. Hardly is the operation completed, when the -tips of my fingers begin to hurt in good earnest, especially in the -more delicate part protected by the edge of the nail. The feeling is -like the sharp pain of a sore that is beginning to fester. All the rest -of the day and all through the night, the pain persists, troublesome -enough to rob me of my sleep. It does not quiet down until the -following day, after twenty-four hours of petty torment. - -How did this new misadventure befall me? I had not handled the -caterpillars: indeed, there were very few of them in the nest at the -time. I had come upon no shed skins, for the moults do not take place -inside the silken purse. When the moment has come to doff the second -costume, that of the red mosaic, the caterpillars cluster outside, on -the dome of their dwelling, and there leave in a single heap their old -clothes entangled with bits of silk. What is left to explain the -unpleasant consequences to which the handling of the nest exposes us? - -The broken red bristles are left, the fallen hairs forming a dust that -is invisible without a very careful examination. For a long time the -Processionaries crawl and swarm about the nest; they pass to and fro, -penetrating the thickness of the wall when they go to the pastures and -when they return to their dormitory. Whether motionless or on the move, -they are constantly opening and closing their apparatus of information, -the dorsal mouths. At the moment of closing, the lips of these slits, -rolling on each other like the cylinders of a flattening-mill, catch -hold of the fluff near them, tear it out and break it into fragments -which the bottom of the pocket, presently reascending, shoots outside. - -Thus myriads of irritant particles are disseminated and subtly -introduced into every part of the nest. The shirt of Nessus burnt the -veins of whoso wore it; the silk of the Processionary, another poisoned -fabric, sets on fire the fingers that handle it. - -The loathsome hairs long retain their virulence. I was once sorting out -some handfuls of cocoons, many of which were diseased. As the hardness -of the contents was usually an indication that something was wrong, I -tore open the doubtful cocoons with my fingers, in order to save the -non-contaminated chrysalids. My sorting was rewarded with the same kind -of pain, especially under the edges of the nails, as I had already -suffered when tearing the nests. - -The cause of the irritation on this occasion was sometimes the dry skin -discarded by the Processionary on becoming a chrysalis and sometimes -the shrivelled caterpillar turned into a sort of chalky cylinder -through the invasion of the malignant fungus. Six months later, these -wretched cocoons were still capable of producing redness and -irritation. - -Examined under the microscope, the russet hairs, the cause of the -itching, are stiff rods, very sharp at either end and armed with barbs -along the upper half. Their structure has absolutely nothing in common -with nettle-hairs, those tapering phials whose hard point snaps off, -pouring an irritant fluid into the tiny wound. - -The plant from whose Latin name, Urtica, we derive the word urtication -borrowed the design of its weapon from the fangs of the venomous -serpents; it obtains its effect, not by the wound, but by the poison -introduced into the wound. The Processionary employs a different -method. The hairs, which have naught resembling the ampullary reservoir -of the nettle-hairs, must be poisoned on the surface, like the assegais -of the Kafirs and Zulus. - -Do they really penetrate the epidermis? Are they like the savage’s -javelin, which cannot be extracted once it has gone in? With their -barbs, do they enter all the more deeply because of the quivering of -the outraged flesh? There is no ground for believing anything of the -kind. In vain do I scrutinize the injured spot through the -magnifying-glass; I can see no sign of the implanted dart. Neither -could Réaumur, when an encounter with the Oak Processionary set him -scratching himself. He had his suspicions, but could state nothing -definitely. - -No; despite their sharp points and their barbs, which make them, under -the microscope, such formidable spears, the Processionary’s russet -hairs are not darts designed to imbed themselves in the skin and to -provoke irritation by pricking. - -Many caterpillars, all most inoffensive, have a coat of bristles which, -under the microscope, resolve themselves into barbed javelins, quite -harmless in spite of their threatening aspect. Let me mention a couple -of these peaceable halberdiers. - -Early in spring, we see, crossing the paths, a briskly-moving -caterpillar who inspires repugnance by his ferocious hairiness, which -ripples like ripe corn. The ancient naturalists, with their artless and -picturesque nomenclature, called him the Hedgehog. The term is worthy -of the creature, which, in the moment of danger, rolls itself up like a -Hedgehog, presenting its spiny armour on all sides to the enemy. On its -back is a dense mixture of black hairs and hairs of ashen-gray; while -on the sides and fore-part of the body is a stiff mane of bright -russet. Black, grey or russet, all this fierce-looking coat is heavily -barbed. - -One hesitates to touch this horror with the finger-tips. Still, -encouraged by my example, seven-year-old Paul, with his tender child’s -skin, gathers handfuls of the repulsive insect with no more -apprehension than if he were picking a bunch of violets. He fills his -boxes with it; he rears it on elm-leaves and handles it daily, for he -knows that from this frightful creature he will one day obtain a superb -Moth (Chelonia caja, Linn.), clad in scarlet velvet, with the lower -wings red and the upper white, sprinkled with brown spots. - -What resulted from the child’s familiarity with the shaggy creature? -Not even a trace of itching on his delicate skin. I do not speak of -mine, which is tanned by the years. - -In the osier-beds of our local stream, the rushing Aygues, a thorny -shrub abounds which, at the advent of autumn, is covered with an -infinity of very sour red berries. Its crabbed boughs, which bear but -little verdure, are hidden under their clusters of vermilion balls. It -is the sallow thorn or sea buckthorn (Hippophaë rhamnoides). - -In April, a very hairy but rather pretty caterpillar lives at the -expense of this shrub’s budding leaves. He has on his back five dense -tufts of hair, set side by side and arranged like the bristles of a -brush, tufts deep-black in the centre and white at the edges. He waves -two divergent plumes in front of him and sports a third on his crupper, -like a feathery tail. These three are black hair-pencils of extreme -delicacy. - -His greyish Moth, flattened motionless on the bark, stretches his long -fore-legs, one against the other, in front of him. You would take them, -at a first glance, for antennae of exaggerated proportions. This pose -of the extended limbs has won the insect the scientific label of -Orgyia, arm’s length; and also the vulgar and more expressive -denomination of Patte étendue, or outstretched paw. - -Little Paul has not failed, with my aid, to rear the pretty bearer of -the tufts and brushes. How many times, with his sensitive finger, has -he not stroked the creature’s furry costume? He found it softer than -velvet. And yet, enlarged under the microscope, the caterpillar’s hairs -are horrible barbed spears, no less menacing than those of the -Processionary. The resemblance goes no farther: handled without -precautions, the tufted caterpillar does not provoke even a simple -rash. Nothing could be more harmless than his coat. - -It is evident, then, that the cause of the irritation lies elsewhere -than in the barbs. If the barbed bristles were enough to poison the -fingers, most hairy caterpillars would be dangerous, for nearly all -have spiny bristles. We find, on the contrary, that virulence is -bestowed upon a very small number, which are not distinguished from the -rest by any special structure of the hair. - -That the barbs have a part to play, that of fixing the irritant atom -upon the epidermis, of keeping it anchored in its place, is, after all, -possible; but the shooting pains cannot by any means be caused by the -mere prick of so delicate a harpoon. - -Much less slender, the hairs clustered into pads on the prickly pears -are ferociously barbed. Woe to the fingers that handle this kind of -velvet too confidently! At the least touch they are pierced with -harpoons whose extraction involves a severe tax upon our patience. -Other inconvenience there is little or none, for the action of the barb -is in this case purely mechanical. Supposing—a very doubtful thing—that -the Processionary’s hairs could penetrate our skin, they would act -likewise, only with less effect, if they had merely their sharp points -and their barbs. What then do they possess in addition? - -They must have, not inside them, like the hairs of the nettle, but -outside, on the surface, an irritant agent; they must be coated with a -poisonous mixture, which makes them act by simple contact. - -Let us remove this virus, by means of a solvent; and the -Processionary’s darts, reduced to their insignificant mechanical -action, will be harmless. The solvent, on the other hand, rid of all -hairs by filtration, will be charged with the irritant element, which -we shall be able to test without the agency of the hairs. Isolated and -concentrated, the stinging element, far from losing by this treatment, -ought to gain in virulence. So reflection tells us. - -The solvents tried are confined to three: water, spirits of wine and -sulphuric ether. I employ the latter by preference, although the other -two, spirits of wine especially, have yielded satisfactory results. To -simplify the experiment, instead of submitting to the action of the -solvent the entire caterpillar, who would complicate the extract with -his fats and his nutritive juices, I prefer to employ the cast skin -alone. - -I therefore collect, on the one hand, the heap of dry skins which the -moult of the second phase has left on the dome of the silken dwelling -and, on the other hand, the skins which the caterpillars have rejected -in their cocoons before becoming chrysalids; and I leave the two lots -to infuse, separately, in sulphuric ether for twenty-four hours. The -infusion is colourless. The liquid, carefully filtered, is exposed to -spontaneous evaporation; and the skins are rinsed with ether in the -filter, several times over. - -There are now two tests to be made: one with the skins and one with the -product of maceration. The first is as conclusive as can be. Hairy as -in the normal state and perfectly dried, the skins of both lots, -drained by the ether, produce not the slightest effect, although I rub -myself with them, without the least caution, at the juncture of the -fingers, a spot very sensitive to stinging. - -The hairs are the same as before the action of the solvent: they have -lost none of their barbs, of their javelin-points; and yet they are -ineffectual. They produce no pain or inconvenience whatever. Deprived -of their toxic smearing, these thousands of darts become so much -harmless velvet. The Hedgehog Caterpillar and the Brush Caterpillar are -not more inoffensive. - -The second test is more positive and so conclusive in its painful -effects that one hardly likes to try it a second time. When the -ethereal infusion is reduced by spontaneous evaporation to a few drops, -I soak in it a slip of blotting-paper folded in four, so as to form a -square measuring something over an inch. Too unsuspecting of my -product, I do things on a lavish scale, both as regards the superficial -area of my poor epidermis and the quantity of the virus. To any one who -might wish to renew the investigation I should recommend a less -generous dose. Lastly, the square of paper, that novel sort of -mustard-plaster, is applied to the under surface of the fore-arm. A -thin waterproof sheeting covers it, to prevent it from drying too -rapidly; and a bandage holds it in place. - -For the space of ten hours, I feel nothing; then I experience an -increasing itch and a burning sensation acute enough to keep me awake -for the greater part of the night. Next day, after twenty-four hours of -contact, the poultice is removed. A red mark, slightly swollen and very -clearly outlined, occupies the square which the poisoned paper covered. - -The skin feels sore, as though it had been cauterized, and looks as -rough as shagreen. From each of its tiny pustules trickles a drop of -serous fluid, which hardens into a substance similar in colour to -gum-arabic. This oozing continues for a couple of days and more. Then -the inflammation abates; the pain, hitherto very trying, quiets down; -the skin dries and comes off in little flakes. All is over, except the -red mark, which remains for a long time, so tenacious in its effects is -this extract of Processionary. Three weeks after the experiment, the -little square on the fore-arm subjected to the poison is still -discoloured. - -For thus branding one’s self, does one at least obtain some small -reward? Yes. A little truth is the balm spread upon the wound; and -indeed truth is a sovran balm. It will come presently to solace us for -much greater sufferings. - -For the moment, this painful experiment shows us that the irritation -has not as its primary cause the hairiness of the Processionary. Here -is no hair, no barb, no dart. All of that has been retained by the -filter. We have nothing now but a poisonous agent extracted by the -solvent, the ether. This irritant element recalls, to a certain extent, -that of cantharides, which acts by simple contact. My square of -poisoned blotting-paper was a sort of plaster, which, instead of -raising the epidermis in great blisters, makes it bristle with tiny -pustules. - -The part played by the barbed hairs, those atoms which the least -movement of the air disseminates in all directions, is confined to -conveying to our face and hands the irritant substance in which they -are impregnated. Their barbs hold them in place and thus permit the -virus to act. It is even probable that, by means of slight scratches -which would otherwise pass unnoticed, they assist the action of the -stinging fluid. - -Shortly after handling the Processionaries, a delicate epidermis -becomes tumefied, red and painful. Without being immediate, the action -of the caterpillar is prompt. The extract made with ether, on the other -hand, causes pain and rubefaction only after a longish interval. What -does it need to produce more rapid ulceration? To all appearances, the -action of the hairs. - -The direct stinging caused by the caterpillar is nothing like so -serious as that produced by the ethereal extract concentrated in a few -drops. Never before, in my most painful misadventures, whether with the -silken purses or their inhabitants, have I seen my skin covered with -serous pustules and peeling off in flakes. This time it is a veritable -sore, anything but pleasing to the eye. - -The aggravation is easily explained. I soaked in the ether some fifty -discarded skins. The few drops which remained after the evaporation and -which were absorbed by the square of blotting-paper represented, -therefore, the virulence of a single insect fifty times increased. My -little blistering-plaster was equivalent to the contact of fifty -caterpillars at the same spot. There is no doubt that, if we left them -to steep in considerable numbers, we should obtain extracts of really -formidable strength. It is quite possible that medical science will one -day make good use of this powerful counter-irritant, which is utterly -different from cantharides. - -Whether voluntary victims of our curiosity, which, while affording no -other satisfaction than that of knowledge, exposes us to an intolerable -itch, or sufferers through an accident, what can we do to give a little -relief to the irritation caused by the Processionary? It is good to -know the origin of the evil, but it would be better to apply a remedy. - -One day, with both hands sore from the prolonged examination of a nest, -I try without success lotions of alcohol, glycerine, oil and soapsuds. -Nothing does any good. I then remember a palliative employed by Réaumur -against the sting of the Oak Processionary. Without telling us how he -came to know of the strange specific, the master rubbed himself with -parsley and felt a good deal the better for it. He adds that any other -leaf would probably assuage the irritation in the same way. - -This is a fitting occasion for reopening the subject. Here, in a corner -of the garden, is parsley, green and abundant as one could wish. What -other plant can we compare with it? I choose the purslain, the -spontaneous guest of my vegetable-beds. Mucilaginous and fleshy as it -is, it readily crushes, yielding an emollient liniment. I rub one hand -with parsley and the other with purslain, pressing hard enough to -reduce the leaves to a paste. The result deserves attention. - -With the parsley, the burning is a little less acute, it is true, but, -though relieved, it persists for a long time yet and continues -troublesome. With the purslain, the petty torture ceases almost at once -and so completely that I no longer notice it. My nostrum possesses -incontestable virtues. I recommend it quietly, without blatant -advertisement, to any one who may be persecuted by the Processionary. -Foresters, in their war upon caterpillars’ nests, should find great -relief from it. - -I have also obtained good results with the leaves of the tomato and the -lettuce; and, without pursuing this botanical survey further, I remain -convinced, with Réaumur, that any tender juicy foliage would possess a -certain efficacy. - -As for the mode of action of this specific, I admit that I do not -understand it, any more than I can perceive the mode of action of the -caterpillar’s virus. Molière’s medical student explained the soporific -properties of opium by saying: - -“Quia est in eo virtus dormitava cujus est proprietas sensus -assoupire.” - -Let us say likewise: the crushed herb calms the burning itch because it -possesses a calming virtue whose property is to assuage itching. - -The quip is a good deal more philosophical than it looks. What do we -know of our remedies or of anything? We perceive effects, but we cannot -get back to their causes. - -In my village and for some distance around it, there is a popular -belief that to relieve the pain of a Wasp’s or Bee’s sting all that we -need do is to rub the part stung with three sorts of herbs. Take, they -say, three kinds of herbs, the first that come to hand, make them into -a bunch and rub hard. The prescription, by all accounts, is infallible. - -I thought at first that this was one of those therapeutic absurdities -which have their birth in rustic imaginations. After making a trial, I -admit that what sounds like a nonsensical remedy sometimes has -something genuine about it. Friction with three kinds of herbs does -actually deaden the sting of the Wasp or Bee. - -I hasten to add that the same success is achieved with a single herb; -and so the result agrees with what the parsley and purslain have taught -us in respect of the irritation caused by the Processionary. - -Why three herbs when one is enough? Three is the preeminently lucky -number; it smacks of witchcraft, which is far from detracting from the -virtues of the unguent. All rustic medicine has a touch of magic about -it; and there is merit in doing things by threes. - -Perhaps the specific of the three herbs may even date back to the -materia medica of antiquity. Dioscorides recommends τρίφυλλον: it is, -he states, good for the bite of venomous serpents. To determine this -celebrated three-leaved plant exactly would not be easy. Is it a common -clover? The psoralea, with its pitchy odour? The menyanthes, or -uck-bean, that inmate of the chilly peat-bogs? The oxalis, the -wood-sorrel of the country-side? We cannot tell for certain. The botany -of those days was innocent of the descriptive conscientiousness of -ours. The plant which acted as a poison-antidote grouped its leaves by -threes. That is its essential characteristic. - -Again the cabalistic number, essential to medical virtues as conceived -by the first healers. The peasant, a tenacious conservative, has -preserved the ancient remedy, but, by a happy inspiration, has changed -the three original leaves into three different herbs; he has elaborated -the τρίφυλλον into the threefold foliage which he crushes on the Bee’s -sting. I seem to perceive a certain relation between these artless ways -and the crushing of parsley as described by Réaumur. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -THE ARBUTUS CATERPILLAR - - -I have not found many species of urticating caterpillars in the small -corner of my investigations. I know of two only: the Pine Caterpillar -and the Arbutus Caterpillar. The latter belongs to the genus Liparis. -His Moth, who is a glorious snowy white, with the last rings of the -abdomen bright russet, is very like Liparis auriflua, Fab., from whom -she differs not only in size—she is smaller—but, above all, in the -field of operations selected by her caterpillar. Is the species -classified in our lists? I do not know; and really it is hardly worth -while to enquire. What does a Latin name matter, when one cannot -mistake the insect? I shall be sparing of detail concerning the Arbutus -Caterpillar, for he is far less interesting in his habits than the Pine -Processionary. Only his ravages and his poison deserve serious -attention. - -On the Sérignan hills, sunny heights upon which the Mediterranean -vegetation comes to an end, the arbutus, or strawberry-tree, abounds: a -magnificent shrub, with lustrous evergreen foliage, vermilion fruit, -round and fleshy as strawberries, and hanging clusters of little white -bells resembling those of the lily of the valley. When the frosts come -at the approach of December, nothing could be more charming than the -arbutus, decking its gay verdure with both fruits and flowers, with -coral balls and plump little bells. Alone of our flora, it combines the -flowering of to-day with the ripening of yesterday. - -Then the bright-red raspberries—the darbouses, as we call them -here—beloved by the Blackbird, grow soft and sweet to the palate. The -housewives pluck them and make them into preserves that are not without -merit. As for the shrub itself, when the season for cutting has come, -it is not, despite its beauty, respected by the woodman. It serves, -like any trivial brushwood, in the making of faggots for heating ovens. -Frequently, too, the showy arbutus is ravaged by a caterpillar yet more -to be dreaded than the woodcutter. After this glutton has been at it, -it could not look more desolate had it been scorched and blackened by -fire. - -The Moth, a pretty little, snow-white Bombyx, with superb antennary -plumes and a cotton-wool tippet on her thorax, lays her eggs on a leaf -of the arbutus and, in so doing, starts the evil. - -You see a little cushion with pointed ends, rather less than an inch in -length; a white eiderdown, tinged with russet, thick, very soft and -formed of hairs fixed with a little gum by the end that points towards -the upper extremity of the leaf. The eggs are sunk in the thickness of -this soft shelter. They possess a metallic sheen and look like so many -nickel granules. - -Hatching takes place in September. The first meals are made at the -expense of the native leaf; the later ones at the expense of the leaves -all around. One surface only is nibbled, usually the upper; the other -remains intact, trellised by the network of veins, which are too horny -for the new-born grubs. - -The consumption of leaves is effected with scrupulous economy. Instead -of grazing at hazard and using up the pasturage at the dictates of -individual caprice, the flock progresses gradually from the base to the -tip of the leaf, with all heads ranged in a frontal attack, almost in a -straight line. Not a bite is taken beyond this line, until all that -lies on this side of it is eaten up. - -As it advances, the flock throws a few threads across the denuded -portion, where nothing remains but the veins and the epidermis of the -opposite surface. Thus is woven a gossamer veil serving as a shelter -from the fierce rays of the sun and as the parachute which is essential -to these weaklings, whom a puff of wind would carry away. - -As the result of a more rapid desiccation on the ravaged surface, the -leaf soon begins to curl of its own accord, curving into a gondola -which is covered by a continuous awning stretched from end to end. The -herbage is then exhausted. The flock abandons it and begins again -elsewhere in the near neighbourhood. - -After various temporary pastures of this kind, in November, when the -cold weather is at hand, the caterpillars settle permanently at the end -of a bough. Nibbled one by one on their upper surfaces, the leaves of -the terminal bunch draw close to their neighbours, which, excoriated in -their turn, do the same, until the whole forms a bundle, which looks as -if it had been scorched, lashed together with magnificent white silk. -This is the winter habitation, whence the family, still very feeble, -will not issue until the fine weather returns. - -The assembling of this leafy framework is not due to any special -industry on the caterpillars’ part; they do not stretch their threads -from leaf to leaf and then, by pulling at these ropes, bring the -various pieces of the structure into contact. It is merely the result -of desiccation on the nibbled surfaces. Fixed cables, it is true, -solidly bind together the leaves brought close to one another by the -contraction due to their aridity; but they do not in any way play the -part of a motive mechanism in the work of the assemblage. - -No hauling-ropes are here, no capstans to move the timbers. The feeble -creatures would be incapable of such effort. The thing happens of -itself. Sometimes a floating thread, the plaything of the air, enlaces -some adjacent leaf. This chance footbridge tempts the explorers, who -hasten to strip the accidental prize; and, without other labour, yet -one more leaf bends of its own accord and is added to the enclosure. -For the most part, the house is built by eating; a lodging is procured -by dint of banqueting. - -A comfortable house, tightly closed and well-caulked, proof against -rain and snow. We, to guard ourselves against draughts, put sand-bags -against the cracks of our doors and windows; the extravagant little -Arbutus Caterpillar applies pipings of silk-velvet to his shutters. -Things should be cosy inside, however damp the fog. In bad weather, the -rain drips into my house. The leaf-dwelling knows nothing of such -troubles, so true is it that animals often enjoy advantages which -relegate human industry to the second rank. - -In this shelter of silk and foliage, the worst three or four months of -the year are passed in a state of complete abstinence. No outings; not -a bite of food. In March, this torpor ceases; and the recluses, those -starving bellies, shift their quarters. - -The community now splits up into squads, which spread themselves anyhow -over the adjacent verdure. This is the period of serious devastation. -The caterpillars no longer confine themselves to nibbling one surface -of the leaf; their keen appetites demand the whole of it, down to the -stalk. And now, stage by stage, halt by halt, the arbutus is shorn -bare. - -The vagabonds do not return to their winter dwelling, which has become -too closely cramped. They reassemble in groups and weave, here, there -and everywhere, shapeless tents, temporary huts, abandoned for others -as the pasturage round about becomes exhausted. The denuded boughs, to -all seeming ravaged by fire, take on the look of squalid drying-grounds -hung with rags. - -In June, having acquired their full growth, the caterpillars leave the -arbutus-tree, descend to earth and spin themselves, amid the dead -leaves, a niggardly cocoon, in which the insect’s hairs to some extent -supplement its silk. A month later, the Bombyx appears. - -In his final dimensions, the caterpillar measures nearly an inch and a -quarter in length. His costume does not lack richness or originality: a -black skin with a double row of orange specks on the back; long grey -hairs arranged in bunches; short, snow-white tufts on the sides; and a -couple of brown-velvet protuberances on the first two rings of the -abdomen and also on the last ring but one. - -The most remarkable feature, however, consists of two tiny craters, -always open wide; two cunningly fashioned goblets which might have been -wrought from a drop of red sealing-wax. The sixth and seventh segments -of the abdomen are the only ones that bear these vermilion goblets, -placed in the middle of the back. I do not know the function of these -little cups. Perhaps they should be regarded as organs of information, -similar to the Pine Processionary’s dorsal mouths. - -The Arbutus Caterpillar is much dreaded in the village. Woodcutters, -faggot-binders, brushwood-gatherers, all are unanimous in reviling him. -They have such a painfully vivid memory of the irritation that, when I -listen to them, I can hardly repress a movement of the shoulders to -relieve the imaginary itching in the middle of my back. I seem to feel -the arbutus-faggot, laden with its glowing rags, rubbing my bare skin. - -It is, it appears, a disagreeable job to cut down the shrub alive with -caterpillars during the hottest part of the day and to shake, under the -blows of the axe, that sort of upas-tree, shedding poison in its shade. -As for me, I have no complaint to make of my relations with the ravager -of the arbutus. I have very often handled him; I have applied his fur -to the tips of my fingers, my neck and even my face, for hours at a -time; I have ripped up the nests to extract their populations for the -purpose of my researches; but I have never been inconvenienced. Save in -exceptional circumstances, the approach of the moult perhaps, this -would need a skin less tough than mine. - -The thin skin of a child does not enjoy the same immunity, as witness -little Paul, who, having helped me to empty some nests and to collect -the inhabitants with my forceps, was for hours scratching his neck, -which was dotted with red wheals. My ingenuous assistant was proud of -his sufferings in the cause of science, which resulted from -heedlessness and also perhaps from bravado. In twenty-four hours, the -trouble disappeared, without leaving any serious consequences. - -All this hardly tallies with the painful experiences of which the -woodcutters talk. Do they exaggerate? That is hardly credible; they are -so unanimous. Then something must have been lacking in my experiments: -the propitious moment apparently, the proper degree of maturity in the -caterpillar, the high temperature which aggravates the poison. - -To show itself in its full severity, the urtication demands the -cooperation of certain undefined circumstances; and this cooperation -was wanting. Chance perhaps will one day teach me more than I want to -know; I shall be attacked in the manner familiar to the woodcutters and -shall pass a night in torment, tossing and turning as though on a bed -of live coals. - -What the direct contact of the caterpillar did not teach me the -artifices of chemistry will demonstrate with a violence which I was far -from expecting. I treat the caterpillar with ether, just as I treated -the slough of the Pine Processionary. The number of the creatures taken -for the infusion—they are pretty small as yet, are scarcely half the -size which they will attain when mature—is about a hundred. After a -couple of days’ maceration, I filter the liquid and leave it to -evaporate freely. With the few drops that remain I soak a square of -blotting-paper folded in four and apply it to the inner surface of my -fore-arm, with a thin rubber sheet and a bandage. It is an exact -repetition of what I did with the Pine Processionary. - -Applied in the morning, the blister hardly takes effect until the -following night. Then by degrees the irritation becomes unendurable; -and the burning sensation is so acute that I am tormented every moment -with the desire to tear off the bandage. However, I hold out, but at -the cost of a sleepless, feverish night. - -How well I now understand what the woodcutters tell me! I had less than -a square inch of skin subjected to the torture. What would it be if I -had my back, shoulders, neck, face and arms tormented in this fashion? -I pity you with all my heart, you labourers who are troubled by the -hateful creature. - -On the morrow, the infernal paper is removed. The skin is red and -swollen, covered with tiny pimples whence ooze drops of serous fluid. -For five days the itching persists, with a sharp, burning pain, and the -running from the pimples continues. Then the dead skin dries and comes -off in scabs. All is over, save the redness, which is still perceptible -a month later. - -The demonstration is accomplished; the Arbutus Caterpillar, capable as -he is of producing, under certain conditions, the same effects which I -obtain by artificial means, fully deserves his odious reputation. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AN INSECT VIRUS - - -One step forward has been taken, but only a very little one as yet, in -the problem of the stinging caterpillars. The drenching with ether -teaches us that hairiness plays a very secondary part in the matter. -With its dust of broken bristles, which the least breath wafts in all -directions, it bothers us by depositing and fixing its irritant coating -upon us; but this virus does not originate in the creature’s fleece; it -comes from elsewhere. What is the source of it? - -I will enter into a few details. Perhaps, in so doing, I shall be of -service to the novice. The subject, which is very simple and sharply -defined, will show us how one question gives rise to another; how -experimental tests confirm or upset hypotheses, which are, as it were, -a temporary scaffolding; and, lastly, how logic, that severe examiner, -leads us by degrees to generalities which are far more important than -anything that we were led to anticipate at the outset. - -And, first of all, does the Pine Processionary possess a special -glandular structure which elaborates the virus, as do, for instance, -the poison-glands of the Wasps and Bees? By no means. Anatomy shows -that the internal structure of the stinging caterpillar is similar to -that of the harmless one. There is nothing more and nothing less. - -The poisonous product, of unlocalized origin, results, therefore, from -a general process in which the entire organism is brought into play. It -should, in consequence, be found in the blood, after the manner of urea -in higher animals. This is a suggestion of grave import, but after all -quite valueless without the conclusive verdict of actual experiment. - -Five or six Processionaries, pricked with the point of a needle, -furnish me with a few drops of blood. I allow these to soak into a -small square of blotting-paper, which I then apply to my fore-arm with -a waterproof bandage. It is not without a certain anxiety that I await -the outcome of the experiment. The result will show whether the -conclusions already forming in my mind will receive a solid basis or -vanish into thin air. - -At a late hour of the night, the pain wakes me, a pain which this time -is an intellectual joy. My anticipations were correct. The blood does -indeed contain the venomous substance. It causes itching, swelling, a -burning sensation, an exudation of serum and, lastly, a shedding of the -skin. I learn more than I had hoped to learn. The test is more valuable -than that of mere contact with the caterpillar could have been. Instead -of treating myself with the small quantity of poison with which the -hairs are smeared, I have gone to the source of the irritant substance -and I thereby gain an increase of discomfort. - -Very happy in my suffering, which sets me on a safe path, I continue my -enquiry by arguing thus: the virus in the blood cannot be a living -substance, one that takes part in the working of the organism; it is -rather, like urea, a form of decay, an offthrow of the vital process, a -waste product which is expelled as and when it forms. If this be the -case, I ought to find it in the caterpillar’s droppings, which are made -up of both the digestive and the urinary residues. - -Let us describe the new experiment, which is no less positive than the -last. I leave a few pinches of very dry droppings, such as are found in -abundance In the old nests, to soak for two days In sulphuric ether. -The liquid, coloured as it is with the chlorophyll of the caterpillar’s -food, turns a dirty green. Then I repeat precisely the process which I -mentioned when I wanted to prove the innocuousness of the hairs -deprived of their poisonous varnish. I refer to it a second time in -order thoroughly to explain the method pursued and to save repetition -in the various experiments undertaken. - -The infusion is filtered, spontaneously evaporated and reduced to a few -drops, with which I soak my stinger. This consists of a small piece of -blotting-paper, folded in four to increase the thickness of the pad and -to give it a greater power of absorption. An area of a square inch or -less suffices; in some cases it is even too much. A novice in this kind -of research-work, I was too lavish with the liniment; and in return for -my generosity I had such a bad time that I make a point of warning any -reader desirous of repeating the experiment upon his own person. - -Fully soaked, the square of paper is applied to the fore-arm, on the -inner surface, where the skin is more tender. A sheet of rubber covers -it and, being waterproof, guards against the loss of the poison. -Finally, a linen bandage keeps the whole in place. - -On the afternoon of the 4th of June 1897, a memorable date for me, I -test, as I have just said, the etheric extract of the Processionary’s -droppings. All night long, I feel a violent itching, a burning -sensation and shooting pains. On the following day, after twenty hours -of contact, I remove the dressing. - -The venomous liquid, too lavishly employed in my fear of failure, has -considerably overflowed the limits of the square of paper. The parts -which it has touched and still more the portion covered by the pad are -swollen and very red; moreover, in the latter case, the skin is ridged, -wrinkled and mortified. It smarts a little and itches; and that is all. - -On the following day, the swelling becomes more pronounced and goes -deep into the muscles, which, when touched with the finger, throb like -an inflamed cheek. The colour is a bright carmine and extends all round -the spot which the paper covered. This is due to the escape of some of -the liquid. There is a plentiful discharge of serum, oozing from the -sore in tiny drops. The smarting and itching increase and become so -intense, especially during the night, that, to get a little sleep, I am -driven to employ a palliative, vaseline with borax and a lint dressing. - -In five days’ time, it has developed into a hideous ulcer, which looks -more painful than it really is. The red, swollen flesh, quivering and -denuded of its epidermis, provokes commiseration. The person who night -and morning renews my dressing of lint and vaseline is almost sick at -the sight. - -“One would think,” she says, “that the dogs had been gnawing your arm. -I do hope you won’t try any more of those horrible decoctions.” - -I allow my sympathetic nurse to talk away and am already meditating -further experiments, some of which will be equally painful. O sacred -truth, what can rival thy power over us mortals! Thou turnest my petty -torment into contentment; thou makest me rejoice in my flayed arm! What -shall I gain by it all? I shall know why a wretched caterpillar sets us -scratching ourselves. Nothing more; and that is enough for me. - -Three weeks later, new skin is forming, but is covered all over with -painful little pimples. The swelling diminishes; the redness persists -and is still very marked. The effect of the infernal paper lasts a long -time. At the end of a month, I still feel an itching, a burning -irritation, which is intensified by the warmth of the bed-clothes. At -last, a fortnight later, all has disappeared but the redness, of which -I shall retain the marks for a long time yet, though it grows gradually -fainter and fainter. It will take three months or more to vanish -altogether. - -We now have some light on the problem: the Processionary’s virus is -certainly an offthrow of the organic factory, a waste product of the -living edifice. The caterpillar discards it with his excrement. But the -material of the droppings has a twofold origin: the greater part -represents the digestive residuum; the rest, in a much smaller -proportion, is composed of the urinary products. To which of the two -does the virus belong? Before going farther, let us permit ourselves a -digression which will assist us in our subsequent enquiries. Let us ask -what advantages the Processionary derives from his urticating product. - -I already hear the answer: - -“It is a means of protection, of defence. With his poisoned mane, he -repels the enemy.” - -I do not clearly perceive the bearing of this explanation. I think of -the creature’s recognized enemies: of the larva of Calosoma sycophanta, -which lives in the nests of the Processionary of the Oak and gobbles up -the inhabitants with never a thought of their burning fleece; of the -Cuckoo, another mighty consumer, so we are told, of the same -caterpillars, who gorges on them to the point of implanting in his -gizzard a bristling coat of their hairs. - -I am not aware if the Processionary of the Pine pays a like tribute. I -do know of at least one of his exploiters. This is a Dermestes, [23] -who establishes himself in the silken city and feeds upon the remains -of the defunct caterpillars. This ghoul assures us of the existence of -other consumers, all furnished with stomachs expressly fashioned for -such highly-seasoned fare. For every harvest of living creatures there -is always a harvester. - -No, the theory of a special virus, expressly prepared to defend the -Processionary and his emulators in urtication, is not the last word on -the subject. I should find it difficult to believe in such a -prerogative. Why have these caterpillars, more than others, need of -protection? What reasons would make of them a caste apart, endowed with -an exceptional defensive venom? The part which they play in the -entomological world does not differ from that of other caterpillars, -hairy or smooth. It is the naked caterpillars who, in default of a mane -capable of striking awe into the assailant, ought, one would think, to -arm themselves against danger and impregnate themselves with -corrosives, instead of remaining a meek and easy prey. Is it likely -that the shaggy, bristling caterpillar should anoint his fleece with a -formidable cosmetic and his smooth-coated kinsman be unfamiliar with -the chemical properties of the poison beneath his satin skin! These -contradictions do not inspire confidence. - -Have we not here, rather, a property common to all caterpillars, -smooth-skinned or hairy? Among the latter, there might be some, just a -few, who, under certain special conditions which will need to be -defined, would be quick to reveal by urtication the venomous nature of -their organic refuse; the others, the vast majority, living outside -these conditions, even though endowed with the necessary product, would -be inexpert at the stinging business and would not produce irritation -by contact. In all, the same virus is to be found, resulting from an -identical vital process. Sometimes it is brought into prominence by the -itching which it produces; sometimes, indeed most often, it remains -latent, unrecognized, if our artifices do not intervene. - -What shall these artifices be? Something very simple. I address myself -to the Silkworm. If there be an inoffensive caterpillar in the world, -it is certainly he. Women and children take him up by the handful in -our Silkworm-nurseries; and their delicate fingers are none the worse -for it. The satin-skinned caterpillar is perfectly innocuous to a skin -almost as tender as his own. - -But this lack of caustic venom is only apparent. I treat with ether the -excretions of the Silkworm; and the infusion, concentrated into a few -drops, is tested according to the usual method. The result is -wonderfully definite. A smarting sore on the arm, similar in its mode -of appearance and in its effects to that produced by the droppings of -the Processionary, assures me that logic was right. - -Yes, the virus which makes one scratch so much, which blisters and eats -away the skin, is not a defensive product vested in only a few -caterpillars. I recognize it, with its invariable properties, even in a -caterpillar which at first sight appears as though it could not possess -anything of the kind. - -The Silkworm’s virus, besides, is not unknown in my village. The casual -observation of the peasant-woman has outstripped the precise -observation of the man of science. The women and girls entrusted with -the rearing of the Silkworm—the magnanarelles as they are -called—complain of certain tribulations caused, they say, by lou verin -di magnan, the Silkworms’ poison. This trouble consists of a violent -itching of the eyelids, which become red and swollen. In the case of -the more susceptible, there is a rash and the skin peels off the -fore-arm, which the turned-up sleeves fail to protect during work. - -I now know the cause of this little trouble, my plucky magnanarelles. -It is not contact with the worm that afflicts you; you need have no -fear of handling him. It is only the litter that you need distrust. -There, jumbled up with the remains of the mulberry-leaves, is a copious -mass of droppings, impregnated with the substance which has just so -painfully eaten into my skin; there and there only is lou verin, as you -call it. - -It is a relief merely to know the cause of one’s trouble; but I will -provide you with another consolation. When you remove the litter and -renew the leaves, you should raise the irritant dust as little as -possible; you should avoid lifting your hands to your face, above all -to your eyes; and it is just as well to turn down your sleeves in order -to protect your arms. If you take these precautions, you will suffer no -unpleasantness. - -The successful result obtained with the Silkworm caused me to foresee a -similar success with any caterpillar that I might come across. The -facts fully confirmed my expectations. I tested the stercoral pellets -of various caterpillars, not selected, but just as the hazard of -collecting provided them: the Great Tortoiseshell, the Heath -Fritillary, the Large Cabbage Butterfly, the Spurge Hawk-moth, the -Great Peacock Moth, the Death’s-head Moth, the Puss-moth, the -Tiger-moth and the Arbutus Liparis. All my tests, with not a single -exception, brought about stinging, of various degrees of violence, it -is true. I attribute these differences in the result to the greater or -lesser quantities of the virus employed, for it is impossible to -measure the dose. - -So the urticating excretion is common to all the caterpillars. By a -very unexpected reversion of the usual order of things, the popular -repugnance is well-founded; prejudice becomes truth: all caterpillars -are venomous. We must draw a distinction, however: with the same -venomous properties, some are inoffensive and others, far less -numerous, are to be feared. Whence comes this difference? - -I note that the caterpillars marked out as stinging live in communities -and weave themselves dwellings of silk, in which they stay for long -periods. Moreover, they are furry. Of this number are the Pine -Processionary, the Oak Processionary and the caterpillars of various -Lipares. - -Let us consider the first-named in particular. His nest, a voluminous -bag spun at the tip of a branch, is magnificent in its silky whiteness, -on the outside; inside, it is a disgusting cesspit. The colony remains -in it all day and for the greater part of the night. It sallies forth -in procession only in the late hours of twilight, to browse upon the -adjacent foliage. This long internment leads to a considerable -accumulation of droppings in the heart of the dwelling. - -From all the threads of this labyrinth hang chaplets of these -droppings; the walls are upholstered with them in all the corridors; -the little narrow chambers are encumbered with them. From a nest the -size of a man’s head I have obtained, with a sieve, over three-quarters -of a pint of stercoral pellets. - -Now it is in the midst of this ordure that the caterpillars live and -have their being; in the midst of it they move, swarm and sleep. The -results of this utter contempt for the rules of cleanliness are -obvious. Certainly, the Processionary does not soil his coat by contact -with those dry pellets; he leaves his home with his costume neat and -glossy, suggesting not a suspicion of uncleanliness. No matter: by -constantly rubbing against the droppings, his bristles are inevitably -smeared with virus and their barbs poisoned. The caterpillar becomes -irritant, because his manner of life subjects him to prolonged contact -with his own ordure. - -Now consider the Hedgehog Caterpillar. Why is he harmless, despite his -fierce and hirsute aspect? Because he lives in isolation and is always -on the move. His mane, apt though it be to collect and retain irritant -particles, will never give us the itch, for the simple reason that the -caterpillar does not lie on his excretions. Distributed all over the -fields and far from numerous, owing to the caterpillar’s solitary -habits, the droppings, though poisonous, cannot transfer their -properties to a fleece which does not come into contact with them. If -the Hedgehog lived in a community, in a nest serving as a cesspit, he -would be the foremost of our stinging caterpillars. - -At first sight, the barrack-rooms of the Silkworm-nurseries seem to -fulfil the conditions necessary to the surface venom of the worms. Each -change of litter results in the removal of basketfuls of droppings from -the trays. Over this heaped-up ordure the Silkworms swarm. How is it -that they do not acquire the poisonous properties of their own -excrement? - -I see two reasons. In the first place, they are hairless; and a -brushlike coat may well be indispensable to the collection of the -virus. In the second place, far from lying in the filth, they live -above the soiled stratum, being largely separated from it by the bed of -leaves, which is renewed several times a day. Despite crowding, the -population of a tray has nothing that can be compared with the ordinary -habits of the Processionary; and so it remains harmless, in spite of -its stercoral toxin. - -These first enquiries lead us to conclusions which themselves are very -remarkable. All caterpillars excrete an urticating matter, which is -identical throughout the series. But, if the poison is to manifest -itself and to cause us that characteristic itching, it is indispensable -that the caterpillar shall dwell in a community, spending long periods -in the nest, a silken bag laden with droppings. These furnish the -virus; the caterpillar’s hairs collect it and transfer it to us. - -The time has come to tackle the problem from another point of view. Is -this formidable matter which always accompanies the excretions a -digestive residuum? Is it not rather one of those waste substances -which the organism engenders while at work, waste substances designated -by the general appellation of urinary products? - -To isolate these products, to collect them separately, would scarcely -be practicable, if we did not have recourse to what follows on the -metamorphosis. Every Moth, on emerging from her chrysalis, rejects a -copious mixture of uric acid and various humours of which very little -is as yet known. It may be compared with the broken plaster of a -building rebuilt on a new plan and represents the by-products of the -mighty labours accomplished in the transfigured insect. These remains -are essentially urinary products, with no admixture of digested -foodstuffs. - -To what insect shall I apply for this residuum? Chance does many -things. I collect, from the old elm-tree in the garden, about a hundred -curious caterpillars. They have seven rows of prickles of an amber -yellow, a sort of bush with four or five branches. I shall learn from -the Butterfly that they belong to the Great Tortoiseshell (Vanessa -polychloros, Lin.). - -Reared on elm-leaves under a wire-gauze cover, my caterpillars undergo -their transformation towards the end of May. Their chrysalids are -specked with brown on a whitish ground and display on the under surface -six radiant silvery spots, a sort of decorative tinsel, like so many -mirrors. Fixed by the tail with a silken pad, they hang from the top of -the dome, swinging at the least movement and emitting vivid flashes of -light from their reflectors. My children are amazed at this living -chandelier. It is a treat for them when I allow them to come and admire -it in my animal studio. - -Another surprise awaits them, this time a tragic one, however. A -fortnight later, the Butterflies emerge. I have placed under the cover -a large sheet of white paper, which will receive the desired products. -I call the children. What do they see on the paper? - -Large spots of blood. Under their very eyes, from up there, at the top -of the dome, a butterfly lets fall a great red drop: plop! No joy for -the children to-day; anxiety rather, almost fear. - -I send them away, saying to them: - -“Be sure and remember, kiddies, what you have just seen; and, if ever -any one talks to you about showers of blood, don’t be silly and -frightened. A pretty Butterfly is the cause of those blood-red stains, -which have been known to terrify country-folk. The moment she is born, -she casts out, in the form of a red liquid, the remains of her old -caterpillar body, a body remodelled and reborn in a beautiful shape. -That is the whole secret.” - -When my artless visitors have departed, I resume my examination of the -rain of blood falling under the cover. Still clinging to the shell of -its chrysalis, each Tortoiseshell ejects and sheds upon the paper a -great red drop, which, if left standing, deposits a powdery pink -sediment, composed of urates. The liquid is now a deep crimson. - -When the whole thing is perfectly dry, I cut out of the spotted paper -some of the richer stains and steep the bits in ether. The spots on the -paper remain as red as at the outset; and the liquid assumes a light -lemon tint. When reduced by evaporation to a few drops, this liquid -provides me with what I require to soak my square of blotting-paper. - -What shall I say to avoid repeating myself? The effects of the new -caustic are precisely the same as those which I experienced when I used -the droppings of the Processionary. The same itching, the same burning, -the same swelling with the flesh throbbing and inflamed, the same -serous exudation, the same peeling of the skin, the same persistent -redness, which lingers for three or four months, long after the -ulceration itself has disappeared. - -Without being very painful, the sore is so irksome and above all looks -so ugly that I swear never to let myself in for it again. Henceforth, -without waiting for the thing to eat into my flesh, I shall remove the -caterpillar plaster as soon as I feel a conclusive itching. - -In the course of these painful experiences, friends upbraid me with not -having recourse to the assistance of some animal, such as the -Guinea-pig, that stock victim of the physiologists. I take no note of -their reproaches. The animal is a stoic. It says nothing of its -sufferings. If, the torture being a little too intense, it complains, I -am in no position to interpret its cries exactly or to attribute them -to a definite impression. - -The Guinea-pig will not say: - -“It smarts, it itches, it burns.” - -He will simply say: - -“That hurts.” - -As I want to know the details of the sensations experienced, the best -thing is to resort to my own skin, the only witness on whose evidence I -can rely implicitly. - -At the risk of provoking a smile, I will venture on another confession. -As I begin to see into the matter more clearly, I hesitate to torture -or destroy a single creature in God’s great community. The life of the -least of these is a thing to be respected. We can take it away, but we -cannot give it. Peace to those innocents, so little interested in our -investigations! What does our restless curiosity matter to their calm -and sacred ignorance? If we wish to know, let us pay the price -ourselves as far as possible. The acquisition of an idea is well worth -the sacrifice of a bit of skin. - -The Elm Tortoiseshell, with her rain of blood, may leave us to a -certain extent in doubt. Might not this strange red substance, with its -unusual appearance, contain a poison which is likewise exceptional? I -address myself therefore to the Mulberry Bombyx, to the Pine Bombyx and -to the Great Peacock. I collect the uric excretions ejected by the -newly hatched Moths. - -This time, the liquid is whitish, sullied here and there with uncertain -tints. There is no blood-red colouration; but the result is the same. -The virulent energy manifests itself in the most definite manner. -Therefore the Processionary’s virus exists equally in all caterpillars, -in all Butterflies and Moths emerging from the chrysalis; and this -virus is a by-product of the organism, a urinary product. - -The curiosity of our minds is insatiable. The moment a reply is -obtained, a fresh question arises. Why should the Lepidoptera alone be -endowed in this manner? The organic labours accomplished within them -cannot differ greatly, as to the nature of the materials, from those -presiding over the maintenance of life in other insects. Therefore -these others also elaborate a by-product which has stinging powers. -This can be verified—and that forthwith—with the elements at my -disposal. - -The first reply is furnished by Cetonia floricola, of which Beetle I -collect half a dozen chrysalids from a heap of leaves half-converted -into mould. A box receives my find, laid on a sheet of white paper, on -which the urinary fluid of the perfect insect will fall as soon as the -caskets are broken. - -The weather is favourable and I have not long to wait. The thing is -done: the matter rejected is white, the usual colour of these residua, -in the great majority of insects, at the moment of the metamorphosis. -Though by no means abundant, it nevertheless provokes on my fore-arm a -violent itching, together with mortification of the skin, which comes -off in flakes. The reason why it does not display a more distinct sore -is that I judged it prudent to end the experiment. The burning and -itching tell me enough as to the results of a contact unduly prolonged. - -Now to the Hymenoptera. I have not in my possession, I regret to say, -any of those with whom my rearing-chambers used formerly to provide me, -whether Honey-bee or Hunting Wasps. I have only a Green Saw-fly, whose -larva lives in numerous families on the leaves of the alder. Reared -under cover, this larva provides me with enough tiny black droppings to -fill a thimble. That is sufficient: the urtication is quite definite. - -I take next the insects with incomplete transformations. My recent -rearings have given me quite a collection of excretions emanating from -the Orthoptera. I consult those of the Vine Ephippiger [24] and the -Great Grey Locust. Both sting to a degree which once more makes me -regret my lavish hand. - -We will be satisfied with this; indeed my arms demand as much, for, -tattooed with red squares, they refuse to make room for fresh -brandings. The examples are sufficiently varied to impose the following -conclusion: the Processionary’s virus is found in a host of other -insects, apparently even in the entire series. It is a urinary product -inherent in the entomological organism. - -The dejections of insects, especially those evacuated at the end of the -metamorphosis, contain or are even almost entirely composed of urates. -Can the stinging material be the inevitable associate of uric acid? It -should then form part of the excrement of the bird and the reptile, -which in both cases is very rich in urates. Here again is a suspicion -worthy of verification by experiment. - -For the moment it is impossible for me to question the reptile; it is -easy, on the other hand, to interrogate the bird, whose reply will -suffice. I accept what is offered by chance: an insectivorous bird, the -Swallow, and a graminivorous bird, the Goldfinch. Well, their urinary -dejections, when carefully separated from the digestive residua, have -not the slightest stinging effect. The virus that causes itching is -independent therefore of uric acid. It accompanies it in the insect -class, without being its invariable concomitant every elsewhere. - -A last step remains for us to take, namely, to isolate the stinging -element and to obtain it in quantities permitting of precise enquiries -into its nature and properties. It seems to me that medical science -might turn to account a material whose energy rivals that of -cantharides, if it does not exceed it. The question appeals to me. I -would gladly return to my beloved chemistry; but I should want -reagents, apparatus, a laboratory, a whole costly arsenal of which I -must not dream, afflicted as I am with a terrible ailment: -impecuniosity, the searcher’s habitual lot. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE PSYCHES: THE LAYING - - -In the springtime, old walls and dusty roads harbour a surprise for -whoso has eyes to see. Tiny faggots, for no apparent reason, set -themselves in motion and make their way along by sudden jerks. The -inanimate comes to life, the immovable stirs. How does this come about? -Look closer and the motive power will stand revealed. - -Enclosed within the moving bundle is a fairly well-developed -caterpillar, prettily striped in black and white. Seeking for food or -perhaps for a spot where the transformation can be effected, he hurries -along timidly, attired in a queer rig-out of twigs from which nothing -emerges except the head and the front part of the body, which is -furnished with six short legs. At the least alarm he goes right in and -does not budge again. This is the whole secret of the little roaming -bundle of sticks. - -The faggot caterpillar belongs to the Psyche group, whose name conveys -an allusion to the classic Psyche, symbolical of the soul. We must not -allow this phrase to carry our thoughts to loftier heights than is -fitting. The nomenclator, with his rather circumscribed view of the -world, did not trouble about the soul when inventing his descriptive -label. He simply wanted a pretty name; and certainly he could have hit -on nothing better. - -To protect himself from the weather, our chilly, bare-skinned Psyche -builds himself a portable shelter, a travelling cottage which the owner -never leaves until he becomes a Moth. It is something better than a hut -on wheels with a thatched roof to it: it is a hermit’s frock, made of -an unusual sort of frieze. In the valley of the Danube the peasant -wears a goatskin cloak fastened with a belt of rushes. The Psyche dons -an even more rustic apparel. He makes himself a suit of clothes out of -hop-poles. It is true that, beneath this rude conglomeration, which -would be a regular hair-shirt to a skin as delicate as his, he puts a -thick lining of silk. The Clythra Beetle garbs himself in pottery; this -one dresses himself in a faggot. - -In April, on the walls of my chief observatory, that famous pebbly acre -with its wealth of insect life, I find the Psyche who is to furnish me -with my most circumstantial and detailed records. [25] He is at this -period in the torpor of the approaching metamorphosis. As we can ask -him nothing else for the moment, let us look into the construction and -composition of his faggot. - -It is a not irregular structure, spindle-shaped and about an inch and a -half long. The pieces that compose it are fixed in front and free at -the back, are arranged anyhow and would form a rather ineffective -shelter against the sun and rain if the recluse had no other protection -than his thatched roof. - -The word thatch is suggested to my mind by a summary inspection of what -I see, but it is not an exact expression in this case. On the contrary, -graminaceous straws are rare, to the great advantage of the future -family, which, as we shall learn presently, would find nothing to suit -them in jointed planks. What predominates is remnants of very small -stalks, light, soft and rich in pith, such as are possessed by various -Chicoriaceæ. I recognize in particular the floral stems of the -mouse-ear hawkweed and the Nimes pterotheca. Next come bits of -grass-leaves, scaly twigs provided by the cypress-tree and all sorts of -little sticks, coarse materials adopted for the lack of anything -better. Lastly, if the favourite cylindrical pieces fall short, the -mantle is sometimes finished off with an ample flounced tippet, that is -to say, with fragments of dry leaves of any kind. - -Incomplete as it is, this list shows us that the caterpillar apart from -his preference for pithy morsels, has no very exclusive tastes. He -employs indifferently anything that he comes upon, provided that it be -light, very dry, softened by long exposure to the air and of suitable -dimensions. All his finds, if they come anywhere near his estimates, -are used just as they are, without any alterations or sawing to reduce -them to the proper length. The Psyche does not trim the laths that go -to form his roof; he gathers them as he finds them. His work is limited -to imbricating them one after the other by fixing them at the fore-end. - -In order to lend itself to the movements of the journeying caterpillar -and in particular to facilitate the action of the head and legs when a -new piece is to be placed in position, the front part of the sheath -requires a special structure. Here a casing of beams is no longer -allowable, for their length and stiffness would hamper the artisan and -even make his work impossible; what is essential here is a flexible -neck, able to bend in all directions. The assemblage of stakes does, in -fact, end suddenly at some distance from the fore-part and is there -replaced by a collar in which the silken woof is merely hardened with -very tiny ligneous particles, tending to strengthen the material -without impairing its flexibility. This collar, which gives free -movement, is so important that all the Psyches make equal use of it, -however much the rest of the work may differ. All carry, in front of -the faggot of sticks, a yielding neck, soft to the touch, formed inside -of a web of pure silk and velveted outside with a fine sawdust which -the caterpillar obtains by crushing with his mandibles any sort of dry -straw. - -A similar velvet, but lustreless and faded, apparently through age, -finishes the sheath at the back, in the form of a rather long, bare -appendix, open at the end. - -Let us now remove the outside of the straw envelope, shredding it -piecemeal. The demolition gives us a varying number of joists: I have -counted as many as eighty and more. The ruin that remains is a -cylindrical sheath wherein we discover, from one end to the other, the -structure which we perceived at the front and rear, the two parts which -are naturally bare. The tissue everywhere is of very stout silk, which -resists without breaking when pulled by the fingers, a smooth tissue, -beautifully white inside, drab and wrinkled outside, where it bristles -with encrusted woody particles. - -There will be an opportunity later to discover by what means the -caterpillar makes himself so complicated a garment, in which are laid -one upon the other, in a definite order, first, the extremely fine -satin which is in direct contact with the skin; next, the mixed stuff, -a sort of frieze dusted with ligneous matter, which saves the silk and -gives consistency to the work; lastly, the surtout of overlapping -laths. - -While retaining this general threefold arrangement, the scabbard offers -notable variations of structural detail in the different species. Here, -for instance, is a second Psyche, [26] the most belated of the three -which I have chanced to come upon. I meet him towards the end of June, -hurrying across some dusty path near the houses. His cases surpass -those of the previous