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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Fabre's Book of Insects, 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: Fabre's Book of Insects
+
+Author: Jean-Henri Fabre
+
+Editor: Maud Margaret Key Stawell
+
+Translator: Alexander Teixeira de Mattos
+
+Illustrator: Edward Julius Detmold
+
+Release Date: December 22, 2021 [eBook #67000]
+
+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 FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS ***
+
+
+
+
+                                    FABRE’S
+                                BOOK OF INSECTS
+
+                   RETOLD FROM ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS’
+               TRANSLATION of FABRE’S “SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES”
+                            BY MRS. RODOLPH STAWELL
+
+
+                                 Illustrated by
+                                 E. J. DETMOLD
+
+
+                                    NEW YORK
+                             DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
+                                      1921
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+    CHAPTER I                               PAGE
+    MY WORK AND MY WORKSHOP                    1
+
+    CHAPTER II
+    THE SACRED BEETLE                         11
+
+    CHAPTER III
+    THE CICADA                                25
+
+    CHAPTER IV
+    THE PRAYING MANTIS                        40
+
+    CHAPTER V
+    THE GLOW-WORM                             54
+
+    CHAPTER VI
+    A MASON-WASP                              69
+
+    CHAPTER VII
+    THE PSYCHES                               89
+
+    CHAPTER VIII
+    THE SELF-DENIAL OF THE SPANISH COPRIS    109
+
+    CHAPTER IX
+    TWO STRANGE GRASSHOPPERS                 121
+
+    CHAPTER X
+    COMMON WASPS                             138
+
+    CHAPTER XI
+    THE ADVENTURES OF A GRUB                 157
+
+    CHAPTER XII
+    THE CRICKET                              175
+
+    CHAPTER XIII
+    THE SISYPHUS                             198
+
+    CHAPTER XIV
+    THE CAPRICORN                            209
+
+    CHAPTER XV
+    LOCUSTS                                  227
+
+    CHAPTER XVI
+    THE ANTHRAX FLY                          249
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+THE SACRED BEETLE                                          Frontispiece
+
+    Sometimes the Scarab seems to enter into partnership with
+    a friend
+
+THE CICADA                                                  FACING PAGE
+
+    In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are
+    parched with thirst, the Cicada remains perfectly cheerful       26
+
+THE PRAYING MANTIS
+
+    A long time ago, in the days of ancient Greece, this insect
+    was named Mantis, or the Prophet                                 42
+
+PELOPÆUS SPIRIFEX
+
+    When finished the work is amber-yellow, and rather reminds
+    one of the outer skin of an onion                                80
+
+THE PSYCHES
+
+    This is the secret of the walking bundle of sticks. It is a
+    Faggot Caterpillar, belonging to the group known as the Psyches  90
+
+THE SPANISH COPRIS
+
+    The burrow is almost filled by three or four ovoid nests,
+    standing one against the other, with the pointed end upwards    116
+
+THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS
+
+    The Greek word dectikos means biting, fond of biting. The
+    Decticus is well named. It is eminently an insect given
+    to biting                                                       130
+
+COMMON WASPS
+
+    The wasp’s nest is made of a thin, flexible material like
+    brown paper, formed of particles of wood                        144
+
+THE FIELD CRICKET
+
+    Here is one of the humblest of creatures able to lodge himself
+    to perfection. He has a home; he has a peaceful retreat, the
+    first condition of comfort                                      180
+
+THE SISYPHUS
+
+    The mother harnesses herself in the place of honour, in front.
+    The father pushes behind in the reverse position, head
+    downwards                                                       204
+
+ITALIAN LOCUSTS
+
+    “I have buried underground,” she says, “the treasure of
+    the future”                                                     238
+
+THE ANTHRAX FLY
+
+    Her delicate suit of downy velvet, from which you take the
+    bloom by merely breathing on it, could not withstand the
+    contact of rough tunnels                                        258
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FABRE’S BOOK OF INSECTS
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+MY WORK AND MY WORKSHOP
+
+
+We all have our own talents, our special gifts. Sometimes these gifts
+seem to come to us from our forefathers, but more often it is difficult
+to trace their origin.
+
+A goatherd, perhaps, amuses himself by counting little pebbles and
+doing sums with them. He becomes an astoundingly quick reckoner, and in
+the end is a professor of mathematics. Another boy, at an age when most
+of us care only for play, leaves his schoolfellows at their games and
+listens to the imaginary sounds of an organ, a secret concert heard by
+him alone. He has a genius for music. A third—so small, perhaps, that
+he cannot eat his bread and jam without smearing his face—takes a keen
+delight in fashioning clay into little figures that are amazingly
+lifelike. If he be fortunate he will some day be a famous sculptor.
+
+To talk about oneself is hateful, I know, but perhaps I may be allowed
+to do so for a moment, in order to introduce myself and my studies.
+
+From my earliest childhood I have felt drawn towards the things of
+Nature. It would be ridiculous to suppose that this gift, this love of
+observing plants and insects, was inherited from my ancestors, who were
+uneducated people of the soil and observed little but their own cows
+and sheep. Of my four grandparents only one ever opened a book, and
+even he was very uncertain about his spelling. Nor do I owe anything to
+a scientific training. Without masters, without guides, often without
+books, I have gone forward with one aim always before me: to add a few
+pages to the history of insects.
+
+As I look back—so many years back!—I can see myself as a tiny boy,
+extremely proud of my first braces and of my attempts to learn the
+alphabet. And very well I remember the delight of finding my first
+bird’s nest and gathering my first mushroom.
+
+One day I was climbing a hill. At the top of it was a row of trees that
+had long interested me very much. From the little window at home I
+could see them against the sky, tossing before the wind or writhing
+madly in the snow, and I wished to have a closer view of them. It was a
+long climb—ever so long; and my legs were very short. I clambered up
+slowly and tediously, for the grassy slope was as steep as a roof.
+
+Suddenly, at my feet, a lovely bird flew out from its hiding-place
+under a big stone. In a moment I had found the nest, which was made of
+hair and fine straw, and had six eggs laid side by side in it. The eggs
+were a magnificent azure blue, very bright. This was the first nest I
+ever found, the first of the many joys which the birds were to bring
+me. Overpowered with pleasure, I lay down on the grass and stared at
+it.
+
+Meanwhile the mother-bird was flying about uneasily from stone to
+stone, crying ”Tack! Tack!” in a voice of the greatest anxiety. I was
+too small to understand what she was suffering. I made a plan worthy of
+a little beast of prey. I would carry away just one of the pretty blue
+eggs as a trophy, and then, in a fortnight, I would come back and take
+the tiny birds before they could fly away. Fortunately, as I walked
+carefully home, carrying my blue egg on a bed of moss, I met the
+priest.
+
+“Ah!” said he. “A Saxicola’s egg! Where did you get it?”
+
+I told him the whole story. “I shall go back for the others,” I said,
+“when the young birds have got their quill-feathers.”
+
+“Oh, but you mustn’t do that!” cried the priest.
+
+“You mustn’t be so cruel as to rob the poor mother of all her little
+birds. Be a good boy, now, and promise not to touch the nest.”
+
+From this conversation I learnt two things: first, that robbing birds’
+nests is cruel and, secondly, that birds and beasts have names just
+like ourselves.
+
+“What are the names of all my friends in the woods and meadows?” I
+asked myself. “And what does Saxicola mean?” Years later I learnt that
+Saxicola means an inhabitant of the rocks. My bird with the blue eggs
+was a Stone-chat.
+
+Below our village there ran a little brook, and beyond the brook was a
+spinney of beeches with smooth, straight trunks, like pillars. The
+ground was padded with moss. It was in this spinney that I picked my
+first mushroom, which looked, when I caught sight of it, like an egg
+dropped on the moss by some wandering hen. There were many others
+there, of different sizes, forms, and colours. Some were shaped like
+bells, some like extinguishers, some like cups: some were broken, and
+were weeping tears of milk: some became blue when I trod on them.
+Others, the most curious of all, were like pears with a round hole at
+the top—a sort of chimney whence a whiff of smoke escaped when I
+prodded their under-side with my finger. I filled my pockets with
+these, and made them smoke at my leisure, till at last they were
+reduced to a kind of tinder.
+
+Many a time I returned to that delightful spinney, and learnt my first
+lessons in mushroom-lore in the company of the Crows. My collections, I
+need hardly say, were not admitted to the house.
+
+In this way—by observing Nature and making experiments—nearly all my
+lessons have been learnt: all except two, in fact. I have received from
+others two lessons of a scientific character, and two only, in the
+whole course of my life: one in anatomy and one in chemistry.
+
+I owe the first to the learned naturalist Moquin-Tandon, who showed me
+how to explore the interior of a Snail in a plate filled with water.
+The lesson was short and fruitful. [1]
+
+My first introduction to chemistry was less fortunate. It ended in the
+bursting of a glass vessel, with the result that most of my
+fellow-pupils were hurt, one of them nearly lost his sight, the
+lecturer’s clothes were burnt to pieces, and the wall of the
+lecture-room was splashed with stains. Later on, when I returned to
+that room, no longer as a pupil but as a master, the splashes were
+still there. On that occasion I learnt one thing at least. Ever after,
+when I made experiments of that kind, I kept my pupils at a distance.
+
+It has always been my great desire to have a laboratory in the open
+fields—not an easy thing to obtain when one lives in a state of
+constant anxiety about one’s daily bread. For forty years it was my
+dream to own a little bit of land, fenced in for the sake of privacy: a
+desolate, barren, sun-scorched bit of land, overgrown with thistles and
+much beloved by Wasps and Bees. Here, without fear of interruption, I
+might question the Hunting-wasps and others of my friends in that
+difficult language which consists of experiments and observations.
+Here, without the long expeditions and rambles that use up my time and
+strength, I might watch my insects at every hour of the day.
+
+And then, at last, my wish was fulfilled. I obtained a bit of land in
+the solitude of a little village. It was a harmas, which is the name we
+give in this part of Provence to an untilled, pebbly expanse where
+hardly any plant but thyme can grow. It is too poor to be worth the
+trouble of ploughing, but the sheep pass there in spring, when it has
+chanced to rain and a little grass grows up.
+
+My own particular harmas, however, had a small quantity of red earth
+mixed with the stones, and had been roughly cultivated. I was told that
+vines once grew here, and I was sorry, for the original vegetation had
+been driven out by the three-pronged fork. There was no thyme left, nor
+lavender, nor a single clump of the dwarf oak. As thyme and lavender
+might be useful to me as a hunting-ground for Bees and Wasps, I was
+obliged to plant them again.
+
+There were plenty of weeds: couch-grass, and prickly centauries, and
+the fierce Spanish oyster-plant, with its spreading orange flowers and
+spikes strong as nails. Above it towered the Illyrian cotton-thistle,
+whose straight and solitary stalk grows sometimes to the height of six
+feet and ends in large pink tufts. There were smaller thistles too, so
+well armed that the plant-collector can hardly tell where to grasp
+them, and spiky knapweeds, and in among them, in long lines provided
+with hooks, the shoots of the blue dewberry creeping along the ground.
+If you had visited this prickly thicket without wearing high boots, you
+would have paid dearly for your rashness!
+
+Such was the Eden that I won by forty years of desperate struggle.
+
+This curious, barren Paradise of mine is the happy hunting-ground of
+countless Bees and Wasps. Never have I seen so large a population of
+insects at a single spot. All the trades have made it their centre.
+Here come hunters of every kind of game, builders in clay,
+cotton-weavers, leaf-cutters, architects in pasteboard, plasterers
+mixing mortar, carpenters boring wood, miners digging underground
+galleries, workers in gold-beaters’ skin, and many more.
+
+See—here is a Tailor-bee. She scrapes the cobwebby stalk of the
+yellow-flowered centaury, and gathers a ball of wadding which she
+carries off proudly with her mandibles or jaws. She will turn it,
+underground, into cotton satchels to hold the store of honey and the
+eggs. And here are the Leaf-cutting Bees, carrying their black, white,
+or blood-red reaping brushes under their bodies. They will visit the
+neighbouring shrubs, and there cut from the leaves oval pieces in which
+to wrap their harvest. Here too are the black, velvet-clad Mason-bees,
+who work with cement and gravel. We could easily find specimens of
+their masonry on the stones in the harmas. Next comes a kind of Wild
+Bee who stacks her cells in the winding staircase of an empty
+snail-shell; and another who lodges her grubs in the pith of a dry
+bramble-stalk; and a third who uses the channel of a cut reed; and a
+fourth who lives rent-free in the vacant galleries of some Mason-bee.
+There are also Bees with horns, and Bees with brushes on their
+hind-legs, to be used for reaping.
+
+While the walls of my harmas were being built some great heaps of
+stones and mounds of sand were scattered here and there by the
+builders, and were soon occupied by a variety of inhabitants. The
+Mason-bees chose the chinks between the stones for their
+sleeping-place. The powerful Eyed Lizard, who, when hard pressed,
+attacks both man and dog, selected a cave in which to lie in wait for
+the passing Scarab, or Sacred Beetle. The Black-eared Chat, who looks
+like a Dominican monk in his white-and-black raiment, sat on the top
+stone singing his brief song. His nest, with the sky-blue eggs, must
+have been somewhere in the heap. When the stones were moved the little
+Dominican moved too. I regret him: he would have been a charming
+neighbour. The Eyed Lizard I do not regret at all.
+
+The sand-heaps sheltered a colony of Digger-wasps and Hunting-wasps,
+who were, to my sorrow, turned out at last by the builders. But still
+there are hunters left: some who flutter about in search of
+Caterpillars, and one very large kind of Wasp who actually has the
+courage to hunt the Tarantula. Many of these mighty Spiders have their
+burrows in the harmas, and you can see their eyes gleaming at the
+bottom of the den like little diamonds. On hot summer afternoons you
+may also see Amazon-ants, who leave their barracks in long battalions
+and march far afield to hunt for slaves.
+
+Nor are these all. The shrubs about the house are full of birds,
+Warblers and Greenfinches, Sparrows and Owls; while the pond is so
+popular with the Frogs that in May it becomes a deafening orchestra.
+And boldest of all, the Wasp has taken possession of the house itself.
+On my doorway lives the White-banded Sphex: when I go indoors I must be
+careful not to tread upon her as she carries on her work of mining.
+Just within a closed window a kind of Mason-wasp has made her
+earth-built nest upon the freestone wall. To enter her home she uses a
+little hole left by accident in the shutters. On the mouldings of the
+Venetian blinds a few stray Mason-bees build their cells. The Common
+Wasp and the Solitary Wasp visit me at dinner. The object of their
+visit, apparently, is to see if my grapes are ripe.
+
+Such are my companions. My dear beasts, my friends of former days and
+other more recent acquaintances, are all here, hunting, and building,
+and feeding their families. And if I wish for change the mountain is
+close to me, with its tangle of arbutus, and rock-roses, and heather,
+where Wasps and Bees delight to gather. And that is why I deserted the
+town for the village, and came to Sérignan to weed my turnips and water
+my lettuces.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE SACRED BEETLE
+
+
+I
+
+THE BALL
+
+It is six or seven thousand years since the Sacred Beetle was first
+talked about. The peasant of ancient Egypt, as he watered his patch of
+onions in the spring, would see from time to time a fat black insect
+pass close by, hurriedly trundling a ball backwards. He would watch the
+queer rolling thing in amazement, as the peasant of Provence watches it
+to this day.
+
+The early Egyptians fancied that this ball was a symbol of the earth,
+and that all the Scarab’s actions were prompted by the movements of the
+heavenly bodies. So much knowledge of astronomy in a Beetle seemed to
+them almost divine, and that is why he is called the Sacred Beetle.
+They also thought that the ball he rolled on the ground contained the
+egg, and that the young Beetle came out of it. But as a matter of fact,
+it is simply his store of food.
+
+It is not at all nice food. For the work of this Beetle is to scour the
+filth from the surface of the soil. The ball he rolls so carefully is
+made of his sweepings from the roads and fields.
+
+This is how he sets about it. The edge of his broad, flat head is
+notched with six teeth arranged in a semi-circle, like a sort of curved
+rake; and this he uses for digging and cutting up, for throwing aside
+the stuff he does not want, and scraping together the food he chooses.
+His bow-shaped fore-legs are also useful tools, for they are very
+strong, and they too have five teeth on the outside. So if a vigorous
+effort be needed to remove some obstacle the Scarab makes use of his
+elbows, that is to say he flings his toothed legs to right and left,
+and clears a space with an energetic sweep. Then he collects armfuls of
+the stuff he has raked together, and pushes it beneath him, between the
+four hinder-legs. These are long and slender, especially the last pair,
+slightly bowed and finished with a sharp claw. The Beetle then presses
+the stuff against his body with his hind-legs, curving it and spinning
+it round and round till it forms a perfect ball. In a moment a tiny
+pellet grows to the size of a walnut, and soon to that of an apple. I
+have seen some gluttons manufacture a ball as big as a man’s fist.
+
+When the ball of provisions is ready it must be moved to a suitable
+place. The Beetle begins the journey. He clasps the ball with his long
+hind-legs and walks with his fore-legs, moving backwards with his head
+down and his hind-quarters in the air. He pushes his load behind him by
+alternate thrusts to right and left. One would expect him to choose a
+level road, or at least a gentle incline. Not at all! Let him find
+himself near some steep slope, impossible to climb, and that is the
+very path the obstinate creature will attempt. The ball, that enormous
+burden, is painfully hoisted step by step, with infinite precautions,
+to a certain height, always backwards. Then by some rash movement all
+this toil is wasted: the ball rolls down, dragging the Beetle with it.
+Once more the heights are climbed, and another fall is the result.
+Again and again the insect begins the ascent. The merest trifle ruins
+everything; a grass-root may trip him up or a smooth bit of gravel make
+him slip, and down come ball and Beetle, all mixed up together. Ten or
+twenty times he will start afresh, till at last he is successful, or
+else sees the hopelessness of his efforts and resigns himself to taking
+the level road.
+
+Sometimes the Scarab seems to enter into partnership with a friend.
+This is the way in which it usually happens. When the Beetle’s ball is
+ready he leaves the crowd of workers, pushing his prize backwards. A
+neighbour, whose own task is hardly begun, suddenly drops his work and
+runs to the moving ball, to lend a hand to the owner. His aid seems to
+be accepted willingly. But the new-comer is not really a partner: he is
+a robber. To make one’s own ball needs hard work and patience; to steal
+one ready-made, or to invite oneself to a neighbour’s dinner, is much
+easier. Some thieving Beetles go to work craftily, others use violence.
+
+Sometimes a thief comes flying up, knocks over the owner of the ball,
+and perches himself on top of it. With his fore-legs crossed over his
+breast, ready to hit out, he awaits events. If the owner raises himself
+to seize his ball the robber gives him a blow that stretches him on his
+back. Then the owner gets up and shakes the ball till it begins
+rolling, and perhaps the thief falls off. A wrestling-match follows.
+The two Beetles grapple with one another: their legs lock and unlock,
+their joints intertwine, their horny armour clashes and grates with the
+rasping sound of metal under a file. The one who is successful climbs
+to the top of the ball, and after two or three attempts to dislodge him
+the defeated Scarab goes off to make himself a new pellet. I have
+sometimes seen a third Beetle appear, and rob the robber.
+
+But sometimes the thief bides his time and trusts to cunning. He
+pretends to help the victim to roll the food along, over sandy plains
+thick with thyme, over cart-ruts and steep places, but he really does
+very little of the work, preferring to sit on the ball and do nothing.
+When a suitable place for a burrow is reached the rightful owner begins
+to dig with his sharp-edged forehead and toothed legs, flinging armfuls
+of sand behind him, while the thief clings to the ball, shamming dead.
+The cave grows deeper and deeper, and the working Scarab disappears
+from view. Whenever he comes to the surface he glances at the ball, on
+which the other lies, demure and motionless, inspiring confidence. But
+as the absences of the owner become longer the thief seizes his chance,
+and hurriedly makes off with the ball, which he pushes behind him with
+the speed of a pickpocket afraid of being caught. If the owner catches
+him, as sometimes happens, he quickly changes his position, and seems
+to plead as an excuse that the pellet rolled down the slope, and he was
+only trying to stop it! And the two bring the ball back as though
+nothing had happened.
+
+If the thief has managed to get safely away, however, the owner can
+only resign himself to his loss, which he does with admirable
+fortitude. He rubs his cheeks, sniffs the air, flies off, and begins
+his work all over again. I admire and envy his character.
+
+At last his provisions are safely stored. His burrow is a shallow hole
+about the size of a man’s fist, dug in soft earth or sand, with a short
+passage to the surface, just wide enough to admit the ball. As soon as
+his food is rolled into this burrow the Scarab shuts himself in by
+stopping up the entrance with rubbish. The ball fills almost the whole
+room: the banquet rises from floor to ceiling. Only a narrow passage
+runs between it and the walls, and here sit the banqueters, two at
+most, very often only one. Here the Sacred Beetle feasts day and night,
+for a week or a fortnight at a time, without ceasing.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE PEAR
+
+As I have already said, the ancient Egyptians thought that the egg of
+the Sacred Beetle was within the ball that I have been describing. I
+have proved that it is not so. One day I discovered the truth about the
+Scarab’s egg.
+
+A young shepherd who helps me in his spare time came to me one Sunday
+in June with a queer thing in his hand. It was exactly like a tiny pear
+that had lost all its fresh colour and had turned brown in rotting. It
+was firm to the touch and very graceful in shape, though the materials
+of which it was formed seemed none too nicely chosen. The shepherd
+assured me there was an egg inside it; for a similar pear, crushed by
+accident in the digging, had contained a white egg the size of a grain
+of wheat.
+
+At daybreak the next morning the shepherd and I went out to investigate
+the matter. We met among the browsing sheep, on some slopes that had
+lately been cleared of trees.
+
+A Sacred Beetle’s burrow is soon found: you can tell it by the fresh
+little mound of earth above it. My companion dug vigorously into the
+ground with my pocket trowel, while I lay down, the better to see what
+was being unearthed. A cave opened out, and there I saw, lying in the
+moist earth, a splendid pear upon the ground. I shall not soon forget
+my first sight of the mother Beetle’s wonderful work. My excitement
+could have been no greater had I, in digging among the relics of
+ancient Egypt, found the sacred insect carved in emerald.
+
+We went on with our search, and found a second hole. Here, by the side
+of the pear and fondly embracing it, was the mother Beetle, engaged no
+doubt in giving it the finishing touches before leaving the burrow for
+good. There was no possible doubt that the pear was the nest of the
+Scarab. In the course of the summer I found at least a hundred such
+nests.
+
+The pear, like the ball, is formed of refuse scraped up in the fields,
+but the materials are less coarse, because they are intended for the
+food of the grub. When it comes out of the egg it is incapable of
+searching for its own meals, so the mother arranges that it shall find
+itself surrounded by the food that suits it best. It can begin eating
+at once, without further trouble.
+
+The egg is laid in the narrow end of the pear. Every germ of life,
+whether of plant or animal, needs air: even the shell of a bird’s egg
+is riddled with an endless number of pores. If the germ of the Scarab
+were in the thick part of the pear it would be smothered, because there
+the materials are very closely packed, and are covered with a hard
+rind. So the mother Beetle prepares a nice airy room with thin walls
+for her little grub to live in, during its first moments. There is a
+certain amount of air even in the very centre of the pear, but not
+enough for a delicate baby-grub. By the time he has eaten his way to
+the centre he is strong enough to manage with very little air.
+
+There is, of course, a good reason for the hardness of the shell that
+covers the big end of the pear. The Scarab’s burrow is extremely hot:
+sometimes the temperature reaches boiling point. The provisions, even
+though they have to last only three or four weeks, are liable to dry up
+and become uneatable. When, instead of the soft food of its first meal,
+the unhappy grub finds nothing to eat but horrible crusty stuff as hard
+as a pebble, it is bound to die of hunger. I have found numbers of
+these victims of the August sun. The poor things are baked in a sort of
+closed oven. To lessen this danger the mother Beetle compresses the
+outer layer of the pear—or nest—with all the strength of her stout,
+flat fore-arms, to turn it into a protecting rind like the shell of a
+nut. This helps to ward off the heat. In the hot summer months the
+housewife puts her bread into a closed pan to keep it fresh. The insect
+does the same in its own fashion: by dint of pressure it covers the
+family bread with a pan.
+
+
+
+I have watched the Sacred Beetle at work in her den, so I know how she
+makes her pear-shaped nest.
+
+With the building-materials she has collected she shuts herself up
+underground so as to give her whole attention to the business in hand.
+The materials may be obtained in two ways. As a rule, under natural
+conditions, she kneads a ball in the usual way and rolls it to a
+favourable spot. As it rolls along it hardens a little on the surface
+and gathers a slight crust of earth and tiny grains of sand, which is
+useful later on. Now and then, however, the Beetle finds a suitable
+place for her burrow quite close to the spot where she collects her
+building-materials, and in that case she simply bundles armfuls of
+stuff into the hole. The result is most striking. One day I see a
+shapeless lump disappear into the burrow. Next day, or the day after, I
+visit the Beetle’s workshop and find the artist in front of her work.
+The formless mass of scrapings has become a pear, perfect in outline
+and exquisitely finished.
+
+The part that rests on the floor of the burrow is crusted over with
+particles of sand, while the rest is polished like glass. This shows
+that the Beetle has not rolled the pear round and round, but has shaped
+it where it lies. She has modelled it with little taps of her broad
+feet, just as she models her ball in the daylight.
+
+By making an artificial burrow for the mother Beetle in my own
+workshop, with the help of a glass jar full of earth, and a peep-hole
+through which I can observe operations, I have been able to see the
+work in its various stages.
+
+The Beetle first makes a complete ball. Then she starts the neck of the
+pear by making a ring round the ball and applying pressure, till the
+ring becomes a groove. In this way a blunt projection is pushed out at
+one side of the ball. In the centre of this projection she employs
+further pressure to form a sort of crater or hollow, with a swollen
+rim; and gradually the hollow is made deeper and the swollen rim
+thinner and thinner, till a sack is formed. In this sack, which is
+polished and glazed inside, the egg is laid. The opening of the sack,
+or extreme end of the pear, is then closed with a plug of stringy
+fibres.
+
+There is a reason for this rough plug—a most curious exception, when
+nothing else has escaped the heavy blows of the insect’s leg. The end
+of the egg rests against it, and, if the stopper were pressed down and
+driven in, the infant grub might suffer. So the Beetle stops the hole
+without ramming down the stopper.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE GROWING-UP OF THE SCARAB
+
+About a week or ten days after the laying of the egg, the grub is
+hatched, and without delay begins to eat its house. It is a grub of
+remarkable wisdom, for it always starts its meal with the thickest part
+of the walls, and so avoids making a hole through which it might fall
+out of the pear altogether. It soon becomes fat; and indeed it is an
+ungainly creature at best, with an enormous hump on its back, and a
+skin so transparent that if you hold it up to the light you can see its
+internal organs. If the early Egyptian had chanced upon this plump
+white grub he would never have suspected it to contain, in an
+undeveloped state, the sober beauty of the Scarab!
+
+When first it sheds its skin the insect that appears is not a
+full-grown Scarab, though all the Scarab’s features can be recognised.
+There are few insects so beautiful as this delicate creature with its
+wing-cases living in front of it like a wide pleated scarf and its
+fore-legs folded under its head. Half transparent and as yellow as
+honey, it looks as though it were carved from a block of amber. For
+four weeks it remains in this state, and then it too casts its skin.
+
+Its colouring now is red-and-white,—so many times does the Sacred
+Beetle change its garments before it finally appears black as ebony! As
+it grows blacker it also grows harder, till it is covered with horny
+armour and is a full-grown Beetle.
+
+All this time he is underground, in the pear-shaped nest. Great is his
+longing to burst the shell of his prison and come into the sunshine.
+Whether he succeeds in doing so depends on circumstances.
+
+It is generally August when he is ready for release, and August as a
+rule is the driest and hottest month of the year. If therefore no rain
+falls to soften the earth, the cell to be burst and the wall to be
+broken defy the strength of the insect, which is helpless against all
+that hardness. The soft material of the nest has become an impassable
+rampart; it has turned into a sort of brick, baked in the kiln of
+summer.
+
+I have, of course, made experiments on insects that are ready to be
+released. I lay the hard, dry shells in a box where they remain dry;
+and sooner or later I hear a sharp, grating sound inside each cell. It
+is the prisoner scraping the wall with the rakes on his forehead and
+his fore-feet. Two or three days pass, and no progress seems to have
+been made.
+
+I try to help a couple of them by opening a loophole with my knife; but
+these favoured ones make no more progress than the others.
+
+In less than a fortnight silence reigns in all the shells. The
+prisoners, worn out with their efforts, have all died.
+
+Then I take some other shells, as hard as the first, wrap them in a wet
+rag, and put them in a corked flask. When the moisture has soaked
+through them I rid them of the wrapper, but keep them in the flask.
+This time the experiment is a complete success. Softened by the wet the
+shells are burst by the prisoner, who props himself boldly on his legs,
+using his back as a lever, or else scrapes away at one point till the
+walls crumble to pieces. In every case the Beetle is released.
+
+In natural conditions, when the shells remain underground, the same
+thing occurs. When the soil is burnt by the August sun it is impossible
+for the insect to wear away his prison, which is hard as a brick. But
+when a shower comes the shell recovers the softness of its early days:
+the insect struggles with his legs and pushes with his back, and so
+becomes free.
+
+At first he shows no interest in food. What he wants above all is the
+joy of the light. He sets himself in the sun, and there, motionless,
+basks in the warmth.
+
+Presently, however, he wishes to eat. With no one to teach him, he sets
+to work, exactly like his elders, to make himself a ball of food. He
+digs his burrow and stores it with provisions. Without ever learning
+it, he knows his trade to perfection.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE CICADA
+
+
+I
+
+THE CICADA AND THE ANT
+
+To most of us the Cicada’s song is unknown, for he lives in the land of
+the olive-trees. But every one who has read La Fontaine’s “Fables” has
+heard of the snub the Cicada received from the Ant, though La Fontaine
+was not the first to tell the tale.
+
+The Cicada, says the story, did nothing but sing all through the
+summer, while the Ants were busy storing their provisions. When winter
+came he was hungry, and hurried to his neighbour to borrow some food.
+He met with a poor welcome.
+
+“Why didn’t you gather your food in the summer?” asked the prudent Ant.
+
+“I was busy singing all the summer,” said the Cicada.
+
+“Singing, were you?” answered the Ant unkindly. “Well, then, now you
+may dance!” And she turned her back on the beggar.
+
+Now the insect in this fable could not possibly be a Cicada. La
+Fontaine, it is plain, was thinking of the Grasshopper and as a matter
+of fact the English translations usually substitute a Grasshopper for
+the Cicada.
+
+For my village does not contain a peasant so ignorant as to imagine the
+Cicada ever exists in winter. Every tiller of the soil is familiar with
+the grub of this insect, which he turns over with his spade whenever he
+banks up the olive-trees at the approach of cold weather. A thousand
+times he has seen the grub leave the ground through a round hole of its
+own making, fasten itself to a twig, split its own back, take off its
+skin, and turn into a Cicada.
+
+The fable is a slander. The Cicada is no beggar, though it is true that
+he demands a good deal of attention from his neighbours. Every summer
+he comes and settles in his hundreds outside my door, amid the greenery
+of two tall plane-trees; and here, from sunrise to sunset, he tortures
+my head with the rasping of his harsh music. This deafening concert,
+this incessant rattling and drumming, makes all thought impossible.
+
+It is true, too, that there are sometimes dealings between the Cicada
+and the Ant; but they are exactly the opposite of those described in
+the fable. The Cicada is never dependent on others for his living. At
+no time does he go crying famine at the doors of the Ant-hills. On the
+contrary, it is the Ant who, driven by hunger, begs and entreats the
+singer. Entreats, did I say? It is not the right word. She brazenly
+robs him.
+
+In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are parched with
+thirst, and vainly wander round the withered flowers in search of
+refreshment, the Cicada remains perfectly cheerful. With his
+rostrum—the delicate sucker, sharp as a gimlet, that he carries on his
+chest—he broaches a cask in his inexhaustible cellar. Sitting, always
+singing, on the branch of a shrub, he bores through the firm, smooth
+bark, which is swollen with sap. Driving his sucker through the
+bunghole, he drinks his fill.
+
+If I watch him for a little while I may perhaps see him in unexpected
+trouble. There are many thirsty insects in the neighbourhood, who soon
+discover the sap that oozes from the Cicada’s well. They hasten up, at
+first quietly and discreetly, to lick the fluid as it comes out. I see
+Wasps, Flies, Earwigs, Rose-chafers, and above all, Ants.
+
+The smallest, in order to reach the well, slip under the body of the
+Cicada, who good-naturedly raises himself on his legs to let them pass.
+The larger insects snatch a sip, retreat, take a walk on a neighbouring
+branch, and then return more eager and enterprising than before. They
+now become violent brigands, determined to chase the Cicada away from
+his well.
+
+The worst offenders are the Ants. I have seen them nibbling at the ends
+of the Cicada’s legs, tugging at the tips of his wings, and climbing on
+his back. Once a bold robber, before my very eyes, caught hold of a
+Cicada’s sucker and tried to pull it out.
+
+At last, worried beyond all patience, the singer deserts the well he
+has made. The Ant has now attained her object: she is left in
+possession of the spring. This dries up very soon, it is true; but,
+having drunk all the sap that is there, she can wait for another drink
+till she has a chance of stealing another well.
+
+So you see that the actual facts are just the reverse of those in the
+fable. The Ant is the hardened beggar: the industrious worker is the
+Cicada.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE CICADA’S BURROW
+
+I am in an excellent position to study the habits of the Cicada, for I
+live in his company. When July comes he takes possession of the
+enclosures right up to the threshold of the house. I remain master
+indoors, but out of doors he reigns supreme, and his reign is by no
+means a peaceful one.
+
+The first Cicada appear at midsummer. In the much-trodden, sun-baked
+paths I see, level with the ground, round holes about the size of a
+man’s thumb. Through these holes the Cicada-grubs come up from the
+underground to be transformed into full-grown Cicadæ on the surface.
+Their favourite places are the driest and sunniest; for these grubs are
+provided with such powerful tools that they can bore through baked
+earth or sandstone. When I examine their deserted burrows I have to use
+my pickaxe.
+
+The first thing one notices is that the holes, which measure nearly an
+inch across, have absolutely no rubbish round them. There is no mound
+of earth thrown up outside. Most of the digging insects, such as the
+Dorbeetles for instance, make a mole-hill above their burrows. The
+reason for this difference lies in their manner of working. The
+Dorbeetle begins his work at the mouth of the hole, so he can heap up
+on the surface the material he digs out: but the Cicada-grub comes up
+from below. The last thing he does is to make the doorway, and he
+cannot heap rubbish on a threshold that does not yet exist.
+
+The Cicada’s tunnel runs to a depth of fifteen or sixteen inches. It is
+quite open the whole way. It ends in a rather wider space, but is
+completely closed at the bottom. What has become of the earth removed
+to make this tunnel? And why do not the walls crumble? One would expect
+that the grub, climbing up and down with his clawed legs, would make
+landslips and block up his own house.
+
+Well, he behaves like a miner or a railway-engineer. The miner holds up
+his galleries with pit-props; the builder of railways strengthens his
+tunnel with a casing of brickwork; the Cicada is as clever as either of
+them, and covers the walls of his tunnel with cement. He carries a
+store of sticky fluid hidden within him, with which to make this
+plaster. His burrow is always built above some tiny rootlet containing
+sap, and from this root he renews his supply of fluid.
+
+It is very important for him to be able to run up and down his burrow
+at his ease, because, when the time comes for him to find his way into
+the sunshine, he wants to know what the weather is like outside. So he
+works away for weeks, perhaps for months, to make a funnel with good
+strong plastered walls, on which he can clamber. At the top he leaves a
+layer as thick as one’s finger, to protect him from the outer air till
+the last moment. At the least hint of fine weather he scrambles up,
+and, through the thin lid at the top, inquires into the state of the
+weather.
+
+If he suspects a storm or rain on the surface—matter of great
+importance to a delicate grub when he takes off his skin!—he slips
+prudently back to the bottom of his snug funnel. But if the weather
+seems warm he smashes his ceiling with a few strokes of his claws, and
+climbs to the surface.
+
+It is the fluid substance carried by the Cicada-grub in his swollen
+body that enables him to get rid of the rubbish in his burrow. As he
+digs he sprinkles the dusty earth and turns it into paste. The walls
+then become soft and yielding. The mud squeezes into the chinks of the
+rough soil, and the grub compresses it with his fat body. This is why,
+when he appears at the top, he is always covered with wet stains.
+
+
+
+For some time after the Cicada-grub’s first appearance above-ground he
+wanders about the neighbourhood, looking for a suitable spot in which
+to cast off his skin—a tiny bush, a tuft of thyme, a blade of grass, or
+the twig of a shrub. When he finds it he climbs up, and clings to it
+firmly with the claws of his fore-feet. His fore-legs stiffen into an
+immovable grip.
+
+Then his outer skin begins to split along the middle of the back,
+showing the pale-green Cicada within. Presently the head is free; then
+the sucker and front legs appear, and finally the hind-legs and the
+rumpled wings. The whole insect is free now, except the extreme tip of
+his body.
+
+He next performs a wonderful gymnastic feat. High in the air as he is,
+fixed to his old skin at one point only, he turns himself over till his
+head is hanging downwards. His crumpled wings straighten out, unfurl,
+and spread themselves. Then with an almost invisible movement he draws
+himself up again by sheer strength, and hooks his fore-legs on to his
+empty skin. This movement has released the tip of his body from its
+sheath. The whole operation has taken about half an hour.
+
+For a time the freed Cicada does not feel very strong. He must bathe in
+air and sunshine before strength and colour come to his frail body.
+Hanging to his cast skin by his fore-claws only, he sways at the least
+breath of air, still feeble and still green. But at last the brown
+tinge appears, and is soon general. Supposing him to have taken
+possession of the twig at nine o’clock in the morning, the Cicada flies
+away at half-past twelve, leaving his cast skin behind him. Sometimes
+it hangs from the twigs for months.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE CICADA’S MUSIC
+
+The Cicada, it appears, loves singing for its own sake. Not content
+with carrying an instrument called the cymbal in a cavity behind his
+wings, he increases its power by means of sounding-boards under his
+chest. Indeed, there is one kind of Cicada who sacrifices a great deal
+in order to give full play to his musical tastes. He carries such an
+enormous sounding-board that there is hardly any room left for his
+vital organs, which are squeezed into a tiny corner. Assuredly one must
+be passionately devoted to music thus to clear away one’s internal
+organs in order to make room for a musical box!
+
+Unfortunately the song he loves so much is extremely unattractive to
+others. Nor have I yet discovered its object. It is usually suggested
+that he is calling his mate; but the facts appear to contradict this
+idea.
+
+For fifteen years the Common Cicada has thrust his society upon me.
+Every summer for two months I have these insects before my eyes, and
+their song in my ears. I see them ranged in rows on the smooth bark of
+the plane-trees, the maker of music and his mate sitting side by side.
+With their suckers driven into the tree they drink, motionless. As the
+sun turns they also turn round the branch with slow, sidelong steps, to
+find the hottest spot. Whether drinking or moving they never cease
+singing.
+
+It seems unlikely, therefore, that they are calling their mates. You do
+not spend months on end calling to some one who is at your elbow.
+
+Indeed, I am inclined to think that the Cicada himself cannot even hear
+the song he sings with so much apparent delight. This might account for
+the relentless way in which he forces his music upon others.
+
+He has very clear sight. His five eyes tell him what is happening to
+right and to left and above his head; and the moment he sees any one
+coming he is silent and flies away. Yet no noise disturbs him. Place
+yourself behind him, and then talk, whistle, clap your hands, and knock
+two stones together. For much less than this a bird, though he would
+not see you, would fly away terrified. The imperturbable Cicada goes on
+rattling as though nothing were there.
+
+On one occasion I borrowed the local artillery, that is to say the guns
+that are fired on feast-days in the village. There were two of them,
+and they were crammed with powder as though for the most important
+rejoicings. They were placed at the foot of the plane-trees in front of
+my door. We were careful to leave the windows open, to prevent the
+panes from breaking. The Cicadæ in the branches overhead could not see
+what was happening.
+
+Six of us waited below, eager to hear what would be the effect on the
+orchestra above.
+
+Bang! The gun went off with a noise like a thunderclap.
+
+Quite unconcerned, the Cicadæ continued to sing. Not one appeared in
+the least disturbed. There was no change whatever in the quality or the
+quantity of the sound. The second gun had no more effect than the
+first.
+
+I think, after this experiment, we must admit that the Cicada is hard
+of hearing, and like a very deaf man, is quite unconscious that he is
+making a noise.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE CICADA’S EGGS
+
+The Common Cicada likes to lay her eggs on small dry branches. She
+chooses, as far as possible, tiny stalks, which may be of any size
+between that of a straw and a lead-pencil. The sprig is never lying on
+the ground, is usually nearly upright in position, and is almost always
+dead.
+
+Having found a twig to suit her, she makes a row of pricks with the
+sharp instrument on her chest—such pricks as might be made with a pin
+if it were driven downwards on a slant, so as to tear the fibres and
+force them slightly upwards. If she is undisturbed she will make thirty
+or forty of these pricks on the same twig.
+
+In the tiny cells formed by these pricks she lays her eggs. The cells
+are narrow passages, each one slanting down towards the one below it. I
+generally find about ten eggs in each cell, so it is plain that the
+Cicada lays between three and four hundred eggs altogether.
+
+This is a fine family for one insect. The numbers point to some special
+danger that threatens the Cicada, and makes it necessary to produce a
+great quantity of grubs lest some should be destroyed. After many
+observations I have discovered what this danger is. It is an extremely
+tiny Gnat, compared with which the Cicada is a monster.
+
+This Gnat, like the Cicada, carries a boring-tool. It is planted
+beneath her body, near the middle, and sticks out at right angles. As
+fast as the Cicada lays her eggs the Gnat tries to destroy them. It is
+a real scourge to the Cicada family. It is amazing to watch her calm
+and brazen audacity in the presence of the giant who could crush her by
+simply stepping on her. I have seen as many as three preparing to
+despoil one unhappy Cicada at the same time, standing close behind one
+another.
+
+The Cicada has just stocked a cell with eggs, and is climbing a little
+higher to make another cell. One of the brigands runs to the spot she
+has just left; and here, almost under the claws of the monster, as
+calmly and fearlessly as though she were at home, the Gnat bores a
+second hole above the Cicada’s eggs, and places among them an egg of
+her own. By the time the Cicada flies away most of her cells have, in
+this way, received a stranger’s egg, which will be the ruin of hers. A
+small quick-hatching grub, one only to each cell, handsomely fed on a
+dozen raw eggs, will take the place of the Cicada’s family.
+
+This deplorable mother has learnt nothing from centuries of experience.
+Her large and excellent eyes cannot fail to see the terrible felons
+fluttering round her. She must know they are at her heels, and yet she
+remains unmoved, and lets herself be victimised. She could easily crush
+the wicked atoms, but she is incapable of altering her instincts, even
+to save her family from destruction.
+
+Through my magnifying-glass I have seen the hatching of the Cicada’s
+eggs. When the grub first appears it has a marked likeness to an
+extremely small fish, with large black eyes, and a curious sort of mock
+fin under its body, formed of the two fore-legs joined together. This
+fin has some power of movement, and helps the grub to work its way out
+of the shell, and also—a much more difficult matter—out of the fibrous
+stem in which it is imprisoned.
+
+As soon as this fish-like object has made its way out of the cell it
+sheds its skin. But the cast skin forms itself into a thread, by which
+the grub remains fastened to the twig or stem. Here, before dropping to
+the ground, it treats itself to a sun-bath, kicking about and trying
+its strength, or swinging lazily at the end of its rope.
+
+Its antennæ now are free, and wave about; its legs work their joints;
+those in front open and shut their claws. I know hardly any more
+curious sight than this tiny acrobat hanging by the tip of its body,
+swinging at the least breath of wind, and making ready in the air for
+its somersault into the world.
+
+Sooner or later, without losing much time, it drops to the ground. The
+little creature, no bigger than a Flea, has saved its tender body from
+the rough earth by swinging on its cord. It has hardened itself in the
+air, that luxurious eiderdown. It now plunges into the stern realities
+of life.
+
+I see a thousand dangers ahead of it. The merest breath of wind could
+blow it on to the hard rock, or into the stagnant water in some deep
+cart-rut, or on the sand where nothing grows, or else on a clay soil,
+too tough for it to dig in.
+
+The feeble creature needs shelter at once, and must look for an
+underground refuge. The days are growing cold, and delays are fatal to
+it. It must wander about in search of soft soil, and no doubt many die
+before they find it.
+
+When at last it discovers the right spot it attacks the earth with the
+hooks on its fore-feet. Through the magnifying-glass I watch it
+wielding its pickaxes, and raking an atom of earth to the surface. In a
+few minutes a well has been scooped out. The little creature goes down
+into it, buries itself, and is henceforth invisible.
+
+The underground life of the undeveloped Cicada remains a secret. But we
+know how long it remains in the earth before it comes to the surface
+and becomes a full-grown Cicada. For four years it lives below the
+soil. Then for about five weeks it sings in the sunshine.
+
+Four years of hard work in the darkness, and a month of delight in the
+sun—such is the Cicada’s life. We must not blame him for the noisy
+triumph of his song. For four years he has dug the earth with his feet,
+and then suddenly he is dressed in exquisite raiment, provided with
+wings that rival the bird’s, and bathed in heat and light! What cymbals
+can be loud enough to celebrate his happiness, so hardly earned, and so
+very, very short?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE PRAYING MANTIS
+
+
+I
+
+HER HUNTING
+
+There is an insect of the south that is quite as interesting as the
+Cicada, but much less famous, because it makes no noise. Had it been
+provided with cymbals, its renown would have been greater than the
+celebrated musician’s, for it is most unusual both in shape and habits.
+
+A long time ago, in the days of ancient Greece, this insect was named
+Mantis, or the Prophet. The peasant saw her on the sun-scorched grass,
+standing half-erect in a very imposing and majestic manner, with her
+broad green gossamer wings trailing like long veils, and her fore-legs,
+like arms, raised to the sky as though in prayer. To the peasant’s
+ignorance the insect seemed like a priestess or a nun, and so she came
+to be called the Praying Mantis.
+
+There was never a greater mistake! Those pious airs are a fraud; those
+arms raised in prayer are really the most horrible weapons, which slay
+whatever passes within reach. The Mantis is fierce as a tigress, cruel
+as an ogress. She feeds only on living creatures.
+
+There is nothing in her appearance to inspire dread. She is not without
+a certain beauty, with her slender, graceful figure, her pale-green
+colouring, and her long gauze wings. Having a flexible neck, she can
+move her head freely in all directions. She is the only insect that can
+direct her gaze wherever she will. She almost has a face.
+
+Great is the contrast between this peaceful-looking body and the
+murderous machinery of the fore-legs. The haunch is very long and
+powerful, while the thigh is even longer, and carries on its lower
+surface two rows of sharp spikes or teeth. Behind these teeth are three
+spurs. In short, the thigh is a saw with two blades, between which the
+leg lies when folded back.
+
+This leg itself is also a double-edged saw, provided with a greater
+number of teeth than the thigh. It ends in a strong hook with a point
+as sharp as a needle, and a double blade like a curved pruning-knife. I
+have many painful memories of this hook. Many a time, when
+Mantis-hunting, I have been clawed by the insect and forced to ask
+somebody else to release me. No insect in this part of the world is so
+troublesome to handle. The Mantis claws you with her pruning-hooks,
+pricks you with her spikes, seizes you in her vice, and makes
+self-defence impossible if you wish to keep your captive alive.
+
+When at rest, the trap is folded back against the chest and looks quite
+harmless. There you have the insect praying. But if a victim passes by,
+the appearance of prayer is quickly dropped. The three long divisions
+of the trap are suddenly unfolded, and the prey is caught with the
+sharp hook at the end of them, and drawn back between the two saws.
+Then the vice closes, and all is over. Locusts, Grasshoppers, and even
+stronger insects are helpless against the four rows of teeth.
+
+It is impossible to make a complete study of the habits of the Mantis
+in the open fields, so I am obliged to take her indoors. She can live
+quite happily in a pan filled with sand and covered with a gauze
+dish-cover, if only she be supplied with plenty of fresh food. In order
+to find out what can be done by the strength and daring of the Mantis,
+I provide her not only with Locusts and Grasshoppers, but also with the
+largest Spiders of the neighbourhood. This is what I see.
+
+A grey Locust, heedless of danger, walks towards the Mantis. The latter
+gives a convulsive shiver, and suddenly, in the most surprising way,
+strikes an attitude that fills the Locust with terror, and is quite
+enough to startle any one. You see before you unexpectedly a sort of
+bogy-man or Jack-in-the-box. The wing-covers open; the wings spread to
+their full extent and stand erect like sails, towering over the
+insect’s back; the tip of the body curls up like a crook, rising and
+falling with short jerks, and making a sound like the puffing of a
+startled Adder. Planted defiantly on its four hind-legs, the Mantis
+holds the front part of its body almost upright. The murderous legs
+open wide, and show a pattern of black-and-white spots beneath them.
+
+In this strange attitude the Mantis stands motionless, with eyes fixed
+on her prey. If the Locust moves, the Mantis turns her head. The object
+of this performance is plain. It is intended to strike terror into the
+heart of the victim, to paralyse it with fright before attacking it.
+The Mantis is pretending to be a ghost!
+
+The plan is quite successful. The Locust sees a spectre before him, and
+gazes at it without moving. He to whom leaping is so easy makes no
+attempt at escape. He stays stupidly where he is, or even draws nearer
+with a leisurely step.
+
+As soon as he is within reach of the Mantis she strikes with her claws;
+her double saws close and clutch; the poor wretch protests in vain; the
+cruel ogress begins her meal.
+
+The pretty Crab Spider stabs her victim in the neck, in order to poison
+it and make it helpless. In the same way the Mantis attacks the Locust
+first at the back of the neck, to destroy its power of movement. This
+enables her to kill and eat an insect as big as herself, or even
+bigger. It is amazing that the greedy creature can contain so much
+food.
+
+The various Digger-wasps receive visits from her pretty frequently.
+Posted near the burrows on a bramble, she waits for chance to bring
+near her a double prize, the Hunting-wasp and the prey she is bringing
+home. For a long time she waits in vain; for the Wasp is suspicious and
+on her guard: still, now and then a rash one is caught. With a sudden
+rustle of wings the Mantis terrifies the new-comer, who hesitates for a
+moment in her fright. Then, with the sharpness of a spring, the Wasp is
+fixed as in a trap between the blades of the double saw—the toothed
+fore-arm and toothed upper-arm of the Mantis. The victim is then gnawed
+in small mouthfuls.
+
+I once saw a Bee-eating Wasp, while carrying a Bee to her storehouse,
+attacked and caught by a Mantis. The Wasp was in the act of eating the
+honey she had found in the Bee’s crop. The double saw of the Mantis
+closed suddenly on the feasting Wasp; but neither terror nor torture
+could persuade that greedy creature to leave off eating. Even while she
+was herself being actually devoured she continued to lick the honey
+from her Bee!
+
+I regret to say that the meals of this savage ogress are not confined
+to other kinds of insects. For all her sanctimonious airs she is a
+cannibal. She will eat her sister as calmly as though she were a
+Grasshopper; and those around her will make no protest, being quite
+ready to do the same on the first opportunity. Indeed, she even makes a
+habit of devouring her mate, whom she seizes by the neck and then
+swallows by little mouthfuls, leaving only the wings.
+
+She is worse than the Wolf; for it is said that even Wolves never eat
+each other.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+HER NEST
+
+After all, however, the Mantis has her good points, like most people.
+She makes a most marvellous nest.
+
+This nest is to be found more or less everywhere in sunny places: on
+stones, wood, vine-stocks, twigs, or dry grass, and even on such things
+as bits of brick, strips of linen, or the shrivelled leather of an old
+boot. Any support will serve, as long as there is an uneven surface to
+form a solid foundation.
+
+In size the nest is between one and two inches long, and less than an
+inch wide; and its colour is as golden as a grain of wheat. It is made
+of a frothy substance, which has become solid and hard, and it smells
+like silk when it is burnt. The shape of it varies according to the
+support on which it is based, but in all cases the upper surface is
+convex. One can distinguish three bands, or zones, of which the middle
+one is made of little plates or scales, arranged in pairs and
+overlapping like the tiles of a roof. The edges of these plates are
+free, forming two rows of slits or little doorways, through which the
+young Mantis escapes at the moment of hatching. In every other part the
+wall of the nest is impenetrable.
+
+The eggs are arranged in layers, with the ends containing the heads
+pointed towards the doorways. Of these doorways, as I have just said,
+there are two rows. One half of the grubs will go out through the right
+door, and the other half through the left.
+
+It is a remarkable fact that the mother Mantis builds this
+cleverly-made nest while she is actually laying her eggs. From her body
+she produces a sticky substance, rather like the Caterpillar’s
+silk-fluid; and this material she mixes with the air and whips into
+froth. She beats it into foam with two ladles that she has at the tip
+of her body, just as we beat white of egg with a fork. The foam is
+greyish-white, almost like soapsuds, and when it first appears it is
+sticky; but two minutes afterwards it has solidified.
+
+In this sea of foam the Mantis deposits her eggs. As each layer of eggs
+is laid, it is covered with froth, which quickly becomes solid.
+
+In a new nest the belt of exit-doors is coated with a material that
+seems different from the rest—a layer of fine porous matter, of a pure,
+dull, almost chalky white, which contrasts with the dirty white of the
+remainder of the nest. It is like the mixture that confectioners make
+of whipped white of egg, sugar, and starch, with which to ornament
+their cakes. This snowy covering is very easily crumbled and removed.
+When it is gone the exit-belt is clearly visible, with its two rows of
+plates. The wind and rain sooner or later remove it in strips or
+flakes, and therefore the old nests show no traces of it.
+
+But these two materials, though they appear different, are really only
+two forms of the same matter. The Mantis with her ladles sweeps the
+surface of the foam, skimming the top of the froth, and collecting it
+into a band along the back of the nest. The ribbon that looks like
+sugar-icing is merely the thinnest and lightest portion of the sticky
+spray, which appears whiter than the nest because its bubbles are more
+delicate, and reflect more light.
+
+It is truly a wonderful piece of machinery that can, so methodically
+and swiftly, produce the horny central substance on which the first
+eggs are laid, the eggs themselves, the protecting froth, the soft
+sugar-like covering of the doorways, and at the same time can build
+overlapping plates, and the narrow passages leading to them! Yet the
+Mantis, while she is doing all this, hangs motionless on the foundation
+of the nest. She gives not a glance at the building that is rising
+behind her. Her legs act no part in the affair. The machinery works by
+itself.
+
+As soon as she has done her work the mother withdraws. I expected to
+see her return and show some tender feeling for the cradle of her
+family, but it evidently has no further interest for her.
+
+The Mantis, I fear, has no heart. She eats her husband, and deserts her
+children.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE HATCHING OF HER EGGS
+
+The eggs of the Mantis usually hatch in bright sunshine, at about ten
+o’clock on a mid-June morning.
+
+As I have already told you, there is only one part of the nest from
+which the grub can find an outlet, namely the band of scales round the
+middle. From under each of these scales one sees slowly appearing a
+blunt, transparent lump, followed by two large black specks, which are
+the creature’s eyes. The baby grub slips gently under the thin plate
+and half releases itself. It is reddish yellow, and has a thick,
+swollen head. Under its outer skin it is quite easy to distinguish the
+large black eyes, the mouth flattened against the chest, the legs
+plastered to the body from front to back. With the exception of these
+legs the whole thing reminds one somewhat of the first state of the
+Cicada on leaving the egg.
+
+Like the Cicada, the young Mantis finds it necessary to wear an overall
+when it is coming into the world, for the sake of convenience and
+safety. It has to emerge from the depths of the nest through narrow,
+winding ways, in which full-spread slender limbs could not find enough
+room. The tall stilts, the murderous harpoons, the delicate antennæ,
+would hinder its passage, and indeed make it impossible. The creature
+therefore appears in swaddling-clothes, and has the shape of a boat.
+
+When the grub peeps out under the thin scales of its nest its head
+becomes bigger and bigger, till it looks like a throbbing blister. The
+little creature alternately pushes forward and draws back, in its
+efforts to free itself, and at each movement the head grows larger. At
+last the outer skin bursts at the upper part of the chest, and the grub
+wriggles and tugs and bends about, determined to throw off its overall.
+Finally the legs and the long antennæ are freed, and a few shakes
+complete the operation.
+
+It is a striking sight to see a hundred young Mantes coming from the
+nest at once. Hardly does one tiny creature show its black eyes under a
+scale before a swarm of others appears. It is as though a signal passed
+from one to the other, so swiftly does the hatching spread. Almost in a
+moment the middle zone of the nest is covered with grubs, who run about
+feverishly, stripping themselves of their torn garments. Then they drop
+off, or clamber into the nearest foliage. A few days later a fresh
+swarm appears, and so on till all the eggs are hatched.
+
+But alas! the poor grubs are hatched into a world of dangers. I have
+seen them hatching many times, both out of doors in my enclosure, and
+in the seclusion of a greenhouse, where I hoped I should be better able
+to protect them. Twenty times at least I have watched the scene, and
+every time the slaughter of the grubs has been terrible. The Mantis
+lays many eggs, but she will never lay enough to cope with the hungry
+murderers who lie in wait until the grubs appear.
+
+The Ants, above all, are their enemies. Every day I find them visiting
+my nests. It is in vain for me to interfere; they always get the better
+of me. They seldom succeed in entering the nest; its hard walls form
+too strong a fortress. But they wait outside for their prey.
+
+The moment that the young grubs appear they are grabbed by the Ants,
+pulled out of their sheaths, and cut in pieces. You see piteous
+struggles between the little creatures who can only protest with wild
+wrigglings and the ferocious brigands who are carrying them off. In a
+moment the massacre is over; all that is left of the flourishing family
+is a few scattered survivors who have escaped by accident.
+
+It is curious that the Mantis, the scourge of the insect race, should
+be herself so often devoured at this early stage of her life, by one of
+the least of that race, the Ant. The ogress sees her family eaten by
+the dwarf. But this does not continue long. So soon as she has become
+firm and strong from contact with the air the Mantis can hold her own.
+She trots about briskly among the Ants, who fall back as she passes, no
+longer daring to tackle her: with her fore-legs brought close to her
+chest, like arms ready for self-defence, she already strikes awe into
+them by her proud bearing.
+
+But the Mantis has another enemy who is less easily dismayed. The
+little Grey Lizard, the lover of sunny walls, pays small heed to
+threatening attitudes. With the tip of his slender tongue he picks up,
+one by one, the few stray insects that have escaped the Ant. They make
+but a small mouthful, but to judge from the Lizard’s expression they
+taste very good. Every time he gulps down one of the little creatures
+he half-closes his eyelids, a sign of profound satisfaction.
+
+Moreover, even before the hatching the eggs are in danger. There is a
+tiny insect called the Chalcis, who carries a probe sharp enough to
+penetrate the nest of solidified foam. So the brood of the Mantis
+shares the fate of the Cicada’s. The eggs of a stranger are laid in the
+nest, and are hatched before those of the rightful owner. The owner’s
+eggs are then eaten by the invaders. The Mantis lays, perhaps, a
+thousand eggs. Possibly only one couple of these escapes destruction.
+
+The Mantis eats the Locust: the Ant eats the Mantis: the Wryneck eats
+the Ant. And in the autumn, when the Wryneck has grown fat from eating
+many Ants, I eat the Wryneck.
+
+It may well be that the Mantis, the Locust, the Ant, and even lesser
+creatures contribute to the strength of the human brain. In strange and
+unseen ways they have all supplied a drop of oil to feed the lamp of
+thought. Their energies, slowly developed, stored up, and handed on to
+us, pass into our veins and sustain our weakness. We live by their
+death. The world is an endless circle. Everything finishes so that
+everything may begin again; everything dies so that everything may
+live.
+
+In many ages the Mantis has been regarded with superstitious awe. In
+Provence its nest is held to be the best remedy for chilblains. You cut
+the thing in two, squeeze it, and rub the afflicted part with the juice
+that streams out of it. The peasants declare that it works like a
+charm. I have never felt any relief from it myself.
+
+Further, it is highly praised as a wonderful cure for toothache. As
+long as you have it on you, you need never fear that trouble. Our
+housewives gather it under a favourable moon; they keep it carefully in
+the corner of a cupboard, or sew it into their pocket. The neighbours
+borrow it when tortured by a tooth. They call it a tigno.
+
+“Lend me your tigno; I am in agony,” says the sufferer with the swollen
+face.
+
+The other hastens to unstitch and hand over the precious thing.
+
+“Don’t lose it, whatever you do,” she says earnestly to her friend.
+“It’s the only one I have, and this isn’t the right time of moon.”
+
+This simplicity of our peasants is surpassed by an English physician
+and man of science who lived in the sixteenth century. He tells us
+that, in those days, if a child lost his way in the country, he would
+ask the Mantis to put him on his road. “The Mantis,” adds the author,
+“will stretch out one of her feet and shew him the right way and
+seldome or never misse.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE GLOW-WORM
+
+
+I
+
+HIS SURGICAL INSTRUMENT
+
+Few insects enjoy more fame than the Glow-worm, the curious little
+animal who celebrates the joy of life by lighting a lantern at its
+tail-end. We all know it, at least by name, even if we have not seen it
+roaming through the grass, like a spark fallen from the full moon. The
+Greeks of old called it the Bright-tailed, and modern science gives it
+the name Lampyris.
+
+As a matter of fact the Lampyris is not a worm at all, not even in
+general appearance. He has six short legs, which he well knows how to
+use, for he is a real gad-about. The male, when he is full-grown has
+wing-cases, like the true Beetle that he is. The female is an
+unattractive creature who knows nothing of the delights of flying and
+all her life remains in the larva, or incomplete form. Even at this
+stage the word “worm” is out of place. We French use the phrase “naked
+as a worm” to express the lack of any kind of protection. Now the
+Lampyris is clothed, that is to say he wears an outer skin that serves
+as a defence; and he is, moreover, rather richly coloured. He is dark
+brown, with pale pink on the chest; and each segment, or division, of
+his body is ornamented at the edge with two spots of fairly bright red.
+A costume like this was never worn by a worm!
+
+Nevertheless we will continue to call him the Glow-worm, since it is by
+that name that he is best known to the world.
+
+The two most interesting peculiarities about the Glow-worm are, first,
+the way he secures his food, and secondly, the lantern at his tail.
+
+A famous Frenchman, a master of the science of food, once said:
+
+“Show me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.”
+
+A similar question should be addressed to every insect whose habits we
+propose to study; for the information supplied by food is the chief of
+all the documents of animal life. Well, in spite of his innocent
+appearance, the Glow-worm is an eater of flesh, a hunter of game; and
+he carries on his hunting with rare villainy. His regular prey is the
+Snail. This fact has long been known; but what is not so well known is
+his curious method of attack, of which I have seen no other example
+anywhere.
+
+Before he begins to feed on his victim he gives it an anæsthetic—he
+makes it unconscious, as a person is made unconscious with chloroform
+before a surgical operation. His food, as a rule, is a certain small
+Snail hardly the size of a cherry, which collects in clusters during
+the hot weather, on the stiff stubble and other dry stalks by the
+roadside, and there remains motionless, in profound meditation,
+throughout the scorching summer days. In some such place as this I have
+often seen the Glow-worm feasting on his unconscious prey, which he had
+just paralysed on its shaky support.
+
+But he frequents other places too. At the edge of cool, damp ditches,
+where the vegetation is varied, many Snails are to be found; and in
+such spots as these the Glow-worm can kill his victim on the ground. I
+can reproduce these conditions at home, and can there follow the
+operator’s performance down to the smallest detail.
+
+I will try to describe the strange sight. I place a little grass in a
+wide glass jar. In this I install a few Glow-worms and a supply of
+Snails of a suitable size, neither too large nor too small. One must be
+patient and wait, and above all keep a careful watch, for the events
+take place unexpectedly and do not last long.
+
+For a moment the Glow-worm examines his prey, which, according to its
+habit, is completely hidden in the shell, except for the edge of the
+“mantle,” which projects slightly. Then the hunter draws his weapon. It
+is a very simple weapon, but it cannot be seen without a
+magnifying-glass. It consists of two mandibles, bent back into a hook,
+very sharp and as thin as a hair. Through the microscope one can see a
+slender groove running down the hook. And that is all.
+
+The insect repeatedly taps the Snail’s mantle with its instrument. It
+all happens with such gentleness as to suggest kisses rather than
+bites. As children, teasing one another, we used to talk of “tweaks” to
+express a slight squeeze of the finger-tips, something more like
+tickling than a serious pinch. Let us use that word. In conversation
+with animals, language loses nothing by remaining simple. The Glow-worm
+gives tweaks to the Snail.
+
+He doles them out methodically, without hurrying, and takes a brief
+rest after each of them, as though to find out what effect has been
+produced. The number of tweaks is not great: half a dozen at most,
+which are enough to make the Snail motionless, and to rob him of all
+feeling. That other pinches are administered later, at the time of
+eating, seems very likely, but I cannot say anything for certain on
+that subject. The first few, however—there are never many—are enough to
+prevent the Snail from feeling anything, thanks to the promptitude of
+the Glow-worm, who, at lightning speed, darts some kind of poison into
+his victim by means of his grooved hooks.
+
+There is no doubt at all that the Snail is made insensible to pain. If,
+when the Glow-worm has dealt some four or five of his twitches, I take
+away the victim and prick it with a fine needle, there is not a quiver
+in the wounded flesh, there is not the smallest sign of life. Moreover,
+I occasionally chance to see Snails attacked by the Lampyris while they
+are creeping along the ground, the foot slowly crawling, the tentacles
+swollen to their full extent. A few disordered movements betray a brief
+excitement on the part of the Snail, and then everything ceases: the
+foot no longer crawls, the front-part loses its graceful curve, the
+tentacles become limp and give way under their own weight, dangling
+feebly like a broken stick. The Snail, to all appearance, is dead.
+
+He is not, however, really dead. I can bring him to life again. When he
+has been for two or three days in a condition that is neither life nor
+death I give him a shower-bath. In about a couple of days my prisoner,
+so lately injured by the Glow-worm’s treachery, is restored to his
+usual state. He revives, he recovers movement and sensibility. He is
+affected by the touch of a needle; he shifts his place, crawls, puts
+out his tentacles, as though nothing unusual had occurred. The general
+torpor, a sort of deep drunkenness, has vanished outright. The dead
+returns to life.
+
+Human science did not invent the art of making a person insensible to
+pain, which is one of the triumphs of surgery. Far back in the
+centuries the Glow-worm, and apparently others too, was practising it.
+The surgeon makes us breathe the fumes of ether or chloroform: the
+insect darts forth from his fangs very tiny doses of a special poison.
+
+When we consider the harmless and peaceful nature of the Snail it seems
+curious that the Glow-worm should require this remarkable talent. But I
+think I know the reason.
+
+When the Snail is on the ground, creeping, or even shrunk into his
+shell, the attack never presents any difficulty. The shell possesses no
+lid and leaves the hermit’s fore-part to a great extent exposed. But it
+very often happens that he is in a raised position, clinging to the tip
+of a grass-stalk, or perhaps to the smooth surface of a stone. This
+support to which he fastens himself serves very well as a protection;
+it acts as a lid, supposing that the shell fits closely on the stone or
+stalk. But if the least bit of the Snail be left uncovered the slender
+hooks of the Glow-worm can find their way in through the gap, and in a
+moment the victim is made unconscious, and can be eaten in comfort.
+
+Now, a Snail perched on top of a stalk is very easily upset. The
+slightest struggle, the most feeble wriggle on his part, would dislodge
+him; he would fall to the ground, and the Glow-worm would be left
+without food. It is necessary for the Snail to be made instantly
+unconscious of pain, or he would escape; and it must be done with a
+touch so delicate that it does not shake him from his stalk. And that,
+I think, is why the Glow-worm possesses his strange surgical
+instrument.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+HIS ROSETTE
+
+The Glow-worm not only makes his victim insensible while he is poised
+on the side of a dry grass-stalk, but he eats him in the same dangerous
+position. And his preparations for his meal are by no means simple.
+
+What is his manner of consuming it? Does he really eat, that is to say,
+does he divide his food into pieces, does he carve it into minute
+particles, which are afterwards ground by a chewing-apparatus? I think
+not. I never see a trace of solid nourishment on my captives’ mouths.
+The Glow-worm does not eat in the strict sense of the word; he merely
+drinks. He feeds on a thin gruel, into which he transforms his prey.
+Like the flesh-eating grub of the Fly, he can digest his food before he
+swallows it; he turns his prey into liquid before feeding on it.
+
+This is how things happen. A Snail has been made insensible by a
+Glow-worm, who is nearly always alone, even when the prize is a large
+one like the Common Snail. Soon a number of guests hasten up—two,
+three, or more—and, without any quarrel with the real owner, all alike
+fall to. A couple of days later, if I turn the shell so that the
+opening is downwards, the contents flow out like soup from a saucepan.
+By the time the meal is finished only insignificant remains are left.
+
+The matter is obvious. By repeated tiny bites, similar to the tweaks
+which we saw administered at the beginning, the flesh of the Snail is
+converted into a gruel on which the various guests nourish themselves
+each in his own way, each working at the broth by means of some special
+pepsine (or digestive fluid), and each taking his own mouthfuls of it.
+The use of this method shows that the Glow-worm’s mouth must be very
+feebly armed, apart from the two fangs which sting the patient and
+inject the poison. No doubt these fangs at the same time inject some
+other substance which turns the solid flesh into liquid, in such a
+thorough way that every morsel is turned to account.
+
+And this is done with exquisite delicacy, though sometimes in a
+position that is anything but steady. The Snails imprisoned in my
+apparatus sometimes crawl up to the top, which is closed with a glass
+pane. To this pane they fix themselves with a speck of the sticky
+substance they carry with them; but, as they are miserly in their use
+of this substance, the merest shake is enough to loosen the shell and
+send it to the bottom of the jar.
+
+Now it is not unusual for the Glow-worm to hoist himself to the top,
+with the help of a certain climbing-organ that makes up for the
+weakness of his legs. He selects his prey, makes a careful inspection
+of it to find a slit, nibbles it a little, makes it insensible, and
+then, without delay, proceeds to prepare the gruel which he will go on
+eating for days on end.
+
+When he has finished his meal the shell is found to be absolutely
+empty. And yet this shell, which was fixed to the glass only by the
+slight smear of stickiness, has not come loose, nor even shifted its
+position in the smallest degree. Without any protest from the hermit
+who has been gradually converted into broth, it has been drained dry on
+the very spot at which the first attack was made. These small details
+show us how promptly the anæsthetic bite takes effect, and how very
+skilfully the Glow-worm treats his Snail.
+
+To do all this, poised high in air on a sheet of glass or a grass-stem,
+the Glow-worm must have some special limb or organ to keep him from
+slipping. It is plain that his short clumsy legs are not enough.
+
+Through the magnifying-glass we can see that he does indeed possess a
+special organ of this kind. Beneath his body, towards the tail, there
+is a white spot. The glass shows that this is composed of about a dozen
+short, fleshy little tubes, or stumpy fingers, which are sometimes
+gathered into a cluster, sometimes spread into a rosette. This bunch of
+little fingers helps the Glow-worm to stick to a smooth surface, and
+also to climb. If he wishes to fix himself to a pane of glass or a
+stalk he opens his rosette, and spreads it wide on the support, to
+which it clings by its own natural stickiness. And by opening and
+shutting alternately it helps him to creep along and to climb.
+
+The little fingers that form this rosette are not jointed, but are able
+to move in all directions. Indeed they are more like tubes than
+fingers, for they cannot seize anything, they can only hold on by their
+stickiness. They are very useful, however, for they have a third
+purpose, besides their powers of clinging and climbing. They are used
+as a sponge and brush. At a moment of rest, after a meal, the Glow-worm
+passes and repasses this brush over his head and sides and his whole
+body, a performance made possible by the flexibility of his spine. This
+is done point by point, from one end of the body to the other, with a
+scrupulous care that proves the great interest he takes in the
+operation. At first one may wonder why he should dust and polish
+himself so carefully. But no doubt, by the time he has turned the Snail
+into gruel inside the shell and has then spent several days in eating
+the result of his labours, a wash and brush-up is not amiss.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+HIS LAMP
+
+If the Glow-worm possessed no other talent than that of chloroforming
+his prey by means of a few tweaks as gentle as kisses, he would be
+unknown to the world in general. But he also knows how to light himself
+like a lantern. He shines; which is an excellent manner of becoming
+famous.
+
+In the case of the female Glow-worm the lighting-apparatus occupies the
+last three divisions of the body. On each of the first two it takes the
+form, on the under surface, of a wide belt of light; on the third
+division or segment the bright part is much smaller, and consists only
+of two spots, which shine through the back, and are visible both above
+and below the animal. From these belts and spots there comes a glorious
+white light, delicately tinged with blue.
+
+The male Glow-worm carries only the smaller of these lamps, the two
+spots on the end segment, which are possessed by the entire tribe.
+These luminous spots appear upon the young grub, and continue
+throughout life unchanged. And they are always visible both on the
+upper and lower surface, whereas the two large belts peculiar to the
+female shine only below the body.
+
+I have examined the shining belt under the microscope. On the skin a
+sort of whitewash is spread, formed of some very fine grain-like
+substance, which is the source of the light. Close beside it is a
+curious air-tube, with a short wide stem leading to a kind of bushy
+tuft of delicate branches. These branches spread over the sheet of
+shining matter, and sometimes dip into it.
+
+It is plain to me that the brightness is produced by the
+breathing-organs of the Glow-worm. There are certain substances which,
+when mixed with air, become luminous or even burst into flame. Such
+substances are called combustible, and the act of their producing light
+or flame by mingling with the air is called oxidisation. The lamp of
+the Glow-worm is the result of oxidisation. The substance that looks
+like whitewash is the matter that is oxidised, and the air is supplied
+by the tube connected with the Glow-worm’s breathing-organs. But as to
+the nature of the shining substance, no one as yet knows anything.
+
+We are better informed as regards another question. We know that the
+Glow-worm has complete control of the light he carries. He can turn it
+up or down, or out, as he pleases.
+
+If the flow of air through the tube be increased, the light becomes
+more intense: if the same air-tube, influenced by the will of the
+animal, stops the passage of air, the light grows fainter or even goes
+out.
+
+Excitement produces an effect upon the air-tube. I am speaking now of
+the modest fairy-lamp, the spots on the last segment of the Glow-worm’s
+body. These are suddenly and almost completely put out by any kind of
+flurry. When I am hunting for young Glow-worms I can plainly see them
+glimmering on the blades of grass; but should the least false step
+disturb a neighbouring twig, the light goes out at once and the insect
+becomes invisible.
+
+The gorgeous belts of the females, however, are very little, if at all,
+affected by even the most violent surprise. I fire a gun, for instance,
+beside a wire-gauze cage in which I am rearing a menagerie of female
+Glow-worms in the open air. The explosion produces no result: the
+illumination continues, as bright and placid as before. I take a spray,
+and rain down a slight shower of cold water upon the flock. Not one of
+my animals puts out its light; at the very most there is a brief pause
+in the radiance, and then only in some cases. I send a puff of smoke
+from my pipe into the cage. This time the pause is more marked. There
+are even some lamps put out, but they are soon relit. Calm returns, and
+the light is as bright as ever. I take some of the captives in my
+fingers and tease them a little. Yet the illumination is not much
+dimmed, if I do not press too hard with my thumb. Nothing short of very
+serious reasons would make the insect put out its signals altogether.
+
+All things considered, there is not a doubt but that the Glow-worm
+himself manages his lighting-apparatus, extinguishing and rekindling it
+at will; but there is one circumstance over which the insect has no
+control. If I cut off a strip of the skin, showing one of the luminous
+belts, and place it in a glass tube, it will shine away merrily, though
+not quite as brilliantly as on the living body. The presence of life is
+unnecessary, because the luminous skin is in direct contact with the
+air, and the flow of oxygen through the air-tube is therefore not
+required. In aerated water the skin shines as brightly as in the free
+air, but the light is extinguished in water that has been deprived of
+its air by boiling. There could be no better proof that the Glow-worm’s
+light is the effect of oxidisation.
+
+The light is white, calm, and soft to the eyes, and suggests a spark
+dropped by the full moon. In spite of its splendour it is very feeble.
+If we move a Glow-worm along a line of print, in perfect darkness, we
+can easily make out the letters one by one, and even words when they
+are not too long; but nothing is visible beyond this very narrow zone.
+A lantern of this kind soon tires the reader’s patience.
+
+These brilliant creatures know nothing at all of family affection. They
+lay their eggs anywhere, or rather strew them at random, either on the
+earth or on a blade of grass. Then they pay no further attention to
+them.
+
+From start to finish the Glow-worm shines. Even the eggs are luminous,
+and so are the grubs. At the approach of cold weather the latter go
+down into the ground, but not very far. If I dig them up I find them
+with their little stern-lights still shining. Even below the soil they
+keep their lanterns bravely alight.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+A MASON-WASP
+
+
+I
+
+HER CHOICE OF A BUILDING-SITE
+
+Of the various insects that like to make their home in our houses,
+certainly the most interesting, for her beautiful shape, her curious
+manners, and her wonderful nest, is a certain Wasp called the Pelopæus.
+She is very little known, even to the people by whose fireside she
+lives. This is owing to her quiet, peaceful ways; she is so very
+retiring that her host is nearly always ignorant of her presence. It is
+easy for noisy, tiresome, unpleasant persons to make themselves famous.
+I will try to rescue this modest creature from her obscurity.
+
+The Pelopæus is an extremely chilly mortal. She pitches her tent under
+the kindly sun that ripens the olive and prompts the Cicada’s song; and
+even then she needs for her family the additional warmth to be found in
+our dwellings. Her usual refuge is the peasant’s lonely cottage, with
+its old fig-tree shading the well in front of the door. She chooses one
+exposed to all the heat of summers, and if possible possessing a big
+fireplace in which a fire of sticks always burns. The cheerful blaze on
+winter evenings has a great influence upon her choice, for she knows by
+the blackness of the chimney that the spot is a likely one. A chimney
+that is not well glazed by smoke gives her no confidence: people must
+shiver with cold in that house.