species both in size and in regularity of -arrangement. They form a thick coverlet, of many pieces, in which I -recognize here fragments of hollow stalks, there bits of fine straw, -with perhaps straps formed of blades of grass. In front there is never -any mantilla of dead leaves, a troublesome piece of finery which, -without being in regular use, is pretty frequent in the costume of the -first-named species. At the back, no long, denuded vestibule. Save for -the indispensable collar at the aperture, all the rest is cased in -logs. There is not much variety about the thing, but, when all is said, -there is a certain elegance in its stern faultlessness. - -The smallest in size and simplest in dress is the third, [27] who is -very common at the end of winter on the walls, as well as in the -furrows of the barks of gnarled old trees, be they olive-trees, -holm-oaks, elms or almost any other. His case, a modest little bundle, -is hardly more than two-fifths of an inch in length. A dozen rotten -straws, gleaned at random and fixed close to one another in a parallel -direction, represent, with the silk sheath, his whole outlay on dress. -It would be difficult to clothe one’s self more economically. - -This pigmy, apparently so uninteresting, shall supply us with our first -records of the curious life-story of the Psyches. I gather him in -profusion in April and instal him in a wire bell-jar. What he eats I -know not. My ignorance would be grievous under other conditions; but at -present I need not trouble about provisions. Taken from their walls and -trees, where they had suspended themselves for their transformation, -most of my little Psyches are in the chrysalis state. A few of them are -still active. They hasten to clamber to the top of the trellis-work; -they fix themselves there perpendicularly by means of a little silk -cushion; then everything is still. - -June comes to an end; and the male Moths are hatched, leaving the -chrysalid wrapper half caught in the case, which remains fixed where it -is and will remain there indefinitely until dismantled by the weather. -The emergence is effected through the hinder end of the bundle of -sticks, the only way by which it can be effected. Having permanently -closed the top opening, the real door of the house, by fastening it to -the support which he has chosen, the caterpillar therefore has turned -the other way round and undergone his transformation in a reversed -position, which enables the adult insect to emerge through the outlet -made at the back, the only one now free. - -For that matter, this is the method followed by all the Psyches. The -case has two apertures. The front one, which is more regular and more -carefully constructed, is at the caterpillar’s service so long as -larval activity lasts. It is closed and firmly fastened to its support -at the time of the nymphosis. The hinder one, which is faulty and even -hidden by the sagging of the sides, is at the Moth’s service. It does -not really open until right at the end, when pushed by the chrysalis or -the adult insect. - -In their modest pearl-grey dress, with their insignificant -wing-equipment, hardly exceeding that of a Common Fly, our little Moths -are still not without elegance. They have handsome feathery plumes for -antennæ; their wings are edged with delicate fringes. They whirl very -fussily inside the bell-jar; they skim the ground, fluttering their -wings; they crowd eagerly around certain sheaths which nothing on the -outside distinguishes from the others. They alight upon them and sound -them with their plumes. - -This feverish agitation marks them as lovers in search of their brides. -This one here, that one there, each of them finds his mate. But the coy -one does not leave her home. Things happen very discreetly through the -wicket left open at the free end of the case. The male stands on the -threshold of this back-door for a little while; and then it is over: -the wedding is finished. There is no need for us to linger over these -nuptials in which the parties concerned do not know, do not see each -other. - -I hasten to place in a glass tube the few cases in which the mysterious -events have happened. Some days later, the recluse comes out of the -sheath and shows herself in all her wretchedness. Call that little -fright a Moth! One cannot easily get used to the idea of such poverty. -The caterpillar of the start was no humbler-looking. There are no -wings, none at all; no silky fur either. At the tip of the abdomen, a -round, tufty pad, a crown of dirty-white velvet; on each segment, in -the middle of the back, a large rectangular dark patch: these are the -sole attempts at ornament. The mother Psyche renounces all the beauty -which her name of Moth promised. - -From the centre of the hairy coronet a long ovipositor stands out, -consisting of two parts, one stiff, forming the base of the implement, -the other soft and flexible, sheathed in the first just as a telescope -fits in its tube. The laying mother bends herself into a hook, grips -the lower end of her case with her six feet and drives her probe into -the back-window, a window which serves manifold purposes, allowing of -the consummation of the clandestine marriage, the emergence of the -fertilized bride, the installation of the eggs and, lastly, the exodus -of the young family. - -There, at the free end of her case, the mother remains for a long time, -bowed and motionless. What can she be doing in this contemplative -attitude? She is lodging her eggs in the house which she has just left; -she is bequeathing the maternal cottage to her heirs. Some thirty hours -pass and the ovipositor is at last withdrawn. The laying is finished. - -A little wadding, supplied by the coronet on the hind-quarters, closes -the door and allays the dangers of invasion. The fond mother makes a -barricade for her brood of the sole ornament which, in her extreme -indigence, she possesses. Better still, she makes a rampart of her -body. Bracing herself convulsively on the threshold of her home, she -dies there, dries up there, devoted to her family even after death. It -needs an accident, a breath of air, to make her fall from her post. - -Let us now open the case. It contains the chrysalid wrapper, intact -except for the front breach through which the Psyche emerged. The male, -because of his wings and his plumes, very cumbersome articles when he -is about to make his way through the narrow pass, takes advantage of -his chrysalis state to make a start for the door and come out half-way. -Then, bursting his amber tunic, the delicate Moth finds an open space, -where flight is possible, right in front of him. The mother, unprovided -with wings and plumes, is not compelled to observe any such -precautions. Her cylindrical form, bare and differing but little from -that of the caterpillar, allows her to crawl, to slip into the narrow -passage and to come forth without obstacle. Her cast chrysalid skin is, -therefore, left right at the back of the case, well covered by the -thatched roof. - -And this is an act of prudence marked by exquisite tenderness. The -eggs, in fact, are packed in the barrel, in the parchmentlike wallet -formed by the slough. The mother has thrust her telescopic ovipositor -to the bottom of that receptacle and has methodically gone on laying -until it is full. Not satisfied with bequeathing her home and her -velvet coronet to her offspring, as a last sacrifice she leaves them -her skin. - -With a view to observing at my ease the events which are soon to -happen, I extract one of these chrysalid bags, stuffed with eggs, from -its faggot and place it by itself, beside its case, in a glass tube. I -have not long to wait. In the first week of July, I find myself all of -a sudden in possession of a large family. The quickness of the hatching -balked my watchfulness. The new-born caterpillars, about forty in -number, have already had time to garb themselves. - -They wear a Persian head-dress, a mage’s tiara in dazzling white plush. -Or, to abandon high-flown language, let us say a cotton night-cap -without a tassel; only the cap does not stand up from the head: it -covers the hind-quarters. Great animation reigns in the tube, which is -a spacious residence for such vermin. They roam about gaily, with their -caps sticking up almost perpendicular to the floor. With a tiara like -that and things to eat, life must be sweet indeed. - -But what do they eat? I try a little of everything that grows on the -bare stone and the gnarled old trees. Nothing is welcomed. More eager -to dress than to feed themselves, the Psyches scorn what I set before -them. My ignorance as an insect-breeder will not matter, provided that -I succeed in seeing with what materials and in what manner the first -outlines of the cap are woven. - -I may fairly hope to achieve this ambition, as the chrysalid bag is far -from having exhausted its contents. I find in it, teeming amid the -rumpled wrapper of the eggs, an additional family as numerous as the -swarm that is already out. The total laying must therefore amount to -five or six dozen. I transfer to another receptacle the precocious band -which is already dressed and keep only the naked laggards in the tube. -They have bright red heads, with the rest of their bodies dirty white; -and they measure hardly a twenty-fifth of an inch in length. - -My patience is not long put to the test. Next day, little by little, -singly or in groups, the belated grubs quit the chrysalid bag. They -come out without breaking the frail wallet, through the front breach -made by the liberation of the mother. Not one of them utilizes it as a -dress-material, though it has the delicacy and amber colouring of an -onion-skin; nor do any of them make use of a fine quilting which lines -the inside of the bag and forms an exquisitely soft bed for the eggs. -This down, whose origin we shall have to investigate presently, ought, -one would say, to make an excellent blanket for these chilly ones, -impatient to cover themselves up. Not a single one uses it; there would -not be enough to go round. - -All go straight to the coarse faggot, which I left in contact with the -wallet that was the chrysalis. Time presses. Before making your -entrance into the world and going agrazing, you must first be clad. All -therefore, with equal fury, attack the old sheath and hastily dress -themselves in the mother’s cast clothes. Some turn their attention to -bits that happen to be open lengthwise and scrape the soft, white inner -layer; others, greatly daring, penetrate into the tunnel of a hollow -stalk and go and collect their cotton goods in the dark. At such times -the materials are first-class; and the garment woven is of a dazzling -white. Others bite deep into the piece which they select and make -themselves a motley garment, in which dark-coloured particles mar the -snowy whiteness of the rest. - -The tool which they use for their gleaning consists of the mandibles, -shaped like wide shears with five strong teeth apiece. The two planes -fit into each other and form an implement capable of seizing and -slicing any fibre, however small. Seen under the microscope, it is a -wonderful specimen of mechanical precision and power. Were the Sheep -similarly equipped in proportion to her size, she would browse upon the -bottom of the trees instead of cropping the grass. - -A very instructive workshop is that of the Psyche-vermin toiling to -make themselves a cotton night-cap. There are numbers of things to -remark in both the finish of the work and the ingenuity of the methods -employed. To avoid repeating ourselves, we will say nothing about these -yet, but wait for a little and return to the subject when setting forth -the talents of a second Psyche, of larger stature and easier to -observe. The two weavers observe exactly the same procedure. - -Nevertheless let us take a glance at the bottom of the egg-cup, a -general workyard in which I instal my dwarfs as the cases turn them -out. There are some hundreds of them, with the sheaths from which they -came and an assortment of clipped stalks, chosen from among the driest -and richest in pith. What a whirl! What bewildering animation! - -In order to see man, Micromégas cut himself a lens out of a diamond of -his necklace; he held his breath lest the storm from his nostrils -should blow the mite away. I in my turn will be the good giant, newly -arriving from Sirius; I screw a magnifying-glass into my eye and am -careful not to breathe for fear of overturning and sweeping out of -existence my cotton-workers. If I need one of them, to focus him under -a stronger glass, I lime him as it were, seizing him with the fine -point of a needle which I have passed over my lips. Taken away from his -work, the tiny caterpillar struggles at the end of the needle, shrivels -up, makes himself, small as he is, still smaller; he strives to -withdraw as far as possible into his clothing, which as yet is -incomplete, the merest flannel vest or even a narrow scarf, covering -nothing but the top of his shoulders. Let us leave him to complete his -coat. I give a puff; and the creature is swallowed up in the crater of -the egg-cup. - -And this speck is alive. It is industrious; it is versed in the art of -blanket-making. An orphan, born that moment, it knows how to cut itself -out of its dead mother’s old clothes the wherewithal to clothe itself -in its turn. Soon it will become a carpenter, an assembler of timber, -to make a defensive covering for its delicate fabric. What must -instinct be, to be capable of awakening such industries in an atom! - -It is at the end of June also that I obtain, in his adult shape, the -Psyche whose scabbard is continued underneath by a long, naked -vestibule. Most of the cases are fastened by a silk pad to the -trelliswork of the cage and hang vertically, like stalactites. Some few -of them have never left the ground. Half immersed in the sand, they -stand erect, with their rear in the air and their fore-part buried and -firmly anchored to the side of the pan by means of a silky paste. - -This inverted position excludes any idea of weight as a guide in the -caterpillar’s preparations. An adept at turning round in his cabin, he -is careful, before he sinks into the immobility of pupadom, to turn his -head now upwards, now downwards, towards the opening, so that the adult -insect, which is much less free than the larva in its movements, may -reach the outside without obstacle. - -Moreover, it is the pupa itself, the unbending chrysalis, incapable of -turning and obliged to move all in one piece, which, stubbornly -crawling, carries the male to the threshold of the case. It emerges -half way at the end of the uncovered silky vestibule and there breaks, -obstructing the opening with its slough as it does so. For a time the -Moth stands still on the roof of the cottage, allowing his humours to -evaporate, his wings to spread and gather strength; then at last the -gallant takes flight, in search of her for whose sake he has made -himself so spruce. - -He wears a costume of deepest black, all except the edges of the wings, -which, having no scales, remain diaphanous. His antennæ, likewise -black, are wide and graceful plumes. Were they on a larger scale, they -would throw the feathered beauty of the Marabou and Ostrich into the -shade. The bravely beplumed one visits case after case in his tortuous -flight, prying into the secrets of those alcoves. If things go as he -wishes, he settles, with a quick flutter of his wings, on the extremity -of the denuded vestibule. Comes the wedding, as discreet as that of the -smaller Psyche. Here is yet another who does not see or at most catches -a fleeting glimpse of her for whose sake he has donned Marabou-feathers -and a black-velvet cloak. - -The recluse on her side is equally impatient. The lovers are -short-lived; they die in my cages within three or four days, so that, -for long intervals, until the hatching of some late-comer, the female -population is short of suitors. So, when the morning sun, already hot, -strikes the cage, a very singular spectacle is repeated many times -before my eyes. The entrance to the vestibule swells imperceptibly, -opens and emits a mass of infinitely delicate down. A Spider’s web, -carded and made into wadding, would give nothing of such gossamer -fineness. It is a vaporous cloud. Then, from out of this incomparable -eiderdown, appear the head and fore-part of a very different sort of -caterpillar from the original collector of straws. - -It is the mistress of the house, the marriageable Moth, who, feeling -her hour about to come and failing to receive the expected visit, -herself makes the advances and goes, as far as she can, to meet her -plumed swain. He does not come hastening up and for good reason: there -is not a male left in the establishment. For two or three hours the -poor forsaken one leans, without moving, from her window. Then, tired -of waiting, very gently she goes indoors again, backwards, and returns -to her cell. - -Next day, the day after and later still, as long as her strength -permits, she reappears on her balcony, always in the morning, in the -soft rays of a warm sun and always on a sofa of that incomparable down, -which disperses and turns to vapour if I merely fan it with my hand. -Again no one comes. For the last time the disappointed Moth goes back -to her boudoir, never to leave it again. She dies in it, dries up, a -useless thing. I hold my bell-jars responsible for this crime against -motherhood. In the open fields, without a doubt, sooner or later wooers -would have appeared, coming from the four winds. - -The said bell-jars have an even more pitiful catastrophe on their -conscience. Sometimes, leaning too far from her window, miscalculating -the balance between the front of the body, which is at liberty, and the -back, which remains sheathed in its case, the Moth allows herself to -drop to the ground. It is all up now with the fallen one and her -lineage. Still, there is one good thing about it. Accidents such as -this lay bare the mother Psyche, without our having to break into her -house. - -What a miserable creature she is, a great deal uglier than the original -caterpillar! Here transfiguration spells disfigurement, progress means -retrogression. What we have before our eyes is a wrinkled satchel, an -earthy-yellow sausage; and this horror, worse than a maggot, is a Moth -in the full bloom of life, a genuine adult Moth. She is the betrothed -of the elegant black Bombyx, all plumed with Marabou-feathers, and -represents to him the last word in beauty. As the proverb says, beauty -lies in lovers’ eyes: a profound truth which the Psyche confirms in -striking fashion. - -Let us describe the ugly little sausage. A very small head, a paltry -globule, disappearing almost entirely in the folds of the first -segment. What need is there of cranium and brains for a germ-bag! And -so the tiny creature almost does without them, reduces them to the -simplest expression. Nevertheless, there are two black ocular specks. -Do these vestigial eyes see their way about? Not very clearly, we may -be sure. The pleasures of light must be very small for this -stay-at-home, who appears at her window only on rare occasions, when -the male Moth is late in arriving. - -The legs are well-shaped, but so short and weak that they are of no use -at all for locomotion. The whole body is a pale yellow, semitransparent -in front, opaque and stuffed with eggs behind. Underneath the first -segments is a sort of neck-band, that is to say, a dark stain, the -vestige of a crop showing through the skin. A pad of short down ends -the oviferous part at the back. It is all that remains of a fleece, of -a thin velvet which the insect rubs off as it moves backwards and -forwards in its narrow lodging. This forms the flaky mass which whitens -the trysting-window at the wedding-time and also lines the inside of -the sheath with down. In short, the creature is little more than a bag -swollen with eggs for the best part of its length. I know nothing lower -in the scale of wretchedness. - -The germ-bag moves, but not, of course, with those vestiges of legs -which form too short and feeble supports; it gets about in a way that -allows it to progress on its back, belly or side indifferently. A -groove is hollowed out at the hinder end of the bag, a deep, dividing -groove which cuts the insect into two. It runs to the front part, -spreading like a wave, and gently and slowly reaches the head. This -undulation constitutes a step. When it is done, the animal has advanced -about a twenty-fifth part of an inch. - -To go from one end to the other of a box two inches long and filled -with fine sand, the living sausage takes nearly an hour. It is by -crawling like this that it moves about in its case, when it comes to -the threshold to meet its visitor and goes in again. - -For three or four days, exposed to the roughness of the soil, the -oviferous bag leads a wretched life, creeping about at random, or, more -often, standing still. No Moth pays attention to the poor thing, who -possesses no attractions outside her home; the lovers pass by with an -indifferent air. This coolness is logical enough. Why should she become -a mother, if her family is to be abandoned to the inclemencies of the -public way? And so, after falling by accident from her case, which -would have been the cradle of the youngsters, the wanderer withers in a -few days and dies childless. - -The fertilized ones—and these are the more numerous—the prudent ones -who have saved themselves from a fall by being less lavish with their -appearances at the window, reenter the sheath and do not show -themselves again once the Moth’s visit to the threshold is over. Let us -wait a fortnight and then open the case lengthwise with our scissors. -At the end, in the widest part, opposite the vestibule, is the slough -of the chrysalis, a long, fragile, amber-coloured sack, open at the end -that contains the head, the end facing the exit-passage. In this sack, -which she fills like a mould, lies the mother, the egg-bladder, now -giving no sign of life. - -From this amber sheath, which presents all the usual characteristics of -a chrysalis, the adult Psyche emerged, in the guise of a shapeless -Moth, looking like a big maggot; at the present time, she has slipped -back into her old jacket, moulding herself into it in such a way that -it becomes difficult to separate the container from the contents. One -would take the whole thing for a single body. - -It seems very likely that this cast skin, which occupies the best place -in the home, formed the Psyche’s refuge when, weary of waiting on the -threshold of her hall, she retired to the back room. She has therefore -gone in and out repeatedly. This constant going and coming, this -continual rubbing against the sides of a narrow corridor, just wide -enough for her to pass through, ended by stripping her of her down. She -had a fleece to start with, a very light and scanty fleece, it is true, -but still a vestige of the costume which Moths are wont to wear. This -fluff she has lost. What has she done with it? - -The Eider robs herself of her down to make a luxurious bed for her -brood; the new-born Rabbits lie on a mattress which their mother cards -for them with the softest part of her fur, shorn from the belly and -neck, wherever the shears of her front teeth can reach it. This fond -tenderness is shared by the Psyche, as you will see. - -In front of the chrysalid bag is an abundant mass of extra-fine -wadding, similar to that of which a few flocks used to fall outside on -the occasions when the recluse went to her window. Is it silk? Is it -spun muslin? No; but it is something of incomparable delicacy. The -microscope recognizes it as the scaly dust, the impalpable down in -which every Moth is clad. To give a snug shelter to the little -caterpillars who will soon be swarming in the case, to provide them -with a refuge in which they can play about and gather strength before -entering the wide world, the Psyche has stripped herself of her fur -like the mother Rabbit. - -This denudation may be a mere mechanical result, an unintentional -effect of repeated rubbing against the low-roofed walls; but there is -nothing to tell us so. Maternity has its foresight, even among the -humblest. I therefore picture the hairy Moth twisting about, going to -and fro in the narrow passage in order to get rid of the fleece and -prepare bedding for her offspring. It is even possible that she manages -to use her lips, that vestige of a mouth, in order to pull out the down -that refuses to come away of itself. - -No matter what the method of shearing may be, a mound of scales and -hairs fills up the case in front of the chrysalid bag. For the moment, -it is a barricade preventing access to the house, which is open at the -hinder end; soon, it will be a downy couch on which the little -caterpillars will rest for a while after leaving the egg. Here, warmly -ensconced in a rug of extreme softness, they call a halt as a -preparation for the emergence and the work that follows it. - -Not that silk is lacking: on the contrary, it abounds. The caterpillar -lavished it during his time as a spinner and a picker-up of straws. The -whole interior of the case is padded with thick white satin. But how -greatly preferable to this too-compact and luxurious upholstery is the -delightful eiderdown bedding of the new-born youngsters! - -We know the preparations made for the coming family. Now, where are the -eggs? At what spot are they laid? The smallest of my three Psyches, who -is less misshapen than the others and freer in her movements, leaves -her case altogether. She possesses a long ovipositor and inserts it, -through the exit-hole, right into the chrysalid slough, which is left -where it was in the form of a bag. This slough receives the laying. -When the operation is finished and the bag of eggs is full, the mother -dies outside, hanging on to the case. - -The two other Psyches, who do not carry telescopic ovipositors and -whose only method of changing their position is a dubious sort of -crawling, have more singular customs to show us. One might quote with -regard to them what used to be said of the Roman matrons, those model -mothers: - -“Domi mansit, lanam fecit.” - -Yes, lanam fecit. The Psyche does not really work the wool on the -distaff; but at least she bequeathes to her sons her own fleece -converted into a heap of wadding. Yes, domi mansit. She never leaves -her house, not even for her wedding, not even for the purpose of laying -her eggs. - -We have seen how, after receiving the visit of the male, the shapeless -Moth, that uncouth sausage, retreats to the back of her case and -withdraws into her chrysalid slough, which she fills exactly, just as -though she had never left it. The eggs are in their place then and -there; they occupy the regulation sack favoured by the various Psyches. -Of what use would a laying be now? Strictly speaking, there is none, in -fact; that is to say, the eggs do not leave the mother’s womb. The -living pouch which has engendered them keeps them within itself. - -Soon this bag loses its moisture by evaporation; it dries up and at the -same time remains sticking to the chrysalid wrapper, that firm support. -Let us open the thing. What does the magnifying-glass show us? A few -trachean threads, lean bundles of muscles, nervous ramifications, in -short, the relics of a form of vitality reduced to its simplest -expression. Taken all around, very nearly nothing. The rest of the -contents is a mass of eggs, an agglomeration of germs numbering close -upon three hundred. In a word, the insect is one enormous ovary, -assisted by just so much as enables it to perform its functions. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE PSYCHES: THE CASES - - -The hatching of the eggs takes place in the first fortnight of July. -The little grubs measure about one twenty-fifth of an inch. Their head -and the upper part of the first thoracic segment are a glossy black, -the next two segments brownish and the rest of the body a pale amber. -Sharp, lively little creatures, who run about with short, quick steps, -they swarm all over the spongy, hairy tissue resulting from the -cast-off clothing of the eggs. - -The books tell me that the little Psyches begin by eating up their -mother: a loathsome banquet for which the said books must accept -responsibility. I see nothing of the sort; and I do not even understand -how the idea arose. The mother bequeaths to her sons her case, whose -straws are searched for wadding, the material of the first coat; out of -her chrysalid slough and her skin she makes them a two-fold shelter for -the hatching-time; with her down she prepares a defensive barricade for -them and a place wherein to wait before emerging. Thus all is given, -all spent with a view to the future. Save for some thin, dry strips -which my lens can only with difficulty distinguish, there is nothing -left that could provide a cannibal feast for so numerous a family. - -No, my little Psyches, you do not eat your mother. In vain do I watch -you: never, either to clothe or to feed himself, does any one of you -lay a tooth upon the remains of the deceased. The maternal skin is left -untouched, as are those other insignificant relics, the layer of -muscular tissue and the network of air-ducts. The sack left behind by -the chrysalis also remains intact. - -The time comes to quit the natal wallet. An outlet has been contrived -long beforehand, saving the youngsters from committing any act of -violence against what was once their mother. There is no sacrilegious -cutting to be done with the shears; the door opens of itself. - -When she was a wriggling speck of sausage, the mother’s front segments -were remarkably translucent, forming a contrast with the rest of the -body. This was very probably a sign of a less dense and less tough -texture than elsewhere. The sign is not misleading. The dry gourd to -which the mother is now reduced has for a neck those diaphanous rings, -which, as they withered, became extremely fragile. Does this neck, this -operculum fall of its own accord, or is it pushed off by the pigmies -impatient to get away? I do not know for certain. This, however, I can -say, that blowing on it is enough to make it drop off. - -In anticipation therefore of the emergence, an exceedingly easy and -perhaps even spontaneous method of decapitation is prepared in the -mother’s lifetime. To manufacture a delicate neck for yourself so that -you may be easily beheaded at the proper time and thus leave the way -free to the youngsters is an act of devotion in which the most -unconscious maternal affection stands sublimely revealed. That -miserable maggot, that sausage Moth, scarce able to crawl and yet so -clear-sighted where the future is concerned, staggers the mind of any -one who knows how to think. - -The brood emerge from the natal wallet through the window just opened -by the fall of the head. The chrysalid sack, the second wrapper, -presents no obstacle; it has remained open since the adult Psyche left -it. Next comes the mass of eiderdown, the heap of fluff of which the -mother stripped herself. Here the little caterpillars stop. Much more -spaciously and comfortably lodged than in the bag whence they have -come, some take a rest, others bustle about, exercise themselves in -walking. All pick up strength in preparation for their exodus into the -daylight. - -They do not stay long amid this luxury. Gradually, as they gain vigour, -they come out and spread over the surface of the case. Work begins at -once, a very urgent work, that of the wardrobe. The first mouthfuls -will come afterwards, when we are dressed. - -Montaigne, when putting on the cloak which his father had worn before -him, used a touching expression. He said: - -“I dress myself in my father.” - -The young Psyches in the same way dress themselves in their mother: -they cover themselves with the clothes left behind by the deceased, -they scrape from it the wherewithal to make themselves a cotton frock. -The material employed is the pith of the little stalks, especially of -the pieces which, split lengthwise, are more easily stripped of their -contents. The grub first finds a spot to suit it. Having done so, it -gleans, it planes with its mandibles. Thus a superbly white wadding is -extracted from old logs. - -The manner of beginning the garment is worth noting. The tiny creature -employs as judicious a method as any which our own industry could hope -to discover. The wadding is collected in infinitesimal pellets. How are -these little particles to be fixed as and when they are detached by the -shears of the mandibles? The manufacturer needs a support, a base; and -this support cannot be obtained on the caterpillar’s own body, for any -adherence would be seriously embarrassing and would hamper freedom of -movement. The difficulty is overcome very cleverly. Scraps of plush are -gathered and by degrees fastened to one another with threads of silk. -This forms a sort of rectilinear garland in which the particles -collected swing from a common rope. When these preparations are deemed -sufficient, the little creature passes the garland round its waist, at -about the third segment of the thorax, so as to leave its six legs -free; then it ties the two ends with a bit of silk. The result is a -girdle, generally incomplete, but soon completed with other scraps -fastened to the silk ribbon that carries everything. - -This girdle is the base of the work, the support. Henceforth, to -lengthen the piece, to enlarge it into the perfect garment, the grub -has only to fix, always at the fore-edge, with the aid of its -spinnerets, now at the top, now at the bottom or side, the scraps of -pith which the mandibles never cease extracting. Nothing could be -better thought out than this initial garland laid out flat and then -buckled like a belt around the loins. - -Once this base is laid, the weaving-loom is in full swing. The piece -woven is first a tiny string around the waist; next, by the addition of -fresh pellets, always at the fore-edge, it grows into a scarf, a -waistcoat, a short jacket and lastly a sack, which gradually makes its -way backwards, not of itself, but through the action of the weaver, who -slips forward in the part of the case already made. In a few hours, the -garment is completed. It is by that time a conical hood, a cloak of -magnificent whiteness and finish. - -We now know all about it. On leaving the maternal hut, without -searching, without distant expeditions which would be so dangerous at -that age, the little Psyche finds in the tender beams of the roof the -wherewithal to clothe himself. He is spared the perils of roaming in a -state of nudity. When he leaves the house, he will be quite warm, -thanks to the mother, who takes care to instal her family in the old -case and gives it choice materials to work with. - -If the grub-worm were to drop out of the hovel, if some gust of wind -swept him to a distance, most often the poor mite would be lost. -Ligneous straws, rich in pith, dry and retted to a turn, are not to be -found everywhere. It would mean the impossibility of any clothing and, -in that dire poverty, an early death. But, if suitable materials are -encountered, equal in quality to those bequeathed by the mother, how is -it that the exile is unable to make use of them? Let us look into this. - -I segregate a few new-born grubs in a glass tube and give them for -their materials some split pieces of straw, picked from among the old -stalks of a sort of dandelion, Pterotheca nemausensis. Though robbed of -the inheritance of the maternal manor, the grubs seem very well -satisfied with my bits. Without the least hesitation, they scrape out -of them a superb white pith and make it into a delicious cloak, much -handsomer than that which they would have obtained with the ruins of -the native house, this latter cloak being always more or less flawed -with darker materials, whose colour has been impaired by long exposure -to the air. On the other hand, the Nîmes dandelion, a relic of last -spring, has its central part, which I myself lay bare, a spotless -white; and the cotton nightcap achieves the very perfection of -whiteness. - -I obtain an even better result with rounds of sorghum-pith taken from -the kitchen-broom. This time, the work has glittering crystalline -points and looks like a thing built of grains of sugar. It is my -manufacturers’ masterpiece. - -These two successes authorize me to vary the raw material still -further. In the absence of new-born caterpillars, who are not always at -my disposal, I employ grubs which I have undressed, that is to say, -which I have taken out of their caps. To these divested ones I give, as -the only thing to work upon, a strip of paper free from paste and easy -to pick to pieces, in short, a piece of blotting-paper. - -Here again there is no hesitation. The grubs lustily scrape this -surface, new to them though it be, and make themselves a paper coat of -it. Cadet Roussel, [28] of famous memory, had a coat of similar stuff, -but much less fine and silky. My paper-clad charges are so well-pleased -with their materials that they scorn their native case, when it is -afterwards placed at their disposal, and continue to scrape lint from -the industrial product. - -Others are given nothing in their tube, but are able to get at the cork -that closes the glass dwelling-house. This is enough. The undraped ones -hasten to scrape the cork, to break it into atoms and out of these to -make themselves a granulated frock, as faultlessly elegant as though -their race had always made use of this material. The novelty of the -stuff, employed perhaps for the first time, has made no change in the -cut of the coat. - -To sum up, they accept any vegetable matter that is dry, light and not -too resistant. Would they behave likewise towards animal materials and -especially mineral materials, on condition that these are of a suitable -thinness? I take a Great Peacock’s wing, left over from my experiments -in the nuptial telegraphy of this Moth, [29] and cut from it a strip on -which I place, at the bottom of a tube, two little caterpillars -stripped of their clothing. The two prisoners have nothing else at -their disposal. Any drapery that they want must be got out of this -scaly expanse. - -They hesitate for a long time in the presence of that strange carpet. -In twenty-four hours’ time, one of the caterpillars has started no work -and seems resolved to let himself die, naked as he is. The other, -stouter-hearted, or perhaps less injured by the brutal -stripping-process, explores the slip for a little while and at last -resolves to make use of it. Before the day is over, he has clothed -himself in grey velvet out of the Great Peacock’s scales. Considering -the delicacy of the materials, the work is exquisitely correct. - -Let us go a step farther in our explorations. For the soft, yielding -wadding collected from a plant, or the down gleaned from the wing of a -Moth, we will substitute rough stone. In their final state, I know, the -Psyches’ cases are often laden with grains of sand and earthy -particles; but these are accidental bricks, which have been -inadvertently touched by the spinneret and incorporated unintentionally -in the thatch. The delicate creatures know too well the drawbacks of a -pebbly pillow to seek the support of stone. Mineral matter is -distasteful to them; and it is mineral matter that now has to be worked -like wool. - -True, I select such stones in my collection as are least out of keeping -with the feeble powers of my grubs. I possess a specimen of flaky -hematite. At the merest touch of a hair-pencil it breaks into atoms -almost as minute as the dust which a Butterfly’s wing leaves on our -fingers. On a bed of this material, which glitters like a steel filing, -I establish four young caterpillars extracted from their clothing. I -foresee a check in this experiment and consequently increase the number -of my subjects. - -It is as I thought. The day passes and the four caterpillars remain -bare. Next day, however, one, one alone, decides to clothe himself. His -work is a tiara with metallic facets, in which the light plays with -flashes of every colour of the rainbow. It is very rich, very -sumptuous, but mightily heavy and cumbrous. Walking becomes laborious -under that load of metal. Even so must a Byzantine emperor have -progressed at ceremonies of state, after donning his gold-worked -dalmatic. - -Poor little creature! More sensible than man, you did not select that -ridiculous magnificence of your own free will; it was I who forced it -on you. Here, to make amends, is a disk of sorghum-pith. Fling off your -proud tiara, thrust it from you quickly and place in its stead a cotton -night-cap, which is much healthier. This is done on the second day. - -The Psyche has his favourite materials when starting as a manufacturer: -a vegetable lint collected from any ligneous scrap well softened by the -air, a lint usually supplied by the old roof of the maternal hut. In -the absence of the regulation fabric, he is able to make use of animal -velvet, in particular of the scaly fluff of a Moth. In case of -necessity, he does not shrink from acts of sheer madness: he weaves -mineral matter, so urgent is his need to clothe himself. - -This need outweighs that of nourishment. I take a young caterpillar -from his grazing-ground, a leaf of very hairy hawkweed which, after -many attempts, I have found to suit him as food because of its green -blade and as wool because of its white fleece. I take him, I say, from -his refectory and leave him to fast for a couple of days. Then I strip -him and put him back on his leaf. And I see him, unmindful of eating, -in spite of his long fast, first labouring to make himself a new coat -by collecting the hairs of the hawkweed. His appetite will be satisfied -afterwards. - -Is he then so susceptible to cold? We are in the midst of the dog-days. -The sun shoots down a fiery torrent that brings the wild concert of the -Cicadæ up to fever-pitch. In the baking heat of the study where I am -questioning my animals, I have flung off hat and necktie and am working -in my shirt-sleeves; and, in this oven, what the Psyche clamours for -is, above all things, a warm covering. Well, little shiverer, I will -satisfy you! - -I expose him to the direct rays of the sun, on the window-ledge. This -time, it is too much of a good thing; I have gone beyond all bounds. -The sun-scorched one wriggles about, flourishes his abdomen, always a -sign of discomfort. But the making of the hawkweed cassock is not -suspended on this account; on the contrary, it is pursued more -hurriedly than ever. Could this be because of the excessive light? Is -not the cotton-wool bag a retreat wherein the caterpillar isolates -himself, sheltering from the importunities of broad daylight, and -gently digests and sleeps? Let us get rid of the light, while retaining -a warm temperature. - -After a preliminary stripping, the little caterpillars are now lodged -in a cardboard box, which I place in the sunniest corner of my window. -The temperature here is well over 100° F. No matter: the swan’s-down -sack is remade at a sitting of a few hours. Tropical heat and the quiet -that goes with darkness have made no difference in the insect’s habits. - -Neither the degree of heat nor the degree of light explains the -pressing need of raiment. Where are we to seek the reason for that -hurry to get clad? I can see none save a presentiment of the future. -The Psyche caterpillar has the winter before him. He knows nothing of a -common shelter in a silken purse, of cabins among close-touching -leaves, of underground cells, of retreats under old cracked bark, of -hairy roofs, of cocoons, in short of the different methods employed by -other caterpillars to protect themselves against the severity of the -weather. He has to spend the winter exposed to the inclemencies of the -air. This peril causes his particular talent. - -He builds himself a roof whose imbricated and diverging stalks will -allow cold dews and drops of melted snow to trickle away at a distance, -when the case is fixed and hanging vertically. Under this covering, he -weaves a thick silk lining, which will make a soft mattress and a -rampart against the effects of the cold. Once these precautions are -taken, the winter may come and the north wind rage: the Psyche is -sleeping peacefully in his hut. - -But all this is not improvised as the stormy season approaches. It is a -delicate work which takes time to carry out. All his life-long the -caterpillar labours at it, improving it, adding to it, strengthening it -incessantly. And, in order to acquire greater skill, he begins his -apprenticeship at the moment when he leaves the egg. As preliminary -practice for the thick overcoat of full-grown age, he tries his hand on -cotton capes. Even so does the Pine Processionary, as soon as hatched, -weave first delicate tents, then gauzy cupolas, as harbingers of the -mighty wallet in which the community will make its home. Both alike are -harassed from the day of their birth by the presentiment of the future; -they start life by binding themselves apprentices to the trade that is -to safeguard them one day. - -No, the Psyche is not more sensitive to cold than any other -smooth-skinned caterpillar; he is a creature of foresight. Deprived in -winter of the shelters granted to the others, he prepares himself, from -his birth, for the building of a home that will be his salvation and -practises for it by making fripperies of wadding suited to his -strength. He foresees the rigours of winter during the blazing -dog-days. - -They are now all clad, my young caterpillars, numbering nearly a -thousand. They wander restlessly in large glass receptacles, closed -with a sheet of glass. What do you seek, little ones, swinging your -pretty, snow-white cloaks as you go? Food, of course. After all that -fatigue, you need refreshment. Despite your numbers, you will not be -too heavy a burden on my resources: you can manage with so little! But -what do you ask for? You certainly do not count on me for your -supplies. In the open fields you would have found victuals to your -liking much more easily than I can hope to find them for you. Since my -wish to know all about you places you in my charge, I have a duty which -I must observe: that of feeding you. What do you want? - -The part of Providence is a very difficult one to play. The purveyor of -foodstuffs, thinking of the morrow, taking his precautions so that the -home may be always more or less supplied, performs the most deserving -but also the most laborious of functions. The little ones wait -trustingly, persuaded that things happen of themselves, while he -anxiously resorts to every kind of ingenuity and trouble, wondering -whether the right thing will come. Ah, how well long practice has -taught me to know the trade, with all its worries and all its joys! - -Behold me to-day the Providence of a thousand nurselings thrust upon me -by my studies. I try a little of everything. The tender leaves of the -elm appear to suit. If I serve them up one day, I find them next -morning nibbled on the surface, in small patches. Tiny grains of -impalpable black dust, scattered here and there, tell me that the -intestines have been at work. This gives me a moment of satisfaction -which will be readily understood by any breeder of a herd whose diet is -unknown. The hope of success gains strength: I know how to feed my -vermin. Have I discovered the best method at the first attempt? I dare -not think so. - -I continue therefore to vary the fare, but the results hardly come up -to my wishes. The flock refuses my assorted green stuff and even ends -by taking a dislike to the elm-leaves. I am beginning to believe that I -have failed utterly, when a happy inspiration occurs to me. I have -recognized among the bits that go to form the case a few fragments of -the mouse-ear hawkweed (Hieracium pilosella). So the Psyche frequents -that plant. Why should he not browse it? Let us try. - -The mouse-ear displays its little round flowers in profusion in a stony -field just beside my house, at the foot of the wall where I have so -often found Psyche-cases hanging. I gather a handful and distribute it -among my different folds. This time the food-problem is solved. The -Psyches forthwith settle in solid masses on the hairy leaves and nibble -at them greedily in small patches, in which the epidermis of the other -surface remains untouched. - -We will leave them to their grazing, with which they seem quite -satisfied, and ask ourselves a certain question relating to -cleanliness. How does the little Psyche get rid of his digestive -refuse? Remember that he is enclosed in a sack. One dare not entertain -the thought of ordure ejected and accumulating at the far end of the -dazzling white plush cap. Filth cannot dwell under so elegant a -covering. How is the sordid evacuation managed? - -Despite the fact that it ends in a conical point, in which the lens -reveals no break of continuity, the sack is not closed at the hinder -end. Its method of manufacture, by means of a waistband whose fore-edge -increases in dimensions in proportion as the rear-edge is pushed -farther back, proves this sufficiently. The hinder end becomes pointed -simply owing to the shrinking of the material, which contracts of -itself at the part where the caterpillar’s decreasing diameter no -longer distends it. There is thus at the point a permanent hole whose -lips remain closed. The caterpillar has only to go a little way back -and the stuff expands, the hole widens, the road is open and the -excretions fall to the ground. On the other hand, so soon as the -caterpillar takes a step forward into his case, the rubbish-shoot -closes of itself. It is a very simple and very ingenious mechanism, as -good as anything contrived by our seamstresses to cope with the -shortcomings of a boy’s first pair of breeches. - -Meanwhile the grub grows and its tunic continues to fit it, is neither -too large nor too small, but just the right size. How is this done? If -the text-books were to be credited, I might expect to see the -caterpillar split his sheath lengthwise when it became too tight and -afterwards enlarge it by means of a piece woven between the edges of -the rent. That is what our tailors do; but it is not the Psyches’ -method at all. They know something much better. They keep on working at -their coat, which is old at the back, new in front and always a perfect -fit for the growing body. - -Nothing is easier than to watch the daily progress in size. A few -caterpillars have just made themselves a hood of sorghum-pith. The work -is perfectly beautiful; it might have been woven out of snow-flakes. I -isolate these smartly-dressed ones and give them as weaving-materials -some brown scales chosen from the softest parts that I can find in old -bark. Between morning and evening, the hood assumes a new appearance: -the tip of the cone is still a spotless white, but all the front part -is coarse drapery, very different in colouring from the original plush. -Next day, the sorghum felt has wholly disappeared and is replaced, from -one end of the cone to the other, by a frieze of bark. - -I then take away the brown materials and put sorghum-pith in their -stead. This time the coarse, dark stuff retreats gradually towards the -top of the hood, while the soft, white stuff gains in width, starting -from the mouth. Before the day is over, the original elegant mitre will -be reconstructed entirely. - -This alternation can be repeated as often as we please. Indeed, by -shortening each period of work, we can easily obtain, with the two -sorts of material, composite products, showing alternate light and dark -belts. - -The Psyche, as you see, in no way follows the methods of our tailors, -with their piece taken out and another piece let in. In order to have a -coat always to his size, he never ceases working at it. The particles -collected are constantly being fixed just at the edge of the sack, so -that the new drapery increases progressively in dimensions, keeping -pace with the caterpillar’s growth. At the same time the old stuff -recedes, is driven back towards the tip of the cone. Here, through its -own springiness, it contracts and closes the muff. Any surplus matter -disintegrates, falls into shreds and gradually disappears as the insect -roams about and knocks against the things which it meets. The case, new -at the front and old at the back, is never too tight because it is -always being renewed. - -After the very hot period of the year, there comes a moment when light -wraps are no longer seasonable. Autumnal rains threaten, followed by -winter frosts. It is time to make ourselves a thick great-coat with a -cape of thatch arranged in a series of waterproof tippets. It begins -with a great lack of accuracy. Straws of uneven length and bits of dry -leaves are fastened, with no attempt at order, behind the neck of the -sack, which must still retain its flexibility so as to allow the -caterpillar to bend freely in every direction. - -Few as yet, rather short and placed anyhow, sometimes lengthways and -sometimes across, these untidy first logs of the roof will not -interfere with the final regularity of the building: they are destined -to disappear and will be pushed back and be driven out at last as the -sack grows in front. - -Later on, when the pieces are longer and better-chosen, they are all -carefully laid longitudinally. The placing of a straw is done with -surprising quickness and dexterity. If the log which he has found suits -him, the caterpillar takes it between his legs and turns it round and -round. Gripping it with his mandibles by one end, as a rule he removes -a few morsels from this part and immediately fixes them to the neck of -the sack. His object in laying bare the raw and rough surfaces, to -which the silk will stick better, may be to obtain a firmer hold. Even -so the plumber gives a touch of the file at the point that is to be -soldered. - -Then, by sheer strength of jaw, the caterpillar lifts his beam, -brandishes it in the air and, with a quick movement of his rump, lays -it on his back. The spinneret at once sets to work on the end caught. -And the thing is done: without any groping about or correcting, the log -is added to the others, in the direction required. - -The fine days of autumn are spent in toil of this kind, performed -leisurely and intermittently, when the stomach is full. By the time -that the cold weather arrives, the house is ready. When the air is once -more warm, the Psyche resumes his walks abroad: he roams along the -paths, strolls over the friendly greensward, takes a few mouthfuls and -then, when the hour has come, prepares for his transformation by -hanging from the wall. - -These springtime wanderings, long after the case is completely -finished, made me want to know if the caterpillar would be capable of -repeating his sack-weaving and roof-building operations. I take him out -of his case and place him, stark naked, on a bed of fine, dry sand. I -give him as materials to work with some old stalks of Nîmes dandelion, -cut up into sticks of the same length as the pieces that make the case. - -The evicted insect disappears under the heap of ligneous straws and -hurriedly starts spinning, taking as pegs for its cords anything that -its lips encounter: the bed of sand underfoot, the canopy of twigs -overhead. So doing, it binds together, in extricable confusion, all the -pieces touched by the spinneret, long and short, light and heavy, at -random. In the centre of this tangled scaffolding, a work is pursued of -a quite different nature from that of hut-building. The caterpillar -weaves and does nothing else, not even attempting to assemble into a -proper roofing the materials of which he is able to dispose. - -The Psyche owning a perfect case, when he resumes his activity with the -fine weather, scorns his old trade as an assembler of logs, a trade -practised so zealously during the previous summer. Now that his stomach -is satisfied and his silk-glands distended, he devotes his spare time -solely to improving the quilting of his case. The silky felt of the -interior is never thick or soft enough to please him. The thicker and -softer it is, the better for his own comfort during the process of -transformation and for the safety of his family afterwards. - -Well, my knavish tricks have now robbed him of everything. Does he -perceive the disaster? Though the silk and timber at his disposal -permit, does he dream of rebuilding the shelter, so essential first to -his chilly back and secondly to his family, who will cut it up to make -their first home? Not a bit of it. He slips under the mass of twigs -where I let it fall and there begins to work exactly as he would have -done under normal conditions. - -This shapeless roof and this sand on which the jumble of rafters are -lying now represent to the Psyche the walls of the regulation home; -and, without in any way modifying his labours to meet the exigencies of -the moment, the caterpillar upholsters the surfaces within his reach -with the same zest that he would have displayed in adding new layers to -the quilted lining which has disappeared. Instead of being pasted on -the proper wall, the present hangings come in contact with the rough -surface of the sand and the hopeless tangle of the straws; and the -spinner takes no notice. - -The house is worse than ruined: it no longer exists. No matter: the -caterpillar continues his actual work; he loses sight of the real and -upholsters the imaginary. [30] And yet everything ought to apprise him -of the absence of any roofing. The sack with which he has managed to -cover himself, very skilfully for that matter, is lamentably flabby. It -sags and rumples at every movement of the insect’s body. Moreover, it -is made heavy with sand and bristles with spikes in every direction, -which catch in the dust of the road and make all progress impossible. -Thus anchored to the ground, the caterpillar wastes his strength in -efforts to shift his position. It takes him hours to make a start and -to move his cumbrous dwelling a fraction of an inch. - -With his normal case, in which all the beams are imbricated from front -to back with scientific precision, he gets along very nimbly. His -collection of logs, all fixed in front and all free at the back, forms -a boat-shaped sledge which slips and glides through obstacles without -difficulty. But, though progress be easy, retreat is impracticable, for -each piece of the framework causes the thing to stop, owing to its free -end. - -Well, the sack of my victim is covered with laths pointing this way and -that, just in the position in which they happened to be caught by the -spinneret, as it fastened its threads here and there, indiscriminately. -The bits in front are so many spurs which dig into the sand and -neutralize all efforts to advance; the bits at the side are rakes whose -resistance cannot be overcome. In such conditions, the insect is bound -to be stranded and to perish on the spot. - -If I were advising the caterpillar, I should say: - -“Go back to the art in which you excel; arrange your bundle neatly; -point the cumbrous pieces lengthwise, in an orderly fashion; do -something to your sack, which hangs too loosely; give it the necessary -stiffness with a few props to act as a busk; do now, in your distress, -what you knew so well how to do before; summon up your old -carpentering-talents and you will be saved.” - -Useless advice! The time for carpentry is over. The hour has come for -upholstering; and he upholsters obstinately, padding a house which no -longer exists. He will perish miserably, cut up by the Ants, as the -result of his too-rigid instinct. - -Many other instances have already told us as much. Like running water -which does not climb slopes and which does not flow back to its source, -the insect never retraces its actions. What is done is done and cannot -be recommenced. The Psyche, but now a clever carpenter, will die for -want of knowing how to fix a beam. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE GREAT PEACOCK - - -It was a memorable evening. I shall call it the Great Peacock evening. -Who does not know the magnificent Moth, the largest in Europe, clad in -maroon velvet with a necktie of white fur? The wings, with their -sprinkling of grey and brown, crossed by a faint zig-zag and edged with -smoky white, have in the centre a round patch, a great eye with a black -pupil and a variegated iris containing successive black, white, -chestnut and purple arcs. - -No less remarkable is the caterpillar, in colour an undecided yellow. -On the top of thinly-scattered tubercles, crowned with a palisade of -black hairs, are set beads of turquoise blue. His stout brown cocoon, -so curious with its exit-shaft shaped like an eel-trap, is usually -fastened to the bark at the base of old almond-trees. The caterpillar -feeds on the leaves of the same tree. - -Well, on the morning of the 6th of May, a female emerges from her -cocoon in my presence, on the table of my insect-laboratory. I -forthwith cloister her, still damp with the humours of the hatching, -under a wire-gauze bell-jar. For the rest, I cherish no particular -plans. I incarcerate her from mere habit, the habit of the observer -always on the look-out for what may happen. - -It was a lucky thought. At nine o’clock in the evening, just as the -household is going to bed, there is a great stir in the room next to -mine. Little Paul, half-undressed, is rushing about, jumping and -stamping, knocking the chairs over like a mad thing. I hear him call -me: - -“Come quick!” he screams. “Come and see these Moths, big as birds! The -room is full of them!” - -I hurry in. There is enough to justify the child’s enthusiastic and -hyperbolical exclamations, an invasion as yet unprecedented in our -house, a raid of giant Moths. Four are already caught and lodged in a -bird-cage. Others, more numerous, are fluttering on the ceiling. - -At this sight, the prisoner of the morning is recalled to my mind. - -“Put on your things, laddie,” I say to my son. “Leave your cage and -come with me. We shall see something interesting.” - -We run downstairs to go to my study, which occupies the right wing of -the house. In the kitchen I find the servant, who is also bewildered by -what is happening and stands flicking her apron at great Moths whom she -took at first for Bats. - -The Great Peacock, it would seem, has taken possession of pretty well -every part of the house. What will it be around my prisoner, the cause -of this incursion? Luckily, one of the two windows of the study had -been left open. The approach is not blocked. - -We enter the room, candle in hand. What we see is unforgetable. With a -soft flick-flack the great Moths fly around the bell-jar, alight, set -off again, come back, fly up to the ceiling and down. They rush at the -candle, putting it out with a stroke of their wings; they descend on -our shoulders, clinging to our clothes, grazing our faces. The scene -suggests a wizard’s cave, with its whirl of Bats. Little Paul holds my -hand tighter than usual, to keep up his courage. - -How many of them are there? About a score. Add to these the number that -have strayed into the kitchen, the nursery and the other rooms of the -house; and the total of those who have arrived from the outside cannot -fall far short of forty. As I said, it was a memorable evening, this -Great Peacock evening. Coming from every direction and apprised I know -not how, here are forty lovers eager to pay their respects to the -marriageable bride born that morning amid the mysteries of my study. - -For the moment let us disturb the swarm of wooers no further. The flame -of the candle is a danger to the visitors, who fling themselves into it -madly and singe their wings. We will resume the observation tomorrow -with an experimental interrogatory thought out beforehand. - -But first let us clear the ground and speak of what happens every night -during the week that my observation lasts. Each time it is pitch dark, -between eight and ten o’clock, when the Moths arrive one by one. It is -stormy weather, the sky is very much overcast and the darkness is so -profound that even in the open air, in the garden, far from the shadow -of the trees, it is hardly possible to see one’s hand before one’s -face. - -In addition to this darkness there is the difficulty of access. The -house is hidden by tall plane-trees; it is approached by a walk thickly -bordered with lilac- and rose-trees, forming a sort of outer vestibule; -it is protected against the mistral by clumps of pines and screens of -cypresses. Clusters of bushy shrubs make a rampart a few steps away -from the door. It is through this tangle of branches, in complete -darkness, that the Great Peacock has to tack about to reach the object -of his pilgrimage. - -Under such conditions, the Brown Owl would not dare leave the hole in -his olive-tree. The Moth, better-endowed with his faceted optical -organs than the night-bird with its great eyes, goes forward without -hesitating and passes through without knocking against things. He -directs his tortuous flight so skilfully that, despite the obstacles -overcome, he arrives in a state of perfect freshness, with his big -wings intact, with not a scratch upon him. The darkness is light enough -for him. - -Even if we grant that it perceives certain rays unknown to common -retinæ, this extraordinary power of sight cannot be what warns the Moth -from afar and brings him hurrying to the spot. The distance and the -screens interposed make this quite impossible. - -Besides, apart from deceptive refractions, of which there is no -question in this case, the indications provided by light are so precise -that we go straight to the thing seen. Now the Moth sometimes blunders, -not as to the general direction which he is to take, but as to the -exact spot where the interesting events are happening. I have said that -the children’s nursery, which is at the side of the house opposite my -study, the real goal of my visitors at the present moment, was occupied -by the Moths before I went there with a light in my hand. These -certainly were ill-informed. There was the same throng of hesitating -visitors in the kitchen; but here the light of a lamp, that -irresistible lure to nocturnal insects, may have beguiled the eager -ones. - -Let us consider only the places that were in the dark. In these there -are several stray Moths. I find them more or less everywhere around the -actual spot aimed at. For instance, when the captive is in my study, -the visitors do not all enter by the open window, the safe and direct -road, only two or three yards away from the caged prisoner. Several of -them come in downstairs, wander about the hall and at most reach the -staircase, a blind alley barred at the top by a closed door. - -These data tell us that the guests at this nuptial feast do not make -straight for their object, as they would if they derived their -information from some kind of luminous radiation, whether known or -unknown to our physical science. It is something else that apprises -them from afar, leads them to the proximity of the exact spot and then -leaves the final discovery to the airy uncertainty of random searching. -It is very much like the way in which we ourselves are informed by -hearing and smell, guides which are far from accurate when we want to -decide the precise point of origin of the sound or the smell. - -What are the organs of information that direct the rutting Moth on his -nightly pilgrimage? One suspects the antennæ, which, in the males, do -in fact seem to be questioning space with their spreading tufts of -feathers. Are those glorious plumes mere ornaments, or do they at the -same time play a part in the perception of the effluvia that guide the -enamoured swain? A conclusive experiment seems to present no -difficulty. Let us try it. - -On the day after the invasion, I find in the study eight of my visitors -of the day before. They are perched motionless on the transoms of the -second window, which is kept closed. The others, when their dance was -over, about ten o’clock in the evening, went out as they came in, that -is to say, through the first window, which is left open day and night. -Those eight persevering ones are just what I want for my schemes. - -With a sharp pair of scissors, without otherwise touching the Moths, I -cut off their antennæ, near the base. The patients take hardly any -notice of the operation. Not one moves; there is scarcely a flutter of -the wings. These are excellent conditions: the wound does not seem at -all serious. Undistraught by pain, the Moths bereft of their horns will -adapt themselves all the better to my plans. The rest of the day is -spent in placid immobility on the cross-bars of the window. - -There are still a few arrangements to be made. It is important in -particular to shift the scene of operations and not to leave the female -before the eyes of the maimed ones at the moment when they resume their -nocturnal flight, else the merit of their quest would disappear. I -therefore move the bell-jar with its captives and place it under a -porch at the other end of the house, some fifty yards from my study. - -When night comes, I go to make a last inspection of my eight victims. -Six have flown out through the open window; two remain behind, but -these have dropped to the floor and no longer have the strength to turn -over if I lay them on their backs. They are exhausted, dying. Pray do -not blame my surgical work. This quick decreptitude occurs invariably, -even without the intervention of my scissors. - -Six, in better condition, have gone off. Will they return to the bait -that attracted them yesterday? Though deprived of their antennæ, will -they be able to find the cage, now put in another place, at a -considerable distance from its original position? - -The cage is standing in the dark, almost in the open air. From time to -time, I go out with a lantern and a Butterfly-net. Each visitor is -captured, examined, catalogued and forthwith let loose in an adjoining -room, of which I close the door. This gradual elimination will enable -me to tell the exact number, with no risk of counting the same Moth -more than once. Moreover, the temporary gaol, which is spacious and -bare, will in no way endanger the prisoners, who will find a quiet -retreat there and plenty of room. I shall take similar precautions -during my subsequent investigations. - -At half past ten no more arrive. The sitting is over. In all, -twenty-five males have been caught, of whom only one was without -antennæ. Therefore, of the six on whom I operated yesterday and who -were hale enough to leave my study and go back to the fields, one alone -has returned to the bell-jar. It is a poor result, on which I dare not -rely when it comes to asserting or denying that the antennæ play a -guiding part. We must begin all over again, on a larger scale. - -Next morning I pay a visit to the prisoners of the day before. What I -see is not encouraging. Many are spread out on the floor, almost -lifeless. Several of them give hardly a sign of life when I take them -in my fingers. What can I hope from these cripples? Still, let us try. -Perhaps they will recover their vigour when the time comes to dance the -lovers’ round. - -The twenty-four new ones undergo amputation of the antennæ. The old, -hornless one is left out of count, as dying or close to it. Lastly, the -prison-door is left open for the remainder of the day. He who will may -leave the room, he who can shall join in the evening festival. In order -to put such as go out to the test of searching for the bride, the cage, -which they would be sure to notice on the threshold, is once more -removed. I shift it to a room in the opposite wing, on the -ground-floor. The access to this room is of course left free. - -Of the twenty-four deprived of their antennæ, only sixteen go outside. -Eight remain, powerless to move. They will soon die where they are. Out -of the sixteen who have left, how many are there that return to the -cage in the evening? Not one! I sit up to capture just seven, all -newcomers, all sporting feathers. This result would seem to show that -the amputation of the antennæ is a rather serious matter. Let us not -draw conclusions yet: a doubt remains and an important one. - -“A nice state I’m in!” said Mouflard, the Bull-pup, when his pitiless -breeder had docked his ears. “How dare I show my face before the other -Dogs?” - -Can it be that my Moths entertain Master Mouflard’s apprehensions? Once -deprived of their fine plumes, dare they no longer appear amidst their -rivals and a-wooing go? Is it bashfulness on their part or lack of -guidance? Or might it not rather be exhaustion after a wait that -exceeds the duration of an ephemeral flame? Experiment shall tell us. - -On the fourth evening, I take fourteen Moths, all new ones, and -imprison them, as they arrive, in a room where I intend them to pass -the night. Next morning, taking advantage of their daytime immobility, -I remove a little of the fur from the centre of their corselet. The -silky fleece comes off so easily that this slight tonsure does not -inconvenience the insects at all; it deprives them of no organ which -may be necessary to them later, when the time comes to find the cage. -It means nothing to the shorn ones; to me it means the unmistakable -sign that the callers have repeated their visit. - -This time there are no weaklings incapable of flight. At night, the -fourteen shaven Moths escape into the open. Of course the place of the -cage is once more changed. In two hours, I capture twenty Moths, -including two tonsured ones, no more. Of those who lost their antennæ -two days ago, not one puts in an appearance. Their nuptial time is over -for good and all. - -Only two return out of the fourteen marked with a bald patch. Why do -the twelve others hang back, although supplied with what we have -assumed to be their guides, their antennary plumes? Why again that -formidable list of defaulters, which we find nearly always after a -night of sequestration? I perceive but one reply: the Great Peacock is -quickly worn out by the ardours of pairing-time. - -With a view to his wedding, the one and only object of his life, the -Moth is gifted with a wonderful prerogative. He is able to discover the -object of his desire in spite of distance, obstacles and darkness. For -two or three evenings, he is allowed a few hours wherein to indulge his -search and his amorous exploits. If he cannot avail himself of them, -all is over: the most exact of compasses fails, the brightest of lamps -expires. What is the use of living after that? Stoically we withdraw -into a corner and sleep our last sleep, which is the end of our -illusions and of our woes alike. - -The Great Peacock becomes a Moth only in order to perpetuate his -species. He knows nothing of eating. While so many others, jolly -companions one and all, flit from flower to flower, unrolling the -spiral of their proboscis and dipping it into the honeyed cups, he, the -incomparable faster, wholly freed from the bondage of the belly, has no -thought of refreshment. His mouth-parts are mere rudiments, vain -simulacra, not real organs capable of performing their functions. Not a -sup enters his stomach: a glorious privilege, save that it involves a -brief existence. The lamp needs its drop of oil, if it is not to be -extinguished. The Great Peacock renounces that drop, but at the same -time he renounces long life. Two or three evenings, just time enough to -allow the couple to meet, and that is all: the big Moth has lived. - -Then what is the meaning of the staying away of those who have lost -their antennæ? Does it show that the absence of these organs has made -them incapable of finding the wire bell in which the prisoner awaits -them? Not at all. Like the shorn ones, whose operation has left them -uninjured, they prove only that their time is up. Whether maimed or -intact, they are unfit for duty because of their age; and their -non-return is valueless as evidence. For lack of the time necessary for -experimenting, the part played by the antennæ escapes us. Doubtful it -was and doubtful it remains. - -My caged prisoner lives for eight days. Every evening she draws for my -benefit a swarm of visitors, in varying numbers, now to one part of the -house, now to another, as I please. I catch them, as they come, with -the net and transfer them, the moment they are captured, to a closed -room, in which they spend the night. Next morning, I mark them with a -tonsure on the thorax. - -The aggregate of the visitors during those eight evenings amounts to a -hundred and fifty, an astounding number when I consider how hard I had -to seek during the following two years to collect the materials -necessary for continuing these observations. Though not impossible to -find in my near neighbourhood, the cocoons of the Great Peacock are at -least very rare, for old almond-trees, on which the caterpillars live, -are scarce in these parts. For two winters I visited every one of those -decayed trees at the lower part of the trunk, under the tangle of hard -grasses in which they are clad, and time after time I returned -empty-handed. Therefore my hundred and fifty Moths came from afar, from -very far, within a radius of perhaps a mile and a half or more. How did -they know of what was happening in my study? - -The perceptive faculties can receive information from a distance by -means of three agents: light, sound and smell. Is it permissible to -speak of vision in this instance? I will readily admit that sight -guides the visitors once they have passed through the open window. But -before that, in the mystery out of doors! It would not be enough to -grant them the fabulous eye of the Lynx, which was supposed to see -through walls; we should have to admit a keenness of sight which could -be exercised miles away. It is useless to discuss anything so -outrageous; let us pass on. - -Sound is likewise out of the question. The great fat Moth, capable of -sending a summons to such a distance, is mute even to the most acute -hearing. It is just possible that she possesses delicate vibrations, -passionate quivers, which might perhaps be perceptible with the aid of -an extremely sensitive microphone; but remember that the visitors have -to be informed at considerable distances, thousands of yards away. -Under these conditions, we cannot waste time thinking of acoustics. -That would be to set silence the task of waking the surrounding air. - -There remains the sense of smell. In the domain of our senses, scent, -better than anything else, would more or less explain the onrush of the -Moths, even though they do not find the bait that allures them until -after a certain amount of hesitation. Are there, in point of fact, -effluvia similar to what we call odour, effluvia of extreme subtlety, -absolutely imperceptible to ourselves and yet capable of impressing a -sense of smell better-endowed than ours? There is a very simple -experiment to be made. It is a question of masking those effluvia, of -stifling them under a powerful and persistent odour, which masters the -olfactory sense entirely. The too-strong scent will neutralize the very -faint one. - -I begin by sprinkling naphthaline in the room where the males will be -received this evening. Also, in the bell-jar, beside the female, I lay -a big capsule full of the same stuff. When the visiting-hour comes, I -have only to stand in the doorway of the room to get a distinct smell -of gas-works. My artifice fails. The Moths arrive as usual, they enter -the room, pass through its tarry atmosphere and make for the cage with -as much certainty of direction as though in unscented surroundings. - -My confidence in the olfactory explanation is shaken. Besides, I am now -unable to go on. Worn out by her sterile wait, my prisoner dies on the -ninth day, after laying her unfertilized eggs on the wirework of the -cage. In the absence of a subject of experiment, there is no more to be -done until next year. - -This time I shall take my precautions, I shall lay in a stock so as to -be able to repeat as often as I wish the experiments which I have -already tried and those which I am contemplating. To work, then; and -that without delay. - -In the summer, I proclaim myself a buyer of caterpillars at a sou -apiece. The offer appeals to some urchins in the neighbourhood, my -usual purveyors. On Thursdays, emancipated from the horrors of parsing, -[31] they scour the fields, find the fat caterpillar from time to time -and bring him to me clinging to the end of a stick. They dare not touch -him, poor mites; they are staggered at my audacity when I take him in -my fingers as they might take the familiar Silk-worm. - -Reared on almond-tree branches, my menagerie in a few days supplies me -with magnificent cocoons. In the winter, assiduous searches at the foot -of the fostering tree complete my collection. Friends interested in my -enquiries come to my assistance. In short, by dint of trouble, much -running about, commercial bargains and not a few scratches from -brambles, I am the possessor of an assortment of cocoons, of which -twelve, bulkier and heavier than the others, tell me that they belong -to females. - -A disappointment awaits me, for May arrives, a fickle month which -brings to naught my preparations, the cause of so much anxiety. We have -winter back again. The mistral howls, tears the budding leaves from the -plane-trees and strews the ground with them. It is as cold as in -December. We have to light the fires again at night and resume the -thick clothes which we were beginning to leave off. - -My Moths are sorely tried. They hatch late and are torpid. Around my -wire cages, in which the females wait, one to-day, another to-morrow, -according to the order of their birth, few males or none come from the -outside. And yet there are some close at hand, for the plumed gallants -resulting from my harvest were placed out in the garden as soon as they -were hatched and recognized. Whether near neighbours or strangers from -afar, very few arrive; and these are only half-hearted. They enter for -a moment, then disappear and do not return. The lovers have grown cold. - -It is also possible that the low temperature is unfavourable to the -tell-tale effluvia, which might well be enhanced by the warmth and -decreased by the cold, as happens with scents. My year is lost. Oh, -what laborious work is this experimenting at the mercy of the sudden -changes and deceptions of a short season! - -I begin all over again, for the third time. I rear caterpillars, I -scour the country in search of cocoons. When May returns, I am suitably -provided. The weather is fine and responds to my hopes. I once more see -the incursions which had struck me so powerfully at the beginning, at -the time of the historic invasion which first led to my researches. - -Nightly the visitors turn up, in squads of twelve, twenty or more. The -female, a lusty, big-bellied matron, clings firmly to the trellis-work -of the cage. She makes no movement, gives not so much as a flutter of -the wings, seems indifferent to what is going on. Nor is there any -odour, so far as the most sensitive nostrils in the household can -judge, nor any rustle perceptible to the most delicate hearing among my -family, all of whom are called in to bear evidence. In motionless -contemplation she waits. - -The others, in twos or threes or more, flop down upon the dome of the -cage, run about it briskly in every direction, lash it with the tips of -their wings in continual movement. There are no affrays between rivals. -With not a sign of jealousy in regard to the other suitors, each does -his utmost to enter the enclosure. Tiring of their vain attempts, they -fly away and join the whirling throng of dancers. Some, giving up all -hope, escape through the open window; fresh arrivals take their places; -and, on the top of the cage, until ten o’clock in the evening, attempts -to approach are incessantly renewed, soon to be abandoned and as soon -resumed. - -Every evening the cage is moved to a different place. I put it on the -north side and the south, on the ground-floor and the first floor, in -the right wing and fifty yards away in the left, in the open air or -hidden in a distant room. All these sudden displacements, contrived if -possible to put the seekers off the scent, do not trouble the Moths in -the least. I waste my time and ingenuity in trying to deceive them. - -Recollection of places plays no part here. Yesterday, for instance, the -female was installed in a certain room. The feathered males came -fluttering thither for a couple of hours; several even spent the night -there. Next day, at sunset, when I move the cage, all are out of doors. -Ephemeral though they be, the newest comers are ready to repeat their -nocturnal expeditions a second time and a third. Where will they go -first, these veterans of a day? - -They know all about the meeting-place of yesterday. One is inclined to -think that they will go back to it, guided by memory, and that, finding -nothing left, they will proceed elsewhither to continue their -investigations. But no: contrary to my expectations, they do nothing of -the sort. Not one reappears in the place which was so thickly crowded -last night; not one pays even a short visit. The room is recognized as -deserted, without the preliminary enquiry which recollection would seem -to demand. A more positive guide than memory summons them elsewhere. - -Until now the female has been left exposed, under the meshes of a wire -gauze. The visitors, whose eyes are used to piercing the blackest -gloom, can see her by the vague light of what to us is darkness. What -will happen if I imprison her under an opaque cover? According to its -nature, will not this cover either set free or arrest the tell-tale -effluvia? - -Physical science is to-day preparing to give us wireless telegraphy, by -means of the Hertzian waves. Can the Great Peacock have anticipated our -efforts in this direction? In order to set the surrounding air in -motion and to inform pretenders miles away, can the newly-hatched bride -have at her disposal electric or magnetic waves, which one sort of -screen would arrest and another let through? In a word, does she, in -her own manner, employ a kind of wireless telegraphy? I see nothing -impossible in this: insects are accustomed to invent things quite as -wonderful. - -I therefore lodge the female in boxes of various characters. Some are -made of tin, some of cardboard, some of wood. All are hermetically -closed, are even sealed with stout putty. I also use a glass bell-jar -standing on the insulating support of a pane of glass. - -Well, under these conditions of strict closing, never a male arrives, -not one, however favourable the mildness and quiet of the evening. No -matter its nature, whether of metal or glass, of wood or cardboard, the -closed receptacle forms an insuperable obstacle to the effluvia that -betray the captive’s whereabouts. - -A layer of cotton two fingers thick gives the same result. I place the -female in a large jar, tying a sheet of wadding over the mouth by way -of a lid. This is enough to keep the neighbourhood in ignorance of the -secrets of my laboratory. No male puts in an appearance. - -On the other hand, make use of ill-closed, cracked boxes, or even hide -them in a drawer, in a cupboard; and, notwithstanding this added -mystery, the Moths will arrive in numbers as great as when they come -thronging to the trellised cage standing in full view on a table. I -have retained a vivid recollection of an evening when the recluse was -waiting in a hat-box at the bottom of a closed wall-cupboard. The Moths -arrived, went to the door, struck it with their wings, knocked at it to -express their wish to enter. Passing wayfarers, coming no one knows -whence across the fields, they well knew what was inside there, behind -those boards. - -We must therefore reject the idea of any means of information similar -to that of wireless telegraphy, for the first screen set up, whether a -good conductor or a bad, stops the female’s signals completely. To give -these a free passage and carry them to a distance, one condition is -indispensable: the receptacle in which the female is contained must be -imperfectly closed, so as to establish a communication between the -inner and the outer air. This brings us back to the probability of an -odour, though that was contradicted by my experiment with naphthaline. - -My stock of cocoons is exhausted and the problem is still obscure. -Shall I try again another year, the fourth? I abandon the thought for -the fallowing reasons: Moths that mate at night are difficult to -observe if I want to watch their intimate actions. The gallant -certainly needs no illuminant to attain his ends; but my feeble human -powers of vision cannot dispense with one at night. I must have at -least a candle, which is often extinguished by the whirling swarm. A -lantern saves us from these sudden eclipses; but its dim light, -streaked with broad shadows, does not suit a conscientious observer -like myself, who wants to see and to see clearly. - -Nor is this all. The light of a lamp diverts the Moths from their -object, distracts them from their business and, if persistent, gravely -compromises the success of the evening. The visitors no sooner enter -the room than they make a wild rush for the flame, singe their fluff in -it and thenceforth, frightened by the scorching received, cease to be -trustworthy witnesses. When they are not burnt, when they are kept at a -distance by a glass chimney, they perch as close as they can to the -light and there stay, hypnotized. - -One evening, the female was in the dining-room, on a table facing the -open window. A lighted paraffin-lamp, with a large white-enamel shade, -was hanging from the ceiling. Two of the arrivals alighted on the dome -of the cage and fussed around the prisoner; seven others, after -greeting her as they passed, made for the lamp, circled about it a -little and then, fascinated by the radiant glory of the opal cone, -perched on it, motionless, under the shade. Already the children’s -hands were raised to seize them. - -“Don’t,” I said. “Leave them alone. Let us be hospitable and not -disturb these pilgrims to the tabernacle of light.” - -All that evening, not one of the seven budged. Next morning, they were -still there. The intoxication of light had made them forget the -intoxication of love. - -With creatures so madly enamoured of the radiant flame, precise and -prolonged experiment becomes unfeasible the moment the observer -requires an artificial illuminant. I give up the Great Peacock and his -nocturnal nuptials. I want a Moth with different habits, equally -skilled in keeping conjugal appointments, but performing in the -day-time. - -Before continuing with a subject that fulfils these conditions, let us -drop chronological order for a moment and say a few words about a -late-comer who arrived after I had completed my enquiries, I mean the -Lesser Peacock (Attacus pavonia minor, Lin.). Somebody brought me, I -don’t know where from, a magnificent cocoon loosely wrapped in an ample -white-silk envelope. Out of this covering, with its thick, irregular -folds, it was easy to extract a case similar in shape to the Great -Peacock’s, but a good deal smaller. The fore-end, worked into the -fashion of an eel-trap by means of free and converging fibres, which -prevent access to the dwelling while permitting egress without a breach -of the walls, indicated a kinswoman of the big nocturnal Moth; the silk -bore the spinner’s mark. - -And, in point of fact, towards the end of March, on the morning of Palm -Sunday, the cocoon with the eel-trap formation provides me with a -female of the Lesser Peacock, whom I at once seclude under a wire-gauze -bell in my study. I open the window to allow the event to be made known -all over the district; I want the visitors, if any come, to find free -entrance. The captive grips the wires and does not move for a week. - -A gorgeous creature is my prisoner, in her brown velvet streaked with -wavy lines. She has white fur around her neck; a speck of carmine at -the tip of the upper wings; and four large, eye-shaped spots, in which -black, white, red and yellow-ochre are grouped in concentric crescents. -The dress is very like that of the Great Peacock, but less dark in -colouring. I have seen this Moth, so remarkable for size and costume, -three or four times in my life. It was only the other day that I first -saw the cocoon. The male I have never seen. I only know that, according -to the books, he is half the size of the female and of a brighter and -more florid colour, with orange-yellow on the lower wings. - -Will he come, the unknown spark, the plume-wearer on whom I have never -set eyes, so rare does he appear to be in my part of the country? In -his distant hedges will he receive news of the bride that awaits him on -my study table? I venture to feel sure of it; and I am right. Here he -comes, even sooner than I expected. - -On the stroke of noon, as we were sitting down to table, little Paul -who is late owing to his eager interest in what is likely to happen, -suddenly runs up to us, his cheeks aglow. In his fingers flutters a -pretty Moth, a Moth caught that moment hovering in front of my study. -Paul shows me his prize; his eyes ask an unspoken question. - -“Hullo!” I say. “This is the very pilgrim we were expecting. Let’s fold -up our napkins and go and see what’s happening. We can dine later.” - -Dinner is forgotten in the presence of the wonders that are taking -place. With inconceivable punctuality, the plume-wearers hasten to -answer the captive’s magic call. They arrive one by one, with a -tortuous flight. All of them come from the north. This detail has its -significance. As a matter of fact, during the past week we have -experienced a fierce return of winter. The north wind has been blowing -a gale, killing the imprudent almond-blossoms. It was one of those -ferocious storms which, as a rule, usher in the spring in our part of -the world. To-day the temperature has suddenly grown milder, but the -wind is still blowing from the north. - -Now at this first visit all the Moths hurrying to the prisoner enter -the enclosure from the north; they follow the movement of the air; not -one beats against it. If their compass were a sense of smell similar to -our own, if they were guided by odoriferous particles dissolved in the -air, they ought to arrive from the opposite direction. If they came -from the south, we might believe them to be informed by effluvia -carried by the wind; coming as they do from the north, through the -mistral, that mighty sweeper of the atmosphere, how can we suppose them -to have perceived, at a great distance, what we call a smell? This -reflux of scented atoms in a direction contrary to the aerial current -seems to me inadmissible. - -For a couple of hours, in radiant sunshine, the visitors come and go -outside the front of the study. Most of them search for a long while, -exploring the wall, flitting along the ground. To see their hesitation, -one would think that they were at a loss to discover the exact place of -the bait that attracts them. Though they have come from very far -without mistake, they seem uncertain of their bearings once they are on -the spot. Nevertheless, sooner or later they enter the room and pay -their respects to the captive, without much importunity. At two o’clock -all is over. Ten Moths have been here. - -All through the week, each time at noon-day, when the light is at its -brightest, Moths arrive, but in decreasing numbers. The total is nearly -forty. I see no reason to repeat experiments which could add nothing to -what I already know; and I confine myself to stating two facts. In the -first place, the Lesser Peacock is a day insect, that is to say, he -celebrates his wedding in the brilliant light of the middle of the day. -He needs radiant sunshine. The Great Peacock, on the contrary, whom he -so closely resembles in his adult form and in the work which he does as -a caterpillar, requires the dusk of the early hours of the night. Let -him who can explain this strange contrast of habits. - -In the second place, a powerful air-current, sweeping the other way any -particles capable of instructing the sense of smell, does not prevent -the Moths’ arriving from a direction opposite to that of the -odoriferous flux, as our physics imagine it. - -If I am to go on with my observations, I want a day Moth; not the -Lesser Peacock, who made his appearance too late, at a time when I had -nothing to ask him, but another, no matter whom, provided that he be -quick at discovering nuptial feasts. Shall I find this Moth? - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE BANDED MONK - - -Yes, I shall find him; indeed I have him already. A little chap of -seven, with a wideawake face that doesn’t get washed every day, bare -feet and a pair of tattered breeches held up by a bit of string, a boy -who comes regularly to supply the house with turnips and tomatoes, -arrives one morning carrying his basket of vegetables. After the few -sous due to his mother for the greens have been counted one by one into -his hand, he produces from his pocket something which he found the day -before, beside a hedge, while picking grass for the Rabbits: - -“And what about this?” he asks, holding the thing out to me. “What -about this? Will you have it?” - -“Yes, certainly I’ll have it. Try and find me some more, as many as you -can, and I’ll promise you plenty of rides on the roundabout on Sunday. -Meanwhile, my lad, here’s a penny for you. Don’t make a mistake when -you give in your accounts; put it somewhere where you won’t mix it up -with the turnip-money.” - -Dazzled with delight at the sight of so much wealth, my little -ragamuffin promises to search with a will, already seeing visions of a -fortune to be his. - -When he has gone, I examine the thing. It is worth while. It is a -handsome cocoon, blunt-shaped, not at all unlike the product of our -Silk-worm nurseries, of a firm consistency and a tawny colour. The -cursory information which I have picked up from books of reference -makes me almost certain that it is the Bombyx of the Oak, the Oak -Eggar. If this is so, what luck! I shall be able to continue my -observations and perhaps complete what the Great Peacock began to show -me. - -The Oak Eggar is, in fact, a classic; there is not an entomological -treatise but speaks of his exploits in the wedding-season. They tell us -how a mother hatches in captivity, inside a room and even hidden in a -box. She is far away from the country, amid the tumult of a big town. -The event is nevertheless divulged to those whom it concerns in the -woods and the meadows. Guided by some inconceivable compass, the males -arrive, hastening from the distant fields; they go to the box, tap at -it, fly round and round it. - -I had read of these marvels; but seeing, seeing with one’s own eyes, -and at the same time experimenting a little is quite another matter. -What does my penny purchase hold in store for me? Will the famous -Bombyx emerge from it? - -Let us call her by her other name: the Banded Monk. This unusual name -of Monk is suggested by the male’s dress: a monk’s frock of a modest -rusty brown. But in this case the stuff is a delicious velvet, with a -pale transversal band and a little white, eye-shaped dot on the front -wings. - -The Banded Monk is not, in my region, a common Moth whom we are likely -to catch if the fancy takes us to go out with a net at the proper -season. I have never seen it about the village, especially not in my -lonely enclosure, during all the twenty years that I have spent here. I -am not a fervent hunter, I admit; the collector’s dead insect interests -me very little; I want it alive, in the full exercise of its faculties. -But I make up for the absence of the collector’s zeal by an attentive -eye for all that enlivens the fields. A Moth so remarkable in size and -costume would certainly not have escaped me had I met him. - -The little seeker whom I had caught so nicely with a promise of the -roundabout never made a second find. For three years I requisitioned -friends and neighbours, especially the youngsters, those sharp-eyed -scrapers of the brushwood; I myself scraped a great deal under masses -of dead leaves, inspected stone-heaps, examined hollow tree-trunks. My -trouble was in vain: the precious cocoon was nowhere to be found. -Suffice it to say that the Banded Monk is very scarce in my -neighbourhood. The importance of this detail will be seen when the time -comes. - -As I suspected, my solitary cocoon did belong to the famous Moth. On -the 20th of August there emerges a female, corpulent and big-bellied, -attired like the male, but in a lighter frock, more in the nankeen -style. I establish her in a wire-gauze bell-jar in the middle of my -study, on the big laboratory-table, littered with books, pots, trays, -boxes, test-tubes and other engines of science. I have described the -setting before: it is the same as in the case of the Great Peacock. The -room is lighted by two windows looking out on the garden. One is -closed, the other is kept open day and night. The Moth is placed -between the two, in the shadow, some four or five yards away. - -The rest of the day and the following day pass without anything worth -mentioning. Hanging by her claws to the front of the trellis-work, on -the side nearest the light, the prisoner is motionless, inert. There is -no waving of the wings, no quivering of the antennæ. Even so did the -female Great Peacock behave. - -The mother Bombyx matures; her tender flesh hardens. By some process of -which our science has not the remotest idea, she elaborates an -irresistible bait which will bring callers flocking to her from the -four corners of the heavens. What takes place in that fat body, what -transformations are performed that shall presently revolutionize -everything around? Were they known to us, the Moth’s nostrums would add -a cubit to our stature. - -On the third day the bride is ready. The festivities burst into full -swing. I was in the garden, already despairing of success, so long were -things delayed, when, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, in very -hot weather and brilliant sunshine, I saw a host of Moths gyrating in -the embrasure of the open window. - -It is the lovers coming to call upon their sweetheart. Some are just -leaving the room, others going in, others again are perched upon the -wall, resting as though jaded after a long journey. I see some -approaching in the distance, over the walls, over the curtain of -cypress-trees. They are hurrying up from all directions, but becoming -more and more rare. I missed the beginning of the reception; and the -guests are nearly all here. - -Let us go upstairs. This time, in broad daylight, without losing a -single detail, I once more witness the bewildering spectacle into which -the great night Moth initiated me. My study is filled