+
+During the dog-days in July and August the visitor suddenly appears,
+seeking a place for her nest. She is not in the least disturbed by the
+bustle and movement of the household: they take no notice of her nor
+she of them. She examines—now with her sharp eyes, now with her
+sensitive antennæ—the corners of the blackened ceiling, the rafters,
+the chimney-piece, the sides of the fireplace especially, and even the
+inside of the flue. Having finished her inspection and duly approved of
+the site she flies away, soon to return with the pellet of mud which
+will form the first layer of the building.
+
+The spot she chooses varies greatly, and often it is a very curious
+one. The temperature of a furnace appears to suit the young Pelopæus:
+at least the favourite site is the chimney, on either side of the flue,
+up to a height of twenty inches or so. This snug shelter has its
+drawbacks. The smoke gets to the nests, and gives them a glaze of brown
+or black like that which covers the stonework. They might easily be
+taken for inequalities in the mortar. This is not a serious matter,
+provided that the flames do not lick against the nests. That would stew
+the young Wasps to death in their clay pots. But the mother Wasps seems
+to understand this: she only places her family in chimneys that are too
+wide for anything but smoke to reach their sides.
+
+But in spite of all her caution one danger remains. It sometimes
+happens, while the Wasp is building, that the approach to the
+half-built dwelling is barred to her for a time, or even for the whole
+day, by a curtain of steam or smoke. Washing-days are most risky. From
+morning till night the housewife keeps the huge cauldron boiling. The
+smoke from the hearth, the steam from the cauldron and the wash-tub,
+form a dense mist in front of the fireplace.
+
+It is told of the Water-Ouzel that, to get back to his nest, he will
+fly through the cataract under a mill-weir. This Wasp is even more
+daring: with her pellet of mud in her teeth she crosses the cloud of
+smoke and disappears behind it, where she becomes invisible, so thick
+is the screen. An irregular chirring sound, the song she sings at her
+work, alone betrays her presence. The building goes on mysteriously
+behind the cloud. The song ceases, and the Wasp flies back through the
+steam, quite unharmed. She will face this danger repeatedly all day,
+until the cell is built, stored with food, and closed.
+
+Once and once only I was able to observe a Pelopæus at my own fireside;
+and, as it happened, it was a washing-day. I had not long been
+appointed to the Avignon grammar-school. It was close upon two o’clock,
+and in a few minutes the roll of the drum would summon me to give a
+scientific lecture to an audience of wool-gatherers. Suddenly I saw a
+strange, agile insect dart through the steam that rose from the
+wash-tub. The front part of its body was very thin, and the back part
+was very plump, and the two parts were joined together by a long
+thread. It was the Pelopæus, the first I had seen with observant eyes.
+
+Being very anxious to become better acquainted with my visitor, I
+fervently entreated the household not to disturb her in my absence.
+Things went better than I dared hope. On my return she was still
+carrying on her mason’s work behind the steam. Being eager to see the
+building of the cells, the nature of the provisions, and the evolution
+of the young Wasps, I raked the fire so as to decrease the volume of
+smoke, and for a good two hours I watched the mother Wasp diving
+through the cloud.
+
+Never again, in the forty years that followed, was my fireplace
+honoured with such a visit. All the further information I have gathered
+was gleaned on the hearths of my neighbours.
+
+The Pelopæus, it appears, is of a solitary and vagrant disposition. She
+nearly always builds a lonely nest, and unlike many Wasps and Bees, she
+seldom founds her family at the spot where she was reared herself. She
+is often found in our southern towns, but on the whole she prefers the
+peasant’s smoky house to the townsman’s white villa. Nowhere have I
+seen her so plentiful as in my village, with its tumble-down cottages
+burnt yellow by the sun.
+
+It is obvious that this Wasp, when she so often chooses the chimney as
+her abode, is not seeking her own comfort: the site means work, and
+dangerous work. She seeks the welfare of her family. This family, then,
+must require a high temperature, such as other Wasps and Bees do not
+need.
+
+I have seen a Pelopæus nest in the engine-room of a silk-factory, fixed
+to the ceiling just above the huge boiler. At this spot the thermometer
+marked 120 degrees all through the year, except at night and on
+holidays.
+
+In a country distillery I have found many nests, fixed on anything that
+came to hand, even a pile of account-books. The temperature of one of
+these, quite close to the still, was 113 degrees. It is plain that this
+Wasp cheerfully endures a degree of heat that makes the oily palm-tree
+sprout.
+
+A boiler or a furnace she regards as the ideal home, but she is quite
+willing to content herself in any snug corner: a conservatory, a
+kitchen-ceiling, the recess of a closed window, the wall of a cottage
+bedroom. As to the foundation on which she fixes her nest, she is
+entirely indifferent. As a rule she builds her groups of cells on
+stonework or timber; but at various times I have seen nests inside a
+gourd, in a fur cap, in the hollow of a brick, on the side of a bag of
+oats, and in a piece of lead tubing.
+
+Once I saw something more remarkable still, in a farm near Avignon. In
+a large room with a very wide fireplace the soup for the farm-hands and
+the food for the cattle simmered in a row of pots. The labourers used
+to come in from the fields to this room, and devour their meal with the
+silent haste that comes from a keen appetite. To enjoy this half-hour
+comfortably they would take off their hats and smocks, and hang them on
+pegs. Short though this meal was, it was long enough to allow the Wasps
+to take possession of their garments. The inside of a straw hat was
+recognised as a most useful building-site, the folds of a smock were
+looked upon as a capital shelter; and the work of building started at
+once. On rising from the table one of the men would shake his smock,
+and another his hat, to rid it of the Wasp’s nest, which was already
+the size of an acorn.
+
+The cook in that farmhouse regarded the Wasps with no friendly eye.
+They dirtied everything, she said. Dabs of mud on the ceiling, on the
+walls, or on the chimney-piece you could put up with; but it was a very
+different matter when you found them on the linen and the curtains. She
+had to beat the curtains every day with a bamboo. And it was trouble
+thrown away. The next morning the Wasps began building as busily as
+ever.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+HER BUILDING
+
+I sympathised with the sorrows of that farm-cook, but greatly regretted
+that I could not take her place. How gladly I would have left the Wasps
+undisturbed, even if they had covered all the furniture with mud! How I
+longed to know what the fate of a nest would be, if perched on the
+uncertain support of a coat or a curtain! The nest of the Mason-bee is
+made of hard mortar, which surrounds the twig on which it is built, and
+becomes firmly fixed to it; but the nest of the Pelopæus Wasp is a mere
+blob of mud, without cement or foundations.
+
+The materials of which it is made are nothing but wet earth or dirt,
+picked up wherever the soil is damp enough. The thin clay of a
+river-bank is very suitable, but in my stony country streams are rare.
+I can, however, watch the builders at my leisure in my own garden, when
+a thin trickle of water runs all day, as it does sometimes, through the
+little trenches that are cut in my vegetable plots.
+
+The Pelopæus Wasps of the neighbourhood soon become aware of this glad
+event, and come hurrying up to take advantage of the precious layer of
+mud, a rare discovery in the dry season. They scrape and skim the
+gleaming, shiny surface with their mandibles while standing high on
+their legs, with their wings quivering and their black bodies upraised.
+No neat little housewife, with skirts carefully tucked up out of the
+dirt, could be more skilful in tackling a job likely to soil her
+clothes. These mud-gatherers have not an atom of dirt upon them, so
+careful are they to tuck up their skirts in their own fashion, that is
+to say, to keep their whole body out of the way, all but the tips of
+their legs and the busy points of the mandibles with which they work.
+
+In this way a dab of mud is collected, almost the size of a pea. Taking
+the load in its teeth the insect flies off, adds a layer to its
+building, and soon returns to collect another pellet. The same method
+is pursued as long as the earth remains sufficiently wet, during the
+hottest hours of the day.
+
+But the favourite spot is the great fountain in the village, where the
+people come to water their mules. Here there is a constant sheet of
+black mud which neither the hottest sunshine nor the strongest wind can
+dry. This bed of mire is very unpleasant for the passers-by, but the
+Pelopæus loves to gather her pellets here, amid the hoofs of the mules.
+
+Unlike some builders in clay, such as the Mason-bees, the Wasp does not
+improve the mud to make it into mortar, but uses it just as it is.
+Consequently her nests are flimsy work, absolutely unfitted to stand
+the changes and chances of the open air. A drop of water laid upon
+their surface softens the spot touched and reduces it to mud again,
+while a sprinkling equal to an average shower turns it to pap. They are
+nothing but dried slime, and become slime again as soon as they are
+wetted.
+
+It is plain, then, that even if the young Pelopæus were not so chilly
+by nature, a shelter is indispensable for the nests, which would go to
+pieces at the first shower of rain. That is why this Wasp is so fond of
+human dwellings, and especially of the chimney.
+
+Before receiving its final coating, which covers up the details of the
+building, the nest has a certain beauty of its own. It consists of a
+cluster of cells, sometimes arranged side by side in a row—which makes
+it look rather like a mouth-organ—but more often grouped in layers
+placed one above the other. I have sometimes counted as many as fifteen
+cells; some nests contain only ten; others are reduced to three or
+four, or even only one.
+
+In shape the cells are not far from cylinders, slightly larger at the
+mouth than at the base. They are a little more than an inch long, and
+about half an inch wide. Their delicate surface is carefully polished,
+and shows a series of string-like projections, running cross-wise, not
+unlike the twisted cords of some kinds of gold-lace. Each of these
+strings is a layer of the building; it comes from the clod of mud used
+for the coping of the part already built. By counting them you can tell
+how many journeys the Wasp has made in the course of her work. There
+are usually between fifteen and twenty. For one cell, therefore, the
+industrious builder fetches materials something like twenty times.
+
+The mouth of the cells is, of course, always turned upwards. A pot
+cannot hold its contents if it be upside down. And the Wasp’s cell is
+nothing but a pot intended to hold the store of food, a pile of small
+Spiders.
+
+The cells—built one by one, stuffed full of Spiders, and closed as the
+eggs are laid—preserve their pretty appearance until the cluster is
+considered large enough. Then, to strengthen her work, the Wasp covers
+the whole with a casing, as a protection and defence. She lays on the
+plaster without stint and without art, giving it none of the delicate
+finishing-touches which she lavishes on the cells. The mud is applied
+just as it is brought, and merely spread with a few careless strokes.
+The beauties of the building all disappear under this ugly husk. In
+this final state the nest is like a great splash of mud, flung against
+the wall by accident.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+HER PROVISIONS
+
+Now that we know what the provision-jar is like, we must find out what
+it contains.
+
+The young Pelopæus is fed on Spiders. The food does not lack variety,
+even in the same nest and the same cell, for any Spider may form a
+meal, as long as it is not too large for the jar. The Cross Spider,
+with three crosses of white dots on her back, is the dish that occurs
+oftenest. I think the reason for this is simply that the Wasp does not
+go far from home in her hunting-trips, and the Spider with the crosses
+is the easiest to find.
+
+The Spider, armed with poison-fangs, is a dangerous prey to tackle.
+When of fair size, she could only be conquered by a greater amount of
+daring and skill than the Wasp possesses. Moreover, the cells are too
+small to hold a bulky object. The Wasp, therefore, hunts game of
+moderate size. If she meets with a kind of Spider that is apt to become
+plump, she always chooses a young one. But, though all are small, the
+size of her victims varies enormously, and this variation in size leads
+also to variation in number. One cell will contain a dozen Spiders,
+while in another there are only five or six.
+
+Another reason for her choice of small Spiders is that she kills them
+before potting them in her cells. She falls suddenly upon her prey, and
+carries it off almost without pausing in her flight. The skilful
+paralysis practised by some insects is unknown to her. This means that
+when the food is stored it soon decays. Fortunately the Spiders are
+small enough to be finished at a single meal. If they were large and
+could only be nibbled here and there, they would decay, and poison the
+grubs in the nest.
+
+I always find the egg, not on the surface of the heap, but on the first
+Spider that was stored. There is no exception to this rule. The Wasp
+places a Spider at the bottom of the cell, lays her egg upon it, and
+then piles the other Spiders on the top. By this clever plan the grub
+is obliged to begin on the oldest of the dead Spiders, and then go on
+to the more recent. It always finds in front of it food that has not
+had time to decompose.
+
+The egg is always laid on the same part of the Spider, the end
+containing the head being placed on the plumpest spot. This is very
+pleasant for the grub, for the moment it is hatched it can begin eating
+the tenderest and nicest food in the store. Not a mouthful is wasted,
+however, by these economical creatures. When the meal is finished there
+is practically nothing left of the whole heap of Spiders. This life of
+gluttony lasts for eight or ten days.
+
+The grub then sets to work to spin its cocoon, a sack of pure,
+perfectly white silk, extremely delicate. Something more is required to
+make this sack tough enough to be a protection, so the grub produces
+from its body a sort of liquid varnish. As soon as it trickles into the
+meshes of the silk this varnish hardens, and becomes a lacquer of
+exquisite daintiness. The grub then fixes a hard plug at the base of
+the cocoon to make all secure.
+
+When finished, the work is amber-yellow, and rather reminds one of the
+outer skin of an onion. It has the same fine texture, the same colour
+and transparency; and like the onion skin it rustles when it is
+fingered. From it, sooner or later according to temperature, the
+perfect insect is hatched.
+
+
+
+It is possible, while the Wasp is storing her cell, to play her a trick
+which will show how purely mechanical her instincts are. A cell has
+just been completed, let us suppose, and the huntress arrives with her
+first Spider. She stores it away, and at once fastens her egg on the
+plumpest part of its body. She sets out on a second trip. I take
+advantage of her absence to remove with my tweezers from the bottom of
+the cell both the dead Spider and the egg.
+
+The disappearance of the egg must be discovered by the Wasp, one would
+think, if she possesses the least gleam of intelligence. The egg is
+small, it is true, but it lies on a comparatively large object, the
+Spider. What will the Wasp do when she finds the cell empty? Will she
+act sensibly, and repair her loss by laying a second egg? Not at all;
+she behaves most absurdly.
+
+What she does is to bring a second Spider, which she stores away with
+as much cheerful zeal as if nothing unfortunate had occurred. She
+brings a third and a fourth, and still others, each of whom I remove
+during her absence; so that every time she returns from the chase the
+storeroom is found empty. I have seen her persist obstinately for two
+days in seeking to fill the insatiable jar, while my patience in
+emptying it was equally unflagging. With the twentieth victim—possibly
+owing to the fatigue of so many journeys—the huntress considered that
+the pot was sufficiently supplied, and began most carefully to close
+the cell that contained absolutely nothing.
+
+The intelligence of insects is limited everywhere in this way. The
+accidental difficulty which one insect is powerless to overcome, any
+other, no matter what its species, will be equally unable to cope with.
+I could give a host of similar examples to show that insects are
+absolutely without reasoning power, notwithstanding the wonderful
+perfection of their work. A long series of experiments has forced me to
+conclude that they are neither free nor conscious in their industry.
+They build, weave, hunt, stab, and paralyse their prey, in the same way
+as they digest their food, or secrete the poison of their sting,
+without the least understanding of the means or the end. They are, I am
+convinced, completely ignorant of their own wonderful talents.
+
+Their instinct cannot be changed. Experience does not teach it; time
+does not awaken a glimmer in its unconsciousness. Pure instinct, if it
+stood alone, would leave the insect powerless in the face of
+circumstances. Yet circumstances are always changing, the unexpected is
+always happening. In this confusion some power is needed by the
+insect—as by every other creature—to teach it what to accept and what
+to refuse. It requires a guide of some kind, and this guide it
+certainly possesses. Intelligence is too fine a word for it: I will
+call it discernment.
+
+Is the insect conscious of what it does? Yes, and no. No, if its action
+is guided by instinct. Yes, if its action is the result of discernment.
+
+The Pelopæus, for instance, builds her cells with earth already
+softened into mud. This is instinct. She has always built in this way.
+Neither the passing ages nor the struggle for life will induce her to
+imitate the Mason-bee and make her nest of dry dust and cement.
+
+This mud nest of hers needs a shelter against the rain. A hiding-place
+under a stone, perhaps, sufficed at first. But when she found something
+better she took possession of it. She installed herself in the home of
+man. This is discernment.
+
+She supplies her young with food in the form of Spiders. This is
+instinct, and nothing will ever persuade her that young Crickets are
+just as good. But should there be a lack of her favourite Cross Spider
+she will not leave her grubs unfed; she will bring them other Spiders.
+This is discernment.
+
+In this quality of discernment lies the possibility of future
+improvement for the insect.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+HER ORIGIN
+
+The Pelopæus sets us another problem. She seeks the warmth of our
+fireplaces. Her nest, built of soft mud which would be reduced to pulp
+by damp, must have a dry shelter. Heat is a necessity to her.
+
+Is it possible that she is a foreigner? Did she come, perhaps, from the
+shores of Africa, from the land of dates to the land of olives? It
+would be natural, in that case, that she should find our sunshine not
+warm enough for her, and should seek the artificial warmth of the
+fireside. This would explain her habits, so unlike those of the other
+Wasps, by all of whom mankind is avoided.
+
+What was her life before she became our guest? Where did she lodge
+before there were any houses? Where did she shelter her grubs before
+chimneys were thought of?
+
+Perhaps, when the early inhabitants of the hills near Sérignan were
+making weapons out of flints, scraping goatskins for clothes, and
+building huts of mud and branches, those huts were already frequented
+by the Pelopæus. Perhaps she built her nest in some bulging pot, shaped
+out of clay by the thumbs of our ancestors; or in the folds of the
+garments, the skins of the Wolf and the Bear. When she made her home on
+the rough walls of branches and clay, did she choose the nearest spot,
+I wonder, to the hole in the roof by which the smoke was let out?
+Though not equal to our chimneys it may have served at a pinch.
+
+If the Pelopæus really lived here with the earliest human inhabitants,
+what improvements she has seen! She too must have profited greatly by
+civilisation: she has turned man’s increasing comfort into her own.
+When the dwelling with a roof and a ceiling was planned, and the
+chimney with a flue was invented, we can imagine the chilly creature
+saying to herself:
+
+“How pleasant this is! Let us pitch our tent here.”
+
+But we will go back further still. Before huts existed, before the
+niche in the rut, before man himself had appeared, where did the
+Pelopæus build? The question does not stand alone. Where did the
+Swallow and the Sparrow build before there were windows and chimneys to
+build in?
+
+Since the Swallow, the Sparrow, and the Wasp existed before man, their
+industry cannot be dependent on the works of man. Each of them must
+have had an art of building in the time when man was not here.
+
+For thirty years and more I asked myself where the Pelopæus lived in
+those times. Outside our houses I could find no trace of her nests. At
+last chance, which favours the persevering, came to my help.
+
+The Sérignan quarries are full of broken stones, of refuse that has
+been piled there in the course of centuries. Here the Fieldmouse
+crunches his olive-stones and acorns, or now and then a Snail. The
+empty Snail-shells lie here and there beneath a stone, and within them
+different Bees and Wasps build their cells. In searching for these
+treasures I found, three times, the nest of a Pelopæus among the broken
+stones.
+
+These three nests were exactly the same as those found in our houses.
+The material was mud, as always; the protective covering was the same
+mud. The dangers of the site had suggested no improvements to the
+builder. We see, then, that sometimes, but very rarely, the Pelopæus
+builds in stoneheaps and under flat blocks of stone that do not touch
+the ground. It was in such places as these that she must have made her
+nest before she invaded our houses.
+
+The three nests, however, were in a piteous state. The damp and
+exposure had ruined them, and the cocoons were in pieces. Unprotected
+by their earthen cover the grubs had perished—eaten by a Fieldmouse or
+another.
+
+The sight of these ruins made me wonder if my neighbourhood were really
+a suitable place for the Pelopæus to build her nest out of doors. It is
+plain that the mother Wasp dislikes doing so, and is hardly ever driven
+to such a desperate measure. And if the climate makes it impossible for
+her to practise the industry of her forefathers successfully, I think
+we may conclude that she is a foreigner. Surely she comes from a hotter
+and drier climate, where there is little rain and no snow.
+
+I believe the Pelopæus is of African origin. Far back in the past she
+came to us through Spain and Italy, and she hardly ever goes further
+north than the olive-trees. She is an African who has become a
+naturalised Provençal. In Africa she is said often to nest under
+stones, but in the Malay Archipelago we hear of her kinswoman in
+houses. From one end of the world to the other she has the same
+tastes—Spiders, mud cells, and the shelter of a man’s roof. If I were
+in the Malay Archipelago I should turn over the stone-heaps, and should
+most likely discover a nest in the original position, under a flat
+stone.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE PSYCHES
+
+
+I
+
+A WELL-DRESSED CATERPILLAR
+
+In the springtime, those who have eyes to see may find a surprise on
+old walls and dusty roads. Certain tiny faggots, for no apparent
+reason, set themselves in motion and make their way along by sudden
+jerks. The lifeless comes to life: the immovable moves. This is indeed
+amazing. If we look closer, however, we shall solve the riddle.
+
+Enclosed within the moving bundle is a fair-sized Caterpillar, prettily
+striped with black and white. He is seeking for food, and perhaps for
+some spot where he can turn into a Moth. He hurries along timidly,
+dressed in a queer garment of twigs, which completely covers the whole
+of him except his head and the front part of his body, with its six
+short legs. At the least alarm he disappears entirely into his case,
+and does not budge again. This is the secret of the walking bundle of
+sticks. It is a Faggot Caterpillar, belonging to the group known as the
+Psyches.
+
+To protect himself from the weather the chilly, bare-skinned Psyche
+builds himself a portable shelter, a travelling cottage which the owner
+never leaves until he becomes a Moth. It is, indeed, something better
+than a hut on wheels, with a thatched roof to it: it is more like a
+hermit’s frock, made of an unusual kind of material. In the valley of
+the Danube the peasant wears a goatskin cloak fastened with a belt of
+rushes. The Psyche wears even rougher raiment than this: he makes
+himself a suit of clothes out of sticks. And since this would be a
+regular hair-shirt to a skin so delicate as his, he puts in a thick
+lining of silk.
+
+In April, on the walls of my chief workshop—my stony harmas with its
+wealth of insect life—I find the Psyche who will supply me with my most
+detailed information. He is in the torpid state which shows he will
+soon become a Moth. It is a good opportunity for examining his bundle
+of sticks, or case.
+
+It is a fairly regular object, shaped like a spindle, and about an inch
+and a half long. The pieces that compose it are fixed in front and free
+at the back. They are arranged anyhow, and would form rather a poor
+shelter against the sun and rain if the hermit had no other protection
+than this.
+
+At the first glance it appears like thatch; but thatch is not an exact
+description of it, for grain-stems are rarely found in it. The chief
+materials are remnants of very small stalks, light, soft, and rich in
+pith; next in order come bits of grass-leaves, scaly twigs from the
+cypress-tree, and all sorts of little sticks; and lastly, if the
+favourite pieces run short, fragments of dry leaves.
+
+In short the Caterpillar, while preferring pithy pieces, will use
+anything he comes across, provided it be light, very dry, softened by
+long exposure, and of the right size. All his materials are used just
+as they are, without any alterations or sawings to make them the proper
+length. He does not cut the laths that form his roof; he gathers them
+as he finds them. His work is limited to fixing them at the fore-end.
+
+In order to lend itself to the movements of the travelling Caterpillar,
+and particularly to enable the head and legs to move freely while a new
+piece is being fixed in position, the front part of this case or sheath
+must be made in a special way. Here a casing of sticks is no longer
+suitable, for their length and stiffness would hamper the workman and
+even make his work impossible. What is required here is a flexible
+neck, able to move in all directions. The collection of stakes,
+therefore, ends suddenly at some distance from the fore-part, and is
+there replaced by a collar where the silk lining is merely hardened
+with very tiny particles of wood, which strengthen the material without
+making it less flexible. This collar, which allows of free movement, is
+so important that all the Psyches use it, however greatly the rest of
+their work may differ. All carry, in front of the bundle of sticks, a
+yielding neck, soft to the touch, formed inside of a web of pure silk
+and coated outside with a velvety sawdust, which the Caterpillar
+obtains by crushing up any sort of dry straw.
+
+The same kind of velvet, but dull and faded—apparently through
+age—finishes the sheath at the back, in the form of a rather long
+projection, open at the end.
+
+When I remove the outside of the straw casing, shredding it piece by
+piece, I find a varying number of laths, or tiny sticks. I have counted
+as many as eighty, and more. Underneath it I find, from one end of the
+Caterpillar to the other, the same kind of inner sheath that was
+formerly visible at the front and back only. This inner sheath is
+composed everywhere of very strong silk, which resists without breaking
+when pulled by the fingers. It is a smooth tissue, beautifully white
+inside, drab and wrinkled outside, where it bristles with a crust of
+woody particles.
+
+Later on we shall see how the Caterpillar makes himself this
+complicated garment, formed of three layers, one placed upon the other
+in a definite order. First comes the extremely fine satin which is in
+direct contact with the skin; next, the mixed stuff dusted with woody
+matter, which saves the silk and gives strength to the work; and lastly
+the outer casing of overlapping sticks.
+
+Although all the Psyches wear this threefold garment, the different
+species make distinct variations in the outer case. There is one kind,
+for instance, whom I am apt to meet towards the end of June, hurrying
+across some dusty path near the houses. His case surpasses that of the
+first species, both in size and in regularity of arrangement. It forms
+a thick coverlet of many pieces, in which I recognise fragments of
+hollow stalks, bits of fine straw, and perhaps blades of grass. In
+front there is never any flounce of dead leaves, a troublesome piece of
+finery which is pretty frequent, though not always used, in the costume
+of the first species I described. At the back there is no long
+projection beyond the outer covering. Save for the indispensable collar
+at the neck, the whole Caterpillar is cased in sticks. There is not
+much variety about the thing, but, when all is said, there is a certain
+beauty in its stern faultlessness.
+
+There is a smaller and more simply dressed Psyche who is very common at
+the end of winter on the walls, as well as in the bark of gnarled old
+trees, whether olive-trees or elms, or indeed almost any other. His
+case, a modest little bundle, is hardly more than two-fifths of an inch
+in length. A dozen rotten straws, picked up 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 oneself more economically.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+A DEVOTED MOTHER
+
+If I gather a number of little Psyches in April and place them in a
+wire bell-jar, I can find out more about them. Most of them are in the
+chrysalis state, waiting to be turned into Moths, but a few are still
+active and clamber to the top of the wire trellis. There they fix
+themselves by means of a little silk cushion, and both they and I must
+wait for weeks before anything further happens.
+
+At the end of June the male Psyche comes out of his case, no longer a
+Caterpillar, but a Moth. The case, or bundle of sticks, you will
+remember, had two openings, one in front and one at the back. The front
+one, which is the more regular and carefully made, is permanently
+closed by being fastened to the support on which the chrysalis is
+fixed; so the Moth, when he is hatched, is obliged to come out by the
+opening at the back. The Caterpillar turns round inside the case before
+he changes into a Moth.
+
+Though they wear but a simple pearl-grey dress and have insignificant
+wings, hardly larger than those of a Common Fly, these little male
+Moths are graceful enough. They have handsome feathery plumes for
+antennæ, and their wings are edged with delicate fringes. For the
+appearance of the female Psyche, however, little can be said.
+
+Some days later than the others she 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 so miserable a sight: as a
+Caterpillar she was no worse to look at. There are no wings, none at
+all; there is no silky fur either. At the tip of her round, tufty body
+she wears a crown of dirty-white velvet; on each segment, in the middle
+of the back, is a large, rectangular, dark patch—her sole attempts at
+ornament. The mother Psyche renounces all the beauty which her name of
+Moth seems to promise.
+
+As she leaves her chrysalid sheath she lays her eggs within it, thus
+bequeathing the maternal cottage (or the maternal garment, if you will)
+to her heirs. As she lays a great many eggs the affair takes some
+thirty hours. When the laying is finished she closes the door and makes
+everything safe against invasion. For this purpose some kind of wadding
+is required. The fond mother makes use of the only ornament which, in
+her extreme poverty, she possesses. She wedges the door with the
+coronet of velvet which she carries at the tip of her body.
+
+Finally she does even more than this. She makes a rampart of her body
+itself. With a convulsive movement she dies on the threshold of her
+recent home, her cast chrysalid skin, and there her remains dry up.
+Even after death she stays at her post.
+
+If the outer case be now opened it will be found to contain the
+chrysalid wrapper, uninjured except for the opening in front, by which
+the Psyche came out. The male Moth, when obliged to make his way
+through the narrow pass, would find his wings and his plumes very
+cumbersome articles. For this reason he makes a start for the door
+while he is still in the chrysalis state, and comes half-way out. Then,
+as he bursts his amber-coloured tunic, he finds, right in front of him,
+an open space where flight is possible.
+
+But the mother Moth, being unprovided with wings and plumes, is not
+compelled to take any such precautions. Her cylinder-like form is bare,
+and differs very little from that of the Caterpillar. It allows her to
+crawl, to slip into the narrow passage, and to come forth without
+difficulty. So she leaves her cast skin behind her, right at the back
+of the case, well covered by the thatched roof.
+
+And this is an act of prudence, showing her deep concern for the fate
+of her eggs. They are, in fact, packed as though in a barrel, in the
+parchment-like bag formed by the cast skin. The Moth has methodically
+gone on laying eggs in that receptacle till it is full. Not satisfied
+with bequeathing her house and her velvet coronet to her offspring, as
+the last act of her life she leaves them her skin.
+
+Wishing to observe the course of events at my ease I once took one of
+these chrysalid bags, stuffed with eggs, from its outer casing of
+sticks, and placed it by itself, beside its case, in a glass tube. In
+the first week of July I suddenly found myself in possession of a large
+family. The hatching took place so quickly that the new-born
+Caterpillars, about forty in number, had already clothed themselves in
+my absence.
+
+They wore a garment like a sort of Persian head-dress, in dazzling
+white plush. Or, to be more commonplace, a white cotton night-cap
+without a tassel. Strange to say, however, instead of wearing their
+caps on their heads, they wore them standing up from their
+hind-quarters, almost perpendicularly. They roamed about gaily inside
+the tube, which was a spacious dwelling for such mites. I was quite
+determined to find out with what materials and in what manner the first
+outlines of the cap were woven.
+
+Fortunately the chrysalid bag was far from being empty. I found within
+the rumpled wrapper a second family as numerous as those already out of
+the case. Altogether there must have been five or six dozen eggs. I
+transferred to another place the little Caterpillars who were already
+dressed, keeping only the naked new-comers in the tube. They had bright
+red heads; the rest of their bodies was dirty-white; and they measured
+hardly a twenty-fifth of an inch in length.
+
+I had not long to wait. The next day, little by little, singly or in
+groups, the little laggards left the chrysalid bag. They came out
+without breaking that frail object, through the opening in front made
+by their mother. Not one of them used it as a dress-material, though it
+had the delicacy and amber colouring of an onion-skin; nor did any of
+them make use of a certain fine quilting that lines the inside of the
+bag and forms an exquisitely soft bed for the eggs. One would have
+thought this downy stuff would make an excellent blanket for the chilly
+creatures, but not a single one used it. There would not be enough to
+go round.
+
+They all went straight to the coarse outer casing of sticks, which I
+had left in contact with the chrysalid skin containing the eggs. The
+matter was urgent, they evidently felt. Before making your entrance
+into the world and going a-hunting, you must first be clad. All
+therefore, with equal fury, attacked the old sheath and hastily dressed
+themselves in their mother’s old clothes.
+
+Some turned their attention to bits that happened to be opened
+lengthwise, scraping the soft white inner layer; others, greatly
+daring, penetrated into the tunnel of a hollow stalk and collected
+their materials in the dark. The courage of these was rewarded; they
+secured first-rate materials and wove garments of dazzling white. There
+were others who bit deeply into the piece they chose, and made
+themselves a motley covering, in which the snowy whiteness was marred
+by darker particles.
+
+The tools the little Caterpillars use for this purpose are their
+mandibles, which are shaped like wide shears and have five strong teeth
+apiece. The two blades fit into each other, and form an instrument
+capable of seizing and slicing any fibre, however small. Under the
+microscope it is seen to be a wonderful specimen of mechanical
+precision and power. If the Sheep had a similar tool in proportion to
+her size, she could browse on the stems of trees instead of the grass.
+
+It is very instructive to watch these Psyche-grubs toiling to make
+themselves a cotton night-cap. There are numbers of things to remark,
+both in the finish of the work and the skill of the methods they
+employ. They are so tiny that while I observe them through my
+magnifying glass I must be careful not to breathe, lest I should
+overturn them or puff them away. Yet this speck is expert in the art of
+blanket-making. An orphan, born but a moment ago, it knows how to cut
+itself a garment out of its mother’s old clothes. Of its methods I will
+tell you more presently, but first I must say another word with regard
+to its dead mother.
+
+I have spoken of the downy quilting that covers the inside of the
+chrysalid bag. It is like a bed of eiderdown, on which the little
+Caterpillars rest for a while after leaving the egg. Warmly nestling in
+this soft rug they prepare themselves for their plunge into the outer
+world of work.
+
+The Eider robs herself of her down to make a luxurious bed for her
+brood; the mother Rabbit shears from her own body the softest part of
+her fur to provide a mattress for her new-born family. And the same
+thing is done by the Psyche.
+
+The mass of soft wadding that makes a warm coverlet for the baby
+Caterpillar is a material of incomparable delicacy. Through the
+microscope it can be recognised as the scaly dust, the intensely fine
+down in which every Moth is clad. To give a snug shelter to the little
+grubs 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 strips herself of her fur like the mother
+Rabbit.
+
+This may possibly be done mechanically; it may be the unintentional
+effect of rubbing repeatedly against the low-roofed walls; but there is
+nothing to tell us so. Even the humblest mother has her foresight. It
+is quite likely that the hairy Moth twists about, and goes to and fro
+in the narrow passage, in order to get rid of her fleece and prepare
+bedding for her family.
+
+I have read in books that the young Psyches begin life by eating up
+their mother. I have seen nothing of the sort, and I do not even
+understand how the idea arose. Indeed, she has given up so much for her
+family that there is nothing left of her but some thin, dry strips—not
+enough to provide a meal for so numerous a brood. 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.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+A CLEVER TAILOR
+
+I will now describe in greater detail the dressing of the grubs.
+
+The hatching of the eggs takes place in the first fortnight of July.
+The head and upper part of the little grubs are of a glossy black, the
+next two segments are brownish, and the rest of the body is a pale
+amber. They are sharp, lively little creatures, who run about with
+short, quick steps.
+
+For a time, after they are out of the bag where they are hatched, they
+remain in the heap of fluff that was stripped from their mother. Here
+there is more room, and more comfort too, than in the bag whence they
+came; and while some take a rest, others bustle about and exercise
+themselves in walking. They are all picking up strength before leaving
+the outer case.
+
+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 dressing themselves. By and by they
+will think of food: at present nothing is of any importance but
+clothes.
+
+Montaigne, when putting on a cloak which his father had worn before
+him, used to say, “I dress myself in my father.” Well, the young
+Psyches in the same way dress themselves in their mother. (In the same
+way, it must be remembered; not in her skin, but in her clothes.) From
+the outer case of sticks, which I have sometimes described as a house
+and sometimes as a garment, they scrape the material to make themselves
+a frock. The stuff they use is the pith of the little stalks,
+especially of the pieces that are split lengthwise, because the
+contents are more easily taken from these.
+
+The manner of beginning the garment is worth noting. The tiny creature
+employs a method as ingenious as any that we could hope to discover.
+The wadding is collected in pellets of infinitesimal size. How are
+these little pellets to be fixed and joined together? The manufacturer
+needs a support, a base; and this support cannot be obtained on the
+Caterpillar’s own body. The difficulty is overcome very cleverly. The
+pellets are gathered together, and by degrees fastened to one another
+with threads of silk—for the Caterpillar, as you know, can spin silk
+from his own body as the Spider spins her web. In this way a sort of
+garland is formed, with the pellets or particles swinging in a row from
+the same rope. When it is long enough this garland is passed round the
+waist of the little creature, in such a way as to leave its six legs
+free. Then it ties the ends together with a bit of silk, so that it
+forms a girdle round the grub’s body.
+
+This girdle is the starting-point and support of the whole work. To
+lengthen it, and enlarge it into a complete garment, the grub has only
+to fix to it the scraps of pith which the mandibles never cease tearing
+from the case. These scraps or pellets are sometimes placed at the top,
+sometimes at the bottom or side, but they are always fixed at the
+fore-edge. No device could be better contrived than this garland, first
+laid out flat and then buckled like a belt round the body.
+
+Once this start is made the weaving goes on well. Gradually the girdle
+grows into a scarf, a waistcoat, a short jacket, and lastly a sack, and
+in a few hours it is complete—a conical hood or cloak of magnificent
+whiteness.
+
+Thanks to his mother’s care the little grub is spared the perils of
+roaming about in a state of nakedness. If she did not place her family
+in her old case they might have great difficulty in clothing
+themselves, for straws and stalks rich in pith are not found
+everywhere. And yet, unless they died of exposure, it appears that
+sooner or later they would find some kind of garment, since they seem
+ready to use any material that comes to hand. I have made many
+experiments with new-born grubs in a glass tube.
+
+From the stalks of a sort of dandelion they scraped, without the least
+hesitation, a superb white pith, and made it into a delicious white
+cloak, much finer than any they would have obtained from the remains of
+their mother’s clothes. An even better garment was woven from some pith
+taken from the kitchen-broom. This time the work glittered with little
+sparks, like specks of crystal or grains of sugar. It was my
+manufacturers’ masterpiece.
+
+The next material I offered them was a piece of blotting-paper. Here
+again my grubs did not hesitate: they lustily scraped the surface and
+made themselves a paper coat. Indeed, they were so much pleased with
+this that when I gave them their native case they scorned it,
+preferring the blotting-paper.
+
+To others I gave nothing at all. Not to be baffled, however, they
+hastened to scrape the cork of the tube and break it into atoms. Out of
+these they made themselves a frock of cork-grains, as faultless as
+though they and their ancestors had always made use of this material.
+The novelty of the stuff, which perhaps no Caterpillar had ever used
+before, made no difference in the cut of the garment.
+
+Finding them ready to accept any vegetable matter that was dry and
+light, I next tried them with animal and mineral substances. I cut a
+strip from the wing of a Great Peacock Moth, and placed two little
+naked Caterpillars upon it. For a long time they both hesitated. Then
+one of them resolved to use the strange carpet. Before the day was over
+he had clothed himself in grey velvet made of the Great Peacock’s
+scales.
+
+I next took some soft, flaky stones, such as will break at the merest
+touch into atoms nearly as fine as the dust on a Butterfly’s wing. On a
+bed of this powdery stuff, which glittered like steel filings, I placed
+four Caterpillars in need of clothes. One, and one alone, decided to
+dress himself. His metallic garment, from which the light drew flashes
+of every colour of the rainbow, was very rich and sumptuous, but
+mightily heavy and cumbrous. Walking became laborious under that load
+of metal. Even so must a Byzantine Emperor have walked at ceremonies of
+State.
+
+In cases of necessity, then, the young Caterpillar does not shrink from
+acts of sheer madness. So urgent is his need to clothe himself that he
+will weave mineral matter rather than go naked. Food means less to him
+than clothes. If I make him fast for a couple of days, and then, having
+robbed him of his garment, place him on his favourite food, a leaf of
+very hairy hawkweed, he will make himself a new coat before satisfying
+his hunger.
+
+This devotion to dress is due, not to any special sensitiveness to
+cold, but to the young Caterpillar’s foresight. Other Caterpillars take
+shelter among the leaves, in underground cells, or in the cracked bark
+of trees, but the Psyche spends his winter exposed to the weather. He
+therefore prepares himself, from his birth, for the perils of the cold
+season.
+
+As soon as he is threatened with the rains of autumn he begins to work
+upon his outer case. It is very rough at first. Straws of uneven length
+and bits of dry leaves are fastened, with no attempt at order, behind
+the neck of the sack or undergarment, which must remain flexible so as
+to allow the Caterpillar to bend freely in every direction. These
+untidy first logs of the outer case will not interfere with the final
+regularity of the building: they will be pushed back and driven out as
+the sack grows longer in front.
+
+After a time the pieces are longer and more carefully chosen, and are
+all laid on lengthwise. The placing of a straw is done with surprising
+speed and skill. The Caterpillar turns it round and round between his
+legs, and then, gripping it in his mandibles, removes a few morsels
+from one end, and immediately fixes them to the end of the sack. He
+probably does this in order that the silk may obtain a firmer hold, as
+a plumber gives a touch of the file to a point that is to be soldered.
+
+Then, by sheer strength of jaw, he lifts and brandishes his straw in
+the air before laying it on his back. At once the spinneret sets to
+work and fixes it in place. Without any groping about or correcting,
+the thing is done. By the time the cold weather arrives the warm case
+is complete.
+
+But the silky felt of the interior is never thick enough to please the
+Caterpillar. When spring comes he spends all his spare time in
+improving his quilt, in making it ever thicker and softer. Even if I
+take off his outer case he refuses to rebuild it: he persists in adding
+new layers to the lining, even when there is nothing to be lined. The
+sack is lamentably flabby; it sags and rumples. He has no protection
+nor shelter. No matter. The hour for carpentry has passed. The hour has
+come for upholstering; and he upholsters obstinately, padding a
+house—or lining a garment—that no longer exists. He will perish
+miserably, cut up by the Ants, as the result of his too-rigid instinct.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE SELF-DENIAL OF THE SPANISH COPRIS
+
+
+You remember, I hope, the Sacred Beetle, who spends her time in making
+balls, both to serve as food and also to be the foundation of her
+pear-shaped nest. I pointed out the advantages of this shape for the
+young Beetles, since the globe is the best form that could be invented
+to keep their provisions from becoming dry and hard.
+
+After watching this Beetle at work for a long time I began to wonder if
+I had not perhaps been mistaken in admiring her instinct so greatly.
+Was it really care for her grubs, I asked myself, that taught her to
+provide them with the tenderest and most suitable food? It is the trade
+of the Sacred Beetle to make balls. Is it wonderful that she should
+continue her ball-making underground? A creature built with long curved
+legs, very useful for rolling balls across the fields, will go on with
+her favourite occupation wherever she may be, without regard to her
+grubs. Perhaps the shape of the pear is mere chance.
+
+To settle this question satisfactorily in my own mind I should need to
+be shown a Scavenger Beetle who was utterly unfamiliar with the
+ball-making business in everyday life, and who yet, when laying-time
+was at hand, made an abrupt change in her habits and stored her
+provisions in the form of a round lump. That would show me that it was
+not merely custom, but care for her grubs, that made her choose the
+globular shape for her nest.
+
+Now in my neighbourhood there is a Beetle of this very kind. She is one
+of the handsomest and largest, though not so imposing as the Sacred
+Beetle. Her name is the Spanish Copris, and she is remarkable for the
+sharp slope of her chest and the size of the horn surmounting her head.
+
+Being round and squat, the Spanish Copris is certainly incapable of
+such gymnastics as are performed by the Sacred Beetle. Her legs, which
+are insignificant in length, and which she folds under her body at the
+slightest alarm, are not in the least like the stilts of the
+pill-rollers. Their stunted form and their lack of flexibility are
+enough in themselves to tell us that their owner would not care to roam
+about burdened with a rolling ball.
+
+The Copris, indeed, is not of an active nature. Once she has found her
+provisions, at night or in the evening twilight, she begins to dig a
+burrow on the spot. It is a rough cavern, large enough to hold an
+apple. Here is introduced, bit by bit, the stuff that is just overhead,
+or at any rate lying on the threshold of the cave. An enormous supply
+of food is stored in a shapeless mass, plain evidence of the insect’s
+gluttony. As long as the hoard lasts the Copris remains underground.
+When the larder is empty the insect searches out a fresh supply of
+food, and scoops out another burrow.
+
+For the time being the Copris is merely a scavenger, a gatherer of
+manure. She is evidently quite ignorant, at present, of the art of
+kneading and modelling a round loaf. Besides, her short clumsy legs
+seem utterly unsuited for any such art.
+
+In May or June, however, comes laying-time. The insect becomes very
+particular about choosing the softest materials for her family’s food.
+Having found what pleases her, she buries it on the spot, carrying it
+down by armfuls, bit by bit. There is no travelling, no carting, no
+preparation. I observe, too, that the burrow is larger and better built
+than the temporary abodes in which the Copris takes her own meals.
+
+Finding it difficult to observe the insect closely in its wild state, I
+resolved to place it in my insect-house, and there watch it at my ease.
+
+The poor creature was at first a little nervous in captivity, and when
+she had made her burrow was very cautious about entering it. By
+degrees, however, she was reassured, and in a single night she stored a
+supply of the food I had provided for her.
+
+Before a week was out I dug up the soil in my insect-house, and brought
+to light the burrow I had seen her storing with provisions. It was a
+spacious hall, with an irregular roof and an almost level floor. In a
+corner was a round hole leading to a slanting gallery, which ran up to
+the surface of the soil. The walls of this dwelling, which was hollowed
+out of fresh earth, had been carefully compressed, and were strong
+enough to resist the earthquake caused by my experiments. It was easy
+to see that the insect had put forth all her skill, all her
+digging-powers, in the making of this permanent home, whereas her own
+dining-room had been a mere cave, with walls that were none too safe.
+
+I suspect she is helped, in the building of this architectural
+masterpiece, by her mate: at least I often see him with her in the
+burrows. I also believe that he lends his partner a hand with the
+collecting and storing of the provisions. It is a quicker job when
+there are two to work. But once the home is well stocked he retires: he
+makes his way back to the surface and settles down elsewhere. His part
+in the family mansion is ended.
+
+Now what do I find in this mansion, into which I have seen so many tiny
+loads of provisions lowered? A mass of small pieces, heaped together
+anyhow? Not a bit of it. I always find a simple lump, a huge mass which
+fills the dwelling except for a narrow passage.
+
+This lump has no fixed shape. I come across some that are like a
+Turkey’s egg in form and size; some the shape of a common onion; I find
+some that are almost round, and remind me of a Dutch cheese; I see some
+that are circular, with a slight swelling on the upper surface. In
+every case the surface is smooth and nicely curved.
+
+There is no mistaking what has happened. The mother has collected and
+kneaded into one lump the numerous fragments brought down one after the
+other. Out of all those particles she has made a single lump, by
+mashing them, working them together, and treading on them. Time after
+time I have seen her on top of the colossal loaf which is so much
+larger than the ball of the Sacred Beetle—a mere pill in comparison.
+She strolls about on the convex surface, which sometimes measures as
+much as four inches across; she pats the mass, and makes it firm and
+level. I only catch a sight of the curious scene, for the moment she
+sees me she slips down the curved slope and hides away.
+
+With the help of a row of glass jars, all enclosed in opaque sheaths of
+cardboard, I can find out a good many interesting things. In the first
+place I have found that the big loaf does not owe its curve—which is
+always regular, no matter how much the slope may vary—to any rolling
+process. Indeed I already knew that so large a mess could not have been
+rolled into a hole that it nearly fills. Besides, the strength of the
+insect would be unequal to moving so great a load.
+
+Every time I go to the jar the evidence is the same. I always see the
+mother Beetle twisted on top of the lump, feeling here and feeling
+there, giving little taps, and making the thing smooth. Never do I
+catch her looking as if she wanted to turn the block. It is clear as
+daylight that rolling has nothing to do with the matter.
+
+At last it is ready. The baker divides his lump of dough into smaller
+lumps, each of which will become a loaf. The Copris does the same
+thing. By making a circular cut with the sharp edge of her forehead,
+and at the same time using the saw of her fore-legs, she detaches from
+the mass a piece of the size she requires. In giving this stroke she
+has no hesitation: there are no after-touches, adding a bit here and
+taking off a bit there. Straight away, with one sharp, decisive cut,
+she obtains the proper-sized lump.
+
+Next comes the question of shaping it. Clasping it as best she can in
+her short arms, so little adapted, one would think, for work of this
+kind, the Copris rounds her lump of food by pressure, and pressure
+only. Solemnly she moves about on the still shapeless mass, climbs up,
+climbs down, turns to right and left, above and below, touching and
+re-touching with unvarying patience. Finally, after twenty-four hours
+of this work, the piece that was all corners has become a perfect
+sphere, the size of a plum. There in her cramped studio, with scarcely
+room to move, the podgy artist has completed her work without once
+shaking it on its base: by dint of time and patience she has obtained
+the exact sphere which her clumsy tools and her confined space seemed
+to render impossible.
+
+For a long time she continues to polish up the globe with affectionate
+touches of her foot, but at last she is satisfied. She climbs to the
+top, and by simple pressure hollows out a shallow cavity. In this basin
+she lays an egg.
+
+Then, with extreme caution and delicacy, she brings together the sides
+of the basin so as to cover the egg, and carefully scrapes the sides
+towards the top, which begins to taper a little and lengthen out. In
+the end the ball has become ovoid, or egg-shaped.
+
+The insect next helps herself to a second piece of the cut loaf, which
+she treats in the same way. The remainder serves for a third ovoid, or
+even a fourth. The Sacred Beetle, you remember, made a single
+pear-shaped nest in a way that was familiar to her, and then left her
+egg underground while she engaged in fresh enterprises. The Copris
+behaves very differently.
+
+Her burrow is almost filled by three or four ovoid nests, standing one
+against the other, with the pointed end upwards. After her long fast
+one would expect her to go away, like the Sacred Beetle, in search of
+food. On the contrary, however, she stays where she is. And yet she has
+eaten nothing since she came underground, for she has taken good care
+not to touch the food prepared for her family. She will go hungry
+rather than let her grubs suffer.
+
+Her object in staying is to mount guard over the cradles. The pear of
+the Sacred Beetle suffers from the mother’s desertion. It soon shows
+cracks, and becomes scaly and swollen. After a time it loses its shape.
+But the nest of the Copris remains perfect, owing to the mother’s care.
+She goes from one to the other, feels them, listens to them, and
+touches them up at points where my eye can detect no flaw. Her clumsy
+horn-shod foot is more sensitive in the darkness than my sight in broad
+daylight: she feels the least threatening of a crack and attends to it
+at once, lest the air should enter and dry up her eggs. She slips in
+and out of the narrow spaces between the cradles, inspecting them with
+the utmost care. If I disturb her she sometimes rubs the tip of her
+body against the edge of her wing-cases, making a soft rustling sound,
+like a murmur of complaint. In this way, caring industriously for her
+cradles, and sometimes snatching a brief sleep beside them the mother
+waits.
+
+The Copris enjoys in her underground home a rare privilege for an
+insect: the pleasure of knowing her family. She hears her grubs
+scratching at the shell to obtain their liberty; she is present at the
+bursting of the nest which she has made so carefully. And when the
+little captive, stiffening his legs and humping his back, tries to
+split the ceiling that presses down on him, it is quite possible that
+the mother comes to his assistance by making an assault on the nest
+from the outside. Being fitted by instinct for repairing and building,
+why should she not also be fitted for demolishing? However, I will make
+no assertions, for I have been unable to see.
+
+Now it is possible to say that the mother Copris, being imprisoned in
+an enclosure from which she cannot escape, stays in the midst of her
+nest because she has no choice in the matter. Yet, if this were so,
+would she trouble about her work of polishing and constant inspection?
+These cares evidently are natural to her: they form part of her habits.
+If she were anxious to regain her liberty, she would surely roam
+restlessly round the enclosure, whereas I always see her very quiet and
+absorbed.
+
+To make certain, I have inspected my glass jars at different times. She
+could go lower down in the sand and hide anywhere she pleased, if rest
+were what she wanted; she could climb outside and sit down to fresh
+food, if refreshment became necessary. Neither the prospect of rest in
+a deeper cave nor the thought of the sun and of food makes her leave
+her family. Until the last of them has burst his shell she sticks to
+her post. I always find her beside her cradles.
+
+For four months she is without food of any kind. She was no better than
+a glutton at first, when there was no family to consider, but now she
+becomes self-denying to the point of prolonged fasting. The Hen sitting
+on her eggs forgets to eat for some weeks; the watchful Copris mother
+forgets food for a third part of the year.
+
+The summer is over. The rains so greatly desired by man and beast have
+come at last, soaking the ground to some depth. After the torrid and
+dusty days of our Provençal summer, when life is in suspense, we have
+the coolness that revives it. The heath puts out its first pink bells;
+the autumnal squill lifts its little spike of lilac flowers; the
+strawberry-tree’s coral bells begin to soften; the Sacred Beetle and
+the Copris burst their shells, and come to the surface in time to enjoy
+the last fine weather of the year.
+
+The newly released Copris family, accompanied by their mother,
+gradually emerge from underground. There are three or four of them,
+five at most. The sons are easily recognised by the greater length of
+their horns; but there is nothing to distinguish the daughters from the
+mother. For that matter, the same confusion exists among themselves. An
+abrupt change has taken place. The mother whose devotion was lately so
+remarkable is now utterly indifferent to the welfare of her family.
+Henceforward each looks after his own home and his own interests. They
+no longer have anything to do with one another.
+
+The present indifference of the mother Beetle must not make us forget
+the wonderful care she has lavished for four months on end. Except
+among the Bees, Wasps, and Ants, who spoon-feed their young and bring
+them up with every attention to their health, I know of no other such
+case of maternal self-denial. Alone and unaided she provides each of
+her children with a cake of food, whose crust she constantly repairs,
+so that it becomes the safest of cradles. So intense is her affection
+that she loses all desire and need of food. In the darkness of the
+burrow she watches over her brood for four months, attending to the
+wants of the egg, the grub, the undeveloped Beetle, and the full-grown
+insect. She does not return to the glad outer life till all her family
+are free. Thus we see one of the most brilliant examples of maternal
+instinct in a humble scavenger of the fields. The Spirit breatheth
+where He will.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+TWO STRANGE GRASSHOPPERS
+
+
+I
+
+THE EMPUSA
+
+The sea, where life first appeared, still preserves in its depths many
+of those curious shapes which were the earliest specimens of the animal
+kingdom. But the land has almost entirely lost the strange forms of
+other days. The few that remain are mostly insects. One of these is the
+Praying Mantis, whose remarkable shape and habits I have already
+described to you. Another is the Empusa.
+
+This insect, in its undeveloped or larval state, is certainly the
+strangest creature in all Provence: a slim, swaying thing of so
+fantastic an appearance that unaccustomed fingers dare not lay hold of
+it. The children of my neighbourhood are so much impressed by its
+startling shape that they call it “the Devilkin.” They imagine it to be
+in some way connected with witchcraft. One comes across it, though
+never in great numbers, in the spring up to May; in autumn; and
+sometimes in winter if the sun be strong. The tough grasses of the
+waste-lands, the stunted bushes which catch the sunshine and are
+sheltered from the wind by a few heaps of stones, are the chilly
+Empusa’s favourite dwelling.
+
+I will tell you, as well as I can, what she looks like. The tail-end of
+her body is always twisted and curved up over her back so as to form a
+crook, and the lower surface of her body (that is to say, of course,
+the upper surface of the crook) is covered with pointed, leaf-shaped
+scales, arranged in three rows. The crook is propped on four long, thin
+legs, like stilts; and on each of these legs, at the point where the
+thigh joins the shin, is a curved, projecting blade not unlike that of
+a cleaver.
+
+In front of this crook on stilts, this four-legged stool, there rises
+suddenly—very long and almost perpendicular—the stiff corselet or bust.
+It is round and slender as a straw, and at the end of it is the
+hunting-trap, copied from that of the Mantis. This consists of a
+harpoon sharper than a needle, and a cruel vice with jaws toothed like
+a saw. The jaw, or blade formed by the upper arm, is hollowed into a
+groove and carries five long spikes on each side, with smaller
+indentations in between. The jaw formed by the fore-arm is grooved in
+the same way, but the teeth are finer, closer, and more regular. When
+at rest, the saw of the fore-arm fits into the groove of the upper arm.
+If the machine were only larger it would be a fearful instrument of
+torture.
+
+The head is in keeping with this arsenal. What a queer head it is! A
+pointed face, with curled moustaches; large goggle eyes; between them
+the blade of a dirk; and on the forehead a mad, unheard-of thing—a sort
+of tall mitre, an extravagant head-dress that juts forward, spreading
+right and left into peaked wings. What does the Devilkin want with that
+monstrous pointed cap, as magnificent as any ever worn by astrologer of
+old? The use of it will appear presently.
+
+The creature’s colouring at this time is commonplace—chiefly grey. As
+it develops it becomes faintly striped with pale green, white, and
+pink.
+
+If you come across this fantastic object in the bramble-bushes, it
+sways upon its four stilts, it wags its head at you knowingly, it
+twists its mitre round and peers over its shoulder. You seem to see
+mischief in its pointed face. But if you try to take hold of it this
+threatening attitude disappears at once; the raised corselet is
+lowered, and the creature makes off with mighty strides, helping itself
+along with its weapons, with which it clutches the twigs. If you have a
+practiced eye, however, the Empusa is easily caught, and penned in a
+cage of wire-gauze.
+
+At first I was uncertain how to feed them. My Devilkins were very
+little, a month or two old at most. I gave them Locusts suited to their
+size, the smallest I could find. They not only refused them, but were
+afraid of them. Any thoughtless Locust that meekly approached an Empusa
+met with a bad reception. The pointed mitre was lowered, and an angry
+thrust sent the Locust rolling. The wizard’s cap, then, is a defensive
+weapon. As the Ram charges with his forehead, so the Empusa butts with
+her mitre.
+
+I next offered her a live House-fly, and this time the dinner was
+accepted at once. The moment the Fly came within reach the watchful
+Devilkin turned her head, bent her corselet slantwise, harpooned the
+Fly, and gripped it between her two saws. No Cat could pounce more
+quickly on a Mouse.
+
+To my surprise I found that the Fly was not only enough for a meal, but
+enough for the whole day, and often for several days. These
+fierce-looking insects are extremely abstemious. I was expecting them
+to be ogres, and found them with the delicate appetites of invalids.
+After a time even a Midge failed to tempt them, and through the winter
+months they fasted altogether. When the spring came, however, they were
+ready to indulge in a small piece of Cabbage Butterfly or Locust;
+attacking their prey invariably in the neck, like the Mantis.
+
+The young Empusa has one very curious habit when in captivity. In its
+cage of wire-gauze its attitude is the same from first to last, and a
+most strange attitude it is. It grips the wire by the claws of its four
+hind-legs, and hangs motionless, back downwards, with the whole of its
+body suspended from those four points. If it wishes to move, its
+harpoons open in front, stretch out, grasp a mesh of the wire, and
+pull. This process naturally draws the insect along the wire, still
+upside down. Then the jaws close back against the chest.
+
+And this upside-down position, which seems to us so trying, lasts for
+no short while. It continues, in my cages, for ten months without a
+break. The Fly on the ceiling, it is true, adopts the same position;
+but she has her moments of rest. She flies, she walks in the usual way,
+she spreads herself flat in the sun. The Empusa, on the other hand,
+remains in her curious attitude for ten months on end, without a pause.
+Hanging from the wire netting, back downwards, she hunts, eats,
+digests, dozes, gets through all the experiences of an insect’s life,
+and finally dies. She clambers up while she is still quite young; she
+falls down in her old age, a corpse.
+
+This custom is all the more remarkable in that it is practised only in
+captivity. It is not an instinctive habit of the race; for out of doors
+the insect, except at rare intervals, stands on the bushes back
+upwards.
+
+Strange as the performance is, I know of a similar case that is even
+more peculiar: the attitude of certain Wasps and Bees during the
+night’s rest. A particular Wasp, an Ammophila with red fore-legs, is
+plentiful in my enclosure towards the end of August, and likes to sleep
+in one of the lavender borders. At dusk, especially after a stifling
+day when a storm is brewing, I am sure to find the strange sleeper
+settled there. Never was a more eccentric attitude chosen for a night’s
+rest. The jaws bite right into the lavender-stem. Its square shape
+supplies a firmer hold than a round stalk would give. With this one and
+only prop the Wasp’s body juts out stiffly at full length, with legs
+folded. It forms a right angle with the stalk, so that the whole weight
+of the insect rests upon the mandibles.
+
+The Ammophila is enabled by its mighty jaws to sleep in this way,
+extended in space. It takes an animal to think of a thing like that,
+which upsets all our previous ideas of rest. Should the threatening
+storm burst and the stalk sway in the wind, the sleeper is not troubled
+by her swinging hammock; at most, she presses her fore-legs for a
+moment against the tossing stem. Perhaps the Wasp’s jaws, like the
+Bird’s toes, possess the power of gripping more tightly in proportion
+to the violence of the wind. However that may be, there are several
+kinds of Wasps and Bees who adopt this strange position,—gripping a
+stalk with their mandibles, and sleeping with their bodies outstretched
+and their legs folded back. This state of things makes us wonder what
+it is that really constitutes rest.
+
+About the middle of May the Empusa is transformed into her full-grown
+condition. She is even more remarkable in figure and attire than the
+Praying Mantis. She still keeps some of her youthful eccentricities—the
+bust, the weapons on her knees, and the three rows of scales on the
+lower surface of her body. But she is now no longer twisted into a
+crook, and is comelier to look upon. Large pale-green wings, pink at
+the shoulder and swift in flight, cover the white and green stripes
+that ornament the body below. The male Empusa, who is a dandy, adorns
+himself, like some of the Moths, with feathery antennæ.
+
+When, in the spring, the peasant meets the Empusa, he thinks he sees
+the common Praying Mantis, who is a daughter of the autumn. They are so
+much alike that one would expect them to have the same habits. In fact,
+any one might be tempted, led away by the extraordinary armour, to
+suspect the Empusa of a mode of life even more atrocious than that of
+the Mantis. This would be a mistake: for all their war-like aspect the
+Empusæ are peaceful creatures.
+
+Imprisoned in their wire-gauze bell-jar, either in groups of half a
+dozen or in separate couples, they at no time lose their placidity.
+Even in their full-grown state they are very small eaters, and content
+themselves with a fly or two as their daily ration.
+
+Big eaters are naturally quarrelsome. The Mantis, gorged with Locusts,
+soon becomes irritated and shows fight. The Empusa, with her frugal
+meals, is a lover of peace. She indulges in no quarrels with her
+neighbours, nor does she pretend to be a ghost, with a view to
+frightening them, after the manner of the Mantis. She never unfurls her
+wings suddenly nor puffs like a startled Adder. She has never the least
+inclination for the cannibal banquets at which a sister, after being
+worsted in a fight, is eaten up. Nor does she, like the Mantis, devour
+her husband. Such atrocities are here unknown.
+
+The organs of the two insects are the same. These profound moral
+differences, therefore, are not due to any difference in the bodily
+form. Possibly they may arise from the difference in food. Simple
+living, as a matter of fact, softens character, in animals as in men;
+over-feeding brutalises it. The glutton, gorged with meat and strong
+drink—a very common cause of savage outbursts—could never be as gentle
+as the self-denying hermit who lives on bread dipped into a cup of
+milk. The Mantis is a glutton: the Empusa lives the simple life.
+
+And yet, even when this is granted, one is forced to ask a further
+question. Why, when the two insects are almost exactly the same in
+form, and might be expected to have the same needs, should the one have
+an enormous appetite and the other such temperate ways? They tell us,
+in their own fashion, what many insects have told us already: that
+inclinations and habits do not depend entirely upon anatomy. High above
+the laws that govern matter rise other laws that govern instincts.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS
+
+The White-faced Decticus stands at the head of the Grasshopper clan in
+my district, both as a singer and as an insect of imposing presence. He
+has a grey body, a pair of powerful mandibles, and a broad ivory face.
+Without being plentiful, he is neither difficult nor wearisome to hunt.
+In the height of summer we find him hopping in the long grass,
+especially at the foot of the sunny rocks where the turpentine-tree
+takes root.
+
+The Greek word dectikos means biting, fond of biting. The Decticus is
+well named. It is eminently an insect given to biting. Mind your finger
+if this sturdy Grasshopper gets hold of it: he will rip it till the
+blood comes. His powerful jaw, of which I have to beware when I handle
+him, and the large muscles that swell out his cheeks, are evidently
+intended for cutting up leathery prey.
+
+I find, when the Decticus is imprisoned in my menagerie, that any fresh
+meat tasting of Locust or Grasshopper suits his needs. The blue-winged
+Locust is the most frequent victim. As soon as the food is introduced
+into the cage there is an uproar, especially if the Dectici are hungry.
+They stamp about, and dart forward clumsily, being hampered by their
+long shanks. Some of the Locusts are caught at once, but others with
+desperate bounds rush to the top of the cage, and there hang on out of
+the reach of the Grasshopper, who is too stout to climb so high. But
+they have only postponed their fate. Either because they are tired, or
+because they are tempted by the green stuff below, they will come down,
+and the Dectici will be after them immediately.
+
+This Grasshopper, though his intellect is dull, possesses the art of
+scientific killing of which we have seen instances elsewhere. He always
+spears his prey in the neck, and, to make it helpless as quickly as
+possible, begins by biting the nerves that enable it to move. It is a
+very wise method, for the Locust is hard to kill. Even when beheaded he
+goes on hopping. I have seen some who, though half-eaten, kicked out so
+desperately that they succeeded in escaping.
+
+With his weakness for Locusts, and also for certain seeds that are
+harmful to unripe corn, these Grasshoppers might be of some service to
+agriculture if only there were more of them. But nowadays his
+assistance in preserving the fruits of the earth is very feeble. His
+chief interest in our eyes is the fact that he is a memorial of the
+remotest times. He gives us a vague glimpse of habits now out of use.
+
+It was thanks to the Decticus that I first learnt one or two things
+about young Grasshoppers.
+
+Instead of packing their eggs in casks of hardened foam, like the
+Locust and the Mantis, or laying them in a twig like the Cicada,
+Grasshoppers plant them like seeds in the earth.
+
+The mother Decticus has a tool at the end of her body with which she
+scrapes out a little hole in the soil. In this hole she lays a certain
+number of eggs, then loosens the dust round the side of the hole and
+rams it down with her tool, very much as we should pack the earth in a
+hole with a stick. In this way she covers up the well, and then sweeps
+and smooths the ground above it.
+
+She then goes for a little walk in the neighbourhood, by way of
+recreation. Soon she comes back to the place where she has already laid
+her eggs, and, very near the original spot, which she recognises quite
+well, begins the work afresh. If I watch her for an hour I see her go
+through this whole performance, including the short stroll in the
+neighbourhood, no less than five times. The points where she lays the
+eggs are always very close together.
+
+When everything is finished I examine the little pits. The eggs lie
+singly, without any cell or sheath to protect them. There are about
+sixty of them altogether, pale lilac-grey in colour, and shaped like a
+shuttle.
+
+When I began to observe the ways of the Decticus I was anxious to watch
+the hatching, so at the end of August I gathered plenty of eggs, and
+placed them in a small glass jar with a layer of sand. Without
+suffering any apparent change they spent eight months there under
+cover, sheltered from the frosts, the showers, and the overpowering
+heat of the sun, which they would be obliged to endure out of doors.
+
+When June came, the eggs in my jar showed no sign of being about to
+hatch. They were just as I had gathered them nine months before,
+neither wrinkled nor tarnished, but on the contrary wearing a most
+healthy look. Yet in June young Dectici are often to be met in the
+fields, and sometimes even those of larger growth. What was the reason
+of this delay, I wondered.
+
+Then an idea came to me. The eggs of the Grasshopper are planted like
+seeds in the earth, where they are exposed, without any protection, to
+snow and rain. Those in my jar had spent two-thirds of the year in a
+state of comparative dryness. Since they were sown like seeds, perhaps
+they needed, to make them hatch, the moisture that seeds require to
+make them sprout. I resolved to try.
+
+I placed at the bottom of some glass tubes a pinch of backward eggs
+taken from my collection, and on the top I heaped lightly a layer of
+fine, damp sand. I closed the tubes with plugs of wet cotton, to keep
+the air in them constantly moist. Any one seeing my preparations would
+have supposed me to be a botanist experimenting with seeds.
+
+My hopes were fulfilled. In the warmth and moisture the eggs soon
+showed signs of hatching. They began to swell, and the bursting of the
+shell was evidently close at hand. I spent a fortnight in keeping a
+tedious watch at every hour of the day, for I had to surprise the young
+Decticus actually leaving the egg, in order to solve a question that
+had long been in my mind.
+
+The question was this. The Grasshopper is buried, as a rule, about an
+inch below the surface of the soil. Now the new-born Decticus, hopping
+awkwardly in the grass at the approach of summer, has, like the
+full-grown insect, a pair of very long tentacles, as slender as hairs;
+while he carries behind him two extraordinary legs, two enormous hinged
+jumping-poles that would be very inconvenient for ordinary walking. I
+wished to find out how the feeble little creature set to work, with
+this cumbrous luggage, to make its way to the surface of the earth. By
+what means could it clear a passage through the rough soil? With its
+feathery antennæ, which an atom of sand can break, and its immense
+shanks, which are disjointed by the least effort, this mite is plainly
+incapable of freeing itself.
+
+As I have already told you, the Cicada and the Praying Mantis, when
+issuing, the one from his twig, and the other from his nest, wear a
+protective covering like an overall. It seemed to me that the little
+Grasshopper, too, must come out through the sand in a simpler, more
+compact form than he wears when he hops about the lawn on the day after
+his birth.
+
+Nor was I mistaken. The Decticus, like the others, wears an overall for
+the occasion. The tiny, flesh-white creature is cased in a scabbard
+which keeps the six legs flattened against the body, stretching
+backwards, inert. In order to slip more easily through the soil his
+shanks are tied up beside him; while the antennæ, those other
+inconvenient appendages, are pressed motionless against the parcel.
+
+The head is very much bent against the chest. With the big black specks
+that are going to be its eyes, and its inexpressive, rather swollen
+mask, it suggests a diver’s helmet. The neck opens wide at the back,
+and, with a slow throbbing, by turns swells and sinks. It is by means
+of this throbbing protrusion through the opening at the back of the
+head that the new-born insect moves. When the lump is flat, the head
+pushes back the damp sand a little way and slips into it by digging a
+tiny pit. Then the swelling is blown out and becomes a knob which
+sticks firmly in the hole. This supplies the resistance necessary for
+the grub to draw up its back and push. Thus a step forward is made.
+Each thrust of the motor-blister helps the little Decticus upon the
+upward path.
+
+It is pitiful to see this tender creature, still almost colourless,
+knocking with its swollen neck and ramming the rough soil. With flesh
+that is not yet hardened it is painfully fighting stone; and fighting
+it so successfully that in the space of a morning it makes a gallery,
+either straight or winding, an inch long and as wide as an average
+straw. In this way the harassed insect reaches the surface.
+
+Before it is altogether freed from the soil the struggler halts for a
+moment, to recover from the effects of the journey. Then, with renewed
+strength, it makes a last effort: it swells the protrusion at the back
+of its head as far as it will go, and bursts the sheath that has
+protected it so far. The creature throws off its overall.
+
+Here, then, is the Decticus in his youthful shape, quite pale still,
+but darker the next day, and a regular blackamoor compared with the
+full-grown insect. As a prelude to the ivory face of his riper age he
+wears a narrow white stripe under his hinder thighs.
+
+Little Decticus, hatched before my eyes, life opens for you very
+harshly! Many of your relatives must die of exhaustion before winning
+their freedom. In my tubes I see numbers who, being stopped by a grain
+of sand, give up the struggle half-way and become furred with a sort of
+silky fluff. Mildew soon absorbs their poor little remains. And when
+carried out without my help, their journey to the surface must be even
+more dangerous, for the soil out of doors is coarse and baked by the
+sun.
+
+The little white-striped nigger nibbles at the lettuce-leaf I give him,
+and leaps about gaily in the cage where I have housed him. I could
+easily rear him, but he would not teach me much more. So I restore him
+to liberty. In return for what he has taught me I give him the grass
+and the Locusts in the garden.
+
+For he taught me that Grasshoppers, in order to leave the ground where
+the eggs are laid, wear a temporary form which keeps those too cumbrous
+parts, the long legs and antennæ, swathed together in a sheath. He
+taught me, too, that this mummy-like creature, fit only to lengthen and
+shorten itself a little, has for its means of travelling a hernia in
+the neck, a throbbing blister—an original piece of mechanism which,
+when I first observed the Decticus, I had never seen used as an aid to
+progression.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+COMMON WASPS
+
+
+I
+
+THEIR CLEVERNESS AND STUPIDITY
+
+Wishing to observe a Wasp’s nest I go out, one day in September, with
+my little son Paul, who helps me with his good sight and his undivided
+attention. We look with interest at the edges of the footpaths.
+
+Suddenly Paul cries: “A Wasp’s nest! A Wasp’s nest, as sure as
+anything!” For, twenty yards away, he has seen rising from the ground,
+shooting up and flying away, now one and then another swiftly moving
+object, as though some tiny crater in the grass were hurling them
+forth.
+
+We approach the spot with caution, fearing to attract the attention of
+the fierce creatures. At the entrance-door of their dwelling, a round
+opening large enough to admit a man’s thumb, the inmates come and go,
+busily passing one another as they fly in opposite directions. Burr! A
+shudder runs through me at the thought of the unpleasant time we should
+have, did we incite these irritable warriors to attack us by inspecting
+them too closely. Without further investigation, which might cost us
+too dear, we mark the spot, and resolve to return at nightfall. By that
+time all the inhabitants of the nest will have come home from the
+fields.
+
+The conquest of a nest of Common Wasps would be rather a serious
+undertaking if one did not act with a certain amount of prudence. Half
+a pint of petrol, a reed-stump nine inches long, and a good-sized lump
+of clay or loam, kneaded to the right consistency—such are my weapons,
+which I have come to consider the best and simplest, after various
+trials with less successful means.
+
+The suffocating method is necessary, unless I use costly measures which
+I cannot afford. When Réaumur wanted to place a live Wasp’s nest in a
+glass case with a view to observing the habits of the inmates, he
+employed helpers who were used to the painful job, and were willing,
+for a handsome reward, to serve the man of science at the cost of their
+skins. But I, who should have to pay with my own skin, think twice
+before digging up the nest I desire. I begin by suffocating the
+inhabitants. Dead Wasps do not sting. It is a brutal method, but
+perfectly safe.
+
+I use petrol because its effects are not too violent, and in order to
+make my observations I wish to leave a small number of survivors. The
+question is how to introduce it into the cavity containing the Wasp’s
+nest. A vestibule, or entrance-passage, about nine inches long, and
+very nearly horizontal, leads to the underground cells. To pour the
+petrol straight into the mouths of this tunnel would be a blunder that
+might have serious consequences later on. For so small a quantity of
+petrol would be absorbed by the soil and would never reach the nest;
+and next day, when we might think we were digging safely, we should
+find an infuriated swarm under the spade.
+
+The bit of reed prevents this mishap. When inserted into the passage it
+forms a water-tight funnel, and carries the petrol to the cavern
+without the loss of a drop, and as quickly as possible. Then we fix the
+lump of kneaded clay into the entrance-hole, like a stopper. We have
+nothing to do now but wait.
+
+When we are going to perform this operation Paul and I set out,
+carrying a lantern and a basket with the implements, at nine o’clock on
+some mild, moonlit evening. While the farmhouse Dogs are yelping at
+each other in the distance, and the Screech Owl is hooting in the
+olive-trees, and the Italian Crickets are performing their symphony in
+the bushes, Paul and I chat about insects. He asks questions, eager to
+learn, and I tell him the little that I know. So delightful are our
+nights of Wasp-hunting that we think little of the loss of sleep or the
+chance of being stung!
+
+The pushing of the reed into the hole is the most delicate matter.
+Since the direction of the passage is unknown there is some hesitation,
+and sometimes sentries come flying out of the Wasp’s guard-house to
+attack the operator’s hand. To prevent this one of us keeps watch, and
+drives away the enemy with a handkerchief. And after all, a swelling on
+one’s hand, even if it does smart, is not much to pay for an idea.
+
+As the petrol streams into the cavern we hear the threatening buzz of
+the population underground. Then quick!—the door must be closed with
+the wet clay, and the clod kicked once or twice with the heel to make
+the stopper solid. There is nothing more to be done for the present.
+Off we go to bed.
+
+With a spade and a trowel we are back on the spot at dawn. It is wise
+to be early, because many Wasps will have been out all night, and will
+want to get into their home while we are digging. The chill of the
+morning will make them less fierce.
+
+In front of the entrance-passage, in which the reed is still sticking,
+we dig a trench wide enough to allow us free movement. Then the side of
+this ditch is carefully cut away, slice after slice, until, at a depth
+of about twenty inches, the Wasp’s nest is revealed, uninjured, slung
+from the roof of a spacious cavity.
+
+It is indeed a superb achievement, as large as a fair-sized pumpkin. It
+hangs free on every side except at the top, where various roots, mostly
+of couch-grass, penetrate the thickness of the wall and fasten the nest
+firmly. Its shape is round wherever the ground has been soft, and of
+the same consistency all through. In stony soil, where the Wasps meet
+with obstacles in their digging, the sphere becomes more or less
+misshapen.
+
+A space of a hand’s-breadth is always left open between the paper nest
+and the sides of the underground vault. This space is the wide street
+along which the builders move unhindered at their continual task of
+enlarging and strengthening the nest, and the passage that leads to the
+outer world opens into it. Underneath the nest is a much larger
+unoccupied space, rounded into a big basin, so that the wrapper of the
+nest can be enlarged as fresh cells are added. This cavity also serves
+as a dust-bin for refuse.
+
+The cavity was dug by the Wasps themselves. Of that there is no doubt;
+for holes so large and so regular do not exist ready-made. The original
+foundress of the nest may have seized on some cavity made by a Mole, to
+help her at the beginning; but the greater part of the enormous vault
+was the work of the Wasps. Yet there is not a scrap of rubbish outside
+the entrance. Where is the mass of earth that has been removed?
+
+It has been spread over such a large surface of ground that it is
+unnoticed. Thousands and thousands of Wasps work at digging the cellar,
+and enlarging it as that becomes necessary. They fly up to the outer
+world, each carrying a particle of earth, which they drop on the ground
+at some distance from the nest, in all directions. Being scattered in
+this way the earth leaves no visible trace.
+
+The Wasp’s nest is made of a thin, flexible material like brown paper,
+formed of particles of wood. It is streaked with bands, of which the
+colour varies according to the wood used. If it were made in a single
+continuous sheet it would give little protection against the cold. But
+the Common Wasp, like the ballon-maker, knows that heat may be
+preserved by means of a cushion of air contained by several wrappers.