with a swarm of -males, whom I estimate at a glance to number about sixty, as far as it -is possible to make a count in this seething mass. After circling a few -times round the cage, several go to the open window, but return again -forthwith and resume their evolutions. The most eager perch on the -cage, hustle and trample on one another, fighting for the good places. -Inside the barrier, the captive waits impassively, with her great -paunch hanging against the wires. She gives not a sign of emotion in -the presence of the turbulent throng. - -Going in or going out, fussing round the cage or flitting through the -room, for more than three hours they keep up their frenzied saraband. -But the sun is sinking, the temperature becomes a little cooler. -Chilled likewise is the ardour of the Moths. Many go out and do not -come in again. Others take up their positions in readiness for the -morrow; they settle on the transoms of the closed window, as the Great -Peacocks did. The celebration is over for to-day. It will certainly be -renewed to-morrow, for it is still without result, because of the -wires. - -But alas, to my great dismay, it is not renewed; and this through my -own fault! Late in the day, some one brings me a Praying Mantis, worthy -of attention because of her exceptionally small size. Preoccupied with -the events of the afternoon, without thinking what I am doing, I -hastily place the carnivorous insect in the cage that holds my Bombyx. -Not for a moment do I dream that this co-habitation can turn out ill. -The Mantis is such a little, slender thing; the other is so obese! And -thus I entertained no apprehensions. - -Ah, little did I know the bloodthirsty fury of which the grapnelled -insect is capable! Next morning, to my bitter astonishment, I find the -tiny Mantis devouring the huge Moth. The head and the front part of the -breast have already disappeared. Horrible creature! What a -disappointment I owe to you! Farewell to my researches, which I had -cherished in my imagination all night long; not for three years shall I -be able to resume them, for lack of a subject. - -Bad luck must not, however, make us forget the little that we have -learnt. At one sitting, some sixty males came. Considering the rarity -of the Monk and remembering the years of fruitless searches conducted -by my assistants and myself, we stand astounded at this number. With a -female for a bait, the undiscoverable has suddenly become a multitude. - -Now where did they come from? From every quarter and from very far, -beyond a doubt. During my years of exploration of my neighbourhood, I -have got to know every bush in it and every heap of stones; and I am in -a position to declare that there are no Oak Eggars there. To make the -swarm that filled my study, the whole of the surrounding district must -have contributed, from this side and from that, within a radius which I -dare not determine. - -Three years pass; and fortune persistently entreated at last grants me -two Monk-cocoons. Towards the middle of August, both of them, within a -few days of each other, give me a female. This is a piece of luck which -will allow me to vary and renew my tests. - -I quickly repeat the experiments which have already procured me a most -positive reply from the Great Peacock. The pilgrim of the day is no -less clever than the pilgrim of the night. He baffles all my tricks. He -hastens infallibly to the prisoner, in her wire-gauze cage, in whatever -part of the house the apparatus be installed; he is able to discover -her hidden in a cupboard; he guesses her secret presence in a box of -any kind, provided that it be not tightly closed. He ceases to come, -for lack of information, when the casket is hermetically sealed. Thus -far we see merely a repetition of the feats of the Great Peacock. - -A well-closed box, the air contained in which does not communicate with -the outer atmosphere, leaves the Monk in complete ignorance of the -prisoner’s whereabouts. Not one arrives, even when the box is exposed -for every eye to see in the window. This brings back, more urgently -than ever, the idea of odoriferous effluvia, intransmissible through a -wall of metal, cardboard, wood or glass, no matter which. - -When put to the test, the great night Moth was not baffled by the -naphthaline, whose powerful smell ought, to my thinking, to mask -ultrasubtle emanations, imperceptible to any human nostrils. I repeat -the experiment with the Monk. This time I lavish all the resources in -the way of scents and stenches that my store of drugs permits. - -I place the saucers, partly inside the wire-gauze cage, the female’s -prison, and partly all round it, in a continuous circle. Some contain -naphthaline, others oil of lavender, others paraffin, others, lastly, -alkaline sulphurs smelling of rotten eggs. Short of asphyxiating the -prisoner, I can do no more. These arrangements are made in the morning, -so that the room may be thoroughly saturated when the trysting-hour -arrives. - -In the afternoon, the study has become an odious laboratory in which -the penetrating aroma of lavender-oil and the foul stench of -sulphuretted hydrogen predominate. Remember that I smoke in this room -and plentifully at that. Will the concentrated odours of a gas-works, a -smoker’s divan, a scent-shop, an oil-well and a chemical factory -succeed in putting off the Monk? - -Not at all. A little before three, the Moths arrive, as numerous as -ever. They go to the cage, which I have taken pains to cover with a -thick kitchen-cloth, so as to increase the difficulty. Though they see -nothing after they have entered, though they are steeped in a foreign -atmosphere in which any subtle fragrance should have been annihilated, -they fly towards the prisoner and try to get at her by slipping under -the folds of the cloth. My artifices are fruitless. - -After this reverse, so definite in its results, which repeats what my -naphthaline experiment with the Great Peacock taught me, I ought, -logically speaking, to give up the theory that odorous effluvia serve -as a guide to the Moths invited to the nuptial feast. That I did not do -so was due to a casual observation. The unexpected, the fortuitous, -often provides us with one of those surprises which show us the road to -the truth, hitherto sought in vain. - -One afternoon, trying to discover whether sight plays any part in the -search, once that the Moths have entered the room, I place the female -in a glass bell-jar and give her a little oak-branch, with withered -leaves, as a perch. The apparatus is put on a table, opposite the open -window. On entering, the Moths cannot fail to see the prisoner, -standing as she does where they are bound to pass. The pan with its -layer of sand, in which the female spent the previous night and the -morning under a wire-gauze cover, is in my way. I put it, without -premeditation, on the floor at the other end of the room, in a corner -which is only dimly lighted. It is seven yards from the window. - -The result of these preparations upsets all my ideas. Of the Moths -arriving, none stops at the glass bell, where the female is plainly -visible, in the full light. They pass by with utter indifference. Not a -glance in her direction, not an enquiry. They all fly right to the far -end of the room, to the dusky corner where I placed the tray and the -cage. They alight on the trellised top and explore it at length, -flapping their wings and hustling one another a little. All the -afternoon, until sunset, they dance around the deserted dome the same -saraband to which the actual presence of the female would give rise. At -last they fly away, but not all of them. There are persistent ones who -refuse to go, rooted to the spot by some magic attraction. - -A strange result indeed: my Moths hasten to where there is nothing, -take their stand there and will not be dissuaded by the repeated -warnings of their eyes; they pass without stopping for a moment by the -bell-glass in which the female cannot fail to be perceived by one or -other of those coming and going. Befooled by a lure, they pay no -attention to the real thing. - -What is it that deceives them? The whole of the night before and all -this morning, the female has sojourned under the wire-gauze cover, -either hanging to the trellis-work, or resting on the sand in the pan. -Whatever she touched, above all with her fat belly apparently, has -become impregnated, as the result of long contact, with certain -emanations. There you have her bait, her love-philtre; there you have -what revolutionizes the world of Monks. The sand retains it for a time -and spreads its effluvia around. - -It is smell therefore that guides the Moths, that gives them -information at a distance. Dominated by the sense of smell, they take -no notice of what their eyes tell them; they pass by the glass prison -in which their lady-love is now interned; they go to the wires, to the -sand, on which the magic cruets have shed their contents; they race to -the wilderness where naught remains of the witch but the scented -evidence of her sojourn. - -The irresistible philtre takes a certain time to elaborate. I picture -it as an exhalation which is gradually given off and saturates -everything that touches the fat, motionless creature. When the glass -bell stands directly on the table or, better still, on a square of -glass, the communication between the interior and the outer air is -insufficient; and the males, perceiving nothing by the sense of smell, -keep away, however long the experiment be continued. At the actual -moment, I cannot substantiate this non-transmission through a screen, -for, even if I establish ample communication, if I separate the bell -from its support by means of three wedges, the Moths do not come at -first, however many there may be in the room. But wait for half an -hour, more or less: the alembic of feminine flavours begins its -distilling and the rush of visitors takes place as usual. - -Now that I possess these data, this unexpected light on the subject, I -am at liberty to vary my experiments, all of which lead to the same -conclusion. In the morning, I establish the female under a wire-gauze -cover. Her perch is a little oak-twig similar to the last. Here, -motionless, as though dead, she remains for long hours, buried in the -tuft of leaves that is to be impregnated with her emanations. When -visiting-time approaches, I withdraw the twig, perfectly saturated, and -lay it on a chair, near the open window. On the other hand, I leave the -female under her cover, well in view on the table, in the middle of the -room. - -The Moths arrive, first one, then two and three, soon five and six. -They come in, go out, come in again, fly up and down, go to and fro, -keeping all the time to the neighbourhood of the chair with its -oak-branch. Not one makes for the big table, a few paces farther into -the room, where the female is waiting for them under the trellised -dome. They are hesitating, that is clear; they are seeking. - -At last they find. And what do they find? The very twig which in the -morning had served the pot-bellied matron as a bed. With wings swiftly -fluttering, they alight upon the branch; they explore it above and -below, probe it, lift it and move it, until at last the little bit of -foliage drops on the floor. The probing between the leaves continues -none the less. Under the buffeting of the wings and the clawing of the -feet, the stick is now running along the ground, like a scrap of paper -pawed by a kitten. - -While the twig is moving away with its band of explorers, two new -arrivals come upon the scene. On their way, they have to pass the -chair, which for a brief spell bore the leafy stick. They stop at it -and eagerly investigate the very spot which but now was covered by the -branch. And yet, in their case as in that of the others, the real -object of their desires is close by them, under a wire gauze which I -have omitted to veil. No one notices it. On the floor, the Monks -continue to hustle the mattress on which the female lay in the morning; -on the chair, they still fumble at the spot where this bedding was -first placed. The sun goes down; the time comes to depart. Besides, the -effluvia of passion are growing fainter, are dispersing. The visitors -go away without more ado. Good-bye till to-morrow. - -The following tests tell me that any material, no matter what, can take -the place of the leafy branch, that chance inspiration of mine. Some -time in advance, I place the female on a couch of cloth or flannel, of -wadding or paper. I even subject her to the hardship of a camp-bed of -wood, glass, marble or metal. All these objects, after a contact of -sufficient length, have the same powerful attraction for the males as -the mother Monk herself. They retain this property to a varying extent, -according to their nature. The best are wadding, flannel, dust, sand, -in short, porous objects. Metals, marble and glass, on the contrary, -soon lose their efficacy. Lastly, anything on which the female has -rested communicates its virtue to other places by simple contact, as -witness the Moths crowding to the seat of the cane-bottomed chair after -the oak-branch had fallen from it. - -Let us use one of the best beds, flannel, for instance, and we shall -see a curious thing. I place at the bottom of a long test-tube or of a -narrow-necked bottle, just wide enough to allow of the Moth’s passage, -a piece of flannel on which the mother has been lying all the morning. -The callers go into the vessels, flounder about, do not know how to get -out again. I have invented a mouse-trap for them by means of which I -could do terrific execution. Let us release the poor things, remove the -piece of stuff and put it away in an hermetically closed box. The -infatuated Moths go back to the test-tube, headlong reenter the trap. -They are attracted by the effluvia which the saturated flannel has -imparted to the glass. - -I am fully convinced. To summon the Moths of the district to the -wedding, to apprise them at a distance of her presence and to guide -them, the bride emits an extremely subtle scent, imperceptible to our -own organs of smell. With the mother Monk held to their nostrils, those -around me perceive not the least odour, not even the youngest, whose -senses are not yet vitiated. - -This quintessence easily impregnates every object on which the female -rests for any length of time; and thenceforth the actual object becomes -as potent a centre of attraction as the mother herself, until the -emanations are dispelled. - -Nothing visible betrays the bait. On a piece of paper, a recent -resting-place around which the visitors crowd, there is not an -appreciable trace, no moisture of any kind; the surface is just as -clean as before the impregnation. - -The product is slowly elaborated and has to accumulate a little while -before manifesting its full strength. When taken from her couch and -placed elsewhere, the female loses her attractions for the time and -becomes an object of indifference; it is the resting-place, saturated -by long contact, that draws the newcomers. But the batteries are -recharged and the deserted one recovers her power. - -The appearance of the warning effluvium is delayed for a longer or -shorter period according to the species. The newly-hatched Moth has to -mature for a time and to put her distillery in order. A female Great -Peacock, born in the morning, sometimes has visitors that same evening, -but oftener on the second day, after preparations lasting some forty -hours. The female Banded Monk adjourns her summons longer than that: -her banns of marriage are not published until after two or three days’ -waiting. - -Let us return for a moment to the problematical functions of the -antennæ. The male Monk sports a sumptuous pair, similar to those of the -Great Peacock, who vies with him in his matrimonial expeditions. Are we -to look upon these hairy feelers as a guiding compass? I repeat, -without laying much stress on the matter, my former amputations. None -of the patients comes back. We must be chary of drawing inferences, -however. The Great Peacock has shown us that the failure to return is -due to more serious reasons than amputation of the horns. - -Moreover, a second Monk, the Clover Bombyx, nearly akin to the first -and, like him, superbly plumed, sets us an exceedingly perplexing -problem. He is fairly plentiful around my place; even in the enclosure -I find his cocoon, which might easily be confused with that of the Oak -Bombyx. I am deceived at first by the resemblance. Out of six cocoons, -from which I expected to obtain Banded Monks, six females of the other -species hatch at the end of August. Well, around those six females, -born in my house, never a male appears, though there is no doubt that -the tufted ones are present in the neighbourhood. - -If spreading feathered antennæ are really organs for receiving -information at a distance, why are not my richly-horned neighbours -informed of what is happening in my study? Why do their fine plumes -leave them indifferent to events that would bring the Banded Monk -hastening up in crowds? Once more, the organ does not determine the -aptitude. This one is gifted and that one is not, despite organic -similarity. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE SENSE OF SMELL - - -In physics we hear of nothing nowadays but the Röntgen rays, which -penetrate dense bodies and photograph the invisible for us. A fine -discovery, but how insignificant in face of the surprises which the -future reserves for us when, better-informed of the why and wherefore -of things, we supplement with art the feebleness of our senses and -succeed in rivalling, be it ever so little, the keenness of perception -revealed by the brute creation. - -How enviable, in many cases, is this animal superiority! It teaches us -the poverty of our attainments; it declares the mediocrity of our -sensory apparatus; it gives us evidence of impressions foreign to our -nature; it proclaims realities so far in excess of our attributes that -they astound us. - -A wretched caterpillar, the Pine Processionary, splits his back into -meteorological air-holes which snuff the coming weather and foretell -the squall; the bird of prey, with its incomparably long sight, sees -from high in the clouds the Field-mouse squatting on the ground; the -blinded Bats guide their flight without injury to themselves amid -Spallanzani’s [32] inextricable maze of threads; the Carrier-pigeon, -though moved a hundred leagues from home, infallibly regains his cote -across immensities which he has never traversed unaided; within the -limits of her humbler flight, a Bee, the Chalicodoma, [33] also spans -the unknown, accomplishes a long journey and returns to her mass of -cells. - -The man who has never seen a Dog hunting for truffles does not know one -of the finest achievements of the sense of smell. Absorbed in its -functions, the animal trots along, with its nose to the wind, at a -moderate pace. It stops, questions the ground with its nostrils, -scratches for a few seconds, without undue excitement, and looks up at -its master: - -“Here we are,” it seems to say, “here we are! On my word of honour as a -Dog, there’s a truffle here.” - -And it speaks the truth. The master digs at the point indicated. If the -trowel goes astray, the Dog shows the man how to put it right by -sniffing at the bottom of the hole. Do not be afraid of the stones and -roots in between: despite the depth and intervening obstacles, the -tuber will come. A Dog’s nose cannot lie. - -“Subtlety of smell,” you say. - -I have no objection, if by that you mean that the animal’s nasal -passages are the organ of perception; but is the thing perceived always -a mere smell, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, an effluvium -such as our own senses understand it? I have some reason to doubt this. -Let us set the matter forth. - -I have had the good fortune on several occasions to accompany a Dog who -was a great expert at his trade. Certainly he was nothing to look at, -this artist whom I was so anxious to see at work: just a Dog, placid -and deliberate in his ways, ugly, unkempt; the sort of Dog that you -would never admit to your fireside. Talent and poverty often go hand in -hand. - -His master, a celebrated rabassier [34] in the village, convinced that -I had no intention of stealing his secrets and one day setting up in -competition, allowed me to join him in his expeditions, a favour which -he did not often grant. The worthy man was quite willing to fall in -with my views, once he saw that I was not an apprentice but merely an -enquirer who made drawings [35] and wrote down lists of underground -vegetable things, instead of marketing my bagful of treasure-trove, the -glory of the Christmas Turkey. - -It was agreed between us that the Dog should act as he pleased and -receive a bit of bread as his reward after each discovery, -indiscriminately. Every spot scratched up by his paws was to be dug and -the object indicated extracted without our troubling about its -commercial value. In no case was the master’s experience to intervene -and divert the dog from a spot where practice told him that nothing -saleable was to be found, for, in drawing up my botanical lists, I -preferred wretched and unmarketable products to the choicest morsels, -though these of course were welcomed when they appeared. - -Thus conducted, the underground botanizing was very fruitful. With his -perspicacious nose, the Dog made me gather indifferently the large and -the small, the fresh and the putrid, the scented and the unscented, the -fragrant and the stinking. I was amazed at my collection, which -comprised the greater part of the hypogean fungi in my neighbourhood. - -What a variety of structure and above all of odour, the primary quality -in this question of scent! There are some that have nothing more -noticeable than a vague fungous mustiness, which is more or less -evident in all. Some smell of turnips, of rotten cabbage; some are -fetid enough to fill the collector’s house with their stench. The real -truffle alone possesses the aroma dear to the epicure. - -If smell, as we understand it, is the Dog’s only guide, how does he -manage to find his way through all these incongruous odours? Is he -apprised of the contents of the soil by a general emanation, the -fungous effluvium common to the different species? In that case an -extremely embarrassing question arises. - -I paid some attention to the ordinary mushrooms, many of which, as yet -invisible, announced their coming as imminent by cracking the surface -of the ground. Now I never saw the Dog stop at any of those points -where my eyes divined the cryptogam pushing back the earth with the -thrust of its cap, points where the ordinary fungous smell was -certainly most pronounced. He passed them by scornfully, with not a -sniff, with not a stroke of his paw. And yet the thing was underground; -and its reek was similar to others which he sometimes pointed out to -us. - -I came back from the Dog’s school with the conviction that the -truffle-detecting nose has a better guide than smell, in the sense in -which our olfactory powers realize it. It must perceive, in addition, -effluvia of a different order, full of mystery to us, who are not -equipped accordingly. Light has its dark rays, which are without effect -upon our retinæ, but not apparently upon all. Why should not the domain -of smell have its secret emanations, unknown to our senses but -perceptible to a differently constructed organ of smell? - -If the scent of the Dog leaves us perplexed to this extent, that it is -impossible for us to say exactly or even to suspect what it perceives, -it at least tells us plainly that we should be greatly mistaken to -compare everything by human standards. The world of sensations is far -larger than the limits of our sensibility admit. What a number of facts -in the working of the forces of nature escape us for want of organs -delicate enough to perceive them! - -The unknown, that inexhaustible field which the future will cultivate, -holds harvests in store for us beside which our present knowledge is -but a pitiful gleaning. Under the sickle of science sheaves will one -day fall whose grain to-day would seem a senseless paradox. Scientific -illusions? Not so, if you please, but undeniable and positive -realities, affirmed by the animal world, which in certain respects has -a great advantage over the world of man. - -In spite of his long professional practice, in spite of the aroma of -the tuber which he is seeking, the rabassier cannot guess the presence -of the truffle, which ripens in winter underground, at a depth of -eighteen inches or so; he needs the aid of the Dog or the Pig, whose -scent pries into the secrets of the soil. Well, these secrets are known -to different insects even better than to our two helpers. In order to -discover the tuber on which their family of grubs is to be fed, they -possess a scent of exceptional perfection. - -Long ago, from truffles dug up spoilt and teeming with vermin and -placed in this condition in a glass jar with a layer of fresh sand, I -obtained first a small red Beetle (Anisotoma cinnamomea, Panz.) and -then various Diptera, including a Sapromyzon, who, with her sluggish -flight and feeble frame, reminds me of a Fly, clad in yellow velvet, -known as Scatophaga scybalaria, that placid frequenter of human -excrement in autumn. - -The latter finds her truffle on the surface of the ground, at the foot -of a wall or hedge, man’s usual hasty refuge in the country; but how -does the other know at what point underground lies hers, or rather her -grubs’ truffle? To go down and hunt about in the depths is beyond her -power. Her frail limbs, which the moving of a grain of sand would warp; -her wings, which, if extended, would block her way through a gorge; her -dress of stiff silk, militating against a smooth passage: these are all -against her. The Sapromyzon is obliged to lay her eggs on the surface -of the soil, but she must do so at the very spot beneath which the -truffle lies, for the tiny grubs would die if they had to roam at -random until they came upon their provender, which is always sparsely -distributed. - -The truffle-hunting Fly is therefore informed by her sense of smell of -the spots favourable to her maternal plans; she possesses the scent of -the rabassier Dog, indeed probably a better one, for she knows things -by nature, having never been taught, whereas her rival has only -received an artificial education. - -It would be interesting to follow the Sapromyzon’s manœuvres, but the -idea strikes me as impracticable. The insect is rare, flies away -quickly and is soon out of sight. To observe it closely, to watch it at -work would involve a great loss of time and a degree of assiduity of -which I do not feel capable. Another discoverer of underground fungi -shall reveal what the Fly could hardly be expected to show us. - -This is a pretty little black Beetle, with a pale and velvety belly, -round as a cherry-stone and much the same size. The insect’s official -title is Bolboceras gallicus, Muls. By rubbing the tip of its abdomen -against the edge of its wing-cases it emits a soft chirrup similar to -that of the little birds when their mother comes home with their food. -The male wears a graceful horn on his head, copied on a smaller scale -from that of the Spanish Copris. [36] - -Deceived by this armour, I at first took the insect for a member of the -Dung-beetles’ corporation and brought it up as such in captivity. I -served it with these stercoral dainties which are most appreciated by -its presumed colleagues. But never, no, never did it consent to touch -them. Fie, for shame! Dung to a Bolboceras! Well! What on earth did I -take him for? The epicure expects something very different. He wants -not exactly the truffle of our banquets, but its equivalent. - -This characteristic was not displayed to me without patient -investigation on my part. At the southern foot of the Sérignan hills, -not far from the village, stands a thicket of maritime pines, -alternating with rows of cypress-trees. Here, at the season of All -Saints, after the autumnal rains, the mushrooms abound that frequent -the Coniferæ, in particular the delicious milk-mushroom, which turns -green at any part that is bruised and sheds tears of blood when you -break it. [37] In the mild days of autumn this is the favourite walk of -my household, being far enough to exercise young legs and near enough -not to tire them. - -They find everything there: old Magpies’ nests, formed of bundles of -twigs; Jays squabbling with one another, after filling their crops with -acorns on the oaks hard by; Rabbits suddenly starting out of a -rosemary-bush, showing their little white upturned scuts; Geotrupes -[38] hoarding away food for the winter and heaping up their rubbish on -the threshold of the burrow. And then lovely sand, soft to the touch, -easy to dig into tunnels, easy to build into rows of huts which we -thatch with moss and surmount with a bit of reed by way of a chimney; -and the delicious lunch off an apple to the sound of the Æolian harps -softly sighing through the pine-needles! - -Yes, for the children it is a real paradise, where one goes as a reward -for well-learnt lessons. The grown-ups also have their share of -enjoyment. As far as I am concerned, I have for many years been -watching two insects here, without succeeding in discovering their -family secrets. One of them is Minotaurus typhœus, [39] whose male -carries on his corselet three spikes pointing in front of him. The old -writers used to call him the Phalangist, because of his armour, which -may be compared with the three lines of spears of the Macedonian -phalanx. - -He is a robust fellow, who cares nothing for the winter. All through -the cold season, whenever the weather turns a trifle milder, he leaves -his house discreetly, at nightfall, and gathers, in the immediate -neighbourhood of his burrow, a few Sheep-droppings, ancient, -olive-shaped remains dried by the summer sun. He heaps them in a stack -at the bottom of his larder, shuts the door and eats. When the -provisions are all crumbed and drained of their niggardly juices, he -climbs back to the surface and renews his stores. Thus does he spend -the winter, never resting from his work, except when the weather is too -severe. - -The second object of my observations in the pine-wood is the -Bolboceras. His burrows, distributed here and there, among those of the -Minotaur, are easily distinguished. The Phalangist’s are surmounted by -a bulky mound the materials of which are heaped into a cylinder as long -as one’s finger. Each of these rolls is a load of rubbish pushed -outside by the digger, thrusting with his back from below. The orifice -moreover is closed whenever the Beetle is at home, either enlarging the -shaft or peacefully enjoying his possessions. - -The Bolboceras’ lodging is open and surrounded merely by a padding of -sand. Its depth is slight, nine inches, hardly more. It goes straight -down in very loose soil. It is easily inspected, therefore, if we take -care first to dig a trench in front of it, which will enable us later -to cut away the perpendicular wall, slice by slice, with the blade of a -knife. The burrow then appears at full length, from top to bottom, in a -semicylindrical shape. - -Often the violated dwelling-house is empty. The insect has left during -the night, having finished its business there and gone to settle -elsewhere. The Bolboceras is a nomad, a night-walker, who leaves his -home without regret and easily acquires a new one. Sometimes also the -insect is found at the bottom of the pit: at one time a male, at -another a female, but never the two at a time. The sexes, both equally -zealous in digging burrows, work separately, not together. This is not, -in fact, a family residence, containing the nursery of the young; it is -a temporary abode, dug by each occupant for his own comfort. - -Sometimes we find nothing there but the well-sinker, surprised during -his work of excavation; sometimes, lastly—and the case is not -uncommon—the hermit of the crypt embraces with his legs a small -hypogean fungus, either intact or partly consumed. He clutches it -convulsively, refuses to be parted from it. It is his booty, his -fortune, his worldly goods. Scattered crumbs tell us that we have -caught him feasting. - -Let us take his prize away from him. We shall see a sort of irregular, -rugged purse, closed on every side and varying in size between a pea -and a cherry. Outside it is reddish, rough with little warts; inside it -is smooth and white. The spores, which are ovoid and diaphanous, are -contained, in rows of eight, in long satchels. By these characteristics -we recognize an underground cryptogamous product, nearly related to the -truffles and known to botanists as Hydnocystis arenaria, Tul. - -This throws a light upon the habits of the Bolboceras and upon the -reason why his burrows are so frequently renewed. In the calm of the -twilight, the little gadabout takes to the fields, chirruping softly as -he goes, cheering himself with song. He explores the soil, questions it -as to its contents, just as the Dog does when hunting for truffles. His -sense of smell warns him when the coveted morsel is underneath, covered -by a few inches of sand. Certain of the exact spot where the thing -lies, he digs straight down and never fails to reach it. As long as the -provisions last, he does not go out again. Blissfully he feeds at the -bottom of the well, heedless of the door left open or hardly barred. - -When no more food remains, he moves, looking for another loaf, which -will become the excuse for a fresh burrow, to be abandoned in its turn. -Each fungus consumed represents a new house, which is a mere refectory, -a traveller’s refreshment-room. Thus are the autumn and spring, the -seasons of the hydnocystis, spent in the pleasures of the table, from -one home to the next. - -To study the rabassier insect more closely, in my own house, I should -need a little store of its favourite fare. It would be waste of time to -seek for it myself, by digging at random: the little cryptogam is not -so plentiful that I can hope to strike it with my trowel without a -guide. The truffle-hunter needs his Dog; my informer shall be the -Bolboceras himself. Behold me turned into a rabassier of a new kind. I -reveal my secret, which can only raise a smile from my original -instructor in underground botany, if he should ever hear of my singular -form of competition. - -The subterranean fungi occur only at certain points, often in groups. -Now the Beetle has been this way; with his delicate scent he has -recognized the site as good, for the burrows are numerous hereabouts. -We will therefore dig near the holes. The clue is accurate. In a few -hours, thanks to the tracks left by the Bolboceras, I possess a handful -of hydnocystes. It is the first time that I have gathered this -particular fungus. Let us now catch the insect. That presents no -difficulties: we have only to dig up the burrows. - -I make my experiments the same evening, filling a large earthen pan -with fresh, sifted sand. With a stick as thick as my finger, I make six -vertical tunnels in the sand, two decimetres [40] deep and placed at a -suitable distance apart. A hydnocystis is lowered to the bottom of -each; and I insert a fine straw, to show me the exact position later. -Lastly, I fill up the six cavities with caked sand. When this surface -has been carefully smoothed, so that the level is everywhere the same, -except for the six straws, landmarks that mean nothing to the -Bolboceras, I let loose my captives, covering them with a wire-gauze -cage. There are eight of them. - -At first there is nothing to see save the inevitable uneasiness due to -the incidents of their exhumation, transport and confinement in an -unknown place. My exiles from home try to escape, climb up the wire, -burrow right at the edge of the enclosure. Night falls and things grow -calmer. Two hours later, I come to take a last look at them. Three are -still buried under a thin layer of sand. The five others have each dug -a perpendicular shaft at the very foot of the straws which tell me -where the fungi lie. Next morning, the sixth straw has its well like -the others. - -This is the moment to see what is happening underground. I remove the -sand methodically in vertical slices. At the bottom of each burrow is a -Bolboceras eating his truffle, the hydnocystis. - -Let us repeat the experiment with the partly-consumed victuals. The -result is the same. At one brief, nocturnal spell of work, the dainty -is discovered underground and reached by means of a gallery which runs -plumb to the spot where the morsel lies. There is no hesitation, no -trial excavation guided by guesswork. This is proved by the surface of -the soil, which everywhere is just as I left it when I smoothed it -down. The insect could not have made straighter for the coveted object -had it been guided by sight; it always digs at the foot of the straws, -my sign-posts. The Dog, nosing the ground for truffles, hardly achieves -this degree of precision. - -Has the hydnocystis then a very pungent smell, able to give such -positive information to its consumer’s scent? Not at all. To our -nostrils it is a neutral object, devoid of any appreciable olfactory -character. A tiny pebble taken out of the ground would impress us just -as much with its faint aroma of fresh earth. As a revealer of -underground fungous products, the Bolboceras here rivals the Dog. He -would even rise superior to the Dog, were he able to generalize. But he -is a rigorous specialist: he knows only the hydnocystis. Nothing else, -so far as I am aware, tempts him to dig. [41] - -Both of them search the subsoil very closely, at the level of the -ground; and the object which they seek is not far down. Were they -farther away, neither the Dog nor the insect would notice effluvia so -subtle, not even the smell of a truffle. To make an impression at a -great distance, powerful odours are needed, capable of perception by -our olfactory sense. Then the exploiters of the odorous thing come -hastening up on all sides from afar. - -When, for the purpose of my studies, I require insects that dissect -corpses, I expose a dead Mole in the sun, in a distant corner of the -enclosure. As soon as the animal swells, distended by the gases of -putrefaction, and the skin begins to turn green and the fur to fall -from it, up come numbers of Silphæ [42] and Dermestes, [43] Necrophori -[44] and other Burying-beetles, of whom one would find not a single -specimen in the garden, or even in the neighbourhood, without this -bait. - -They have been informed by their sense of smell, at a great distance -all around, whereas I myself can avoid the stench by taking a few steps -back. Compared with their scent, mine is contemptible; but still, in -their case as well as mine, there is really here what our language -calls a smell. - -I can do better still with the flower of the dragon arum (Arum -dracunculus), so remarkable for its shape and for its unequalled -stench. Imagine a wide, lanceolate blade, of a clarety purple, half a -yard long and rolled below into an ovoid pouch the size of a hen’s egg. -Through the opening of this wallet rises a central column springing -from the bottom, a long, bright-green club, encircled at its base by -two bracelets, one of ovaries, the other of stamens. Such, briefly -described, is the flower, or rather the inflorescence, of the dragon -arum. - -For two days it exhales a frightful stench of carrion, worse than the -proximity of a dead Dog would yield. During the hottest part of the -day, with a wind blowing, it is loathsome, unbearable. Let us brave the -infected atmosphere and go up to it; we shall behold a curious sight. - -Informed by the foul odour, which spreads far and wide, various insects -come flying along, such insects as make sausage-meat of small -corpses—Toads, Adders, Lizards, Hedgehogs, Moles, Field-mice—which the -husbandman hits with his spade and flings away disembowelled on the -foot-path. They swoop down upon the great leaf, which, with its livid -purple, looks like a strip of meat gone bad; they caper about, -intoxicated by the smell of corpse which they love; they roll down the -slope and are swallowed up in the purse. After a few hours of bright -sunshine, the receptacle is full. - -Let us look inside, through the narrow opening. No elsewhere could you -see such a crowd. It is a mad whirl of backs and bellies, of wing-cases -and legs, swarming, rolling over and over, amid the snap of interlocked -joints, rising and falling, floating and sinking, seething and bubbling -without end. It is a drunken revel, an epidemic of delirium tremens. - -Some, few as yet, emerging from the mass, climb to the opening by means -of the central pole or the walls of the enclosure. Will they take wing -and make their escape? Not they! Standing on the brink of the chasm, -almost free, they drop back into the whirlpool, in a fresh bout of -intoxication. The bait is irresistible. Not one of them will quit the -assembly until the evening, or perhaps next morning, when the heady -fumes have evaporated. Then the mass becomes disentangled; and the -insects extricate themselves from one another’s embraces and slowly, as -it were regretfully, leave the place and fly away. At the bottom of -this devil’s purse remains a heap of dead and dying, of severed limbs -and disjointed wing-cases, the inevitable result of the frenzied orgy. -Soon, Wood-lice, Earwigs and Ants will arrive and devour the deceased. - -What were they doing there? Were they the prisoners of the flower? Had -it converted itself into a trap which allowed them to enter, but -prevented them from escaping, by means of a fence of converging hairs? -No, they were not prisoners; they had full liberty to go away, as is -shown by the final exodus, which is effected without impediment. -Deceived by a false odour, were they doing their best to instal their -eggs, as they would have done under a corpse? Not that either. There is -no trace of an attempt at egg-laying in the dragon’s purse. They came, -enticed by the smell of a dead body, their supreme delight; they were -drunk with corpse; and they spun round frantically in an undertakers’ -carnival. - -When the bacchanal dance is at its height, I try to count the number of -the arrivals. I rip up the floral pouch and pour its contents into a -flask. Absolutely tipsy though they be, many would escape during the -census, which I wish to take accurately. A few drops of carbon -bisulphide deprive the crowd of motion. The counting then shows that -there were over four hundred. Such was the living billow which I saw -surging just now in the dragon’s purse. - -The throng consists entirely of two families, Dermestes and Saprini, -[45] both of whom are very busy in spring turning derelict corpses to -account. Here is a complete list of the visitors to a single flower, -with the number of representatives of each species: Dermestes Frischii, -Kugel., 120; D. undulatus, Brahm, 90; D. pardalis, Schoenh., 1; -Saprinus subnitidus, De Mars., 160; S. maculatus, Ross., 4; S. -detersus, Illig., 15; S. semipunctatus, De Mars., 12; S. œneus, Fabr., -2; S. speculifer, Latr., 2. Total: 406. - -Another detail deserves attention just as much as this enormous figure; -and that is the complete absence of a number of other genera which are -as passionately fond of small corpses as are the Dermestes and Saprini. -My charnel-houses of Moles never fail to be visited by the Silphæ and -Necrophori: Silpha sinuata, Fabr.; S. rugosa, Lin.; S. obscura, Lin.; -Necrophorus vestigator, Hersch. The reek of the dragon arum leaves them -all indifferent. None of them is represented in the ten flowers which I -examine. - -Nor are any Diptera, those other devotees of corruption. Several Flies, -some grey or bluey, others a metallic green, come up, it is true, -settle on the edge of the flower and even find their way into the fetid -wallet; but they are almost immediately undeceived and fly away. Only -the Dermestes and Saprini stay behind. Why? - -My friend Bull, as decent a Dog as ever lived, had this among many -other eccentricities: if he found in the dust of the road the dried up -corpse of a Mole flattened under the heels of the passers-by, mummified -by the heat of the sun, he would revel in rolling himself over it from -the tip of his nose to the end of his tail; he would rub himself in it -over and over again, shaken with nervous spasms, turning first on one -side, then on the other. It was his sachet of musk, his flask of -eau-de-Cologne. When scented to his liking, he would get up, shake -himself and trot off, pleased as Punch with his pomade. Let us not -abuse him and, above all, let us not discuss the matter. There are -tastes of all kinds in this world. - -Why should not some of the insects that dote on the smell of the dead -have similar habits? Dermestes and Saprini come to the dragon arum; all -day long they swarm in throngs, although free to go away; many of them -die in the riot of the orgy. It is no rich provender that keeps them, -for the flower gives them nothing to eat; it is not a question of -laying eggs, for they take good care not to settle their grubs in that -famine-stricken spot. What are they doing here, the frenzied ones? -Apparently intoxicating themselves with fetidness, just as Bull did on -the carcass of a Mole. - -And this intoxication of smell attracts them from every part around, -from very far perhaps, one cannot tell. Even so the Necrophori, in -quest of an establishment for their young, hasten from the fields to my -putrefying Moles. Both are informed by a potent smell, which offends -our nostrils sixty yards away, but which travels ahead and delights -them at distances where our own power of scent ceases. - -The hydnocystis, the Bolboceras’ treat, has none of these violent -emanations, capable of being diffused through space; it is devoid of -smell, at least to us. The insect that hunts for it does not come from -a distance; it inhabits the very places where the cryptogam lies. -However faint the effluvia of the underground morsel, the prying -epicure, equipped for the purpose, has every facility for perceiving -them: he operates close by, on the surface of the soil. The Dog’s case -is the same: he goes along searching, with his nose to the ground. -Then, too, the real truffle, the essential object of his quest, -possesses a most pronounced odour. - -But what are we to say of the Great Peacock and the Banded Monk, making -their way to the female born in captivity? They hasten from the ends of -the horizon. What do they perceive at that distance? Is it really an -odour, as our physiology understands the word? I cannot bring myself to -believe it. - -The Dog smells the truffle by sniffing the earth, quite close to the -tuber; he finds his master at great distances by consulting the scent -of his footprints. But is he able to discover the truffle hundreds of -yards away, miles away? Can he join his master in the complete absence -of a trail? Certainly not. For all his fineness of scent, the Dog is -incapable of such a feat, which is performed, however by the Moth, who -is put off neither by distance nor by the lack of any traces out of -doors of the female hatched on my table. - -It is a recognized fact that smell, ordinary smell, the smell that -affects our nostrils, consists of molecules emanating from the scented -body. The odorous matter dissolves and is diffused throughout the air -by communicating to the air its aroma, even as sugar dissolves and is -diffused in water by communicating to the water its sweetness. Smell -and taste touch each other at some points; in both cases there is a -contact between the material particles that give the impression and the -sensitive papillæ that receive it. - -Nothing can be simpler or clearer than that the dragon arum elaborates -an intensely strong essence with which the air is impregnated and -infected all around. Thus the Dermestes and Saprini, those passionate -lovers of carrion smells, are informed by molecular diffusion. In the -same way, the putrid Toad gives out and disseminates the stinking atoms -that are the Necrophorus’ delight. - -But what is materially emitted by the female Bombyx or Great Peacock? -Nothing, according to our sense of smell. And this nothing is supposed, -when the males congregate, to saturate an immense circle, several miles -in radius, with its molecules! What the horrible stench of the dragon -arum is unable to do the absence of odour is believed to accomplish! -However divisible matter may be, the mind refuses to accept such -conclusions. It would be tantamount to reddening a lake with an atom of -carmine, to filling immensity with nothing. - -Another argument. When my study is saturated beforehand with pungent -odours which ought to overcome and destroy the most delicate effluvia, -the male Moths arrive without the least sign of embarrassment. - -A loud noise kills the faint note and prevents it from being heard; a -bright light eclipses a feeble gleam. These are waves of the same -nature. But the roar of thunder cannot cause the least jet of light to -pale; nor can the dazzling glory of the sun stifle the least sound. -Being of different natures, light and sound do not influence each -other. - -The experiment with the lavender-oil, naphthaline and the rest would -therefore seem to prove that odour proceeds from two sources. For -emission substitute undulation; and the problem of the Great Peacock is -explained. Without losing any of its substance, a luminous point shakes -the ether with its vibrations and fills a circle of indefinite width -with light. This must almost express the working of the mother Bombyx’ -tell-tale discharge. It does not emit molecules: it vibrates; it sets -in motion waves capable of spreading to distances incompatible with a -real diffusion of matter. - -In its entirety, smell would thus seem to have two domains: that of the -particles dissolved in the air and that of the ethereal waves. The -first alone is known to us. It belongs also to the insect. It is this -which informs the Saprinus of the dragon arum’s fetidity and the Silpha -and Necrophorus of the stench of the Mole. - -The second, which is far superior in its range through space, escapes -us altogether, because we lack the necessary sensory equipment. The -Great Peacock and the Banded Monk know it at the time of the nuptial -rejoicings. And many others must share it in various degrees, according -to the exigencies of their mode of life. - -Like light, odour has its X-rays. Should science one day, instructed by -the insect, endow us with a radiograph of smells, this artificial nose -will open out to us a world of marvels. - - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR - - -The cabbage of our modern kitchen-gardens is a semi-artificial plant, -the produce of our agricultural ingenuity quite as much as of the -niggardly gifts of nature. Spontaneous vegetation supplied us with the -long-stalked, scanty-leaved, ill-smelling wilding, as found, according -to the botanists, on the ocean cliffs. He had need of a rare -inspiration who first showed faith in this rustic clown and proposed to -improve it in his garden-patch. - -Progressing by infinitesimal degrees, culture wrought miracles. It -began by persuading the wild cabbage to discard its wretched leaves, -beaten by the sea-winds, and to replace them by others, ample and -fleshy and close-fitting. The gentle cabbage submitted without protest. -It deprived itself of the joys of light by arranging its leaves in a -large, compact head, white and tender. In our day, among the successors -of those first tiny hearts, are some that, by virtue of their massive -bulk, have earned the glorious name of chou quintal, as who should say, -a hundredweight of cabbage. They are real monuments of green stuff. - -Later, man thought of obtaining a generous dish with the thousand -little sprays of the inflorescence. The cabbage consented. Under the -cover of the central leaves, it gorged with food its sheaves of -blossom, its flower-stalks, its branches and worked the lot into a -fleshy conglomeration. This is the cauliflower, the broccoli. - -Differently entreated, the plant, economizing in the centre of its -shoot, set a whole family of close-wrapped cabbages ladder-wise on a -tall stem. A multitude of dwarf leaf-buds took the place of the -colossal head. This is the Brussels sprout. - -Next comes the turn of the stump, an unprofitable, almost wooden thing, -which seemed never to have any other purpose than to act as a support -for the plant. But the tricks of gardeners are capable of everything, -so much so that the stalk yields to the grower’s suggestions and -becomes fleshy and swells into an ellipse similar to the turnip, of -which it possesses all the merits of corpulence, flavour and delicacy; -only the strange product serves as a base for a few sparse leaves, the -last protests of a real stem that refuses to lose its attributes -entirely. This is the colerape. - -If the stem allows itself to be allured, why not the root? It does in -fact, yield to the blandishments of agriculture: it dilates its pivot -into a flat turnip, which half emerges from the ground. This is the -rutabaga, or swede, the turnip-cabbage of our northern districts. - -Incomparably docile under our nursing, the cabbage has given its all -for our nourishment and that of our cattle: its leaves, its flowers, -its buds, its stalk, its root; all that it now wants is to combine the -ornamental with the useful, to smarten itself, to adorn our flowerbeds -and cut a good figure on a drawing-room table. It has done this to -perfection, not with its flowers, which, in their modesty, continue -intractible, but with its curly and variegated leaves, which have the -undulating grace of Ostrich-feathers and the rich colouring of a mixed -bouquet. None who beholds it in this magnificence will recognize the -near relation of the vulgar “greens” that form the basis of our -cabbage-soup. - -The cabbage, first in order of date in our kitchen-gardens, was held in -high esteem by classic antiquity, next after the bean and, later, the -pea; but it goes much farther back, so far indeed that no memories of -its acquisition remain. History pays but little attention to these -details: it celebrates the battle-fields whereon we meet our death, it -scorns to speak of the ploughed fields whereby we thrive; it knows the -names of the kings’ bastards, it cannot tell us the origin of wheat. -That is the way of human folly. - -This silence respecting the precious plants that serve as food is most -regrettable. The cabbage in particular, the venerable cabbage, that -denizen of the most ancient garden-plots, would have had extremely -interesting things to teach us. It is a treasure in itself, but a -treasure twice exploited, first by man and next by the caterpillar of -the Pieris, the common Large White Butterfly whom we all know (Pieris -brassicæ, Lin.). This caterpillar feeds indiscriminately on the leaves -of all varieties of cabbage, however dissimilar in appearance: he -nibbles with the same appetite red cabbage and broccoli, curly greens -and savoy, swedes and turnip-tops, in short, all that our ingenuity, -lavish of time and patience, has been able to obtain from the original -plant since the most distant ages. - -But what did the caterpillar eat before our cabbages supplied him with -copious provender? Obviously the Pieris did not wait for the advent of -man and his horticultural works in order to take part in the joys of -life. She lived without us and would have continued to live without us. -A Butterfly’s existence is not subject to ours, but rightfully -independent of our aid. - -Before the white-heart, the cauliflower, the savoy and the others were -invented, the Pieris’ caterpillar certainly did not lack food: he -browsed the wild cabbage of the cliffs, the parent of all the -latter-day wealth; but, as this plant is not widely distributed and is, -in any case, limited to certain maritime regions, the welfare of the -Butterfly, whether on plain or hill, demanded a more luxuriant and more -common plant for pasturage. This plant was apparently one of the -Cruciferæ, more or less seasoned with sulphuretted essence, like the -cabbages. Let us experiment on these lines. - -I rear the Pieris’ caterpillars from the egg upwards on the wall-rocket -(Diplotaxis tenuifolia, Dec.), which imbibes strong spices along the -edge of the paths and at the foot of the walls. Penned in a large, -wire-gauze bell-cage, they accept this provender without demur; they -nibble it with the same appetite as if it were cabbage; and they end by -producing chrysalids and Butterflies. The change of fare causes not the -least trouble. - -I am equally successful with other crucifers of a less marked flavour: -white mustard (Sinapis incana, Lin.), dyer’s woad (Isatis tinctoria, -Lin.), wild radish (Raphanus raphanistrum, Lin.), whitlow pepperwort -(Lepidium draba, Lin.), hedge-mustard (Sisymbrium officinale, Scop.). -On the other hand, the leaves of the lettuce, the bean, the pea, the -corn-salad are obstinately refused. Let us be content with what we have -seen: the fare has been sufficiently varied to show us that the -Cabbage-caterpillar feeds exclusively on a large number of crucifers, -perhaps even on all. - -As these experiments are made in the enclosure of a bell-cage, one -might imagine that captivity impels the flock to feed, in the absence -of better things, on what it would refuse were it free to hunt for -itself. Having naught else within their reach, the starvelings consume -any and all Cruciferæ, without distinction of species. Can things -sometimes be the same in the open fields, where I play none of my -tricks? Can the family of the White Butterfly be settled on other -crucifers than the cabbage? I start a quest along the paths near the -gardens and end by finding on wild radish and white mustard colonies as -crowded and prosperous as those established on cabbage. - -Now, except when the metamorphosis is at hand, the caterpillar of the -White Butterfly never travels: he does all his growing on the identical -plant whereon he saw the light. The caterpillars observed on the wild -radish, as well as other households, are not, therefore, emigrants who -have come as a matter of fancy from some cabbage-patch in the -neighbourhood: they have hatched on the very leaves where I find them. -Hence I arrive at this conclusion: the White Butterfly, who is fitful -in her flight, chooses cabbage first, to dab her eggs upon, and -different Cruciferæ next, varying greatly in appearance. - -How does the Pieris manage to know her way about her botanical domain? -We have seen the Larini, [46] those explorers of fleshy receptacles -with an artichoke flavour, astonish us with their knowledge of the -flora of the thistle tribe; but their lore might, at a pinch, be -explained by the method followed at the moment of housing the egg. With -their rostrum, they prepare niches and dig out basins in the receptacle -exploited and consequently they taste the thing a little before -entrusting their eggs to it. On the other hand, the Butterfly, a -nectar-drinker, makes not the least enquiry into the savoury qualities -of the leafage; at most, dipping her proboscis into the flowers, she -abstracts a mouthful of syrup. This means of investigation, moreover, -would be of no use to her, for the plant selected for the establishing -of her family is, for the most part, not yet in flower. The mother -flits for a moment around the plant; and that swift examination is -enough: the emission of eggs takes place if the provender be found -suitable. - -The botanist, to recognize a crucifer, requires the indications -provided by the flower. Here the Pieris surpasses us. She does not -consult the seed-vessel, to see if it be long or short, nor yet the -petals, four in number and arranged in a cross, because the plant, as a -rule, is not in flower; and still she recognizes off-hand what suits -her caterpillars, in spite of profound differences that would embarrass -any but a botanical expert. - -Unless the Pieris has an innate power of discrimination to guide her, -it is impossible to understand the great extent of her vegetable realm. -She needs for her family Cruciferæ, nothing but Cruciferæ; and she -knows this group of plants to perfection. I have been an enthusiastic -botanist for half a century and more. Nevertheless, to discover if this -or that plant, new to me, is or is not one of the Cruciferæ, in the -absence of flowers and fruits I should have more faith in the -Butterfly’s statements than in all the learned records of the books. -Where science is apt to make mistakes, instinct is infallible. - -The Pieris has two families a year: one in April and May, the other in -September. The cabbage-patches are renewed in those same months. The -Butterfly’s calendar tallies with the gardener’s: the moment that -provisions are in sight, consumers are forthcoming for the feast. - -The eggs are a bright orange-yellow and do not lack prettiness when -examined under the lens. They are blunted cones, ranged side by side on -their round base and adorned with finely-scored longitudinal ridges. -They are collected in slabs, sometimes on the upper surface, when the -leaf that serves as a support is spread wide, sometimes on the lower -surface when the leaf is pressed to the next ones. Their number varies -considerably. Slabs of a couple of hundred are pretty frequent; -isolated eggs, or eggs collected in small groups, are, on the contrary, -rare. The mother’s output is affected by the degree of quietness at the -moment of laying. - -The outer circumference of the group is irregularly formed, but the -inside presents a certain order. The eggs are here arranged in straight -rows backing against one another in such a way that each egg finds a -double support in the preceding row. This alternation, without being of -an irreproachable precision, gives a fairly stable equilibrium to the -whole. - -To see the mother at her laying is no easy matter: when examined too -closely, the Pieris decamps at once. The structure of the work, -however, reveals the order of the operations pretty clearly. The -ovipositor swings slowly first in this direction, then in that, by -turns; and a new egg is lodged in each space between two adjoining eggs -in the previous row. The extent of the oscillation determines the -length of the row, which is longer or shorter according to the layer’s -fancy. - -The hatching takes place in about a week. It is almost simultaneous for -the whole mass: as soon as one caterpillar comes out of its egg, the -others come out also, as though the natal impulse were communicated -from one to the other. In the same way, in the nest of the Praying -Mantis, a warning seems to be spread abroad, arousing every one of the -population. It is a wave propagated in all directions from the point -first struck. - -The egg does not open by means of a dehiscence similar to that of the -vegetable-pods whose seeds have attained maturity; it is the new-born -grub itself that contrives an exit-way by gnawing a hole in its -enclosure. In this manner, it obtains near the top of the cone a -symmetrical dormer-window, clean-edged, with no joins nor unevenness of -any kind, showing that this part of the wall has been nibbled away and -swallowed. But for this breach, which is just wide enough for the -deliverance, the egg remains intact, standing firmly on its base. It is -now that the lens is best able to take in its elegant structure. What -it sees is a bag made of ultra-fine goldbeater’s-skin, translucent, -stiff and white, retaining the complete form of the original egg. A -score of streaked and knotted lines run from the top to the base. It is -the wizard’s pointed cap, the mitre with the grooves carved into -jewelled chaplets. All said, the Cabbage-caterpillar’s birth-casket is -an exquisite work of art. - -The hatching of the lot is finished in a couple of hours and the -swarming family musters on the layer of swaddling-clothes, still in the -same position. For a long time, before descending to the fostering -leaf, it lingers on this kind of hot-bed, is even very busy there. Busy -with what? It is browsing a strange kind of grass, the handsome mitres -that remain standing on end. Slowly and methodically, from top to base, -the new-born grubs nibble the wallets whence they have just emerged. By -to-morrow, nothing is left of these but a pattern of round dots, the -bases of the vanished sacks. - -As his first mouthfuls, therefore, the Cabbage-caterpillar eats the -membranous wrapper of his egg. This is a regulation diet, for I have -never seen one of the little grubs allow itself to be tempted by the -adjacent green stuff before finishing the ritual repast whereat skin -bottles furnish forth the feast. It is the first time that I have seen -a larva make a meal of the sack in which it was born. Of what use can -this singular fare be to the budding caterpillar? I suspect as follows: -the leaves of the cabbage are waxed and slippery surfaces and nearly -always slant considerably. To graze on them without risking a fall, -which would be fatal in earliest childhood, is hardly possible unless -with moorings that afford a steady support. What is needed is bits of -silk stretched along the road as fast as progress is made, something -for the legs to grip, something to provide a good anchorage even when -the grub is upside down. The silk-tubes, where those moorings are -manufactured, must be very scantily supplied in a tiny, new-born -animal; and it is expedient that they be filled without delay with the -aid of a special form of nourishment. Then what shall the nature of the -first food be? Vegetable matter, slow to elaborate and niggardly in its -yield, does not fulfil the desired conditions at all well, for time -presses and we must trust ourselves safely to the slippery leaf. An -animal diet would be preferable: it is easier to digest and undergoes -chemical changes in a shorter time. The wrapper of the egg is of a -horny nature, as silk itself is. It will not take long to transform the -one into the other. The grub therefore tackles the remains of its egg -and turns it into silk to carry with it on its first journeys. - -If my surmise is well-founded, there is reason to believe that, with a -view to speedily filling the silk-glands to which they look to supply -them with ropes, other caterpillars beginning their existence on smooth -and steeply-slanting leaves also take as their first mouthful the -membranous sack which is all that remains of the egg. - -The whole of the platform of birth-sacks which was the first -camping-ground of the White Butterfly’s family is razed to the ground; -naught remains but the round marks of the individual pieces that -composed it. The structure of piles has disappeared; the prints left by -the piles remain. The little caterpillars are now on the level of the -leaf which shall henceforth feed them. They are a pale orange-yellow, -with a sprinkling of white bristles. The head is a shiny black and -remarkably powerful; it already gives signs of the coming gluttony. The -little animal measures scarcely two millimetres [47] in length. - -The troop begins its steadying-work as soon as it comes into contact -with its pasturage, the green cabbage-leaf. Here, there, in its -immediate neighbourhood, each grub emits from its spinning-glands short -cables so slender that it takes an attentive lens to catch a glimpse of -them. This is enough to ensure the equilibrium of the almost -imponderable atom. - -The vegetarian meal now begins. The grub’s length promptly increases -from two millimetres to four. Soon, a moult takes place which alters -its costume: its skin becomes speckled, on a pale-yellow ground, with a -number of black dots intermingled with white bristles. Three or four -days of rest are necessary after the fatigue of breaking cover. When -this is over, the hunger-fit starts that will make a ruin of the -cabbage within a few weeks. - -What an appetite! What a stomach, working continuously day and night! -It is a devouring laboratory, through which the foodstuffs merely pass, -transformed at once. I serve up to my caged herd a bunch of leaves -picked from among the biggest: two hours later, nothing remains but the -thick midribs; and even these are attacked when there is any delay in -renewing the victuals. At this rate, a “hundredweight-cabbage,” doled -out leaf by leaf, would not last my menagerie a week. - -The gluttonous animal, therefore, when it swarms and multiplies, is a -scourge. How are we to protect our gardens against it? In the days of -Pliny, the great Latin naturalist, a stake