+So she makes her paper-pulp into broad scales, which overlap loosely
+and are laid on in numerous layers. The whole forms a coarse blanket,
+thick and spongy in texture and well filled with stagnant air. The
+temperature under this shelter must be truly tropical in hot weather.
+
+The fierce Hornet, chief of the Wasps, builds her nest on the same
+principle. In the hollow of a willow, or within some empty granary, she
+makes, out of fragments of wood, a very brittle kind of striped yellow
+cardboard. Her nest is wrapped round with many layers of this
+substance, laid on in the form of broad convex scales which are welded
+to one another. Between them are wide intervals in which air is held
+motionless.
+
+The Wasp, then, often acts in accordance with the laws of physics and
+geometry. She employs air, a non-conductor of heat, to keep her home
+warm; she made blankets before man thought of it; she builds the outer
+walls of the nest in the shape that gives her the largest amount of
+room in the smallest wrapper; and in the form of her cell, too, she
+economises space and material.
+
+And yet, clever as these wonderful architects are, they amaze us by
+their stupidity in the face of the smallest difficulty. On the one hand
+their instincts teach them to behave like men of science; but on the
+other it is plain that they are entirely without the power of
+reflection. I have convinced myself of this fact by various
+experiments.
+
+The Common Wasp has chanced to set up house beside one of the walks in
+my enclosure, which enables me to experiment with a bell-glass. In the
+open fields I could not use this appliance, because the boys of the
+countryside would soon smash it. One night, when all was dark and the
+Wasps had gone home, I placed the glass over the entrance of the
+burrow, after first flattening the soil. When the Wasps began work
+again next morning and found themselves checked in their flight, would
+they succeed in making a passage under the rim of the glass? Would
+these sturdy creatures, who were capable of digging a spacious cavern,
+realise that a very short underground tunnel would set them free? That
+was the question.
+
+The next morning I found the bright sunlight falling on the bell-glass,
+and the workers ascending in crowds from underground, eager to go in
+search of provisions. They butted against the transparent wall, tumbled
+down, picked themselves up again, and whirled round and round in a
+crazy swarm. Some, weary of dancing, wandered peevishly at random and
+then re-entered their dwelling. Others took their places as the sun
+grew hotter. But not one of them, not a single one, scratched with her
+feet at the base of the glass circle. This means of escape was beyond
+them.
+
+Meanwhile a few Wasps who had spent the night out of doors were coming
+in from the fields. Round and round the bell-glass they flew; and at
+last, after much hesitation, one of them decided to dig under the edge.
+Others followed her example, a passage was easily opened, and the Wasps
+went in. Then I closed the passage with some earth. The narrow opening,
+if seen from within, might help the Wasps to escape, and I wished to
+leave the prisoners the honour of winning their liberty.
+
+However poor the Wasps’ power of reasoning, I thought their escape was
+now probable. Those who had just entered would surely show the way;
+they would teach the others to dig below the wall of glass.
+
+I was too hasty. Of learning by experience or example there was not a
+sign. Inside the glass not an attempt was made to dig a tunnel. The
+insect population whirled round and round, but showed no enterprise.
+They floundered about, while every day numbers died from famine and
+heat. At the end of a week not one was left alive. A heap of corpses
+covered the ground.
+
+The Wasps returning from the field could find their way in, because the
+power of scenting their house through the soil, and searching for it,
+is one of their natural instincts, one of the means of defence given to
+them. There is no need for thought or reasoning here: the earthy
+obstacle has been familiar to every Wasp since Wasps first came into
+the world.
+
+But those who are within the bell-glass have no such instinct to help
+them. Their aim is to get into the light, and finding daylight in their
+transparent prison they think their aim is accomplished. In spite of
+constant collisions with the glass they spend themselves in vainly
+trying to fly farther in the direction of the sunshine. There is
+nothing in the past to teach them what to do. They keep blindly to
+their familiar habits, and die.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+SOME OF THEIR HABITS
+
+If we open the thick envelope of the nest we shall find, inside, a
+number of combs, or layers of cells, lying one below the other and
+fastened together by solid pillars. The number of these layers varies.
+Towards the end of the season there may be ten, or even more. The
+opening of the cells is on the lower surface. In this strange world the
+young grow, sleep, and receive their food head downwards.
+
+The various storeys, or layers of combs, are divided by open spaces;
+and between the outer envelope and the stack of combs there are
+doorways through which every part can be easily reached. There is a
+continual coming and going of nurses, attending to the grubs in the
+cells. On one side of the outer wrapper is the gate of the city, a
+modest unadorned opening, lost among the thin scales of the envelope.
+Facing it is the entrance to the tunnel that leads from the cavity to
+the world at large.
+
+In a Wasp community there is a large number of Wasps whose whole life
+is spent in work. It is their business to enlarge the nest as the
+population grows; and though they have no grubs of their own, they
+nurse the grubs in the cells with the greatest care and industry.
+Wishing to watch their operations, and also to see what would take
+place at the approach of winter, I placed under cover one October a few
+fragments of a nest, containing a large number of eggs and grubs, with
+about a hundred workers to take care of them.
+
+To make my inspection easier I separated the combs and placed them side
+by side, with the openings of the cells turned upwards. This
+arrangement, the reverse of the usual position, did not seem to annoy
+my prisoners, who soon recovered from the disturbance and set to work
+as if nothing had happened. In case they should wish to build I gave
+them a slip of soft wood; and I fed them with honey. The underground
+cave in which the nest hangs out of doors was represented by a large
+earthen pan under a wire-gauze cover. A removable cardboard dome
+provided darkness for the Wasps, and—when removed—light for me.
+
+The Wasps’ work went on as if it had never been interrupted. The
+worker-Wasps attended to the grubs and the building at the same time.
+They began to raise a wall round the most thickly populated combs; and
+it seemed as though they might intend to build a new envelope, to
+replace the one ruined by my spade. But they were not repairing; they
+were simply carrying on the work from the point at which I interrupted
+it. Over about a third of the comb they made an arched roof of paper
+scales, which would have been joined to the envelope of the nest if it
+had been intact. The tent they made sheltered only a small part of the
+disk of cells.
+
+As for the wood I provided for them, they did not touch it. To this raw
+material, which would have been troublesome to work, they preferred the
+old cells that were no longer in use. In these the fibres were already
+prepared; and, with a little saliva and a little grinding in their
+mandibles, they turned them into pulp of the highest quality. The
+uninhabited cells were nibbled into pieces, and out of the ruins a sort
+of canopy was built. New cells could be made in the same way if
+necessary.
+
+Even more interesting than this roofing-work is the feeding of the
+grubs. One could never weary of the sight of the rough fighters turned
+into tender nurses. The barracks become a crêche. With what care those
+grubs are reared! If we watch one of the busy Wasps we shall see her,
+with her crop swollen with honey, halt in front of a cell. With a
+thoughtful air she bends her head into the opening, and touches the
+grub with the tip of her antenna. The grub wakes and gapes at her, like
+a fledgling when the mother-bird returns to the nest with food.
+
+For a moment the awakened larva swings its head to and fro: it is
+blind, and is trying to feel the food brought to it. The two mouths
+meet; a drop of syrup passes from the nurse’s mouth to the nurseling’s.
+That is enough for the moment: now for the next Wasp-baby. The nurse
+moves on, to continue her duties elsewhere.
+
+Meanwhile the grub is licking the base of its own neck. For, while it
+is being fed, there appears a temporary swelling on its chest, which
+acts as a bib, and catches whatever trickles down from the mouth. After
+swallowing the chief part of the meal the grub gathers up the crumbs
+that have fallen on its bib. Then the swelling disappears; and the
+grub, withdrawing a little way into its cell, resumes its sweet
+slumbers.
+
+When fed in my cage the Wasp-grubs have their heads up, and what falls
+from their mouths collects naturally on their bibs. When fed in the
+nest they have their heads down. But I have no doubt that even in this
+position the bib serves its purpose.
+
+By slightly bending its head the grub can always deposit on the
+projecting bib a portion of the overflowing mouthful, which is sticky
+enough to remain there. Moreover, it is quite possible that the nurse
+herself places a portion of her helping on this spot. Whether it be
+above or below the mouth, right way up or upside down, the bib fulfils
+its office because of the sticky nature of the food. It is a temporary
+saucer which shortens the work of serving out the rations, and enables
+the grub to feed in a more or less leisurely fashion and without too
+much gluttony.
+
+In the open country, late in the year when fruit is scarce, the grubs
+are mostly fed upon minced Fly; but in my cages everything is refused
+but honey. Both nurses and nurselings seem to thrive on this diet, and
+if any intruder ventures too near to the combs he is doomed. Wasps, it
+appears, are far from hospitable. Even the Polistes, an insect who is
+absolutely like a Wasp in shape and colour, is at once recognised and
+mobbed if she approaches the honey the Wasps are sipping. Her
+appearance takes nobody in for a moment, and unless she hastily retires
+she will meet with a violent death. No, it is not a good thing to enter
+a Wasps’ nest, even when the stranger wears the same uniform, pursues
+the same industry, and is almost a member of the same corporation.
+
+Again and again I have seen the savage reception given to strangers. If
+the stranger be of sufficient importance he is stabbed, and his body is
+dragged from the nest and flung into the refuse-heap below. But the
+poisoned dagger seems to be reserved for great occasions. If I throw
+the grub of a Saw-fly among the Wasps they show great surprise at the
+black-and-green dragon; they snap at it boldly, and wound it, but
+without stinging it. They try to haul it away. The dragon resists,
+anchoring itself to the comb by its hooks, holding on now by its
+fore-legs and now by its hind-legs. At last the grub, however, weakened
+by its wounds, is torn from the comb and dragged bleeding to the
+refuse-pit. It has taken a couple of hours to dislodge it.
+
+Supposing, on the other hand, I throw on to the combs a certain
+imposing grub that lives under the bark of cherry-trees, five or six
+Wasps will at once prick it with their stings. In a couple of minutes
+it is dead. But the huge dead body is much too heavy to be carried out
+of the nest. So the Wasps, finding they cannot move the grub, eat it
+where it lies, or at least reduce its weight till they can drag the
+remains outside the walls.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THEIR SAD END
+
+Protected in this fierce way against the invasion of intruders, and fed
+with excellent honey, the grubs in my cage prosper greatly. But of
+course there are exceptions. In the Wasps’ nest, as everywhere, there
+are weaklings who are cut down before their time.
+
+I see these puny sufferers refuse their food and slowly pine away. The
+nurses perceive it even more clearly. They bend their heads over the
+invalid, sound it with their antennæ, and pronounce it incurable. Then
+the creature at the point of death is torn ruthlessly from its cell and
+dragged outside the nest. In the brutal commonwealth of the Wasps the
+invalid is merely a piece of rubbish, to be got rid of as soon as
+possible for fear of contagion. Nor indeed is this the worst. As winter
+draws near the Wasps foresee their fate. They know their end is at
+hand.
+
+The first cold nights of November bring a change in the nest. The
+building proceeds with diminished enthusiasm; the visits to the pool of
+honey are less constant. Household duties are relaxed. Grubs gaping
+with hunger receive tardy relief, or are even neglected. Profound
+uneasiness seizes upon the nurses. Their former devotion is succeeded
+by indifference, which soon turns to dislike. What is the good of
+continuing attentions which soon will be impossible? A time of famine
+is coming; the nurselings in any case must die a tragic death. So the
+tender nurses become savage executioners.
+
+“Let us leave no orphans,” they say to themselves; “no one would care
+for them after we are gone. Let us kill everything, eggs and grubs
+alike. A violent end is better than a slow death by starvation.”
+
+A massacre follows. The grubs are seized by the scruff of the neck,
+brutally torn from their cells, dragged out of the nest, and thrown
+into the refuse-heap at the bottom of the cave. The nurses, or workers,
+root them out of their cells as violently as though they were strangers
+or dead bodies. They tug at them savagely and tear them. Then the eggs
+are ripped open and devoured.
+
+Before much longer the nurses themselves, the executioners, are
+languidly dragging what remains of their lives. Day by day, with a
+curiosity mingled with emotion, I watch the end of my insects. The
+workers die suddenly. They come to the surface, slip down, fall on
+their backs and rise no more, as if they were struck by lightning. They
+have had their day; they are slain by age, that merciless poison. Even
+so does a piece of clockwork become motionless when its mainspring has
+unwound its last spiral.
+
+The workers are old: but the mothers are the last to be born into the
+nest, and have all the vigour of youth. And so, when winter sickness
+seizes them, they are capable of a certain resistance. Those whose end
+is near are easily distinguished from the others by the disorder of
+their appearance. Their backs are dusty. While they are well they dust
+themselves without ceasing, and their black-and-yellow coats are kept
+perfectly glossy. Those who are ailing are careless of cleanliness;
+they stand motionless in the sun or wander languidly about. They no
+longer brush their clothes.
+
+This indifference to dress is a bad sign. Two or three days later the
+dusty female leaves the nest for the last time. She goes outside, to
+enjoy yet a little of the sunlight; presently she slides quietly to the
+ground and does not get up again. She declines to die in her beloved
+paper home, where the code of the Wasps ordains absolute cleanliness.
+The dying Wasp performs her own funeral rites by dropping herself into
+the pit at the bottom of the cavern. For reasons of health these stoics
+refuse to die in the actual house, among the combs. The last survivors
+retain this repugnance to the very end. It is a law that never falls
+into disuse, however greatly reduced the population may be.
+
+My cage becomes emptier day by day, notwithstanding the mildness of the
+room, and notwithstanding the saucer of honey at which the able-bodied
+come to sip. At Christmas I have only a dozen females left. On the
+sixth of January the last of them perishes.
+
+Whence arises this mortality, which mows down the whole of my wasps?
+They have not suffered from famine: they have not suffered from cold:
+they have not suffered from home-sickness. Then what have they died of?
+
+We must not blame their captivity. The same thing happens in the open
+country. Various nests I have inspected at the end of December all show
+the same condition. The vast majority of Wasps must die, apparently,
+not by accident, nor illness, nor the inclemency of the season, but by
+an inevitable destiny, which destroys them as energetically as it
+brings them into life. And it is well for us that it is so. One female
+Wasp is enough to found a city of thirty thousand inhabitants. If all
+were to survive, what a scourge they would be! The Wasps would
+tyrannise over the countryside.
+
+In the end the nest itself perishes. A certain Caterpillar which later
+on becomes a mean-looking Moth; a tiny reddish Beetle; and a scaly grub
+clad in gold velvet, are the creatures that demolish it. They gnaw the
+floors of the various storeys, and crumble the whole dwelling. A few
+pinches of dust, a few shreds of brown paper are all that remain, by
+the return of spring, of the Wasps’ city and its thirty thousand
+inhabitants.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE ADVENTURES OF A GRUB
+
+
+I
+
+THE YOUNG SITARIS
+
+The high banks of sandy clay in the country round about Carpentras are
+the favourite haunts of a host of Bees and Wasps, those lovers of a
+sunny aspect and of soil that is easy to dig in. Here, in the month of
+May, two Bees, both of them Mason-bees, builders of subterranean cells,
+are especially abundant. One of them builds at the entrance of her
+dwelling an advanced fortification, an earthly cylinder, wrought in
+open work and curved, of the width and length of a man’s finger. When
+it is peopled with many Bees one stands amazed at the elaborate
+ornamentation formed by all these hanging fingers of clay.
+
+The other Bee, who is very much more frequently seen and is called
+Anthophora pilipes, leaves the opening of her corridor bare. The chinks
+between the stones in old walls and abandoned hovels, or exposed
+surfaces of sand stone or marl, are found suitable for her labours; but
+the favourite spots, those to which the greatest number of swarms
+resort, are straight stretches of ground exposed to the south, such as
+occur in the cuttings of deeply-sunken roads. Here, over areas many
+yards in width, the wall is drilled with a multitude of holes, which
+give to the earthy mass the look of some enormous sponge. These round
+holes might have been made with a gimlet, so regular are they. Each is
+the entrance to a winding corridor, which runs to the depth of four or
+five inches. The cells are at the far end. If we wish to watch the
+labours of the industrious Bee we must visit her workshop during the
+latter half of May. Then—but at a respectful distance—we may see, in
+all its bewildering activity, the tumultuous, buzzing swarm, busied
+with the building and provisioning of the cells.
+
+But it has been most often during the months of August and September,
+the happy months of the summer holidays, that I have visited the banks
+inhabited by the Anthophora. At this season all is silent near the
+nests: the work has long been completed: and numbers of Spiders’ webs
+line the crevices or plunge their silken tubes into the Bees’
+corridors. That is no reason, however, for hastily abandoning the city
+that was once so full of life and bustle, and now appears deserted. A
+few inches below the surface, thousands of grubs are imprisoned in
+their cells of clay, resting until the coming spring. Surely these
+grubs, which are paralysed and incapable of self-defence, must be a
+temptation—fat little morsels as they are—to some kind of parasite,
+some kind of insect stranger in search of prey. The matter is worth
+inquiring into.
+
+Two facts are at once noticeable. Some dismal-looking Flies, half black
+and half white, are flying indolently from gallery to gallery,
+evidently with the object of laying their eggs there. Many of them are
+hanging dry and lifeless in the Spiders’ webs. At other places the
+entire surface of a bank is hung with the dried corpses of a certain
+Beetle, called the Sitaris. Among the corpses, however, are a few live
+Beetles, both male and female. The female Beetle invariably disappears
+into the Bees’ dwelling. Without a doubt she, too, lays her eggs there.
+
+If we give a few blows of the pick to the surface of the bank we shall
+find out something more about these things. During the early days of
+August this is what we shall see: the cells forming the top layer are
+unlike those at a greater depth. The difference is owing to the fact
+that the same establishment is used by two kinds of Bee, the Anthophora
+and the Osmia.
+
+The Anthophoræ are the actual pioneers. The work of boring the
+galleries is wholly theirs, and their cells are right at the end. If
+they, for any reason, leave the outer cells, the Osmia comes in and
+takes possession of them. She divides the corridors into unequal and
+inartistic cells by means of rough earthen partitions, her only idea of
+masonry.
+
+The cells of the Anthophora are faultlessly regular and perfectly
+finished. They are works of art, cut out of the very substance of the
+earth, well out of reach of all ordinary enemies; and for this reason
+the larva of this Bee has no means of spinning a cocoon. It lies naked
+in the cell, whose inner surface is polished like stucco.
+
+In the Osmia’s cells, however, means of defence are required, because
+they are at the surface of the soil, are roughly made, and are badly
+protected by their thin partitions. So the Osmia’s grubs enclose
+themselves in a very strong cocoon, which preserves them both from the
+rough sides of their shapeless cells and from the jaws of various
+enemies who prowl about the galleries. It is easy, then, in a bank
+inhabited by these two Bees, to recognise the cells belonging to each.
+The Anthophora’s cells contain a naked grub: those of the Osmia contain
+a grub enclosed in a cocoon.
+
+Now each of these two Bees has its own especial parasite, or uninvited
+guest. The parasite of the Osmia is the black-and-white Fly who is to
+be seen so often at the entrance to the galleries, intent on laying her
+eggs within them. The parasite of the Anthophora is the Sitaris, the
+Beetle whose corpses appear in such quantities on the surface of the
+bank.
+
+If the layer of Osmia-cells be removed from the nest we can observe the
+cells of the Anthophora. Some will be occupied by larvæ, some by the
+perfect insect, and some—indeed many—will contain a singular egg-shaped
+shell, divided into segments with projecting breathing-pores. This
+shell is extremely thin and fragile; it is amber-coloured, and so
+transparent that one can distinguish quite plainly through its sides a
+full-grown Sitaris, struggling as though to set herself at liberty.
+
+What is this curious shell, which does not appear to be a Beetle’s
+shell at all? And how can this parasite reach a cell which seems to be
+inaccessible because of its position, and in which the most careful
+examination under the magnifying-glass reveals no sign of violence?
+Three years of close observation enabled me to answer these questions,
+and to add one of its most astonishing chapters to the story of insect
+life. Here is the result of my inquiries.
+
+The Sitaris in the full-grown state lives only for a day or two, and
+its whole life is passed at the entrance to the Anthophora’s galleries.
+It has no concern but the reproduction of the species. It is provided
+with the usual digestive organs, but I have grave reasons to doubt
+whether it actually takes any nourishment whatever. The female’s only
+thought is to lay her eggs. This done, she dies. The male, after
+cowering in a crevice for a day or two, also perishes. This is the
+origin of all those corpses swinging in the Spiders’ web, with which
+the neighbourhood of the Anthophora’s dwelling is upholstered.
+
+At first sight one would expect that the Sitaris, when laying her eggs,
+would go from cell to cell, confiding an egg to each of the Bee-grubs.
+But when, in the course of my observations, I searched the Bees’
+galleries, I invariably found the eggs of the Sitaris gathered in a
+heap inside the entrance, at a distance of an inch or two from the
+opening. They are white, oval, and very small, and they stick together
+slightly. As for their number, I do not believe I am exaggerating when
+I estimate it at two thousand at least.
+
+Thus, contrary to what one was to some extent entitled to suppose, the
+eggs are not laid in the cells of the Bee; they are simply dumped in a
+heap inside the doorway of her dwelling. Nay more, the mother does not
+make any protective structure for them; she takes no pains to shield
+them from the rigours of winter; she does not even attempt to stop up
+the entrance-lobby in which she has placed them, and so protect them
+from the thousand enemies that threaten them. For as long as the frosts
+of winter have not arrived these open galleries are trodden by Spiders
+and other plunderers, for whom the eggs would make an agreeable meal.
+
+The better to observe them, I placed a number of the eggs in boxes; and
+when they hatched out about the end of September I imagined they would
+at once start off in search of an Anthophora-cell. I was entirely
+wrong. The young grubs—little black creatures no more than the
+twenty-fifth of an inch long—did not move away, though provided with
+vigorous legs. They remained higgledy-piggledy, mixed up with the skins
+of the eggs whence they came. In vain I placed within their reach lumps
+of earth containing open Bee-cells: nothing would tempt them to move.
+If I forcibly removed a few from the common heap they at once hurried
+back to it in order to hide themselves among the rest.
+
+At last, to assure myself that the Sitaris-grubs, in the free state, do
+not disperse after they are hatched, I went in the winter to Carpentras
+and inspected the banks inhabited by the Anthophoræ. There, as in my
+boxes, I found the grubs all piled up in heaps, all mixed up with the
+skins of the eggs.
+
+I was no nearer answering the question: how does the Sitaris get into
+the Bees’ cells, and into a shell that does not belong to it?
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE FIRST ADVENTURE
+
+The appearance of the young Sitaris showed me at once that its habits
+must be peculiar. It could not, I saw, be called on to move on an
+ordinary surface. The spot where this larva has to live evidently
+exposes it to the risk of many dangerous falls, since, in order to
+prevent them, it is equipped with a pair of powerful mandibles, curved
+and sharp; robust legs which end in a long and very mobile claw; a
+variety of bristles and probes; and a couple of strong spikes with
+sharp, hard points—an elaborate mechanism, like a sort of ploughshare,
+capable of biting into the most highly polished surface. Nor is this
+all. It is further provided with a sticky liquid, sufficiently adhesive
+to hold it in position without the help of other appliances. In vain I
+racked my brains to guess what the substance might be, so shifting, so
+uncertain, and so perilous, which the young Sitaris is destined to
+inhabit. I waited with eager impatience for the return of the warm
+weather.
+
+At the end of April the young grubs imprisoned in my cages, hitherto
+lying motionless and hidden in the spongy heap of egg-skins, suddenly
+began to move. They scattered, and ran about in all directions through
+the boxes and jars in which they have passed the winter. Their hurried
+movements and untiring energy showed they were in search of something,
+and the natural thing for them to seek was food. For these grubs were
+hatched at the end of September, and since then, that is to say for
+seven long months, they had taken no nourishment, although they were by
+no means in a state of torpor. From the moment of their hatching they
+are doomed, though full of life, to an absolute fast lasting for seven
+months; and when I saw their excitement I naturally supposed that an
+imperious hunger had set them bustling in that fashion.
+
+The food they desired could only be the contents of the Anthophora’s
+cells, since at a later stage the Sitaris is found in those cells. Now
+these contents are limited to honey and Bee-grubs.
+
+I offered them some cells containing larvæ: I even slipped the Sitares
+into the cells, and did all sorts of things to tempt their appetite. My
+efforts were fruitless. Then I tried honey. In hunting for cells
+provisioned with honey I lost a good part of the month of May. Having
+found them I removed the Bee-grub from some of them, and laid the
+Sitaris-grub on the surface of the honey. Never did experiment break
+down so completely! Far from eating the honey, the grubs became
+entangled in the sticky mass and perished in it, suffocated. “I have
+offered you larvæ, cells, honey!” I cried in despair. “Then what do you
+want, you fiendish little creatures?”
+
+Well, in the end I found out what they wanted. They wanted the
+Anthophora herself to carry them into the cells!
+
+When April comes, as I said before, the heap of grubs at the entrance
+to the Bees’ cells begins to show signs of activity. A few days later
+they are no longer there. Strange as it may appear, they are all
+careering about the country, sometimes at a great distance, clinging
+like grim death to the fleece of a Bee!
+
+When the Anthophoræ pass by the entrance to their cells, on their way
+either in or out, the young Sitaris-grub, who is lying in wait there,
+attaches himself to one of the Bees. He wriggles into the fur and
+clutches it so firmly that he need not fear a fall during the long
+journeys of the insect that carries him. By thus attaching himself to
+the Bee the Sitaris intends to get himself carried, at the right
+moment, into a cell supplied with honey.
+
+One might at first sight believe that these adventurous grubs derive
+food for a time from the Bee’s body. But not at all. The young Sitares,
+embedded in the fleece, at right angles to the body of the Anthophora,
+head inwards, tail outwards, do not stir from the spot they have
+selected, a point near the Bee’s shoulders. We do not see them
+wandering from spot to spot, exploring the Bee’s body, seeking the part
+where the skin is most delicate, as they would certainly do if they
+were really feeding on the insect. On the contrary, they are always
+fixed on the toughest and hardest part of the Bee’s body, a little
+below the insertion of the wings, or sometimes on the head; and they
+remain absolutely motionless, clinging to a single hair. It seems to me
+undeniable that the young Sitares settle on the Bee merely to make her
+carry them into the cells that she will soon be building.
+
+But in the meantime the future parasites must hold tight to the fleece
+of their hostess, in spite of her rapid flights among the flowers, in
+spite of her rubbing against the walls of the galleries when she enters
+to take shelter, and in spite, above all, of the brushing which she
+must often give herself with her feet, to dust herself and keep spick
+and span. We were wondering a little time ago what the dangerous,
+shifting thing could be on which the grub would have to establish
+itself. That thing is the hair of a Bee who makes a thousand rapid
+journeys, now diving into her narrow galleries, now forcing her way
+down the tight throat of a flower.
+
+We can now quite understand the use of the two spikes, which close
+together and are able to take hold of hair more easily than the most
+delicate tweezers. We can see the full value of the sticky liquid that
+helps the tiny creature to hold fast; and we can realise that the
+elastic probes and bristles on the legs serve to penetrate the Bee’s
+down and anchor the grub in position. The more one considers this
+arrangement, which seems so useless as the grub drags itself
+laboriously over a smooth surface, the more does one marvel at all the
+machinery which this fragile creature carries about to save it from
+falling during its adventurous rides.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE SECOND ADVENTURE
+
+One 21st of May I went to Carpentras, determined to see, if possible,
+the entrance of the Sitaris into the Bee’s cells.
+
+The works were in full swing. In front of a high expanse of earth a
+swarm of Bees, stimulated by the sun, was dancing a crazy ballet. From
+the tumultuous heart of the cloud rose a monotonous, threatening
+murmur, while my bewildered eye tried to follow the movements of the
+throng. Quick as a lightning-flash thousands of Anthophoræ were flying
+hither and thither in search of booty: thousands of others, also, were
+arriving, laden with honey, or with mortar for their building.
+
+At that time I knew comparatively little about these insects. It seemed
+to me that any one who ventured into the swarm, or—above all—who laid a
+rash hand on the Bees’ dwellings, would instantly be stabbed by a
+thousand stings. I had once observed the combs of the Hornet too
+closely; and a shiver of fear passed through me.
+
+Yet, to find out what I wished to know, I must needs penetrate that
+fearsome swarm; I must stand for whole hours, perhaps all day, watching
+the works I intended to upset; lens in hand, I must examine, unmoved
+amid the whirl, the things that were happening in the cells. Moreover,
+the use of a mask, of gloves, of a covering of any kind, was out of the
+question, for my fingers and eyes must be absolutely free. No matter:
+even though I should leave the Bee’s nest with my face swollen beyond
+recognition, I was determined that day to solve the problem that had
+puzzled me too long.
+
+Having caught a few stray Anthophoræ with my net, I satisfied myself
+that the Sitaris-larvae were perched, as I expected, on the Bees.
+
+I buttoned my coat tightly and entered the heart of the swarm. With a
+few blows of the mattock I secured a lump of earth, and to my great
+surprise found myself uninjured. A second expedition, longer than the
+first, had the same result: not a Bee touched me with her sting. After
+this I remained permanently in front of the nest, removing lumps of
+earth, spilling the honey, and crushing the Bees, without arousing
+anything worse than a louder hum. For the Anthophora is a pacific
+creature. When disturbed in the cells it leaves them hastily and
+escapes, sometimes even mortally wounded, without using its venomous
+sting except when it is seized and handled.
+
+Thanks to this unexpected lack of spirit in the Mason-bee, I was able
+for hours to investigate her cells at my leisure, seated on a stone in
+the midst of the murmuring and distracted swarm, without receiving a
+single sting, though I took no precautions whatever. Country folk,
+happening to pass and seeing me seated thus calmly amid the Bees,
+stopped aghast to ask me if I had bewitched them.
+
+In this way I examined the cells. Some were still open, and contained
+only a more or less complete store of honey. Others were closely sealed
+with an earthen lid. The contents of these varied greatly. Sometimes I
+found the larva of a Bee; sometimes another, fatter kind of larva; at
+other times honey with an egg floating on the surface. The egg was of a
+beautiful white, and was shaped like a cylinder with a slight curve, a
+fifth or sixth of an inch in length—the egg of the Anthophora.
+
+In a few cells I found this egg floating all alone on the surface of
+the honey: in others, very many others, I saw, lying on the Bee’s egg
+as though on a sort of raft, a young Sitaris-grub. Its shape and size
+were those of the creature when it is hatched. Here, then, was the
+enemy within the gates.
+
+When and how did it get in? In none of the cells was I able to detect
+any chink by which it could have entered: they were all sealed quite
+tightly. The parasite must have established itself in the
+honey-warehouse before the warehouse was closed. On the other hand, the
+open cells, full of honey but as yet without an egg, never contain a
+Sitaris. The grub must therefore gain admittance either while the Bee
+is laying the egg, or else afterwards, while she is busy plastering up
+the door. My experiments have convinced me that the Sitaris enters the
+cell in the very second when the egg is laid on the surface of the
+honey.
+
+If I take a cell full of honey, with an egg floating in it, and place
+it in a glass tube with some Sitaris-grubs, they very rarely venture
+inside it. They cannot reach the raft in safety: the honey that
+surrounds it is too dangerous. If one of them by chance approaches the
+honey it tries to escape as soon as it sees the sticky nature of the
+stuff under its feet. It often ends by falling back into the cell,
+where it dies of suffocation. It is therefore certain that the grub
+does not leave the fleece of the Bee when the latter is in her cell or
+near it, in order to make a rush for the honey; for this honey would
+inevitably cause its death, if it so much as touched the surface.
+
+We must remember that the young Sitaris which is found in a closed cell
+is always placed on the egg of the Bee. This egg not only serves as a
+raft for the tiny creature floating on a very treacherous lake, but
+also provides it with its first meal. To get at this egg, in the centre
+of the lake of honey, to reach this raft which is also its first food,
+the young grub must somehow contrive to avoid the fatal touch of the
+honey.
+
+There is only one way in which this can be done. The clever grub, at
+the very moment when the Bee is laying her egg, slips off the Bee and
+on to the egg, and with it reaches the surface of the honey. The egg is
+too small to hold more than one grub, and that is why we never find
+more than one Sitaris in a cell. Such a performance on the part of a
+grub seems extraordinarily inspired—but then the study of insects
+constantly gives us examples of such inspiration.
+
+When dropping her egg upon the honey, then, the Anthophora at the same
+time drops into her cell the mortal enemy of her race. She carefully
+plasters the lid which closes the entrance to the cell, and all is
+done. A second cell is built beside it, probably to suffer the same
+fate; and so on until all the parasites sheltered by her fleece are
+comfortably housed. Let us leave the unhappy mother to continue her
+fruitless task, and turn our attention to the young larva which has so
+cleverly secured for itself board and lodging.
+
+Let us suppose that we remove the lid from a cell in which the egg,
+recently laid, supports a Sitaris-grub. The egg is intact and in
+perfect condition. But now the work of destruction begins. The grub, a
+tiny black speck which we see running over the white surface of the
+egg, at last stops and balances itself firmly on its six legs; then,
+seizing the delicate skin of the egg with the sharp hooks of its
+mandibles, it tugs at it violently till it breaks and spills the
+contents. These contents the grub eagerly drinks up. Thus the first
+stroke of the parasite’s mandibles is aimed at the destruction of the
+Bee’s egg.
+
+This is a very wise precaution on the part of the Sitaris-grub! It will
+have to feed on the honey in the cell: the Bee’s grub which would come
+out of the egg would also require the honey: there is not enough for
+two. So—quick!—a bite at the egg, and the difficulty is removed.
+
+Moreover, another reason for the destruction of the egg is that special
+tastes compel the young Sitaris to make its first meals of it. The tiny
+creature begins by greedily drinking the juices which the torn wrapper
+of the egg allows to escape. For several days it continues to rip the
+envelope gradually open, and to feed on the liquid that trickles from
+it. Meanwhile it never touches the honey that surrounds it. The Bee’s
+egg is absolutely necessary to the Sitaris-grub, not merely as a boat,
+but also as nourishment.
+
+At the end of a week the egg is nothing but a dry skin. The first meal
+is finished. The Sitaris-grub, which is now twice as large as before,
+splits open along the back, and through this slit the second form of
+this singular Beetle falls on the surface of the honey. Its cast skin
+remains on the raft, and will presently disappear with it beneath the
+waves of honey.
+
+Here ends the history of the first form adopted by the Sitaris.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+THE CRICKET
+
+
+I
+
+THE HOUSEHOLDER
+
+The Field Cricket, the inhabitant of the meadows, is almost as famous
+as the Cicada, and figures among the limited but glorious number of the
+classic insects. He owes this honour to his song and his house. One
+thing alone is lacking to complete his renown. The master of the art of
+making animals talk, La Fontaine, gives him hardly two lines.
+
+Florian, the other French writer of fables, gives us a story of a
+Cricket, but it lacks the simplicity of truth and the saving salt of
+humour. Besides, it represents the Cricket as discontented, bewailing
+his condition! This is a preposterous idea, for all who have studied
+him know, on the contrary, that he is very well pleased with his own
+talent and his own burrow. And indeed, at the end of the story, Florian
+makes him admit:
+
+
+        “My snug little home is a place of delight;
+        If you want to live happy, live hidden from sight!”
+
+
+I find more force and truth in some verses by a friend of mine, of
+which these are a translation:
+
+
+        Among the beasts a tale is told
+          How a poor Cricket ventured nigh
+        His door to catch the sun’s warm gold
+          And saw a radiant Butterfly.
+
+        She passed with tails thrown proudly back
+          And long gay rows of crescents blue,
+        Brave yellow stars and bands of black,
+          The lordliest Fly that ever flew.
+
+        “Ah, fly away,” the hermit said,
+          “Daylong among your flowers to roam;
+        Nor daisies white nor roses red
+          Will compensate my lowly home.”
+
+        True, all too true! There came a storm
+          And caught the Fly within its flood,
+        Staining her broken velvet form
+          And covering her wings with mud.
+
+        The Cricket, sheltered from the rain,
+          Chirped, and looked on with tranquil eye;
+        For him the thunder pealed in vain,
+          The gale and torrent passed him by.
+
+        Then shun the world, nor take your fill
+          Of any of its joys or flowers;
+        A lowly fireside, calm and still,
+          At least will grant you tearless hours! [2]
+
+
+There I recognise my Cricket. I see him curling his antennæ on the
+threshold of his burrow, keeping himself cool in front and warm at the
+back. He is not jealous of the Butterfly; on the contrary, he pities
+her, with that air of mocking commiseration we often see in those who
+have houses of their own when they are talking to those who have none.
+Far from complaining, he is very well satisfied both with his house and
+his violin. He is a true philosopher: he knows the vanity of things and
+feels the charm of a modest retreat away from the riot of
+pleasure-seekers.
+
+Yes, the description is about right, as far as it goes. But the Cricket
+is still waiting for the few lines needed to bring his merits before
+the public; and since La Fontaine neglected him, he will have to go on
+waiting a long time.
+
+To me, as a naturalist, the important point in the two fables is the
+burrow on which the moral is founded. Florian speaks of the snug
+retreat; the other praises his lowly home. It is the dwelling,
+therefore, that above all compels attention, even that of the poet, who
+as a rule cares little for realities.
+
+In this matter, indeed, the Cricket is extraordinary. Of all our
+insects he is the only one who, when full-grown, possesses a fixed
+home, the reward of his own industry. During the bad season of the
+year, most of the others burrow or skulk in some temporary refuge, a
+refuge obtained free of cost and abandoned without regret. Several of
+them create marvels with a view to settling their family: cotton
+satchels, baskets made of leaves, towers of cement. Some live
+permanently in ambush, lying in wait for their prey. The Tiger-beetle,
+for instance, digs himself a perpendicular hole, which he stops up with
+his flat, bronze head. If any other insect steps on this deceptive
+trap-door it immediately tips up, and the unhappy wayfarer disappears
+into the gulf. The Ant-lion makes a slanting funnel in the sand. Its
+victim, the Ant, slides down the slant and is then stoned, from the
+bottom of the funnel, by the hunter, who turns his neck into a
+catapult. But these are all temporary refuges or traps.
+
+The laboriously constructed home, in which the insect settles down with
+no intention of moving, either in the happy spring or in the woeful
+winter season; the real manor-house, built for peace and comfort, and
+not as a hunting-box or a nursery—this is known to the Cricket alone.
+On some sunny, grassy slope he is the owner of a hermitage. While all
+the others lead vagabond lives, sleeping in the open air or under the
+casual shelter of a dead leaf or a stone, or the pealing bark of an old
+tree, he is a privileged person with a permanent address.
+
+The making of a home is a serious problem. It has been solved by the
+Cricket, by the Rabbit, and lastly by man. In my neighbourhood the Fox
+and the Badger have holes, which are largely formed by the
+irregularities of the rock. A few repairs, and the dug-out is
+completed. The Rabbit is cleverer than these, for he builds his house
+by burrowing wherever he pleases, when there is no natural passage that
+allows him to settle down free of all trouble.
+
+The Cricket is cleverer than any of them. He scorns chance refuges, and
+always chooses the site of his home carefully, in well-drained ground,
+with a pleasant sunny aspect. He refuses to make use of ready-made
+caves that are inconvenient and rough: he digs every bit of his villa,
+from the entrance-hall to the back-room.
+
+I see no one above him, in the art of house-building, except man; and
+even man, before mixing mortar to hold stones together, or kneading
+clay to coat his hut of branches, fought with wild beasts for a refuge
+in the rocks. Why is it that a special instinct is bestowed on one
+particular creature? Here is one of the humblest of creatures able to
+lodge himself to perfection. He has a home, an advantage unknown to
+many civilised beings; he has a peaceful retreat, the first condition
+of comfort; and no one around him is capable of settling down. He has
+no rivals but ourselves.
+
+Whence does he derive this gift? Is he favoured with special tools? No,
+the Cricket is not an expert in the art of digging; in fact, one is
+rather surprised at the result when one considers the feebleness of his
+means.
+
+Is a home a necessity to him, on account of an exceptionally delicate
+skin? No, his near kinsmen have skins as sensitive as his, yet do not
+dread the open air at all.
+
+Is the house-building talent the result of his anatomy? Has he any
+special organ that suggests it? No: in my neighbourhood there are three
+other Crickets who are so much like the Field Cricket in appearance,
+colour, and structure, that at the first glance one would take them for
+him. Of these faithful copies, not one knows how to dig himself a
+burrow. The Double-spotted Cricket inhabits the heaps of grass that are
+left to rot in damp places; the Solitary Cricket roams about the dry
+clods turned up by the gardener’s spade; the Bordeaux Cricket is not
+afraid to make his way into our houses, where he sings discreetly,
+during August and September, in some cool, dark spot.
+
+There is no object in continuing these questions: the answer would
+always be No. Instinct never tells us its causes. It depends so little
+on an insect’s stock of tools that no detail of anatomy, nothing in the
+creature’s formation, can explain it to us or make us foresee it. These
+four similar Crickets, of whom only one can burrow, are enough to show
+us our ignorance of the origin of instinct.
+
+Who does not know the Cricket’s house? Who has not, as a child playing
+in the fields, stopped in front of the hermit’s cabin? However light
+your footfall, he has heard you coming, and has abruptly withdrawn to
+the very bottom of his hiding-place. When you arrive, the threshold of
+the house is deserted.
+
+Every one knows the way to bring out the skulker. You insert a straw
+and move it gently about the burrow. Surprised at what is happening
+above, the tickled and teased Cricket ascends from his back room; he
+stops in the passage, hesitates, and waves his delicate antennæ
+inquiringly. He comes to the light, and, once outside, he is easy to
+catch, since these events have puzzled his poor head. Should he be
+missed at the first attempt he may become suspicious and refuse to
+appear. In that case he can be flooded out with a glass of water.
+
+Those were adorable times when we were children, and hunted Crickets
+along the grassy paths, and put them in cages, and fed them on a leaf
+of lettuce. They all come back to me to-day, those times, as I search
+the burrows for subjects to study. They seem like yesterday when my
+companion, little Paul, an expert in the use of the straw, springs up
+suddenly after a long trial of skill and patience, and cries excitedly:
+“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”
+
+Quick, here’s a bag! In you go, my little Cricket! You shall be petted
+and pampered, but you must teach us something, and first of all you
+must show us your house.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+HIS HOUSE
+
+It is a slanting gallery in the grass, on some sunny bank which soon
+dries after a shower. It is nine inches long at most, hardly as thick
+as one’s finger, and straight or bent according to the nature of the
+ground. As a rule, a tuft of grass half conceals the home, serving as a
+porch and throwing the entrance discreetly into shadow. When the
+Cricket goes out to browse upon the surrounding turf he does not touch
+this tuft. The gently sloping threshold, carefully raked and swept,
+extends for some distance; and this is the terrace on which, when
+everything is peaceful round about, the Cricket sits and scrapes his
+fiddle.
+
+The inside of the house is devoid of luxury, with bare and yet not
+coarse walls. The inhabitant has plenty of leisure to do away with any
+unpleasant roughness. At the end of the passage is the bedroom, a
+little more carefully smoothed than the rest, and slightly wider. All
+said, it is a very simple abode, exceedingly clean, free from damp, and
+conforming to the rules of hygiene. On the other hand, it is an
+enormous undertaking, a gigantic tunnel, when we consider the modest
+tools with which the Cricket has to dig. If we wish to know how he does
+it, and when he sets to work, we must go back to the time when the egg
+is laid.
+
+The Cricket lays her eggs singly in the soil, like the Decticus, at a
+depth of three-quarters of an inch. She arranges them in groups, and
+lays altogether about five or six hundred. The egg is a little marvel
+of mechanism. After the hatching it appears as an opaque white
+cylinder, with a round and very regular hole at the top. To the edge of
+this hole is fastened a cap, like a lid. Instead of bursting open
+anyhow under the thrusts of the larva within, it opens of its own
+accord along a circular line—a specially prepared line of least
+resistance.
+
+About a fortnight after the egg is laid, two large, round, rusty-black
+dots darken the front end. A little way above these two dots, right at
+the top of the cylinder, you see the outline of a thin circular
+swelling. This is the line where the shell is preparing to break open.
+Soon the transparency of the egg allows one to see the delicate
+markings of the tiny creature’s segments. Now is the time to be on the
+watch, especially in the morning.
+
+Fortune loves the persevering, and if we pay constant visits to the
+eggs we shall be rewarded. All round the swelling, where the resistance
+of the shell has gradually been overcome, the end of the egg becomes
+detached. Being pushed back by the forehead of the little creature
+within, it rises and falls to one side like the top of a tiny
+scent-bottle. The Cricket pops out like a Jack-in-the-box.
+
+When he is gone the shell remains distended, smooth, intact, pure
+white, with the cap or lid hanging from the opening. A bird’s egg
+breaks clumsily under the blows of a wart that grows for the purpose at
+the end of the Chick’s beak; the Cricket’s egg is more ingeniously
+made, and opens like an ivory case. The thrust of the creature’s head
+is enough to work the hinge.
+
+I said above that, when the lid is lifted, a young Cricket pops out;
+but this is not quite accurate. What appears is the swaddled grub, as
+yet unrecognisable in a tight-fitting sheath. The Decticus, you will
+remember, who is hatched in the same way under the soil, wears a
+protective covering during his journey to the surface. The Cricket is
+related to the Decticus, and therefore wears the same livery, although
+in point of fact he does not need it. The egg of the Decticus remains
+underground for eight months, so the poor grub has to fight its way
+through soil that has grown hard, and it therefore needs a covering for
+its long shanks. But the Cricket is shorter and stouter, and since its
+egg is only in the ground for a few days it has nothing worse than a
+powdery layer of earth to pass through. For these reasons it requires
+no overall, and leaves it behind in the shell.
+
+As soon as he is rid of his swaddling-clothes the young Cricket, pale
+all over, almost white, begins to battle with the soil overhead. He
+hits out with his mandibles; he sweeps aside and kicks behind him the
+powdery earth, which offers no resistance. Very soon he is on the
+surface, amidst the joys of the sunlight and the perils of conflict
+with his fellow-creatures—poor feeble mite that he is, hardly larger
+than a Flea.
+
+By the end of twenty-four hours he has turned into a magnificent
+blackamoor, whose ebon hue vies with that of the full-grown insect. All
+that remains of his original pallor is a white sash that girds his
+chest. Very nimble and alert, he sounds the surrounding air with his
+long, quivering antennæ, and runs and jumps about with great
+impetuosity. Some day he will be too fat to indulge in such antics.
+
+And now we see why the mother Cricket lays so many eggs. It is because
+most of the young ones are doomed to death. They are massacred in huge
+numbers by other insects, and especially by the little Grey Lizard and
+the Ant. The latter, loathsome freebooter that she is, hardly leaves me
+a Cricket in my garden. She snaps up the poor little creatures and
+gobbles them down at frantic speed.
+
+Oh, the execrable wretch! And to think that we place the Ant in the
+front rank of insects! Books are written in her honour, and the stream
+of praise never runs dry. The naturalists hold her in great esteem; and
+add daily to her fame. It would seem that with animals, as with men,
+the surest way to attract attention is to do harm to others.
+
+Nobody asks about the Beetles who do such valuable work as scavengers,
+whereas everybody knows the Gnat, that drinker of men’s blood; the
+Wasp, that hot-tempered swashbuckler, with her poisoned dagger; and the
+Ant, that notorious evil-doer who, in our southern villages, saps and
+imperils the rafters of a dwelling as cheerfully as she eats a fig.
+
+The Ant massacres the Crickets in my garden so thoroughly that I am
+driven to look for them outside the enclosure. In August, among the
+fallen leaves, where the grass has not been wholly scorched by the sun,
+I find the young Cricket, already rather big, and now black all over,
+with not a vestige of his white girdle remaining. At this period of his
+life he is a vagabond: the shelter of a dead leaf or a flat stone is
+enough for him.
+
+Many of those who survived the raids of the Ants now fall victims to
+the Wasp, who hunts down the wanderers and stores them underground. If
+they would but dig their dwellings a few weeks before the usual time
+they would be saved; but they never think of it. They are faithful to
+their ancient customs.
+
+It is at the close of October, when the first cold weather threatens,
+that the burrow is taken in hand. The work is very simple, if I may
+judge by my observation of the caged insect. The digging is never done
+at a bare point in the pan, but always under the shelter of some
+withered lettuce-leaf, a remnant of the food provided. This takes the
+place of the grass tuft that seems indispensable to the secrecy of the
+home.
+
+The miner scrapes with his fore-legs, and uses the pincers of his
+mandibles to pull out the larger bits of gravel. I see him stamping
+with his powerful hind-legs, furnished with a double row of spikes; I
+see him raking the rubbish, sweeping it backwards and spreading it
+slantwise. There you have the whole process.
+
+The work proceeds pretty quickly at first. In the yielding soil of my
+cages the digger disappears underground after a spell that lasts a
+couple of hours. He returns to the entrance at intervals, always
+backwards and always sweeping. Should he be overcome with fatigue he
+takes a rest on the threshold of his half-finished home, with his head
+outside and his antennæ waving feebly. He goes in again, and resumes
+work with pincers and rakes. Soon the periods of rest become longer,
+and wear out my patience.
+
+The most urgent part of the work is done. Once the hole is a couple of
+inches deep, it suffices for the needs of the moment. The rest will be
+a long affair, carried out in a leisurely way, a little one day and a
+little the next: the hole will be made deeper and wider as the weather
+grows colder and the insect larger. Even in winter, if the temperature
+be mild and the sun shining on the entrance to the dwelling, it is not
+unusual to see the Cricket shooting out rubbish. Amid the joys of
+spring the upkeep of the building still continues. It is constantly
+undergoing improvements and repairs until the owner’s death.
+
+When April ends the Cricket’s song begins; at first in rare and shy
+solos, but soon in a general symphony in which each clod of turf boasts
+its performer. I am more than inclined to place the Cricket at the head
+of the spring choristers. In our waste-lands, when the thyme and
+lavender are gaily flowering, the Crested Lark rises like a lyrical
+rocket, his throat swelling with notes, and from the sky sheds his
+sweet music upon the fallows. Down below the Crickets chant the
+responses. Their song is monotonous and artless, but well suited in its
+very lack of art to the simple gladness of reviving life. It is the
+hosanna of the awakening, the sacred alleluia understood by swelling
+seed and sprouting blade. In this duet I should award the palm to the
+Cricket. His numbers and his unceasing note deserve it. Were the Lark
+to fall silent, the fields blue-grey with lavender, swinging its
+fragrant censors before the sun, would still receive from this humble
+chorister a solemn hymn of praise.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+HIS MUSICAL-BOX
+
+In steps Science, and says to the Cricket bluntly:
+
+“Show us your musical-box.”
+
+Like all things of real value, it is very simple. It is based on the
+same principle as that of the Grasshoppers: a bow with a hook to it,
+and a vibrating membrane. The right wing-case overlaps the left and
+covers it almost completely, except where it folds back sharply and
+encases the insect’s side. It is the opposite arrangement to that which
+we find in the Green Grasshopper, the Decticus, and their kinsmen. The
+Cricket is right-handed, the others left-handed.
+
+The two wing-cases are made in exactly the same way. To know one is to
+know the other. They lie flat on the insect’s back, and slant suddenly
+at the side in a right-angled fold, encircling the body with a
+delicately veined pinion.
+
+If you hold one of these wing-cases up to the light you will see that
+is it a very pale red, save for two large adjoining spaces; a larger,
+triangular one in front, and a smaller, oval one at the back. They are
+crossed by faint wrinkles. These two spaces are the sounding-boards, or
+drums. The skin is finer here than elsewhere, and transparent, though
+of a somewhat smoky tint.
+
+At the hinder edge of the front part are two curved, parallel veins,
+with a cavity between them. This cavity contains five or six little
+black wrinkles that look like the rungs of a tiny ladder. They supply
+friction: they intensify the vibration by increasing the number of
+points touched by the bow.
+
+On the lower surface one of the two veins that surround the cavity of
+the rungs becomes a rib cut into the shape of a hook. This is the bow.
+It is provided with about a hundred and fifty triangular teeth of
+exquisite geometrical regularity.
+
+It is a fine instrument indeed. The hundred and fifty teeth of the bow,
+biting into the rungs of the opposite wing-case, set the four drums in
+motion at one and the same time, the lower pair by direct friction, the
+upper pair by the shaking of the friction-apparatus. What a rush of
+sound! The Cricket with his four drums throws his music to a distance
+of some hundreds of yards.
+
+He vies with the Cicada in shrillness, without having the latter’s
+disagreeable harshness. And better still: this favoured creature knows
+how to modulate his song. The wing-cases, as I said, extend over each
+side in a wide fold. These are the dampers which, lowered to a greater
+or less depth, alter the intensity of the sound. According to the
+extent of their contact with the soft body of the Cricket they allow
+him to sing gently at one time and fortissimo at another.
+
+The exact similarity of the two wing-cases is worthy of attention. I
+can see clearly the function of the upper bow, and the four
+sounding-spaces which sets it in motion; but what is the good of the
+lower one, the bow on the left wing? Not resting on anything, it has
+nothing to strike with its hook, which is as carefully toothed as the
+other. It is absolutely useless, unless the apparatus can invert the
+order of its two parts, and place that above which is below. If that
+could be done, the perfect symmetry of the instrument is such that the
+mechanism would be the same as before, and the insect would be able to
+play with the bow that is at present useless. The lower fiddlestick
+would become the upper, and the tune would be the same.
+
+I suspected at first that the Cricket could use both bows, or at least
+that there were some who were permanently left-handed. But observation
+has convinced me of the contrary. All the Crickets I have examined—and
+they are many—without a single exception carried the right wing-case
+above the left.
+
+I even tried to bring about by artificial means what Nature refused to
+show me. Using my forceps, very gently of course, and without straining
+the wing-cases, I made these overlap the opposite way. It is easily
+done with a little skill and patience. Everything went well: there was
+no dislocation of the shoulders, the membranes were not creased.
+
+I almost expected the Cricket to sing, but I was soon undeceived. He
+submitted for a few moments; but then, finding himself uncomfortable,
+he made an effort and restored his instrument to its usual position. In
+vain I repeated the operation: the Cricket’s obstinacy triumphed over
+mine.
+
+Then I thought I would make the attempt while the wing-cases were quite
+new and plastic, at the moment when the larva casts its skin. I secured
+one at the point of being transformed. At this stage the future wings
+and wing-cases form four tiny flaps, which, by their shape and
+scantiness, and by the way they stick out in different directions,
+remind me of the short jackets worn by the Auvergne cheesemakers. The
+larva cast off these garments before my eyes.
+
+The wing-cases developed bit by bit, and opened out. There was no sign
+to tell me which would overlap the other. Then the edges touched: a few
+moments longer and the right would be over the left. This was the time
+to intervene.
+
+With a straw I gently changed the position, bringing the left edge over
+the right. In spite of some protest from the insect I was quite
+successful: the left wing-case pushed forward, though only very little.
+Then I left it alone, and gradually the wing-cases matured in the
+inverted position. The Cricket was left-handed. I expected soon to see
+him wield the fiddlestick which the members of his family never employ.
+
+On the third day he made a start. A few brief grating sounds were
+heard—the noise of a machine out of gear shifting its parts back into
+their proper order. Then the tune began, with its accustomed tone and
+rhythm.
+
+Alas, I had been over-confident in my mischievous straw! I thought I
+had created a new type of instrumentalist, and I had obtained nothing
+at all! The Cricket was scraping with his right fiddlestick, and always
+would. With a painful effort he had dislocated his shoulders, which I
+had forced to harden in the wrong way. He had put back on top that
+which ought to be on top, and underneath that which ought to be
+underneath. My sorry science tried to make a left-handed player of him.
+He laughed at my devices, and settled down to be right-handed for the
+rest of his life.
+
+Enough of the instrument; let us listen to the music. The Cricket sings
+on the threshold of his house, in the cheerful sunshine, never indoors.
+The wing-cases utter their cri-cri in a soft tremolo. It is full,
+sonorous, nicely cadenced, and lasts indefinitely. Thus are the
+leisures of solitude beguiled all through the spring. The hermit at
+first sings for his own pleasure. Glad to be alive, he chants the
+praises of the sun that shines upon him, the grass that feeds him, the
+peaceful retreat that harbours him. The first object of his bow is to
+hymn the pleasures of life.
+
+Later on he plays to his mate. But, to tell the truth, his attention is
+rewarded with little gratitude; for in the end she quarrels with him
+ferociously, and unless he takes to flight she cripples him—and even
+eats him more or less. But indeed, in any case he soon dies. Even if he
+escapes his pugnacious mate, he perishes in June. We are told that the
+music-loving Greeks used to keep Cicadæ in cages, the better to enjoy
+their singing. I venture to disbelieve the story. In the first place
+the harsh clicking of the Cicadæ, when long continued at close
+quarters, is a torture to ears that are at all delicate. The Greeks’
+sense of hearing was too well trained to take pleasure in such raucous
+sounds away from the general concert of the fields, which is heard at a
+distance.
+
+In the second place it is absolutely impossible to bring up Cicadæ in
+captivity, unless we cover over a whole olive-tree or plane-tree. A
+single day spent in a cramped enclosure would make the high-flying
+insect die of boredom.
+
+Is it not possible that people have confused the Cricket with the
+Cicada, as they also do the Green Grasshopper? With the Cricket they
+would be quite right. He is one who bears captivity gaily: his
+stay-at-home ways predispose him to it. He lives happily and whirrs
+without ceasing in a cage no larger than a man’s fist, provided that he
+has his lettuce-leaf every day. Was it not he whom the small boys of
+Athens reared in little wire cages hanging on a window-frame?
+
+The small boys of Provence, and all the South, have the same tastes. In
+the towns a Cricket becomes the child’s treasured possession. The
+insect, petted and pampered, sings to him of the simple joys of the
+country. Its death throws the whole household into a sort of mourning.
+
+The three other Crickets of my neighbourhood all carry the same musical
+instrument as the Field Cricket, with slight variation of detail. Their
+song is much alike in all cases, allowing for differences of size. The
+smallest of the family, the Bordeaux Cricket, sometimes ventures into
+the dark corners of my kitchen, but his song is so faint that it takes
+a very attentive ear to hear it.
+
+The Field Cricket sings during the sunniest hours of the spring: during
+the still summer nights we have the Italian Cricket. He is a slender,
+feeble insect, quite pale, almost white, as beseems his nocturnal
+habits. You are afraid of crushing him, if you so much as take him in
+your fingers. He lives high in air, on shrubs of every kind, or on the
+taller grasses; and he rarely descends to earth. His song, the sweet
+music of the still, hot evenings from July to October; begins at sunset
+and continues for the best part of the night.
+
+This song is known to everybody here in Provence, for the smallest
+clump of bushes has its orchestra. The soft, slow gri-i-i gri-i-i is
+made more expressive by a slight tremolo. If nothing happens to disturb
+the insect the sound remains unaltered; but at the least noise the
+musician becomes a ventriloquist. You hear him quite close, in front of
+you; and then, all of a sudden, you hear him fifteen yards away. You
+move towards the sound. It is not there: it comes from the original
+place. No, it doesn’t after all. Is it over there on the left, or does
+it come from behind? One is absolutely at a loss, quite unable to find
+the spot where the music is chirping.
+
+This illusion of varying distance is produced in two ways. The sounds
+become loud or soft, open or muffled, according to the exact part of
+the lower wing-case that is pressed by the bow. And they are also
+modified by the position of the wing-cases. For the loud sounds these
+are raised to their full height: for the muffled sounds they are
+lowered more or less. The pale Cricket misleads those who hunt for him
+by pressing the edges of his vibrating flaps against his soft body.
+
+I know no prettier or more limpid insect-song than his, heard in the
+deep stillness of an August evening. How often have I lain down on the
+ground among the rosemary bushes of my harmas, to listen to the
+delightful concert!
+
+The Italian Cricket swarms in my enclosure. Every tuft of red-flowering
+rock-rose has its chorister; so has every clump of lavender. The bushy
+arbutus-shrubs, the turpentine-trees, all become orchestras. And in its
+clear voice, so full of charm, the whole of this little world, from
+every shrub and every branch, sings of the gladness of life.
+
+High up above my head the Swan stretches its great cross along the
+Milky Way: below, all round me, the insect’s symphony rises and falls.
+Infinitesimal life telling its joys makes me forget the pageant of the
+stars. Those celestial eyes look down upon me, placid and cold, but do
+not stir a fibre within me. Why? They lack the great secret—life. Our
+reason tells us, it is true, that those suns warm worlds like ours; but
+when all is said, this belief is no more than a guess, it is not a
+certainty.
+
+In your company, on the contrary, O my Cricket, I feel the throbbing of
+life, which is the soul of our lump of clay; and that is why, under my
+rosemary-hedge, I give but an absent glance at the constellation of the
+Swan and devote all my attention to your serenade! A living speck—the
+merest dab of life—capable of pleasure and pain, is far more
+interesting to me than all the immensities of mere matter.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE SISYPHUS
+
+
+You are not tired, I hope, of hearing about the Scavenger Beetles with
+a talent for making balls. I have told you of the Sacred Beetle and of
+the Spanish Copris, and now I wish to say a few words of yet another of
+these creatures. In the insect world we meet with a great many model
+mothers: it is only fair, for once to draw attention to a good father.
+
+Now a good father is rarely seen except among the higher animals. The
+bird is excellent in this respect, and the furred folk perform their
+duties honourably. Lower in the scale of living creatures the father is
+generally indifferent to his family. Very few insects are exceptions to
+this rule. This heartlessness, which would be detestable in the higher
+ranks of the animal kingdom, where the weakness of the young demands
+prolonged care, is excusable among insect fathers. For the robustness
+of the new-born insect enables it to gather its food unaided, provided
+it be in a suitable place. When all that the Pieris need do for the
+safety of the race is to lay her eggs on the leaves of a cabbage, of
+what use would a father’s care be? The mother’s botanical instinct
+needs no assistance. At laying-time the other parent would be in the
+way.
+
+Most insects adopt this simple method of upbringing. They merely choose
+a dining-room which will be the home of the family once it is hatched,
+or else a place that will allow the young ones to find suitable fare
+for themselves. There is no need for the father in such cases. He
+generally dies without lending the least assistance in the work of
+setting up his offspring in life.
+
+Things do not always happen, however, in quite such a primitive
+fashion. There are tribes that provide a dowry for their families, that
+prepare board and lodging for them in advance. The Bees and Wasps in
+particular are masters in the industry of making cellars, jars, and
+satchels, in which the ration of honey is hoarded: they are perfect in
+the art of creating burrows stocked with the game that forms the food
+of their grubs.
+
+Well, this enormous labour, which is one of building and provisioning
+combined, this toil in which the insect’s whole life is spent, is done
+by the mother alone. It wears her out; it utterly exhausts her. The
+father drunk with sunlight, stands idle at the edge of the workyard,
+watching his plucky helpmate at her job.
+
+Why does he not lend the mother a helping hand? It is now or never. Why
+does he not follow the example of the Swallow couple, both of whom
+bring their bit of straw, their blob of mortar to the building and
+their Midge to the young ones? He does nothing of the kind. Possibly he
+puts forward his comparative weakness as an excuse. It is a poor
+argument; for to cut a disk out of a leaf, to scrape some cotton from a
+downy plant, to collect a little bit of cement in muddy places would
+not overtax his strength. He could very easily help, at any rate as a
+labourer; he is quite fit to gather materials for the mother, with her
+greater intelligence, to fit in place. The real reason of his
+inactivity is sheer incapability.
+
+It is strange that the most gifted of the industrial insects should
+know nothing of a father’s duties. One would expect the highest talents
+to be developed in him by the needs of the young; but he remains as
+dull-witted as a Butterfly, whose family is reared at so small a cost.
+We are baffled at every turn by the question: Why is a particular
+instinct given to one insect and denied to another?
+
+It baffles us so thoroughly that we are extremely surprised when we
+find in the scavenger the noble qualities that are denied to the
+honey-gatherer. Various Scavenger Beetles are accustomed to help in the
+burden of housekeeping, and know the value of working in double
+harness. The Geotrupes couple, for instance, prepare their larva’s food
+together: the father lends his mate the assistance of his powerful
+press in the manufacture of the tightly packed sausage-shaped ration.
+He is a splendid example of domestic habits, and one extremely
+surprising amid the general egoism.
+
+To this example my constant studies of the subject have enabled me to
+add three others, all furnished by the Guild of Scavengers.
+
+One of them is the Sisyphus, the smallest and most zealous of all our
+pill-rollers. He is the liveliest and most agile of them all, and recks
+nothing of awkward somersaults and headlong falls on the impossible
+roads to which his obstinacy brings him back again and again. It was in
+reference to these wild gymnastics that Latreille gave him the name of
+Sisyphus.
+
+As you know, that unhappy wretch of classical fame had a terrible task.
+He was forced to roll a huge stone uphill; and each time he succeeded
+in toiling to the top of the mountain the stone slipped from his grasp
+and rolled to the bottom. I like this myth. It is the history of a good
+many of us. So far as I am concerned, for half a century and more I
+have painfully climbed the steep ascent, spending my strength
+recklessly in the struggle to hoist up to safety that crushing burden,
+my daily bread. Hardly is the loaf balanced when it slips off, slides
+down, and is lost in the abyss.
+
+The Sisyphus with whom we are now concerned knows none of these bitter
+trials. Untroubled by the steep slopes he gaily trundles his load, at
+one time bread for himself, at another bread for his children. He is
+very scarce in these parts; and I should never have managed to secure a
+suitable number of subjects for my studies had it not been for an
+assistant whom I have already mentioned more than once.
+
+I speak of my little son Paul, aged seven. He is my enthusiastic
+companion on my hunting expeditions, and knows better than any one of
+his age the secrets of the Cicada, the Locust, the Cricket, and
+especially the Scavenger Beetle. Twenty paces away his sharp eyes will
+distinguish the real mound that marks a burrow from casual heaps of
+earth. His delicate ears catch the Grasshopper’s faint song, which is
+quite unheard by me. He lends me his sight and hearing; and I, in
+exchange, present him with ideas, which he receives attentively.
+
+Little Paul has his own insect-cages, in which the Sacred Beetle makes
+pears for him; his own little garden, no larger than a
+pocket-handkerchief, where he grows beans, often digging them up to see
+if the tiny roots are any longer; his forest plantation, in which stand
+four oaks a hand’s-breadth high, still furnished on one side with the
+acorn that feeds them. It all makes a welcome change from grammar,
+which gets on none the worse for it.
+
+When the month of May is near at hand Paul and I get up early one
+morning—so early that we start without our breakfast—and we explore, at
+the foot of the mountain, the meadows where the flocks have been. Here
+we find the Sisyphus. Paul is so zealous in his search that we soon
+have a sufficient number of couples.
+
+All that is needed for their well-being is a wire-gauze cover, with a
+bed of sand and a supply of their food—to obtain which we too turn
+scavengers. These creatures are so small, hardly the size of a
+cherry-stone! And so curious in shape withal! A dumpy body, the hinder
+end of which is pointed, and very long legs, resembling a Spider’s when
+outspread. The hind-legs are of amazing length, and are curved, which
+is most useful for clasping and squeezing the pellet.
+
+Soon the time comes for establishing the family. With equal zeal father
+and mother alike take part in kneading, carting, and stowing away the
+provisions for the young ones. With the cleaver of the fore-legs a
+morsel of the right size is cut from the food placed at their disposal.
+The two insects work at the piece together, giving it little pats,
+pressing it, and shaping it into a ball as large as a big pea.
+
+As in the Sacred Beetle’s workshop, the accurately round shape is
+obtained without the mechanical trick of rolling the ball. The material
+is modelled into a sphere before it is moved, before it is even
+loosened from its support. Here, once more, we have an expert in
+geometry familiar with the best form for preserving food.
+
+The ball is soon ready. It must now, by vigorous rolling, be given the
+crust which will protect the soft stuff within from becoming too dry.
+The mother, who can be recognised by her slightly larger size,
+harnesses herself in the place of honour, in front. With her long
+hind-legs on the ground and her fore-legs on the ball, she hauls it
+towards her, backwards. The father pushes behind in the reverse
+position, head downwards. It is precisely the same method as that of
+the Sacred Beetle when working in twos, but it has another object. The
+Sisyphus team conveys a store of food for the grubs, whereas the big
+pill-rollers trundle a banquet which they themselves will eat up
+underground.
+
+The couple start off along the ground. They have no definite goal, but
+walk in a direct line, without regard to the obstacles that lie in the
+way. In this backward march the obstacles could not be avoided; but
+even if they were seen the Sisyphus would not try to go round them. For
+she even makes obstinate attempts to climb the wire-work of my cage.
+This is an arduous and impossible task. Clawing the meshes of the gauze
+with her hind-legs the mother pulls the load towards her; then, putting
+her fore-legs round it, she holds it suspended in air. The father,
+finding nothing to stand upon, clings to the ball—encrusts himself in
+it, so to speak, thus adding his weight to that of the lump, and taking
+no further pains. The effort is too great to last. The ball and its
+rider, forming one mass, fall to the floor. The mother, from above,
+looks down for a moment in surprise, and then drops to recover the load
+and renew her impossible attempt to scale the side. After repeated
+falls the climb is abandoned.
+
+Even on level ground the carting is not carried on without difficulty.
+At every moment the load swerves on some mound made by a bit of gravel;
+and the team topple over and kick about, upside down. This is a trifle,
+the merest trifle. These tumbles, which so often fling the Sisyphus on
+his back, cause him no concern; one would even think he liked them.
+After all, the ball has to be hardened and made of the right
+consistency. And this being the case, bumps falls, and jolts are all
+part of the programme. This mad steeple-chasing goes on for hours.
+
+At last the mother, regarding the work as completed, goes off a little
+way in search of a suitable spot. The father mounts guard, squatting on
+the treasure. If his companion’s absence be unduly long, he relieves
+his boredom by spinning the ball nimbly between his uplifted hind legs.
+He treats his precious pellet as a juggler treats his ball. He tests
+its perfect shape with his curved legs, the branches of his compasses.
+No one who sees him frisking in that jubilant attitude can doubt his
+lively satisfaction—the satisfaction of a father assured of his
+children’s future.
+
+“It is I,” he seems to say, “I who kneaded this round loaf, I who made
+this bread for my sons!”
+
+And he lifts on high, for all to see, this magnificent testimony to his
+industry.
+
+Meanwhile the mother has chosen a site for the burrow. A shallow pit is
+made, a mere beginning of the work. The ball is rolled near it. The
+father, that vigilant guardian, does not let go, while the mother digs
+with her legs and forehead. Soon the hollow is big enough to hold the
+pellet. She insists on having it quite close to her; she must feel it
+bobbing up and down behind her, on her back, safe from parasites,
+before she decides to go farther. She is afraid of what might happen to
+it if it were left on the edge of the burrow until the home were
+completed. There are plenty of Midges and other such insects to grab
+it. One cannot be too careful.
+
+The ball therefore is inserted, half in and half out of the
+partly-formed basin. The mother, underneath, gets her legs round it and
+pulls: the father above, lets it down gently, and sees that the hole is
+not choked up with falling earth. All goes well. The digging is resumed
+and the descent continues, always with the same caution; one of the
+insects pulling the load, the other regulating the drop and clearing
+away anything that might hinder the operation. A few more efforts, and
+the ball disappears underground with the two miners. What follows for
+some time to come can only be a repetition of what has already been
+done. We must wait half a day or so.
+
+If we keep careful watch we shall see the father come up again to the
+surface by himself, and crouch in the sand near the burrow. Detained
+below by duties in which her companion can be of no assistance to her,
+the mother usually postpones her appearance till the morrow. At last
+she shows herself. The father leaves the place where he was snoozing,
+and joins her. The reunited couple go back to the spot where their
+food-stuffs are to be found, and having refreshed themselves they
+gather up more materials. The two then set to work again. Once more
+they model, cart, and store the ball together.
+
+I am delighted with this constancy. That it is really the rule I dare
+not declare. There must, no doubt, be flighty, fickle Beetles. No
+matter: the little I have seen gives me a high opinion of the domestic
+habits of the Sisyphus.
+
+It is time to inspect the burrow. At no great depth we find a tiny
+niche, just large enough to allow the mother to move round her work.
+The smallness of the chamber tells us that the father cannot remain
+there for long. When the studio is ready, he must go away to leave the
+sculptress room to turn.
+
+The contents of the cellar consist of a single ball, a masterpiece of
+art. It is a copy of the Sacred Beetle’s pear on a very much reduced
+scale, its smallness making the polish of the surface and the elegance
+of the curves all the more striking. Its diameter, at the broadest
+point, measures one-half to three-quarters of an inch.
+
+One more observation about the Sisyphus. Six couples under the
+wire-gauze cover gave me fifty-seven pears containing one egg each—an
+average of over nine grubs to each couple. The Sacred Beetle is far
+from reaching this figure. To what cause are we to attribute this large
+brood? I can see but one: the fact that the father works as well as the
+mother. Family burdens that would exceed the strength of one are not
+too heavy when there are two to bear them.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE CAPRICORN
+
+
+I
+
+THE GRUB’S HOME
+
+An eighteenth-century philosopher, Condillac, describes an imaginary
+statue, organised like a man, but with none of a man’s senses. He then
+pictures the effect of endowing it with the five senses, one by one,
+and the first sense he gives it is that of smell. The statue, having no
+sense but smell, inhales the scent of a rose, and out of that single
+impression creates a whole world of ideas. In my youth I owed some
+happy moments to that statue. I seemed to see it come to life in that
+action of the nostrils, acquiring memory, concentration, judgment, and
+other mental qualities, even as still waters are aroused and rippled by
+the impact of a grain of sand. I recovered from my illusion under the
+teaching of my abler master the animal. The Capricorn taught me that
+the problem is more obscure than the Abbé Condillac led me to suppose.
+
+When my winter supply of firewood is being prepared for me with wedge
+and mallet, the woodman selects, by my express orders, the oldest and
+most ravaged trunks in his stack. My tastes bring a smile to his lips;
+he wonders by what whimsy I prefer wood that is worm-eaten to sound
+wood, which burns so much better. I have my views on the subject, and
+the worthy man submits to them.
+
+A fine oak-trunk, seamed with scars and gashed with wounds, contains
+many treasures for my studies. The mallet drives home, the wedges bite,
+the wood splits; and within, in the dry and hollow parts, are revealed
+groups of various insects who are capable of living through the cold
+season, and have here taken up their winter quarters. In the low-roofed
+galleries built by some Beetle the Osmia Bee has piled her cells one
+above the other. In the deserted chambers and vestibules Megachiles
+have arranged their leafy jars. In the live wood, filled with juicy
+sap, the larva of the Capricorn, the chief author of the oak’s undoing,
+has set up its home.
+
+Truly they are strange creatures, these grubs: bits of intestines
+crawling about! In the middle of Autumn I find them of two different
+ages. The older are almost as thick as one’s finger; the others hardly
+attain the diameter of a pencil. I find, in addition, the pupa or nymph
+more or less fully coloured, and the perfect insect ready to leave the
+trunk when the hot weather comes again. Life inside the wood,
+therefore, lasts for three years.
+
+How is this long period of solitude and captivity spent? In wandering
+lazily through the thickness of the oak, in making roads whose rubbish
+serves as food. The horse in the book of Job “swallows the ground” in a
+figure of speech: the Capricorn’s grub eats its way literally. With its
+carpenter’s-gouge—a strong black mandible, short and without notches,
+but scooped into a sharp-edged spoon—it digs the opening of its tunnel.
+From the piece cut out the grub extracts the scanty juices, while the
+refuse accumulates behind him in heaps. The path is devoured as it is
+made; it is blocked behind as it makes way ahead.
+
+Since this harsh work is done with the two gouges, the two curved
+chisels of the mandibles, the Capricorn-grub requires much strength in
+the front part of its body, which therefore swells into a sort of
+pestle. The Buprestis-grub, that other industrious carpenter, adopts a
+similar form, and even exaggerates its pestle. The part that toils and
+carves hard wood requires to be robust; the rest of the body, which has
+but to follow after, continues slim. The essential thing is that the
+implement of the jaws should possess a solid support and powerful
+machinery. The Capricorn larva strengthens its chisels with a stout,
+black, horny armour that surrounds the mouth; yet, apart from its skull
+and its equipment of tools, this grub has a skin as fine as satin and
+as white as ivory. This dead white is caused by a thick layer of
+grease, which one would not expect a diet of wood to produce in the
+animal. True, it has nothing to do, at every hour of the day and night,
+but gnaw. The quantity of wood that passes into its stomach makes up
+for the lack of nourishing qualities.
+
+The grub’s legs can hardly be called legs at all; they are mere
+suggestions of the legs the full-grown insect will have by and by. They
+are infinitesimal in size, and of no use whatever for walking. They do
+not even touch the supporting surface, being kept off it by the
+plumpness of the chest. The organs by means of which the animal
+progresses are something altogether different.
+
+The grub of the Rose-chafer, with the aid of the hairs and pad-like
+projections upon its spine, manages to reverse the usual method of
+walking, and to wriggle along on its back. The grub of the Capricorn is
+even more ingenious: it moves at the same time on its back and its
+stomach. To take the place of its useless legs it has a walking
+apparatus almost like feet, which appear, contrary to every rule, on
+the surface of its back.
+
+On the middle part of its body, both above and below, there is a row of
+seven four-sided pads, which the grub can either expand or contract,
+making them stick out or lie flat at will. It is by means of these pads
+that it walks. When it wishes to move forwards it expands the hinder
+pads, those on the back as well as those on the stomach, and contracts
+its front pads. The swelling of the hind pads in the narrow gallery
+fills up the space, and gives the grub something to push against. At
+the same time the flattening of the front pads, by decreasing the size
+of the grub, allows it to slip forward and take half a step. Then, to
+complete the step, the hind-quarters must be brought up the same
+distance. With this object the front pads fill out and provide support,
+while those behind shrink and leave room for the grub to draw up its
+hind-quarters.
+
+With the double support of its back and stomach, with alternate
+swellings and shrinkings, the animal easily advances or retreats along
+its gallery, a sort of mould which the contents fill without a gap. But
+if the pads grip only on one side progress becomes impossible. When
+placed on the smooth wood of my table the animal wriggles slowly; it
+lengthens and shortens without progressing by a hair’s breadth. Laid on
+the surface of a piece of split oak, a rough, uneven surface due to the
+gash made by the wedge, it twists and writhes, moves the front part of
+its body very slowly from left to right and right to left, lifts it a
+little, lowers it, and begins again. This is all it can do. The
+rudimentary legs remain inert and absolutely useless.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE GRUB’S SENSATIONS
+
+Though the Capricorn-grub possesses these useless legs, the germs of
+future limbs, there is no sign of the eyes with which the
+fully-developed insect will be richly gifted. The larva has not the
+least trace of any organs of sight. What would it do with sight, in the
+murky thickness of a tree-trunk? Hearing is likewise absent. In the
+untroubled silence of the oak’s inmost heart the sense of hearing would
+be superfluous. Where sounds are lacking, of what use is the faculty of
+discerning them?
+
+To make the matter certain I carried out some experiments. If split
+lengthwise the grub’s abode becomes a half-tunnel, in which I can watch
+the occupant’s doings. When left alone it alternately works for a
+while, gnawing at its gallery, and rests for awhile, fixed by its pads
+to the two sides of the tunnel. I took advantage of these moments of
+rest to inquire into its power of hearing. The banging of hard bodies,
+the ring of metallic objects, the grating of a file upon a saw, were
+tried in vain. The animal remained impassive: not a wince, not a
+movement of the skin, no sign of awakened attention. I succeeded no
+better when I scratched the wood near it with a hard point, to imitate
+the sound of some other grub at work in its neighbourhood. The
+indifference to my noisy tricks could be no greater in a lifeless
+object. The animal is deaf.
+
+Can it smell? Everything tells us that it cannot. Scent is of
+assistance in the search for food. But the Capricorn-grub need not go
+in quest of eatables. It feeds on its home; it lives on the wood that
+gives it shelter. Nevertheless I tested it. In a log of fresh cypress
+wood I made a groove of the same width as that of the natural
+galleries, and I placed the grub inside it. Cypress wood is strongly
+scented; it has the smell characteristic of most of the pine family.
+This resinous scent, so strange to a grub that lives always in oak,
+ought to vex it, to trouble it; and it should show its displeasure by
+some kind of commotion, some attempt to get away. It did nothing of the
+kind: once it had found the right position in the groove it went to the
+end, as far as it could go, and made no further movement. Then I set
+before it, in its usual channel, a piece of camphor. Again no effect.
+Camphor was followed by naphthaline. Still no result. I do not think I
+am going too far when I deny the creature a sense of smell.
+
+Taste is there no doubt. But such taste! The food is without variety:
+oak, for three years at a stretch, and nothing else. What can the
+grub’s palate find to enjoy in this monotonous fare? The agreeable
+sensation of a fresh piece, oozing with sap; the uninteresting flavour
+of an over-dry piece. These, probably, are the only changes in the
+meal.
+
+There remains the sense of touch, the universal passive sense common to
+all live flesh that quivers under the goad of pain. The Capricorn-grub,
+therefore, is limited to two senses, those of taste and touch, and both
+of these it possesses only in a very small degree. It is very little
+better off than Condillac’s statue. The imaginary being created by the
+philosopher had one sense only, that of smell, equal in delicacy to our
+own; the real being, the oak-eater has two, which are inferior even
+when put together to the one sense of the statue. The latter plainly
+perceived the scent of a rose, and clearly distinguished it from any
+other.
+
+A vain wish has often come to me in my dreams: to be able to think, for
+a few minutes, with the brain of my Dog, or to see the world with the
+eyes of a Gnat. How things would change in appearance! But they would
+change much more if understood only with the intellect of the grub.
+What has that incomplete creature learnt through its senses of touch
+and taste? Very little; almost nothing. It knows that the best bits of
+wood have a special kind of flavour, and that the sides of a passage,
+when not carefully smoothed, are painful to the skin. This is the limit
+of its wisdom. In comparison with this, the statue with the sensitive
+nostrils was a marvel of knowledge. It remembered, compared, judged,
+and reasoned. Can the Capricorn-grub remember? Can it reason? I
+described it a little time ago as a bit of intestine that crawls about.
+This description gives an answer to these questions. The grub has the
+sensations of a bit of intestine, no more and no less.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE GRUB’S FORESIGHT
+
+And this half-alive object, this nothing-at-all, is capable of
+marvellous foresight. It knows hardly anything of the present, but it
+sees very clearly into the future.
+
+For three years on end the larva wanders about in the heart of the
+trunk. It goes up, goes down, turns to this side and that; it leaves
+one vein for another of better flavour, but without ever going too far
+from the inner depths, where the temperature is milder than near the
+surface, and greater safety reigns. But a day is at hand when the
+hermit must leave its safe retreat and face the perils of the outer
+world. Eating is not everything, after all; we have to get out of this.
+
+But how? For the grub, before leaving the trunk, must turn into a
+long-horned Beetle. And though the grub, being well equipped with tools
+and muscular strength, finds no difficulty in boring through the wood
+and going where it pleases, it by no means follows that the coming
+Capricorn has the same powers. The Beetle’s short spell of life must be
+spent in the open air. Will it be able to clear itself a way of escape?
+
+It is quite plain, at all events, that the Capricorn will be absolutely
+unable to make use of the tunnel bored by the grub. This tunnel is a
+very long and very irregular maze, blocked with great heaps of wormed
+wood. It grows constantly smaller and smaller as it approaches the
+starting-point, because the larva entered the trunk as slim as a tiny
+bit of straw, whereas to-day it is as thick as one’s finger. In its
+three years’ wanderings it always dug its gallery to fit the size of
+its body. Evidently the road of the larva cannot be the Capricorn’s way
+out. His overgrown antennæ, his long legs, his inflexible armour-plates
+would find the narrow, winding corridor impassable. The passage would
+have to be cleared of its wormed wood, and, moreover, greatly enlarged.
+It would be easier to attack the untouched timber and dig straight
+ahead. Is the insect capable of doing so? I determined to find out.
+
+I made some cavities of suitable size in some oak logs that had been
+chopped in two, and in each of these cells I placed a Capricorn that
+had just been transformed from the grub. I then joined the two sides of
+the logs, fastening them together with wire. When June came I heard a
+sound of scraping inside the logs, and waited anxiously to see if the
+Capricorns would appear. They had hardly three-quarters of an inch to
+pierce. Yet not one came out. On opening the logs I found all my
+captives dead. A pinch of sawdust represented all they had done.
+
+I had expected more from their sturdy mandibles. In spite of their
+boring-tools the hermits died for lack of skill. I tried enclosing some
+in reed-stumps, but even this comparatively easy work was too much for
+them. Some freed themselves, but others failed.
+
+Notwithstanding his stalwart appearance the Capricorn cannot leave the
+tree-trunk by his own unaided efforts. The truth is that his way is
+prepared for him by the grub—that bit of intestine.
+
+Some presentiment—to us an unfathomable mystery—causes the
+Capricorn-grub to leave its peaceful stronghold in the very heart of
+the oak and wriggle towards the outside, where its foe the Woodpecker
+is quite likely to gobble it up. At the risk of its life it stubbornly
+digs and gnaws to the very bark. It leaves only the thinnest film, the
+slenderest screen, between itself and the world at large. Sometimes,
+even, the rash one opens the doorway wide.
+
+This is the Capricorn’s way out. The insect has but to file the screen
+a little with his mandibles, to bump against it with his forehead, in
+order to bring it down. He will even have nothing at all to do when the
+doorway is open, as often happens. The unskilled carpenter, burdened
+with his extravagant head-dress, will come out from the darkness
+through this opening when the summer heat arrives.
+
+As soon as the grub has attended to the important business of making a
+doorway into the world, it begins to busy itself with its
+transformation into a Beetle. First, it requires space for the purpose.
+So it retreats some distance down its gallery, and in the side of the
+passage digs itself a transformation-chamber more sumptuously furnished
+and barricaded than any I have ever seen. It is a roomy hollow with
+curved walls, three to four inches in length and wider than it is high.
+The width of the cell gives the insect a certain degree of freedom of
+movement when the time comes for forcing the barricade, which is more
+than a close-fitting case would do.
+
+The barricade—a door which the larva builds as a protection from
+danger—is twofold, and often threefold. Outside, it is a stack of woody
+refuse, of particles of chopped timber; inside, a mineral lid, a
+concave cover, all in one piece, of a chalky white. Pretty often, but
+not always, there is added to these two layers an inner casing of
+shavings.
+
+Behind this threefold door the larva makes its arrangements for its
+transformation. The sides of the chamber are scraped, thus providing a
+sort of down formed of ravelled woody fibres, broken into tiny shreds.
+This velvety stuff is fixed on the wall, in a thick coating, as fast as
+it is made. The chamber is thus padded throughout with a fine
+swan’s-down, a delicate precaution taken by the rough grub out of
+kindness for the tender creature it will become when it has cast its
+skin.
+
+Let us now go back to the most curious part of the furnishing, the
+cover or inner door of the entrance. It is like an oval skull-cap,
+white and hard as chalk, smooth within and rough without, with some
+resemblance to an acorn-cup. The rough knots show that the material is
+supplied in small, pasty mouthfuls, which become solid outside in
+little lumps. The animal does not remove them, because it is unable to
+get at them; but the inside surface is polished, being within the
+grub’s reach. This singular lid is as hard and brittle as a flake of
+limestone. It is, as a matter of fact, composed solely of carbonate of
+lime, and a sort of cement which gives consistency to the chalky paste.
+
+I am convinced that this stony deposit comes from a particular part of
+the grub’s stomach, called the chylific ventricle. The chalk is kept
+separate from the food, and is held in reserve until the right time
+comes to discharge it. This freestone factory causes me no
+astonishment. It serves for various chemical works in different grubs
+when undergoing transformation. Certain Oil-beetles keep refuse in it,
+and several kinds of Wasps use it to manufacture the shellac with which
+they varnish the silk of their cocoons.
+
+When the exit way is prepared, and the cell upholstered in velvet and
+closed with a threefold barricade, the industrious grub has finished
+its task. It lays aside its tools, sheds its skin, and becomes a
+pupa—weakness personified, in the swaddling-clothes of a cocoon. The
+head is always turned towards the door. This is a trifling detail in
+appearance; but in reality it is everything. To lie this way or that in
+the long cell is a matter of great indifference to the grub, which is
+very supple, turning easily in its narrow lodging and adopting whatever
+position it pleases. The coming Capricorn will not enjoy the same
+privileges. Stiffly encased in his horny armour, he will not be able to
+turn from end to end; he will not even be capable of bending, if some
+sudden curve should make the passage difficult. He must, without fail,
+find the door in front of him, or he will perish in the
+transformation-room. If the grub should forget this little matter, and
+lie down to sleep with its head at the back of the cell, the Capricorn
+would be infallibly lost. His cradle would become a hopeless dungeon.
+
+But there is no fear of this danger. The “bit of intestine” knows too
+much about the future to neglect the formality of keeping its head at
+the door. At the end of spring the Capricorn, now in possession of his
+full strength, dreams of the joys of the sun, of the festivals of
+light. He wants to get out.
+
+What does he find before him? First, a heap of filings easily dispersed
+with his claws; next, a stone lid which he need not even break into
+fragments, for it comes undone in one piece. It is removed from its
+frame with a few pushes of the forehead, a few tugs of the claws. In
+fact, I find the lid intact on the threshold of the abandoned cell.
+Last comes a second mass of woody remnants as easy to scatter as the
+first. The road is now free: the Capricorn has but to follow the wide
+vestibule, which will lead him, without any possibility of mistake, to
+the outer exit. Should the doorway not be open, all that he has to do
+is to gnaw through a thin screen, an easy task. Behold him outside, his
+long antennæ quivering with excitement.
+
+What have we learnt from him? Nothing from him, but much from his grub.
+This grub, so poor in organs of sensation, gives us much to think
+about. It knows that the coming Beetle will not be able to cut himself
+a road through the oak, and it therefore opens one for him at its own
+risk and peril. It knows that the Capricorn, in his stiff armour, will
+never be able to turn round and make for the opening of the cell; and
+it takes care to fall into its sleep of transformation with its head
+towards the door. It knows how soft the pupa’s flesh will be, and it
+upholsters the bedroom with velvet. It knows that the enemy is likely
+to break in during the slow work of the transformation, and so, to make
+a protection against attack, it stores lime inside its stomach. It
+knows the future with a clear vision, or, to be accurate, it behaves as
+if it knew the future.
+
+What makes it act in this way? It is certainly not taught by the
+experiences of its senses. What does it know of the outside world? I
+repeat—as much as a bit of intestine can know. And this senseless
+creature astounds us! I regret that the philosopher Condillac, instead
+of creating a statue that could smell a rose, did not gift it with an
+instinct. How soon he would have seen that the animals—including
+man—have powers quite apart from the senses; inspirations that are born
+with them, and are not the result of learning.
+
+This curious life and this marvellous foresight are not confined to one
+kind of grub. Besides the Capricorn of the Oak there is the Capricorn
+of the Cherry-tree. In appearance the latter is an exact copy of the
+former, on a much smaller scale; but the little Capricorn has different
+tastes from its large kinsman’s. If we search the heart of the
+cherry-tree it does not show us a single grub anywhere: the entire
+population lives between the bark and the wood. This habit is only
+varied when transformation is at hand. Then the grub of the cherry-tree
+leaves the surface, and scoops out a cavity at a depth of about two
+inches. Here the walls are bare: they are not lined with the velvety
+fibres dear to the Capricorn of the Oak. The entrance is blocked,
+however, by sawdust, and a chalky lid similar to the other except in
+point of size. Need I add that the grub lies down and goes to sleep
+with his head against the door? Not one forgets to take this
+precaution.
+
+There is also a Saperda of the Poplar and a Saperda of the Cherry-tree.
+They have the same organisation and the same tools; but the former
+follows the methods of the Capricorn of the Oak, while the latter
+imitates the Capricorn of the Cherry-tree.
+
+The poplar-tree is also inhabited by the Bronze Buprestis, which takes
+no defensive measures before going to sleep. It makes no barricade, no
+heap of shavings. And in the apricot-tree the Nine-spotted Buprestis
+behaves in the same way. In this case the grub is inspired by its
+intuitions to alter its plan of work to suit the coming Beetle. The
+perfect insect is a cylinder; the grub is a strap, a ribbon. The
+former, which wears unyielding armour, needs a cylindrical passage; the
+latter needs a very low tunnel, with a roof that it can reach with the
+pads on its back. The grub therefore changes its manner of boring:
+yesterday the gallery, suited to a wandering life in the thickness of
+the wood, was a wide burrow with a very low ceiling, almost a slot;
+to-day the passage is cylindrical. A gimlet could not bore it more
+accurately. This sudden change in the system of roadmaking on behalf of
+the coming insect once more shows us the foresight of this “bit of
+intestine.”
+
+I could tell you of many other wood-eaters. Their tools are the same;
+yet each species displays special methods, tricks of the trade that
+have nothing to do with the tools. These grubs, then, like so many
+insects, show us that instinct is not made by the tools, so to speak,
+but that the same tools may be used in various ways.
+
+To continue the subject would be monotonous. The general rule stands
+out very clearly from these facts: the wood-eating grubs prepare the
+path of deliverance for the perfect insect, which will merely have to
+pass a barricade of shavings or pierce a screen of bark. By a curious
+reversal of the usual state of things, infancy is here the season of
+energy, of strong tools, of stubborn work; mature age is the season of
+leisure, of industrial ignorance, of idle diversions, without trade or
+profession. The providence of the human infant is the mother; here the
+baby grub is the mother’s providence. With its patient tooth, which
+neither the peril of the outside world nor the difficult task of boring
+through hard wood is able to discourage, it clears away for her to the
+supreme delights of the sun.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+LOCUSTS
+
+
+I
+
+THEIR VALUE
+
+“Mind you’re ready, children, to-morrow morning before the sun gets too
+hot. We’re going Locust-hunting.”
+
+This announcement throws the household into great excitement at
+bed-time. What do my little helpers see in their dreams? Blue wings,
+red wings, suddenly flung out like fans; long saw-toothed legs, pale
+blue or pink, which kick out when we hold their owners in our fingers;
+great shanks that act like springs, and make the insect leap forward as
+though shot from a catapult.
+
+If there be one peaceful and safe form of hunting, one in which both
+old age and childhood can share, it is Locust-hunting. What delicious
+mornings we owe to it! How delightful, when the mulberries are ripe, to
+pick them from the bushes! What excursions we have had, on the slopes
+covered with thin, tough grass, burnt yellow by the sun! I have vivid
+memories of such mornings, and my children will have them too.
+
+Little Paul has nimble legs, a ready hand, and a piercing eye. He
+inspects the clumps of everlastings, and peers closely into the bushes.
+Suddenly a big Grey Locust flies out like a little bird. The hunter
+first makes off at full speed, then stops and gazes in wonder at this
+mock Swallow flying far away. He will have better luck another time. We
+shall not go home without a few of those magnificent prizes.
+
+Marie Pauline, who is younger than her brother, watches patiently for
+the Italian Locust, with his pink wings and carmine hind-legs; but she
+really prefers another, the most ornamented of them all. Her favourite
+wears a St. Andrew’s cross on the small of his back, which is marked by
+four white, slanting stripes. He wears, too, patches of green, the
+colour of verdigris on bronze. With her hand raised in the air, ready
+to swoop down, she approaches very softly, stooping low. Whoosh! That’s
+done it! The treasure is quickly thrust head-first into a paper funnel,
+and plunges with one bound to the bottom of it.
+
+One by one our boxes are filled. Before the heat becomes too great to
+bear we are in possession of a number of specimens. Imprisoned in my
+cages, perhaps they will teach us something. In any case the Locusts
+have given pleasure to three people at a small cost.
+
+Locusts have a bad reputation, I know. The textbooks describe them as
+noxious. I take the liberty of doubting whether they deserve this
+reproach, except, of course, in the case of the terrible ravagers who
+are the scourge of Africa and the East. Their ill repute has been
+fastened on all Locusts, though they are, I consider, more useful than
+harmful. As far as I know, our peasants have never complained of them.
+What damage do they do?
+
+They nibble the tops of the tough grasses which the Sheep refuses to
+touch; they prefer the thin, poor grass to the fat pastures; they
+browse on barren land that can support none but them; they live on food
+that no stomach but theirs could use.
+
+Besides, by the time they frequent the fields the green wheat—the only
+thing that might tempt them—has long ago yielded its grain and
+disappeared. If they happen to get into the kitchen-gardens and take a
+few bites, it is not a crime. A man can console himself for a piece
+bitten out of a leaf or two of salad.
+
+To measure the importance of things by one’s own turnip-patch is a
+horrible method. The short-sighted man would upset the order of the
+universe rather than sacrifice a dozen plums. If he thinks of the
+insect at all, it is only to kill it.
+
+And yet, think what the consequences would be if all the Locusts were
+killed. In September and October the Turkeys are driven into the
+stubble, under charge of a child armed with two long reeds. The expanse
+over which the gobbling flock slowly spreads is bare, dry, and burnt by
+the sun. At the most, a few ragged thistles raise their heads. What do
+the birds do in this famine-stricken desert? They cram themselves, that
+they may do honour to the Christmas table; they wax fat; their flesh
+becomes firm and good to eat. And pray, what do they cram themselves
+with? With Locusts. They snap them up, one here one there, till their
+greedy crops are filled with the delicious stuffing, which costs
+nothing, though its rich flavour will greatly improve the Christmas
+Turkey.
+
+When the Guinea-fowl roams about the farm, uttering her rasping cry,
+what is it she seeks? Seeds, no doubt; but above all Locusts, which
+puff her out under the wings with a pad of fat, and give a better
+flavour to her flesh. The Hen, too, much to our advantage, is just as
+fond of them. She well knows the virtues of that dainty dish, which
+acts as a tonic and makes her lay more eggs. When left at liberty she
+rarely fails to lead her family to the stubble-fields, so that they may
+learn to snap up the nice mouthful skilfully. In fact, every bird in
+the poultry-yard finds the Locust a valuable addition to his bill of
+fare.
+
+It is still more important outside the poultry-yard. Any who is a
+sportsman, and knows the value of the Red-legged Patridge, the glory of
+our southern hills, should open the crop of the bird he has just shot.
+He will find it, nine times out of ten, more or less crammed with
+Locusts. The Partridge dotes on them, preferring them to seeds as long
+as he can catch them. This highly-flavoured, nourishing fare would
+almost make him forget the existence of seeds, if it were only there
+all the year round.
+
+The Wheat-ear, too, who is so good to eat, prefers the Locust to any
+other food. And all the little birds of passage which, when autumn
+comes, call a halt in Provence before their great pilgrimage, fatten
+themselves with Locusts as a preparation for the journey.
+
+Nor does man himself scorn them. An Arab author tells us:
+
+“Grasshoppers”—(he means Locusts)—“are of good nourishment for men and
+Camels. Their claws, wings, and head are taken away, and they are eaten
+fresh or dried, either roast or boiled, and served with flesh, flour,
+and herbs.
+
+”... Camels eat them greedily, and are given them dried or roast,
+heaped in a hollow between two layers of charcoal. Thus also do the
+Nubians eat them....
+
+“Once, when the Caliph Omar was asked if it were lawful to eat
+Grasshoppers, he made answer:
+
+”’Would that I had a basket of them to eat.’
+
+“Wherefore, from this testimony, it is very sure that, by the Grace of
+God, Grasshoppers were given to man for his nourishment.”
+
+Without going as far as the Arab I feel prepared to say that the Locust
+is a gift of God to a multitude of birds. Reptiles also hold him in
+esteem. I have found him in the stomach of the Eyed Lizard, and have
+often caught the little Grey Lizard of the walls in the act of carrying
+him off.
+
+Even the fish revel in him, when good fortune brings him to them. The
+Locust leaps blindly, and without definite aim: he comes down wherever
+he is shot by the springs in his legs. If the place where he falls
+happens to be water, a fish gobbles him up at once. Anglers sometimes
+bait their hooks with a specially attractive Locust.
+
+As for his being fit nourishment for man, except in the form of
+Partridge and young Turkey, I am a little doubtful. Omar, the mighty
+Caliph who destroyed the library of Alexandria, wished for a basket of
+Locusts, it is true, but his digestion was evidently better than his
+brains. Long before his day St. John the Baptist lived in the desert on
+Locusts and wild honey; but in his case they were not eaten because
+they were good.
+
+Wild honey from the pots of the Mason-bees is very agreeable food, I
+know. Wishing to taste the Locust also I once caught some, and had them
+cooked as the Arab author advised. We all of us, big and little, tried
+the queer dish at dinner. It was much nicer than the Cicadæ praised by
+Aristotle. I would go to the length of saying it is good—without,
+however, feeling any desire for more.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THEIR MUSICAL TALENT
+
+The Locust possesses musical powers wherewith to express his joys.
+Consider him at rest, blissfully digesting his meal and enjoying the
+sunshine. With sharp strokes of the bow, three or four times repeated
+with a pause between, he plays his tune. He scrapes his sides with his
+great hind-legs, using now one, now the other, and now both at a time.
+
+The result is very poor, so slight indeed that I am obliged to make use
+of little Paul’s sharp ear to make sure that there is a sound at all.
+Such as it is, it is like the squeaking of a needle-point pushed across
+a sheet of paper. There you have the whole song, which is very nearly
+silence.
+
+We can expect no more than this from the Locust’s very unfinished
+instrument. There is nothing here like the Cricket’s toothed bow and
+sounding-board. The lower edge of the wing-cases is rubbed by the
+thighs, but though both wing-cases and thighs are powerful they have no
+roughnesses to supply friction, and there is no sign of teeth.
+
+This artless attempt at a musical instrument can produce no more sound
+than a dry membrane will emit when you rub it yourself. And for the
+sake of this small result the insect lifts and lowers its thigh in
+sharp jerks, and appears perfectly satisfied. It rubs its sides very
+much as we rub our hands together in sign of contentment, with no
+intention of making a sound. That is its own particular way of
+expressing its joy in life.
+
+Observe the Locust when the sky is partly covered with clouds, and the
+sun shines only at times. There comes a rift in the clouds. At once the
+thighs begin to scrape, becoming more and more active as the sun grows
+hotter. The strains are brief, but they are repeated as long as the
+sunshine continues. The sky becomes overcast. Then and there the song
+ceases; but is renewed with the next gleam of sunlight, always in brief
+outburst. There is no mistaking it: here, in these fond lovers of the
+light, we have a mere expression of happiness. The Locust has his
+moments of gaiety when his crop is full and the sun is kind.
+
+Not all the Locusts indulge in this joyous rubbing.
+
+The Tryxalis, who has a pair of immensely long hind-legs, keeps up a
+gloomy silence when even the sunshine is brightest. I have never seen
+him move his shanks like a bow; he seems unable to use them—so long are
+they—for anything but hopping.
+
+The big Grey Locust, who often visits me in the enclosure, even in the
+depth of winter, is also dumb in consequence of the excessive length of
+his legs. But he has a peculiar way of diverting himself. In calm
+weather, when the sun is hot, I surprise him in the rosemary bushes
+with his wings unfurled and fluttering rapidly, as though for flight.
+He keeps up this performance for a quarter of an hour at a time. His
+fluttering is so gentle, in spite of its extreme speed, that it creates
+hardly any rustling sound.
+
+Others are still worse off. One of these is the Pedestrian Locust, who
+strolls on foot on the ridges of the Ventoux amid sheets of Alpine
+flowers, silvery, white, and rosy. His colouring is as fresh as that of
+the flowers. The sunlight, which is clearer on those heights than it is
+below, has made him a costume combining beauty with simplicity. His
+body is pale brown above and yellow below, his big thighs are coral
+red, his hind-legs a glorious azure-blue, with an ivory anklet in
+front. But in spite of being such a dandy he wears too short a coat.
+
+His wing-cases are merely wrinkled slips, and his wings no more than
+stumps. He is hardly covered as far as the waist. Any one seeing him
+for the first time takes him for a larva, but he is indeed the
+full-grown insect, and he will wear this incomplete garment to the end.
+
+With this skimpy jacket of course, music is impossible to him. The big
+thighs are there; but there are no wing-cases, no grating edge for the
+bow to rub upon. The other Locusts cannot be described as noisy, but
+this one is absolutely dumb. In vain have the most delicate ears
+listened with all their might. This silent one must have other means of
+expressing his joys. What they are I do not know.
+
+Nor do I know why the insect remains without wings, a plodding
+wayfarer, when his near kinsmen on the same Alpine slopes have
+excellent means of flying. He possesses the beginnings of wings and
+wing-cases, gifts inherited by the larva; but he does not develop these
+beginnings and make use of them. He persists in hopping, with no
+further ambition: he is satisfied to go on foot, to remain a Pedestrian
+Locust, when he might, one would think, acquire wings. To flit rapidly
+from crest to crest, over valleys deep in snow, to fly from one pasture
+to another, would certainly be great advantages to him. His
+fellow-dwellers on the mountain-tops possess wings and are all the
+better for them. It would be very profitable to extract from their
+sheaths the sails he keeps packed away in useless stumps; and he does
+not do it. Why?
+
+No one knows why. Anatomy has these puzzles, these surprises, these
+sudden leaps, which defy our curiosity. In the presence of such
+profound problems the best thing is to bow in all humility, and pass
+on.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THEIR EARLY DAYS
+
+The Locust mother is not, in all cases, a model of affection. The
+Italian Locust, having laboriously half-buried herself in the sand,
+lays her eggs there and immediately bounds away. She gives not a look
+at the eggs, nor makes the least attempt to cover the hole where they
+lie. It closes of its own accord, as best it can, by the natural
+falling-in of the sand. It is an extremely casual performance, marked
+by an utter absence of maternal care.
+
+Others do not forsake their eggs so recklessly. The ordinary Locust
+with the blue-and-black wings, for instance, after leaving her eggs in
+the sand, lifts her hind-legs high, sweeps some sand into the hole, and
+presses it down by stamping it rapidly. It is a pretty sight to watch
+the swift action of her slender legs, giving alternate kicks to the
+opening they are plugging. With this lively trampling the entrance to
+the home is closed and hidden away. The hole that contains the eggs
+completely disappears, so that no ill-intentioned creature could find
+it by sight alone.
+
+Nor is this all. The power that works the two rammers lies in the
+hinder thighs, which, as they rise and fall, scrape lightly against the
+edge of the wing-cases. This scraping produces a faint sound, similar
+to that with which the insect placidly lulls itself to sleep in the
+sun.
+
+The Hen salutes with a song of gladness the egg she just laid; she
+announces her performance to the whole neighbourhood. The Locust
+celebrates the same event with her thin scraper. “I have buried
+underground,” she says, “the treasure of the future.”
+
+Having made the nest safe she leaves the spot, refreshes herself after
+her exertions with a few mouthfuls of green stuff, and prepares to
+begin again.
+
+The Grey Locust mother is armed at the tip of her body—and so are other
+female Locusts in varying degrees—with four short tools, arranged in
+pairs and shaped like a hooked fingernail. On the upper pair, which are
+larger than the others, these hooks are turned upwards; on the lower
+and smaller pair they are turned downwards. They form a sort of claw,
+and are scooped out slightly, like a spoon. These are the pick-axes,
+the boring-tools with which the Grey Locust works. With these she bites
+into the soil, lifting the dry earth a little, as quietly as if she
+were digging in soft mould. She might be working in butter; and yet
+what the bore digs into is hard, unyielding earth.
+
+The best site for laying the eggs is not always found at the first
+attempt. I have seen the mother make five wells one after the other
+before finding a suitable place. When at last the business is over, and
+the insect begins to rise from the hole in which she is partly buried,
+one can see that she is covering her eggs with milk-white foam, similar
+to that of the Mantis.
+
+This foamy matter often forms a button at the entrance to the well, a
+knot which stands up and attracts the eye by its whiteness against the
+grey background of the soil. It is soft and sticky, but hardens pretty
+soon. When this closing button is finished the mother moves away and
+troubles no more about her eggs, of which she lays a fresh batch
+elsewhere after a few days.
+
+Sometimes the foamy paste does not reach the surface; it stops some way
+down, and before long is covered with the sand that slips from the
+edge. But in the case of my Locusts in captivity I always know, even
+when it is concealed, exactly where the barrel of eggs lies. Its
+structure is always the same, though there are variations in detail. It
+is always a sheath of solidified foam. Inside, there is nothing but
+foam and eggs. The eggs all lie in the lower portion, packed one on top
+of another; and the upper part consists only of soft, yielding foam.
+This portion plays an important part when the young larvæ are hatched.
+I will call it the ascending-shaft.
+
+The wonderful egg-casket of the Mantis is not the result of any special
+talent which the mother can exercise at will. It is due to mechanism.
+It happens of itself. In the same way the Locusts have no industry of
+their own, especially devised for laying eggs in a keg of froth. The
+foam is produced with the eggs, and the arrangement of eggs at the
+bottom and centre, and froth on the outside and the top, is purely
+mechanical.
+
+There are many Locusts whose egg-cases have to last through the winter,
+since they do not open until the fine weather returns. Though the soil
+is loose and dusty at first, it becomes caked together by the winter
+rains. Supposing that the hatching takes place a couple of inches below
+the surface, how is this crust, this hard ceiling, to be broken? How is
+the larva to come up from below? The mother’s unconscious art has
+arranged for that.
+
+The young Locust finds above him, when he comes out of the egg, not
+rough sand and hardened earth, but a straight tunnel, with solid walls
+that keep all difficulties away. This ascending-shaft is full of foam,
+which the larva can easily penetrate, and which will bring him quite
+close to the surface. Here only a finger’s-breadth of serious work
+remains to be done.
+
+The greater part of the journey, therefore, is accomplished without
+effort. Though the Locust’s building is done quite mechanically,
+without the least intelligence, it is certainly singularly well
+devised.
+
+The little creature has now to complete his deliverance. On leaving his
+shell he is of a whitish colour, clouded with light red. His progress
+is made by worm-like movements; and, so that it may be as easy as
+possible, he is hatched, like the young Grasshopper, in a temporary
+jacket which keeps his antennæ and legs closely fixed to his body. Like
+the White-faced Decticus he keeps his boring-tool at his neck. Here
+there is a kind of tumour that swells and subsides alternately, and
+strikes the obstacle before it as regularly as a piston. When I see
+this soft bladder trying to overcome the hardness of the earth I come
+to the unhappy creature’s aid, and damp the layer of soil.
+
+Even then the work is terribly hard. How it must labour, the poor
+little thing, how it must persevere with its throbbing head and
+writhing loins, before it can clear a passage for itself! The wee
+mite’s efforts show us plainly that the journey to the light of day is
+an enormous undertaking, in which the greater number would die but for
+the help of the exit-tunnel, the mother’s work.
+
+When the tiny insect reaches the surface at last, it rests for a moment
+to recover from all that fatigue. Then suddenly the blister swells and
+throbs, and the temporary jacket splits. The rags are pushed back by
+the hind-legs, which are the last to be stripped. The thing is done:
+the creature is free, pale in colouring as yet, but possessing its
+final form as a larva.
+
+Immediately the hind-legs, hitherto stretched in a straight line, fall
+into the correct position. The legs fold under the great thighs, and
+the spring is ready to work. It works, Little Locust makes his entrance
+into the world, and hops for the first time. I offer him a bit of
+lettuce the size of my fingernail. He refuses it. Before taking
+nourishment he must first mature and grow in the sun.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THEIR FINAL CHANGE
+
+I have just beheld a stirring sight: the last change of a Locust, the
+full-grown insect emerging from his larval skin. It is magnificent. The
+object of my enthusiasm is the Grey Locust, the giant who is so common
+on the vines at vintage-time, in September. On account of his size—he
+is as long as my finger—he is easier to observe than any other of his
+tribe. The event took place in one of my cages.
+
+The fat, ungraceful larva, a rough sketch of the perfect insect, is
+usually pale green; but some are blue-green, dirty yellow, red-brown,
+or even ashen-grey, like the grey of the full-grown Locust. The
+hind-legs, which are as powerful as those of mature age, have a great
+haunch striped with red and a long shank shaped like a two-edged saw.
+
+The wing-cases are at present two skimpy, triangular pinions, of which
+the free ends stand up like pointed gables. These two coat-tails, of
+which the material seems to have been clipped short with ridiculous
+meanness, just cover the creature’s nakedness at the small of the back,
+and shelter two lean strips, the germs of the wings. In brief, the
+sumptuous slender sails of the near future are at present sheer rags,
+of such meagre size as to be grotesque. From these miserable envelopes
+there will come a marvel of stately elegance.
+
+The first thing to be done is to burst the old tunic. All along the
+corselet of the insect there is a line that is weaker than the rest of
+the skin. Waves of blood can be seen throbbing within, rising and
+falling alternately, distending the skin until at last it splits at the
+line of least resistance, and opens as though the two symmetrical
+halves had been soldered. The split is continued some little way back,
+and runs between the fastenings of the wings: it goes up the head as
+far as the base of the antennæ, where it sends a short branch to right
+and left.
+
+Through this break the back is seen, quite soft, pale, hardly tinged
+with grey. Slowly it swells into a larger and larger hunch. At last it
+is wholly released. The head follows, pulled out of its mask, which
+remains in its place, intact in the smallest particular, but looking
+strange with its great eyes that do not see. The sheaths of the
+antennæ, without a wrinkle, with nothing out of order, and with their
+usual position unchanged, hang over this dead face, which is now half
+transparent.
+
+This means that the antennæ within, although fitted into narrow sheaths
+that enclose them as precisely as gloves, are able to withdraw without
+disturbing the covers in the smallest degree, or even wrinkling them.
+The contents manage to slip out as easily as a smooth, straight object
+could slip from a loose sheath. This mechanism is even more remarkable
+in the case of the hind-legs.
+
+Now it is the turn of the fore-legs and intermediary legs to shed their
+armlets and gauntlets, always without the least rent, however small,
+without a crease of rumpled material, or a trace of any change in the
+natural position. The insect is now fixed to the top of the cage only
+by the claws of the long hind-legs. It hangs perpendicularly by four
+tiny hooks, head downwards, and it swings like a pendulum if I touch
+the wire-gauze.
+
+The wing-cases and wings now emerge. These are four narrow strips,
+faintly grooved and looking like bits of paper ribbon. At this stage
+they are scarcely a quarter of their final length. They are so limp
+that they bend under their own weight and sprawl along the insect’s
+sides in the wrong direction, with their points towards the head of the
+Locust. Imagine four blades of thick grass, bent and battered by a
+rain-storm, and you will have a fair picture of the pitiable bunch
+formed by the future wings.
+
+The hind-legs are next released. The great thighs appear, tinted on
+their inner surface with pale pink, which will soon turn into a streak
+of bright crimson. They come out of the sheath quite easily, for the
+thick haunch makes way for the tapering knuckle.
+
+The shank is a different matter. The shank of the full-grown insect
+bristles throughout its length with a double row of hard, pointed
+spikes. Moreover, the lower extremity ends in four large spurs. It is a
+genuine saw, but with two parallel sets of teeth.
+
+Now this awkwardly shaped skin is enclosed in a sheath that is formed
+in exactly the same way. Each spur is fitted into a similar spur, each
+tooth into the hollow of a similar tooth. And the sheath is as close
+and as thin as a coat of varnish.
+
+Nevertheless the saw-like skin slips out of its long narrow case
+without catching in it at any point whatever. If I had not seen this
+happen over and over again I could never have believed it. The saw does
+no injury to the dainty scabbard which a puff of my breath is enough to
+tear; the formidable rake slips through without leaving the least
+scratch behind it.
+
+One would expect that, because of the spiked armour, the envelope of
+the leg would strip off in scales coming loose of themselves, or would
+be rubbed off like dead skin. But the reality exceeds all possible
+expectation. From the spurs and spikes of the infinitely thin envelope
+there are drawn spurs and spikes so strong that they can cut soft wood.
+This is done without violence, the discarded skin remains where it was,
+hanging by the claws to the top of the cage, uncreased and untorn. The
+magnifying-glass shows not a trace of rough usage.
+
+If it were suggested that one should draw out a saw from some sort of
+gold-beater’s skin sheath which had been exactly moulded on the steel,
+and that one should perform the operation without making the least
+tear, one would simply laugh. The thing would be impossible. Yet Nature
+makes light of such impossibilities; she can realise the absurd, in
+case of need.
+
+The difficulty is overcome in this way. While the leg is being
+liberated it is not rigid, as it will presently be. It is soft and
+highly flexible. Where it is exposed to view I see it bending and
+curving: it is as supple as elastic cord. And farther on, where it is
+hidden, it is certainly still softer, it is almost fluid. The teeth of
+the saw are there, but have none of their future sharpness. The spikes
+lie backwards when the leg is about to be drawn back: as it emerges
+they stand up and become solid. A few minutes later the leg has
+attained the proper state of stiffness.
+
+And now the fine tunic is wrinkled and rumpled, and pushed back along
+the body towards the tip. Except at this point the Locust is bare.
+After a rest of twenty minutes he makes a supreme effort; he raises
+himself as he hangs, and grabs hold of his cast skin. Then he climbs
+higher, and fixes himself to the wire of the cage with his four front
+feet. He loosens the empty husk with one last shake, and it falls to
+the ground. The Locust’s transformation is conducted in much the same
+way as the Cicada’s.
+
+The insect is now standing erect, and therefore the flexible wings are
+in the right position. They are no longer curved backwards like the
+petals of a flower, they are no longer upside down; but they still look
+shabby and insignificant. All that we see is a few wrinkles, a few
+winding furrows, which tell us that the stumps are bundles of cunningly
+folded material, arranged so as to take up as little space as possible.
+
+Very gradually they expand, so gradually that their unfolding cannot be
+seen even under the microscope. The process continues for three hours.
+Then the wings and wing-cases stand up on the Locust’s back like a huge
+set of sails, sometimes colourless, sometimes pale-green, like the
+Cicada’s wings at the beginning. One is amazed at their size when one
+thinks of the paltry bundles that represented them at first. How could
+so much stuff find room there?
+
+The fairy tale tells us of a grain of hempseed that contained the
+under-linen of a princess. Here is a grain that is even more
+astonishing. The one in the story took years and years to sprout and
+multiply, till at last it yielded the hemp required for the trousseau:
+the Locust’s tiny bundle supplies a sumptuous set of sails in three
+hours. They are formed of exquisitely fine gauze, a network of
+innumerable tiny bars.
+
+In the wing of the larva we can see only a few uncertain outlines of
+the future lace-work. There is nothing to suggest the marvellous fabric
+whose every mesh will have its form and place arranged for it, with
+absolute exactness. Yet it is there, as the oak is inside the acorn.
+
+There must be something to make the matter of the wing shape itself
+into a sheet of gauze, into a labyrinth of meshes. There must be an
+original plan, an ideal pattern which gives each atom its proper place.
+The stones of our buildings are arranged in accordance with the
+architect’s plan; they form an imaginary building before they exist as
+a real one. In the same way a Locust’s wing, that sumptuous piece of
+lace emerging from a miserable sheath, speaks to us of another
+Architect, the Author of the plans which Nature must follow in her
+labours.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE ANTHRAX FLY
+
+
+I
+
+A STRANGE MEAL
+
+I made the acquaintance of the Anthrax in 1855 at Carpentras, when I
+was searching the slopes of which I have already told you, the slopes
+beloved of the Anthophora-bees. Her curious pupa, so powerfully
+equipped to force an outlet for the perfect insect, which is incapable
+of the least effort, seemed worthy of investigation. For that pupa is
+armed with a ploughshare in front, a trident at its tail, and rows of
+harpoons on its back, with which to rip open the Osmia-bee’s cocoon and
+break through the hard crust of the hill-side.
+
+Let us, some day in July, knock away the pebbles that fasten the nests
+of the Mason-bees to the sloping ground on which they are built.
+Loosened by the shock, the dome comes off cleanly, all in one piece.
+Moreover—and this is a great advantage—the cells are all exposed at the
+base of the nest, for at this point they have no other wall than the
+surface of the pebble. Without any scraping, which would be wearisome
+work for us and dangerous to the Bees, we have all the cells before our
+eyes, together with their contents—a silky, amber-yellow cocoon, as
+delicate and transparent as the skin of an onion. Let us split the
+dainty wrappers with the scissors, cell by cell, one after another. If
+fortune be at all kind, as it always is to the persevering, we shall
+end by finding cocoons harbouring two larvæ together, one more or less
+faded in appearance, the other fresh and plump. We shall also find
+some, no less plentiful, in which the withered larva is accompanied by
+a family of little grubs wriggling uneasily round it.
+
+It is easy to see that a tragedy is happening under the cover of the
+cocoon. The flabby, faded larva is the Mason-bee’s. A month ago, in
+June, having finished its ration of honey, it wove itself a silken
+sheath in which to take the long sleep that precedes its
+transformation. It was bulging with fat, and was a rich and a
+defenceless morsel for any enemy that could reach it. And enemies did
+reach it. In spite of obstacles that might well seem insurmountable,
+the wall of mortar and dome-shaped cover, the enemy grubs appeared in
+the secret retreat, and began to eat the sleeper. Three different
+species take part in this murderous work, often in the same nest, in
+adjoining cells. We will concern ourselves only with the Anthrax Fly.
+
+The grub, when it has eaten its victim and is left alone in the
+Mason-bee’s cocoon, is a naked worm, smooth, legless, and blind. It is
+creamy-white, and each of its segments or divisions forms a perfect
+ring, very much curved when at rest, but almost straight when
+disturbed. Including the head I can count thirteen segments,
+well-marked in the middle of the body, but in the fore-part difficult
+to distinguish. The white, soft head shows no sign of any mouth, and is
+no bigger than a tiny pin’s head. The grub has four pale red stigmata,
+or openings through which to breathe, two in front and two behind, as
+is the rule among Flies. It has no walking-apparatus whatever; it is
+absolutely incapable of shifting its position. If I disturb its rest,
+it curves and straightens itself alternately, tossing about violently
+where it lies; but it does not manage to progress.
+
+But the most interesting point about the grub of the Anthrax is its
+manner of eating. A most unexpected fact attracts our attention: the
+curious ease with which this larva leaves and returns to the Bee-grub
+on which it is feeding. After watching flesh-eating grubs at hundreds
+and hundreds of meals, I suddenly find myself confronted with a manner
+of eating that is entirely unlike anything I ever saw before.
+
+This, for instance, is the Amophila-grub’s way of devouring its
+caterpillar. A hole is made in the victim’s side, and the head and neck
+of the grub dives deep into the wound. It never withdraws its head,
+never pauses to take breath. The voracious animal always goes forward,
+chewing, swallowing, digesting, until the caterpillar’s skin is empty.
+Once the meal is begun, the creature does not budge as long as the food
+lasts. If moved by force it hesitates, and hunts about for the exact
+spot where it left off eating; for if the caterpillar be attacked at a
+fresh point it is liable to go bad.
+
+In the case of the Anthrax-grub there is none of this mangling, none of
+this persistent clinging to the original wound. If I tease it with the
+tip of a pointed brush it at once retires, and there is no wound to be
+seen on the victim, no sign of broken skin. Soon the grub once more
+applies its pimple-head to its meal, at any point, no matter where, and
+keeps itself fixed there without any effort. If I repeat the touch with
+the brush I see the same sudden retreat and the same calm return to the
+meal.
+
+The ease with which this larva grips, leaves, and regrips its victim,
+now here, now there, and always without a wound, shows that the mouth
+of the Anthrax is not armed with fangs that can dig into the skin and
+tear it. If the flesh were gashed by pincers of any kind, one or two
+attempts would be necessary before they could leave go or take hold
+again; and besides, the skin would be broken. There is nothing of the
+kind: the grub simply glues its mouth to its prey, and withdraws it. It
+does not chew its food like the other flesh-eating grub: it does not
+eat, it inhales.
+
+This remarkable fact led me to examine the mouth under the microscope.
+It is a small conical crater, with yellowish-red sides and very faint
+lines running round it. At the bottom of this funnel is the opening of
+the throat. There is not the slightest trace of mandibles or jaws, or
+any object capable of seizing and grinding food. There is nothing at
+all but the bowl-shaped opening. I know of no other example of a mouth
+like this, which I can only compare to a cupping-glass. Its attack is a
+mere kiss, but what a cruel kiss!
+
+To observe the working of this curious machine I placed a new-born
+Anthrax-grub, together with its prey, in a glass tube. Here I was able
+to watch the strange repast from beginning to end.
+
+The Anthrax-grub—the Bee’s uninvited guest—is fixed by its mouth or
+sucker to any convenient part of the plump Bee-grub. It is ready to
+break off its kiss suddenly, should anything disturb it, and to resume
+it as easily when it wishes. After three or four days of this curious
+contact the Bee-grub, formerly so fat, glossy, and healthy, begins to
+look withered. Her sides fall in, her fresh colour fades, her skin
+becomes covered with little folds, and she is evidently shrinking. A
+week is hardly passed when these signs of exhaustion increase to a
+startling degree. The victim is flabby and wrinkled, as though borne
+down by her own weight. If I move her from her place she flops and
+sprawls like a half-filled indiarubber bottle. But the kiss of the
+Anthrax goes on emptying her: soon she is but a sort of shrivelled
+bladder, growing smaller and smaller from hour to hour. At length,
+between the twelfth and fifteenth day, all that remains of the
+Mason-bee’s larva is a little white grain, hardly as large as a pin’s
+head.
+
+If I soften this small remnant in water, and then blow into it through
+a very fine glass tube, the skin fills out and resumes the shape of the
+larva. There is no outlet anywhere for the compressed air. It is
+intact: it is nowhere broken. This proves that, under the cupping-glass
+of the Anthrax, the skin has been drained through its pores.
+
+The devouring grub, in making its attack, chooses its moment very
+cunningly. It is but an atom. Its mother, a feeble Fly, has done
+nothing to help it. She has no weapons; and she is quite incapable of
+penetrating the Mason-bee’s fortress. The future meal of the Anthrax
+has not been paralysed, nor injured in any way. The parasite arrives—we
+shall presently see how; it arrives, scarcely visible, and having made
+its preparations it installs itself upon its monstrous victim, whom it
+is going to drain to the very husk. And the victim, though not
+paralysed nor in any way lacking in vitality, lets it have its way, and
+is sucked dry without a tremor or a quiver of resistance. No corpse
+could show greater indifference to a bite.
+
+Had the Anthrax-grub appeared upon the scene earlier, when the Bee-grub
+was eating her store of honey, things would surely have gone badly with
+it. The victim, feeling herself bled to death by that ravenous kiss,
+would have protested with much wriggling of body and grinding of
+mandibles. The intruder would have perished. But at the hour chosen so
+wisely by it all danger is over. Enclosed in her silken sheath, the
+larva is in the torpid state that precedes her transformation into a
+Bee. Her condition is not death, but neither is it life. So there is no
+sign of irritation when I stir her with a needle, nor when the
+Anthrax-grub attacks her.
+
+There is another marvellous point about the meal of the Anthrax-grub.
+The Bee-grub remains alive until the very end. Were she really dead it
+would, in less than twenty-four hours, turn a dirty-brown colour and
+decompose. But during the whole fortnight that the meal lasts, the
+butter-colour of the victim continues unaltered, and there is no sign
+of putrefaction. Life persists until the body is reduced to nothing.
+And yet, if I myself give her a wound, the whole body turns brown and
+soon begins to rot. The prick of a needle makes her decompose. A mere
+nothing kills it; the atrocious draining of its strength does not.
+
+The only explanation I can suggest is this, and it is no more than a
+suggestion. Nothing but fluids can be drawn by the sucker of the
+Anthrax through the unpierced skin of the Bee-grub: no part of the
+breathing-apparatus or the nervous system can pass. As these two
+essentials remain uninjured, life goes on until the fluid contents of
+the skin are entirely exhausted. On the other hand, if I myself injure
+the larva of the Bee, I disturb the nervous or the air-conducting
+system, and the bruised part spreads a taint all over the body.
+
+Liberty is a noble possession, even in an insignificant grub; but it
+has its dangers everywhere. The Anthrax escapes these dangers only on
+the condition of being, so to speak, muzzled. It finds its own way into
+the Bee’s dwelling, quite independently of its mother. Unlike most of
+the other flesh-eating larvæ it is not fixed by its mother’s care at
+the most suitable spot for its meal. It is perfectly free to attack its
+prey where it chooses. If it had a set of carving-tools, of jaws and
+mandibles, it would meet with a speedy death. It would split open its
+victim and bite it at random, and its food would rot. Its freedom of
+action would kill it.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE WAY OUT
+
+There are other grub-eaters which drain their victims without wounding
+them, but not one, among those I know, reaches such perfection in this
+art as the Anthrax-grub. Nor can any be compared with the Anthrax as
+regards the means brought into play in order to leave the cell. The
+others, when they become perfect insects, have implements for mining
+and demolishing. They have stout mandibles, capable of digging the
+ground, of pulling down clay partition-walls, and even of grinding the
+Mason-bee’s tough cement to powder. The Anthrax, in her final form, has
+nothing like this. Her mouth is a short, soft proboscis, good at most
+for soberly licking the sugary fluid from the flowers. Her slim legs
+are so feeble that to move a grain of sand would be too heavy a task
+for them, enough to strain every joint. Her great stiff wings, which
+must remain full-spread, do not allow her to slip through a narrow
+passage. Her delicate suit of downy velvet, from which you take the
+bloom by merely breathing on it, could not withstand the contact of
+rough tunnels. She is unable to enter the Mason-bee’s cells to lay her
+egg, and equally unable to leave it when the time comes to free herself
+and appear in broad daylight.
+
+And the grub, for its part, is powerless to prepare the way for the
+coming flight. That buttery little cylinder, owning no tools but a
+sucker so flimsy and small that it is barely visible through the
+magnifying-glass, is even weaker than the full-grown insect, which at
+least flies and walks. The Mason-bee’s cell seems to this creature like
+a granite cave. How can it get out? The problems would be insoluble to
+these two incapables, if nothing else played its part.
+
+Among insects the pupa—the transition stage, when the creature is no
+longer a grub but is not yet a perfect insect—is generally a striking
+picture of complete weakness. A sort of mummy, tightly bound in
+swaddling-clothes, motionless and unconscious, it awaits its
+transformation. Its tender flesh is hardly solid; its limbs are
+transparent as crystals, and are held fixed in their place, lest a
+movement should disturb the work of development. In the same way, to
+secure his recovery, a patient whose bones are broken is held bound in
+the surgeon’s bandages.
+
+Well, here, by a strange reversal of the usual state of things, a
+stupendous task is laid upon the pupa of the Anthrax. It is the pupa
+that has to toil, to strive, to exhaust itself in efforts to burst the
+wall and open the way out. To the pupa falls the desperate duty, to the
+full-grown insect the joy of resting in the sun. The result of these
+unusual conditions is that the pupa possesses a strange and complicated
+set of tools that is in no way suggested by the grub nor recalled by
+the perfect Fly. This set of tools includes a collection of
+ploughshares, gimlets, hooks, spears, and other implements that are not
+found in our trades nor named in our dictionaries. I will do my best to
+describe the strange gear.
+
+By the time that July is nearly over the Anthrax has finished eating
+the Bee-grub. From that time until the following May it lies motionless
+in the Mason-bee’s cocoon, beside the remains of its victim. When the
+fine days of May arrive it shrivels, and casts its skin; and it is then
+that the pupa appears, fully clad in a stout, reddish, horny hide.
+
+The head is round and large, and is crowned on top and in front with a
+sort of diadem of six hard, sharp, black spikes, arranged in
+semi-circle. This sixfold ploughshare is the chief digging-implement.
+Lower down the instrument is finished off with a separate group of two
+small black spikes, placed close together.
+
+Four segments in the middle of the body are armed on the back with a
+belt of little horny arches, set in the skin upside down. They are
+arranged parallel to one another, and are finished at both ends with a
+hard, black point. The belt forms a double row of little thorns, with a
+hollow in between. There are about two hundred spikes on the four
+segments. The use of this rasp, or grater, is obvious: it helps the
+pupa to steady itself on the wall of the gallery as the work proceeds.
+Thus anchored on a host of points the brave pioneer is able to hit the
+obstacle harder with its crown of awls. Moreover, to make it more
+difficult for the instrument to recoil, there are long, stiff bristles,
+pointing backwards, scattered here and there among the rows of spikes.
+There are some also on other segments, and on the sides they are
+arranged in clusters. Two more belts of thorns, less powerful than the
+others, and a sheaf of eight spikes at the tip of the body—two of which
+are longer than the rest—completes the strange boring-machine that
+prepares an outlet for the feeble Anthrax.
+
+About the end of May the colouring of the pupa alters, and shows that
+the transformation is close at hand. The head and fore-part of the
+creature become a handsome, shiny black, prophetic of the black livery
+worn by the coming insect. I was anxious to see the boring-tools in
+action, and, since this could not be done in natural conditions, I
+confined the Anthrax in a glass tube, between two thick stoppers of
+sorghum-pith. The space between the stoppers was about the same size as
+the Bee’s cell, and the partitions, though not so strong as the Bee’s
+masonry, were firm enough to withstand considerable effort. On the
+other hand the side-walls, being of glass, could not be gripped by the
+toothed belts, which made matters much harder for the worker.
+
+No matter: in the space of a single day the pupa pierced the front
+partition, three-quarters of an inch thick. I saw it fixing its double
+ploughshare against the back partition, arching itself into a bow, and
+then suddenly releasing itself and striking the stopper in front of it
+with its barbed forehead. Under the blows of the spikes the pith slowly
+crumbled to pieces, atom by atom. At long intervals the method of work
+changed. The animal drove its crown of awls into the pith, and fidgeted
+and swayed about for a time; then the blows began again. Now and then
+there were intervals of rest. At last the hole was made. The pupa
+slipped into it, but did not pass through entirely. The head and chest
+appeared beyond the hole, but the rest of the body remained held in the
+tunnel.
+
+The glass cell certainly puzzled my Anthrax. The hole through the pith
+was wide and irregular: it was a clumsy breach and not a gallery. When
+made through the Mason-bee’s walls it is fairly neat, and exactly of
+the animal’s diameter. For narrowness and evenness in the exit-tunnel
+are necessary. The pupa always remains half-caught in it, and even
+pretty securely fixed by the graters on its back. Only the head and
+chest emerge into the outer air. A fixed support is indispensable, for
+without it the Anthrax could not issue from her horny sheath, unfurling
+her great wings and drawing out her slender legs.
+
+She therefore remains steadily fixed by the graters on her back, in the
+narrow exit-gallery. All is now ready. The transformation begins. Two
+slits appear on the head: one along the forehead, and a second,
+crossing it, dividing the skull in two and extending down the chest.
+Through this cross-shaped opening the Anthrax Fly suddenly appears. She
+steadies herself upon her trembling legs, dries her wings and takes to
+flight, leaving her cast skin at the doorway of the gallery. The
+sad-coloured Fly has five or six weeks before her wherein to explore
+the clay nests amid the thyme and to take her small share of the joys
+of life.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE WAY IN
+
+If you have paid attention to this story of the Anthrax Fly, you must
+have noticed that it is incomplete. The Fox in the fable saw how the
+Lion’s visitors entered his den, but did not see how they went out.
+With us the case is reversed: we know the way out of the Mason-bee’s
+fortress, but we do not know the way in. To leave the cell whose owner
+it has eaten, the Anthrax becomes a boring-tool. When the exit-tunnel
+is opened this tool splits like a pod bursting in the sun, and from the
+strong framework there escapes a dainty Fly. A soft bit of fluff that
+contrasts strangely with the roughness of the prison whence it comes.
+On this point we know pretty well what there is to know. But the
+entrance of the grub into the cell puzzled me for a quarter of a
+century.
+
+It is plain that the mother cannot place her egg in the Bee’s cell,
+which is closed and barricaded with a cement wall. To pierce it she
+would have to become a boring-tool once more, and get into the cast-off
+rags which she left at the doorway of the exit-tunnel. She would have
+to become a pupa again. For the full-grown Fly has no claws, nor
+mandibles, nor any implement capable of working its way through the
+wall.
+
+Can it be, then, the grub that makes its own way into the storeroom,
+that same grub that we have seen sucking the life out of the Bee’s
+larva? Let us call the creature to mind: a little oily sausage, which
+stretches and curls up just where it lies, without being able to shift
+its position. Its body is a smooth cylinder, its mouth a circular lip.
+It has no means whatever of moving; not even a hair or a wrinkle to
+enable it to crawl. It can do nothing but digest its food. It is even
+less able than the mother to make its way into the Mason-bee’s
+dwelling. And yet its provisions are there: they must be reached: it is
+a matter of life and death. How does the Fly set about it? In the face
+of this puzzle I resolved to attempt an almost impossible task and
+watch the Anthrax from the moment it left the egg.
+
+Since these Flies are not really plentiful in my own neighbourhood I
+made an expedition to Carpentras, the dear little town where I spent my
+twentieth year. The old college where I made my first attempts as a
+teacher was unchanged in appearance. It still looked like a
+penitentiary. In my early days it was considered unwholesome for boys
+to be gay and active, so our system of education applied the remedy of
+melancholy and gloom. Our houses of instruction were above all houses
+of correction. In a yard between four walls, a sort of bear-pit, the
+boys fought to make room for their games under a spreading plane-tree.
+All round it were cells like horseboxes, without light or air: those
+were the class-rooms.
+
+I saw, too, the shop where I used to buy tobacco as I came out of the
+college; and also my former dwelling, now occupied by monks. There, in
+the embrasure of a window, sheltered from profane hands, between the
+closed outer shutters and the panes, I kept my chemicals—bought for a
+few sous saved out of the housekeeping money. My experiments, harmless
+or dangerous, were made on a corner of the fire, beside the simmering
+broth. How I should love to see that room again, where I pored over
+mathematical problems; and my familiar friend the blackboard, which I
+hired for five francs a year, and could never buy outright for want of
+the necessary cash!
+
+But I must return to my insects. My visit to Carpentras, unfortunately,
+was made too late in the year to be very profitable. I saw only a few
+Anthrax Flies hovering round the face of the cliff. Yet I did not
+despair, because it was plain that these few were not there to take
+exercise, but to settle their families.
+
+So I took my stand at the foot of the rock, under a broiling sun, and
+for half a day I followed the movements of my Flies. They flitted
+quietly in front of the slope, a few inches away from the earthly
+covering. They went from one Bee’s nest to another, but without
+attempting to enter. For that matter, the attempt would be useless, for
+the galleries are too narrow to admit their spreading wings. So they
+simply explore the cliff, going to and fro, and up and down, with a
+flight that was now sudden, now smooth and slow. From time to time I
+saw one of them approach the wall and touch the earth suddenly with the
+tip of her body. The proceeding took no longer than the twinkling of an
+eye. When it was over the insect rested a moment, and then resumed
+flight.
+
+I was certain that, at the moment when the Fly tapped the earth, she
+laid her eggs on the spot. Yet, though I rushed forward and examined
+the place with my lens, I could see no egg. In spite of the closest
+attention I could distinguish nothing. The truth is that my state of
+exhaustion, together with the blinding light and scorching heat, made
+it difficult for me to see anything. Afterwards, when I made the
+acquaintance of the tiny thing that comes out of that egg, my failure
+no longer surprised me: for even in the leisure and peace of my study I
+have the greatest difficulty in finding the infinitesimal creature. How
+then could I see the egg, worn out as I was under the sun-baked cliff?
+
+None the less I was convinced that I had seen the Anthrax Flies
+strewing their eggs, one by one, on the spots frequented by the Bees
+who suit their grubs. They take no precaution to place the egg under
+cover, and indeed the structure of the mother makes any such precaution
+impossible. The egg, that delicate object, is laid roughly in the
+blazing sun, among grains of sand, in some wrinkle of the chalk. It is
+the business of the young grub to manage as best it can.
+
+The next year I continued my investigations, this time on the Anthrax
+of the Chalicodoma, a Bee that abounds in my own neighbourhood. Every
+morning I took the field at nine o’clock, when the sun begins to be
+unendurable. I was prepared to come back with my head aching from the
+glare, if only I could bring home the solution of my puzzle. The
+greater the heat, the better my chances of success. What gives me
+torture fills the insect with delight; what prostrates me braces the
+Fly.
+
+The road shimmers like a sheet of molten steel. From the dusty,
+melancholy olive-trees rises a mighty, throbbing hum, the concert of
+the Cicadæ, who sway and rustle with increasing frenzy as the
+temperature increases. The Cicada of the Ash adds its strident
+scrapings to the single note of the Common Cicada. This is the moment!
+For five or six weeks, oftenest in the morning, sometimes in the
+afternoon, I set myself to explore the rocky waste.
+
+There were plenty of the nests I wanted, but I could not see a single
+Anthrax on their surface. Not one settled in front of me to lay her
+egg. At most, from time to time, I could see one passing far away, with
+an impetuous rush. I would lose her in the distance; and that was all.
+It was impossible to be present at the laying of the egg. In vain I
+enlisted the services of the small boys who keep the sheep in our
+meadows, and talked to them of a big black Fly and the nests on which
+she ought to settle. By the end of August my last illusions were
+dispelled. Not one of us had succeeded in seeing the big black Fly
+perching on the dome of the Mason-bee.
+
+The reason is, I believe, that she never perches there. She comes and
+goes in every direction across the stony plain. Her practised eye can
+detect, as she flies, the earthen dome which she is seeking, and having
+found it she swoops down, leaves her egg on it, and makes off without
+setting foot on the ground. Should she take a rest it will be
+elsewhere, on the soil, on a stone, on a tuft of lavender or thyme. It
+is no wonder that neither I nor my young shepherds could find her egg.
+
+Meanwhile I searched the Mason-bees’ nests for grubs just out of the
+egg. My shepherds procured me heaps of the nests, enough to fill
+baskets and baskets; and these I inspected at leisure on my work-table.
+I took the cocoons from the cells, and examined them within and
+without: my lens explored their innermost recesses, the sleeping larva,
+and the walls. Nothing, nothing, nothing! For a fortnight and more
+nests were searched and rejected, and heaped up in a corner. My study
+was crammed with them. In vain I ripped up the cocoons; I found
+nothing. It needed the sturdiest faith to make me persevere.
+
+At last I saw, or seemed to see, something move on the Bee’s larva. Was
+it an illusion? Was it a bit of down stirred by my breath? It was not
+an illusion; it was not a bit of down; it was really and truly a grub!
+But at first I thought the discovery unimportant, because I was so
+greatly puzzled by the little creature’s appearance.
+
+In a couple of days I was the owner of ten such worms and had placed
+each of them in a glass tube, together with the Bee-grub on which it
+wriggled. It was so tiny that the least fold of skin concealed it from
+my sight. After watching it one day through the lens I sometimes failed
+to find it again on the morrow. I would think it was lost: then it
+would move, and become visible once more.
+
+For some time the belief had been growing in me that the Anthrax had
+two larval forms, a first and a second, the second being the form I
+knew, the grub we have already seen at its meals. Was this new
+discovery, I asked myself, the first form? Time showed me that it was.
+For at last I saw my little worms transform themselves into the grub I
+have already described, and make their first start at draining their
+victims with kisses. A few moments of satisfaction like those I then
+enjoyed make up for many a weary hour.
+
+This tiny worm, the first form or “primary larva” of the Anthrax, is
+very active. It tramps over the fat sides of its victim, walking all
+round it. It covers the ground pretty quickly, buckling and unbuckling
+by turns, very much after the manner of the Looper-caterpillar. Its two
+ends are its chief points of support. When walking it swells out, and
+then looks like a bit of knotted string. It has thirteen rings or
+segments, including its tiny head, which bristles in front with short,
+stiff hairs. There are four other pairs of bristles on the lower
+surface, and with the help of these it walks.
+
+For a fortnight the feeble grub remains in this condition, without
+growing, and apparently without eating. Indeed, what could it eat? In
+the cocoon there is nothing but the larva of the Mason-bee, and the
+worm cannot eat this before it has the sucker or mouth that comes with
+the second form. Nevertheless, as I said before, though it does not eat
+it is far from idle. It explores its future dish, and runs all over the
+neighborhood.
+
+Now, there is a very good reason for this long fast. In the natural
+state of the Anthrax-grub it is necessary. The egg is laid by the
+mother on the surface of the nest, at a distance from the Bee’s larva,
+which is protected by a thick rampart. It is the business of the
+new-born grub to make its way to its provisions, not by violence, of
+which it is incapable, but by patiently slipping through a maze of
+cracks. It is a very difficult task, even for this slender worm, for
+the Bee’s masonry is exceedingly compact. There are no chinks due to
+bad building, no cracks due to the weather. I see but one weak point,
+and that only in a few nests: it is the line where the dome joins the
+surface of the stone. This weakness so seldom occurs that I believe the
+Anthrax-grub is able to find an entrance at any spot on the dome of the
+Bee’s nest.
+
+The grub is extremely weak, and has nothing but invincible patience.
+How long it takes to work its way through the masonry I cannot say. The
+work is so laborious and the worker so feeble! In some cases I believe
+it may be months before the slow journey is accomplished. So it is very
+fortunate, you see, that this first form of the Anthrax, which exists
+only in order to pierce the walls of the Bees’ nest, should be able to
+live without food.
+
+At last I saw my young worms shrink, and rid themselves of their outer
+skin. They then appeared as the grub I knew and was so anxiously
+expecting, the grub of the Anthrax, the cream-colored cylinder with the
+little button of a head. Fastening its round sucker to the Bee-grub, it
+began its meal. You know the rest.
+
+Before taking leave of this tiny animal let us dwell for a moment on
+its marvellous instinct. Picture it as having just left the egg, just
+awakened to life under the fierce rays of the sun. The bare stone is
+its cradle; there is no one to welcome it as it enters the world, a
+mere thread of half-solid substance. Instantly it starts on its
+struggle with the flint. Obstinately it sounds each pore of the stone;
+it slips in, crawls on, retreats, begins again. What inspiration urges
+it towards its food, what compass guides it? What does it know of those
+depths, or of what lies in them? Nothing. What does the root of a plant
+know of the earth’s fruitfulness? Again, nothing. Yet both the root and
+the worm make for the nourishing spot, Why? I do not understand. I do
+not even try to understand. The question is far above us.
+
+We have now followed the complete history of the Anthrax. Its life is
+divided into four periods, each of which has its special form and its
+special work. The primary larva enters the Bees’ nest, which contains
+provisions; the secondary larva eats those provisions; the pupa brings
+the insect to light by boring through the enclosing wall; the perfect
+insect strews its eggs. Then the story starts afresh.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+[1] See Insect Adventures, retold for young people from the works of
+Henri Fabre.
+
+[2] English translation by Mr Stephen M’Kenna.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Fabre's Book of Insects, by Jean-Henri Fabre</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.
+</div>
+
+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Fabre's Book of Insects</p>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jean-Henri Fabre</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Maud Margaret Key Stawell</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Alexander Teixeira de Mattos</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Edward Julius Detmold</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 22, 2021 [eBook #67000]</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>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.)</div>
+
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS ***</div>
+<div class="front">
+<div class="div1 cover"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
+<p class="first"></p>
+<div class="figure cover-imagewidth"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="Original Front Cover." width="547" height="720"></div><p>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div1 frenchtitle"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
+<p class="first xd31e117">FABRE’S BOOK OF INSECTS
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div1 frontispiece"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
+<p class="first"></p>
+<div class="figure frontispiecewidth" id="frontispiece"><img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="THE SACRED BEETLE" width="647" height="700"><div class="figAnnotation frontispiecewidth"><span class="figTop">&nbsp;</span><span class="figBottomRight"><i>Page 13</i></span></div>
+<p class="figureHead"><i>THE SACRED BEETLE</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>Sometimes the Scarab seems to enter into partnership with a friend</i>
+</p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div1 titlepage"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
+<p class="first"></p>
+<div class="figure titlepage-imagewidth"><img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="Original Title Page." width="508" height="720"></div><p>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="titlePage">
+<div class="docTitle">
+<div class="mainTitle red">FABRE’S<br>
+BOOK OF INSECTS</div>
+</div>
+<div class="byline">RETOLD FROM ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS’<br>
+TRANSLATION of FABRE’S “<span lang="fr">SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES</span>”<br>
+BY <span class="docAuthor">MRS. RODOLPH STAWELL</span>
+<br>
+Illustrated by
+<br>
+<span class="docAuthor red">E. J. DETMOLD</span></div>
+<div class="docImprint red">NEW YORK<br>
+DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br>
+<span class="docDate">1921</span></div>
+</div>
+<p></p>
+<div class="div1 copyright"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody">
+<p class="first xd31e170"><span class="sc">Copyright, 1921,<br>
+By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.</span>
+</p>
+<p class="xd31e170">PRINTED IN U.&nbsp;S. A.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb.vii">[<a href="#pb.vii">vii</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="toc" class="div1 contents"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="main">CONTENTS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">CHAPTER I &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum xd31e183">PAGE</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch1" id="xd31e187">MY WORK AND MY WORKSHOP</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">1</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER II
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch2" id="xd31e195">THE SACRED BEETLE</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">11</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER III
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch3" id="xd31e203">THE CICADA</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">25</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER IV
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch4" id="xd31e211">THE PRAYING MANTIS</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">40</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER V
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch5" id="xd31e219">THE GLOW-WORM</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">54</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER VI
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch6" id="xd31e228">A MASON-WASP</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">69</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER VII
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch7" id="xd31e236">THE PSYCHES</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">89</span>
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb.viii">[<a href="#pb.viii">viii</a>]</span></p>
+<p>CHAPTER VIII
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch8" id="xd31e245">THE SELF-DENIAL OF THE SPANISH COPRIS</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">109</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER IX
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch9" id="xd31e253">TWO STRANGE GRASSHOPPERS</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">121</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER X
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch10" id="xd31e261">COMMON WASPS</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">138</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER XI
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch11" id="xd31e270">THE ADVENTURES OF A GRUB</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">157</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER XII
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch12" id="xd31e278">THE CRICKET</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">175</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER XIII
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch13" id="xd31e286">THE SISYPHUS</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">198</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER XIV
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch14" id="xd31e294">THE CAPRICORN</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">209</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER XV
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch15" id="xd31e302">LOCUSTS</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">227</span>
+</p>
+<p>CHAPTER XVI
+</p>
+<p><a href="#ch16" id="xd31e310">THE ANTHRAX FLY</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">249</span>
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb.ix">[<a href="#pb.ix">ix</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div1 contents"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="main">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first"><a href="#frontispiece">THE SACRED BEETLE</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum"><i>Frontispiece</i></span>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">Sometimes the Scarab seems to enter into partnership with a friend
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p026">THE CICADA</a> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum xd31e183">FACING PAGE</span>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are parched with thirst, the
+Cicada remains perfectly cheerful &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">26</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p042">THE PRAYING MANTIS</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">A long time ago, in the days of ancient Greece, this insect was named Mantis, or the
+Prophet &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">42</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p080">PELOPÆUS SPIRIFEX</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">When finished the work is amber-yellow, and rather reminds one of the outer skin of
+an onion &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">80</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p090">THE PSYCHES</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">This is the secret of the walking bundle of sticks. It is a Faggot Caterpillar, belonging
+to the group known as the Psyches &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">90</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p116">THE SPANISH COPRIS</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">The burrow is almost filled by three or four ovoid nests, standing one against the
+other, with the pointed end upwards &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">116</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p130">THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">The Greek word <i>dectikos</i> means biting, fond of biting. The Decticus is well named. It is eminently an insect
+given to biting &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">130</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p144">COMMON WASPS</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">The wasp’s nest is made of a thin, flexible material like brown paper, formed of particles
+of wood &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">144</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p180">THE FIELD CRICKET</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">Here is one of the humblest of creatures able to lodge himself to perfection. He has
+a home; he has a peaceful retreat, the first condition of comfort &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">180</span>
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb.x">[<a href="#pb.x">x</a>]</span></p>
+<p><a href="#p204">THE SISYPHUS</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">The mother harnesses herself in the place of honour, in front. The father pushes behind
+in the reverse position, head downwards &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">204</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p238">ITALIAN LOCUSTS</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">“I have buried underground,” she says, “the treasure of the future” &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">238</span>
+</p>
+<p><a href="#p258">THE ANTHRAX FLY</a>
+</p>
+<p class="tocArgument">Her delicate suit of downy velvet, from which you take the bloom by merely breathing
+on it, could not withstand the contact of rough tunnels &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <span class="tocPageNum">258</span>
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb.xi">[<a href="#pb.xi">xi</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="body">
+<div id="ch1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e187">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="super xd31e438">FABRE’S BOOK OF INSECTS</h2>
+<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb1">[<a href="#pb1">1</a>]</span></p>
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER I</h2>
+<h2 class="main">MY WORK AND MY WORKSHOP</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">We all have our own talents, our special gifts. Sometimes these gifts seem to come
+to us from our forefathers, but more often it is difficult to trace their origin.
+</p>
+<p>A goatherd, perhaps, amuses himself by counting little pebbles and doing sums with
+them. He becomes an astoundingly quick reckoner, and in the end is a professor of
+mathematics. Another boy, at an age when most of us care only for play, leaves his
+schoolfellows at their games and listens to the imaginary sounds of an organ, a secret
+concert heard by him alone. He has a genius for music. A third—so small, perhaps,
+that he cannot eat his bread and jam without smearing his face—takes a keen delight
+in fashioning clay into little figures that are amazingly lifelike. If he be fortunate
+he will some day be a famous sculptor.
+</p>
+<p>To talk about oneself is hateful, I know, but perhaps I may be allowed to do so for
+a moment, in order to introduce myself and my studies.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb2">[<a href="#pb2">2</a>]</span></p>
+<p>From my earliest childhood I have felt drawn towards the things of Nature. It would
+be ridiculous to suppose that this gift, this love of observing plants and insects,
+was inherited from my ancestors, who were uneducated people of the soil and observed
+little but their own cows and sheep. Of my four grandparents only one ever opened
+a book, and even he was very uncertain about his spelling. Nor do I owe anything to
+a scientific training. Without masters, without guides, often without books, I have
+gone forward with one aim always before me: to add a few pages to the history of insects.
+</p>
+<p>As I look back—so many years back!—I can see myself as a tiny boy, extremely proud
+of my first braces and of my attempts to learn the alphabet. And very well I remember
+the delight of finding my first bird’s nest and gathering my first mushroom.
+</p>
+<p>One day I was climbing a hill. At the top of it was a row of trees that had long interested
+me very much. From the little window at home I could see them against the sky, tossing
+before the wind or writhing madly in the snow, and I wished to have a closer view
+of them. It was a long climb—ever so long; and my legs were very short. I clambered
+up slowly and tediously, for the grassy slope was as steep as a roof.
+</p>
+<p>Suddenly, at my feet, a lovely bird flew out from its <span class="pageNum" id="pb3">[<a href="#pb3">3</a>]</span>hiding-place under a big stone. In a moment I had found the nest, which was made of
+hair and fine straw, and had six eggs laid side by side in it. The eggs were a magnificent
+azure blue, very bright. This was the first nest I ever found, the first of the many
+joys which the birds were to bring me. Overpowered with pleasure, I lay down on the
+grass and stared at it.
+</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the mother-bird was flying about uneasily from stone to stone, crying ”<i>Tack! Tack!</i>” in a voice of the greatest anxiety. I was too small to understand what she was suffering.
+I made a plan worthy of a little beast of prey. I would carry away just one of the
+pretty blue eggs as a trophy, and then, in a fortnight, I would come back and take
+the tiny birds before they could fly away. Fortunately, as I walked carefully home,
+carrying my blue egg on a bed of moss, I met the priest.
+</p>
+<p>“Ah!” said he. “A Saxicola’s egg! Where did you get it?”
+</p>
+<p>I told him the whole story. “I shall go back for the others,” I said, “when the young
+birds have got their quill-feathers.”
+</p>
+<p>“Oh, but you mustn’t do that!” cried the priest.
+</p>
+<p>“You mustn’t be so cruel as to rob the poor mother of all her little birds. Be a good
+boy, now, and promise not to touch the nest.”
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb4">[<a href="#pb4">4</a>]</span></p>
+<p>From this conversation I learnt two things: first, that robbing birds’ nests is cruel
+and, secondly, that birds and beasts have names just like ourselves.
+</p>
+<p>“What are the names of all my friends in the woods and meadows?” I asked myself. “And
+what does <i>Saxicola</i> mean?” Years later I learnt that <i>Saxicola</i> means an inhabitant of the rocks. My bird with the blue eggs was a Stone-chat.
+</p>
+<p>Below our village there ran a little brook, and beyond the brook was a spinney of
+beeches with smooth, straight trunks, like pillars. The ground was padded with moss.