was set up in the middle of -the cabbage-bed to be preserved; and on this stake was fixed a Horse’s -skull bleached in the sun: a Mare’s skull was considered even better. -This sort of bogey was supposed to ward off the devouring brood. - -My confidence in this preservative is but an indifferent one; my reason -for mentioning it is that it reminds me of a custom still observed in -our own days, at least in my part of the country. Nothing is so -long-lived as absurdity. Tradition has retained, in a simplified form, -the ancient defensive apparatus of which Pliny speaks. For the Horse’s -skull our people have substituted an eggshell on the top of a switch -stuck among the cabbages. It is easier to arrange; also, it is quite as -useful, that is to say, it has no effect whatever. - -Everything, even the nonsensical, is capable of explanation with a -little credulity. When I question the peasants, our neighbours, they -tell me that the effect of the eggshell is as simple as can be: the -Butterflies, attracted by the whiteness, come and lay their eggs on it. -Broiled by the sun and lacking all nourishment on that thankless -support, the little caterpillars die; and that makes so many fewer. - -I insist; I ask them if they have ever seen slabs of eggs or masses of -young caterpillars on those white shells. - -“Never,” they reply, with one voice. - -“Well, then?” - -“It was done in the old days and so we go on doing it: that’s all we -know; and that’s enough for us.” - -I leave it at that, persuaded that the memory of the Horse’s skull used -once upon a time is ineradicable, like all the rustic absurdities -implanted by the ages. - -We have, when all is said, but one means of protection, which is to -watch and inspect the cabbage-leaves assiduously and crush the slabs of -eggs between our finger and thumb and the caterpillars with our feet. -Nothing is so effective as this method, which makes great demands on -one’s time and vigilance. What pains to obtain an unspoilt cabbage! And -what a debt do we not owe to those humble scrapers of the soil, those -ragged heroes who provide us with the wherewithal to live! - -To eat and digest, to accumulate reserves whence the Butterfly will -issue: that is the caterpillar’s one and only business. The -Cabbage-caterpillar performs it with insatiable gluttony. Incessantly -it browses, incessantly digests: the supreme felicity of an animal -which is little more than an intestine. There is never a distraction, -unless it be certain see-saw movements which are particularly curious -when several caterpillars are grazing side by side, abreast. Then, at -intervals, all the heads in the row are briskly lifted and as briskly -lowered, time after time, with an automatic precision worthy of a -Prussian drill-ground. Can it be their method of intimidating an always -possible aggressor? Can it be a manifestation of gaiety, when the -wanton sun warms their full paunches? Whether sign of fear or sign of -bliss, this is the only exercise that the gluttons allow themselves -until the proper degree of plumpness is attained. - -After a month’s grazing, the voracious appetite of my caged herd is -assuaged. The caterpillars climb the trelliswork in every direction, -walk about anyhow, with their fore-part raised and searching space. -Here and there, as they pass, the swaying herd put forth a thread. They -wander restlessly, anxiously to travel afar. The exodus now prevented -by the trellised enclosure I once saw under excellent conditions. At -the advent of the cold weather, I had placed a few cabbage-stalks, -covered with caterpillars, in a small greenhouse. Those who saw the -common kitchen vegetable sumptuously lodged under glass, in the company -of the pelargonium and the Chinese primrose, were astonished at my -curious fancy. I let them smile. I had my plans: I wanted to find out -how the family of the Large White Butterfly behaves when the cold -weather sets in. Things happened just as I wished. At the end of -November, the caterpillars, having grown to the desired extent, left -the cabbages, one by one, and began to roam about the walls. None of -them fixed himself there or made preparations for the transformation. I -suspected that they wanted the choice of a spot in the open air, -exposed to all the rigours of winter. I therefore left the door of the -hothouse open. Soon, the whole crowd had disappeared. - -I found them dispersed all over the neighbouring walls, some thirty -yards off. The thrust of a ledge, the eaves formed by a projecting bit -of mortar served them as a shelter where the chrysalid moult took place -and where the winter was passed. The Cabbage-caterpillar possesses a -robust constitution, unsusceptible to torrid heat or icy cold. All that -he needs for his metamorphosis is an airy lodging, free from permanent -damp. - -The inmates of my fold, therefore, move about for a few days on the -trelliswork, anxious to travel afar in search of a wall. Finding none -and realizing that time presses, they resign themselves. Each one, -supporting himself on the trellis, first weaves around himself a thin -carpet of white silk, which will form the sustaining layer at the time -of the laborious and delicate work of the nymphosis. He fixes his -rear-end to this base by a silk pad and his fore-part by a strap that -passes under his shoulders and is fixed on either side to the carpet. -Thus slung from his three fastenings, he strips himself of his larval -apparel and turns into a chrysalis in the open air, with no protection -save that of the wall, which the caterpillar would certainly have found -had I not interfered. - -Of a surety, he would be short-sighted indeed that pictured a world of -good things prepared exclusively for our advantage. The earth, the -great foster-mother, has a generous breast. At the very moment when -nourishing matter is created, even though it be with our own zealous -aid, she summons to the feast host upon host of consumers, who are all -the more numerous and enterprising in proportion as the table is more -amply spread. The cherry of our orchards is excellent eating: a maggot -contends with us for its possession. In vain do we weigh suns and -planets: our supremacy, which fathoms the universe, cannot prevent a -wretched worm from levying its toll on the delicious fruit. We make -ourselves at home in a cabbage-bed: the sons of the Pieris make -themselves at home there too. Preferring broccoli to wild radish, they -profit where we have profited; and we have no remedy against their -competition save caterpillar-raids and egg-crushing, a thankless, -tedious and none too efficacious work. - -Every creature has its claims on life. The Cabbage-caterpillar eagerly -puts forth his own, so much so that the cultivation of the precious -plant would be endangered if others concerned did not take part in its -defence. These others are the auxiliaries, [48] our helpers from -necessity and not from sympathy. The words friend and foe, auxiliaries -and ravagers are here the mere conventions of a language not always -adapted to render the exact truth. He is our foe who eats or attacks -our crops; our friend is he who feeds upon our foes. Everything is -reduced to a frenzied contest of appetites. - -In the name of the might that is mine, of trickery, of highway robbery, -clear out of that, you, and make room for me: give me your seat at the -banquet! That is the inexorable law in the world of animals and more or -less, alas, in our own world as well! - -Now, among our entomological auxiliaries, the smallest in size are the -best at their work. One of them is charged with watching over the -cabbages. She is so small, she works so discreetly that the gardener -does not know her, has not even heard of her. Were he to see her by -accident, flitting around the plant which she protects, he would take -no notice of her, would not suspect the service rendered. I propose to -set forth the tiny midget’s deserts. - -Scientists call her Microgaster glomeratus. What exactly was in the -mind of the author of the name Microgaster, which means little belly? -Did he intend to allude to the insignificance of the abdomen? Not so. -However slight the belly may be, the insect nevertheless possesses one, -correctly proportioned to the rest of the body, so that the classic -denomination, far from giving us any information, might mislead us, -were we to trust it wholly. Nomenclature, which changes from day to day -and becomes more and more cacophonous, is an unsafe guide. Instead of -asking the animal what its name is, let us begin by asking: - -“What can you do? What is your business?” - -Well, the Microgaster’s business is to exploit the Cabbage-caterpillar, -a clearly-defined business, admitting of no possible confusion. Would -we behold her works? In the spring, let us inspect the neighbourhood of -the kitchen-garden. Be our eye never so unobservant, we shall notice -against the walls or on the withered grasses at the foot of the hedges -some very small yellow cocoons, heaped into masses the size of a -hazel-nut. Beside each group lies a Cabbage-caterpillar, sometimes -dying, sometimes dead and always presenting a most tattered appearance. -These cocoons are the work of the Microgaster’s family, hatched or on -the point of hatching into the perfect stage; the caterpillar is the -dish whereon that family has fed during its larval state. The epithet -glomeratus, which accompanies the name of Microgaster, suggests this -conglomeration of cocoons. Let us collect the clusters as they are, -without seeking to separate them, an operation which would demand both -patience and dexterity, for the cocoons are closely united by the -inextricable tangle of their surface-threads. In May, a swarm of -pigmies will sally forth, ready to get to business in the cabbages. - -Colloquial language uses the terms Midge and Gnat to describe the tiny -insects which we often see dancing in a ray of sunlight. There is -something of everything in those aerial ballets. It is possible that -the persecutrix of the Cabbage-caterpillar is there, along with many -another; but the name of Midge cannot properly be applied to her. He -who says Midge says Fly, Dipteron, two-winged insect; and our friend -has four wings, one and all adapted for flying. By virtue of this -characteristic and others no less important, she belongs to the order -of Hymenoptera. [49] No matter: as our language possesses no more -precise term outside the scientific vocabulary, let us use the -expression Midge, which pretty well conveys the general idea. Our -Midge, the Microgaster, is the size of an average Gnat. She measures 3 -or 4 millimetres. [50] The two sexes are equally numerous and wear the -same costume, a black uniform, all but the legs, which are pale red. In -spite of this likeness, they are easily distinguished. The male has an -abdomen which is slightly flattened and moreover curved at the tip; the -female, before the laying, has hers full and perceptibly distended by -its ovular contents. This rapid sketch of the insect should be enough -for our purpose. - -If we wish to know the grub and especially to inform ourselves of its -manner of living, it is advisable to rear in a cage a numerous herd of -Cabbage-caterpillars. Whereas a direct search on the cabbages in our -garden would give us but a difficult and uncertain harvest, by this -means we shall daily have as many as we wish before our eyes. - -In the course of June, which is the time when the caterpillars quit -their pastures and go far afield to settle on some wall or other, those -in my fold, finding nothing better, climb to the dome of the cage to -make their preparations and to spin a supporting network for the -chrysalid’s needs. Among these spinners we see some weaklings working -listlessly at their carpet. Their appearance makes us deem them in the -grip of a mortal disease. I take a few of them and open their bellies, -using a needle by way of a scalpel. What comes out is a bunch of green -entrails, soaked in a bright yellow fluid, which is really the -creature’s blood. These tangled intestines swarm with little, lazy -grubs, varying greatly in number, from ten or twenty at least to -sometimes half-a-hundred. They are the offspring of the Microgaster. - -What do they feed on? The lens makes conscientious enquiries; nowhere -does it manage to show me the vermin attacking solid nourishment, fatty -tissues, muscles or other parts; nowhere do I see them bite, gnaw or -dissect. The following experiment will tell us more fully: I pour into -a watch-glass the crowds extracted from the hospitable paunches. I -flood them with caterpillar’s blood obtained by simple pricks; I place -the preparation under a glass bell-jar, in a moist atmosphere, to -prevent evaporation; I repeat the nourishing bath by means of fresh -bleedings and give them the stimulant which they would have gained from -the living caterpillar. Thanks to these precautions, my charges have -all the appearance of excellent health; they drink and thrive. But this -state of things cannot last long. Soon ripe for the transformation, my -grubs leave the dining-room of the watch-glass as they would have left -the caterpillar’s belly; they come to the ground to try and weave their -tiny cocoons. They fail in the attempt and perish. They have missed a -suitable support, that is to say, the silky carpet provided by the -dying caterpillar. No matter: I have seen enough to convince me. The -larvae of the Microgaster do not eat in the strict sense of the word: -they live on soup; and that soup is the caterpillar’s blood. - -Examine the parasites closely and you shall see that their diet is -bound to be a liquid one. They are little white grubs, neatly -segmented, with a pointed fore-part splashed with tiny black marks, as -though the atom had been slaking its thirst in a drop of ink. It moves -its hind-quarters slowly, without shifting its position. I place it -under the microscope. The mouth is a pore, devoid of any apparatus for -disintegration-work: it has no fangs, no horny nippers, no mandibles; -its attack is just a kiss. It does not chew, it sucks, it takes -discreet sips at the moisture all around it. - -The fact that it refrains entirely from biting is confirmed by my -autopsy of the stricken caterpillars. In the patient’s belly, -notwithstanding the number of nurselings who hardly leave room for the -nurse’s entrails, everything is in perfect order; nowhere do we see a -trace of mutilation. Nor does aught on the outside betray any havoc -within. The exploited caterpillars graze and move about peacefully, -giving no sign of pain. It is impossible for me to distinguish them -from the unscathed ones in respect of appetite and untroubled -digestion. - -When the time approaches to weave the carpet for the support of the -chrysalis, an appearance of emaciation at last points to the evil that -is at their vitals. They spin nevertheless. They are stoics who do not -forget their duty in the hour of death. At last, they expire, quite -softly, not of any wounds, but of anæmia, even as a lamp goes out when -the oil comes to an end. And it has to be. The living caterpillar, -capable of feeding itself and forming blood, is a necessity for the -welfare of the grubs; it has to last about a month, until the -Microgaster’s offspring have achieved their full growth. The two -calendars synchronize in a remarkable way. When the caterpillar leaves -off eating and makes its preparations for the metamorphosis, the -parasites are ripe for the exodus. The bottle dries up when the -drinkers cease to need it; but until that moment it must remain more or -less well-filled, although becoming limper daily. It is important, -therefore, that the caterpillar’s existence be not endangered by wounds -which, even though very tiny, would stop the working of the -blood-fountains. With this intent, the drainers of the bottle are, in a -manner of speaking, muzzled; they have by way of a mouth a pore that -sucks without bruising. - -The dying caterpillar continues to lay the silk of his carpet with a -slow oscillation of the head. The moment now comes for the parasites to -emerge. This happens in June and generally at nightfall. A breach is -made on the ventral surface or else in the sides, never on the back: -one breach only, contrived at a point of minor resistance, at the -junction of two segments; for it is bound to be a toilsome business, in -the absence of a set of filing-tools. Perhaps the worms take one -another’s places at the point attacked and come by turns to work at it -with a kiss. - -In one short spell, the whole tribe issues through this single opening -and is soon wriggling about, perched on the surface of the caterpillar. -The lens cannot perceive the hole, which closes on the instant. There -is not even a hæmorrhage: the bottle has been drained too thoroughly. -You must press it between your fingers to squeeze out a few drops of -moisture and thus discover the spot of exit. - -Around the caterpillar, who is not always quite dead and who sometimes -even goes on weaving his carpet a moment longer, the vermin at once -begin to work at their cocoons. The straw-coloured thread, drawn from -the silk-glands by a backward jerk of the head, is first fixed to the -white network of the caterpillar and then produces adjacent warp-beams, -so that, by mutual entanglements, the individual works are welded -together and form an agglomeration in which each of the worms has its -own cabin. For the moment, what is woven is not the real cocoon, but a -general scaffolding which will facilitate the construction of the -separate shells. All these frames rest upon those adjoining and, mixing -up their threads, become a common edifice wherein each grub contrives a -shelter for itself. Here at last the real cocoon is spun, a pretty -little piece of closely-woven work. - -In my rearing-jars, I obtain as many groups of those tiny shells as my -future experiments can wish for. Three-fourths of the caterpillars have -supplied me with them, so ruthless has been the toll of the spring -births. I lodge these groups, one by one, in separate glass tubes, thus -forming a collection on which I can draw at will, while, in view of my -experiments, I keep under observation the whole swarm produced by one -caterpillar. - -The adult Microgaster appears a fortnight later, in the middle of June. -There are fifty in the first tube examined. The riotous multitude is in -the full enjoyment of the pairing-season, for the two sexes always -figure among the guests of any one caterpillar. What animation! What an -orgy of love! The carnival of those pigmies bewilders the observer and -makes his head swim. - -Most of the females, wishful of liberty, plunge down to the waist -between the glass of the tube and the plug of cotton-wool that closes -the end turned to the light; but the lower halves remain free and form -a circular gallery in front of which the males hustle one another, take -one another’s places and hastily operate. Each bides his turn, each -attends to his little matters for a few moments and then makes way for -his rivals and goes off to start again elsewhere. The turbulent wedding -lasts all the morning and begins afresh next day, a mighty throng of -couples embracing, separating and embracing once more. - -There is every reason to believe that, in gardens, the mated ones, -finding themselves in isolated couples, would keep quieter. Here, in -the tube, things degenerate into a riot because the assembly is too -numerous for the narrow space. - -What is lacking to complete its happiness? Apparently, a little food, a -few sugary mouthfuls extracted from the flowers. I serve up some -provisions in the tubes: not drops of honey, in which the puny -creatures would get stuck, but little strips of paper spread with that -dainty. They come to them, take their stand on them and refresh -themselves. The fare appears to agree with them. With this diet, -renewed as the strips dry up, I can keep them in very good condition -until the end of my inquisition. - -There is another arrangement to be made. The colonists in my spare -tubes are restless and quick of flight; they will have to be -transferred presently to sundry vessels without my risking the loss of -a good number, or even the whole lot, a loss which my hands, my forceps -and other means of coercion would be unable to prevent by checking the -nimble movements of the tiny prisoners. The irresistible attraction of -the sunlight comes to my aid. If I lay one of my tubes horizontally on -the table, turning one end towards the full light of a sunny window, -the captives at once make for this brighter end and play about there -for a long while, without seeking to retreat. If I turn the tube in the -opposite direction, the crowd immediately shifts its quarters and -collects at the other end. The brilliant sunlight is its great joy. -With this bait, I can send it whithersoever I please. - -We will therefore place the new receptacle, jar or test-tube, on the -table, pointing the closed end towards the window. At its mouth, we -open one of the full tubes. No other precaution is needed: even though -the mouth leaves a large interval free, the swarm hastens into the -lighted chamber. All that remains to be done is to close the apparatus -before moving it. The observer is now in control of the multitude, -without appreciable losses, and is able to question it at will. - -We will begin by asking: - -“How do you manage to lodge your germs inside the caterpillar?” - -This question and others of the same category, which ought to take -precedence of everything else, are generally neglected by the impaler -of insects, who cares more for the niceties of nomenclature than for -glorious realities. He classifies his subjects, dividing them into -regiments with barbarous labels, a work which seems to him the highest -expression of entomological science. Names, nothing but names: the rest -hardly counts. The persecutor of the Pieris used to be called -Microgaster, that is to say, little belly: to-day she is called -Apantales, that is to say, the incomplete. What a fine step forward! We -now know all about it! - -Can our friend at least tell us how “the little belly” or “the -incomplete” gets into the caterpillar? Not a bit of it! A book which, -judging by its recent date, should be the faithful echo of our actual -knowledge, informs us that the Microgaster inserts her eggs direct into -the caterpillar’s body. It goes on to say that the parasitic vermin -inhabit the chrysalis, whence they make their way out by perforating -the stout horny wrapper. Hundreds of times have I witnessed the exodus -of the grubs ripe for weaving their cocoons; and the exit has always -been made through the skin of the caterpillar and never through the -armour of the chrysalis. The fact that its mouth is a mere clinging -pore, deprived of any offensive weapon, would even lead me to believe -that the grub is incapable of perforating the chrysalid’s covering. - -This proved error makes me doubt the other proposition, though logical, -after all, and agreeing with the methods followed by a host of -parasites. No matter: my faith in what I read in print is of the -slightest; I prefer to go straight to facts. Before making a statement -of any kind, I want to see, what I call seeing. It is a slower and more -laborious process; but it is certainly much safer. - -I will not undertake to lie in wait for what takes place on the -cabbages in the garden: that method is too uncertain and besides does -not lend itself to precise observation. As I have in hand the necessary -materials, to wit, my collection of tubes swarming with the parasites -newly hatched into the adult form, I will operate on the little table -in my animals’ laboratory. A jar with a capacity of about a litre [51] -is placed on the table, with the bottom turned towards the window in -the sun. I put into it a cabbage-leaf covered with caterpillars, -sometimes fully developed, sometimes half-way, sometimes just out of -the egg. A strip of honeyed paper will serve the Microgaster as a -dining-room, if the experiment is destined to take some time. Lastly, -by the method of transfer which I described above, I send the inmates -of one of my tubes into the apparatus. Once the jar is closed, there is -nothing left to do but to let things take their course and to keep an -assiduous watch, for days and weeks, if need be. Nothing worth -remarking can escape me. - -The caterpillars graze placidly, heedless of their terrible attendants. -If some giddy-pates in the turbulent swarm pass over the caterpillars’ -spines, these draw up their fore-part with a jerk and as suddenly lower -it again; and that is all: the intruders forthwith decamp. Nor do the -latter seem to contemplate any harm: they refresh themselves on the -honey-smeared strip, they come and go tumultuously. Their short flights -may land them, now in one place, now in another, on the browsing herd, -but they pay no attention to it. What we see is casual meetings, not -deliberate encounters. - -In vain I change the flock of caterpillars and vary their age; in vain -I change the squad of parasites: in vain I follow events in the jar for -long hours, morning and evening, both in a dim light and in the full -glare of the sun: I succeed in seeing nothing, absolutely nothing, on -the parasite’s side, that resembles an attack. No matter what the -ill-informed authors say—ill-informed because they had not the patience -to see for themselves—the conclusion at which I arrive is positive: to -inject the germs, the Microgaster never attacks the caterpillars. - -The invasion, therefore, is necessarily effected through the -Butterfly’s eggs themselves, as experiment will prove. My broad jar -would tell against the inspection of the troop, kept at too great a -distance by the glass enclosure; and I therefore select a tube an inch -wide. I place in this a shred of cabbage-leaf, bearing a slab of eggs, -as laid by the Butterfly. I next introduce the inmates of one of my -spare vessels. A strip of paper smeared with honey accompanies the new -arrivals. - -This happens early in July. Soon, the females are there, fussing about, -sometimes to the extent of blackening the whole slab of yellow eggs. -They inspect the treasure, flutter their wings and brush their -hind-legs against each other, a sign of keen satisfaction. They sound -the heap, probe the interstices with their antennae and tap the -individual eggs with their palpi; then, this one here, that one there, -they quickly apply the tip of their abdomen to the egg selected. Each -time, we see a slender, horny prickle darting from the ventral surface, -close to the end. This is the instrument that deposits the germ under -the film of the egg; it is the inoculation-needle. The operation is -performed calmly and methodically, even when several mothers are -working at one and the same time. Where one has been, a second goes, -followed by a third, a fourth and others yet, nor am I able definitely -to see the end of the visits paid to the same egg. Each time, the -needle enters and inserts a germ. - -It is impossible, in such a crowd, for the eye to follow the successive -mothers who hasten to lay in each; but there is one quite practicable -method by which we can estimate the number of germs introduced into a -single egg, which is, later, to open the ravaged caterpillars and count -the worms which they contain. A less repugnant means is to number the -little cocoons heaped up around each dead caterpillar. The total will -tell us how many germs were injected, some by the same mother returning -several times to the egg already treated, others by different mothers. -Well, the number of these cocoons varies greatly. Generally, it -fluctuates in the neighbourhood of twenty, but I have come across as -many as sixty-five; and nothing tells me that this is the extreme -limit. What hideous industry for the extermination of a Butterfly’s -progeny! - -I am fortunate at this moment in having a highly-cultured visitor, -versed in the profundities of philosophic thought. I make way for him -before the apparatus wherein the Microgaster is at work. For an hour -and more, standing lens in hand, he, in his turn, looks and sees what I -have just seen; he watches the layers who go from one egg to the other, -make their choice, draw their slender lancet and prick what the stream -of passers-by, one after the other, have already pricked. Thoughtful -and a little uneasy, he puts down his lens at last. Never had he been -vouchsafed so clear a glimpse as here, in my finger-wide tube, of the -masterly brigandage that runs through all life down to that of the very -smallest. - - - - - - - - -NOTES - - -[1] René Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur (1683–1757), inventor of the -Réaumur thermometer and author of Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire -naturelle des insectes.—Translator’s Note. - -[2] For the Cicada or Cigale, an insect remotely akin to the -Grasshopper and found more particularly in the south of France, cf. -Social Life in the Insect World, by J. H. Fabre, translated by Bernard -Miall: chaps. i to iv.—Translator’s Note. - -[3] The harmas was the enclosed piece of waste ground in which the -author used to study his insects in their natural state.—Translator’s -Note. - -[4] The eponymous hero of Voltaire’s story of “the little great man,” -published in 1752 in imitation of Gulliver’s Travels.—Translator’s -Note. - -[5] .039 inch.—Translator’s Note. - -[6] About three-quarters of an inch.—Translator’s Note. - -[7] .117 to .156 inch.—Translator’s Note. - -[8] In the course of an essay on aberration of instinct in a certain -Mason-wasp which is not yet translated into English.—Translator’s Note. - -[9] A predatory insect, akin to the Locusts and Crickets, which, when -at rest, adopts an attitude resembling that of prayer. Cf. Social Life -in the Insect World: chaps. v to vii.—Translator’s Note. - -[10] The order of insects embracing the Bees, Wasps, Ants, Saw-flies, -Ichneumon-flies, etc.—Translator’s Note. - -[11] Cf. The Mason-bees, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander -Teixeira de Mattos, passim.—Translator’s Note. - -[12] White Ants.—Translator’s Note. - -[13] Book IV., chap. viii.—Translator’s Note. - -[14] Jean Buridan (circa 1300–circa 1360), a famous scholastic doctor, -who was several times rector of the university of Paris and -subsequently founded the university of Vienna. He forms the subject of -many legends, including that of the argument known by his name, of -which no trace is to be found in any of his works.—Translator’s Note. - -[15] 3½ inches.—Translator’s Note. - -[16] 3½ inches.—Translator’s Note. - -[17] 4 feet 5 inches.—Translator’s Note. - -[18] A large carnivorous Beetle.—Translator’s Note. - -[19] The highest mountain in the neighbourhood of Sérignan. Cf. The -Hunting Wasps, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de -Mattos: chap. xi.—Translator’s Note. - -[20] Geotrupes stercorarius, a large Dung-beetle. Cf. The Life and Love -of the Insect, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de -Mattos: chap. ix.—Translator’s Note. - -[21] .975 by .351 inch.—Translator’s Note. - -[22] Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chaps. xiv to xvii.—Translator’s Note. - -[23] A Bacon-beetle.—Translator’s Note. - -[24] A species of Grasshopper.—Translator’s Note. - -[25] Psyche unicolor, Hufn.; P. graminella, Schiffermüller.—Author’s -Note. - -[26] As far as can be judged from the case only, Psyche febretta, Boyer -de Fonscolombe.—Author’s Note. - -[27] Fumea comitella and F. intermediella, Bruand.—Author’s Note. - -[28] A fictitious character, a sort of dolt, created by some wit in a -French regiment quartered in Brabant about the year 1792. Cadet -Roussel’s entertaining exploits were perpetuated in a contemporary -ballad.—Translator’s Note. - -[29] Cf. Chapter XI. of the present volume.—Translator’s Note. - -[30] For other instances of what Fabre calls “the insect’s mental -incapacity in the presence of the accidental” I would refer the reader -to one essay inter alia, entitled, Some Reflections upon Insect -Psychology, which forms chap. vii. of The Mason-bees.—Translator’s -Note. - -[31] Thursday is the weekly holiday in French schools.—Translator’s -Note. - -[32] The Abbé Lazaro Spallanzani (1729–99), an early experimenter in -natural history and author of a number of important works on the -circulation of the blood, on digestion, on generation and on -microscopic animals. Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chap. xix.—Translator’s -Note. - -[33] Cf. The Mason-Bees, passim.—Translator’s Note. - -[34] Rabasso is the Provençal for truffle. Hence the word rabassier to -denote a truffle-hunter.—Author’s Note. - -[35] For some account of Fabre’s drawings of the fungi of his district, -cf. The Life of the Fly, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander -Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xvii.—Translator’s Note. - -[36] One of the Dung-beetles. Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect: -chap. v.—Translator’s Note. - -[37] Cf. The Life of the Fly: chap. xviii.—Translator’s Note. - -[38] Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect: chap. ix.—Translator’s Note. - -[39] A Dung-beetle. Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect: chap. -x.—Translator’s Note. - -[40] 7.8 inches.—Translator’s Note. - -[41] Since writing the above lines, I have found him eating one of the -true Tuberaceæ, Tuber Requienii, Tul., the size of a cherry.—Author’s -Note. - -[42] Carrion-beetles proper.—Translator’s Note. - -[43] Bacon-beetles—Translator’s Note. - -[44] Burying-beetles proper.—Translator’s Note. - -[45] A species of small carnivorous Beetles.—Translator’s Note. - -[46] A species of Weevils found on thistle-heads.—Translator’s Note. - -[47] .078 inch.—Translator’s Note. - -[48] The author employs this word to denote the insects that are -helpful, while describing as “ravagers” the insects that are hurtful to -the farmer’s crops.—Translator’s Note. - -[49] This order includes the Ichneumon-flies, of whom the Microgaster -is one.—Translator’s Note. - -[50] .117 to .156 inch.—Translator’s Note. - -[51] About 1¾ pints, or .22 gallon.—Translator’s Note. - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF THE CATERPILLAR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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