+It was in this spinney that I picked my first mushroom, which looked, when I caught
+sight of it, like an egg dropped on the moss by some wandering hen. There were many
+others there, of different sizes, forms, and colours. Some were shaped like bells,
+some like extinguishers, some like cups: some were broken, and were weeping tears
+of milk: some became blue when I trod on them. Others, the most curious of all, were
+like pears with a round hole at the top—a sort of chimney whence a whiff of smoke
+escaped when I prodded their under-side with my finger. I filled my pockets with these,
+and made them smoke at my leisure, till at last they were reduced to a kind of tinder.
+</p>
+<p>Many a time I returned to that delightful spinney, <span class="pageNum" id="pb5">[<a href="#pb5">5</a>]</span>and learnt my first lessons in mushroom-lore in the company of the Crows. My collections,
+I need hardly say, were not admitted to the house.
+</p>
+<p>In this way—by observing Nature and making experiments—nearly all my lessons have
+been learnt: all except two, in fact. I have received from others two lessons of a
+scientific character, and two only, in the whole course of my life: one in anatomy
+and one in chemistry.
+</p>
+<p>I owe the first to the learned naturalist Moquin-Tandon, who showed me how to explore
+the interior of a Snail in a plate filled with water. The lesson was short and fruitful.<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e482src" href="#xd31e482">1</a>
+</p>
+<p>My first introduction to chemistry was less fortunate. It ended in the bursting of
+a glass vessel, with the result that most of my fellow-pupils were hurt, one of them
+nearly lost his sight, the lecturer’s clothes were burnt to pieces, and the wall of
+the lecture-room was splashed with stains. Later on, when I returned to that room,
+no longer as a pupil but as a master, the splashes were still there. On that occasion
+I learnt one thing at least. Ever after, when I made experiments of that kind, I kept
+my pupils at a distance.
+</p>
+<p>It has always been my great desire to have a laboratory <span class="pageNum" id="pb6">[<a href="#pb6">6</a>]</span>in the open fields—not an easy thing to obtain when one lives in a state of constant
+anxiety about one’s daily bread. For forty years it was my dream to own a little bit
+of land, fenced in for the sake of privacy: a desolate, barren, sun-scorched bit of
+land, overgrown with thistles and much beloved by Wasps and Bees. Here, without fear
+of interruption, I might question the Hunting-wasps and others of my friends in that
+difficult language which consists of experiments and observations. Here, without the
+long expeditions and rambles that use up my time and strength, I might watch my insects
+at every hour of the day.
+</p>
+<p>And then, at last, my wish was fulfilled. I obtained a bit of land in the solitude
+of a little village. It was a <i>harmas</i>, which is the name we give in this part of Provence to an untilled, pebbly expanse
+where hardly any plant but thyme can grow. It is too poor to be worth the trouble
+of ploughing, but the sheep pass there in spring, when it has chanced to rain and
+a little grass grows up.
+</p>
+<p>My own particular <i>harmas</i>, however, had a small quantity of red earth mixed with the stones, and had been roughly
+cultivated. I was told that vines once grew here, and I was sorry, for the original
+vegetation had been driven out by the three-pronged fork. There <span class="pageNum" id="pb7">[<a href="#pb7">7</a>]</span>was no thyme left, nor lavender, nor a single clump of the dwarf oak. As thyme and
+lavender might be useful to me as a hunting-ground for Bees and Wasps, I was obliged
+to plant them again.
+</p>
+<p>There were plenty of weeds: couch-grass, and prickly centauries, and the fierce Spanish
+oyster-plant, with its spreading orange flowers and spikes strong as nails. Above
+it towered the Illyrian cotton-thistle, whose straight and solitary stalk grows sometimes
+to the height of six feet and ends in large pink tufts. There were smaller thistles
+too, so well armed that the plant-collector can hardly tell where to grasp them, and
+spiky knapweeds, and in among them, in long lines provided with hooks, the shoots
+of the blue dewberry creeping along the ground. If you had visited this prickly thicket
+without wearing high boots, you would have paid dearly for your rashness!
+</p>
+<p>Such was the Eden that I won by forty years of desperate struggle.
+</p>
+<p>This curious, barren Paradise of mine is the happy hunting-ground of countless Bees
+and Wasps. Never have I seen so large a population of insects at a single spot. All
+the trades have made it their centre. Here come hunters of every kind of game, builders
+in clay, cotton-weavers, leaf-cutters, architects in pasteboard, <span class="pageNum" id="pb8">[<a href="#pb8">8</a>]</span>plasterers mixing mortar, carpenters boring wood, miners digging underground galleries,
+workers in gold-beaters’ skin, and many more.
+</p>
+<p>See—here is a Tailor-bee. She scrapes the cobwebby stalk of the yellow-flowered centaury,
+and gathers a ball of wadding which she carries off proudly with her mandibles or
+jaws. She will turn it, underground, into cotton satchels to hold the store of honey
+and the eggs. And here are the Leaf-cutting Bees, carrying their black, white, or
+blood-red reaping brushes under their bodies. They will visit the neighbouring shrubs,
+and there cut from the leaves oval pieces in which to wrap their harvest. Here too
+are the black, velvet-clad Mason-bees, who work with cement and gravel. We could easily
+find specimens of their masonry on the stones in the <i>harmas</i>. Next comes a kind of Wild Bee who stacks her cells in the winding staircase of an
+empty snail-shell; and another who lodges her grubs in the pith of a dry bramble-stalk;
+and a third who uses the channel of a cut reed; and a fourth who lives rent-free in
+the vacant galleries of some Mason-bee. There are also Bees with horns, and Bees with
+brushes on their hind-legs, to be used for reaping.
+</p>
+<p>While the walls of my <i>harmas</i> were being built some great heaps of stones and mounds of sand were scattered here
+and there by the builders, and were soon occupied by a variety of inhabitants. The
+Mason-bees chose the <span class="pageNum" id="pb9">[<a href="#pb9">9</a>]</span>chinks between the stones for their sleeping-place. The powerful Eyed Lizard, who,
+when hard pressed, attacks both man and dog, selected a cave in which to lie in wait
+for the passing Scarab, or Sacred Beetle. The Black-eared Chat, who looks like a Dominican
+monk in his white-and-black raiment, sat on the top stone singing his brief song.
+His nest, with the sky-blue eggs, must have been somewhere in the heap. When the stones
+were moved the little Dominican moved too. I regret him: he would have been a charming
+neighbour. The Eyed Lizard I do not regret at all.
+</p>
+<p>The sand-heaps sheltered a colony of Digger-wasps and Hunting-wasps, who were, to
+my sorrow, turned out at last by the builders. But still there are hunters left: some
+who flutter about in search of Caterpillars, and one very large kind of Wasp who actually
+has the courage to hunt the Tarantula. Many of these mighty Spiders have their burrows
+in the <i>harmas</i>, and you can see their eyes gleaming at the bottom of the den like little diamonds.
+On hot summer afternoons you may also see Amazon-ants, who leave their barracks in
+long battalions and march far afield to hunt for slaves.
+</p>
+<p>Nor are these all. The shrubs about the house are full of birds, Warblers and Greenfinches,
+Sparrows and Owls; while the pond is so popular with the Frogs that in May it becomes
+a deafening orchestra. And boldest <span class="pageNum" id="pb10">[<a href="#pb10">10</a>]</span>of all, the Wasp has taken possession of the house itself. On my doorway lives the
+White-banded Sphex: when I go indoors I must be careful not to tread upon her as she
+carries on her work of mining. Just within a closed window a kind of Mason-wasp has
+made her earth-built nest upon the freestone wall. To enter her home she uses a little
+hole left by accident in the shutters. On the mouldings of the Venetian blinds a few
+stray Mason-bees build their cells. The Common Wasp and the Solitary Wasp visit me
+at dinner. The object of their visit, apparently, is to see if my grapes are ripe.
+</p>
+<p>Such are my companions. My dear beasts, my friends of former days and other more recent
+acquaintances, are all here, hunting, and building, and feeding their families. And
+if I wish for change the mountain is close to me, with its tangle of arbutus, and
+rock-roses, and heather, where Wasps and Bees delight to gather. And that is why I
+deserted the town for the village, and came to Sérignan to weed my turnips and water
+my lettuces.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb11">[<a href="#pb11">11</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+<div class="footnotes">
+<hr class="fnsep">
+<div class="footnote-body">
+<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e482">
+<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e482src">1</a></span> See Insect Adventures, retold for young people from the works of Henri Fabre.&nbsp;<a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e482src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e195">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER II</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE SACRED BEETLE</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE BALL</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">It is six or seven thousand years since the Sacred Beetle was first talked about.
+The peasant of ancient Egypt, as he watered his patch of onions in the spring, would
+see from time to time a fat black insect pass close by, hurriedly trundling a ball
+backwards. He would watch the queer rolling thing in amazement, as the peasant of
+Provence watches it to this day.
+</p>
+<p>The early Egyptians fancied that this ball was a symbol of the earth, and that all
+the Scarab’s actions were prompted by the movements of the heavenly bodies. So much
+knowledge of astronomy in a Beetle seemed to them almost divine, and that is why he
+is called the Sacred Beetle. They also thought that the ball he rolled on the ground
+contained the egg, and that the young Beetle came out of it. But as a matter of fact,
+it is simply his store of food.
+</p>
+<p>It is not at all nice food. For the work of this Beetle <span class="pageNum" id="pb12">[<a href="#pb12">12</a>]</span>is to scour the filth from the surface of the soil. The ball he rolls so carefully
+is made of his sweepings from the roads and fields.
+</p>
+<p>This is how he sets about it. The edge of his broad, flat head is notched with six
+teeth arranged in a semi-circle, like a sort of curved rake; and this he uses for
+digging and cutting up, for throwing aside the stuff he does not want, and scraping
+together the food he chooses. His bow-shaped fore-legs are also useful tools, for
+they are very strong, and they too have five teeth on the outside. So if a vigorous
+effort be needed to remove some obstacle the Scarab makes use of his elbows, that
+is to say he flings his toothed legs to right and left, and clears a space with an
+energetic sweep. Then he collects armfuls of the stuff he has raked together, and
+pushes it beneath him, between the four hinder-legs. These are long and slender, especially
+the last pair, slightly bowed and finished with a sharp claw. The Beetle then presses
+the stuff against his body with his hind-legs, curving it and spinning it round and
+round till it forms a perfect ball. In a moment a tiny pellet grows to the size of
+a walnut, and soon to that of an apple. I have seen some gluttons manufacture a ball
+as big as a man’s fist.
+</p>
+<p>When the ball of provisions is ready it must be moved to a suitable place. The Beetle
+begins the journey. He clasps the ball with his long hind-legs and walks with <span class="pageNum" id="pb13">[<a href="#pb13">13</a>]</span>his fore-legs, moving backwards with his head down and his hind-quarters in the air.
+He pushes his load behind him by alternate thrusts to right and left. One would expect
+him to choose a level road, or at least a gentle incline. Not at all! Let him find
+himself near some steep slope, impossible to climb, and that is the very path the
+obstinate creature will attempt. The ball, that enormous burden, is painfully hoisted
+step by step, with infinite precautions, to a certain height, always backwards. Then
+by some rash movement all this toil is wasted: the ball rolls down, dragging the Beetle
+with it. Once more the heights are climbed, and another fall is the result. Again
+and again the insect begins the ascent. The merest trifle ruins everything; a grass-root
+may trip him up or a smooth bit of gravel make him slip, and down come ball and Beetle,
+all mixed up together. Ten or twenty times he will start afresh, till at last he is
+successful, or else sees the hopelessness of his efforts and resigns himself to taking
+the level road.
+</p>
+<p>Sometimes the Scarab seems to enter into partnership with a friend. This is the way
+in which it usually happens. When the Beetle’s ball is ready he leaves the crowd of
+workers, pushing his prize backwards. A neighbour, whose own task is hardly begun,
+suddenly drops his work and runs to the moving ball, to lend a hand to the owner.
+His aid seems to be accepted <span class="pageNum" id="pb14">[<a href="#pb14">14</a>]</span>willingly. But the new-comer is not really a partner: he is a robber. To make one’s
+own ball needs hard work and patience; to steal one ready-made, or to invite oneself
+to a neighbour’s dinner, is much easier. Some thieving Beetles go to work craftily,
+others use violence.
+</p>
+<p>Sometimes a thief comes flying up, knocks over the owner of the ball, and perches
+himself on top of it. With his fore-legs crossed over his breast, ready to hit out,
+he awaits events. If the owner raises himself to seize his ball the robber gives him
+a blow that stretches him on his back. Then the owner gets up and shakes the ball
+till it begins rolling, and perhaps the thief falls off. A wrestling-match follows.
+The two Beetles grapple with one another: their legs lock and unlock, their joints
+intertwine, their horny armour clashes and grates with the rasping sound of metal
+under a file. The one who is successful climbs to the top of the ball, and after two
+or three attempts to dislodge him the defeated Scarab goes off to make himself a new
+pellet. I have sometimes seen a third Beetle appear, and rob the robber.
+</p>
+<p>But sometimes the thief bides his time and trusts to cunning. He pretends to help
+the victim to roll the food along, over sandy plains thick with thyme, over cart-ruts
+and steep places, but he really does very little of the work, preferring to sit on
+the ball and do nothing. When a suitable place for a burrow is reached the rightful
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb15">[<a href="#pb15">15</a>]</span>owner begins to dig with his sharp-edged forehead and toothed legs, flinging armfuls
+of sand behind him, while the thief clings to the ball, shamming dead. The cave grows
+deeper and deeper, and the working Scarab disappears from view. Whenever he comes
+to the surface he glances at the ball, on which the other lies, demure and motionless,
+inspiring confidence. But as the absences of the owner become longer the thief seizes
+his chance, and hurriedly makes off with the ball, which he pushes behind him with
+the speed of a pickpocket afraid of being caught. If the owner catches him, as sometimes
+happens, he quickly changes his position, and seems to plead as an excuse that the
+pellet rolled down the slope, and he was only trying to stop it! And the two bring
+the ball back as though nothing had happened.
+</p>
+<p>If the thief has managed to get safely away, however, the owner can only resign himself
+to his loss, which he does with admirable fortitude. He rubs his cheeks, sniffs the
+air, flies off, and begins his work all over again. I admire and envy his character.
+</p>
+<p>At last his provisions are safely stored. His burrow is a shallow hole about the size
+of a man’s fist, dug in soft earth or sand, with a short passage to the surface, just
+wide enough to admit the ball. As soon as his food is rolled into this burrow the
+Scarab shuts himself in by stopping up the entrance with rubbish. The ball <span class="pageNum" id="pb16">[<a href="#pb16">16</a>]</span>fills almost the whole room: the banquet rises from floor to ceiling. Only a narrow
+passage runs between it and the walls, and here sit the banqueters, two at most, very
+often only one. Here the Sacred Beetle feasts day and night, for a week or a fortnight
+at a time, without ceasing.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE PEAR</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">As I have already said, the ancient Egyptians thought that the egg of the Sacred Beetle
+was within the ball that I have been describing. I have proved that it is not so.
+One day I discovered the truth about the Scarab’s egg.
+</p>
+<p>A young shepherd who helps me in his spare time came to me one Sunday in June with
+a queer thing in his hand. It was exactly like a tiny pear that had lost all its fresh
+colour and had turned brown in rotting. It was firm to the touch and very graceful
+in shape, though the materials of which it was formed seemed none too nicely chosen.
+The shepherd assured me there was an egg inside it; for a similar pear, crushed by
+accident in the digging, had contained a white egg the size of a grain of wheat.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb17">[<a href="#pb17">17</a>]</span></p>
+<p>At daybreak the next morning the shepherd and I went out to investigate the matter.
+We met among the browsing sheep, on some slopes that had lately been cleared of trees.
+</p>
+<p>A Sacred Beetle’s burrow is soon found: you can tell it by the fresh little mound
+of earth above it. My companion dug vigorously into the ground with my pocket trowel,
+while I lay down, the better to see what was being unearthed. A cave opened out, and
+there I saw, lying in the moist earth, a splendid pear upon the ground. I shall not
+soon forget my first sight of the mother Beetle’s wonderful work. My excitement could
+have been no greater had I, in digging among the relics of ancient Egypt, found the
+sacred insect carved in emerald.
+</p>
+<p>We went on with our search, and found a second hole. Here, by the side of the pear
+and fondly embracing it, was the mother Beetle, engaged no doubt in giving it the
+finishing touches before leaving the burrow for good. There was no possible doubt
+that the pear was the nest of the Scarab. In the course of the summer I found at least
+a hundred such nests.
+</p>
+<p>The pear, like the ball, is formed of refuse scraped up in the fields, but the materials
+are less coarse, because they are intended for the food of the grub. When it comes
+out of the egg it is incapable of searching for its <span class="pageNum" id="pb18">[<a href="#pb18">18</a>]</span>own meals, so the mother arranges that it shall find itself surrounded by the food
+that suits it best. It can begin eating at once, without further trouble.
+</p>
+<p>The egg is laid in the narrow end of the pear. Every germ of life, whether of plant
+or animal, needs air: even the shell of a bird’s egg is riddled with an endless number
+of pores. If the germ of the Scarab were in the thick part of the pear it would be
+smothered, because there the materials are very closely packed, and are covered with
+a hard rind. So the mother Beetle prepares a nice airy room with thin walls for her
+little grub to live in, during its first moments. There is a certain amount of air
+even in the very centre of the pear, but not enough for a delicate baby-grub. By the
+time he has eaten his way to the centre he is strong enough to manage with very little
+air.
+</p>
+<p>There is, of course, a good reason for the hardness of the shell that covers the big
+end of the pear. The Scarab’s burrow is extremely hot: sometimes the temperature reaches
+boiling point. The provisions, even though they have to last only three or four weeks,
+are liable to dry up and become uneatable. When, instead of the soft food of its first
+meal, the unhappy grub finds nothing to eat but horrible crusty stuff as hard as a
+pebble, it is bound to die of hunger. I have found numbers of these victims of the
+August sun. The poor things are baked in a sort of closed oven. To lessen this danger
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb19">[<a href="#pb19">19</a>]</span>the mother Beetle compresses the outer layer of the pear—or nest—with all the strength
+of her stout, flat fore-arms, to turn it into a protecting rind like the shell of
+a nut. This helps to ward off the heat. In the hot summer months the housewife puts
+her bread into a closed pan to keep it fresh. The insect does the same in its own
+fashion: by dint of pressure it covers the family bread with a pan.
+</p>
+<hr class="tb"><p>
+</p>
+<p>I have watched the Sacred Beetle at work in her den, so I know how she makes her pear-shaped
+nest.
+</p>
+<p>With the building-materials she has collected she shuts herself up underground so
+as to give her whole attention to the business in hand. The materials may be obtained
+in two ways. As a rule, under natural conditions, she kneads a ball in the usual way
+and rolls it to a favourable spot. As it rolls along it hardens a little on the surface
+and gathers a slight crust of earth and tiny grains of sand, which is useful later
+on. Now and then, however, the Beetle finds a suitable place for her burrow quite
+close to the spot where she collects her building-materials, and in that case she
+simply bundles armfuls of stuff into the hole. The result is most striking. One day
+I see a shapeless lump disappear into the burrow. Next day, or the day after, I visit
+the Beetle’s workshop and find the artist in front of her work. The <span class="pageNum" id="pb20">[<a href="#pb20">20</a>]</span>formless mass of scrapings has become a pear, perfect in outline and exquisitely finished.
+</p>
+<p>The part that rests on the floor of the burrow is crusted over with particles of sand,
+while the rest is polished like glass. This shows that the Beetle has not rolled the
+pear round and round, but has shaped it where it lies. She has modelled it with little
+taps of her broad feet, just as she models her ball in the daylight.
+</p>
+<p>By making an artificial burrow for the mother Beetle in my own workshop, with the
+help of a glass jar full of earth, and a peep-hole through which I can observe operations,
+I have been able to see the work in its various stages.
+</p>
+<p>The Beetle first makes a complete ball. Then she starts the neck of the pear by making
+a ring round the ball and applying pressure, till the ring becomes a groove. In this
+way a blunt projection is pushed out at one side of the ball. In the centre of this
+projection she employs further pressure to form a sort of crater or hollow, with a
+swollen rim; and gradually the hollow is made deeper and the swollen rim thinner and
+thinner, till a sack is formed. In this sack, which is polished and glazed inside,
+the egg is laid. The opening of the sack, or extreme end of the pear, is then closed
+with a plug of stringy fibres.
+</p>
+<p>There is a reason for this rough plug—a most curious <span class="pageNum" id="pb21">[<a href="#pb21">21</a>]</span>exception, when nothing else has escaped the heavy blows of the insect’s leg. The
+end of the egg rests against it, and, if the stopper were pressed down and driven
+in, the infant grub might suffer. So the Beetle stops the hole without ramming down
+the stopper.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE GROWING-UP OF THE SCARAB</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">About a week or ten days after the laying of the egg, the grub is hatched, and without
+delay begins to eat its house. It is a grub of remarkable wisdom, for it always starts
+its meal with the thickest part of the walls, and so avoids making a hole through
+which it might fall out of the pear altogether. It soon becomes fat; and indeed it
+is an ungainly creature at best, with an enormous hump on its back, and a skin so
+transparent that if you hold it up to the light you can see its internal organs. If
+the early Egyptian had chanced upon this plump white grub he would never have suspected
+it to contain, in an undeveloped state, the sober beauty of the Scarab!
+</p>
+<p>When first it sheds its skin the insect that appears is not a full-grown Scarab, though
+all the Scarab’s features can be recognised. There are few insects so beautiful as
+this delicate creature with its wing-cases living in front of it like a wide pleated
+scarf and its fore-legs <span class="pageNum" id="pb22">[<a href="#pb22">22</a>]</span>folded under its head. Half transparent and as yellow as honey, it looks as though
+it were carved from a block of amber. For four weeks it remains in this state, and
+then it too casts its skin.
+</p>
+<p>Its colouring now is red-and-white,—so many times does the Sacred Beetle change its
+garments before it finally appears black as ebony! As it grows blacker it also grows
+harder, till it is covered with horny armour and is a full-grown Beetle.
+</p>
+<p>All this time he is underground, in the pear-shaped nest. Great is his longing to
+burst the shell of his prison and come into the sunshine. Whether he succeeds in doing
+so depends on circumstances.
+</p>
+<p>It is generally August when he is ready for release, and August as a rule is the driest
+and hottest month of the year. If therefore no rain falls to soften the earth, the
+cell to be burst and the wall to be broken defy the strength of the insect, which
+is helpless against all that hardness. The soft material of the nest has become an
+impassable rampart; it has turned into a sort of brick, baked in the kiln of summer.
+</p>
+<p>I have, of course, made experiments on insects that are ready to be released. I lay
+the hard, dry shells in a box where they remain dry; and sooner or later I hear a
+sharp, grating sound inside each cell. It is the prisoner scraping the wall with the
+rakes on his forehead <span class="pageNum" id="pb23">[<a href="#pb23">23</a>]</span>and his fore-feet. Two or three days pass, and no progress seems to have been made.
+</p>
+<p>I try to help a couple of them by opening a loophole with my knife; but these favoured
+ones make no more progress than the others.
+</p>
+<p>In less than a fortnight silence reigns in all the shells. The prisoners, worn out
+with their efforts, have all died.
+</p>
+<p>Then I take some other shells, as hard as the first, wrap them in a wet rag, and put
+them in a corked flask. When the moisture has soaked through them I rid them of the
+wrapper, but keep them in the flask. This time the experiment is a complete success.
+Softened by the wet the shells are burst by the prisoner, who props himself boldly
+on his legs, using his back as a lever, or else scrapes away at one point till the
+walls crumble to pieces. In every case the Beetle is released.
+</p>
+<p>In natural conditions, when the shells remain underground, the same thing occurs.
+When the soil is burnt by the August sun it is impossible for the insect to wear away
+his prison, which is hard as a brick. But when a shower comes the shell recovers the
+softness of its early days: the insect struggles with his legs and pushes with his
+back, and so becomes free.
+</p>
+<p>At first he shows no interest in food. What he wants above all is the joy of the light.
+He sets himself in the sun, and there, motionless, basks in the warmth.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb24">[<a href="#pb24">24</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Presently, however, he wishes to eat. With no one to teach him, he sets to work, exactly
+like his elders, to make himself a ball of food. He digs his burrow and stores it
+with provisions. Without ever learning it, he knows his trade to perfection.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb25">[<a href="#pb25">25</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch3" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e203">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER III</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE CICADA</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE CICADA AND THE ANT</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">To most of us the Cicada’s song is unknown, for he lives in the land of the olive-trees.
+But every one who has read La Fontaine’s “Fables” has heard of the snub the Cicada
+received from the Ant, though La Fontaine was not the first to tell the tale.
+</p>
+<p>The Cicada, says the story, did nothing but sing all through the summer, while the
+Ants were busy storing their provisions. When winter came he was hungry, and hurried
+to his neighbour to borrow some food. He met with a poor welcome.
+</p>
+<p>“Why didn’t you gather your food in the summer?” asked the prudent Ant.
+</p>
+<p>“I was busy singing all the summer,” said the Cicada.
+</p>
+<p>“Singing, were you?” answered the Ant unkindly. “Well, then, now you may dance!” And
+she turned her back on the beggar.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb26">[<a href="#pb26">26</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Now the insect in this fable could not possibly be a Cicada. La Fontaine, it is plain,
+was thinking of the Grasshopper and as a matter of fact the English translations usually
+substitute a Grasshopper for the Cicada.
+</p>
+<p></p>
+<div class="figure p026width" id="p026"><img src="images/p026.jpg" alt="THE CICADA" width="539" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE CICADA</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are parched with thirst, the
+Cicada remains perfectly cheerful</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>For my village does not contain a peasant so ignorant as to imagine the Cicada ever
+exists in winter. Every tiller of the soil is familiar with the grub of this insect,
+which he turns over with his spade whenever he banks up the olive-trees at the approach
+of cold weather. A thousand times he has seen the grub leave the ground through a
+round hole of its own making, fasten itself to a twig, split its own back, take off
+its skin, and turn into a Cicada.
+</p>
+<p>The fable is a slander. The Cicada is no beggar, though it is true that he demands
+a good deal of attention from his neighbours. Every summer he comes and settles in
+his hundreds outside my door, amid the greenery of two tall plane-trees; and here,
+from sunrise to sunset, he tortures my head with the rasping of his harsh music. This
+deafening concert, this incessant rattling and drumming, makes all thought impossible.
+</p>
+<p>It is true, too, that there are sometimes dealings between the Cicada and the Ant;
+but they are exactly the opposite of those described in the fable. The Cicada is never
+dependent on others for his living. At no time does he go crying famine at the doors
+of the Ant-hills. <span class="pageNum" id="pb27">[<a href="#pb27">27</a>]</span>On the contrary, it is the Ant who, driven by hunger, begs and entreats the singer.
+Entreats, did I say? It is not the right word. She brazenly robs him.
+</p>
+<p>In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are parched with thirst, and
+vainly wander round the withered flowers in search of refreshment, the Cicada remains
+perfectly cheerful. With his rostrum—the delicate sucker, sharp as a gimlet, that
+he carries on his chest—he broaches a cask in his inexhaustible cellar. Sitting, always
+singing, on the branch of a shrub, he bores through the firm, smooth bark, which is
+swollen with sap. Driving his sucker through the bunghole, he drinks his fill.
+</p>
+<p>If I watch him for a little while I may perhaps see him in unexpected trouble. There
+are many thirsty insects in the neighbourhood, who soon discover the sap that oozes
+from the Cicada’s well. They hasten up, at first quietly and discreetly, to lick the
+fluid as it comes out. I see Wasps, Flies, Earwigs, Rose-chafers, and above all, Ants.
+</p>
+<p>The smallest, in order to reach the well, slip under the body of the Cicada, who good-naturedly
+raises himself on his legs to let them pass. The larger insects snatch a sip, retreat,
+take a walk on a neighbouring branch, and then return more eager and enterprising
+than before. They now become violent brigands, determined to chase the Cicada away
+from his well.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb28">[<a href="#pb28">28</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The worst offenders are the Ants. I have seen them nibbling at the ends of the Cicada’s
+legs, tugging at the tips of his wings, and climbing on his back. Once a bold robber,
+before my very eyes, caught hold of a Cicada’s sucker and tried to pull it out.
+</p>
+<p>At last, worried beyond all patience, the singer deserts the well he has made. The
+Ant has now attained her object: she is left in possession of the spring. This dries
+up very soon, it is true; but, having drunk all the sap that is there, she can wait
+for another drink till she has a chance of stealing another well.
+</p>
+<p>So you see that the actual facts are just the reverse of those in the fable. The Ant
+is the hardened beggar: the industrious worker is the Cicada.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE CICADA’S BURROW</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">I am in an excellent position to study the habits of the Cicada, for I live in his
+company. When July comes he takes possession of the enclosures right up to the threshold
+of the house. I remain master indoors, but out of doors he reigns supreme, and his
+reign is by no means a peaceful one.
+</p>
+<p>The first Cicada appear at midsummer. In the much-trodden, sun-baked paths I see,
+level with the ground, <span class="pageNum" id="pb29">[<a href="#pb29">29</a>]</span>round holes about the size of a man’s thumb. Through these holes the Cicada-grubs
+come up from the underground to be transformed into full-grown Cicadæ on the surface.
+Their favourite places are the driest and sunniest; for these grubs are provided with
+such powerful tools that they can bore through baked earth or sandstone. When I examine
+their deserted burrows I have to use my pickaxe.
+</p>
+<p>The first thing one notices is that the holes, which measure nearly an inch across,
+have absolutely no rubbish round them. There is no mound of earth thrown up outside.
+Most of the digging insects, such as the Dorbeetles for instance, make a mole-hill
+above their burrows. The reason for this difference lies in their manner of working.
+The Dorbeetle begins his work at the mouth of the hole, so he can heap up on the surface
+the material he digs out: but the Cicada-grub comes up from below. The last thing
+he does is to make the doorway, and he cannot heap rubbish on a threshold that does
+not yet exist.
+</p>
+<p>The Cicada’s tunnel runs to a depth of fifteen or sixteen inches. It is quite open
+the whole way. It ends in a rather wider space, but is completely closed at the bottom.
+What has become of the earth removed to make this tunnel? And why do not the walls
+crumble? One would expect that the grub, climbing up and down with <span class="pageNum" id="pb30">[<a href="#pb30">30</a>]</span>his clawed legs, would make landslips and block up his own house.
+</p>
+<p>Well, he behaves like a miner or a railway-engineer. The miner holds up his galleries
+with pit-props; the builder of railways strengthens his tunnel with a casing of brickwork;
+the Cicada is as clever as either of them, and covers the walls of his tunnel with
+cement. He carries a store of sticky fluid hidden within him, with which to make this
+plaster. His burrow is always built above some tiny rootlet containing sap, and from
+this root he renews his supply of fluid.
+</p>
+<p>It is very important for him to be able to run up and down his burrow at his ease,
+because, when the time comes for him to find his way into the sunshine, he wants to
+know what the weather is like outside. So he works away for weeks, perhaps for months,
+to make a funnel with good strong plastered walls, on which he can clamber. At the
+top he leaves a layer as thick as one’s finger, to protect him from the outer air
+till the last moment. At the least hint of fine weather he scrambles up, and, through
+the thin lid at the top, inquires into the state of the weather.
+</p>
+<p>If he suspects a storm or rain on the surface—matter of great importance to a delicate
+grub when he takes off his skin!—he slips prudently back to the bottom of his snug
+funnel. But if the weather seems warm he smashes his <span class="pageNum" id="pb31">[<a href="#pb31">31</a>]</span>ceiling with a few strokes of his claws, and climbs to the surface.
+</p>
+<p>It is the fluid substance carried by the Cicada-grub in his swollen body that enables
+him to get rid of the rubbish in his burrow. As he digs he sprinkles the dusty earth
+and turns it into paste. The walls then become soft and yielding. The mud squeezes
+into the chinks of the rough soil, and the grub compresses it with his fat body. This
+is why, when he appears at the top, he is always covered with wet stains.
+</p>
+<hr class="tb"><p>
+</p>
+<p>For some time after the Cicada-grub’s first appearance above-ground he wanders about
+the neighbourhood, looking for a suitable spot in which to cast off his skin—a tiny
+bush, a tuft of thyme, a blade of grass, or the twig of a shrub. When he finds it
+he climbs up, and clings to it firmly with the claws of his fore-feet. His fore-legs
+stiffen into an immovable grip.
+</p>
+<p>Then his outer skin begins to split along the middle of the back, showing the pale-green
+Cicada within. Presently the head is free; then the sucker and front legs appear,
+and finally the hind-legs and the rumpled wings. The whole insect is free now, except
+the extreme tip of his body.
+</p>
+<p>He next performs a wonderful gymnastic feat. High in the air as he is, fixed to his
+old skin at one point <span class="pageNum" id="pb32">[<a href="#pb32">32</a>]</span>only, he turns himself over till his head is hanging downwards. His crumpled wings
+straighten out, unfurl, and spread themselves. Then with an almost invisible movement
+he draws himself up again by sheer strength, and hooks his fore-legs on to his empty
+skin. This movement has released the tip of his body from its sheath. The whole operation
+has taken about half an hour.
+</p>
+<p>For a time the freed Cicada does not feel very strong. He must bathe in air and sunshine
+before strength and colour come to his frail body. Hanging to his cast skin by his
+fore-claws only, he sways at the least breath of air, still feeble and still green.
+But at last the brown tinge appears, and is soon general. Supposing him to have taken
+possession of the twig at nine o’clock in the morning, the Cicada flies away at half-past
+twelve, leaving his cast skin behind him. Sometimes it hangs from the twigs for months.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE CICADA’S MUSIC</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Cicada, it appears, loves singing for its own sake. Not content with carrying
+an instrument called the cymbal in a cavity behind his wings, he increases its power
+by means of sounding-boards under his chest. <span class="pageNum" id="pb33">[<a href="#pb33">33</a>]</span>Indeed, there is one kind of Cicada who sacrifices a great deal in order to give full
+play to his musical tastes. He carries such an enormous sounding-board that there
+is hardly any room left for his vital organs, which are squeezed into a tiny corner.
+Assuredly one must be passionately devoted to music thus to clear away one’s internal
+organs in order to make room for a musical box!
+</p>
+<p>Unfortunately the song he loves so much is extremely unattractive to others. Nor have
+I yet discovered its object. It is usually suggested that he is calling his mate;
+but the facts appear to contradict this idea.
+</p>
+<p>For fifteen years the Common Cicada has thrust his society upon me. Every summer for
+two months I have these insects before my eyes, and their song in my ears. I see them
+ranged in rows on the smooth bark of the plane-trees, the maker of music and his mate
+sitting side by side. With their suckers driven into the tree they drink, motionless.
+As the sun turns they also turn round the branch with slow, sidelong steps, to find
+the hottest spot. Whether drinking or moving they never cease singing.
+</p>
+<p>It seems unlikely, therefore, that they are calling their mates. You do not spend
+months on end calling to some one who is at your elbow.
+</p>
+<p>Indeed, I am inclined to think that the Cicada himself <span class="pageNum" id="pb34">[<a href="#pb34">34</a>]</span>cannot even hear the song he sings with so much apparent delight. This might account
+for the relentless way in which he forces his music upon others.
+</p>
+<p>He has very clear sight. His five eyes tell him what is happening to right and to
+left and above his head; and the moment he sees any one coming he is silent and flies
+away. Yet no noise disturbs him. Place yourself behind him, and then talk, whistle,
+clap your hands, and knock two stones together. For much less than this a bird, though
+he would not see you, would fly away terrified. The imperturbable Cicada goes on rattling
+as though nothing were there.
+</p>
+<p>On one occasion I borrowed the local artillery, that is to say the guns that are fired
+on feast-days in the village. There were two of them, and they were crammed with powder
+as though for the most important rejoicings. They were placed at the foot of the plane-trees
+in front of my door. We were careful to leave the windows open, to prevent the panes
+from breaking. The Cicadæ in the branches overhead could not see what was happening.
+</p>
+<p>Six of us waited below, eager to hear what would be the effect on the orchestra above.
+</p>
+<p><i>Bang!</i> The gun went off with a noise like a thunderclap.
+</p>
+<p>Quite unconcerned, the Cicadæ continued to sing. <span class="pageNum" id="pb35">[<a href="#pb35">35</a>]</span>Not one appeared in the least disturbed. There was no change whatever in the quality
+or the quantity of the sound. The second gun had no more effect than the first.
+</p>
+<p>I think, after this experiment, we must admit that the Cicada is hard of hearing,
+and like a very deaf man, is quite unconscious that he is making a noise.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">IV</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE CICADA’S EGGS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Common Cicada likes to lay her eggs on small dry branches. She chooses, as far
+as possible, tiny stalks, which may be of any size between that of a straw and a lead-pencil.
+The sprig is never lying on the ground, is usually nearly upright in position, and
+is almost always dead.
+</p>
+<p>Having found a twig to suit her, she makes a row of pricks with the sharp instrument
+on her chest—such pricks as might be made with a pin if it were driven downwards on
+a slant, so as to tear the fibres and force them slightly upwards. If she is undisturbed
+she will make thirty or forty of these pricks on the same twig.
+</p>
+<p>In the tiny cells formed by these pricks she lays her eggs. The cells are narrow passages,
+each one slanting down towards the one below it. I generally find about <span class="pageNum" id="pb36">[<a href="#pb36">36</a>]</span>ten eggs in each cell, so it is plain that the Cicada lays between three and four
+hundred eggs altogether.
+</p>
+<p>This is a fine family for one insect. The numbers point to some special danger that
+threatens the Cicada, and makes it necessary to produce a great quantity of grubs
+lest some should be destroyed. After many observations I have discovered what this
+danger is. It is an extremely tiny Gnat, compared with which the Cicada is a monster.
+</p>
+<p>This Gnat, like the Cicada, carries a boring-tool. It is planted beneath her body,
+near the middle, and sticks out at right angles. As fast as the Cicada lays her eggs
+the Gnat tries to destroy them. It is a real scourge to the Cicada family. It is amazing
+to watch her calm and brazen audacity in the presence of the giant who could crush
+her by simply stepping on her. I have seen as many as three preparing to despoil one
+unhappy Cicada at the same time, standing close behind one another.
+</p>
+<p>The Cicada has just stocked a cell with eggs, and is climbing a little higher to make
+another cell. One of the brigands runs to the spot she has just left; and here, almost
+under the claws of the monster, as calmly and fearlessly as though she were at home,
+the Gnat bores a second hole above the Cicada’s eggs, and places among them an egg
+of her own. By the time the Cicada flies away most of her cells have, in this way,
+received a <span class="pageNum" id="pb37">[<a href="#pb37">37</a>]</span>stranger’s egg, which will be the ruin of hers. A small quick-hatching grub, one only
+to each cell, handsomely fed on a dozen raw eggs, will take the place of the Cicada’s
+family.
+</p>
+<p>This deplorable mother has learnt nothing from centuries of experience. Her large
+and excellent eyes cannot fail to see the terrible felons fluttering round her. She
+must know they are at her heels, and yet she remains unmoved, and lets herself be
+victimised. She could easily crush the wicked atoms, but she is incapable of altering
+her instincts, even to save her family from destruction.
+</p>
+<p>Through my magnifying-glass I have seen the hatching of the Cicada’s eggs. When the
+grub first appears it has a marked likeness to an extremely small fish, with large
+black eyes, and a curious sort of mock fin under its body, formed of the two fore-legs
+joined together. This fin has some power of movement, and helps the grub to work its
+way out of the shell, and also—a much more difficult matter—out of the fibrous stem
+in which it is imprisoned.
+</p>
+<p>As soon as this fish-like object has made its way out of the cell it sheds its skin.
+But the cast skin forms itself into a thread, by which the grub remains fastened to
+the twig or stem. Here, before dropping to the ground, it treats itself to a sun-bath,
+kicking about and <span class="pageNum" id="pb38">[<a href="#pb38">38</a>]</span>trying its strength, or swinging lazily at the end of its rope.
+</p>
+<p>Its antennæ now are free, and wave about; its legs work their joints; those in front
+open and shut their claws. I know hardly any more curious sight than this tiny acrobat
+hanging by the tip of its body, swinging at the least breath of wind, and making ready
+in the air for its somersault into the world.
+</p>
+<p>Sooner or later, without losing much time, it drops to the ground. The little creature,
+no bigger than a Flea, has saved its tender body from the rough earth by swinging
+on its cord. It has hardened itself in the air, that luxurious eiderdown. It now plunges
+into the stern realities of life.
+</p>
+<p>I see a thousand dangers ahead of it. The merest breath of wind could blow it on to
+the hard rock, or into the stagnant water in some deep cart-rut, or on the sand where
+nothing grows, or else on a clay soil, too tough for it to dig in.
+</p>
+<p>The feeble creature needs shelter at once, and must look for an underground refuge.
+The days are growing cold, and delays are fatal to it. It must wander about in search
+of soft soil, and no doubt many die before they find it.
+</p>
+<p>When at last it discovers the right spot it attacks the earth with the hooks on its
+fore-feet. Through the magnifying-glass <span class="pageNum" id="pb39">[<a href="#pb39">39</a>]</span>I watch it wielding its pickaxes, and raking an atom of earth to the surface. In a
+few minutes a well has been scooped out. The little creature goes down into it, buries
+itself, and is henceforth invisible.
+</p>
+<p>The underground life of the undeveloped Cicada remains a secret. But we know how long
+it remains in the earth before it comes to the surface and becomes a full-grown Cicada.
+For four years it lives below the soil. Then for about five weeks it sings in the
+sunshine.
+</p>
+<p>Four years of hard work in the darkness, and a month of delight in the sun—such is
+the Cicada’s life. We must not blame him for the noisy triumph of his song. For four
+years he has dug the earth with his feet, and then suddenly he is dressed in exquisite
+raiment, provided with wings that rival the bird’s, and bathed in heat and light!
+What cymbals can be loud enough to celebrate his happiness, so hardly earned, and
+so very, very short?
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb40">[<a href="#pb40">40</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch4" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e211">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER IV</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE PRAYING MANTIS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HER HUNTING</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">There is an insect of the south that is quite as interesting as the Cicada, but much
+less famous, because it makes no noise. Had it been provided with cymbals, its renown
+would have been greater than the celebrated musician’s, for it is most unusual both
+in shape and habits.
+</p>
+<p>A long time ago, in the days of ancient Greece, this insect was named Mantis, or the
+Prophet. The peasant saw her on the sun-scorched grass, standing half-erect in a very
+imposing and majestic manner, with her broad green gossamer wings trailing like long
+veils, and her fore-legs, like arms, raised to the sky as though in prayer. To the
+peasant’s ignorance the insect seemed like a priestess or a nun, and so she came to
+be called the Praying Mantis.
+</p>
+<p>There was never a greater mistake! Those pious airs are a fraud; those arms raised
+in prayer are really the most horrible weapons, which slay whatever passes <span class="pageNum" id="pb41">[<a href="#pb41">41</a>]</span>within reach. The Mantis is fierce as a tigress, cruel as an ogress. She feeds only
+on living creatures.
+</p>
+<p>There is nothing in her appearance to inspire dread. She is not without a certain
+beauty, with her slender, graceful figure, her pale-green colouring, and her long
+gauze wings. Having a flexible neck, she can move her head freely in all directions.
+She is the only insect that can direct her gaze wherever she will. She almost has
+a face.
+</p>
+<p>Great is the contrast between this peaceful-looking body and the murderous machinery
+of the fore-legs. The haunch is very long and powerful, while the thigh is even longer,
+and carries on its lower surface two rows of sharp spikes or teeth. Behind these teeth
+are three spurs. In short, the thigh is a saw with two blades, between which the leg
+lies when folded back.
+</p>
+<p>This leg itself is also a double-edged saw, provided with a greater number of teeth
+than the thigh. It ends in a strong hook with a point as sharp as a needle, and a
+double blade like a curved pruning-knife. I have many painful memories of this hook.
+Many a time, when Mantis-hunting, I have been clawed by the insect and forced to ask
+somebody else to release me. No insect in this part of the world is so troublesome
+to handle. The Mantis claws you with her pruning-hooks, pricks you with her spikes,
+seizes you in her vice, and makes self-defence <span class="pageNum" id="pb42">[<a href="#pb42">42</a>]</span>impossible if you wish to keep your captive alive.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p042width" id="p042"><img src="images/p042.jpg" alt="THE PRAYING MANTIS" width="629" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE PRAYING MANTIS</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>A long time ago, in the days of ancient Greece, this insect was named Mantis, or the
+Prophet</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>When at rest, the trap is folded back against the chest and looks quite harmless.
+There you have the insect praying. But if a victim passes by, the appearance of prayer
+is quickly dropped. The three long divisions of the trap are suddenly unfolded, and
+the prey is caught with the sharp hook at the end of them, and drawn back between
+the two saws. Then the vice closes, and all is over. Locusts, Grasshoppers, and even
+stronger insects are helpless against the four rows of teeth.
+</p>
+<p>It is impossible to make a complete study of the habits of the Mantis in the open
+fields, so I am obliged to take her indoors. She can live quite happily in a pan filled
+with sand and covered with a gauze dish-cover, if only she be supplied with <span class="corr" id="xd31e786" title="Source: plently">plenty</span> of fresh food. In order to find out what can be done by the strength and daring of
+the Mantis, I provide her not only with Locusts and Grasshoppers, but also with the
+largest Spiders of the neighbourhood. This is what I see.
+</p>
+<p>A grey Locust, heedless of danger, walks towards the Mantis. The latter gives a convulsive
+shiver, and suddenly, in the most surprising way, strikes an attitude that fills the
+Locust with terror, and is quite enough to startle any one. You see before you unexpectedly
+a sort of bogy-man or Jack-in-the-box. The wing-covers <span class="pageNum" id="pb43">[<a href="#pb43">43</a>]</span>open; the wings spread to their full extent and stand erect like sails, towering over
+the insect’s back; the tip of the body curls up like a crook, rising and falling with
+short jerks, and making a sound like the puffing of a startled Adder. Planted defiantly
+on its four hind-legs, the Mantis holds the front part of its body almost upright.
+The murderous legs open wide, and show a pattern of black-and-white spots beneath
+them.
+</p>
+<p>In this strange attitude the Mantis stands motionless, with eyes fixed on her prey.
+If the Locust moves, the Mantis turns her head. The object of this performance is
+plain. It is intended to strike terror into the heart of the victim, to paralyse it
+with fright before attacking it. The Mantis is pretending to be a ghost!
+</p>
+<p>The plan is quite successful. The Locust sees a spectre before him, and gazes at it
+without moving. He to whom leaping is so easy makes no attempt at escape. He stays
+stupidly where he is, or even draws nearer with a leisurely step.
+</p>
+<p>As soon as he is within reach of the Mantis she strikes with her claws; her double
+saws close and clutch; the poor wretch protests in vain; the cruel ogress begins her
+meal.
+</p>
+<p>The pretty Crab Spider stabs her victim in the neck, in order to poison it and make
+it helpless. In the same way the Mantis attacks the Locust first at the back of the
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb44">[<a href="#pb44">44</a>]</span>neck, to destroy its power of movement. This enables her to kill and eat an insect
+as big as herself, or even bigger. It is amazing that the greedy creature can contain
+so much food.
+</p>
+<p>The various Digger-wasps receive visits from her pretty frequently. Posted near the
+burrows on a bramble, she waits for chance to bring near her a double prize, the Hunting-wasp
+and the prey she is bringing home. For a long time she waits in vain; for the Wasp
+is suspicious and on her guard: still, now and then a rash one is caught. With a sudden
+rustle of wings the Mantis terrifies the new-comer, who hesitates for a moment in
+her fright. Then, with the sharpness of a spring, the Wasp is fixed as in a trap between
+the blades of the double saw—the toothed fore-arm and toothed upper-arm of the Mantis.
+The victim is then gnawed in small mouthfuls.
+</p>
+<p>I once saw a Bee-eating Wasp, while carrying a Bee to her storehouse, attacked and
+caught by a Mantis. The Wasp was in the act of eating the honey she had found in the
+Bee’s crop. The double saw of the Mantis closed suddenly on the feasting Wasp; but
+neither terror nor torture could persuade that greedy creature to leave off eating.
+Even while she was herself being actually devoured she continued to lick the honey
+from her Bee!
+</p>
+<p>I regret to say that the meals of this savage ogress <span class="pageNum" id="pb45">[<a href="#pb45">45</a>]</span>are not confined to other kinds of insects. For all her sanctimonious airs she is
+a cannibal. She will eat her sister as calmly as though she were a Grasshopper; and
+those around her will make no protest, being quite ready to do the same on the first
+opportunity. Indeed, she even makes a habit of devouring her mate, whom she seizes
+by the neck and then swallows by little mouthfuls, leaving only the wings.
+</p>
+<p>She is worse than the Wolf; for it is said that even Wolves never eat each other.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HER NEST</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">After all, however, the Mantis has her good points, like most people. She makes a
+most marvellous nest.
+</p>
+<p>This nest is to be found more or less everywhere in sunny places: on stones, wood,
+vine-stocks, twigs, or dry grass, and even on such things as bits of brick, strips
+of linen, or the shrivelled leather of an old boot. Any support will serve, as long
+as there is an uneven surface to form a solid foundation.
+</p>
+<p>In size the nest is between one and two inches long, and less than an inch wide; and
+its colour is as golden as a grain of wheat. It is made of a frothy substance, which
+has become solid and hard, and it smells like silk <span class="pageNum" id="pb46">[<a href="#pb46">46</a>]</span>when it is burnt. The shape of it varies according to the support on which it is based,
+but in all cases the upper surface is convex. One can distinguish three bands, or
+zones, of which the middle one is made of little plates or scales, arranged in pairs
+and <span class="corr" id="xd31e818" title="Source: over-lapping">overlapping</span> like the tiles of a roof. The edges of these plates are free, forming two rows of
+slits or little doorways, through which the young Mantis escapes at the moment of
+hatching. In every other part the wall of the nest is impenetrable.
+</p>
+<p>The eggs are arranged in layers, with the ends containing the heads pointed towards
+the doorways. Of these doorways, as I have just said, there are two rows. One half
+of the grubs will go out through the right door, and the other half through the left.
+</p>
+<p>It is a remarkable fact that the mother Mantis builds this cleverly-made nest while
+she is actually laying her eggs. From her body she produces a sticky substance, rather
+like the Caterpillar’s silk-fluid; and this material she mixes with the air and whips
+into froth. She beats it into foam with two ladles that she has at the tip of her
+body, just as we beat white of egg with a fork. The foam is greyish-white, almost
+like soapsuds, and when it first appears it is sticky; but two minutes afterwards
+it has solidified.
+</p>
+<p>In this sea of foam the Mantis deposits her eggs. As <span class="pageNum" id="pb47">[<a href="#pb47">47</a>]</span>each layer of eggs is laid, it is covered with froth, which quickly becomes solid.
+</p>
+<p>In a new nest the belt of exit-doors is coated with a material that seems different
+from the rest—a layer of fine porous matter, of a pure, dull, almost chalky white,
+which contrasts with the dirty white of the remainder of the nest. It is like the
+mixture that confectioners make of whipped white of egg, sugar, and starch, with which
+to ornament their cakes. This snowy covering is very easily crumbled and removed.
+When it is gone the exit-belt is clearly visible, with its two rows of plates. The
+wind and rain sooner or later remove it in strips or flakes, and therefore the old
+nests show no traces of it.
+</p>
+<p>But these two materials, though they appear different, are really only two forms of
+the same matter. The Mantis with her ladles sweeps the surface of the foam, skimming
+the top of the froth, and collecting it into a band along the back of the nest. The
+ribbon that looks like sugar-icing is merely the thinnest and lightest portion of
+the sticky spray, which appears whiter than the nest because its bubbles are more
+delicate, and reflect more light.
+</p>
+<p>It is truly a wonderful piece of machinery that can, so methodically and swiftly,
+produce the horny central substance on which the first eggs are laid, the eggs themselves,
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb48">[<a href="#pb48">48</a>]</span>the protecting froth, the soft sugar-like covering of the doorways, and at the same
+time can build overlapping plates, and the narrow passages leading to them! Yet the
+Mantis, while she is doing all this, hangs motionless on the foundation of the nest.
+She gives not a glance at the building that is rising behind her. Her legs act no
+part in the affair. The machinery works by itself.
+</p>
+<p>As soon as she has done her work the mother withdraws. I expected to see her return
+and show some tender feeling for the cradle of her family, but it evidently has no
+further interest for her.
+</p>
+<p>The Mantis, I fear, has no heart. She eats her husband, and deserts her children.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE HATCHING OF HER EGGS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The eggs of the Mantis usually hatch in bright sunshine, at about ten o’clock on a
+mid-June morning.
+</p>
+<p>As I have already told you, there is only one part of the nest from which the grub
+can find an outlet, namely the band of scales round the middle. From under each of
+these scales one sees slowly appearing a blunt, transparent lump, followed by two
+large black specks, which are the creature’s eyes. The baby grub slips gently <span class="pageNum" id="pb49">[<a href="#pb49">49</a>]</span>under the thin plate and half releases itself. It is reddish yellow, and has a thick,
+swollen head. Under its outer skin it is quite easy to distinguish the large black
+eyes, the mouth flattened against the chest, the legs plastered to the body from front
+to back. With the exception of these legs the whole thing reminds one somewhat of
+the first state of the Cicada on leaving the egg.
+</p>
+<p>Like the Cicada, the young Mantis finds it necessary to wear an overall when it is
+coming into the world, for the sake of convenience and safety. It has to emerge from
+the depths of the nest through narrow, winding ways, in which full-spread slender
+limbs could not find enough room. The tall stilts, the murderous harpoons, the delicate
+antennæ, would hinder its passage, and indeed make it impossible. The creature therefore
+appears in swaddling-clothes, and has the shape of a boat.
+</p>
+<p>When the grub peeps out under the thin scales of its nest its head becomes bigger
+and bigger, till it looks like a throbbing blister. The little creature alternately
+pushes forward and draws back, in its efforts to free itself, and at each movement
+the head grows larger. At last the outer skin bursts at the upper part of the chest,
+and the grub wriggles and tugs and bends about, determined to throw off its overall.
+Finally the legs and the <span class="pageNum" id="pb50">[<a href="#pb50">50</a>]</span>long antennæ are freed, and a few shakes complete the operation.
+</p>
+<p>It is a striking sight to see a hundred young Mantes coming from the nest at once.
+Hardly does one tiny creature show its black eyes under a scale before a swarm of
+others appears. It is as though a signal passed from one to the other, so swiftly
+does the hatching spread. Almost in a moment the middle zone of the nest is covered
+with grubs, who run about feverishly, stripping themselves of their torn garments.
+Then they drop off, or clamber into the nearest foliage. A few days later a fresh
+swarm appears, and so on till all the eggs are hatched.
+</p>
+<p>But alas! the poor grubs are hatched into a world of dangers. I have seen them hatching
+many times, both out of doors in my enclosure, and in the seclusion of a greenhouse,
+where I hoped I should be better able to protect them. Twenty times at least I have
+watched the scene, and every time the slaughter of the grubs has been terrible. The
+Mantis lays many eggs, but she will never lay enough to cope with the hungry murderers
+who lie in wait until the grubs appear.
+</p>
+<p>The Ants, above all, are their enemies. Every day I find them visiting my nests. It
+is in vain for me to interfere; they always get the better of me. They seldom succeed
+in entering the nest; its hard walls form <span class="pageNum" id="pb51">[<a href="#pb51">51</a>]</span>too strong a fortress. But they wait outside for their prey.
+</p>
+<p>The moment that the young grubs appear they are <span class="corr" id="xd31e858" title="Source: grabed">grabbed</span> by the Ants, pulled out of their sheaths, and cut in pieces. You see piteous struggles
+between the little creatures who can only protest with wild wrigglings and the ferocious
+brigands who are carrying them off. In a moment the massacre is over; all that is
+left of the flourishing family is a few scattered survivors who have escaped by accident.
+</p>
+<p>It is curious that the Mantis, the scourge of the insect race, should be herself so
+often devoured at this early stage of her life, by one of the least of that race,
+the Ant. The ogress sees her family eaten by the dwarf. But this does not continue
+long. So soon as she has become firm and strong from contact with the air the Mantis
+can hold her own. She trots about briskly among the Ants, who fall back as she passes,
+no longer daring to tackle her: with her fore-legs brought close to her chest, like
+arms ready for self-defence, she already strikes awe into them by her proud bearing.
+</p>
+<p>But the Mantis has another enemy who is less easily dismayed. The little Grey Lizard,
+the lover of sunny walls, pays small heed to threatening attitudes. With the tip of
+his slender tongue he picks up, one by one, the few stray insects that have escaped
+the Ant. They <span class="pageNum" id="pb52">[<a href="#pb52">52</a>]</span>make but a small mouthful, but to judge from the Lizard’s expression they taste very
+good. Every time he gulps down one of the little creatures he half-closes his eyelids,
+a sign of profound satisfaction.
+</p>
+<p>Moreover, even before the hatching the eggs are in danger. There is a tiny insect
+called the Chalcis, who carries a probe sharp enough to penetrate the nest of solidified
+foam. So the brood of the Mantis shares the fate of the Cicada’s. The eggs of a stranger
+are laid in the nest, and are hatched before those of the rightful owner. The owner’s
+eggs are then eaten by the invaders. The Mantis lays, perhaps, a thousand eggs. Possibly
+only one couple of these escapes destruction.
+</p>
+<p>The Mantis eats the Locust: the Ant eats the Mantis: the Wryneck eats the Ant. And
+in the autumn, when the Wryneck has grown fat from eating many Ants, I eat the Wryneck.
+</p>
+<p>It may well be that the Mantis, the Locust, the Ant, and even lesser creatures contribute
+to the strength of the human brain. In strange and unseen ways they have all supplied
+a drop of oil to feed the lamp of thought. Their energies, slowly developed, stored
+up, and handed on to us, pass into our veins and sustain our weakness. We live by
+their death. The world is an endless circle. Everything finishes so that everything
+may begin again; everything dies so that everything may live.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb53">[<a href="#pb53">53</a>]</span></p>
+<p>In many ages the Mantis has been regarded with superstitious awe. In Provence its
+nest is held to be the best remedy for chilblains. You cut the thing in two, squeeze
+it, and rub the afflicted part with the juice that streams out of it. The peasants
+declare that it works like a charm. I have never felt any relief from it myself.
+</p>
+<p>Further, it is highly praised as a wonderful cure for toothache. As long as you have
+it on you, you need never fear that trouble. Our housewives gather it under a favourable
+moon; they keep it carefully in the corner of a cupboard, or sew it into their pocket.
+The neighbours borrow it when tortured by a tooth. They call it a <i>tigno</i>.
+</p>
+<p>“Lend me your <i>tigno</i>; I am in agony,” says the sufferer with the swollen face.
+</p>
+<p>The other hastens to unstitch and hand over the precious thing.
+</p>
+<p>“Don’t lose it, whatever you do,” she says earnestly to her friend. “It’s the only
+one I have, and this isn’t the right time of moon.”
+</p>
+<p>This simplicity of our peasants is surpassed by an English physician and man of science
+who lived in the sixteenth century. He tells us that, in those days, if a child lost
+his way in the country, he would ask the Mantis to put him on his road. “The Mantis,”
+adds the author, “will stretch out one of her feet and shew him the right way and
+seldome or never misse.”
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb54">[<a href="#pb54">54</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch5" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e219">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER V</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE GLOW-WORM</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HIS SURGICAL INSTRUMENT</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">Few insects enjoy more fame than the Glow-worm, the curious little animal who celebrates
+the joy of life by lighting a lantern at its tail-end. We all know it, at least by
+name, even if we have not seen it roaming through the grass, like a spark fallen from
+the full moon. The Greeks of old called it the Bright-tailed, and modern science gives
+it the name <i>Lampyris</i>.
+</p>
+<p>As a matter of fact the Lampyris is not a worm at all, not even in general appearance.
+He has six short legs, which he well knows how to use, for he is a real gad-about.
+The male, when he is full-grown has wing-cases, like the true Beetle that he is. The
+female is an unattractive creature who knows nothing of the delights of flying and
+all her life remains in the <i>larva</i>, or incomplete form. Even at this stage the word “worm” is out of place. We French
+use the phrase “naked as <span class="pageNum" id="pb55">[<a href="#pb55">55</a>]</span>a worm” to express the lack of any kind of protection. Now the Lampyris is clothed,
+that is to say he wears an outer skin that serves as a defence; and he is, moreover,
+rather richly coloured. He is dark brown, with pale pink on the chest; and each segment,
+or division, of his body is ornamented at the edge with two spots of fairly bright
+red. A costume like this was never worn by a worm!
+</p>
+<p>Nevertheless we will continue to call him the Glow-worm, since it is by that name
+that he is best known to the world.
+</p>
+<p>The two most interesting peculiarities about the Glow-worm are, first, the way he
+secures his food, and secondly, the lantern at his tail.
+</p>
+<p>A famous Frenchman, a master of the science of food, once said:
+</p>
+<p>“Show me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are.”
+</p>
+<p>A similar question should be addressed to every insect whose habits we propose to
+study; for the information supplied by food is the chief of all the documents of animal
+life. Well, in spite of his innocent appearance, the Glow-worm is an eater of flesh,
+a hunter of game; and he carries on his hunting with rare villainy. His regular prey
+is the Snail. This fact has long been known; but what is not so well known is his
+curious <span class="pageNum" id="pb56">[<a href="#pb56">56</a>]</span>method of attack, of which I have seen no other example anywhere.
+</p>
+<p>Before he begins to feed on his victim he gives it an anæsthetic—he makes it unconscious,
+as a person is made unconscious with chloroform before a surgical operation. His food,
+as a rule, is a certain small Snail hardly the size of a cherry, which collects in
+clusters during the hot weather, on the stiff stubble and other dry stalks by the
+roadside, and there remains motionless, in profound meditation, throughout the scorching
+summer days. In some such place as this I have often seen the Glow-worm feasting on
+his unconscious prey, which he had just paralysed on its shaky support.
+</p>
+<p>But he frequents other places too. At the edge of cool, damp ditches, where the vegetation
+is varied, many Snails are to be found; and in such spots as these the Glow-worm can
+kill his victim on the ground. I can reproduce these conditions at home, and can there
+follow the operator’s performance down to the smallest detail.
+</p>
+<p>I will try to describe the strange sight. I place a little grass in a wide glass jar.
+In this I install a few Glow-worms and a supply of Snails of a suitable size, neither
+too large nor too small. One must be patient and wait, and above all keep a careful
+watch, for the events take place unexpectedly and do not last long.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb57">[<a href="#pb57">57</a>]</span></p>
+<p>For a moment the Glow-worm examines his prey, which, according to its habit, is completely
+hidden in the shell, except for the edge of the “mantle,” which projects slightly.
+Then the hunter draws his weapon. It is a very simple weapon, but it cannot be seen
+without a magnifying-glass. It consists of two mandibles, bent back into a hook, very
+sharp and as thin as a hair. Through the microscope one can see a slender groove running
+down the hook. And that is all.
+</p>
+<p>The insect repeatedly taps the Snail’s mantle with its instrument. It all happens
+with such gentleness as to suggest kisses rather than bites. As children, teasing
+one another, we used to talk of “tweaks” to express a slight squeeze of the finger-tips,
+something more like tickling than a serious pinch. Let us use that word. In conversation
+with animals, language loses nothing by remaining simple. The Glow-worm gives tweaks
+to the Snail.
+</p>
+<p>He doles them out methodically, without hurrying, and takes a brief rest after each
+of them, as though to find out what effect has been produced. The number of tweaks
+is not great: half a dozen at most, which are enough to make the Snail motionless,
+and to rob him of all feeling. That other pinches are administered later, at the time
+of eating, seems very likely, but I cannot say anything for certain on that subject.
+The first few, <span class="pageNum" id="pb58">[<a href="#pb58">58</a>]</span>however—there are never many—are enough to prevent the Snail from feeling anything,
+thanks to the promptitude of the Glow-worm, who, at lightning speed, darts some kind
+of poison into his victim by means of his grooved hooks.
+</p>
+<p>There is no doubt at all that the Snail is made insensible to pain. If, when the Glow-worm
+has dealt some four or five of his twitches, I take away the victim and prick it with
+a fine needle, there is not a quiver in the wounded flesh, there is not the smallest
+sign of life. Moreover, I occasionally chance to see Snails attacked by the Lampyris
+while they are creeping along the ground, the foot slowly crawling, the tentacles
+swollen to their full extent. A few disordered movements betray a brief excitement
+on the part of the Snail, and then everything ceases: the foot no longer crawls, the
+front-part loses its graceful curve, the tentacles become limp and give way under
+their own weight, dangling feebly like a broken stick. The Snail, to all appearance,
+is dead.
+</p>
+<p>He is not, however, really dead. I can bring him to life again. When he has been for
+two or three days in a condition that is neither life nor death I give him a shower-bath.
+In about a couple of days my prisoner, so lately injured by the Glow-worm’s treachery,
+is restored to his usual state. He revives, he recovers movement <span class="pageNum" id="pb59">[<a href="#pb59">59</a>]</span>and sensibility. He is affected by the touch of a needle; he shifts his place, crawls,
+puts out his tentacles, as though nothing unusual had occurred. The general torpor,
+a sort of deep drunkenness, has vanished outright. The dead returns to life.
+</p>
+<p>Human science did not invent the art of making a person insensible to pain, which
+is one of the triumphs of surgery. Far back in the centuries the Glow-worm, and apparently
+others too, was practising it. The surgeon makes us breathe the fumes of ether or
+chloroform: the insect darts forth from his fangs very tiny doses of a special poison.
+</p>
+<p>When we consider the harmless and peaceful nature of the Snail it seems curious that
+the Glow-worm should require this remarkable talent. But I think I know the reason.
+</p>
+<p>When the Snail is on the ground, creeping, or even shrunk into his shell, the attack
+never presents any difficulty. The shell possesses no lid and leaves the hermit’s
+fore-part to a great extent exposed. But it very often happens that he is in a raised
+position, clinging to the tip of a grass-stalk, or perhaps to the smooth surface of
+a stone. This support to which he fastens himself serves very well as a protection;
+it acts as a lid, supposing that the shell fits closely on the stone or stalk. But
+if the least bit of the Snail be left uncovered the <span class="pageNum" id="pb60">[<a href="#pb60">60</a>]</span>slender hooks of the Glow-worm can find their way in through the gap, and in a moment
+the victim is made unconscious, and can be eaten in comfort.
+</p>
+<p>Now, a Snail perched on top of a stalk is very easily upset. The slightest struggle,
+the most feeble wriggle on his part, would dislodge him; he would fall to the ground,
+and the Glow-worm would be left without food. It is necessary for the Snail to be
+made instantly unconscious of pain, or he would escape; and it must be done with a
+touch so delicate that it does not shake him from his stalk. And that, I think, is
+why the Glow-worm possesses his strange surgical instrument.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">II</h2>
+<h2 class="main">HIS ROSETTE</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Glow-worm not only makes his victim insensible while he is poised on the side
+of a dry grass-stalk, but he eats him in the same dangerous position. And his preparations
+for his meal are by no means simple.
+</p>
+<p>What is his manner of consuming it? Does he really eat, that is to say, does he divide
+his food into pieces, does he carve it into minute particles, which are afterwards
+ground by a chewing-apparatus? I think not. I never see a trace of solid nourishment
+on my <span class="pageNum" id="pb61">[<a href="#pb61">61</a>]</span>captives’ mouths. The Glow-worm does not eat in the strict sense of the word; he merely
+drinks. He feeds on a thin gruel, into which he transforms his prey. Like the flesh-eating
+grub of the Fly, he can digest his food before he swallows it; he turns his prey into
+liquid before feeding on it.
+</p>
+<p>This is how things happen. A Snail has been made insensible by a Glow-worm, who is
+nearly always alone, even when the prize is a large one like the Common Snail. Soon
+a number of guests hasten up—two, three, or more—and, without any quarrel with the
+real owner, all alike fall to. A couple of days later, if I turn the shell so that
+the opening is downwards, the contents flow out like soup from a saucepan. By the
+time the meal is finished only insignificant remains are left.
+</p>
+<p>The matter is obvious. By repeated tiny bites, similar to the tweaks which we saw
+administered at the beginning, the flesh of the Snail is converted into a gruel on
+which the various guests nourish themselves each in his own way, each working at the
+broth by means of some special pepsine (or digestive fluid), and each taking his own
+mouthfuls of it. The use of this method shows that the Glow-worm’s mouth must be very
+feebly armed, apart from the two fangs which sting the patient and inject the poison.
+No doubt these fangs at the same time inject <span class="pageNum" id="pb62">[<a href="#pb62">62</a>]</span>some other substance which turns the solid flesh into liquid, in such a thorough way
+that every morsel is turned to account.
+</p>
+<p>And this is done with exquisite delicacy, though sometimes in a position that is anything
+but steady. The Snails imprisoned in my apparatus sometimes crawl up to the top, which
+is closed with a glass pane. To this pane they fix <span class="corr" id="xd31e952" title="Source: themseves">themselves</span> with a speck of the sticky substance they carry with them; but, as they are miserly
+in their use of this substance, the merest shake is enough to loosen the shell and
+send it to the bottom of the jar.
+</p>
+<p>Now it is not unusual for the Glow-worm to hoist himself to the top, with the help
+of a certain climbing-organ that makes up for the weakness of his legs. He selects
+his prey, makes a careful inspection of it to find a slit, nibbles it a little, makes
+it insensible, and then, without delay, proceeds to prepare the gruel which he will
+go on eating for days on end.
+</p>
+<p>When he has finished his meal the shell is found to be absolutely empty. And yet this
+shell, which was fixed to the glass only by the slight smear of stickiness, has not
+come loose, nor even shifted its position in the smallest degree. Without any protest
+from the hermit who has been gradually converted into broth, it has been drained dry
+on the very spot at which the first attack was made. These small details show us how
+promptly the <span class="pageNum" id="pb63">[<a href="#pb63">63</a>]</span>anæsthetic bite takes effect, and how very skilfully the Glow-worm treats his Snail.
+</p>
+<p>To do all this, poised high in air on a sheet of glass or a grass-stem, the Glow-worm
+must have some special limb or organ to keep him from slipping. It is plain that his
+short clumsy legs are not enough.
+</p>
+<p>Through the magnifying-glass we can see that he does indeed possess a special organ
+of this kind. Beneath his body, towards the tail, there is a white spot. The glass
+shows that this is composed of about a dozen short, fleshy little tubes, or stumpy
+fingers, which are sometimes gathered into a cluster, sometimes spread into a rosette.
+This bunch of little fingers helps the Glow-worm to stick to a smooth surface, and
+also to climb. If he wishes to fix himself to a pane of glass or a stalk he opens
+his rosette, and spreads it wide on the support, to which it clings by its own natural
+stickiness. And by opening and shutting alternately it helps him to creep along and
+to climb.
+</p>
+<p>The little fingers that form this rosette are not jointed, but are able to move in
+all directions. Indeed they are more like tubes than fingers, for they cannot seize
+anything, they can only hold on by their stickiness. They are very useful, however,
+for they have a third purpose, besides their powers of clinging and climbing. They
+are used as a sponge and brush. At a moment of rest, <span class="pageNum" id="pb64">[<a href="#pb64">64</a>]</span>after a meal, the Glow-worm passes and repasses this brush over his head and sides
+and his whole body, a performance made possible by the flexibility of his spine. This
+is done point by point, from one end of the body to the other, with a scrupulous care
+that proves the great interest he takes in the operation. At first one may wonder
+why he should dust and polish himself so carefully. But no doubt, by the time he has
+turned the Snail into gruel inside the shell and has then spent several days in eating
+the result of his labours, a wash and brush-up is not amiss.
+</p>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HIS LAMP</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">If the Glow-worm possessed no other talent than that of chloroforming his prey by
+means of a few tweaks as gentle as kisses, he would be unknown to the world in general.
+But he also knows how to light himself like a lantern. He shines; which is an excellent
+manner of becoming famous.
+</p>
+<p>In the case of the female Glow-worm the lighting-apparatus occupies the last three
+divisions of the body. On each of the first two it takes the form, on the under surface,
+of a wide belt of light; on the third division or segment the bright part is much
+smaller, and consists <span class="pageNum" id="pb65">[<a href="#pb65">65</a>]</span>only of two spots, which shine through the back, and are visible both above and below
+the animal. From these belts and spots there comes a glorious white light, delicately
+tinged with blue.
+</p>
+<p>The male Glow-worm carries only the smaller of these lamps, the two spots on the end
+segment, which are possessed by the entire tribe. These luminous spots appear upon
+the young grub, and continue throughout life unchanged. And they are always visible
+both on the upper and lower surface, whereas the two large belts peculiar to the female
+shine only below the body.
+</p>
+<p>I have examined the shining belt under the microscope. On the skin a sort of whitewash
+is spread, formed of some very fine grain-like substance, which is the source of the
+light. Close beside it is a curious air-tube, with a short wide stem leading to a
+kind of bushy tuft of delicate branches. These branches spread over the sheet of shining
+matter, and sometimes dip into it.
+</p>
+<p>It is plain to me that the brightness is produced by the breathing-organs of the Glow-worm.
+There are certain substances which, when mixed with air, become luminous or even burst
+into flame. Such substances are called <i>combustible</i>, and the act of their producing light or flame by mingling with the air is called
+<i>oxidisation</i>. The lamp of the Glow-worm is the result of oxidisation. The substance that looks
+like whitewash is the matter <span class="pageNum" id="pb66">[<a href="#pb66">66</a>]</span>that is oxidised, and the air is supplied by the tube connected with the Glow-worm’s
+breathing-organs. But as to the nature of the shining substance, no one as yet knows
+anything.
+</p>
+<p>We are better informed as regards another question. We know that the Glow-worm has
+complete control of the light he carries. He can turn it up or down, or out, as he
+pleases.
+</p>
+<p>If the flow of air through the tube be increased, the light becomes more intense:
+if the same air-tube, influenced by the will of the animal, stops the passage of air,
+the light grows fainter or even goes out.
+</p>
+<p>Excitement produces an effect upon the air-tube. I am speaking now of the modest fairy-lamp,
+the spots on the last segment of the Glow-worm’s body. These are suddenly and almost
+completely put out by any kind of flurry. When I am hunting for young Glow-worms I
+can plainly see them glimmering on the blades of grass; but should the least false
+step disturb a neighbouring twig, the light goes out at once and the insect becomes
+invisible.
+</p>
+<p>The gorgeous belts of the females, however, are very little, if at all, affected by
+even the most violent surprise. I fire a gun, for instance, beside a wire-gauze cage
+in which I am rearing a menagerie of female Glow-worms in the open air. The explosion
+produces no <span class="pageNum" id="pb67">[<a href="#pb67">67</a>]</span>result: the illumination continues, as bright and placid as before. I take a spray,
+and rain down a slight shower of cold water upon the flock. Not one of my animals
+puts out its light; at the very most there is a brief pause in the radiance, and then
+only in some cases. I send a puff of smoke from my pipe into the cage. This time the
+pause is more marked. There are even some lamps put out, but they are soon relit.
+Calm returns, and the light is as bright as ever. I take some of the captives in my
+fingers and tease them a little. Yet the illumination is not much dimmed, if I do
+not press too hard with my thumb. Nothing short of very serious reasons would make
+the insect put out its signals altogether.
+</p>
+<p>All things considered, there is not a doubt but that the Glow-worm himself manages
+his lighting-apparatus, extinguishing and rekindling it at will; but there is one
+circumstance over which the insect has no control. If I cut off a strip of the skin,
+showing one of the luminous belts, and place it in a glass tube, it will shine away
+merrily, though not quite as brilliantly as on the living body. The presence of life
+is unnecessary, because the luminous skin is in direct contact with the air, and the
+flow of oxygen through the air-tube is therefore not required. In aerated water the
+skin shines as brightly as in the free air, but the light is extinguished in water
+that has been deprived of its air by boiling. There could be <span class="pageNum" id="pb68">[<a href="#pb68">68</a>]</span>no better proof that the Glow-worm’s light is the effect of oxidisation.
+</p>
+<p>The light is white, calm, and soft to the eyes, and suggests a spark dropped by the
+full moon. In spite of its splendour it is very feeble. If we move a Glow-worm along
+a line of print, in perfect darkness, we can easily make out the letters one by one,
+and even words when they are not too long; but nothing is visible beyond this very
+narrow zone. A lantern of this kind soon tires the reader’s patience.
+</p>
+<p>These brilliant creatures know nothing at all of family affection. They lay their
+eggs anywhere, or rather strew them at random, either on the earth or on a blade of
+grass. Then they pay no further attention to them.
+</p>
+<p>From start to finish the Glow-worm shines. Even the eggs are luminous, and so are
+the grubs. At the approach of cold weather the latter go down into the ground, but
+not very far. If I dig them up I find them with their little stern-lights still shining.
+Even below the soil they keep their lanterns bravely alight.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb69">[<a href="#pb69">69</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch6" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e228">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER VI</h2>
+<h2 class="main">A MASON-WASP</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HER CHOICE OF A BUILDING-SITE</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">Of the various insects that like to make their home in our houses, certainly the most
+interesting, for her beautiful shape, her curious manners, and her wonderful nest,
+is a certain Wasp called the Pelopæus. She is very little known, even to the people
+by whose fireside she lives. This is owing to her quiet, peaceful ways; she is so
+very retiring that her host is nearly always ignorant of her presence. It is easy
+for noisy, tiresome, unpleasant persons to make themselves famous. I will try to rescue
+this modest creature from her obscurity.
+</p>
+<p>The Pelopæus is an extremely chilly mortal. She pitches her tent under the kindly
+sun that ripens the olive and prompts the Cicada’s song; and even then she needs for
+her family the additional warmth to be found in our dwellings. Her usual refuge is
+the peasant’s lonely cottage, with its old fig-tree shading the well in front of the
+door. She chooses one exposed to all the <span class="pageNum" id="pb70">[<a href="#pb70">70</a>]</span>heat of summers, and if possible possessing a big fireplace in which a fire of sticks
+always burns. The cheerful blaze on winter evenings has a great influence upon her
+choice, for she knows by the blackness of the chimney that the spot is a likely one.
+A chimney that is not well glazed by smoke gives her no confidence: people must shiver
+<span class="corr" id="xd31e1016" title="Source: wth">with</span> cold in that house.
+</p>
+<p>During the dog-days in July and August the visitor suddenly appears, seeking a place
+for her nest. She is not in the least disturbed by the bustle and movement of the
+household: they take no notice of her nor she of them. She examines—now with her sharp
+eyes, now with her sensitive antennæ—the corners of the blackened ceiling, the rafters,
+the chimney-piece, the sides of the fireplace especially, and even the inside of the
+flue. Having finished her inspection and duly approved of the site she flies away,
+soon to return with the pellet of mud which will form the first layer of the building.
+</p>
+<p>The spot she chooses varies greatly, and often it is a very curious one. The temperature
+of a furnace appears to suit the young Pelopæus: at least the favourite site is the
+chimney, on either side of the flue, up to a height of twenty inches or so. This snug
+shelter has its drawbacks. The smoke gets to the nests, and gives them a glaze of
+brown or black like that which covers the stonework. They might easily be taken for
+inequalities in the <span class="pageNum" id="pb71">[<a href="#pb71">71</a>]</span>mortar. This is not a serious matter, provided that the flames do not lick against
+the nests. That would stew the young Wasps to death in their clay pots. But the mother
+Wasps seems to understand this: she only places her family in chimneys that are too
+wide for anything but smoke to reach their sides.
+</p>
+<p>But in spite of all her caution one danger remains. It sometimes happens, while the
+Wasp is building, that the approach to the half-built dwelling is barred to her for
+a time, or even for the whole day, by a curtain of steam or smoke. Washing-days are
+most risky. From morning till night the housewife keeps the huge cauldron boiling.
+The smoke from the hearth, the steam from the cauldron and the wash-tub, form a dense
+mist in front of the fireplace.
+</p>
+<p>It is told of the Water-Ouzel that, to get back to his nest, he will fly through the
+cataract under a mill-weir. This Wasp is even more daring: with her pellet of mud
+in her teeth she crosses the cloud of smoke and disappears behind it, where she becomes
+invisible, so thick is the screen. An irregular chirring sound, the song she sings
+at her work, alone betrays her presence. The building goes on mysteriously behind
+the cloud. The song ceases, and the Wasp flies back through the steam, quite unharmed.
+She will face this danger repeatedly all day, until the cell is built, stored with
+food, and closed.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb72">[<a href="#pb72">72</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Once and once only I was able to observe a Pelopæus at my own fireside; and, as it
+happened, it was a washing-day. I had not long been appointed to the Avignon grammar-school.
+It was close upon two o’clock, and in a few minutes the roll of the drum would summon
+me to give a scientific lecture to an audience of wool-gatherers. Suddenly I saw a
+strange, agile insect dart through the steam that rose from the wash-tub. The front
+part of its body was very thin, and the back part was very plump, and the two parts
+were joined together by a long thread. It was the Pelopæus, the first I had seen with
+observant eyes.
+</p>
+<p>Being very anxious to become better acquainted with my visitor, I fervently entreated
+the household not to disturb her in my absence. Things went better than I dared hope.
+On my return she was still carrying on her mason’s work behind the steam. Being eager
+to see the building of the cells, the nature of the provisions, and the evolution
+of the young Wasps, I raked the fire so as to decrease the volume of smoke, and for
+a good two hours I watched the mother Wasp diving through the cloud.
+</p>
+<p>Never again, in the forty years that followed, was my fireplace honoured with such
+a visit. All the further information I have gathered was gleaned on the hearths of
+my neighbours.
+</p>
+<p>The Pelopæus, it appears, is of a solitary and vagrant <span class="pageNum" id="pb73">[<a href="#pb73">73</a>]</span>disposition. She nearly always builds a lonely nest, and unlike many Wasps and Bees,
+she seldom founds her family at the spot where she was reared herself. She is often
+found in our southern towns, but on the whole she prefers the peasant’s smoky house
+to the townsman’s white villa. Nowhere have I seen her so plentiful as in my village,
+with its tumble-down cottages burnt yellow by the sun.
+</p>
+<p>It is obvious that this Wasp, when she so often chooses the chimney as her abode,
+is not seeking her own comfort: the site means work, and dangerous work. She seeks
+the welfare of her family. This family, then, must require a high temperature, such
+as other Wasps and Bees do not need.
+</p>
+<p>I have seen a Pelopæus nest in the engine-room of a silk-factory, fixed to the ceiling
+just above the huge boiler. At this spot the thermometer marked 120 degrees all through
+the year, except at night and on holidays.
+</p>
+<p>In a country distillery I have found many nests, fixed on anything that came to hand,
+even a pile of account-books. The temperature of one of these, quite close to the
+still, was 113 degrees. It is plain that this Wasp cheerfully endures a degree of
+heat that makes the oily palm-tree sprout.
+</p>
+<p>A boiler or a furnace she regards as the ideal home, but <span class="pageNum" id="pb74">[<a href="#pb74">74</a>]</span>she is quite willing to content herself in any snug corner: a conservatory, a kitchen-ceiling,
+the recess of a closed window, the wall of a cottage bedroom. As to the foundation
+on which she fixes her nest, she is entirely indifferent. As a rule she builds her
+groups of cells on stonework or timber; but at various times I have seen nests inside
+a gourd, in a fur cap, in the hollow of a brick, on the side of a bag of oats, and
+in a piece of lead tubing.
+</p>
+<p>Once I saw something more remarkable still, in a farm near Avignon. In a large room
+with a very wide fireplace the soup for the farm-hands and the food for the cattle
+simmered in a row of pots. The labourers used to come in from the fields to this room,
+and devour their meal with the silent haste that comes from a keen appetite. To enjoy
+this half-hour comfortably they would take off their hats and smocks, and hang them
+on pegs. Short though this meal was, it was long enough to allow the Wasps to take
+possession of their garments. The inside of a straw hat was recognised as a most useful
+building-site, the folds of a smock were looked upon as a capital shelter; and the
+work of building started at once. On rising from the table one of the men would shake
+his smock, and another his hat, to rid it of the Wasp’s nest, which was already the
+size of an acorn.
+</p>
+<p>The cook in that farmhouse regarded the Wasps with no friendly eye. They dirtied everything,
+she said. <span class="pageNum" id="pb75">[<a href="#pb75">75</a>]</span>Dabs of mud on the ceiling, on the walls, or on the chimney-piece you could put up
+with; but it was a very different matter when you found them on the linen and the
+curtains. She had to beat the curtains every day with a bamboo. And it was trouble
+thrown away. The next morning the Wasps began building as busily as ever.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HER BUILDING</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">I sympathised with the sorrows of that farm-cook, but greatly regretted that I could
+not take her place. How gladly I would have left the Wasps undisturbed, even if they
+had covered all the furniture with mud! How I longed to know what the fate of a nest
+would be, if perched on the uncertain support of a coat or a curtain! The nest of
+the Mason-bee is made of hard mortar, which surrounds the twig on which it is built,
+and becomes firmly fixed to it; but the nest of the Pelopæus Wasp is a mere blob of
+mud, without cement or foundations.
+</p>
+<p>The materials of which it is made are nothing but wet earth or dirt, picked up wherever
+the soil is damp enough. The thin clay of a river-bank is very suitable, but in my
+stony country streams are rare. I can, however, watch the builders at my leisure in
+my own garden, when a thin trickle of water runs all day, as it does sometimes, <span class="pageNum" id="pb76">[<a href="#pb76">76</a>]</span>through the little trenches that are cut in my vegetable plots.
+</p>
+<p>The Pelopæus Wasps of the neighbourhood soon become aware of this glad event, and
+come hurrying up to take advantage of the precious layer of mud, a rare discovery
+in the dry season. They scrape and skim the gleaming, shiny surface with their mandibles
+while standing high on their legs, with their wings quivering and their black bodies
+upraised. No neat little housewife, with skirts carefully tucked up out of the dirt,
+could be more skilful in tackling a job likely to soil her clothes. These mud-gatherers
+have not an atom of dirt upon them, so careful are they to tuck up their skirts in
+their own fashion, that is to say, to keep their whole body out of the way, all but
+the tips of their legs and the busy points of the mandibles with which they work.
+</p>
+<p>In this way a dab of mud is collected, almost the size of a pea. Taking the load in
+its teeth the insect flies off, adds a layer to its building, and soon returns to
+collect another pellet. The same method is pursued as long as the earth remains sufficiently
+wet, during the hottest hours of the day.
+</p>
+<p>But the favourite spot is the great fountain in the village, where the people come
+to water their mules. Here there is a constant sheet of black mud which neither the
+hottest sunshine nor the strongest wind can dry. <span class="pageNum" id="pb77">[<a href="#pb77">77</a>]</span>This bed of mire is very unpleasant for the passers-by, but the Pelopæus loves to
+gather her pellets here, amid the hoofs of the mules.
+</p>
+<p>Unlike some builders in clay, such as the Mason-bees, the Wasp does not improve the
+mud to make it into mortar, but uses it just as it is. Consequently her nests are
+flimsy work, absolutely unfitted to stand the changes and chances of the open air.
+A drop of water laid upon their surface softens the spot touched and reduces it to
+mud again, while a sprinkling equal to an average shower turns it to pap. They are
+nothing but dried slime, and become slime again as soon as they are wetted.
+</p>
+<p>It is plain, then, that even if the young Pelopæus were not so chilly by nature, a
+shelter is indispensable for the nests, which would go to pieces at the first shower
+of rain. That is why this Wasp is so fond of human dwellings, and especially of the
+chimney.
+</p>
+<p>Before receiving its final coating, which covers up the details of the building, the
+nest has a certain beauty of its own. It consists of a cluster of cells, sometimes
+arranged side by side in a row—which makes it look rather like a mouth-organ—but more
+often grouped in layers placed one above the other. I have sometimes counted as many
+as fifteen cells; some nests contain only ten; others are reduced to three or four,
+or even only one.
+</p>
+<p>In shape the cells are not far from cylinders, slightly <span class="pageNum" id="pb78">[<a href="#pb78">78</a>]</span>larger at the mouth than at the base. They are a little more than an inch long, and
+about half an inch wide. Their delicate surface is carefully polished, and shows a
+series of string-like projections, running cross-wise, not unlike the twisted cords
+of some kinds of gold-lace. Each of these strings is a layer of the building; it comes
+from the clod of mud used for the coping of the part already built. By counting them
+you can tell how many journeys the Wasp has made in the course of her work. There
+are usually between fifteen and twenty. For one cell, therefore, the industrious builder
+fetches materials something like twenty times.
+</p>
+<p>The mouth of the cells is, of course, always turned upwards. A pot cannot hold its
+contents if it be upside down. And the Wasp’s cell is nothing but a pot intended to
+hold the store of food, a pile of small Spiders.
+</p>
+<p>The cells—built one by one, stuffed full of Spiders, and closed as the eggs are laid—preserve
+their pretty appearance until the cluster is considered large enough. Then, to strengthen
+her work, the Wasp covers the whole with a casing, as a protection and defence. She
+lays on the plaster without stint and without art, giving it none of the delicate
+finishing-touches which she lavishes on the cells. The mud is applied just as it is
+brought, and merely spread with a few careless strokes. The beauties of the building
+all disappear under this ugly <span class="pageNum" id="pb79">[<a href="#pb79">79</a>]</span>husk. In this final state the nest is like a great splash of mud, flung against the
+wall by accident.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HER PROVISIONS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">Now that we know what the provision-jar is like, we must find out what it contains.
+</p>
+<p>The young Pelopæus is fed on Spiders. The food does not lack variety, even in the
+same nest and the same cell, for any Spider may form a meal, as long as it is not
+too large for the jar. The Cross Spider, with three crosses of white dots on her back,
+is the dish that occurs oftenest. I think the reason for this is simply that the Wasp
+does not go far from home in her hunting-trips, and the Spider with the crosses is
+the easiest to find.
+</p>
+<p>The Spider, armed with poison-fangs, is a dangerous prey to tackle. When of fair size,
+she could only be conquered by a greater amount of daring and skill than the Wasp
+possesses. Moreover, the cells are too small to hold a bulky object. The Wasp, therefore,
+hunts game of moderate size. If she meets with a kind of Spider that is apt to become
+plump, she always chooses a young one. But, though all are small, the size of her
+victims varies enormously, and this variation in size <span class="pageNum" id="pb80">[<a href="#pb80">80</a>]</span>leads also to variation in number. One cell will contain a dozen Spiders, while in
+another there are only five or six.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p080width" id="p080"><img src="images/p080.jpg" alt="PELOPÆUS SPIRIFEX" width="635" height="694"><p class="figureHead"><i><span class="corr" id="xd31e1089" title="Source: PELOPAEUS">PELOPÆUS</span> SPIRIFEX</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>When finished the work is amber-yellow, and rather one of the outer skin of an onion</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>Another reason for her choice of small Spiders is that she kills them before potting
+them in her cells. She falls suddenly upon her prey, and carries it off almost without
+pausing in her flight. The skilful paralysis practised by some insects is unknown
+to her. This means that when the food is stored it soon decays. Fortunately the Spiders
+are small enough to be finished at a single meal. If they were large and could only
+be nibbled here and there, they would decay, and poison the grubs in the nest.
+</p>
+<p>I always find the egg, not on the surface of the heap, but on the first Spider that
+was stored. There is no exception to this rule. The Wasp places a Spider at the bottom
+of the cell, lays her egg upon it, and then piles the other Spiders on the top. By
+this clever plan the grub is obliged to begin on the oldest of the dead Spiders, and
+then go on to the more recent. It always finds in front of it food that has not had
+time to decompose.
+</p>
+<p>The egg is always laid on the same part of the Spider, the end containing the head
+being placed on the plumpest spot. This is very pleasant for the grub, for the moment
+it is hatched it can begin eating the tenderest and nicest <span class="pageNum" id="pb81">[<a href="#pb81">81</a>]</span>food in the store. Not a mouthful is wasted, however, by these economical creatures.
+When the meal is finished there is practically nothing left of the whole heap of Spiders.
+This life of gluttony lasts for eight or ten days.
+</p>
+<p>The grub then sets to work to spin its cocoon, a sack of pure, perfectly white silk,
+extremely delicate. Something more is required to make this sack tough enough to be
+a protection, so the grub produces from its body a sort of liquid varnish. As soon
+as it trickles into the meshes of the silk this varnish hardens, and becomes a lacquer
+of exquisite daintiness. The grub then fixes a hard plug at the base of the cocoon
+to make all secure.
+</p>
+<p>When finished, the work is amber-yellow, and rather reminds one of the outer skin
+of an onion. It has the same fine texture, the same colour and transparency; and like
+the onion skin it rustles when it is fingered. From it, sooner or later according
+to temperature, the perfect insect is hatched.
+</p>
+<hr class="tb"><p>
+</p>
+<p>It is possible, while the Wasp is storing her cell, to play her a trick which will
+show how purely mechanical her instincts are. A cell has just been completed, let
+us suppose, and the huntress arrives with her first Spider. She stores it away, and
+at once fastens her egg on the plumpest part of its body. She sets out on a second
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb82">[<a href="#pb82">82</a>]</span>trip. I take advantage of her absence to remove with my tweezers from the bottom of
+the cell both the dead Spider and the egg.
+</p>
+<p>The disappearance of the egg must be discovered by the Wasp, one would think, if she
+possesses the least gleam of intelligence. The egg is small, it is true, but it lies
+on a comparatively large object, the Spider. What will the Wasp do when she finds
+the cell empty? Will she act sensibly, and repair her loss by laying a second egg?
+Not at all; she behaves most absurdly.
+</p>
+<p>What she does is to bring a second Spider, which she stores away with as much cheerful
+zeal as if nothing unfortunate had occurred. She brings a third and a fourth, and
+still others, each of whom I remove during her absence; so that every time she returns
+from the chase the storeroom is found empty. I have seen her persist obstinately for
+two days in seeking to fill the insatiable jar, while my patience in emptying it was
+equally unflagging. With the twentieth victim—possibly owing to the fatigue of so
+many journeys—the huntress considered that the pot was sufficiently supplied, and
+began most carefully to close the cell that contained absolutely nothing.
+</p>
+<p>The intelligence of insects is limited everywhere in this way. The accidental difficulty
+which one insect is powerless to overcome, any other, no matter what its <span class="pageNum" id="pb83">[<a href="#pb83">83</a>]</span>species, will be equally unable to cope with. I could give a host of similar examples
+to show that insects are absolutely without reasoning power, notwithstanding the wonderful
+perfection of their work. A long series of experiments has forced me to conclude that
+they are neither free nor conscious in their industry. They build, weave, hunt, stab,
+and paralyse their prey, in the same way as they digest their food, or secrete the
+poison of their sting, without the least understanding of the means or the end. They
+are, I am convinced, completely ignorant of their own wonderful talents.
+</p>
+<p>Their instinct cannot be changed. Experience does not teach it; time does not awaken
+a glimmer in its unconsciousness. Pure instinct, if it stood alone, would leave the
+insect powerless in the face of circumstances. Yet circumstances are always changing,
+the unexpected is always happening. In this confusion some power is needed by the
+insect—as by every other creature—to teach it what to accept and what to refuse. It
+requires a guide of some kind, and this guide it certainly possesses. <i>Intelligence</i> is too fine a word for it: I will call it <i>discernment</i>.
+</p>
+<p>Is the insect conscious of what it does? Yes, and no. No, if its action is guided
+by instinct. Yes, if its action is the result of discernment.
+</p>
+<p>The Pelopæus, for instance, builds her cells with earth <span class="pageNum" id="pb84">[<a href="#pb84">84</a>]</span>already softened into mud. This is instinct. She has always built in this way. Neither
+the passing ages nor the struggle for life will induce her to imitate the Mason-bee
+and make her nest of dry dust and cement.
+</p>
+<p>This mud nest of hers needs a shelter against the rain. A hiding-place under a stone,
+perhaps, sufficed at first. But when she found something better she took possession
+of it. She installed herself in the home of man. This is discernment.
+</p>
+<p>She supplies her young with food in the form of Spiders. This is instinct, and nothing
+will ever persuade her that young Crickets are just as good. But should there be a
+lack of her favourite Cross Spider she will not leave her grubs unfed; she will bring
+them other Spiders. This is discernment.
+</p>
+<p>In this quality of <span class="corr" id="xd31e1132" title="Source: discerment">discernment</span> lies the possibility of future improvement for the insect.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">IV</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HER ORIGIN</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Pelopæus sets us another problem. She seeks the warmth of our fireplaces. Her
+nest, built of soft mud which would be reduced to pulp by damp, must have a dry shelter.
+Heat is a necessity to her.
+</p>
+<p>Is it possible that she is a foreigner? Did she come, <span class="pageNum" id="pb85">[<a href="#pb85">85</a>]</span>perhaps, from the shores of Africa, from the land of dates to the land of olives?
+It would be natural, in that case, that she should find our sunshine not warm enough
+for her, and should seek the artificial warmth of the fireside. This would explain
+her habits, so unlike those of the other Wasps, by all of whom mankind is avoided.
+</p>
+<p>What was her life before she became our guest? Where did she lodge before there were
+any houses? Where did she shelter her grubs before chimneys were thought of?
+</p>
+<p>Perhaps, when the early inhabitants of the hills near Sérignan were making weapons
+out of flints, scraping goatskins for clothes, and building huts of mud and branches,
+those huts were already frequented by the Pelopæus. Perhaps she built her nest in
+some bulging pot, shaped out of clay by the thumbs of our ancestors; or in the folds
+of the garments, the skins of the Wolf and the Bear. When she made her home on the
+rough walls of branches and clay, did she choose the nearest spot, I wonder, to the
+hole in the roof by which the smoke was let out? Though not equal to our chimneys
+it may have served at a pinch.
+</p>
+<p>If the Pelopæus really lived here with the earliest human inhabitants, what improvements
+she has seen! She too must have profited greatly by civilisation: she has turned man’s
+increasing comfort into her own. <span class="pageNum" id="pb86">[<a href="#pb86">86</a>]</span>When the dwelling with a roof and a ceiling was planned, and the chimney with a flue
+was invented, we can imagine the chilly creature saying to herself:
+</p>
+<p>“How pleasant this is! Let us pitch our tent here.”
+</p>
+<p>But we will go back further still. Before huts existed, before the niche in the rut,
+before man himself had appeared, where did the Pelopæus build? The question does not
+stand alone. Where did the Swallow and the Sparrow build before there were windows
+and chimneys to build in?
+</p>
+<p>Since the Swallow, the Sparrow, and the Wasp existed before man, their industry cannot
+be dependent on the works of man. Each of them must have had an art of building in
+the time when man was not here.
+</p>
+<p>For thirty years and more I asked myself where the Pelopæus lived in those times.
+Outside our houses I could find no trace of her nests. At last chance, which favours
+the persevering, came to my help.
+</p>
+<p>The Sérignan quarries are full of broken stones, of refuse that has been piled there
+in the course of centuries. Here the Fieldmouse crunches his olive-stones and acorns,
+or now and then a Snail. The empty Snail-shells lie here and there beneath a stone,
+and within them different Bees and Wasps build their cells. In searching for these
+treasures I found, three times, the nest of a Pelopæus among the broken stones.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb87">[<a href="#pb87">87</a>]</span></p>
+<p>These three nests were exactly the same as those found in our houses. The material
+was mud, as always; the protective covering was the same mud. The dangers of the site
+had suggested no improvements to the builder. We see, then, that sometimes, but very
+rarely, the Pelopæus builds in stoneheaps and under flat blocks of stone that do not
+touch the ground. It was in such places as these that she must have made her nest
+before she invaded our houses.
+</p>
+<p>The three nests, however, were in a piteous state. The damp and exposure had ruined
+them, and the cocoons were in pieces. Unprotected by their earthen cover the grubs
+had perished—eaten by a Fieldmouse or another.
+</p>
+<p>The sight of these ruins made me wonder if my neighbourhood were really a suitable
+place for the Pelopæus to build her nest out of doors. It is plain that the mother
+Wasp dislikes doing so, and is hardly ever driven to such a desperate measure. And
+if the climate makes it impossible for her to practise the industry of her forefathers
+successfully, I think we may conclude that she is a foreigner. Surely she comes from
+a hotter and drier climate, where there is little rain and no snow.
+</p>
+<p>I believe the Pelopæus is of African origin. Far back in the past she came to us through
+Spain and Italy, and she hardly ever goes further north than the olive-trees. She
+is an African who has become a naturalised <span class="pageNum" id="pb88">[<a href="#pb88">88</a>]</span>Provençal. In Africa she is said often to nest under stones, but in the Malay Archipelago
+we hear of her kinswoman in houses. From one end of the world to the other she has
+the same tastes—Spiders, mud cells, and the shelter of a man’s roof. If I were in
+the Malay Archipelago I should turn over the stone-heaps, and should most likely discover
+a nest in the original position, under a flat stone.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb89">[<a href="#pb89">89</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch7" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e236">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER VII</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE PSYCHES</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">A WELL-DRESSED CATERPILLAR</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">In the springtime, those who have eyes to see may find a surprise on old walls and
+dusty roads. Certain tiny faggots, for no apparent reason, set themselves in motion
+and make their way along by sudden jerks. The lifeless comes to life: the immovable
+moves. This is indeed amazing. If we look closer, however, we shall solve the riddle.
+</p>
+<p>Enclosed within the moving bundle is a fair-sized Caterpillar, prettily striped with
+black and white. He is seeking for food, and perhaps for some spot where he can turn
+into a Moth. He hurries along timidly, dressed in a queer garment of twigs, which
+completely covers the whole of him except his head and the front part of his body,
+with its six short legs. At the least alarm he disappears entirely into his case,
+and does not budge again. This is the secret of the walking bundle of sticks. It is
+a Faggot Caterpillar, belonging to the group known as the Psyches.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb90">[<a href="#pb90">90</a>]</span></p>
+<p>To protect himself from the weather the chilly, bare-skinned Psyche builds himself
+a portable shelter, a travelling cottage which the owner never leaves until he becomes
+a Moth. It is, indeed, something better than a hut on wheels, with a thatched roof
+to it: it is more like a hermit’s frock, made of an unusual kind of material. In the
+valley of the Danube the peasant wears a goatskin cloak fastened with a belt of rushes.
+The Psyche wears even rougher raiment than this: he makes himself a suit of clothes
+out of sticks. And since this would be a regular hair-shirt to a skin so delicate
+as his, he puts in a thick lining of silk.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p090width" id="p090"><img src="images/p090.jpg" alt="THE PSYCHES" width="599" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE PSYCHES</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>This is the secret of the walking bundle of sticks. It is a Faggot belonging to the
+group known as the Psyches</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>In April, on the walls of my chief workshop—my stony <i>harmas</i> with its wealth of insect life—I find the Psyche who will supply me with my most
+detailed information. He is in the torpid state which shows he will soon become a
+Moth. It is a good opportunity for examining his bundle of sticks, or case.
+</p>
+<p>It is a fairly regular object, shaped like a spindle, and about an inch and a half
+long. The pieces that compose it are fixed in front and free at the back. They are
+arranged anyhow, and would form rather a poor shelter against the sun and rain if
+the hermit had no other protection than this.
+</p>
+<p>At the first glance it appears like thatch; but thatch is not an exact description
+of it, for grain-stems are rarely <span class="pageNum" id="pb91">[<a href="#pb91">91</a>]</span>found in it. The chief materials are remnants of very small stalks, light, soft, and
+rich in pith; next in order come bits of grass-leaves, scaly twigs from the cypress-tree,
+and all sorts of little sticks; and lastly, if the favourite pieces run short, fragments
+of dry leaves.
+</p>
+<p>In short the Caterpillar, while preferring pithy pieces, will use anything he comes
+across, provided it be light, very dry, softened by long exposure, and of the right
+size. All his materials are used just as they are, without any alterations or sawings
+to make them the proper length. He does not cut the laths that form his roof; he gathers
+them as he finds them. His work is limited to fixing them at the fore-end.
+</p>
+<p>In order to lend itself to the movements of the travelling Caterpillar, and particularly
+to enable the head and legs to move freely while a new piece is being fixed in position,
+the front part of this case or sheath must be made in a special way. Here a casing
+of sticks is no longer suitable, for their length and stiffness would hamper the workman
+and even make his work impossible. What is required here is a flexible neck, able
+to move in all directions. The collection of stakes, therefore, ends suddenly at some
+distance from the fore-part, and is there replaced by a collar where the silk lining
+is merely hardened with very tiny particles of wood, which strengthen the material
+without making it less flexible. <span class="pageNum" id="pb92">[<a href="#pb92">92</a>]</span>This collar, which allows of free movement, is so important that all the Psyches use
+it, however greatly the rest of their work may differ. All carry, in front of the
+bundle of sticks, a yielding neck, soft to the touch, formed inside of a web of pure
+silk and coated outside with a velvety sawdust, which the Caterpillar obtains by crushing
+up any sort of dry straw.
+</p>
+<p>The same kind of velvet, but dull and faded—apparently through age—finishes the sheath
+at the back, in the form of a rather long projection, open at the end.
+</p>
+<p>When I remove the outside of the straw casing, shredding it piece by piece, I find
+a varying number of laths, or tiny sticks. I have counted as many as eighty, and more.
+Underneath it I find, from one end of the Caterpillar to the other, the same kind
+of inner sheath that was formerly visible at the front and back only. This inner sheath
+is composed everywhere of very strong silk, which resists without breaking when pulled
+by the fingers. It is a smooth tissue, beautifully white inside, drab and wrinkled
+outside, where it bristles with a crust of woody particles.
+</p>
+<p>Later on we shall see how the Caterpillar makes himself this complicated garment,
+formed of three layers, one placed upon the other in a definite order. First comes
+the extremely fine satin which is in direct contact <span class="pageNum" id="pb93">[<a href="#pb93">93</a>]</span>with the skin; next, the mixed stuff dusted with woody matter, which saves the silk
+and gives strength to the work; and lastly the outer casing of overlapping sticks.
+</p>
+<p>Although all the Psyches wear this threefold garment, the different species make distinct
+variations in the outer case. There is one kind, for instance, whom I am apt to meet
+towards the end of June, hurrying across some dusty path near the houses. His case
+surpasses that of the first species, both in size and in regularity of arrangement.
+It forms a thick coverlet of many pieces, in which I recognise fragments of hollow
+stalks, bits of fine straw, and perhaps blades of grass. In front there is never any
+flounce of dead leaves, a troublesome piece of finery which is pretty frequent, though
+not always used, in the costume of the first species I described. At the back there
+is no long projection beyond the outer covering. Save for the indispensable collar
+at the neck, the whole Caterpillar is cased in sticks. There is not much variety about
+the thing, but, when all is said, there is a certain beauty in its stern faultlessness.
+</p>
+<p>There is a smaller and more simply dressed Psyche who is very common at the end of
+winter on the walls, as well as in the bark of gnarled old trees, whether olive-trees
+or elms, or indeed almost any other. His case, a modest little bundle, is hardly more
+than two-fifths of <span class="pageNum" id="pb94">[<a href="#pb94">94</a>]</span>an inch in length. A dozen rotten straws, picked up at random and fixed close to one
+another in a parallel direction, represent, with the silk sheath, his whole outlay
+on dress.
+</p>
+<p>It would be difficult to clothe oneself more economically.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">A DEVOTED MOTHER</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">If I gather a number of little Psyches in April and place them in a wire bell-jar,
+I can find out more about them. Most of them are in the chrysalis state, waiting to
+be turned into Moths, but a few are still active and clamber to the top of the wire
+trellis. There they fix themselves by means of a little silk cushion, and both they
+and I must wait for weeks before anything further happens.
+</p>
+<p>At the end of June the male Psyche comes out of his case, no longer a Caterpillar,
+but a Moth. The case, or bundle of sticks, you will remember, had two openings, one
+in front and one at the back. The front one, which is the more regular and carefully
+made, is permanently closed by being fastened to the support on which the chrysalis
+is fixed; so the Moth, when he is hatched, is obliged to come out by the opening at
+the back. The <span class="pageNum" id="pb95">[<a href="#pb95">95</a>]</span>Caterpillar turns round inside the case before he changes into a Moth.
+</p>
+<p>Though they wear but a simple pearl-grey dress and have insignificant wings, hardly
+larger than those of a Common Fly, these little male Moths are graceful enough. They
+have handsome feathery plumes for antennæ, and their wings are edged with delicate
+fringes. For the appearance of the female Psyche, however, little can be said.
+</p>
+<p>Some days later than the others she 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 so miserable a sight: as a Caterpillar she was no worse to look at. There
+are no wings, none at all; there is no silky fur either. At the tip of her round,
+tufty body she wears a crown of dirty-white velvet; on each segment, in the middle
+of the back, is a large, rectangular, dark patch—her sole attempts at ornament. The
+mother Psyche renounces all the beauty which her name of Moth seems to promise.
+</p>
+<p>As she leaves her chrysalid sheath she lays her eggs within it, thus bequeathing the
+maternal cottage (or the maternal garment, if you will) to her heirs. As she lays
+a great many eggs the affair takes some thirty hours. When the laying is finished
+she closes the door and makes everything safe against invasion. For this purpose <span class="pageNum" id="pb96">[<a href="#pb96">96</a>]</span>some kind of wadding is required. The fond mother makes use of the only ornament which,
+in her extreme poverty, she possesses. She wedges the door with the coronet of velvet
+which she carries at the tip of her body.
+</p>
+<p>Finally she does even more than this. She makes a rampart of her body itself. With
+a convulsive movement she dies on the threshold of her recent home, her cast chrysalid
+skin, and there her remains dry up. Even after death she stays at her post.
+</p>
+<p>If the outer case be now opened it will be found to contain the chrysalid wrapper,
+uninjured except for the opening in front, by which the Psyche came out. The male
+Moth, when obliged to make his way through the narrow pass, would find his wings and
+his plumes very cumbersome articles. For this reason he makes a start for the door
+while he is still in the chrysalis state, and comes half-way out. Then, as he bursts
+his amber-coloured tunic, he finds, right in front of him, an open space where flight
+is possible.
+</p>
+<p>But the mother Moth, being unprovided with wings and plumes, is not compelled to take
+any such precautions. Her cylinder-like form is bare, and differs very little from
+that of the Caterpillar. It allows her to crawl, to slip into the narrow passage,
+and to come forth without difficulty. So she leaves her cast skin behind <span class="pageNum" id="pb97">[<a href="#pb97">97</a>]</span>her, right at the back of the case, well covered by the thatched roof.
+</p>
+<p>And this is an act of prudence, showing her deep concern for the fate of her eggs.
+They are, in fact, packed as though in a barrel, in the parchment-like bag formed
+by the cast skin. The Moth has methodically gone on laying eggs in that receptacle
+till it is full. Not satisfied with bequeathing her house and her velvet coronet to
+her offspring, as the last act of her life she leaves them her skin.
+</p>
+<p>Wishing to observe the course of events at my ease I once took one of these chrysalid
+bags, stuffed with eggs, from its outer casing of sticks, and placed it by itself,
+beside its case, in a glass tube. In the first week of July I suddenly found myself
+in possession of a large family. The hatching took place so quickly that the new-born
+Caterpillars, about forty in number, had already clothed themselves in my absence.
+</p>
+<p>They wore a garment like a sort of Persian head-dress, in dazzling white plush. Or,
+to be more commonplace, a white cotton night-cap without a tassel. Strange to say,
+however, instead of wearing their caps on their heads, they wore them standing up
+from their hind-quarters, almost perpendicularly. They roamed about gaily inside the
+tube, which was a spacious dwelling for <span class="pageNum" id="pb98">[<a href="#pb98">98</a>]</span>such mites. I was quite determined to find out with what materials and in what manner
+the first outlines of the cap were woven.
+</p>
+<p>Fortunately the chrysalid bag was far from being empty. I found within the rumpled
+wrapper a second family as numerous as those already out of the case. Altogether there
+must have been five or six dozen eggs. I transferred to another place the little Caterpillars
+who were already dressed, keeping only the naked new-comers in the tube. They had
+bright red heads; the rest of their bodies was dirty-white; and they measured hardly
+a twenty-fifth of an inch in length.
+</p>
+<p>I had not long to wait. The next day, little by little, singly or in groups, the little
+laggards left the chrysalid bag. They came out without breaking that frail object,
+through the opening in front made by their mother. Not one of them used it as a dress-material,
+though it had the delicacy and amber colouring of an onion-skin; nor did any of them
+make use of a certain fine quilting that lines the inside of the bag and forms an
+exquisitely soft bed for the eggs. One would have thought this downy stuff would make
+an excellent blanket for the chilly creatures, but not a single one used it. There
+would not be enough to go round.
+</p>
+<p>They all went straight to the coarse outer casing of sticks, which I had left in contact
+with the chrysalid skin <span class="pageNum" id="pb99">[<a href="#pb99">99</a>]</span>containing the eggs. The matter was urgent, they evidently felt. Before making your
+entrance into the world and going a-hunting, you must first be clad. All therefore,
+with equal fury, attacked the old sheath and hastily dressed themselves in their mother’s
+old clothes.
+</p>
+<p>Some turned their attention to bits that happened to be opened lengthwise, scraping
+the soft white inner layer; others, greatly daring, penetrated into the tunnel of
+a hollow stalk and collected their materials in the dark. The courage of these was
+rewarded; they secured first-rate materials and wove garments of dazzling white. There
+were others who bit deeply into the piece they chose, and made themselves a motley
+covering, in which the snowy whiteness was marred by darker particles.
+</p>
+<p>The tools the little Caterpillars use for this purpose are their mandibles, which
+are shaped like wide shears and have five strong teeth apiece. The two blades fit
+into each other, and form an instrument capable of seizing and slicing any fibre,
+however small. Under the microscope it is seen to be a wonderful specimen of mechanical
+precision and power. If the Sheep had a similar tool in proportion to her size, she
+could browse on the stems of trees instead of the grass.
+</p>
+<p>It is very instructive to watch these Psyche-grubs toiling to make themselves a cotton
+night-cap. There are numbers of things to remark, both in the finish of the work <span class="pageNum" id="pb100">[<a href="#pb100">100</a>]</span>and the skill of the methods they employ. They are so tiny that while I observe them
+through my magnifying glass I must be careful not to breathe, lest I should overturn
+them or puff them away. Yet this speck is expert in the art of blanket-making. An
+orphan, born but a moment ago, it knows how to cut itself a garment out of its mother’s
+old clothes. Of its methods I will tell you more presently, but first I must say another
+word with regard to its dead mother.
+</p>
+<p>I have spoken of the downy quilting that covers the inside of the chrysalid bag. It
+is like a bed of <span class="corr" id="xd31e1255" title="Source: eider-down">eiderdown</span>, on which the little Caterpillars rest for a while after leaving the egg. Warmly
+nestling in this soft rug they prepare themselves for their plunge into the outer
+world of work.
+</p>
+<p>The Eider robs herself of her down to make a luxurious bed for her brood; the mother
+Rabbit shears from her own body the softest part of her fur to provide a mattress
+for her new-born family. And the same thing is done by the Psyche.
+</p>
+<p>The mass of soft wadding that makes a warm coverlet for the baby Caterpillar is a
+material of incomparable delicacy. Through the microscope it can be recognised as
+the scaly dust, the intensely fine down in which every Moth is clad. To give a snug
+shelter to the little grubs who will soon be swarming in the case, to provide them
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb101">[<a href="#pb101">101</a>]</span>with a refuge in which they can play about and gather strength before entering the
+wide world, the Psyche strips herself of her fur like the mother Rabbit.
+</p>
+<p>This may possibly be done mechanically; it may be the unintentional effect of rubbing
+repeatedly against the low-roofed walls; but there is nothing to tell us so. Even
+the humblest mother has her foresight. It is quite likely that the hairy Moth twists
+about, and goes to and fro in the narrow passage, in order to get rid of her fleece
+and prepare bedding for her family.
+</p>
+<p>I have read in books that the young Psyches begin life by eating up their mother.
+I have seen nothing of the sort, and I do not even understand how the idea arose.
+Indeed, she has given up so much for her family that there is nothing left of her
+but some thin, dry strips—not enough to provide a meal for so numerous a brood. 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.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">A CLEVER TAILOR</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">I will now describe in greater detail the dressing of the grubs.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb102">[<a href="#pb102">102</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The hatching of the eggs takes place in the first fortnight of July. The head and
+upper part of the little grubs are of a glossy black, the next two segments are brownish,
+and the rest of the body is a pale amber. They are sharp, lively little creatures,
+who run about with short, quick steps.
+</p>
+<p>For a time, after they are out of the bag where they are hatched, they remain in the
+heap of fluff that was stripped from their mother. Here there is more room, and more
+comfort too, than in the bag whence they came; and while some take a rest, others
+bustle about and exercise themselves in walking. They are all picking up strength
+before leaving the outer case.
+</p>
+<p>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 dressing themselves. By and by they will think of food: at present nothing is of
+any importance but clothes.
+</p>
+<p>Montaigne, when putting on a cloak which his father had worn before him, used to say,
+“I dress myself in my father.” Well, the young Psyches in the same way dress themselves
+in their mother. (In the <i>same way</i>, it must be remembered; not in her skin, but in her clothes.) From the outer case
+of sticks, which I have sometimes described as a house and sometimes as a garment,
+they <span class="pageNum" id="pb103">[<a href="#pb103">103</a>]</span>scrape the material to make themselves a frock. The stuff they use is the pith of
+the little stalks, especially of the pieces that are split lengthwise, because the
+contents are more easily taken from these.
+</p>
+<p>The manner of beginning the garment is worth noting. The tiny creature employs a method
+as ingenious as any that we could hope to discover. The wadding is collected in pellets
+of infinitesimal size. How are these little pellets to be fixed and joined together?
+The manufacturer needs a support, a base; and this support cannot be obtained on the
+Caterpillar’s own body. The difficulty is overcome very cleverly. The pellets are
+gathered together, and by degrees fastened to one another with threads of silk—for
+the Caterpillar, as you know, can spin silk from his own body as the Spider spins
+her web. In this way a sort of garland is formed, with the pellets or particles swinging
+in a row from the same rope. When it is long enough this garland is passed round the
+waist of the little creature, in such a way as to leave its six legs free. Then it
+ties the ends together with a bit of silk, so that it forms a girdle round the grub’s
+body.
+</p>
+<p>This girdle is the starting-point and support of the whole work. To lengthen it, and
+enlarge it into a complete garment, the grub has only to fix to it the scraps of pith
+which the mandibles never cease tearing from <span class="pageNum" id="pb104">[<a href="#pb104">104</a>]</span>the case. These scraps or pellets are sometimes placed at the top, sometimes at the
+bottom or side, but they are always fixed at the fore-edge. No device could be better
+contrived than this garland, first laid out flat and then buckled like a belt round
+the body.
+</p>
+<p>Once this start is made the weaving goes on well. Gradually the girdle grows into
+a scarf, a waistcoat, a short jacket, and lastly a sack, and in a few hours it is
+complete—a conical hood or cloak of magnificent whiteness.
+</p>
+<p>Thanks to his mother’s care the little grub is spared the perils of roaming about
+in a state of nakedness. If she did not place her family in her old case they might
+have great difficulty in clothing themselves, for straws and stalks rich in pith are
+not found everywhere. And yet, unless they died of exposure, it appears that sooner
+or later they would find some kind of garment, since they seem ready to use any material
+that comes to hand. I have made many experiments with new-born grubs in a glass tube.
+</p>
+<p>From the stalks of a sort of dandelion they scraped, without the least hesitation,
+a superb white pith, and made it into a delicious white cloak, much finer than any
+they would have obtained from the remains of their mother’s clothes. An even better
+garment was woven from some pith taken from the kitchen-broom. This <span class="pageNum" id="pb105">[<a href="#pb105">105</a>]</span>time the work glittered with little sparks, like specks of crystal or grains of sugar.
+It was my manufacturers’ masterpiece.
+</p>
+<p>The next material I offered them was a piece of blotting-paper. Here again my grubs
+did not hesitate: they lustily scraped the surface and made themselves a paper coat.
+Indeed, they were so much pleased with this that when I gave them their native case
+they scorned it, preferring the blotting-paper.
+</p>
+<p>To others I gave nothing at all. Not to be baffled, however, they hastened to scrape
+the cork of the tube and break it into atoms. Out of these they made themselves a
+frock of cork-grains, as faultless as though they and their ancestors had always made
+use of this material. The novelty of the stuff, which perhaps no Caterpillar had ever
+used before, made no difference in the cut of the garment.
+</p>
+<p>Finding them ready to accept any vegetable matter that was dry and light, I next tried
+them with animal and mineral substances. I cut a strip from the wing of a Great Peacock
+Moth, and placed two little naked Caterpillars upon it. For a long time they both
+hesitated. Then one of them resolved to use the strange carpet. Before the day was
+over he had clothed himself in grey velvet made of the Great Peacock’s scales.
+</p>
+<p>I next took some soft, flaky stones, such as will break <span class="pageNum" id="pb106">[<a href="#pb106">106</a>]</span>at the merest touch into atoms nearly as fine as the dust on a Butterfly’s wing. On
+a bed of this powdery stuff, which glittered like steel filings, I placed four Caterpillars
+in need of clothes. One, and one alone, decided to dress himself. His metallic garment,
+from which the light drew flashes of every colour of the rainbow, was very rich and
+sumptuous, but mightily heavy and cumbrous. Walking became laborious under that load
+of metal. Even so must a Byzantine Emperor have walked at ceremonies of State.
+</p>
+<p>In cases of necessity, then, the young Caterpillar does not shrink from acts of sheer
+madness. So urgent is his need to clothe himself that he will weave mineral matter
+rather than go naked. Food means less to him than clothes. If I make him fast for
+a couple of days, and then, having robbed him of his garment, place him on his favourite
+food, a leaf of very hairy hawkweed, he will make himself a new coat before satisfying
+his hunger.
+</p>
+<p>This devotion to dress is due, not to any special sensitiveness to cold, but to the
+young Caterpillar’s foresight. Other Caterpillars take shelter among the leaves, in
+underground cells, or in the cracked bark of trees, but the Psyche spends his winter
+exposed to the weather. He therefore prepares himself, from his birth, for the perils
+of the cold season.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb107">[<a href="#pb107">107</a>]</span></p>
+<p>As soon as he is threatened with the rains of autumn he begins to work upon his outer
+case. It is very rough at first. Straws of uneven length and bits of dry leaves are
+fastened, with no attempt at order, behind the neck of the sack or undergarment, which
+must remain flexible so as to allow the Caterpillar to bend freely in every direction.
+These untidy first logs of the outer case will not interfere with the final regularity
+of the building: they will be pushed back and driven out as the sack grows longer
+in front.
+</p>
+<p>After a time the pieces are longer and more carefully chosen, and are all laid on
+lengthwise. The placing of a straw is done with surprising speed and skill. The Caterpillar
+turns it round and round between his legs, and then, gripping it in his mandibles,
+removes a few morsels from one end, and immediately fixes them to the end of the sack.
+He probably does this in order that the silk may obtain a firmer hold, as a plumber
+gives a touch of the file to a point that is to be soldered.
+</p>
+<p>Then, by sheer strength of jaw, he lifts and brandishes his straw in the air before
+laying it on his back. At once the spinneret sets to work and fixes it in place. Without
+any groping about or correcting, the thing is done. By the time the cold weather arrives
+the warm case is complete.
+</p>
+<p>But the silky felt of the interior is never thick enough <span class="pageNum" id="pb108">[<a href="#pb108">108</a>]</span>to please the Caterpillar. When spring comes he spends all his spare time in improving
+his quilt, in making it ever thicker and softer. Even if I take off his outer case
+he refuses to rebuild it: he persists in adding new layers to the lining, even when
+there is nothing to be lined. The sack is lamentably flabby; it sags and rumples.
+He has no protection nor shelter. No matter. The hour for carpentry has passed. The
+hour has come for upholstering; and he upholsters obstinately, padding a house—or
+lining a garment—that no longer exists. He will perish miserably, cut up by the Ants,
+as the result of his too-rigid instinct.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb109">[<a href="#pb109">109</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch8" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e245">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE SELF-DENIAL OF THE SPANISH COPRIS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">You remember, I hope, the Sacred Beetle, who spends her time in making balls, both
+to serve as food and also to be the foundation of her pear-shaped nest. I pointed
+out the advantages of this shape for the young Beetles, since the globe is the best
+form that could be invented to keep their provisions from becoming dry and hard.
+</p>
+<p>After watching this Beetle at work for a long time I began to wonder if I had not
+perhaps been mistaken in admiring her instinct so greatly. Was it really care for
+her grubs, I asked myself, that taught her to provide them with the tenderest and
+most suitable food? It is the trade of the Sacred Beetle to make balls. Is it wonderful
+that she should continue her ball-making underground? A creature built with long curved
+legs, very useful for rolling balls across the fields, will go on with her favourite
+occupation wherever she may be, without regard to her grubs. Perhaps the shape of
+the pear is mere chance.
+</p>
+<p>To settle this question satisfactorily in my own mind I should need to be shown a
+Scavenger Beetle who was <span class="pageNum" id="pb110">[<a href="#pb110">110</a>]</span>utterly unfamiliar with the ball-making business in everyday life, and who yet, when
+laying-time was at hand, made an abrupt change in her habits and stored her provisions
+in the form of a round lump. That would show me that it was not merely custom, but
+care for her grubs, that made her choose the globular shape for her nest.
+</p>
+<p>Now in my neighbourhood there is a Beetle of this very kind. She is one of the handsomest
+and largest, though not so imposing as the Sacred Beetle. Her name is the Spanish
+Copris, and she is remarkable for the sharp slope of her chest and the size of the
+horn surmounting her head.
+</p>
+<p>Being round and squat, the Spanish Copris is certainly incapable of such gymnastics
+as are performed by the Sacred Beetle. Her legs, which are insignificant in length,
+and which she folds under her body at the slightest alarm, are not in the least like
+the stilts of the pill-rollers. Their stunted form and their lack of flexibility are
+enough in themselves to tell us that their owner would not care to roam about burdened
+with a rolling ball.
+</p>
+<p>The Copris, indeed, is not of an active nature. Once she has found her provisions,
+at night or in the evening twilight, she begins to dig a burrow on the spot. It is
+a rough cavern, large enough to hold an apple. Here <span class="pageNum" id="pb111">[<a href="#pb111">111</a>]</span>is introduced, bit by bit, the stuff that is just overhead, or at any rate lying on
+the threshold of the cave. An enormous supply of food is stored in a <span class="corr" id="xd31e1329" title="Source: shapless">shapeless</span> mass, plain evidence of the insect’s gluttony. As long as the hoard lasts the Copris
+remains underground. When the larder is empty the insect searches out a fresh supply
+of food, and scoops out another burrow.
+</p>
+<p>For the time being the Copris is merely a scavenger, a gatherer of manure. She is
+evidently quite ignorant, at present, of the art of kneading and modelling a round
+loaf. Besides, her short clumsy legs seem utterly unsuited for any such art.
+</p>
+<p>In May or June, however, comes laying-time. The insect becomes very particular about
+choosing the softest materials for her family’s food. Having found what pleases her,
+she buries it on the spot, carrying it down by armfuls, bit by bit. There is no travelling,
+no carting, no preparation. I observe, too, that the burrow is larger and better built
+than the temporary abodes in which the Copris takes her own meals.
+</p>
+<p>Finding it difficult to observe the insect closely in its wild state, I resolved to
+place it in my insect-house, and there watch it at my ease.
+</p>
+<p>The poor creature was at first a little nervous in captivity, and when she had made
+her burrow was very cautious about entering it. By degrees, however, she <span class="pageNum" id="pb112">[<a href="#pb112">112</a>]</span>was reassured, and in a single night she stored a supply of the food I had provided
+for her.
+</p>
+<p>Before a week was out I dug up the soil in my insect-house, and brought to light the
+burrow I had seen her storing with provisions. It was a spacious hall, with an irregular
+roof and an almost level floor. In a corner was a round hole leading to a slanting
+gallery, which ran up to the surface of the soil. The walls of this dwelling, which
+was hollowed out of fresh earth, had been carefully compressed, and were strong enough
+to resist the earthquake caused by my experiments. It was easy to see that the insect
+had put forth all her skill, all her digging-powers, in the making of this permanent
+home, whereas her own dining-room had been a mere cave, with walls that were none
+too safe.
+</p>
+<p>I suspect she is helped, in the building of this architectural masterpiece, by her
+mate: at least I often see him with her in the burrows. I also believe that he lends
+his partner a hand with the collecting and storing of the provisions. It is a quicker
+job when there are two to work. But once the home is well stocked he retires: he makes
+his way back to the surface and settles down elsewhere. His part in the family mansion
+is ended.
+</p>
+<p>Now what do I find in this mansion, into which I have seen so many tiny loads of provisions
+lowered? A mass of small pieces, heaped together anyhow? Not <span class="pageNum" id="pb113">[<a href="#pb113">113</a>]</span>a bit of it. I always find a simple lump, a huge mass which fills the dwelling except
+for a narrow passage.
+</p>
+<p>This lump has no fixed shape. I come across some that are like a Turkey’s egg in form
+and size; some the shape of a common onion; I find some that are almost round, and
+remind me of a Dutch cheese; I see some that are circular, with a slight swelling
+on the upper surface. In every case the surface is smooth and nicely curved.
+</p>
+<p>There is no mistaking what has happened. The mother has collected and kneaded into
+one lump the numerous fragments brought down one after the other. Out of all those
+particles she has made a single lump, by mashing them, working them together, and
+treading on them. Time after time I have seen her on top of the colossal loaf which
+is so much larger than the ball of the Sacred Beetle—a mere pill in comparison. She
+strolls about on the convex surface, which sometimes measures as much as four inches
+across; she pats the mass, and makes it firm and level. I only catch a sight of the
+curious scene, for the moment she sees me she slips down the curved slope and hides
+away.
+</p>
+<p>With the help of a row of glass jars, all enclosed in opaque sheaths of cardboard,
+I can find out a good many interesting things. In the first place I have found that
+the big loaf does not owe its curve—which is always <span class="pageNum" id="pb114">[<a href="#pb114">114</a>]</span>regular, no matter how much the slope may vary—to any rolling process. Indeed I already
+knew that so large a mess could not have been rolled into a hole that it nearly fills.
+Besides, the strength of the insect would be unequal to moving so great a load.
+</p>
+<p>Every time I go to the jar the evidence is the same. I always see the mother Beetle
+twisted on top of the lump, feeling here and feeling there, giving little taps, and
+making the thing smooth. Never do I catch her looking as if she wanted to turn the
+block. It is clear as daylight that rolling has nothing to do with the matter.
+</p>
+<p>At last it is ready. The baker divides his lump of dough into smaller lumps, each
+of which will become a loaf. The Copris does the same thing. By making a circular
+cut with the sharp edge of her forehead, and at the same time using the saw of her
+fore-legs, she detaches from the mass a piece of the size she requires. In giving
+this stroke she has no hesitation: there are no after-touches, adding a bit here and
+taking off a bit there. Straight away, with one sharp, decisive cut, she obtains the
+proper-sized lump.
+</p>
+<p>Next comes the question of shaping it. Clasping it as best she can in her short arms,
+so little adapted, one would think, for work of this kind, the Copris rounds her lump
+of food by pressure, and pressure only. Solemnly <span class="pageNum" id="pb115">[<a href="#pb115">115</a>]</span>she moves about on the still shapeless mass, climbs up, climbs down, turns to right
+and left, above and below, touching and re-touching with unvarying patience. Finally,
+after twenty-four hours of this work, the piece that was all corners has become a
+perfect sphere, the size of a plum. There in her cramped studio, with scarcely room
+to move, the podgy artist has completed her work without once shaking it on its base:
+by dint of time and patience she has obtained the exact sphere which her clumsy tools
+and her confined space seemed to render impossible.
+</p>
+<p>For a long time she continues to polish up the globe with affectionate touches of
+her foot, but at last she is satisfied. She climbs to the top, and by simple pressure
+hollows out a shallow cavity. In this basin she lays an egg.
+</p>
+<p>Then, with extreme caution and delicacy, she brings together the sides of the basin
+so as to cover the egg, and carefully scrapes the sides towards the top, which begins
+to taper a little and lengthen out. In the end the ball has become ovoid, or egg-shaped.
+</p>
+<p>The insect next helps herself to a second piece of the cut loaf, which she treats
+in the same way. The remainder serves for a third ovoid, or even a fourth. The Sacred
+Beetle, you remember, made a single pear-shaped <span class="pageNum" id="pb116">[<a href="#pb116">116</a>]</span>nest in a way that was familiar to her, and then left her egg underground while she
+engaged in fresh enterprises. The Copris behaves very differently.
+</p>
+<p>Her burrow is almost filled by three or four ovoid nests, standing one against the
+other, with the pointed end upwards. After her long fast one would expect her to go
+away, like the Sacred Beetle, in search of food. On the contrary, however, she stays
+where she is. And yet she has eaten nothing since she came underground, for she has
+taken good care not to touch the food prepared for her family. She will go hungry
+rather than let her grubs suffer.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p116width" id="p116"><img src="images/p116.jpg" alt="THE SPANISH COPRIS" width="659" height="665"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE SPANISH COPRIS</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>The burrow is almost filled by three or four ovoid nests, standing one against the
+other, with the pointed end upwards</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>Her object in staying is to mount guard over the cradles. The pear of the Sacred Beetle
+suffers from the mother’s desertion. It soon shows cracks, and becomes scaly and swollen.
+After a time it loses its shape. But the nest of the Copris remains perfect, owing
+to the mother’s care. She goes from one to the other, feels them, listens to them,
+and touches them up at points where my eye can detect no flaw. Her clumsy horn-shod
+foot is more sensitive in the darkness than my sight in broad daylight: she feels
+the least threatening of a crack and attends to it at once, lest the air should enter
+and dry up her eggs. She slips in and out of the narrow spaces between the cradles,
+inspecting them with the utmost care. If I disturb her she sometimes rubs the <span class="pageNum" id="pb117">[<a href="#pb117">117</a>]</span>tip of her body against the edge of her wing-cases, making a soft rustling sound,
+like a murmur of complaint. In this way, caring industriously for her cradles, and
+sometimes snatching a brief sleep beside them the mother waits.
+</p>
+<p>The Copris enjoys in her underground home a rare privilege for an insect: the pleasure
+of knowing her family. She hears her grubs scratching at the shell to obtain their
+liberty; she is present at the bursting of the nest which she has made so carefully.
+And when the little captive, stiffening his legs and humping his back, tries to split
+the ceiling that presses down on him, it is quite possible that the mother comes to
+his assistance by making an assault on the nest from the outside. Being fitted by
+instinct for repairing and building, why should she not also be fitted for demolishing?
+However, I will make no assertions, for I have been unable to see.
+</p>
+<p>Now it is possible to say that the mother Copris, being imprisoned in an enclosure
+from which she cannot escape, stays in the midst of her nest because she has no choice
+in the matter. Yet, if this were so, would she trouble about her work of polishing
+and constant inspection? These cares evidently are natural to her: they form part
+of her habits. If she were anxious to regain her liberty, she would surely roam restlessly
+round <span class="pageNum" id="pb118">[<a href="#pb118">118</a>]</span>the enclosure, whereas I always see her very quiet and absorbed.
+</p>
+<p>To make certain, I have inspected my glass jars at different times. She could go lower
+down in the sand and hide anywhere she pleased, if rest were what she wanted; she
+could climb outside and sit down to fresh food, if refreshment became necessary. Neither
+the prospect of rest in a deeper cave nor the thought of the sun and of food makes
+her leave her family. Until the last of them has burst his shell she sticks to her
+post. I always find her beside her cradles.
+</p>
+<p>For four months she is without food of any kind. She was no better than a glutton
+at first, when there was no family to consider, but now she becomes self-denying to
+the point of prolonged fasting. The Hen sitting on her eggs forgets to eat for some
+weeks; the watchful Copris mother forgets food for a third part of the year.
+</p>
+<p>The summer is over. The rains so greatly desired by man and beast have come at last,
+soaking the ground to some depth. After the torrid and dusty days of our Provençal
+summer, when life is in suspense, we have the coolness that revives it. The heath
+puts out its first pink bells; the autumnal squill lifts its little spike of lilac
+flowers; the strawberry-tree’s coral bells begin to soften; the Sacred Beetle and
+the Copris burst their <span class="pageNum" id="pb119">[<a href="#pb119">119</a>]</span>shells, and come to the surface in time to enjoy the last fine weather of the year.
+</p>
+<p>The newly released Copris family, accompanied by their mother, gradually emerge from
+underground. There are three or four of them, five at most. The sons are easily recognised
+by the greater length of their horns; but there is nothing to distinguish the daughters
+from the mother. For that matter, the same confusion exists among themselves. An abrupt
+change has taken place. The mother whose devotion was lately so remarkable is now
+utterly indifferent to the welfare of her family. Henceforward each looks after his
+own home and his own interests. They no longer have anything to do with one another.
+</p>
+<p>The present indifference of the mother Beetle must not make us forget the wonderful
+care she has lavished for four months on end. Except among the Bees, Wasps, and Ants,
+who spoon-feed their young and bring them up with every attention to their health,
+I know of no other such case of maternal self-denial. Alone and unaided she provides
+each of her children with a cake of food, whose crust she constantly repairs, so that
+it becomes the safest of cradles. So intense is her affection that she loses all desire
+and need of food. In the darkness of the burrow she watches over her brood for four
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb120">[<a href="#pb120">120</a>]</span>months, attending to the wants of the egg, the grub, the undeveloped Beetle, and the
+full-grown insect. She does not return to the glad outer life till all her family
+are free. Thus we see one of the most brilliant examples of maternal instinct in a
+humble scavenger of the fields. The Spirit breatheth where He will.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb121">[<a href="#pb121">121</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch9" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e253">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER IX</h2>
+<h2 class="main">TWO STRANGE GRASSHOPPERS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE EMPUSA</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The sea, where life first appeared, still preserves in its depths many of those curious
+shapes which were the earliest specimens of the animal kingdom. But the land has almost
+entirely lost the strange forms of other days. The few that remain are mostly insects.
+One of these is the Praying Mantis, whose remarkable shape and habits I have already
+described to you. Another is the Empusa.
+</p>
+<p>This insect, in its undeveloped or larval state, is certainly the strangest creature
+in all Provence: a slim, swaying thing of so fantastic an appearance that unaccustomed
+fingers dare not lay hold of it. The children of my neighbourhood are so much impressed
+by its startling shape that they call it “the Devilkin.” They imagine it to be in
+some way connected with witchcraft. One comes across it, though never in great numbers,
+in the spring up to May; in autumn; and sometimes in winter if the sun be strong.
+The tough grasses of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb122">[<a href="#pb122">122</a>]</span>waste-lands, the stunted bushes which catch the sunshine and are sheltered from the
+wind by a few heaps of stones, are the chilly Empusa’s favourite dwelling.
+</p>
+<p>I will tell you, as well as I can, what she looks like. The tail-end of her body is
+always twisted and curved up over her back so as to form a crook, and the lower surface
+of her body (that is to say, of course, the upper surface of the crook) is covered
+with pointed, leaf-shaped scales, arranged in three rows. The crook is propped on
+four long, thin legs, like stilts; and on each of these legs, at the point where the
+thigh joins the shin, is a curved, projecting blade not unlike that of a cleaver.
+</p>
+<p>In front of this crook on stilts, this four-legged stool, there rises suddenly—very
+long and almost perpendicular—the stiff corselet or bust. It is round and slender
+as a straw, and at the end of it is the hunting-trap, copied from that of the Mantis.
+This consists of a harpoon sharper than a needle, and a cruel vice with jaws toothed
+like a saw. The jaw, or blade formed by the upper arm, is hollowed into a groove and
+carries five long spikes on each side, with smaller indentations in between. The jaw
+formed by the fore-arm is grooved in the same way, but the teeth are finer, closer,
+and more regular. When at rest, the saw of the fore-arm fits into the groove of the
+upper arm. If the machine were only larger it would be a fearful instrument of torture.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb123">[<a href="#pb123">123</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The head is in keeping with this arsenal. What a queer head it is! A pointed face,
+with curled moustaches; large goggle eyes; between them the blade of a dirk; and on
+the forehead a mad, unheard-of thing—a sort of tall mitre, an extravagant head-dress
+that juts forward, spreading right and left into peaked wings. What does the Devilkin
+want with that monstrous pointed cap, as magnificent as any ever worn by astrologer
+of old? The use of it will appear presently.
+</p>
+<p>The creature’s colouring at this time is commonplace—chiefly grey. As it develops
+it becomes faintly striped with pale green, white, and pink.
+</p>
+<p>If you come across this fantastic object in the bramble-bushes, it sways upon its
+four stilts, it wags its head at you knowingly, it twists its mitre round and peers
+over its shoulder. You seem to see mischief in its pointed face. But if you try to
+take hold of it this threatening attitude disappears at once; the raised corselet
+is lowered, and the creature makes off with mighty strides, helping itself along with
+its weapons, with which it clutches the twigs. If you have a practiced eye, however,
+the Empusa is easily caught, and penned in a cage of wire-gauze.
+</p>
+<p>At first I was uncertain how to feed them. My Devilkins were very little, a month
+or two old at most. I gave them Locusts suited to their size, the smallest I <span class="pageNum" id="pb124">[<a href="#pb124">124</a>]</span>could find. They not only refused them, but were afraid of them. Any thoughtless Locust
+that meekly approached an Empusa met with a bad reception. The pointed mitre was lowered,
+and an angry thrust sent the Locust rolling. The wizard’s cap, then, is a defensive
+weapon. As the Ram charges with his forehead, so the Empusa butts with her mitre.
+</p>
+<p>I next offered her a live House-fly, and this time the dinner was accepted at once.
+The moment the Fly came within reach the watchful Devilkin turned her head, bent her
+corselet slantwise, harpooned the Fly, and gripped it between her two saws. No Cat
+could pounce more quickly on a Mouse.
+</p>
+<p>To my surprise I found that the Fly was not only enough for a meal, but enough for
+the whole day, and often for several days. These fierce-looking insects are extremely
+abstemious. I was expecting them to be ogres, and found them with the delicate appetites
+of invalids. After a time even a Midge failed to tempt them, and through the winter
+months they fasted altogether. When the spring came, however, they were ready to indulge
+in a small piece of Cabbage Butterfly or Locust; attacking their prey invariably in
+the neck, like the Mantis.
+</p>
+<p>The young Empusa has one very curious habit when in captivity. In its cage of wire-gauze
+its attitude is the <span class="pageNum" id="pb125">[<a href="#pb125">125</a>]</span>same from first to last, and a most strange attitude it is. It grips the wire by the
+claws of its four hind-legs, and hangs motionless, back downwards, with the whole
+of its body suspended from those four points. If it wishes to move, its harpoons open
+in front, stretch out, grasp a mesh of the wire, and pull. This process naturally
+draws the insect along the wire, still upside down. Then the jaws close back against
+the chest.
+</p>
+<p>And this upside-down position, which seems to us so trying, lasts for no short while.
+It continues, in my cages, for ten months without a break. The Fly on the ceiling,
+it is true, adopts the same position; but she has her moments of rest. She flies,
+she walks in the usual way, she spreads herself flat in the sun. The Empusa, on the
+other hand, remains in her curious attitude for ten months on end, without a pause.
+Hanging from the wire netting, back downwards, she hunts, eats, digests, dozes, gets
+through all the experiences of an insect’s life, and finally dies. She clambers up
+while she is still quite young; she falls down in her old age, a corpse.
+</p>
+<p>This custom is all the more remarkable in that it is practised only in captivity.
+It is not an instinctive habit of the race; for out of doors the insect, except at
+rare intervals, stands on the bushes back upwards.
+</p>
+<p>Strange as the performance is, I know of a similar case that is even more peculiar:
+the attitude of certain <span class="pageNum" id="pb126">[<a href="#pb126">126</a>]</span>Wasps and Bees during the night’s rest. A particular Wasp, an Ammophila with red fore-legs,
+is plentiful in my enclosure towards the end of August, and likes to sleep in one
+of the lavender borders. At dusk, especially after a stifling day when a storm is
+brewing, I am sure to find the strange sleeper settled there. Never was a more eccentric
+attitude chosen for a night’s rest. The jaws bite right into the lavender-stem. Its
+square shape supplies a firmer hold than a round stalk would give. With this one and
+only prop the Wasp’s body juts out stiffly at full length, with legs folded. It forms
+a right angle with the stalk, so that the whole weight of the insect rests upon the
+mandibles.
+</p>
+<p>The Ammophila is enabled by its mighty jaws to sleep in this way, extended in space.
+It takes an animal to think of a thing like that, which upsets all our previous ideas
+of rest. Should the threatening storm burst and the stalk sway in the wind, the sleeper
+is not troubled by her swinging hammock; at most, she presses her fore-legs for a
+moment against the tossing stem. Perhaps the Wasp’s jaws, like the Bird’s toes, possess
+the power of gripping more tightly in proportion to the violence of the wind. However
+that may be, there are several kinds of Wasps and Bees who adopt this strange position,—gripping
+a stalk with their mandibles, and sleeping with their bodies <span class="corr" id="xd31e1433" title="Source: outstreched">outstretched</span> and their legs folded back. This <span class="pageNum" id="pb127">[<a href="#pb127">127</a>]</span>state of things makes us wonder what it is that really constitutes rest.
+</p>
+<p>About the middle of May the Empusa is transformed into her full-grown condition. She
+is even more remarkable in figure and attire than the Praying Mantis. She still keeps
+some of her youthful eccentricities—the bust, the weapons on her knees, and the three
+rows of scales on the lower surface of her body. But she is now no longer twisted
+into a crook, and is comelier to look upon. Large pale-green wings, pink at the shoulder
+and swift in flight, cover the white and green stripes that ornament the body below.
+The male Empusa, who is a dandy, adorns himself, like some of the Moths, with feathery
+antennæ.
+</p>
+<p>When, in the spring, the peasant meets the Empusa, he thinks he sees the common Praying
+Mantis, who is a daughter of the autumn. They are so much alike that one would expect
+them to have the same habits. In fact, any one might be tempted, led away by the extraordinary
+armour, to suspect the Empusa of a mode of life even more atrocious than that of the
+Mantis. This would be a mistake: for all their war-like aspect the Empusæ are peaceful
+creatures.
+</p>
+<p>Imprisoned in their wire-gauze bell-jar, either in groups of half a dozen or in separate
+couples, they at no time lose their placidity. Even in their full-grown state <span class="pageNum" id="pb128">[<a href="#pb128">128</a>]</span>they are very small eaters, and content themselves with a fly or two as their daily
+ration.
+</p>
+<p>Big eaters are naturally quarrelsome. The Mantis, gorged with Locusts, soon becomes
+irritated and shows fight. The Empusa, with her frugal meals, is a lover of peace.
+She indulges in no quarrels with her neighbours, nor does she pretend to be a ghost,
+with a view to frightening them, after the manner of the Mantis. She never unfurls
+her wings suddenly nor puffs like a startled Adder. She has never the least inclination
+for the cannibal banquets at which a sister, after being worsted in a fight, is eaten
+up. Nor does she, like the Mantis, devour her husband. Such atrocities are here unknown.
+</p>
+<p>The organs of the two insects are the same. These profound moral differences, therefore,
+are not due to any difference in the bodily form. Possibly they may arise from the
+difference in food. Simple living, as a matter of fact, softens character, in animals
+as in men; over-feeding brutalises it. The glutton, gorged with meat and strong drink—a
+very common cause of savage outbursts—could never be as gentle as the self-denying
+hermit who lives on bread dipped into a cup of milk. The Mantis is a glutton: the
+Empusa lives the simple life.
+</p>
+<p>And yet, even when this is granted, one is forced to <span class="pageNum" id="pb129">[<a href="#pb129">129</a>]</span>ask a further question. Why, when the two insects are almost exactly the same in form,
+and might be expected to have the same needs, should the one have an enormous appetite
+and the other such temperate ways? They tell us, in their own fashion, what many insects
+have told us already: that inclinations and habits do not depend entirely upon anatomy.
+High above the laws that govern matter rise other laws that govern instincts.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The White-faced Decticus stands at the head of the Grasshopper clan in my district,
+both as a singer and as an insect of imposing presence. He has a grey body, a pair
+of powerful mandibles, and a broad ivory face. Without being plentiful, he is neither
+difficult nor wearisome to hunt. In the height of summer we find him hopping in the
+long grass, especially at the foot of the sunny rocks where the turpentine-tree takes
+root.
+</p>
+<p>The Greek word <i>dectikos</i> means biting, fond of biting. The Decticus is well named. It is eminently an insect
+given to biting. Mind your finger if this sturdy Grasshopper gets hold of it: he will
+rip it till the blood comes. His powerful jaw, of which I have to beware when I handle
+him, and the large muscles that swell out his <span class="pageNum" id="pb130">[<a href="#pb130">130</a>]</span>cheeks, are evidently intended for cutting up leathery prey.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p130width" id="p130"><img src="images/p130.jpg" alt="THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS" width="720" height="547"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>The Greek word dectikos means biting, fond of biting. The Decticus is well named.
+It is eminently an insect given to biting</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>I find, when the Decticus is imprisoned in my menagerie, that any fresh meat tasting
+of Locust or Grasshopper suits his needs. The blue-winged Locust is the most frequent
+victim. As soon as the food is introduced into the cage there is an uproar, especially
+if the Dectici are hungry. They stamp about, and dart forward clumsily, being hampered
+by their long shanks. Some of the Locusts are caught at once, but others with desperate
+bounds rush to the top of the cage, and there hang on out of the reach of the Grasshopper,
+who is too stout to climb so high. But they have only postponed their fate. Either
+because they are tired, or because they are tempted by the green stuff below, they
+will come down, and the Dectici will be after them immediately.
+</p>
+<p>This Grasshopper, though his intellect is dull, possesses the art of scientific killing
+of which we have seen instances elsewhere. He always spears his prey in the neck,
+and, to make it helpless as quickly as possible, begins by biting the nerves that
+enable it to move. It is a very wise method, for the Locust is hard to kill. Even
+when beheaded he goes on hopping. I have seen some who, though half-eaten, kicked
+out so desperately that they succeeded in escaping.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb131">[<a href="#pb131">131</a>]</span></p>
+<p>With his weakness for Locusts, and also for certain seeds that are harmful to unripe
+corn, these Grasshoppers might be of some service to agriculture if only there were
+more of them. But nowadays his assistance in preserving the fruits of the earth is
+very feeble. His chief interest in our eyes is the fact that he is a memorial of the
+remotest times. He gives us a vague glimpse of habits now out of use.
+</p>
+<p>It was thanks to the Decticus that I first learnt one or two things about young Grasshoppers.
+</p>
+<p>Instead of packing their eggs in casks of hardened foam, like the Locust and the Mantis,
+or laying them in a twig like the Cicada, Grasshoppers plant them like seeds in the
+earth.
+</p>
+<p>The mother Decticus has a tool at the end of her body with which she scrapes out a
+little hole in the soil. In this hole she lays a certain number of eggs, then loosens
+the dust round the side of the hole and rams it down with her tool, very much as we
+should pack the earth in a hole with a stick. In this way she covers up the well,
+and then sweeps and smooths the ground above it.
+</p>
+<p>She then goes for a little walk in the neighbourhood, by way of recreation. Soon she
+comes back to the place where she has already laid her eggs, and, very near the original
+spot, which she recognises quite well, begins the <span class="pageNum" id="pb132">[<a href="#pb132">132</a>]</span>work afresh. If I watch her for an hour I see her go through this whole performance,
+including the short stroll in the neighbourhood, no less than five times. The points
+where she lays the eggs are always very close together.
+</p>
+<p>When everything is finished I examine the little pits. The eggs lie singly, without
+any cell or sheath to protect them. There are about sixty of them altogether, pale
+lilac-grey in colour, and shaped like a shuttle.
+</p>
+<p>When I began to observe the ways of the Decticus I was anxious to watch the hatching,
+so at the end of August I gathered plenty of eggs, and placed them in a small glass
+jar with a layer of sand. Without suffering any apparent change they spent eight months
+there under cover, sheltered from the frosts, the showers, and the overpowering heat
+of the sun, which they would be obliged to endure out of doors.
+</p>
+<p>When June came, the eggs in my jar showed no sign of being about to hatch. They were
+just as I had gathered them nine months before, neither wrinkled nor tarnished, but
+on the contrary wearing a most healthy look. Yet in June young Dectici are often to
+be met in the fields, and sometimes even those of larger growth. What was the reason
+of this delay, I wondered.
+</p>
+<p>Then an idea came to me. The eggs of the Grasshopper are planted like seeds in the
+earth, <span class="corr" id="xd31e1486" title="Source: were">where</span> they are <span class="pageNum" id="pb133">[<a href="#pb133">133</a>]</span>exposed, without any protection, to snow and rain. Those in my jar had spent two-thirds
+of the year in a state of comparative dryness. Since they were sown like seeds, perhaps
+they needed, to make them hatch, the moisture that seeds require to make them sprout.
+I resolved to try.
+</p>
+<p>I placed at the bottom of some glass tubes a pinch of backward eggs taken from my
+collection, and on the top I heaped lightly a layer of fine, damp sand. I closed the
+tubes with plugs of wet cotton, to keep the air in them constantly moist. Any one
+seeing my preparations would have supposed me to be a botanist experimenting with
+seeds.
+</p>
+<p>My hopes were fulfilled. In the warmth and moisture the eggs soon showed signs of
+hatching. They began to swell, and the bursting of the shell was evidently close at
+hand. I spent a fortnight in keeping a tedious watch at every hour of the day, for
+I had to surprise the young Decticus actually leaving the egg, in order to solve a
+question that had long been in my mind.
+</p>
+<p>The question was this. The Grasshopper is buried, as a rule, about an inch below the
+surface of the soil. Now the new-born Decticus, hopping awkwardly in the grass at
+the approach of summer, has, like the full-grown insect, a pair of very long tentacles,
+as slender as hairs; <span class="pageNum" id="pb134">[<a href="#pb134">134</a>]</span>while he carries behind him two extraordinary legs, two enormous hinged jumping-poles
+that would be very inconvenient for ordinary walking. I wished to find out how the
+feeble little creature set to work, with this cumbrous luggage, to make its way to
+the surface of the earth. By what means could it clear a passage through the rough
+soil? With its feathery antennæ, which an atom of sand can break, and its immense
+shanks, which are disjointed by the least effort, this mite is plainly incapable of
+freeing itself.
+</p>
+<p>As I have already told you, the Cicada and the Praying Mantis, when issuing, the one
+from his twig, and the other from his nest, wear a protective covering like an overall.
+It seemed to me that the little Grasshopper, too, must come out through the sand in
+a simpler, more compact form than he wears when he hops about the lawn on the day
+after his birth.
+</p>
+<p>Nor was I mistaken. The Decticus, like the others, wears an overall for the occasion.
+The tiny, flesh-white creature is cased in a scabbard which keeps the six legs flattened
+against the body, stretching backwards, inert. In order to slip more easily through
+the soil his shanks are tied up beside him; while the antennæ, those other inconvenient
+appendages, are pressed motionless against the parcel.
+</p>
+<p>The head is very much bent against the chest. With <span class="pageNum" id="pb135">[<a href="#pb135">135</a>]</span>the big black specks that are going to be its eyes, and its inexpressive, rather swollen
+mask, it suggests a diver’s helmet. The neck opens wide at the back, and, with a slow
+throbbing, by turns swells and sinks. It is by means of this throbbing protrusion
+through the opening at the back of the head that the new-born insect moves. When the
+lump is flat, the head pushes back the damp sand a little way and slips into it by
+digging a tiny pit. Then the swelling is blown out and becomes a knob which sticks
+firmly in the hole. This supplies the resistance necessary for the grub to draw up
+its back and push. Thus a step forward is made. Each thrust of the motor-blister helps
+the little Decticus upon the upward path.
+</p>
+<p>It is pitiful to see this tender creature, still almost colourless, knocking with
+its swollen neck and ramming the rough soil. With flesh that is not yet hardened it
+is painfully fighting stone; and fighting it so successfully that in the space of
+a morning it makes a gallery, either straight or winding, an inch long and as wide
+as an average straw. In this way the harassed insect reaches the surface.
+</p>
+<p>Before it is altogether freed from the soil the struggler halts for a moment, to recover
+from the effects of the journey. Then, with renewed strength, it makes a last effort:
+it swells the protrusion at the back of its head as <span class="pageNum" id="pb136">[<a href="#pb136">136</a>]</span>far as it will go, and bursts the sheath that has protected it so far. The creature
+throws off its overall.
+</p>
+<p>Here, then, is the Decticus in his youthful shape, quite pale still, but darker the
+next day, and a regular blackamoor compared with the full-grown insect. As a prelude
+to the ivory face of his riper age he wears a narrow white stripe under his hinder
+thighs.
+</p>
+<p>Little Decticus, hatched before my eyes, life opens for you very harshly! Many of
+your relatives must die of exhaustion before winning their freedom. In my tubes I
+see numbers who, being stopped by a grain of sand, give up the struggle half-way and
+become furred with a sort of silky fluff. Mildew soon absorbs their poor little remains.
+And when carried out without my help, their journey to the surface must be even more
+dangerous, for the soil out of doors is coarse and baked by the sun.
+</p>
+<p>The little white-striped nigger nibbles at the lettuce-leaf I give him, and leaps
+about gaily in the cage where I have housed him. I could easily rear him, but he would
+not teach me much more. So I restore him to liberty. In return for what he has taught
+me I give him the grass and the Locusts in the garden.
+</p>
+<p>For he taught me that Grasshoppers, in order to leave the ground where the eggs are
+laid, wear a temporary form which keeps those too cumbrous parts, the <span class="pageNum" id="pb137">[<a href="#pb137">137</a>]</span>long legs and antennæ, swathed together in a sheath. He taught me, too, that this
+mummy-like creature, fit only to lengthen and shorten itself a little, has for its
+means of travelling a hernia in the neck, a throbbing blister—an original piece of
+mechanism which, when I first observed the Decticus, I had never seen used as an aid
+to progression.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb138">[<a href="#pb138">138</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch10" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e261">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER X</h2>
+<h2 class="main">COMMON WASPS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THEIR CLEVERNESS AND STUPIDITY</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">Wishing to observe a Wasp’s nest I go out, one day in September, with my little son
+Paul, who helps me with his good sight and his undivided attention. We look with interest
+at the edges of the footpaths.
+</p>
+<p>Suddenly Paul cries: “A Wasp’s nest! A Wasp’s nest, as sure as anything!” For, twenty
+yards away, he has seen rising from the ground, shooting up and flying away, now one
+and then another swiftly moving object, as though some tiny crater in the grass were
+hurling them forth.
+</p>
+<p>We approach the spot with caution, fearing to attract the attention of the fierce
+creatures. At the entrance-door of their dwelling, a round opening large enough to
+admit a man’s thumb, the inmates come and go, busily passing one another as they fly
+in opposite directions. <i>Burr!</i> A shudder runs through me at the thought of the unpleasant time we should have, did
+we incite these <span class="pageNum" id="pb139">[<a href="#pb139">139</a>]</span>irritable warriors to attack us by inspecting them too closely. Without further investigation,
+which might cost us too dear, we mark the spot, and resolve to return at nightfall.
+By that time all the inhabitants of the nest will have come home from the fields.
+</p>
+<p>The conquest of a nest of Common Wasps would be rather a serious undertaking if one
+did not act with a certain amount of prudence. Half a pint of petrol, a reed-stump
+nine inches long, and a good-sized lump of clay or loam, kneaded to the right consistency—such
+are my weapons, which I have come to consider the best and simplest, after various
+trials with less successful means.
+</p>
+<p>The suffocating method is necessary, unless I use costly measures which I cannot afford.
+When Réaumur wanted to place a live Wasp’s nest in a glass case with a view to observing
+the habits of the inmates, he employed helpers who were used to the painful job, and
+were willing, for a handsome reward, to serve the man of science at the cost of their
+skins. But I, who should have to pay with my own skin, think twice before digging
+up the nest I desire. I begin by suffocating the inhabitants. Dead Wasps do not sting.
+It is a brutal method, but perfectly safe.
+</p>
+<p>I use petrol because its effects are not too violent, and in order to make my observations
+I wish to leave a small <span class="pageNum" id="pb140">[<a href="#pb140">140</a>]</span>number of survivors. The question is how to introduce it into the cavity containing
+the Wasp’s nest. A vestibule, or entrance-passage, about nine inches long, and very
+nearly horizontal, leads to the underground cells. To pour the petrol straight into
+the mouths of this tunnel would be a blunder that might have serious consequences
+later on. For so small a quantity of petrol would be absorbed by the soil and would
+never reach the nest; and next day, when we might think we were digging safely, we
+should find an infuriated swarm under the spade.
+</p>
+<p>The bit of reed prevents this mishap. When inserted into the passage it forms a water-tight
+funnel, and carries the petrol to the cavern without the loss of a drop, and as quickly
+as possible. Then we fix the lump of kneaded clay into the entrance-hole, like a stopper.
+We have nothing to do now but wait.
+</p>
+<p>When we are going to perform this operation Paul and I set out, carrying a lantern
+and a basket with the implements, at nine o’clock on some mild, moonlit evening. While
+the <span class="corr" id="xd31e1542" title="Source: farm-house">farmhouse</span> Dogs are yelping at each other in the distance, and the Screech Owl is hooting in
+the olive-trees, and the Italian Crickets are performing their symphony in the bushes,
+Paul and I chat about insects. He asks questions, eager to learn, and I tell <span class="pageNum" id="pb141">[<a href="#pb141">141</a>]</span>him the little that I know. So delightful are our nights of Wasp-hunting that we think
+little of the loss of sleep or the chance of being stung!
+</p>
+<p>The pushing of the reed into the hole is the most delicate matter. Since the direction
+of the passage is unknown there is some hesitation, and sometimes sentries come flying
+out of the Wasp’s guard-house to attack the operator’s hand. To prevent this one of
+us keeps watch, and drives away the enemy with a handkerchief. And after all, a swelling
+on one’s hand, even if it does smart, is not much to pay for an idea.
+</p>
+<p>As the petrol streams into the cavern we hear the threatening buzz of the population
+underground. Then quick!—the door must be closed with the wet clay, and the clod kicked
+once or twice with the heel to make the stopper solid. There is nothing more to be
+done for the present. Off we go to bed.
+</p>
+<p>With a spade and a trowel we are back on the spot at dawn. It is wise to be early,
+because many Wasps will have been out all night, and will want to get into their home
+while we are digging. The chill of the morning will make them less fierce.
+</p>
+<p>In front of the entrance-passage, in which the reed is still sticking, we dig a trench
+wide enough to allow us free movement. Then the side of this ditch is carefully <span class="pageNum" id="pb142">[<a href="#pb142">142</a>]</span>cut away, slice after slice, until, at a depth of about twenty inches, the Wasp’s
+nest is revealed, uninjured, slung from the roof of a spacious cavity.
+</p>
+<p>It is indeed a superb achievement, as large as a fair-sized pumpkin. It hangs free
+on every side except at the top, where various roots, mostly of couch-grass, penetrate
+the thickness of the wall and fasten the nest firmly. Its shape is round wherever
+the ground has been soft, and of the same consistency all through. In stony soil,
+where the Wasps meet with obstacles in their digging, the sphere becomes more or less
+misshapen.
+</p>
+<p>A space of a hand’s-breadth is always left open between the paper nest and the sides
+of the underground vault. This space is the wide street along which the builders move
+unhindered at their continual task of enlarging and strengthening the nest, and the
+passage that leads to the outer world opens into it. Underneath the nest is a much
+larger unoccupied space, rounded into a big basin, so that the wrapper of the nest
+can be enlarged as fresh cells are added. This cavity also serves as a dust-bin for
+refuse.
+</p>
+<p>The cavity was dug by the Wasps themselves. Of that there is no doubt; for holes so
+large and so regular do not exist ready-made. The original foundress of the nest may
+have seized on some cavity made by a Mole, to help her at the beginning; but the greater
+part of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb143">[<a href="#pb143">143</a>]</span>enormous vault was the work of the Wasps. Yet there is not a scrap of rubbish outside
+the entrance. Where is the mass of earth that has been removed?
+</p>
+<p>It has been spread over such a large surface of ground that it is unnoticed. Thousands
+and thousands of Wasps work at digging the cellar, and enlarging it as that becomes
+necessary. They fly up to the outer world, each carrying a particle of earth, which
+they drop on the ground at some distance from the nest, in all directions. Being scattered
+in this way the earth leaves no visible trace.
+</p>
+<p>The Wasp’s nest is made of a thin, flexible material like brown paper, formed of particles
+of wood. It is streaked with bands, of which the colour varies according to the wood
+used. If it were made in a single continuous sheet it would give little protection
+against the cold. But the Common Wasp, like the ballon-maker, knows that heat may
+be preserved by means of a cushion of air contained by several wrappers. So she makes
+her paper-pulp into broad scales, which overlap loosely and are laid on in numerous
+layers. The whole forms a coarse blanket, thick and spongy in texture and well filled
+with stagnant air. The temperature under this shelter must be truly tropical in hot
+weather.
+</p>
+<p>The fierce Hornet, chief of the Wasps, builds her nest on the same principle. In the
+hollow of a willow, or <span class="pageNum" id="pb144">[<a href="#pb144">144</a>]</span>within some empty granary, she makes, out of fragments of wood, a very brittle kind
+of striped yellow cardboard. Her nest is wrapped round with many layers of this substance,
+laid on in the form of broad convex scales which are welded to one another. Between
+them are wide intervals in which air is held motionless.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p144width" id="p144"><img src="images/p144.jpg" alt="COMMON WASPS" width="608" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>COMMON WASPS</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>The Wasp’s nest is made of a thin, flexible material like brown paper, formed of particles
+of wood</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>The Wasp, then, often acts in accordance with the laws of physics and geometry. She
+employs air, a non-conductor of heat, to keep her home warm; she made blankets before
+man thought of it; she builds the outer walls of the nest in the shape that gives
+her the largest amount of room in the smallest wrapper; and in the form of her cell,
+too, she economises space and material.
+</p>
+<p>And yet, clever as these wonderful architects are, they amaze us by their stupidity
+in the face of the smallest difficulty. On the one hand their instincts teach them
+to behave like men of science; but on the other it is plain that they are entirely
+without the power of reflection. I have convinced myself of this fact by various experiments.
+</p>
+<p>The Common Wasp has chanced to set up house beside one of the walks in my enclosure,
+which enables me to experiment with a bell-glass. In the open fields I could not use
+this appliance, because the boys of the <span class="corr" id="xd31e1578" title="Source: country-side">countryside</span> would soon smash it. One night, when all was dark and the Wasps had gone home, I
+placed the <span class="pageNum" id="pb145">[<a href="#pb145">145</a>]</span>glass over the entrance of the burrow, after first flattening the soil. When the Wasps
+began work again next morning and found themselves checked in their flight, would
+they succeed in making a passage under the rim of the glass? Would these sturdy creatures,
+who were capable of digging a spacious cavern, realise that a very short underground
+tunnel would set them free? That was the question.
+</p>
+<p>The next morning I found the bright sunlight falling on the bell-glass, and the workers
+ascending in crowds from underground, eager to go in search of provisions. They butted
+against the transparent wall, tumbled down, picked themselves up again, and whirled
+round and round in a crazy swarm. Some, weary of dancing, wandered peevishly at random
+and then re-entered their dwelling. Others took their places as the sun grew hotter.
+But not one of them, not a single one, scratched with her feet at the base of the
+glass circle. This means of escape was beyond them.
+</p>
+<p>Meanwhile a few Wasps who had spent the night out of doors were coming in from the
+fields. Round and round the bell-glass they flew; and at last, after much hesitation,
+one of them decided to dig under the edge. Others followed her example, a passage
+was easily opened, and the Wasps went in. Then I closed the passage with some earth.
+The narrow opening, if seen <span class="pageNum" id="pb146">[<a href="#pb146">146</a>]</span>from within, might help the Wasps to escape, and I wished to leave the prisoners the
+honour of winning their liberty.
+</p>
+<p>However poor the Wasps’ power of reasoning, I thought their escape was now probable.
+Those who had just entered would surely show the way; they would teach the others
+to dig below the wall of glass.
+</p>
+<p>I was too hasty. Of learning by experience or example there was not a sign. Inside
+the glass not an attempt was made to dig a tunnel. The insect population whirled round
+and round, but showed no enterprise. They floundered about, while every day numbers
+died from famine and heat. At the end of a week not one was left alive. A heap of
+corpses covered the ground.
+</p>
+<p>The Wasps returning from the field could find their way in, because the power of scenting
+their house through the soil, and searching for it, is one of their natural instincts,
+one of the means of defence given to them. There is no need for thought or reasoning
+here: the earthy obstacle has been familiar to every Wasp since Wasps first came into
+the world.
+</p>
+<p>But those who are within the bell-glass have no such instinct to help them. Their
+aim is to get into the light, and finding daylight in their transparent prison they
+think their aim is accomplished. In spite of constant <span class="pageNum" id="pb147">[<a href="#pb147">147</a>]</span>collisions with the glass they spend themselves in vainly trying to fly farther in
+the direction of the sunshine. There is nothing in the past to teach them what to
+do. They keep blindly to their familiar habits, and die.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">SOME OF THEIR HABITS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">If we open the thick envelope of the nest we shall find, inside, a number of combs,
+or layers of cells, lying one below the other and fastened together by solid pillars.
+The number of these layers varies. Towards the end of the season there may be ten,
+or even more. The opening of the cells is on the lower surface. In this strange world
+the young grow, sleep, and receive their food head downwards.
+</p>
+<p>The various storeys, or layers of combs, are divided by open spaces; and between the
+outer envelope and the stack of combs there are doorways through which every part
+can be easily reached. There is a continual coming and going of nurses, attending
+to the grubs in the cells. On one side of the outer wrapper is the gate of the city,
+a modest unadorned opening, lost among the thin scales of the envelope. Facing it
+is the entrance to the tunnel that leads from the cavity to the world at large.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb148">[<a href="#pb148">148</a>]</span></p>
+<p>In a Wasp community there is a large number of Wasps whose whole life is spent in
+work. It is their business to enlarge the nest as the population grows; and though
+they have no grubs of their own, they nurse the grubs in the cells with the greatest
+care and industry. Wishing to watch their operations, and also to see what would take
+place at the approach of winter, I placed under cover one October a few fragments
+of a nest, <span class="corr" id="xd31e1605" title="Source: contaking">containing</span> a large number of eggs and grubs, with about a hundred workers to take care of them.
+</p>
+<p>To make my inspection easier I separated the combs and placed them side by side, with
+the openings of the cells turned upwards. This arrangement, the reverse of the usual
+position, did not seem to annoy my prisoners, who soon recovered from the disturbance
+and set to work as if nothing had happened. In case they should wish to build I gave
+them a slip of soft wood; and I fed them with honey. The underground cave in which
+the nest hangs out of doors was represented by a large earthen pan under a wire-gauze
+cover. A removable cardboard dome provided darkness for the Wasps, and—when removed—light
+for me.
+</p>
+<p>The Wasps’ work went on as if it had never been interrupted. The worker-Wasps attended
+to the grubs and the building at the same time. They began to raise a wall round the
+most thickly populated combs; <span class="pageNum" id="pb149">[<a href="#pb149">149</a>]</span>and it seemed as though they might intend to build a new envelope, to replace the
+one ruined by my spade. But they were not repairing; they were simply carrying on
+the work from the point at which I interrupted it. Over about a third of the comb
+they made an arched roof of paper scales, which would have been joined to the envelope
+of the nest if it had been intact. The tent they made sheltered only a small part
+of the disk of cells.
+</p>
+<p>As for the wood I provided for them, they did not touch it. To this raw material,
+which would have been troublesome to work, they preferred the old cells that were
+no longer in use. In these the fibres were already prepared; and, with a little saliva
+and a little grinding in their mandibles, they turned them into pulp of the highest
+quality. The uninhabited cells were nibbled into pieces, and out of the ruins a sort
+of canopy was built. New cells could be made in the same way if necessary.
+</p>
+<p>Even more interesting than this roofing-work is the feeding of the grubs. One could
+never weary of the sight of the rough fighters turned into tender nurses. The barracks
+become a <i>crêche</i>. With what care those grubs are reared! If we watch one of the busy Wasps we shall
+see her, with her crop swollen with honey, halt in front of a cell. With a thoughtful
+air she bends <span class="pageNum" id="pb150">[<a href="#pb150">150</a>]</span>her head into the opening, and touches the grub with the tip of her antenna. The grub
+wakes and gapes at her, like a fledgling when the mother-bird returns to the nest
+with food.
+</p>
+<p>For a moment the awakened larva swings its head to and fro: it is blind, and is trying
+to feel the food brought to it. The two mouths meet; a drop of syrup passes from the
+nurse’s mouth to the nurseling’s. That is enough for the moment: now for the next
+Wasp-baby. The nurse moves on, to continue her duties elsewhere.
+</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the grub is licking the base of its own neck. For, while it is being fed,
+there appears a temporary swelling on its chest, which acts as a bib, and catches
+whatever trickles down from the mouth. After swallowing the chief part of the meal
+the grub gathers up the crumbs that have fallen on its bib. Then the swelling disappears;
+and the grub, withdrawing a little way into its cell, resumes its sweet slumbers.
+</p>
+<p>When fed in my cage the Wasp-grubs have their heads up, and what falls from their
+mouths collects naturally on their bibs. When fed in the nest they have their heads
+down. But I have no doubt that even in this position the bib serves its purpose.
+</p>
+<p>By slightly bending its head the grub can always deposit on the projecting bib a portion
+of the overflowing mouthful, which is sticky enough to remain there. <span class="pageNum" id="pb151">[<a href="#pb151">151</a>]</span>Moreover, it is quite possible that the nurse herself places a portion of her helping
+on this spot. Whether it be above or below the mouth, right way up or upside down,
+the bib fulfils its office because of the sticky nature of the food. It is a temporary
+saucer which shortens the work of serving out the rations, and enables the grub to
+feed in a more or less leisurely fashion and without too much gluttony.
+</p>
+<p>In the open country, late in the year when fruit is scarce, the grubs are mostly fed
+upon minced Fly; but in my cages everything is refused but honey. Both nurses and
+nurselings seem to thrive on this diet, and if any intruder ventures too near to the
+combs he is doomed. Wasps, it appears, are far from hospitable. Even the Polistes,
+an insect who is absolutely like a Wasp in shape and colour, is at once recognised
+and mobbed if she approaches the honey the Wasps are sipping. Her appearance takes
+nobody in for a moment, and unless she hastily retires she will meet with a violent
+death. No, it is not a good thing to enter a Wasps’ nest, even when the stranger wears
+the same uniform, pursues the same industry, and is almost a member of the same corporation.
+</p>
+<p>Again and again I have seen the savage reception given to strangers. If the stranger
+be of sufficient importance he is stabbed, and his body is dragged from the nest and
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb152">[<a href="#pb152">152</a>]</span>flung into the refuse-heap below. But the poisoned dagger seems to be reserved for
+great occasions. If I throw the grub of a Saw-fly among the Wasps they show great
+surprise at the black-and-green dragon; they snap at it boldly, and wound it, but
+without stinging it. They try to haul it away. The dragon resists, anchoring itself
+to the comb by its hooks, holding on now by its fore-legs and now by its hind-legs.
+At last the grub, however, weakened by its wounds, is torn from the comb and dragged
+bleeding to the refuse-pit. It has taken a couple of hours to dislodge it.
+</p>
+<p>Supposing, on the other hand, I throw on to the combs a certain imposing grub that
+lives under the bark of cherry-trees, five or six Wasps will at once prick it with
+their stings. In a couple of minutes it is dead. But the <span class="corr" id="xd31e1635" title="Source: hugh">huge</span> dead body is much too heavy to be carried out of the nest. So the Wasps, finding
+they cannot move the grub, eat it where it lies, or at least reduce its weight till
+they can drag the remains outside the walls.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THEIR SAD END</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">Protected in this fierce way against the invasion of intruders, and fed with excellent
+honey, the grubs in my cage prosper greatly. But of course there are exceptions. <span class="pageNum" id="pb153">[<a href="#pb153">153</a>]</span>In the Wasps’ nest, as everywhere, there are weaklings who are cut down before their
+time.
+</p>
+<p>I see these puny sufferers refuse their food and slowly pine away. The nurses perceive
+it even more clearly. They bend their heads over the invalid, sound it with their
+antennæ, and pronounce it incurable. Then the creature at the point of death is torn
+ruthlessly from its cell and dragged outside the nest. In the brutal commonwealth
+of the Wasps the invalid is merely a piece of rubbish, to be got rid of as soon as
+possible for fear of contagion. Nor indeed is this the worst. As winter draws near
+the Wasps foresee their fate. They know their end is at hand.
+</p>
+<p>The first cold nights of November bring a change in the nest. The building proceeds
+with diminished enthusiasm; the visits to the pool of honey are less constant. Household
+duties are relaxed. Grubs gaping with hunger receive tardy relief, or are even neglected.
+Profound uneasiness seizes upon the nurses. Their former devotion is succeeded by
+indifference, which soon turns to dislike. What is the good of continuing attentions
+which soon will be impossible? A time of famine is coming; the nurselings in any case
+must die a tragic death. So the tender nurses become savage executioners.
+</p>
+<p>“Let us leave no orphans,” they say to themselves; <span class="pageNum" id="pb154">[<a href="#pb154">154</a>]</span>“no one would care for them after we are gone. Let us kill everything, eggs and grubs
+alike. A violent end is better than a slow death by starvation.”
+</p>
+<p>A massacre follows. The grubs are seized by the scruff of the neck, brutally torn
+from their cells, dragged out of the nest, and thrown into the refuse-heap at the
+bottom of the cave. The nurses, or workers, root them out of their cells as violently
+as though they were strangers or dead bodies. They tug at them savagely and tear them.
+Then the eggs are ripped open and devoured.
+</p>
+<p>Before much longer the nurses themselves, the executioners, are languidly dragging
+what remains of their lives. Day by day, with a curiosity mingled with emotion, I
+watch the end of my insects. The workers die suddenly. They come to the surface, slip
+down, fall on their backs and rise no more, as if they were struck by lightning. They
+have had their day; they are slain by age, that merciless poison. Even so does a piece
+of clockwork become motionless when its mainspring has unwound its last spiral.
+</p>
+<p>The workers are old: but the mothers are the last to be born into the nest, and have
+all the vigour of youth. And so, when winter sickness seizes them, they are capable
+of a certain resistance. Those whose end is near are easily distinguished from the
+others by the disorder <span class="pageNum" id="pb155">[<a href="#pb155">155</a>]</span>of their appearance. Their backs are dusty. While they are well they dust themselves
+without ceasing, and their black-and-yellow coats are kept perfectly glossy. Those
+who are ailing are careless of cleanliness; they stand motionless in the sun or wander
+languidly about. They no longer brush their clothes.
+</p>
+<p>This indifference to dress is a bad sign. Two or three days later the dusty female
+leaves the nest for the last time. She goes outside, to enjoy yet a little of the
+sunlight; presently she slides quietly to the ground and does not get up again. She
+declines to die in her beloved paper home, where the code of the Wasps ordains absolute
+cleanliness. The dying Wasp performs her own funeral rites by dropping herself into
+the pit at the bottom of the cavern. For reasons of health these stoics refuse to
+die in the actual house, among the combs. The last survivors retain this repugnance
+to the very end. It is a law that never falls into disuse, however greatly reduced
+the population may be.
+</p>
+<p>My cage becomes emptier day by day, notwithstanding the mildness of the room, and
+notwithstanding the saucer of honey at which the able-bodied come to sip. At Christmas
+I have only a dozen females left. On the sixth of January the last of them perishes.
+</p>
+<p>Whence arises this mortality, which mows down the whole of my wasps? They have not
+suffered from <span class="pageNum" id="pb156">[<a href="#pb156">156</a>]</span>famine: they have not suffered from cold: they have not suffered from home-sickness.
+Then what have they died of?
+</p>
+<p>We must not blame their captivity. The same thing happens in the open country. Various
+nests I have inspected at the end of December all show the same condition. The vast
+majority of Wasps must die, apparently, not by accident, nor illness, nor the inclemency
+of the season, but by an inevitable destiny, which destroys them as energetically
+as it brings them into life. And it is well for us that it is so. One female Wasp
+is enough to found a city of thirty thousand inhabitants. If all were to survive,
+what a scourge they would be! The Wasps would tyrannise over the countryside.
+</p>
+<p>In the end the nest itself perishes. A certain Caterpillar which later on becomes
+a mean-looking Moth; a tiny reddish Beetle; and a scaly grub clad in gold velvet,
+are the creatures that demolish it. They gnaw the floors of the various storeys, and
+crumble the whole dwelling. A few pinches of dust, a few shreds of brown paper are
+all that remain, by the return of spring, of the Wasps’ city and its thirty thousand
+inhabitants.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb157">[<a href="#pb157">157</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch11" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e270">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XI</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE <span class="corr" id="xd31e1675" title="Source: AVENTURES">ADVENTURES</span> OF A GRUB</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE YOUNG SITARIS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The high banks of sandy clay in the country round about Carpentras are the favourite
+haunts of a host of Bees and Wasps, those lovers of a sunny aspect and of soil that
+is easy to dig in. Here, in the month of May, two Bees, both of them Mason-bees, builders
+of subterranean cells, are especially abundant. One of them builds at the entrance
+of her dwelling an advanced fortification, an earthly cylinder, wrought in open work
+and curved, of the width and length of a man’s finger. When it is peopled with many
+Bees one stands amazed at the elaborate ornamentation formed by all these hanging
+fingers of clay.
+</p>
+<p>The other Bee, who is very much more frequently seen and is called <i>Anthophora pilipes</i>, leaves the opening of her corridor bare. The chinks between the stones in old walls
+and <span class="corr" id="xd31e1687" title="Source: abondoned">abandoned</span> hovels, or exposed surfaces of sand stone or marl, are found suitable for her labours;
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb158">[<a href="#pb158">158</a>]</span>but the favourite spots, those to which the greatest number of swarms resort, are
+straight stretches of ground exposed to the south, such as occur in the cuttings of
+deeply-sunken roads. Here, over areas many yards in width, the wall is drilled with
+a multitude of holes, which give to the earthy mass the look of some enormous sponge.
+These round holes might have been made with a gimlet, so regular are they. Each is
+the entrance to a winding corridor, which runs to the depth of four or five inches.
+The cells are at the far end. If we wish to watch the labours of the industrious Bee
+we must visit her workshop during the latter half of May. Then—but at a respectful
+distance—we may see, in all its bewildering activity, the tumultuous, buzzing swarm,
+busied with the building and provisioning of the cells.
+</p>
+<p>But it has been most often during the months of August and September, the happy months
+of the summer holidays, that I have visited the banks inhabited by the Anthophora.
+At this season all is silent near the nests: the work has long been completed: and
+numbers of Spiders’ webs line the crevices or plunge their silken tubes into the Bees’
+corridors. That is no reason, however, for hastily abandoning the city that was once
+so full of life and bustle, and now appears deserted. A few inches below the surface,
+thousands of grubs are imprisoned in their cells of clay, resting until the coming
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb159">[<a href="#pb159">159</a>]</span>spring. Surely these grubs, which are paralysed and incapable of self-defence, must
+be a temptation—fat little morsels as they are—to some kind of parasite, some kind
+of insect stranger in search of prey. The matter is worth inquiring into.
+</p>
+<p>Two facts are at once noticeable. Some dismal-looking Flies, half black and half white,
+are flying indolently from gallery to gallery, evidently with the object of laying
+their eggs there. Many of them are hanging dry and lifeless in the Spiders’ webs.
+At other places the entire surface of a bank is hung with the dried corpses of a certain
+Beetle, called the Sitaris. Among the corpses, however, are a few live Beetles, both
+male and female. The female Beetle invariably disappears into the Bees’ dwelling.
+Without a doubt she, too, lays her eggs there.
+</p>
+<p>If we give a few blows of the pick to the surface of the bank we shall find out something
+more about these things. During the early days of August this is what we shall see:
+the cells forming the top layer are unlike those at a greater depth. The difference
+is owing to the fact that the same establishment is used by two kinds of Bee, the
+Anthophora and the Osmia.
+</p>
+<p>The Anthophoræ are the actual pioneers. The work of boring the galleries is wholly
+theirs, and their cells are right at the end. If they, for any reason, leave the <span class="pageNum" id="pb160">[<a href="#pb160">160</a>]</span>outer cells, the Osmia comes in and takes possession of them. She divides the corridors
+into unequal and inartistic cells by means of rough earthen partitions, her only idea
+of masonry.
+</p>
+<p>The cells of the Anthophora are faultlessly regular and perfectly finished. They are
+works of art, cut out of the very substance of the earth, well out of reach of all
+ordinary enemies; and for this reason the larva of this Bee has no means of spinning
+a cocoon. It lies naked in the cell, whose inner surface is polished like stucco.
+</p>
+<p>In the Osmia’s cells, however, means of defence are required, because they are at
+the surface of the soil, are roughly made, and are badly protected by their thin partitions.
+So the Osmia’s grubs enclose themselves in a very strong cocoon, which preserves them
+both from the rough sides of their shapeless cells and from the jaws of various enemies
+who prowl about the galleries. It is easy, then, in a bank inhabited by these two
+Bees, to recognise the cells belonging to each. The Anthophora’s cells contain a naked
+grub: those of the Osmia contain a grub enclosed in a cocoon.
+</p>
+<p>Now each of these two Bees has its own especial parasite, or uninvited guest. The
+parasite of the Osmia is the black-and-white Fly who is to be seen so often at the
+entrance to the galleries, intent on laying her eggs within them. The parasite of
+the Anthophora is the <span class="pageNum" id="pb161">[<a href="#pb161">161</a>]</span>Sitaris, the Beetle whose corpses appear in such quantities on the surface of the
+bank.
+</p>
+<p>If the layer of Osmia-cells be removed from the nest we can observe the cells of the
+Anthophora. Some will be occupied by larvæ, some by the perfect insect, and some—indeed
+many—will contain a singular egg-shaped shell, divided into segments with projecting
+breathing-pores. This shell is extremely thin and fragile; it is amber-coloured, and
+so transparent that one can distinguish quite plainly through its sides a full-grown
+Sitaris, struggling as though to set herself at liberty.
+</p>
+<p>What is this curious shell, which does not appear to be a Beetle’s shell at all? And
+how can this parasite reach a cell which seems to be inaccessible because of its position,
+and in which the most careful examination under the magnifying-glass reveals no sign
+of violence? Three years of close observation enabled me to answer these questions,
+and to add one of its most astonishing chapters to the story of insect life. Here
+is the result of my inquiries.
+</p>
+<p>The Sitaris in the full-grown state lives only for a day or two, and its whole life
+is passed at the entrance to the Anthophora’s galleries. It has no concern but the
+reproduction of the species. It is provided with the usual digestive organs, but I
+have grave reasons to doubt whether it actually takes any nourishment whatever. <span class="pageNum" id="pb162">[<a href="#pb162">162</a>]</span>The female’s only thought is to lay her eggs. This done, she dies. The male, after
+cowering in a crevice for a day or two, also perishes. This is the origin of all those
+corpses swinging in the Spiders’ web, with which the neighbourhood of the Anthophora’s
+dwelling is upholstered.
+</p>
+<p>At first sight one would expect that the Sitaris, when laying her eggs, would go from
+cell to cell, confiding an egg to each of the Bee-grubs. But when, in the course of
+my observations, I searched the Bees’ galleries, I invariably found the eggs of the
+Sitaris gathered in a heap inside the entrance, at a distance of an inch or two from
+the opening. They are white, oval, and very small, and they stick together slightly.
+As for their number, I do not believe I am exaggerating when I estimate it at two
+thousand at least.
+</p>
+<p>Thus, contrary to what one was to some extent entitled to suppose, the eggs are not
+laid in the cells of the Bee; they are simply dumped in a heap inside the doorway
+of her dwelling. Nay more, the mother does not make any protective structure for them;
+she takes no pains to shield them from the rigours of winter; she does not even attempt
+to stop up the entrance-lobby in which she has placed them, and so protect them from
+the thousand enemies that threaten them. For as long <span class="pageNum" id="pb163">[<a href="#pb163">163</a>]</span>as the frosts of winter have not arrived these open galleries are trodden by Spiders
+and other plunderers, for whom the eggs would make an agreeable meal.
+</p>
+<p>The better to observe them, I placed a number of the eggs in boxes; and when they
+hatched out about the end of September I imagined they would at once start off in
+search of an Anthophora-cell. I was entirely wrong. The young grubs—little black creatures
+no more than the twenty-fifth of an inch long—did not move away, though provided with
+vigorous legs. They remained higgledy-piggledy, mixed up with the skins of the eggs
+whence they came. In vain I placed within their reach lumps of earth containing open
+Bee-cells: nothing would tempt them to move. If I forcibly removed a few from the
+common heap they at once hurried back to it in order to hide themselves among the
+rest.
+</p>
+<p>At last, to assure myself that the Sitaris-grubs, in the free state, do not disperse
+after they are hatched, I went in the winter to Carpentras and inspected the banks
+inhabited by the Anthophoræ. There, as in my boxes, I found the grubs all piled up
+in heaps, all mixed up with the skins of the eggs.
+</p>
+<p>I was no nearer answering the question: how does the Sitaris get into the Bees’ cells,
+and into a shell that does not belong to it?
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb164">[<a href="#pb164">164</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE FIRST ADVENTURE</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The appearance of the young Sitaris showed me at once that its habits must be peculiar.
+It could not, I saw, be called on to move on an ordinary surface. The spot where this
+larva has to live evidently exposes it to the risk of many dangerous falls, since,
+in order to prevent them, it is equipped with a pair of powerful mandibles, curved
+and sharp; robust legs which end in a long and very mobile claw; a variety of bristles
+and probes; and a couple of strong spikes with sharp, hard points—an elaborate mechanism,
+like a sort of ploughshare, capable of biting into the most highly polished surface.
+Nor is this all. It is further provided with a sticky liquid, sufficiently adhesive
+to hold it in position without the help of other appliances. In vain I racked my brains
+to guess what the substance might be, so shifting, so uncertain, and so perilous,
+which the young Sitaris is destined to inhabit. I waited with eager impatience for
+the return of the warm weather.
+</p>
+<p>At the end of April the young grubs imprisoned in my cages, hitherto lying motionless
+and hidden in the spongy heap of egg-skins, suddenly began to move. They scattered,
+and ran about in all directions through the boxes and jars in which they have passed
+the winter. <span class="pageNum" id="pb165">[<a href="#pb165">165</a>]</span>Their hurried movements and untiring energy showed they were in search of something,
+and the natural thing for them to seek was food. For these grubs were hatched at the
+end of September, and since then, that is to say for seven long months, they had taken
+no nourishment, although they were by no means in a state of torpor. From the moment
+of their hatching they are doomed, though full of life, to an absolute fast lasting
+for seven months; and when I saw their excitement I naturally supposed that an imperious
+hunger had set them bustling in that fashion.
+</p>
+<p>The food they desired could only be the contents of the Anthophora’s cells, since
+at a later stage the Sitaris is found in those cells. Now these contents are limited
+to honey and Bee-grubs.
+</p>
+<p>I offered them some cells containing larvæ: I even slipped the Sitares into the cells,
+and did all sorts of things to tempt their appetite. My efforts were fruitless. Then
+I tried honey. In hunting for cells provisioned with honey I lost a good part of the
+month of May. Having found them I removed the Bee-grub from some of them, and laid
+the Sitaris-grub on the surface of the honey. Never did experiment break down so completely!
+Far from eating the honey, the grubs became entangled in the sticky mass and perished
+in it, suffocated. “I have offered you larvæ, cells, <span class="pageNum" id="pb166">[<a href="#pb166">166</a>]</span>honey!” I cried in despair. “Then what do you want, you fiendish little creatures?”
+</p>
+<p>Well, in the end I found out what they wanted. They wanted the Anthophora herself
+to carry them into the cells!
+</p>
+<p>When April comes, as I said before, the heap of grubs at the entrance to the Bees’
+cells begins to show signs of activity. A few days later they are no longer there.
+Strange as it may appear, they are all careering about the country, sometimes at a
+great distance, clinging like grim death to the fleece of a Bee!
+</p>
+<p>When the Anthophoræ pass by the entrance to their cells, on their way either in or
+out, the young Sitaris-grub, who is lying in wait there, attaches himself to one of
+the Bees. He wriggles into the fur and clutches it so firmly that he need not fear
+a fall during the long journeys of the insect that carries him. By thus attaching
+himself to the Bee the Sitaris intends to get himself carried, at the right moment,
+into a cell supplied with honey.
+</p>
+<p>One might at first sight believe that these adventurous grubs derive food for a time
+from the Bee’s body. But not at all. The young Sitares, embedded in the fleece, at
+right angles to the body of the Anthophora, head inwards, tail outwards, do not stir
+from the spot they have selected, a point near the Bee’s shoulders. <span class="pageNum" id="pb167">[<a href="#pb167">167</a>]</span>We do not see them wandering from spot to spot, exploring the Bee’s body, seeking
+the part where the skin is most delicate, as they would certainly do if they were
+really feeding on the insect. On the contrary, they are always fixed on the toughest
+and hardest part of the Bee’s body, a little below the insertion of the wings, or
+sometimes on the head; and they remain absolutely motionless, clinging to a single
+hair. It seems to me undeniable that the young Sitares settle on the Bee merely to
+make her carry them into the cells that she will soon be building.
+</p>
+<p>But in the meantime the future parasites must hold tight to the fleece of their hostess,
+in spite of her rapid flights among the flowers, in spite of her rubbing against the
+walls of the galleries when she enters to take shelter, and in spite, above all, of
+the brushing which she must often give herself with her feet, to dust herself and
+keep spick and span. We were wondering a little time ago what the dangerous, shifting
+thing could be on which the grub would have to establish itself. That thing is the
+hair of a Bee who makes a thousand rapid journeys, now diving into her narrow galleries,
+now forcing her way down the tight throat of a flower.
+</p>
+<p>We can now quite understand the use of the two spikes, which close together and are
+able to take hold of hair more easily than the most delicate tweezers. We <span class="pageNum" id="pb168">[<a href="#pb168">168</a>]</span>can see the full value of the sticky liquid that helps the tiny creature to hold fast;
+and we can realise that the elastic probes and bristles on the legs serve to penetrate
+the Bee’s down and anchor the grub in position. The more one considers this arrangement,
+which seems so useless as the grub drags itself laboriously over a smooth surface,
+the more does one marvel at all the machinery which this fragile creature carries
+about to save it from falling during its adventurous rides.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE SECOND ADVENTURE</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">One 21st of May I went to Carpentras, determined to see, if possible, the entrance
+of the Sitaris into the Bee’s cells.
+</p>
+<p>The works were in full swing. In front of a high expanse of earth a swarm of Bees,
+stimulated by the sun, was dancing a crazy ballet. From the tumultuous heart of the
+cloud rose a monotonous, threatening murmur, while my bewildered eye tried to follow
+the movements of the throng. Quick as a lightning-flash thousands of Anthophoræ were
+flying hither and thither in search of booty: thousands of others, also, were arriving,
+laden with honey, or with mortar for their building.
+</p>
+<p>At that time I knew comparatively little about these insects. It seemed to me that
+any one who ventured <span class="pageNum" id="pb169">[<a href="#pb169">169</a>]</span>into the swarm, or—above all—who laid a rash hand on the Bees’ dwellings, would instantly
+be stabbed by a thousand stings. I had once observed the combs of the Hornet too closely;
+and a shiver of fear passed through me.
+</p>
+<p>Yet, to find out what I wished to know, I must needs penetrate that fearsome swarm;
+I must stand for whole hours, perhaps all day, watching the works I intended to upset;
+lens in hand, I must examine, unmoved amid the whirl, the things that were happening
+in the cells. Moreover, the use of a mask, of gloves, of a covering of any kind, was
+out of the question, for my fingers and eyes must be absolutely free. No matter: even
+though I should leave the Bee’s nest with my face swollen beyond recognition, I was
+determined that day to solve the problem that had puzzled me too long.
+</p>
+<p>Having caught a few stray Anthophoræ with my net, I satisfied myself that the Sitaris-larvae
+were perched, as I expected, on the Bees.
+</p>
+<p>I buttoned my coat tightly and entered the heart of the swarm. With a few blows of
+the mattock I secured a lump of earth, and to my great surprise found myself uninjured.
+A second expedition, longer than the first, had the same result: not a Bee touched
+me with her sting. After this I remained permanently in front of the nest, removing
+lumps of earth, spilling the honey, <span class="pageNum" id="pb170">[<a href="#pb170">170</a>]</span>and crushing the Bees, without arousing anything worse than a louder hum. For the
+Anthophora is a pacific creature. When disturbed in the cells it leaves them hastily
+and escapes, sometimes even mortally wounded, without using its venomous sting except
+when it is seized and handled.
+</p>
+<p>Thanks to this unexpected lack of spirit in the Mason-bee, I was able for hours to
+investigate her cells at my leisure, seated on a stone in the midst of the murmuring
+and distracted swarm, without receiving a single sting, though I took no precautions
+whatever. Country folk, happening to pass and seeing me seated thus calmly amid the
+Bees, stopped aghast to ask me if I had bewitched them.
+</p>
+<p>In this way I examined the cells. Some were still open, and contained only a more
+or less complete store of honey. Others were closely sealed with an earthen lid. The
+contents of these varied greatly. Sometimes I found the larva of a Bee; sometimes
+another, fatter kind of larva; at other times honey with an egg floating on the surface.
+The egg was of a beautiful white, and was shaped like a cylinder with a slight curve,
+a fifth or sixth of an inch in length—the egg of the Anthophora.
+</p>
+<p>In a few cells I found this egg floating all alone on the surface of the honey: in
+others, very many others, I saw, <span class="pageNum" id="pb171">[<a href="#pb171">171</a>]</span>lying on the Bee’s egg as though on a sort of raft, a young Sitaris-grub. Its shape
+and size were those of the creature when it is hatched. Here, then, was the enemy
+within the gates.
+</p>
+<p>When and how did it get in? In none of the cells was I able to detect any chink by
+which it could have entered: they were all sealed quite tightly. The parasite must
+have established itself in the honey-warehouse before the warehouse was closed. On
+the other hand, the open cells, full of honey but as yet without an egg, never contain
+a Sitaris. The grub must therefore gain admittance either while the Bee is laying
+the egg, or else afterwards, while she is busy plastering up the door. My experiments
+have convinced me that the Sitaris enters the cell in the very second when the egg
+is laid on the surface of the honey.
+</p>
+<p>If I take a cell full of honey, with an egg floating in it, and place it in a glass
+tube with some Sitaris-grubs, they very rarely venture inside it. They cannot reach
+the raft in safety: the honey that surrounds it is too dangerous. If one of them by
+chance approaches the honey it tries to escape as soon as it sees the sticky nature
+of the stuff under its feet. It often ends by falling back into the cell, where it
+dies of suffocation. It is therefore certain that the grub does not leave the fleece
+of the Bee <span class="pageNum" id="pb172">[<a href="#pb172">172</a>]</span>when the latter is in her cell or near it, in order to make a rush for the honey;
+for this honey would inevitably cause its death, if it so much as touched the surface.
+</p>
+<p>We must remember that the young Sitaris which is found in a closed cell is always
+placed on the egg of the Bee. This egg not only serves as a raft for the tiny creature
+floating on a very treacherous lake, but also provides it with its first meal. To
+get at this egg, in the centre of the lake of honey, to reach this raft which is also
+its first food, the young grub must somehow contrive to avoid the fatal touch of the
+honey.
+</p>
+<p>There is only one way in which this can be done. The clever grub, at the very moment
+when the Bee is laying her egg, slips off the Bee and on to the egg, and with it reaches
+the surface of the honey. The egg is too small to hold more than one grub, and that
+is why we never find more than one Sitaris in a cell. Such a performance on the part
+of a grub seems extraordinarily inspired—but then the study of insects constantly
+gives us examples of such inspiration.
+</p>
+<p>When dropping her egg upon the honey, then, the Anthophora at the same time drops
+into her cell the mortal enemy of her race. She carefully plasters the lid which closes
+the entrance to the cell, and all is done. A second cell is built beside it, probably
+to suffer the same fate; and so on until all the parasites sheltered by <span class="pageNum" id="pb173">[<a href="#pb173">173</a>]</span>her fleece are comfortably housed. Let us leave the unhappy mother to continue her
+fruitless task, and turn our attention to the young larva which has so cleverly secured
+for itself board and lodging.
+</p>
+<p>Let us suppose that we remove the lid from a cell in which the egg, recently laid,
+supports a Sitaris-grub. The egg is intact and in perfect condition. But now the work
+of destruction begins. The grub, a tiny black speck which we see running over the
+white surface of the egg, at last stops and balances itself firmly on its six legs;
+then, seizing the delicate skin of the egg with the sharp hooks of its mandibles,
+it tugs at it violently till it breaks and spills the contents. These contents the
+grub eagerly drinks up. Thus the first stroke of the parasite’s mandibles is aimed
+at the destruction of the Bee’s egg.
+</p>
+<p>This is a very wise precaution on the part of the Sitaris-grub! It will have to feed
+on the honey in the cell: the Bee’s grub which would come out of the egg would also
+require the honey: there is not enough for two. So—quick!—a bite at the egg, and the
+difficulty is removed.
+</p>
+<p>Moreover, another reason for the destruction of the egg is that special tastes compel
+the young Sitaris to make its first meals of it. The tiny creature begins by greedily
+drinking the juices which the torn wrapper of <span class="pageNum" id="pb174">[<a href="#pb174">174</a>]</span>the egg allows to escape. For several days it continues to rip the envelope gradually
+open, and to feed on the liquid that trickles from it. Meanwhile it never touches
+the honey that surrounds it. The Bee’s egg is absolutely necessary to the Sitaris-grub,
+not merely as a boat, but also as nourishment.
+</p>
+<p>At the end of a week the egg is nothing but a dry skin. The first meal is finished.
+The Sitaris-grub, which is now twice as large as before, splits open along the back,
+and through this slit the second form of this singular Beetle falls on the surface
+of the honey. Its cast skin remains on the raft, and will presently disappear with
+it beneath the waves of honey.
+</p>
+<p>Here ends the history of the first form adopted by the Sitaris.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb175">[<a href="#pb175">175</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch12" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e278">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XII</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE CRICKET</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE HOUSEHOLDER</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Field Cricket, the inhabitant of the meadows, is almost as famous as the Cicada,
+and figures among the limited but glorious number of the classic insects. He owes
+this honour to his song and his house. One thing alone is lacking to complete his
+renown. The master of the art of making animals talk, La Fontaine, gives him hardly
+two lines.
+</p>
+<p>Florian, the other French writer of fables, gives us a story of a Cricket, but it
+lacks the simplicity of truth and the saving salt of humour. Besides, it represents
+the Cricket as discontented, bewailing his condition! This is a preposterous idea,
+for all who have studied him know, on the contrary, that he is very well pleased with
+his own talent and his own burrow. And indeed, at the end of the story, Florian makes
+him admit:
+</p>
+<div class="lgouter">
+<p class="line">“My snug little home is a place of delight;
+</p>
+<p class="line">If you want to live happy, live hidden from sight!”</p>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb176">[<a href="#pb176">176</a>]</span></p>
+<p>I find more force and truth in some verses by a friend of mine, of which these are
+a translation:
+</p>
+<div class="lgouter">
+<div class="lg">
+<p class="line">Among the beasts a tale is told
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">How a poor Cricket ventured nigh
+</p>
+<p class="line">His door to catch the sun’s warm gold
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">And saw a radiant Butterfly.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="lg">
+<p class="line">She passed with tails thrown proudly back
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">And long gay rows of crescents blue,
+</p>
+<p class="line">Brave yellow stars and bands of black,
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">The lordliest Fly that ever flew.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="lg">
+<p class="line">“Ah, fly away,” the hermit said,
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">“Daylong among your flowers to roam;
+</p>
+<p class="line">Nor daisies white nor roses red
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">Will compensate my lowly home.”
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="lg">
+<p class="line">True, all too true! There came a storm
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">And caught the Fly within its flood,
+</p>
+<p class="line">Staining her broken velvet form
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">And covering her wings with mud.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="lg">
+<p class="line">The Cricket, sheltered from the rain,
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">Chirped, and looked on with tranquil eye;
+</p>
+<p class="line">For him the thunder pealed in vain,
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">The gale and torrent passed him by.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="lg">
+<p class="line">Then shun the world, nor take your fill
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">Of any of its joys or flowers;
+</p>
+<p class="line">A lowly <span class="corr" id="xd31e1853" title="Source: fire-side">fireside</span>, calm and still,
+</p>
+<p class="line xd31e1814">At least will grant you tearless hours!<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e1858src" href="#xd31e1858">1</a></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb177">[<a href="#pb177">177</a>]</span></p>
+<p>There I recognise my Cricket. I see him curling his antennæ on the threshold of his
+burrow, keeping himself cool in front and warm at the back. He is not jealous of the
+Butterfly; on the contrary, he pities her, with that air of mocking commiseration
+we often see in those who have houses of their own when they are talking to those
+who have none. Far from complaining, he is very well satisfied both with his house
+and his violin. He is a true philosopher: he knows the vanity of things and feels
+the charm of a modest retreat away from the riot of pleasure-seekers.
+</p>
+<p>Yes, the description is about right, as far as it goes. But the Cricket is still waiting
+for the few lines needed to bring his merits before the public; and since La Fontaine
+neglected him, he will have to go on waiting a long time.
+</p>
+<p>To me, as a naturalist, the important point in the two fables is the burrow on which
+the moral is founded. Florian speaks of the snug retreat; the other praises his lowly
+home. It is the dwelling, therefore, that above all compels attention, even that of
+the poet, who as a rule cares little for realities.
+</p>
+<p>In this matter, indeed, the Cricket is extraordinary. Of all our insects he is the
+only one who, when full-grown, possesses a fixed home, the reward of his own industry.
+During the bad season of the year, most of <span class="pageNum" id="pb178">[<a href="#pb178">178</a>]</span>the others burrow or skulk in some temporary refuge, a refuge obtained free of cost
+and abandoned without regret. Several of them create marvels with a view to settling
+their family: cotton satchels, baskets made of leaves, towers of cement. Some live
+permanently in ambush, lying in wait for their prey. The Tiger-beetle, for instance,
+digs himself a perpendicular hole, which he stops up with his flat, bronze head. If
+any other insect steps on this deceptive trap-door it immediately tips up, and the
+unhappy wayfarer disappears into the gulf. The Ant-lion makes a slanting funnel in
+the sand. Its victim, the Ant, slides down the slant and is then stoned, from the
+bottom of the funnel, by the hunter, who turns his neck into a catapult. But these
+are all temporary refuges or traps.
+</p>
+<p>The laboriously constructed home, in which the insect settles down with no intention
+of moving, either in the happy spring or in the woeful winter season; the real manor-house,
+built for peace and comfort, and not as a hunting-box or a nursery—this is known to
+the Cricket alone. On some sunny, grassy slope he is the owner of a hermitage. While
+all the others lead vagabond lives, sleeping in the open air or under the casual shelter
+of a dead leaf or a stone, or the pealing bark of an old tree, he is a privileged
+person with a permanent address.
+</p>
+<p>The making of a home is a serious problem. It has <span class="pageNum" id="pb179">[<a href="#pb179">179</a>]</span>been solved by the Cricket, by the Rabbit, and lastly by man. In my neighbourhood
+the Fox and the Badger have holes, which are largely formed by the irregularities
+of the rock. A few repairs, and the dug-out is completed. The Rabbit is cleverer than
+these, for he builds his house by burrowing wherever he pleases, when there is no
+natural passage that allows him to settle down free of all trouble.
+</p>
+<p>The Cricket is cleverer than any of them. He scorns chance refuges, and always chooses
+the site of his home carefully, in well-drained ground, with a pleasant sunny aspect.
+He refuses to make use of ready-made caves that are inconvenient and rough: he digs
+every bit of his villa, from the entrance-hall to the back-room.
+</p>
+<p>I see no one above him, in the art of house-building, except man; and even man, before
+mixing mortar to hold stones together, or kneading clay to coat his hut of branches,
+fought with wild beasts for a refuge in the rocks. Why is it that a special instinct
+is bestowed on one particular creature? Here is one of the humblest of creatures able
+to lodge himself to perfection. He has a home, an advantage unknown to many civilised
+beings; he has a peaceful retreat, the first condition of comfort; and no one around
+him is capable of settling down. He has no rivals but ourselves.
+</p>
+<p>Whence does he derive this gift? Is he favoured <span class="pageNum" id="pb180">[<a href="#pb180">180</a>]</span>with special tools? No, the Cricket is not an expert in the art of digging; in fact,
+one is rather surprised at the result when one considers the feebleness of his means.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p180width" id="p180"><img src="images/p180.jpg" alt="THE FIELD CRICKET" width="595" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE FIELD CRICKET</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>Here is one of the humblest of creatures able to lodge himself to perfection. He has
+a home; he has a peaceful retreat, the first condition of comfort</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>Is a home a necessity to him, on account of an exceptionally delicate skin? No, his
+near kinsmen have skins as sensitive as his, yet do not dread the open air at all.
+</p>
+<p>Is the house-building talent the result of his anatomy? Has he any special organ that
+suggests it? No: in my neighbourhood there are three other Crickets who are so much
+like the Field Cricket in appearance, colour, and structure, that at the first glance
+one would take them for him. Of these faithful copies, not one knows how to dig himself
+a burrow. The Double-spotted Cricket inhabits the heaps of grass that are left to
+rot in damp places; the Solitary Cricket roams about the dry clods turned up by the
+gardener’s spade; the Bordeaux Cricket is not afraid to make his way into our houses,
+where he sings discreetly, during August and September, in some cool, dark spot.
+</p>
+<p>There is no object in continuing these questions: the answer would always be No. Instinct
+never tells us its causes. It depends so little on an insect’s stock of tools that
+no detail of anatomy, nothing in the creature’s formation, can explain it to us or
+make us foresee it. These four similar Crickets, of whom only one can <span class="pageNum" id="pb181">[<a href="#pb181">181</a>]</span>burrow, are enough to show us our ignorance of the origin of instinct.
+</p>
+<p>Who does not know the Cricket’s house? Who has not, as a child playing in the fields,
+stopped in front of the hermit’s cabin? However light your footfall, he has heard
+you coming, and has abruptly withdrawn to the very bottom of his hiding-place. When
+you arrive, the threshold of the house is deserted.
+</p>
+<p>Every one knows the way to bring out the skulker. You insert a straw and move it gently
+about the burrow. Surprised at what is happening above, the tickled and teased Cricket
+ascends from his back room; he stops in the passage, hesitates, and waves his delicate
+antennæ inquiringly. He comes to the light, and, once outside, he is easy to catch,
+since these events have puzzled his poor head. Should he be missed at the first attempt
+he may become suspicious and refuse to appear. In that case he can be flooded out
+with a glass of water.
+</p>
+<p>Those were adorable times when we were children, and hunted Crickets along the grassy
+paths, and put them in cages, and fed them on a leaf of lettuce. They all come back
+to me to-day, those times, as I search the burrows for subjects to study. They seem
+like yesterday when my companion, little Paul, an expert in the use of the straw,
+springs up suddenly after a long trial of skill and <span class="pageNum" id="pb182">[<a href="#pb182">182</a>]</span>patience, and cries excitedly: “I’ve got him! I’ve got him!”
+</p>
+<p>Quick, here’s a bag! In you go, my little Cricket! You shall be petted and pampered,
+but you must teach us something, and first of all you must show us your house.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HIS HOUSE</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">It is a slanting gallery in the grass, on some sunny bank which soon dries after a
+shower. It is nine inches long at most, hardly as thick as one’s finger, and straight
+or bent according to the nature of the ground. As a rule, a tuft of grass half conceals
+the home, serving as a porch and throwing the entrance discreetly into shadow. When
+the Cricket goes out to browse upon the surrounding turf he does not touch this tuft.
+The gently sloping threshold, carefully raked and swept, extends for some distance;
+and this is the terrace on which, when everything is peaceful round about, the Cricket
+sits and scrapes his fiddle.
+</p>
+<p>The inside of the house is devoid of luxury, with bare and yet not coarse walls. The
+inhabitant has plenty of leisure to do away with any unpleasant roughness. At the
+end of the passage is the bedroom, a little more carefully smoothed than the rest,
+and slightly wider. All said, it is a very simple abode, exceedingly <span class="pageNum" id="pb183">[<a href="#pb183">183</a>]</span>clean, free from damp, and conforming to the rules of hygiene. On the other hand,
+it is an enormous undertaking, a gigantic tunnel, when we consider the modest tools
+with which the Cricket has to dig. If we wish to know how he does it, and when he
+sets to work, we must go back to the time when the egg is laid.
+</p>
+<p>The Cricket lays her eggs singly in the soil, like the Decticus, at a depth of three-quarters
+of an inch. She arranges them in groups, and lays altogether about five or six hundred.
+The egg is a little marvel of mechanism. After the hatching it appears as an opaque
+white cylinder, with a round and very regular hole at the top. To the edge of this
+hole is fastened a cap, like a lid. Instead of bursting open anyhow under the thrusts
+of the larva within, it opens of its own accord along a circular line—a specially
+prepared line of least resistance.
+</p>
+<p>About a fortnight after the egg is laid, two large, round, rusty-black dots darken
+the front end. A little way above these two dots, right at the top of the cylinder,
+you see the outline of a thin circular swelling. This is the line where the shell
+is preparing to break open. Soon the transparency of the egg allows one to see the
+delicate markings of the tiny creature’s segments. Now is the time to be on the watch,
+especially in the morning.
+</p>
+<p>Fortune loves the persevering, and if we pay constant visits to the eggs we shall
+be rewarded. All round the swelling, where the resistance of the shell has gradually
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb184">[<a href="#pb184">184</a>]</span>been overcome, the end of the egg becomes detached. Being pushed back by the forehead
+of the little creature within, it rises and falls to one side like the top of a tiny
+scent-bottle. The Cricket pops out like a Jack-in-the-box.
+</p>
+<p>When he is gone the shell remains distended, smooth, intact, pure white, with the
+cap or lid hanging from the opening. A bird’s egg breaks clumsily under the blows
+of a wart that grows for the purpose at the end of the Chick’s beak; the Cricket’s
+egg is more ingeniously made, and opens like an ivory case. The thrust of the creature’s
+head is enough to work the hinge.
+</p>
+<p>I said above that, when the lid is lifted, a young Cricket pops out; but this is not
+quite accurate. What appears is the swaddled grub, as yet unrecognisable in a tight-fitting
+sheath. The Decticus, you will remember, who is hatched in the same way under the
+soil, wears a protective covering during his journey to the surface. The Cricket is
+related to the Decticus, and therefore wears the same livery, although in point of
+fact he does not need it. The egg of the Decticus remains underground for eight months,
+so the poor grub has to fight its way through soil that has grown hard, and it therefore
+needs a covering for its long shanks. But the Cricket is shorter and stouter, and
+since its egg is only in the ground for a few days it has nothing worse than a powdery
+layer of earth to pass through. For these <span class="pageNum" id="pb185">[<a href="#pb185">185</a>]</span>reasons it requires no overall, and leaves it behind in the shell.
+</p>
+<p>As soon as he is rid of his swaddling-clothes the young Cricket, pale all over, almost
+white, begins to battle with the soil overhead. He hits out with his mandibles; he
+sweeps aside and kicks behind him the powdery earth, which offers no resistance. Very
+soon he is on the surface, amidst the joys of the sunlight and the perils of conflict
+with his fellow-creatures—poor feeble mite that he is, hardly larger than a Flea.
+</p>
+<p>By the end of twenty-four hours he has turned into a magnificent blackamoor, whose
+ebon hue vies with that of the full-grown insect. All that remains of his original
+pallor is a white sash that girds his chest. Very nimble and alert, he sounds the
+surrounding air with his long, quivering antennæ, and runs and jumps about with great
+impetuosity. Some day he will be too fat to indulge <span class="corr" id="xd31e1926" title="Source: is">in</span> such antics.
+</p>
+<p>And now we see why the mother Cricket lays so many eggs. It is because most of the
+young ones are doomed to death. They are massacred in huge numbers by other insects,
+and especially by the little Grey Lizard and the Ant. The latter, loathsome freebooter
+that she is, hardly leaves me a Cricket in my garden. She snaps up the poor little
+creatures and gobbles them down at frantic speed.
+</p>
+<p>Oh, the execrable wretch! And to think that we <span class="pageNum" id="pb186">[<a href="#pb186">186</a>]</span>place the Ant in the front rank of insects! Books are written in her honour, and the
+stream of praise never runs dry. The naturalists hold her in great esteem; and add
+daily to her fame. It would seem that with animals, as with men, the surest way to
+attract attention is to do harm to others.
+</p>
+<p>Nobody asks about the Beetles who do such valuable work as scavengers, whereas everybody
+knows the Gnat, that drinker of men’s blood; the Wasp, that hot-tempered swashbuckler,
+with her poisoned dagger; and the Ant, that notorious evil-doer who, in our southern
+villages, saps and imperils the rafters of a dwelling as cheerfully as she eats a
+fig.
+</p>
+<p>The Ant massacres the Crickets in my garden so thoroughly that I am driven to look
+for them outside the enclosure. In August, among the fallen leaves, where the grass
+has not been wholly scorched by the sun, I find the young Cricket, already rather
+big, and now black all over, with not a vestige of his white girdle remaining. At
+this period of his life he is a vagabond: the shelter of a dead leaf or a flat stone
+is enough for him.
+</p>
+<p>Many of those who survived the raids of the Ants now fall victims to the Wasp, who
+hunts down the wanderers and stores them underground. If they would but dig their
+dwellings a few weeks before the usual time they would be saved; but they never think
+of it. They are faithful to their ancient customs.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb187">[<a href="#pb187">187</a>]</span></p>
+<p>It is at the close of October, when the first cold weather threatens, that the burrow
+is taken in hand. The work is very simple, if I may judge by my observation of the
+caged insect. The digging is never done at a bare point in the pan, but always under
+the shelter of some withered lettuce-leaf, a remnant of the food provided. This takes
+the place of the grass tuft that seems indispensable to the secrecy of the home.
+</p>
+<p>The miner scrapes with his fore-legs, and uses the pincers of his mandibles to pull
+out the larger bits of gravel. I see him stamping with his powerful hind-legs, furnished
+with a double row of spikes; I see him raking the rubbish, sweeping it backwards and
+spreading it slantwise. There you have the whole process.
+</p>
+<p>The work proceeds pretty quickly at first. In the yielding soil of my cages the digger
+disappears underground after a spell that lasts a couple of hours. He returns to the
+entrance at intervals, always backwards and always sweeping. Should he be overcome
+with fatigue he takes a rest on the threshold of his half-finished home, with his
+head outside and his antennæ waving feebly. He goes in again, and resumes work with
+<span class="corr" id="xd31e1944" title="Source: pinchers">pincers</span> and rakes. Soon the periods of rest become longer, and wear out my patience.
+</p>
+<p>The most urgent part of the work is done. Once the hole is a couple of inches deep,
+it suffices for the needs of the moment. The rest will be a long affair, carried <span class="pageNum" id="pb188">[<a href="#pb188">188</a>]</span>out in a leisurely way, a little one day and a little the next: the hole will be made
+deeper and wider as the weather grows colder and the insect larger. Even in winter,
+if the temperature be mild and the sun shining on the entrance to the dwelling, it
+is not unusual to see the Cricket shooting out rubbish. Amid the joys of spring the
+upkeep of the building still continues. It is constantly undergoing improvements and
+repairs until the owner’s death.
+</p>
+<p>When April ends the Cricket’s song begins; at first in rare and shy solos, but soon
+in a general symphony in which each clod of turf boasts its performer. I am more than
+inclined to place the Cricket at the head of the spring choristers. In our waste-lands,
+when the thyme and lavender are gaily flowering, the Crested Lark rises like a lyrical
+rocket, his throat swelling with notes, and from the sky sheds his sweet music upon
+the fallows. Down below the Crickets chant the responses. Their song is monotonous
+and artless, but well suited in its very lack of art to the simple gladness of reviving
+life. It is the hosanna of the awakening, the sacred alleluia understood by swelling
+seed and sprouting blade. In this duet I should award the palm to the Cricket. His
+numbers and his unceasing note deserve it. Were the Lark to fall silent, the fields
+blue-grey with lavender, swinging its fragrant censors before the sun, would still
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb189">[<a href="#pb189">189</a>]</span>receive from this humble chorister a solemn hymn of praise.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">HIS MUSICAL-BOX</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">In steps Science, and says to the Cricket bluntly:
+</p>
+<p>“Show us your musical-box.”
+</p>
+<p>Like all things of real value, it is very simple. It is based on the same principle
+as that of the Grasshoppers: a bow with a hook to it, and a vibrating membrane. The
+right wing-case overlaps the left and covers it almost completely, except where it
+folds back sharply and encases the insect’s side. It is the opposite arrangement to
+that which we find in the Green Grasshopper, the Decticus, and their kinsmen. The
+Cricket is right-handed, the others left-handed.
+</p>
+<p>The two wing-cases are made in exactly the same way. To know one is to know the other.
+They lie flat on the insect’s back, and slant suddenly at the side in a right-angled
+fold, encircling the body with a delicately veined pinion.
+</p>
+<p>If you hold one of these wing-cases up to the light you will see that is it a very
+pale red, save for two large adjoining spaces; a larger, triangular one in front,
+and a smaller, oval one at the back. They are crossed by <span class="pageNum" id="pb190">[<a href="#pb190">190</a>]</span>faint wrinkles. These two spaces are the sounding-boards, or drums. The skin is finer
+here than elsewhere, and transparent, though of a somewhat smoky tint.
+</p>
+<p>At the hinder edge of the front part are two curved, parallel veins, with a cavity
+between them. This cavity contains five or six little black wrinkles that look like
+the rungs of a tiny ladder. They supply friction: they intensify the vibration by
+increasing the number of points touched by the bow.
+</p>
+<p>On the lower surface one of the two veins that surround the cavity of the rungs becomes
+a rib cut into the shape of a hook. This is the bow. It is provided with about a hundred
+and fifty triangular teeth of exquisite geometrical regularity.
+</p>
+<p>It is a fine instrument indeed. The hundred and fifty teeth of the bow, biting into
+the rungs of the opposite wing-case, set the four drums in motion at one and the same
+time, the lower pair by direct friction, the upper pair by the shaking of the friction-apparatus.
+What a rush of sound! The Cricket with his four drums throws his music to a distance
+of some hundreds of yards.
+</p>
+<p>He vies with the Cicada in shrillness, without having the latter’s disagreeable harshness.
+And better still: this favoured creature knows how to modulate his song. The wing-cases,
+as I said, extend over each side in a wide fold. These are the dampers which, lowered
+to a greater or less depth, alter the intensity of the sound. <span class="pageNum" id="pb191">[<a href="#pb191">191</a>]</span>According to the extent of their contact with the soft body of the Cricket they allow
+him to sing gently at one time and <i>fortissimo</i> at another.
+</p>
+<p>The exact similarity of the two wing-cases is worthy of attention. I can see clearly
+the function of the upper bow, and the four sounding-spaces which sets it in motion;
+but what is the good of the lower one, the bow on the left wing? Not resting on anything,
+it has nothing to strike with its hook, which is as carefully toothed as the other.
+It is absolutely useless, unless the apparatus can invert the order of its two parts,
+and place that above which is below. If that could be done, the perfect symmetry of
+the instrument is such that the mechanism would be the same as before, and the insect
+would be able to play with the bow that is at present useless. The lower fiddlestick
+would become the upper, and the tune would be the same.
+</p>
+<p>I suspected at first that the Cricket could use both bows, or at least that there
+were some who were permanently left-handed. But observation has convinced me of the
+contrary. All the Crickets I have examined—and they are many—without a single exception
+carried the right wing-case above the left.
+</p>
+<p>I even tried to bring about by artificial means what Nature refused to show me. Using
+my forceps, very gently of course, and without straining the wing-cases, I made these
+overlap the opposite way. It is easily done <span class="pageNum" id="pb192">[<a href="#pb192">192</a>]</span>with a little skill and patience. Everything went well: there was no dislocation of
+the shoulders, the membranes were not creased.
+</p>
+<p>I almost expected the Cricket to sing, but I was soon undeceived. He submitted for
+a few moments; but then, finding himself uncomfortable, he made an effort and restored
+his instrument to its usual position. In vain I repeated the operation: the Cricket’s
+obstinacy triumphed over mine.
+</p>
+<p>Then I thought I would make the attempt while the wing-cases were quite new and plastic,
+at the moment when the larva casts its skin. I secured one at the point of being transformed.
+At this stage the future wings and wing-cases form four tiny flaps, which, by their
+shape and scantiness, and by the way they stick out in different directions, remind
+me of the short jackets worn by the Auvergne cheesemakers. The larva cast off these
+garments before my eyes.
+</p>
+<p>The wing-cases developed bit by bit, and opened out. There was no sign to tell me
+which would overlap the other. Then the edges touched: a few moments longer and the
+right would be over the left. This was the time to intervene.
+</p>
+<p>With a straw I gently changed the position, bringing the left edge over the right.
+In spite of some protest from the insect I was quite successful: the left wing-case
+pushed forward, though only very little. Then I <span class="pageNum" id="pb193">[<a href="#pb193">193</a>]</span>left it alone, and gradually the wing-cases matured in the inverted position. The
+Cricket was left-handed. I expected soon to see him wield the fiddlestick which the
+members of his family never employ.
+</p>
+<p>On the third day he made a start. A few brief grating sounds were heard—the noise
+of a machine out of gear shifting its parts back into their proper order. Then the
+tune began, with its accustomed tone and rhythm.
+</p>
+<p>Alas, I had been over-confident in my mischievous straw! I thought I had created a
+new type of instrumentalist, and I had obtained nothing at all! The Cricket was scraping
+with his right fiddlestick, and always would. With a painful effort he had dislocated
+his shoulders, which I had forced to harden in the wrong way. He had put back on top
+that which ought to be on top, and underneath that which ought to be underneath. My
+sorry science tried to make a left-handed player of him. He laughed at my devices,
+and settled down to be right-handed for the rest of his life.
+</p>
+<p>Enough of the instrument; let us listen to the music. The Cricket sings on the threshold
+of his house, in the cheerful sunshine, never indoors. The wing-cases utter their
+<i>cri-cri</i> in a soft <i>tremolo</i>. It is full, sonorous, nicely cadenced, and lasts indefinitely. Thus are the leisures
+of solitude beguiled all through the spring. The hermit at first sings for his own
+pleasure. Glad to be alive, he chants the praises of the sun that shines upon him,
+the <span class="pageNum" id="pb194">[<a href="#pb194">194</a>]</span>grass that feeds him, the peaceful retreat that harbours him. The first object of
+his bow is to hymn the pleasures of life.
+</p>
+<p>Later on he plays to his mate. But, to tell the truth, his attention is rewarded with
+little gratitude; for in the end she quarrels with him ferociously, and unless he
+takes to flight she cripples him—and even eats him more or less. But indeed, in any
+case he soon dies. Even if he escapes his pugnacious mate, he perishes in June. We
+are told that the music-loving Greeks used to keep Cicadæ in cages, the better to
+enjoy their singing. I venture to disbelieve the story. In the first place the harsh
+clicking of the Cicadæ, when long continued at close quarters, is a torture to ears
+that are at all delicate. The Greeks’ sense of hearing was too well trained to take
+pleasure in such raucous sounds away from the general concert of the fields, which
+is heard at a distance.
+</p>
+<p>In the second place it is absolutely impossible to bring up Cicadæ in captivity, unless
+we cover over a whole olive-tree or plane-tree. A single day spent in a cramped enclosure
+would make the high-flying insect die of boredom.
+</p>
+<p>Is it not possible that people have confused the Cricket with the Cicada, as they
+also do the Green Grasshopper? With the Cricket they would be quite right. He is one
+who bears captivity gaily: his stay-at-home ways predispose <span class="pageNum" id="pb195">[<a href="#pb195">195</a>]</span>him to it. He lives happily and whirrs without ceasing in a cage no larger than a
+man’s fist, provided that he has his lettuce-leaf every day. Was it not he whom the
+small boys of Athens reared in little wire cages hanging on a window-frame?
+</p>
+<p>The small boys of Provence, and all the South, have the same tastes. In the towns
+a Cricket becomes the child’s treasured possession. The insect, petted and pampered,
+sings to him of the simple joys of the country. Its death throws the whole household
+into a sort of mourning.
+</p>
+<p>The three other Crickets of my neighbourhood all carry the same musical instrument
+as the Field Cricket, with slight variation of detail. Their song is much alike in
+all cases, allowing for differences of size. The smallest of the family, the Bordeaux
+Cricket, sometimes ventures into the dark corners of my kitchen, but his song is so
+faint that it takes a very attentive ear to hear it.
+</p>
+<p>The Field Cricket sings during the sunniest hours of the spring: during the still
+summer nights we have the Italian Cricket. He is a slender, feeble insect, quite pale,
+almost white, as beseems his nocturnal habits. You are afraid of crushing him, if
+you so much as take him in your fingers. He lives high in air, on shrubs of every
+kind, or on the taller grasses; and he rarely descends <span class="pageNum" id="pb196">[<a href="#pb196">196</a>]</span>to earth. His song, the sweet music of the still, hot evenings from July to October;
+begins at sunset and continues for the best part of the night.
+</p>
+<p>This song is known to everybody here in Provence, for the smallest clump of bushes
+has its orchestra. The soft, slow <i>gri-i-i gri-i-i</i> is made more expressive by a slight <i>tremolo</i>. If nothing happens to disturb the insect the sound remains unaltered; but at the
+least noise the musician becomes a ventriloquist. You hear him quite close, in front
+of you; and then, all of a sudden, you hear him fifteen yards away. You move towards
+the sound. It is not there: it comes from the original place. No, it doesn’t after
+all. Is it over there on the left, or does it come from behind? One is absolutely
+at a loss, quite unable to find the spot where the music is chirping.
+</p>
+<p>This illusion of varying distance is produced in two ways. The sounds become loud
+or soft, open or muffled, according to the exact part of the lower wing-case that
+is pressed by the bow. And they are also modified by the position of the wing-cases.
+For the loud sounds these are raised to their full height: for the muffled sounds
+they are lowered more or less. The pale Cricket misleads those who hunt for him by
+pressing the edges of his vibrating flaps against his soft body.
+</p>
+<p>I know no prettier or more limpid insect-song than his, heard in the deep stillness
+of an August evening. How often have I lain down on the ground among the <span class="pageNum" id="pb197">[<a href="#pb197">197</a>]</span>rosemary bushes of my <i>harmas</i>, to listen to the delightful concert!
+</p>
+<p>The Italian Cricket swarms in my enclosure. Every tuft of red-flowering rock-rose
+has its chorister; so has every clump of lavender. The bushy arbutus-shrubs, the turpentine-trees,
+all become orchestras. And in its clear voice, so full of charm, the whole of this
+little world, from every shrub and every branch, sings of the gladness of life.
+</p>
+<p>High up above my head the Swan stretches its great cross along the Milky Way: below,
+all round me, the insect’s symphony rises and falls. Infinitesimal life telling its
+joys makes me forget the pageant of the stars. Those celestial eyes look down upon
+me, placid and cold, but do not stir a fibre within me. Why? They lack the great secret—life.
+Our reason tells us, it is true, that those suns warm worlds like ours; but when all
+is said, this belief is no more than a guess, it is not a certainty.
+</p>
+<p>In your company, on the contrary, O my Cricket, I feel the throbbing of life, which
+is the soul of our lump of clay; and that is why, under my rosemary-hedge, I give
+but an absent glance at the constellation of the Swan and devote all my attention
+to your serenade! A living speck—the merest dab of life—capable of pleasure and pain,
+is far more interesting to me than all the immensities of mere matter.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb198">[<a href="#pb198">198</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="footnotes">
+<hr class="fnsep">
+<div class="footnote-body">
+<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e1858">
+<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e1858src">1</a></span> English <span class="corr" id="xd31e1860" title="Source: transalation">translation</span> by Mr Stephen M’Kenna.&nbsp;<a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e1858src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch13" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e286">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE SISYPHUS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">You are not tired, I hope, of hearing about the Scavenger Beetles with a talent for
+making balls. I have told you of the Sacred Beetle and of the Spanish Copris, and
+now I wish to say a few words of yet another of these creatures. In the insect world
+we meet with a great many model mothers: it is only fair, for once to draw attention
+to a good father.
+</p>
+<p>Now a good father is rarely seen except among the higher animals. The bird is excellent
+in this respect, and the furred folk perform their duties honourably. Lower in the
+scale of living creatures the father is generally indifferent to his family. Very
+few insects are exceptions to this rule. This heartlessness, which would be detestable
+in the higher ranks of the animal kingdom, where the weakness of the young demands
+prolonged care, is excusable among insect fathers. For the robustness of the new-born
+insect enables it to gather its food unaided, provided it be in a suitable place.
+When all that the Pieris need do for the safety of the race is to lay her eggs on
+the leaves of a cabbage, of what use would a father’s care be? The mother’s botanical
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb199">[<a href="#pb199">199</a>]</span>instinct needs no assistance. At laying-time the other parent would be in the way.
+</p>
+<p>Most insects adopt this simple method of upbringing. They merely choose a dining-room
+which will be the home of the family once it is hatched, or else a place that will
+allow the young ones to find suitable fare for themselves. There is no need for the
+father in such cases. He generally dies without lending the least assistance in the
+work of setting up his offspring in life.
+</p>
+<p>Things do not always happen, however, in quite such a primitive fashion. There are
+tribes that provide a dowry for their families, that prepare board and lodging for
+them in advance. The Bees and Wasps in particular are masters in the industry of making
+cellars, jars, and satchels, in which the ration of honey is hoarded: they are perfect
+in the art of creating burrows stocked with the game that forms the food of their
+grubs.
+</p>
+<p>Well, this enormous labour, which is one of building and provisioning combined, this
+toil in which the insect’s whole life is spent, is done by the mother alone. It wears
+her out; it utterly exhausts her. The father drunk with sunlight, stands idle at the
+edge of the workyard, watching his plucky helpmate at her job.
+</p>
+<p>Why does he not lend the mother a helping hand? It is now or never. Why does he not
+follow the example of the Swallow couple, both of whom bring their bit of straw, their
+blob of mortar to the building and their <span class="pageNum" id="pb200">[<a href="#pb200">200</a>]</span>Midge to the young ones? He does nothing of the kind. Possibly he puts forward his
+comparative weakness as an excuse. It is a poor argument; for to cut a disk out of
+a leaf, to scrape some cotton from a downy plant, to collect a little bit of cement
+in muddy places would not overtax his strength. He could very easily help, at any
+rate as a labourer; he is quite fit to gather materials for the mother, with her greater
+intelligence, to fit in place. The real reason of his inactivity is sheer incapability.
+</p>
+<p>It is strange that the most gifted of the industrial insects should know nothing of
+a father’s duties. One would expect the highest talents to be developed in him by
+the needs of the young; but he remains as dull-witted as a Butterfly, whose family
+is reared at so small a cost. We are baffled at every turn by the question: Why is
+a particular instinct given to one insect and denied to another?
+</p>
+<p>It baffles us so thoroughly that we are extremely surprised when we find in the scavenger
+the noble qualities that are denied to the honey-gatherer. Various Scavenger Beetles
+are accustomed to help in the burden of housekeeping, and know the value of working
+in double harness. The Geotrupes couple, for instance, prepare their larva’s food
+together: the father lends his mate the assistance of his powerful press in the manufacture
+of the tightly packed sausage-shaped ration. He is a splendid <span class="pageNum" id="pb201">[<a href="#pb201">201</a>]</span>example of domestic habits, and one extremely surprising amid the general egoism.
+</p>
+<p>To this example my constant studies of the subject have enabled me to add three others,
+all furnished by the Guild of Scavengers.
+</p>
+<p>One of them is the Sisyphus, the smallest and most zealous of all our pill-rollers.
+He is the liveliest and most agile of them all, and recks nothing of awkward somersaults
+and headlong falls on the impossible roads to which his obstinacy brings him back
+again and again. It was in reference to these wild gymnastics that Latreille gave
+him the name of Sisyphus.
+</p>
+<p>As you know, that unhappy wretch of classical fame had a terrible task. He was forced
+to roll a huge stone uphill; and each time he succeeded in toiling to the top of the
+mountain the stone slipped from his grasp and rolled to the bottom. I like this myth.
+It is the history of a good many of us. So far as I am concerned, for half a century
+and more I have painfully climbed the steep ascent, spending my strength recklessly
+in the struggle to hoist up to safety that crushing burden, my daily bread. Hardly
+is the loaf balanced when it slips off, slides down, and is lost in the abyss.
+</p>
+<p>The Sisyphus with whom we are now concerned knows none of these bitter trials. Untroubled
+by the steep slopes he gaily trundles his load, at one time bread for himself, at
+another bread for his children. He is very <span class="pageNum" id="pb202">[<a href="#pb202">202</a>]</span>scarce in these parts; and I should never have managed to secure a suitable number
+of subjects for my studies had it not been for an assistant whom I have already mentioned
+more than once.
+</p>
+<p>I speak of my little son Paul, aged seven. He is my enthusiastic companion on my hunting
+expeditions, and knows better than any one of his age the secrets of the Cicada, the
+Locust, the Cricket, and especially the Scavenger Beetle. Twenty paces away his sharp
+eyes will distinguish the real mound that marks a burrow from casual heaps of earth.
+His delicate ears catch the Grasshopper’s faint song, which is quite unheard by me.
+He lends me his sight and hearing; and I, in exchange, present him with ideas, which
+he receives attentively.
+</p>
+<p>Little Paul has his own insect-cages, in which the Sacred Beetle makes pears for him;
+his own little garden, no larger than a pocket-handkerchief, where he grows beans,
+often digging them up to see if the tiny roots are any longer; his forest plantation,
+in which stand four oaks a hand’s-breadth high, still furnished on one side with the
+acorn that feeds them. It all makes a welcome change from grammar, which gets on none
+the worse for it.
+</p>
+<p>When the month of May is near at hand Paul and I get up early one morning—so early
+that we start without our breakfast—and we explore, at the foot of the mountain, <span class="pageNum" id="pb203">[<a href="#pb203">203</a>]</span>the meadows where the flocks have been. Here we find the Sisyphus. Paul is so zealous
+in his search that we soon have a sufficient number of couples.
+</p>
+<p>All that is needed for their well-being is a wire-gauze cover, with a bed of sand
+and a supply of their food—to obtain which we too turn scavengers. These creatures
+are so small, hardly the size of a cherry-stone! And so curious in shape withal! A
+dumpy body, the hinder end of which is pointed, and very long legs, resembling a Spider’s
+when outspread. The hind-legs are of amazing length, and are curved, which is most
+useful for clasping and squeezing the pellet.
+</p>
+<p>Soon the time comes for establishing the family. With equal zeal father and mother
+alike take part in kneading, carting, and stowing away the provisions for the young
+ones. With the cleaver of the fore-legs a morsel of the right size is cut from the
+food placed at their disposal. The two insects work at the piece together, giving
+it little pats, pressing it, and shaping it into a ball as large as a big pea.
+</p>
+<p>As in the Sacred Beetle’s workshop, the accurately round shape is obtained without
+the mechanical trick of rolling the ball. The material is modelled into a sphere before
+it is moved, before it is even loosened from its support. Here, once more, we have
+an expert in geometry familiar with the best form for preserving food.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb204">[<a href="#pb204">204</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The ball is soon ready. It must now, by vigorous rolling, be given the crust which
+will protect the soft stuff within from becoming too dry. The mother, who can be recognised
+by her slightly larger size, harnesses herself in the place of honour, in front. With
+her long hind-legs on the ground and her fore-legs on the ball, she hauls it towards
+her, backwards. The father pushes behind in the reverse position, head downwards.
+It is precisely the same method as that of the Sacred Beetle when working in twos,
+but it has another object. The Sisyphus team conveys a store of food for the grubs,
+whereas the big pill-rollers trundle a banquet which they themselves will eat up underground.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p204width" id="p204"><img src="images/p204.jpg" alt="THE SISYPHUS" width="615" height="654"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE SISYPHUS</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>The mother harnesses herself in the place of honour, in front. The father pushes behind
+in the reverse position, head downwards</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>The couple start off along the ground. They have no definite goal, but walk in a direct
+line, without regard to the obstacles that lie in the way. In this backward march
+the obstacles could not be avoided; but even if they were seen the Sisyphus would
+not try to go round them. For she even makes obstinate attempts to climb the wire-work
+of my cage. This is an arduous and impossible task. Clawing the meshes of the gauze
+with her hind-legs the mother pulls the load towards her; then, putting her fore-legs
+round it, she holds it suspended in air. The father, finding nothing to stand upon,
+clings to the ball—encrusts himself in it, so to speak, thus adding his weight to
+that of the lump, and taking no further pains. The effort is too great to last. <span class="pageNum" id="pb205">[<a href="#pb205">205</a>]</span>The ball and its rider, forming one mass, fall to the floor. The mother, from above,
+looks down for a moment in surprise, and then drops to recover the load and renew
+her impossible attempt to scale the side. After repeated falls the climb is abandoned.
+</p>
+<p>Even on level ground the carting is not carried on without difficulty. At every moment
+the load swerves on some mound made by a bit of gravel; and the team topple over and
+kick about, upside down. This is a trifle, the merest trifle. These tumbles, which
+so often fling the Sisyphus on his back, cause him no concern; one would even think
+he liked them. After all, the ball has to be hardened and made of the right consistency.
+And this being the case, bumps falls, and jolts are all part of the programme. This
+mad steeple-chasing goes on for hours.
+</p>
+<p>At last the mother, regarding the work as completed, goes off a little way in search
+of a suitable spot. The father mounts guard, squatting on the treasure. If his companion’s
+absence be unduly long, he relieves his boredom by spinning the ball nimbly between
+his uplifted hind legs. He treats his precious pellet as a juggler treats his ball.
+He tests its perfect shape with his curved legs, the branches of his compasses. No
+one who sees him frisking in that jubilant attitude can doubt his lively satisfaction—the
+satisfaction of a father assured of his children’s future.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb206">[<a href="#pb206">206</a>]</span></p>
+<p>“It is I,” he seems to say, “I who kneaded this round loaf, I who made this bread
+for my sons!”
+</p>
+<p>And he lifts on high, for all to see, this magnificent testimony to his industry.
+</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the mother has chosen a site for the burrow. A shallow pit is made, a mere
+beginning of the work. The ball is rolled near it. The father, that vigilant guardian,
+does not let go, while the mother digs with her legs and forehead. Soon the hollow
+is big enough to hold the pellet. She insists on having it quite close to her; she
+must feel it bobbing up and down behind her, on her back, safe from parasites, before
+she decides to go farther. She is afraid of what might happen to it if it were left
+on the edge of the burrow until the home were completed. There are plenty of Midges
+and other such insects to grab it. One cannot be too careful.
+</p>
+<p>The ball therefore is inserted, half in and half out of the partly-formed basin. The
+mother, underneath, gets her legs round it and pulls: the father above, lets it down
+gently, and sees that the hole is not choked up with falling earth. All goes well.
+The digging is resumed and the descent continues, always with the same caution; one
+of the insects pulling the load, the other regulating the drop and clearing away anything
+that might hinder the operation. A few more efforts, and the ball disappears underground
+with the two miners. What <span class="pageNum" id="pb207">[<a href="#pb207">207</a>]</span>follows for some time to come can only be a repetition of what has already been done.
+We must wait half a day or so.
+</p>
+<p>If we keep careful watch we shall see the father come up again to the surface by himself,
+and crouch in the sand near the burrow. Detained below by duties in which her companion
+can be of no assistance to her, the mother usually postpones her appearance till the
+morrow. At last she shows herself. The father leaves the place where he was snoozing,
+and joins her. The reunited couple go back to the spot where their food-stuffs are
+to be found, and having refreshed themselves they gather up more materials. The two
+then set to work again. Once more they model, cart, and store the ball together.
+</p>
+<p>I am delighted with this constancy. That it is really the rule I dare not declare.
+There must, no doubt, be flighty, fickle Beetles. No matter: the little I have seen
+gives me a high opinion of the domestic habits of the Sisyphus.
+</p>
+<p>It is time to inspect the burrow. At no great depth we find a tiny niche, just large
+enough to allow the mother to move round her work. The smallness of the chamber tells
+us that the father cannot remain there for long. When the studio is ready, he must
+go away to leave the sculptress room to turn.
+</p>
+<p>The contents of the cellar consist of a single ball, a <span class="pageNum" id="pb208">[<a href="#pb208">208</a>]</span>masterpiece of art. It is a copy of the Sacred Beetle’s pear on a very much reduced
+scale, its smallness making the polish of the surface and the elegance of the curves
+all the more striking. Its diameter, at the broadest point, measures one-half to three-quarters
+of an inch.
+</p>
+<p>One more observation about the Sisyphus. Six couples under the wire-gauze cover gave
+me fifty-seven pears containing one egg each—an average of over nine grubs to each
+couple. The Sacred Beetle is far from reaching this figure. To what cause are we to
+attribute this large brood? I can see but one: the fact that the father works as well
+as the mother. Family burdens that would exceed the strength of one are not too heavy
+when there are two to bear them.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb209">[<a href="#pb209">209</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch14" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e294">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE CAPRICORN</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label"><span class="corr" id="xd31e2111" title="Not in source">I</span></h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE GRUB’S HOME</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">An eighteenth-century philosopher, Condillac, describes an imaginary statue, organised
+like a man, but with none of a man’s senses. He then pictures the effect of endowing
+it with the five senses, one by one, and the first sense he gives it is that of smell.
+The statue, having no sense but smell, inhales the scent of a rose, and out of that
+single impression creates a whole world of ideas. In my youth I owed some happy moments
+to that statue. I seemed to see it come to life in that action of the nostrils, acquiring
+memory, concentration, judgment, and other mental qualities, even as still waters
+are aroused and rippled by the impact of a grain of sand. I recovered from my illusion
+under the teaching of my abler master the animal. The Capricorn taught me that the
+problem is more obscure than the Abbé Condillac led me to suppose.
+</p>
+<p>When my winter supply of firewood is being prepared for me with wedge and mallet,
+the woodman selects, by my express orders, the oldest and most ravaged trunks <span class="pageNum" id="pb210">[<a href="#pb210">210</a>]</span>in his stack. My tastes bring a smile to his lips; he wonders by what whimsy I prefer
+wood that is worm-eaten to sound wood, which burns so much better. I have my views
+on the subject, and the worthy man submits to them.
+</p>
+<p>A fine oak-trunk, seamed with scars and gashed with wounds, contains many treasures
+for my studies. The mallet drives home, the wedges bite, the wood splits; and within,
+in the dry and hollow parts, are revealed groups of various insects who are capable
+of living through the cold season, and have here taken up their winter quarters. In
+the low-roofed galleries built by some Beetle the Osmia Bee has piled her cells one
+above the other. In the deserted chambers and vestibules Megachiles have arranged
+their leafy jars. In the live wood, filled with juicy sap, the larva of the Capricorn,
+the chief author of the oak’s undoing, has set up its home.
+</p>
+<p>Truly they are strange creatures, these grubs: bits of intestines crawling about!
+In the middle of Autumn I find them of two different ages. The older are almost as
+thick as one’s finger; the others hardly attain the diameter of a pencil. I find,
+in addition, the pupa or nymph more or less fully coloured, and the perfect insect
+ready to leave the trunk when the hot weather comes again. Life inside the wood, therefore,
+lasts for three years.
+</p>
+<p>How is this long period of solitude and captivity spent? <span class="pageNum" id="pb211">[<a href="#pb211">211</a>]</span>In wandering lazily through the thickness of the oak, in making roads whose rubbish
+serves as food. The horse in the book of Job “swallows the ground” in a figure of
+speech: the Capricorn’s grub eats its way literally. With its carpenter’s-gouge—a
+strong black mandible, short and without notches, but scooped into a sharp-edged spoon—it
+digs the opening of its tunnel. From the piece cut out the grub extracts the scanty
+juices, while the refuse accumulates behind him in heaps. The path is devoured as
+it is made; it is blocked behind as it makes way ahead.
+</p>
+<p>Since this harsh work is done with the two gouges, the two curved chisels of the mandibles,
+the Capricorn-grub requires much strength in the front part of its body, which therefore
+swells into a sort of pestle. The Buprestis-grub, that other industrious carpenter,
+adopts a similar form, and even exaggerates its pestle. The part that toils and carves
+hard wood requires to be robust; the rest of the body, which has but to follow after,
+continues slim. The essential thing is that the implement of the jaws should possess
+a solid support and powerful machinery. The Capricorn larva strengthens its chisels
+with a stout, black, horny armour that surrounds the mouth; yet, apart from its skull
+and its equipment of tools, this grub has a skin as fine as satin and as white as
+ivory. This dead white is caused by a thick layer of grease, which one would not expect
+a diet of wood to <span class="pageNum" id="pb212">[<a href="#pb212">212</a>]</span>produce in the animal. True, it has nothing to do, at every hour of the day and night,
+but gnaw. The quantity of wood that passes into its stomach makes up for the lack
+of nourishing qualities.
+</p>
+<p>The grub’s legs can hardly be called legs at all; they are mere suggestions of the
+legs the full-grown insect will have by and by. They are infinitesimal in size, and
+of no use whatever for walking. They do not even touch the supporting surface, being
+kept off it by the plumpness of the chest. The organs by means of which the animal
+progresses are something altogether different.
+</p>
+<p>The grub of the Rose-chafer, with the aid of the hairs and pad-like projections upon
+its spine, manages to reverse the usual method of walking, and to wriggle along on
+its back. The grub of the Capricorn is even more ingenious: it moves at the same time
+on its back and its stomach. To take the place of its useless legs it has a walking
+apparatus almost like feet, which appear, contrary to every rule, on the surface of
+its back.
+</p>
+<p>On the middle part of its body, both above and below, there is a row of seven four-sided
+pads, which the grub can either expand or contract, making them stick out or lie flat
+at will. It is by means of these pads that it walks. When it wishes to move forwards
+it expands the hinder pads, those on the back as well as those on the stomach, and
+contracts its front pads. The swelling of the hind pads in the narrow gallery fills
+up the space, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb213">[<a href="#pb213">213</a>]</span>gives the grub something to push against. At the same time the flattening of the front
+pads, by decreasing the size of the grub, allows it to slip forward and take half
+a step. Then, to complete the step, the hind-quarters must be brought up the same
+distance. With this object the front pads fill out and provide support, while those
+behind shrink and leave room for the grub to draw up its hind-quarters.
+</p>
+<p>With the double support of its back and stomach, with alternate swellings and shrinkings,
+the animal easily advances or retreats along its gallery, a sort of mould which the
+contents fill without a gap. But if the pads grip only on one side progress becomes
+impossible. When placed on the smooth wood of my table the animal wriggles slowly;
+it lengthens and shortens without progressing by a hair’s breadth. Laid on the surface
+of a piece of split oak, a rough, uneven surface due to the gash made by the wedge,
+it twists and writhes, moves the front part of its body very slowly from left to right
+and right to left, lifts it a little, lowers it, and begins again. This is all it
+can do. The rudimentary legs remain inert and absolutely useless.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE GRUB’S SENSATIONS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">Though the Capricorn-grub possesses these useless legs, the germs of future limbs,
+there is no sign of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb214">[<a href="#pb214">214</a>]</span>eyes with which the fully-developed insect will be richly gifted. The larva has not
+the least trace of any organs of sight. What would it do with sight, in the murky
+thickness of a tree-trunk? Hearing is likewise absent. In the untroubled silence of
+the oak’s inmost heart the sense of hearing would be superfluous. Where sounds are
+lacking, of what use is the faculty of discerning them?
+</p>
+<p>To make the matter certain I carried out some experiments. If split lengthwise the
+grub’s abode becomes a half-tunnel, in which I can watch the occupant’s doings. When
+left alone it alternately works for a while, gnawing at its gallery, and rests for
+awhile, fixed by its pads to the two sides of the tunnel. I took advantage of these
+moments of rest to inquire into its power of hearing. The banging of hard bodies,
+the ring of metallic objects, the grating of a file upon a saw, were tried in vain.
+The animal remained impassive: not a wince, not a movement of the skin, no sign of
+awakened attention. I succeeded no better when I scratched the wood near it with a
+hard point, to imitate the sound of some other grub at work in its neighbourhood.
+The indifference to my noisy tricks could be no greater in a lifeless object. The
+animal is deaf.
+</p>
+<p>Can it smell? Everything tells us that it cannot. Scent is of assistance in the search
+for food. But the Capricorn-grub need not go in quest of eatables. It <span class="pageNum" id="pb215">[<a href="#pb215">215</a>]</span>feeds on its home; it lives on the wood that gives it shelter. Nevertheless I tested
+it. In a log of fresh cypress wood I made a groove of the same width as that of the
+natural galleries, and I placed the grub inside it. Cypress wood is strongly scented;
+it has the smell characteristic of most of the pine family. This resinous scent, so
+strange to a grub that lives always in oak, ought to vex it, to trouble it; and it
+should show its displeasure by some kind of commotion, some attempt to get away. It
+did nothing of the kind: once it had found the right position in the groove it went
+to the end, as far as it could go, and made no further movement. Then I set before
+it, in its usual channel, a piece of camphor. Again no effect. Camphor was followed
+by naphthaline. Still no result. I do not think I am going too far when I deny the
+creature a sense of smell.
+</p>
+<p>Taste is there no doubt. But such taste! The food is without variety: oak, for three
+years at a stretch, and nothing else. What can the grub’s palate find to enjoy in
+this monotonous fare? The agreeable sensation of a fresh piece, oozing with sap; the
+uninteresting flavour of an over-dry piece. These, probably, are the only changes
+in the meal.
+</p>
+<p>There remains the sense of touch, the universal passive sense common to all live flesh
+that quivers under the goad of pain. The Capricorn-grub, therefore, is limited to
+two senses, those of taste and touch, and both of these <span class="pageNum" id="pb216">[<a href="#pb216">216</a>]</span>it possesses only in a very small degree. It is very little better off than Condillac’s
+statue. The imaginary being created by the philosopher had one sense only, that of
+smell, equal in delicacy to our own; the real being, the oak-eater has two, which
+are inferior even when put together to the one sense of the statue. The latter plainly
+perceived the scent of a rose, and clearly distinguished it from any other.
+</p>
+<p>A vain wish has often come to me in my dreams: to be able to think, for a few minutes,
+with the brain of my Dog, or to see the world with the eyes of a Gnat. How things
+would change in appearance! But they would change much more if understood only with
+the intellect of the grub. What has that incomplete creature learnt through its senses
+of touch and taste? Very little; almost nothing. It knows that the best bits of wood
+have a special kind of flavour, and that the sides of a passage, when not carefully
+smoothed, are painful to the skin. This is the limit of its wisdom. In comparison
+with this, the statue with the sensitive nostrils was a marvel of knowledge. It remembered,
+compared, judged, and reasoned. Can the Capricorn-grub remember? Can it reason? I
+described it a little time ago as a bit of intestine that crawls about. This description
+gives an answer to these questions. The grub has the sensations of a bit of intestine,
+no more and no less.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb217">[<a href="#pb217">217</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE GRUB’S FORESIGHT</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">And this half-alive object, this <i>nothing-at-all</i>, is capable of marvellous foresight. It knows hardly anything of the present, but
+it sees very clearly into the future.
+</p>
+<p>For three years on end the larva wanders about in the heart of the trunk. It goes
+up, goes down, turns to this side and that; it leaves one vein for another of better
+flavour, but without ever going too far from the inner depths, where the temperature
+is milder than near the surface, and greater safety reigns. But a day is at hand when
+the hermit must leave its safe retreat and face the perils of the outer world. Eating
+is not everything, after all; we have to get out of this.
+</p>
+<p>But how? For the grub, before leaving the trunk, must turn into a long-horned Beetle.
+And though the grub, being well equipped with tools and muscular strength, finds no
+difficulty in boring through the wood and going where it pleases, it by no means follows
+that the coming Capricorn has the same powers. The Beetle’s short spell of life must
+be spent in the open air. Will it be able to clear itself a way of escape?
+</p>
+<p>It is quite plain, at all events, that the Capricorn will be absolutely unable to
+make use of the tunnel bored by the grub. This tunnel is a very long and very irregular
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb218">[<a href="#pb218">218</a>]</span>maze, blocked with great heaps of wormed wood. It grows constantly smaller and smaller
+as it approaches the starting-point, because the larva entered the trunk as slim as
+a tiny bit of straw, whereas to-day it is as thick as one’s finger. In its three years’
+wanderings it always dug its gallery to fit the size of its body. Evidently the road
+of the larva cannot be the Capricorn’s way out. His overgrown antennæ, his long legs,
+his inflexible armour-plates would find the narrow, winding corridor impassable. The
+passage would have to be cleared of its wormed wood, and, moreover, greatly enlarged.
+It would be easier to attack the untouched timber and dig straight ahead. Is the insect
+capable of doing so? I determined to find out.
+</p>
+<p>I made some cavities of suitable size in some oak logs that had been chopped in two,
+and in each of these cells I placed a Capricorn that had just been transformed from
+the grub. I then joined the two sides of the logs, fastening them together with wire.
+When June came I heard a sound of scraping inside the logs, and waited anxiously to
+see if the Capricorns would appear. They had hardly three-quarters of an inch to pierce.
+Yet not one came out. On opening the logs I found all my captives dead. A pinch of
+sawdust represented all they had done.
+</p>
+<p>I had expected more from their sturdy mandibles. In spite of their boring-tools the
+hermits died for lack of <span class="pageNum" id="pb219">[<a href="#pb219">219</a>]</span>skill. I tried enclosing some in reed-stumps, but even this comparatively easy work
+was too much for them. Some freed themselves, but others failed.
+</p>
+<p>Notwithstanding his stalwart appearance the Capricorn cannot leave the tree-trunk
+by his own unaided efforts. The truth is that his way is prepared for him by the grub—that
+bit of intestine.
+</p>
+<p>Some presentiment—to us an unfathomable mystery—causes the Capricorn-grub to leave
+its peaceful stronghold in the very heart of the oak and wriggle towards the outside,
+where its foe the Woodpecker is quite likely to gobble it up. At the risk of its life
+it stubbornly digs and gnaws to the very bark. It leaves only the thinnest film, the
+slenderest screen, between itself and the world at large. Sometimes, even, the rash
+one opens the doorway wide.
+</p>
+<p>This is the Capricorn’s way out. The insect has but to file the screen a little with
+his mandibles, to bump against it with his forehead, in order to bring it down. He
+will even have nothing at all to do when the doorway is open, as often happens. The
+unskilled carpenter, burdened with his extravagant head-dress, will come out from
+the darkness through this opening when the summer heat arrives.
+</p>
+<p>As soon as the grub has attended to the important business of making a doorway into
+the world, it begins to busy itself with its transformation into a Beetle. <span class="pageNum" id="pb220">[<a href="#pb220">220</a>]</span>First, it requires space for the purpose. So it retreats some distance down its gallery,
+and in the side of the passage digs itself a transformation-chamber more sumptuously
+furnished and barricaded than any I have ever seen. It is a roomy hollow with curved
+walls, three to four inches in length and wider than it is high. The width of the
+cell gives the insect a certain degree of freedom of movement when the time comes
+for forcing the barricade, which is more than a close-fitting case would do.
+</p>
+<p>The barricade—a door which the larva builds as a protection from danger—is twofold,
+and often threefold. Outside, it is a stack of woody refuse, of particles of chopped
+timber; inside, a mineral lid, a concave cover, all in one piece, of a chalky white.
+Pretty often, but not always, there is added to these two layers an inner casing of
+shavings.
+</p>
+<p>Behind this threefold door the larva makes its arrangements for its transformation.
+The sides of the chamber are scraped, thus providing a sort of down formed of ravelled
+woody fibres, broken into tiny shreds. This velvety stuff is fixed on the wall, in
+a thick coating, as fast as it is made. The chamber is thus padded throughout with
+a fine swan’s-down, a delicate precaution taken by the rough grub out of kindness
+for the tender creature it will become when it has cast its skin.
+</p>
+<p>Let us now go back to the most curious part of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb221">[<a href="#pb221">221</a>]</span>furnishing, the cover or inner door of the entrance. It is like an oval skull-cap,
+white and hard as chalk, smooth within and rough without, with some resemblance to
+an acorn-cup. The rough knots show that the material is supplied in small, pasty mouthfuls,
+which become solid outside in little lumps. The animal does not remove them, because
+it is unable to get at them; but the inside surface is polished, being within the
+grub’s reach. This singular lid is as hard and brittle as a flake of limestone. It
+is, as a matter of fact, composed solely of carbonate of lime, and a sort of cement
+which gives consistency to the chalky paste.
+</p>
+<p>I am convinced that this stony deposit comes from a particular part of the grub’s
+stomach, called the chylific ventricle. The chalk is kept separate from the food,
+and is held in reserve until the right time comes to discharge it. This freestone
+factory causes me no astonishment. It serves for various chemical works in different
+grubs when undergoing transformation. Certain Oil-beetles keep refuse in it, and several
+kinds of Wasps use it to manufacture the shellac with which they varnish the silk
+of their cocoons.
+</p>
+<p>When the exit way is prepared, and the cell upholstered in velvet and closed with
+a threefold barricade, the industrious grub has finished its task. It lays aside its
+tools, sheds its skin, and becomes a pupa—weakness personified, in the swaddling-clothes
+of a cocoon. The <span class="pageNum" id="pb222">[<a href="#pb222">222</a>]</span>head is always turned towards the door. This is a trifling detail in appearance; but
+in reality it is everything. To lie this way or that in the long cell is a matter
+of great indifference to the grub, which is very supple, turning easily in its narrow
+lodging and adopting whatever position it pleases. The coming Capricorn will not enjoy
+the same privileges. Stiffly encased in his horny armour, he will not be able to turn
+from end to end; he will not even be capable of bending, if some sudden curve should
+make the passage difficult. He must, without fail, find the door in front of him,
+or he will perish in the transformation-room. If the grub should forget this little
+matter, and lie down to sleep with its head at the back of the cell, the Capricorn
+would be infallibly lost. His cradle would become a hopeless dungeon.
+</p>
+<p>But there is no fear of this danger. The “bit of intestine” knows too much about the
+future to neglect the formality of keeping its head at the door. At the end of spring
+the Capricorn, now in possession of his full strength, dreams of the joys of the sun,
+of the festivals of light. He wants to get out.
+</p>
+<p>What does he find before him? First, a heap of filings easily dispersed with his claws;
+next, a stone lid which he need not even break into fragments, for it comes undone
+in one piece. It is removed from its frame with a few pushes of the forehead, a few
+tugs of the claws. <span class="pageNum" id="pb223">[<a href="#pb223">223</a>]</span>In fact, I find the lid intact on the threshold of the abandoned cell. Last comes
+a second mass of woody remnants as easy to scatter as the first. The road is now free:
+the Capricorn has but to follow the wide vestibule, which will lead him, without any
+possibility of mistake, to the outer exit. Should the doorway not be open, all that
+he has to do is to gnaw through a thin screen, an easy task. Behold him outside, his
+long antennæ quivering with excitement.
+</p>
+<p>What have we learnt from him? Nothing from him, but much from his grub. This grub,
+so poor in organs of sensation, gives us much to think about. It knows that the coming
+Beetle will not be able to cut himself a road through the oak, and it therefore opens
+one for him at its own risk and peril. It knows that the Capricorn, in his stiff armour,
+will never be able to turn round and make for the opening of the cell; and it takes
+care to fall into its sleep of transformation with its head towards the door. It knows
+how soft the pupa’s flesh will be, and it upholsters the bedroom with velvet. It knows
+that the enemy is likely to break in during the slow work of the transformation, and
+so, to make a protection against attack, it stores lime inside its stomach. It knows
+the future with a clear vision, or, to be accurate, it behaves as if it knew the future.
+</p>
+<p>What makes it act in this way? It is certainly not taught by the experiences of its
+senses. What does it <span class="pageNum" id="pb224">[<a href="#pb224">224</a>]</span>know of the outside world? I repeat—as much as a bit of intestine can know. And this
+senseless creature astounds us! I regret that the philosopher Condillac, instead of
+creating a statue that could smell a rose, did not gift it with an instinct. How soon
+he would have seen that the animals—including man—have powers quite apart from the
+senses; inspirations that are born with them, and are not the result of learning.
+</p>
+<p>This curious life and this marvellous foresight are not confined to one kind of grub.
+Besides the Capricorn of the Oak there is the Capricorn of the Cherry-tree. In appearance
+the latter is an exact copy of the former, on a much smaller scale; but the little
+Capricorn has different tastes from its large kinsman’s. If we search the heart of
+the cherry-tree it does not show us a single grub anywhere: the entire population
+lives between the bark and the wood. This habit is only varied when transformation
+is at hand. Then the grub of the cherry-tree leaves the surface, and scoops out a
+cavity at a depth of about two inches. Here the walls are bare: they are not lined
+with the velvety fibres dear to the Capricorn of the Oak. The entrance is blocked,
+however, by sawdust, and a chalky lid similar to the other except in point of size.
+Need I add that the grub lies down and goes to sleep with his head against the door?
+Not one forgets to take this precaution.
+</p>
+<p>There is also a Saperda of the Poplar and a Saperda <span class="pageNum" id="pb225">[<a href="#pb225">225</a>]</span>of the Cherry-tree. They have the same organisation and the same tools; but the former
+follows the methods of the Capricorn of the Oak, while the latter imitates the Capricorn
+of the Cherry-tree.
+</p>
+<p>The poplar-tree is also inhabited by the Bronze Buprestis, which takes no defensive
+measures before going to sleep. It makes no barricade, no heap of shavings. And in
+the apricot-tree the Nine-spotted Buprestis behaves in the same way. In this case
+the grub is inspired by its intuitions to alter its plan of work to suit the coming
+Beetle. The perfect insect is a cylinder; the grub is a strap, a ribbon. The former,
+which wears unyielding armour, needs a cylindrical passage; the latter needs a very
+low tunnel, with a roof that it can reach with the pads on its back. The grub therefore
+changes its manner of boring: yesterday the gallery, suited to a wandering life in
+the thickness of the wood, was a wide burrow with a very low ceiling, almost a slot;
+to-day the passage is cylindrical. A gimlet could not bore it more accurately. This
+sudden change in the system of roadmaking on behalf of the coming insect once more
+shows us the foresight of this “bit of intestine.”
+</p>
+<p>I could tell you of many other wood-eaters. Their tools are the same; yet each species
+displays special methods, tricks of the trade that have nothing to do with the tools.
+These grubs, then, like so many insects, show <span class="pageNum" id="pb226">[<a href="#pb226">226</a>]</span>us that instinct is not made by the tools, so to speak, but that the same tools may
+be used in various ways.
+</p>
+<p>To continue the subject would be monotonous. The general rule stands out very clearly
+from these facts: the wood-eating grubs prepare the path of deliverance for the perfect
+insect, which will merely have to pass a barricade of shavings or pierce a screen
+of bark. By a curious reversal of the usual state of things, infancy is here the season
+of energy, of strong tools, of stubborn work; mature age is the season of leisure,
+of industrial ignorance, of idle diversions, without trade or profession. The providence
+of the human infant is the mother; here the baby grub is the mother’s providence.
+With its patient tooth, which neither the peril of the outside world nor the difficult
+task of boring through hard wood is able to discourage, it clears away for her to
+the supreme delights of the sun.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb227">[<a href="#pb227">227</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch15" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e302">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XV</h2>
+<h2 class="main">LOCUSTS</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THEIR VALUE</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">“Mind you’re ready, children, to-morrow morning before the sun gets too hot. We’re
+going Locust-hunting.”
+</p>
+<p>This announcement throws the household into great excitement at bed-time. What do
+my little helpers see in their dreams? Blue wings, red wings, suddenly flung out like
+fans; long saw-toothed legs, pale blue or pink, which kick out when we hold their
+owners in our fingers; great shanks that act like springs, and make the insect leap
+forward as though shot from a catapult.
+</p>
+<p>If there be one peaceful and safe form of hunting, one in which both old age and childhood
+can share, it is Locust-hunting. What delicious mornings we owe to it! How delightful,
+when the mulberries are ripe, to pick them from the bushes! What excursions we have
+had, on the slopes covered with thin, tough grass, burnt yellow by the sun! I have
+vivid memories of such mornings, and my children will have them too.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb228">[<a href="#pb228">228</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Little Paul has nimble legs, a ready hand, and a piercing eye. He inspects the clumps
+of everlastings, and peers closely into the bushes. Suddenly a big Grey Locust flies
+out like a little bird. The hunter first makes off at full speed, then stops and gazes
+in wonder at this mock Swallow flying far away. He will have better luck another time.
+We shall not go home without a few of those magnificent prizes.
+</p>
+<p>Marie Pauline, who is younger than her brother, watches patiently for the Italian
+Locust, with his pink wings and carmine hind-legs; but she really prefers another,
+the most ornamented of them all. Her favourite wears a St. Andrew’s cross on the small
+of his back, which is marked by four white, slanting stripes. He wears, too, patches
+of green, the colour of verdigris on bronze. With her hand raised in the air, ready
+to swoop down, she approaches very softly, stooping low. <i>Whoosh!</i> That’s done it! The treasure is quickly thrust head-first into a paper funnel, and
+plunges with one bound to the bottom of it.
+</p>
+<p>One by one our boxes are filled. Before the heat becomes too great to bear we are
+in possession of a number of specimens. Imprisoned in my cages, perhaps they will
+teach us something. In any case the Locusts have given pleasure to three people at
+a small cost.
+</p>
+<p>Locusts have a bad reputation, I know. The textbooks describe them as noxious. I take
+the liberty of <span class="pageNum" id="pb229">[<a href="#pb229">229</a>]</span>doubting whether they deserve this reproach, except, of course, in the case of the
+terrible ravagers who are the scourge of Africa and the East. Their ill repute has
+been fastened on all Locusts, though they are, I consider, more useful than harmful.
+As far as I know, our peasants have never complained of them. What damage do they
+do?
+</p>
+<p>They nibble the tops of the tough grasses which the Sheep refuses to touch; they prefer
+the thin, poor grass to the fat pastures; they browse on barren land that can support
+none but them; they live on food that no stomach but theirs could use.
+</p>
+<p>Besides, by the time they frequent the fields the green wheat—the only thing that
+might tempt them—has long ago yielded its grain and disappeared. If they happen to
+get into the kitchen-gardens and take a few bites, it is not a crime. A man can console
+himself for a piece bitten out of a leaf or two of salad.
+</p>
+<p>To measure the importance of things by one’s own turnip-patch is a horrible method.
+The short-sighted man would upset the order of the universe rather than sacrifice
+a dozen plums. If he thinks of the insect at all, it is only to kill it.
+</p>
+<p>And yet, think what the consequences would be if all the Locusts were killed. In September
+and October the Turkeys are driven into the stubble, under charge of a child armed
+with two long reeds. The expanse over <span class="pageNum" id="pb230">[<a href="#pb230">230</a>]</span>which the gobbling flock slowly spreads is bare, dry, and burnt by the sun. At the
+most, a few ragged thistles raise their heads. What do the birds do in this famine-stricken
+desert? They cram themselves, that they may do honour to the Christmas table; they
+wax fat; their flesh becomes firm and good to eat. And pray, what do they cram themselves
+with? With Locusts. They snap them up, one here one there, till their greedy crops
+are filled with the delicious stuffing, which costs nothing, though its rich flavour
+will greatly improve the Christmas Turkey.
+</p>
+<p>When the Guinea-fowl roams about the farm, uttering her rasping cry, what is it she
+seeks? Seeds, no doubt; but above all Locusts, which puff her out under the wings
+with a pad of fat, and give a better flavour to her flesh. The Hen, too, much to our
+advantage, is just as fond of them. She well knows the virtues of that dainty dish,
+which acts as a tonic and makes her lay more eggs. When left at liberty she rarely
+fails to lead her family to the stubble-fields, so that they may learn to snap up
+the nice mouthful skilfully. In fact, every bird in the poultry-yard finds the Locust
+a valuable addition to his bill of fare.
+</p>
+<p>It is still more important outside the poultry-yard. Any who is a sportsman, and knows
+the value of the Red-legged Patridge, the glory of our southern hills, should open
+the crop of the bird he has just shot. He will find <span class="pageNum" id="pb231">[<a href="#pb231">231</a>]</span>it, nine times out of ten, more or less crammed with Locusts. The Partridge dotes
+on them, preferring them to seeds as long as he can catch them. This highly-flavoured,
+nourishing fare would almost make him forget the existence of seeds, if it were only
+there all the year round.
+</p>
+<p>The Wheat-ear, too, who is so good to eat, prefers the Locust to any other food. And
+all the little birds of passage which, when autumn comes, call a halt in Provence
+before their great pilgrimage, fatten themselves with Locusts as a preparation for
+the journey.
+</p>
+<p>Nor does man himself scorn them. An Arab author tells us:
+</p>
+<p>“Grasshoppers”—(he means Locusts)—“are of good nourishment for men and Camels. Their
+claws, wings, and head are taken away, and they are eaten fresh or dried, either roast
+or boiled, and served with flesh, flour, and herbs.
+</p>
+<p>”… Camels eat them greedily, and are given them dried or roast, heaped in a hollow
+between two layers of charcoal. Thus also do the Nubians eat them.…
+</p>
+<p>“Once, when the Caliph Omar was asked if it were lawful to eat Grasshoppers, he made
+answer:
+</p>
+<p>” ’Would that I had a basket of them to eat.’
+</p>
+<p>“Wherefore, from this testimony, it is very sure that, by the Grace of God, Grasshoppers
+were given to man for his nourishment.”
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb232">[<a href="#pb232">232</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Without going as far as the Arab I feel prepared to say that the Locust is a gift
+of God to a multitude of birds. Reptiles also hold him in esteem. I have found him
+in the stomach of the Eyed Lizard, and have often caught the little Grey Lizard of
+the walls in the act of carrying him off.
+</p>
+<p>Even the fish revel in him, when good fortune brings him to them. The Locust leaps
+blindly, and without definite aim: he comes down wherever he is shot by the springs
+in his legs. If the place where he falls happens to be water, a fish gobbles him up
+at once. Anglers sometimes bait their hooks with a specially attractive Locust.
+</p>
+<p>As for his being fit nourishment for man, except in the form of Partridge and young
+Turkey, I am a little doubtful. Omar, the mighty Caliph who destroyed the library
+of Alexandria, wished for a basket of Locusts, it is true, but his digestion was evidently
+better than his brains. Long before his day St. John the Baptist lived in the desert
+on Locusts and wild honey; but in his case they were not eaten because they were good.
+</p>
+<p>Wild honey from the pots of the Mason-bees is very agreeable food, I know. Wishing
+to taste the Locust also I once caught some, and had them cooked as the Arab author
+advised. We all of us, big and little, tried the queer dish at dinner. It was much
+nicer than the Cicadæ praised by Aristotle. I would go to the length of saying <span class="pageNum" id="pb233">[<a href="#pb233">233</a>]</span>it is good—without, however, feeling any desire for more.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THEIR MUSICAL TALENT</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Locust possesses musical powers wherewith to express his joys. Consider him at
+rest, blissfully digesting his meal and enjoying the sunshine. With sharp strokes
+of the bow, three or four times repeated with a pause between, he plays his tune.
+He scrapes his sides with his great hind-legs, using now one, now the other, and now
+both at a time.
+</p>
+<p>The result is very poor, so slight indeed that I am obliged to make use of little
+Paul’s sharp ear to make sure that there is a sound at all. Such as it is, it is like
+the squeaking of a needle-point pushed across a sheet of paper. <span class="corr" id="xd31e2279" title="Source: Their">There</span> you have the whole song, which is very nearly silence.
+</p>
+<p>We can expect no more than this from the Locust’s very unfinished instrument. There
+is nothing here like the Cricket’s toothed bow and sounding-board. The lower edge
+of the wing-cases is rubbed by the thighs, but though both wing-cases and thighs are
+powerful they have no roughnesses to supply friction, and there is no sign of teeth.
+</p>
+<p>This artless attempt at a musical instrument can produce <span class="pageNum" id="pb234">[<a href="#pb234">234</a>]</span>no more sound than a dry membrane will emit when you rub it yourself. And for the
+sake of this small result the insect lifts and lowers its thigh in sharp jerks, and
+appears perfectly satisfied. It rubs its sides very much as we rub our hands together
+in sign of contentment, with no intention of making a sound. That is its own particular
+way of expressing its joy in life.
+</p>
+<p>Observe the Locust when the sky is partly covered with clouds, and the sun shines
+only at times. There comes a rift in the clouds. At once the thighs begin to scrape,
+becoming more and more active as the sun grows hotter. The strains are brief, but
+they are repeated as long as the sunshine continues. The sky becomes overcast. Then
+and there the song ceases; but is renewed with the next gleam of sunlight, always
+in brief outburst. There is no mistaking it: here, in these fond lovers of the light,
+we have a mere expression of happiness. The Locust has his moments of gaiety when
+his crop is full and the sun is kind.
+</p>
+<p>Not all the Locusts indulge in this joyous rubbing.
+</p>
+<p>The Tryxalis, who has a pair of immensely long hind-legs, keeps up a gloomy silence
+when even the sunshine is brightest. I have never seen him move his shanks like a
+bow; he seems unable to use them—so long are they—for anything but hopping.
+</p>
+<p>The big Grey Locust, who often visits me in the enclosure, even in the depth of winter,
+is also dumb in <span class="pageNum" id="pb235">[<a href="#pb235">235</a>]</span>consequence of the excessive length of his legs. But he has a peculiar way of diverting
+himself. In calm weather, when the sun is hot, I surprise him in the rosemary bushes
+with his wings unfurled and fluttering rapidly, as though for flight. He keeps up
+this performance for a quarter of an hour at a time. His fluttering is so gentle,
+in spite of its extreme speed, that it creates hardly any rustling sound.
+</p>
+<p>Others are still worse off. One of these is the Pedestrian Locust, who strolls on
+foot on the ridges of the Ventoux amid sheets of Alpine flowers, silvery, white, and
+rosy. His colouring is as fresh as that of the flowers. The sunlight, which is clearer
+on those heights than it is below, has made him a costume combining beauty with simplicity.
+His body is pale brown above and yellow below, his big thighs are coral red, his hind-legs
+a glorious azure-blue, with an ivory anklet in front. But in spite of being such a
+dandy he wears too short a coat.
+</p>
+<p>His wing-cases are merely wrinkled slips, and his wings no more than stumps. He is
+hardly covered as far as the waist. Any one seeing him for the first time takes him
+for a larva, but he is indeed the full-grown insect, and he will wear this incomplete
+garment to the end.
+</p>
+<p>With this skimpy jacket of course, music is impossible to him. The big thighs are
+there; but there are no wing-cases, no grating edge for the bow to rub upon. <span class="pageNum" id="pb236">[<a href="#pb236">236</a>]</span>The other Locusts cannot be described as noisy, but this one is absolutely dumb. In
+vain have the most delicate ears listened with all their might. This silent one must
+have other means of expressing his joys. What they are I do not know.
+</p>
+<p>Nor do I know why the insect remains without wings, a plodding wayfarer, when his
+near kinsmen on the same Alpine slopes have excellent means of flying. He possesses
+the beginnings of wings and wing-cases, gifts inherited by the larva; but he does
+not develop these beginnings and make use of them. He persists in hopping, with no
+further ambition: he is satisfied to go on foot, to remain a Pedestrian Locust, when
+he might, one would think, acquire wings. To flit rapidly from crest to crest, over
+valleys deep in snow, to fly from one pasture to another, would certainly be great
+advantages to him. His fellow-dwellers on the mountain-tops possess wings and are
+all the better for them. It would be very profitable to extract from their sheaths
+the sails he keeps packed away in useless stumps; and he does not do it. Why?
+</p>
+<p>No one knows why. Anatomy has these puzzles, these surprises, these sudden leaps,
+which defy our curiosity. In the presence of such profound problems the best thing
+is to bow in all humility, and pass on.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb237">[<a href="#pb237">237</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THEIR EARLY DAYS</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">The Locust mother is not, in all cases, a model of affection. The Italian Locust,
+having laboriously half-buried herself in the sand, lays her eggs there and immediately
+bounds away. She gives not a look at the eggs, nor makes the least attempt to cover
+the hole where they lie. It closes of its own accord, as best it can, by the natural
+falling-in of the sand. It is an extremely casual performance, marked by an utter
+absence of maternal care.
+</p>
+<p>Others do not forsake their eggs so recklessly. The ordinary Locust with the blue-and-black
+wings, for instance, after leaving her eggs in the sand, lifts her hind-legs high,
+sweeps some sand into the hole, and presses it down by stamping it rapidly. It is
+a pretty sight to watch the swift action of her slender legs, giving alternate kicks
+to the opening they are plugging. With this lively trampling the entrance to the home
+is closed and hidden away. The hole that contains the eggs completely disappears,
+so that no ill-intentioned creature could find it by sight alone.
+</p>
+<p>Nor is this all. The power that works the two rammers lies in the hinder thighs, which,
+as they rise and <span class="pageNum" id="pb238">[<a href="#pb238">238</a>]</span>fall, scrape lightly against the edge of the wing-cases. This scraping produces a
+faint sound, similar to that with which the insect placidly lulls itself to sleep
+in the sun.
+</p>
+<p>The Hen salutes with a song of gladness the egg she just laid; she announces her performance
+to the whole neighbourhood. The Locust celebrates the same event with her thin scraper.
+“I have buried underground,” she says, “the treasure of the future.”
+</p>
+<div class="figure p238width" id="p238"><img src="images/p238.jpg" alt="ITALIAN LOCUSTS" width="573" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>ITALIAN LOCUSTS</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>“I have buried underground,” she says, “the treasure of the future”</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>Having made the nest safe she leaves the spot, refreshes herself after her exertions
+with a few mouthfuls of green stuff, and prepares to begin again.
+</p>
+<p>The Grey Locust mother is armed at the tip of her body—and so are other female Locusts
+in varying degrees—with four short tools, arranged in pairs and shaped like a hooked
+fingernail. On the upper pair, which are larger than the others, these hooks are turned
+upwards; on the lower and smaller pair they are turned downwards. They form a sort
+of claw, and are scooped out slightly, like a spoon. These are the pick-axes, the
+boring-tools with which the Grey Locust works. With these she bites into the soil,
+lifting the dry earth a little, as quietly as if she were digging in soft mould. She
+might be working in butter; and yet what the bore digs into is hard, unyielding earth.
+</p>
+<p>The best site for laying the eggs is not always found at the first attempt. I have
+seen the mother make five <span class="pageNum" id="pb239">[<a href="#pb239">239</a>]</span>wells one after the other before finding a suitable place. When at last the business
+is over, and the insect begins to rise from the hole in which she is partly buried,
+one can see that she is covering her eggs with milk-white foam, similar to that of
+the Mantis.
+</p>
+<p>This foamy matter often forms a button at the entrance to the well, a knot which stands
+up and attracts the eye by its whiteness against the grey background of the soil.
+It is soft and sticky, but hardens pretty soon. When this closing button is finished
+the mother moves away and troubles no more about her eggs, of which she lays a fresh
+batch elsewhere after a few days.
+</p>
+<p>Sometimes the foamy paste does not reach the surface; it stops some way down, and
+before long is covered with the sand that slips from the edge. But in the case of
+my Locusts in captivity I always know, even when it is concealed, exactly where the
+barrel of eggs lies. Its structure is always the same, though there are variations
+in detail. It is always a sheath of solidified foam. Inside, there is nothing but
+foam and eggs. The eggs all lie in the lower portion, packed one on top of another;
+and the upper part consists only of soft, yielding foam. This portion plays an important
+part when the young larvæ are hatched. I will call it the ascending-shaft.
+</p>
+<p>The wonderful egg-casket of the Mantis is not the result of any special talent which
+the mother can exercise <span class="pageNum" id="pb240">[<a href="#pb240">240</a>]</span>at will. It is due to mechanism. It happens of itself. In the same way the Locusts
+have no industry of their own, especially devised for laying eggs in a keg of froth.
+The foam is produced with the eggs, and the arrangement of eggs at the bottom and
+centre, and froth on the outside and the top, is purely mechanical.
+</p>
+<p>There are many Locusts whose egg-cases have to last through the winter, since they
+do not open until the fine weather returns. Though the soil is loose and dusty at
+first, it becomes caked together by the winter rains. Supposing that the hatching
+takes place a couple of inches below the surface, how is this crust, this hard ceiling,
+to be broken? How is the larva to come up from below? The mother’s unconscious art
+has arranged for that.
+</p>
+<p>The young Locust finds above him, when he comes out of the egg, not rough sand and
+hardened earth, but a straight tunnel, with solid walls that keep all difficulties
+away. This ascending-shaft is full of foam, which the larva can easily penetrate,
+and which will bring him quite close to the surface. Here only a finger’s-breadth
+of serious work remains to be done.
+</p>
+<p>The greater part of the journey, therefore, is accomplished without effort. Though
+the Locust’s building is done quite mechanically, without the least intelligence,
+it is certainly singularly well devised.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb241">[<a href="#pb241">241</a>]</span></p>
+<p>The little creature has now to complete his deliverance. On leaving his shell he is
+of a whitish colour, clouded with light red. His progress is made by worm-like movements;
+and, so that it may be as easy as possible, he is hatched, like the young Grasshopper,
+in a temporary jacket which keeps his antennæ and legs closely fixed to his body.
+Like the White-faced Decticus he keeps his boring-tool at his neck. Here there is
+a kind of tumour that swells and subsides alternately, and strikes the obstacle before
+it as regularly as a piston. When I see this soft bladder trying to overcome the hardness
+of the earth I come to the unhappy creature’s aid, and damp the layer of soil.
+</p>
+<p>Even then the work is terribly hard. How it must labour, the poor little thing, how
+it must persevere with its throbbing head and writhing loins, before it can clear
+a passage for itself! The wee mite’s efforts show us plainly that the journey to the
+light of day is an enormous undertaking, in which the greater number would die but
+for the help of the exit-tunnel, the mother’s work.
+</p>
+<p>When the tiny insect reaches the surface at last, it rests for a moment to recover
+from all that fatigue. Then suddenly the blister swells and throbs, and the temporary
+jacket splits. The rags are pushed back by the hind-legs, which are the last to be
+stripped. The <span class="pageNum" id="pb242">[<a href="#pb242">242</a>]</span>thing is done: the creature is free, pale in colouring as yet, but possessing its
+final form as a larva.
+</p>
+<p>Immediately the hind-legs, hitherto stretched in a straight line, fall into the correct
+position. The legs fold under the great thighs, and the spring is ready to work. It
+works, Little Locust makes his entrance into the world, and hops for the first time.
+I offer him a bit of lettuce the size of my fingernail. He refuses it. Before taking
+nourishment he must first mature and grow in the sun.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">IV</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THEIR FINAL CHANGE</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">I have just beheld a stirring sight: the last change of a Locust, the full-grown insect
+emerging from his larval skin. It is magnificent. The object of my enthusiasm is the
+Grey Locust, the giant who is so common on the vines at vintage-time, in September.
+On account of his size—he is as long as my finger—he is easier to observe than any
+other of his tribe. The event took place in one of my cages.
+</p>
+<p>The fat, ungraceful larva, a rough sketch of the perfect insect, is usually pale green;
+but some are blue-green, dirty yellow, red-brown, or even ashen-grey, like the grey
+of the full-grown Locust. The hind-legs, which are as powerful as those of mature
+age, have a <span class="pageNum" id="pb243">[<a href="#pb243">243</a>]</span>great haunch striped with red and a long shank shaped like a two-edged saw.
+</p>
+<p>The wing-cases are at present two skimpy, triangular pinions, of which the free ends
+stand up like pointed gables. These two coat-tails, of which the material seems to
+have been clipped short with ridiculous meanness, just cover the creature’s nakedness
+at the small of the back, and shelter two lean strips, the germs of the wings. In
+brief, the sumptuous slender sails of the near future are at present sheer rags, of
+such meagre size as to be grotesque. From these miserable envelopes there will come
+a marvel of stately elegance.
+</p>
+<p>The first thing to be done is to burst the old tunic. All along the corselet of the
+insect there is a line that is weaker than the rest of the skin. Waves of blood can
+be seen throbbing within, rising and falling alternately, distending the skin until
+at last it splits at the line of least resistance, and opens as though the two symmetrical
+halves had been soldered. The split is continued some little way back, and runs between
+the fastenings of the wings: it goes up the head as far as the base of the antennæ,
+where it sends a short branch to right and left.
+</p>
+<p>Through this break the back is seen, quite soft, pale, hardly tinged with grey. Slowly
+it swells into a larger and larger hunch. At last it is wholly released. The head
+follows, pulled out of its mask, which remains <span class="pageNum" id="pb244">[<a href="#pb244">244</a>]</span>in its place, intact in the smallest particular, but looking strange with its great
+eyes that do not see. The sheaths of the antennæ, without a wrinkle, with nothing
+out of order, and with their usual position unchanged, hang over this dead face, which
+is now half transparent.
+</p>
+<p>This means that the antennæ within, although fitted into narrow sheaths that enclose
+them as precisely as gloves, are able to withdraw without disturbing the covers in
+the smallest degree, or even wrinkling them. The contents manage to slip out as easily
+as a smooth, straight object could slip from a loose sheath. This mechanism is even
+more remarkable in the case of the hind-legs.
+</p>
+<p>Now it is the turn of the fore-legs and intermediary legs to shed their armlets and
+gauntlets, always without the least rent, however small, without a crease of rumpled
+material, or a trace of any change in the natural position. The insect is now fixed
+to the top of the cage only by the claws of the long hind-legs. It hangs perpendicularly
+by four tiny hooks, head downwards, and it swings like a pendulum if I touch the wire-gauze.
+</p>
+<p>The wing-cases and wings now emerge. These are four narrow strips, faintly grooved
+and looking like bits of paper ribbon. At this stage they are scarcely a quarter of
+their final length. They are so limp that they bend under their own weight and sprawl
+along the insect’s sides in the wrong direction, with their points towards the head
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb245">[<a href="#pb245">245</a>]</span>of the Locust. Imagine four blades of thick grass, bent and battered by a rain-storm,
+and you will have a fair picture of the pitiable bunch formed by the future wings.
+</p>
+<p>The hind-legs are next released. The great thighs appear, tinted on their inner surface
+with pale pink, which will soon turn into a streak of bright crimson. They come out
+of the sheath quite easily, for the thick haunch makes way for the tapering knuckle.
+</p>
+<p>The shank is a different matter. The shank of the full-grown insect bristles throughout
+its length with a double row of hard, pointed spikes. Moreover, the lower extremity
+ends in four large spurs. It is a genuine saw, but with two parallel sets of teeth.
+</p>
+<p>Now this awkwardly shaped skin is enclosed in a sheath that is formed in exactly the
+same way. Each spur is fitted into a similar spur, each tooth into the hollow of a
+similar tooth. And the sheath is as close and as thin as a coat of varnish.
+</p>
+<p>Nevertheless the saw-like skin slips out of its long narrow case without catching
+in it at any point whatever. If I had not seen this happen over and over again I could
+never have believed it. The saw does no injury to the dainty scabbard which a puff
+of my breath is enough to tear; the formidable rake slips through without leaving
+the least scratch behind it.
+</p>
+<p>One would expect that, because of the spiked armour, the envelope of the leg would
+strip off in scales coming <span class="pageNum" id="pb246">[<a href="#pb246">246</a>]</span>loose of themselves, or would be rubbed off like dead skin. But the reality exceeds
+all possible expectation. From the spurs and spikes of the infinitely thin envelope
+there are drawn spurs and spikes so strong that they can cut soft wood. This is done
+without violence, the discarded skin remains where it was, hanging by the claws to
+the top of the cage, uncreased and untorn. The magnifying-glass shows not a trace
+of rough usage.
+</p>
+<p>If it were suggested that one should draw out a saw from some sort of gold-beater’s
+skin sheath which had been exactly moulded on the steel, and that one should perform
+the operation without making the least tear, one would simply laugh. The thing would
+be impossible. Yet Nature makes light of such impossibilities; she can realise the
+absurd, in case of need.
+</p>
+<p>The difficulty is overcome in this way. While the leg is being liberated it is not
+rigid, as it will presently be. It is soft and highly flexible. Where it is exposed
+to view I see it bending and curving: it is as supple as elastic cord. And farther
+on, where it is hidden, it is certainly still softer, it is almost fluid. The teeth
+of the saw are there, but have none of their future sharpness. The spikes lie backwards
+when the leg is about to be drawn back: as it emerges they stand up and become solid.
+A few minutes later the leg has attained the proper state of stiffness.
+</p>
+<p>And now the fine tunic is wrinkled and rumpled, and <span class="pageNum" id="pb247">[<a href="#pb247">247</a>]</span>pushed back along the body towards the tip. Except at this point the Locust is bare.
+After a rest of twenty minutes he makes a supreme effort; he raises himself as he
+hangs, and grabs hold of his cast skin. Then he climbs higher, and fixes himself to
+the wire of the cage with his four front feet. He loosens the empty husk with one
+last shake, and it falls to the ground. The Locust’s transformation is conducted in
+much the same way as the Cicada’s.
+</p>
+<p>The insect is now standing erect, and therefore the flexible wings are in the right
+position. They are no longer curved backwards like the petals of a flower, they are
+no longer upside down; but they still look shabby and insignificant. All that we see
+is a few wrinkles, a few winding furrows, which tell us that the stumps are bundles
+of cunningly folded material, arranged so as to take up as little space as possible.
+</p>
+<p>Very gradually they expand, so gradually that their unfolding cannot be seen even
+under the microscope. The process continues for three hours. Then the wings and wing-cases
+stand up on the Locust’s back like a huge set of sails, sometimes colourless, sometimes
+pale-green, like the Cicada’s wings at the beginning. One is amazed at their size
+when one thinks of the paltry bundles that represented them at first. How could so
+much stuff find room there?
+</p>
+<p>The fairy tale tells us of a grain of hempseed that <span class="pageNum" id="pb248">[<a href="#pb248">248</a>]</span>contained the under-linen of a princess. Here is a grain that is even more astonishing.
+The one in the story took years and years to sprout and multiply, till at last it
+yielded the hemp required for the trousseau: the Locust’s tiny bundle supplies a sumptuous
+set of sails in three hours. They are formed of exquisitely fine gauze, a network
+of innumerable tiny bars.
+</p>
+<p>In the wing of the larva we can see only a few uncertain outlines of the future lace-work.
+There is nothing to suggest the marvellous fabric whose every mesh will have its form
+and place arranged for it, with absolute exactness. Yet it is there, as the oak is
+inside the acorn.
+</p>
+<p>There must be something to make the matter of the wing shape itself into a sheet of
+gauze, into a labyrinth of meshes. There must be an original plan, an ideal pattern
+which gives each atom its proper place. The stones of our buildings are arranged in
+accordance with the architect’s plan; they form an imaginary building before they
+exist as a real one. In the same way a Locust’s wing, that sumptuous piece of lace
+emerging from a miserable sheath, speaks to us of another Architect, the Author of
+the plans which Nature must follow in her labours.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb249">[<a href="#pb249">249</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div id="ch16" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e310">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+<h2 class="main">THE ANTHRAX FLY</h2>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">I</h3>
+<h3 class="main">A STRANGE MEAL</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">I made the acquaintance of the Anthrax in 1855 at Carpentras, when I was searching
+the slopes of which I have already told you, the slopes beloved of the Anthophora-bees.
+Her curious pupa, so powerfully equipped to force an outlet for the perfect insect,
+which is incapable of the least effort, seemed worthy of investigation. For that pupa
+is armed with a ploughshare in front, a trident at its tail, and rows of harpoons
+on its back, with which to rip open the Osmia-bee’s cocoon and break through the hard
+crust of the hill-side.
+</p>
+<p>Let us, some day in July, knock away the pebbles that fasten the nests of the Mason-bees
+to the sloping ground on which they are built. Loosened by the shock, the dome comes
+off cleanly, all in one piece. Moreover—and this is a great advantage—the cells are
+all exposed at the base of the nest, for at this point they have no other wall than
+the surface of the pebble. Without any scraping, which would be wearisome work for
+us and dangerous to the Bees, we have all the cells before our eyes, together <span class="pageNum" id="pb250">[<a href="#pb250">250</a>]</span>with their contents—a silky, amber-yellow cocoon, as delicate and transparent as the
+skin of an onion. Let us split the dainty wrappers with the scissors, cell by cell,
+one after another. If fortune be at all kind, as it always is to the persevering,
+we shall end by finding cocoons harbouring two larvæ together, one more or less faded
+in appearance, the other fresh and plump. We shall also find some, no less plentiful,
+in which the withered larva is accompanied by a family of little grubs wriggling uneasily
+round it.
+</p>
+<p>It is easy to see that a tragedy is happening under the cover of the cocoon. The flabby,
+faded larva is the Mason-bee’s. A month ago, in June, having finished its ration of
+honey, it wove itself a silken sheath in which to take the long sleep that precedes
+its transformation. It was bulging with fat, and was a rich and a defenceless morsel
+for any enemy that could reach it. And enemies did reach it. In spite of obstacles
+that might well seem insurmountable, the wall of mortar and dome-shaped cover, the
+enemy grubs appeared in the secret retreat, and began to eat the sleeper. Three different
+species take part in this murderous work, often in the same nest, in adjoining cells.
+We will concern ourselves only with the Anthrax Fly.
+</p>
+<p>The grub, when it has eaten its victim and is left alone in the Mason-bee’s cocoon,
+is a naked worm, smooth, legless, and blind. It is creamy-white, and each of its <span class="pageNum" id="pb251">[<a href="#pb251">251</a>]</span>segments or divisions forms a perfect ring, very much curved when at rest, but almost
+straight when disturbed. Including the head I can count thirteen segments, well-marked
+in the middle of the body, but in the fore-part difficult to distinguish. The white,
+soft head shows no sign of any mouth, and is no bigger than a tiny pin’s head. The
+grub has four pale red stigmata, or openings through which to breathe, two in front
+and two behind, as is the rule among Flies. It has no walking-apparatus whatever;
+it is absolutely incapable of shifting its position. If I disturb its rest, it curves
+and straightens itself alternately, tossing about violently where it lies; but it
+does not manage to progress.
+</p>
+<p>But the most interesting point about the grub of the Anthrax is its manner of eating.
+A most unexpected fact attracts our attention: the curious ease with which this larva
+leaves and returns to the Bee-grub on which it is feeding. After watching flesh-eating
+grubs at hundreds and hundreds of meals, I suddenly find myself confronted with a
+manner of eating that is entirely unlike anything I ever saw before.
+</p>
+<p>This, for instance, is the Amophila-grub’s way of devouring its caterpillar. A hole
+is made in the victim’s side, and the head and neck of the grub dives deep into the
+wound. It never withdraws its head, never pauses to take breath. The voracious animal
+always goes forward, chewing, swallowing, digesting, until the caterpillar’s <span class="pageNum" id="pb252">[<a href="#pb252">252</a>]</span>skin is empty. Once the meal is begun, the creature does not budge as long as the
+food lasts. If moved by force it hesitates, and hunts about for the exact spot where
+it left off eating; for if the caterpillar be attacked at a fresh point it is liable
+to go bad.
+</p>
+<p>In the case of the Anthrax-grub there is none of this mangling, none of this persistent
+clinging to the original wound. If I tease it with the tip of a pointed brush it at
+once retires, and there is no wound to be seen on the victim, no sign of broken skin.
+Soon the grub once more applies its pimple-head to its meal, at any point, no matter
+where, and keeps itself fixed there without any effort. If I repeat the touch with
+the brush I see the same sudden retreat and the same calm return to the meal.
+</p>
+<p>The ease with which this larva grips, leaves, and regrips its victim, now here, now
+there, and always without a wound, shows that the mouth of the Anthrax is not armed
+with fangs that can dig into the skin and tear it. If the flesh were gashed by pincers
+of any kind, one or two attempts would be necessary before they could leave go or
+take hold again; and besides, the skin would be broken. There is nothing of the kind:
+the grub simply glues its mouth to its prey, and withdraws it. It does not chew its
+food like the other flesh-eating grub: it does not eat, it inhales.
+</p>
+<p>This remarkable fact led me to examine the mouth <span class="pageNum" id="pb253">[<a href="#pb253">253</a>]</span>under the microscope. It is a small conical crater, with yellowish-red sides and very
+faint lines running round it. At the bottom of this funnel is the opening of the throat.
+There is not the slightest trace of mandibles or jaws, or any object capable of seizing
+and grinding food. There is nothing at all but the bowl-shaped opening. I know of
+no other example of a mouth like this, which I can only compare to a cupping-glass.
+Its attack is a mere kiss, but what a cruel kiss!
+</p>
+<p>To observe the working of this curious machine I placed a new-born Anthrax-grub, together
+with its prey, in a glass tube. Here I was able to watch the strange repast from beginning
+to end.
+</p>
+<p>The Anthrax-grub—the Bee’s uninvited guest—is fixed by its mouth or sucker to any
+convenient part of the plump Bee-grub. It is ready to break off its kiss suddenly,
+should anything disturb it, and to resume it as easily when it wishes. After three
+or four days of this curious contact the Bee-grub, formerly so fat, glossy, and healthy,
+begins to look withered. Her sides fall in, her fresh colour fades, her skin becomes
+covered with little folds, and she is evidently shrinking. A week is hardly passed
+when these signs of exhaustion increase to a startling degree. The victim is flabby
+and wrinkled, as though borne down by her own weight. If I move her from her place
+she flops and sprawls like a half-filled indiarubber bottle. But the kiss of the Anthrax
+goes on <span class="pageNum" id="pb254">[<a href="#pb254">254</a>]</span>emptying her: soon she is but a sort of shrivelled bladder, growing smaller and smaller
+from hour to hour. At length, between the twelfth and fifteenth day, all that remains
+of the Mason-bee’s larva is a little white grain, hardly as large as a pin’s head.
+</p>
+<p>If I soften this small remnant in water, and then blow into it through a very fine
+glass tube, the skin fills out and resumes the shape of the larva. There is no outlet
+anywhere for the compressed air. It is intact: it is nowhere broken. This proves that,
+under the cupping-glass of the Anthrax, the skin has been drained through its pores.
+</p>
+<p>The devouring grub, in making its attack, chooses its moment very cunningly. It is
+but an atom. Its mother, a feeble Fly, has done nothing to help it. She has no weapons;
+and she is quite incapable of penetrating the Mason-bee’s fortress. The future meal
+of the Anthrax has not been paralysed, nor injured in any way. The parasite arrives—we
+shall presently see how; it arrives, scarcely visible, and having made its preparations
+it installs itself upon its monstrous victim, whom it is going to drain to the very
+husk. And the victim, though not paralysed nor in any way lacking in vitality, lets
+it have its way, and is sucked dry without a tremor or a quiver of resistance. No
+corpse could show greater indifference to a bite.
+</p>
+<p>Had the Anthrax-grub appeared upon the scene <span class="pageNum" id="pb255">[<a href="#pb255">255</a>]</span>earlier, when the Bee-grub was eating her store of honey, things would surely have
+gone badly with it. The victim, feeling herself bled to death by that ravenous kiss,
+would have protested with much wriggling of body and grinding of mandibles. The intruder
+would have perished. But at the hour chosen so wisely by it all danger is over. Enclosed
+in her silken sheath, the larva is in the torpid state that precedes her transformation
+into a Bee. Her condition is not death, but neither is it life. So there is no sign
+of irritation when I stir her with a needle, nor when the Anthrax-grub attacks her.
+</p>
+<p>There is another marvellous point about the meal of the Anthrax-grub. The Bee-grub
+remains alive until the very end. Were she really dead it would, in less than twenty-four
+hours, turn a dirty-brown colour and decompose. But during the whole fortnight that
+the meal lasts, the butter-colour of the victim continues unaltered, and there is
+no sign of putrefaction. Life persists until the body is reduced to nothing. And yet,
+if I myself give her a wound, the whole body turns brown and soon begins to rot. The
+prick of a needle makes her decompose. A mere nothing kills it; the atrocious draining
+of its strength does not.
+</p>
+<p>The only explanation I can suggest is this, and it is no more than a suggestion. Nothing
+but fluids can be drawn by the sucker of the Anthrax through the unpierced skin of
+the Bee-grub: no part of the breathing-apparatus <span class="pageNum" id="pb256">[<a href="#pb256">256</a>]</span>or the nervous system can pass. As these two essentials remain uninjured, life goes
+on until the fluid contents of the skin are entirely exhausted. On the other hand,
+if I myself injure the larva of the Bee, I disturb the nervous or the air-conducting
+system, and the bruised part spreads a taint all over the body.
+</p>
+<p>Liberty is a noble possession, even in an insignificant grub; but it has its dangers
+everywhere. The Anthrax escapes these dangers only on the condition of being, so to
+speak, muzzled. It finds its own way into the Bee’s dwelling, quite independently
+of its mother. Unlike most of the other flesh-eating larvæ it is not fixed by its
+mother’s care at the most suitable spot for its meal. It is perfectly free to attack
+its prey where it chooses. If it had a set of carving-tools, of jaws and mandibles,
+it would meet with a speedy death. It would split open its victim and bite it at random,
+and its food would rot. Its freedom of action would kill it.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">II</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE WAY OUT</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">There are other grub-eaters which drain their victims without wounding them, but not
+one, among those I know, reaches such perfection in this art as the Anthrax-grub.
+Nor can any be compared with the Anthrax as regards the means brought into play in
+order to leave the <span class="pageNum" id="pb257">[<a href="#pb257">257</a>]</span>cell. The others, when they become perfect insects, have implements for mining and
+demolishing. They have stout mandibles, capable of digging the ground, of pulling
+down clay partition-walls, and even of grinding the Mason-bee’s tough cement to powder.
+The Anthrax, in her final form, has nothing like this. Her mouth is a short, soft
+proboscis, good at most for soberly licking the sugary fluid from the flowers. Her
+slim legs are so feeble that to move a grain of sand would be too heavy a task for
+them, enough to strain every joint. Her great stiff wings, which must remain full-spread,
+do not allow her to slip through a narrow passage. Her delicate suit of downy velvet,
+from which you take the bloom by merely breathing on it, could not withstand the contact
+of rough tunnels. She is unable to enter the Mason-bee’s cells to lay her egg, and
+equally unable to leave it when the time comes to free herself and appear in broad
+daylight.
+</p>
+<p>And the grub, for its part, is powerless to prepare the way for the coming flight.
+That buttery little cylinder, owning no tools but a sucker so flimsy and small that
+it is barely visible through the magnifying-glass, is even weaker than the full-grown
+insect, which at least flies and walks. The Mason-bee’s cell seems to this creature
+like a granite cave. How can it get out? The problems would be insoluble to these
+two incapables, if nothing else played its part.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb258">[<a href="#pb258">258</a>]</span></p>
+<p>Among insects the pupa—the transition stage, when the creature is no longer a grub
+but is not yet a perfect insect—is generally a striking picture of complete weakness.
+A sort of mummy, tightly bound in swaddling-clothes, motionless and unconscious, it
+awaits its transformation. Its tender flesh is hardly solid; its limbs are transparent
+as crystals, and are held fixed in their place, lest a movement should disturb the
+work of development. In the same way, to secure his recovery, a patient whose bones
+are broken is held bound in the surgeon’s bandages.
+</p>
+<div class="figure p258width" id="p258"><img src="images/p258.jpg" alt="THE ANTHRAX FLY" width="595" height="720"><p class="figureHead"><i>THE ANTHRAX FLY</i></p>
+<p class="first"><i>Her delicate suit of downy velvet, from which you take the bloom by merely breathing
+on it, could not withstand the contact of rough tunnels</i></p>
+</div><p>
+</p>
+<p>Well, here, by a strange reversal of the usual state of things, a stupendous task
+is laid upon the pupa of the Anthrax. It is the pupa that has to toil, to strive,
+to exhaust itself in efforts to burst the wall and open the way out. To the pupa falls
+the desperate duty, to the full-grown insect the joy of resting in the sun. The result
+of these unusual conditions is that the pupa possesses a strange and complicated set
+of tools that is in no way suggested by the grub nor recalled by the perfect Fly.
+This set of tools includes a collection of ploughshares, gimlets, hooks, spears, and
+other implements that are not found in our trades nor named in our dictionaries. I
+will do my best to describe the strange gear.
+</p>
+<p>By the time that July is nearly over the Anthrax has finished eating the Bee-grub.
+From that time until the following May it lies motionless in the Mason-bee’s cocoon,
+beside the remains of its victim. When the fine <span class="pageNum" id="pb259">[<a href="#pb259">259</a>]</span>days of May arrive it shrivels, and casts its skin; and it is then that the pupa appears,
+fully clad in a stout, reddish, horny hide.
+</p>
+<p>The head is round and large, and is crowned on top and in front with a sort of diadem
+of six hard, sharp, black spikes, arranged in semi-circle. This sixfold ploughshare
+is the chief digging-implement. Lower down the instrument is finished off with a separate
+group of two small black spikes, placed close together.
+</p>
+<p>Four segments in the middle of the body are armed on the back with a belt of little
+horny arches, set in the skin upside down. They are arranged parallel to one another,
+and are finished at both ends with a hard, black point. The belt forms a double row
+of little thorns, with a hollow in between. There are about two hundred spikes on
+the four segments. The use of this rasp, or grater, is obvious: it helps the pupa
+to steady itself on the wall of the gallery as the work proceeds. Thus anchored on
+a host of points the brave pioneer is able to hit the obstacle harder with its crown
+of awls. Moreover, to make it more difficult for the instrument to recoil, there are
+long, stiff bristles, pointing backwards, scattered here and there among the rows
+of spikes. There are some also on other segments, and on the sides they are arranged
+in clusters. Two more belts of thorns, less powerful than the others, and a sheaf
+of eight spikes at the tip of the body—two of which are longer than the <span class="pageNum" id="pb260">[<a href="#pb260">260</a>]</span>rest—completes the strange boring-machine that prepares an outlet for the feeble Anthrax.
+</p>
+<p>About the end of May the colouring of the pupa alters, and shows that the transformation
+is close at hand. The head and fore-part of the creature become a handsome, shiny
+black, prophetic of the black livery worn by the coming insect. I was anxious to see
+the boring-tools in action, and, since this could not be done in natural conditions,
+I confined the Anthrax in a glass tube, between two thick stoppers of sorghum-pith.
+The space between the stoppers was about the same size as the Bee’s cell, and the
+partitions, though not so strong as the Bee’s masonry, were firm enough to withstand
+considerable effort. On the other hand the side-walls, being of glass, could not be
+gripped by the toothed belts, which made matters much harder for the worker.
+</p>
+<p>No matter: in the space of a single day the pupa pierced the front partition, three-quarters
+of an inch thick. I saw it fixing its double ploughshare against the back partition,
+arching itself into a bow, and then suddenly releasing itself and striking the stopper
+in front of it with its barbed forehead. Under the blows of the spikes the pith slowly
+crumbled to pieces, atom by atom. At long intervals the method of work changed. The
+animal drove its crown of awls into the pith, and fidgeted and swayed about for a
+time; then the blows began again. <span class="pageNum" id="pb261">[<a href="#pb261">261</a>]</span>Now and then there were intervals of rest. At last the hole was made. The pupa slipped
+into it, but did not pass through entirely. The head and chest appeared beyond the
+hole, but the rest of the body remained held in the tunnel.
+</p>
+<p>The glass cell certainly puzzled my Anthrax. The hole through the pith was wide and
+irregular: it was a clumsy breach and not a gallery. When made through the Mason-bee’s
+walls it is fairly neat, and exactly of the animal’s diameter. For narrowness and
+evenness in the exit-tunnel are necessary. The pupa always remains half-caught in
+it, and even pretty securely fixed by the graters on its back. Only the head and chest
+emerge into the outer air. A fixed support is indispensable, for without it the Anthrax
+could not issue from her horny sheath, unfurling her great wings and drawing out her
+slender legs.
+</p>
+<p>She therefore remains steadily fixed by the graters on her back, in the narrow exit-gallery.
+All is now ready. The transformation begins. Two slits appear on the head: one along
+the forehead, and a second, crossing it, dividing the skull in two and extending down
+the chest. Through this cross-shaped opening the Anthrax Fly suddenly appears. She
+steadies herself upon her trembling legs, dries her wings and takes to flight, leaving
+her cast skin at the doorway of the gallery. The sad-coloured <span class="pageNum" id="pb262">[<a href="#pb262">262</a>]</span>Fly has five or six weeks before her wherein to explore the clay nests amid the thyme
+and to take her small share of the joys of life.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="div2 section"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead">
+<h3 class="label">III</h3>
+<h3 class="main">THE WAY IN</h3>
+</div>
+<div class="divBody">
+<p class="first">If you have paid attention to this story of the Anthrax Fly, you must have noticed
+that it is incomplete. The Fox in the fable saw how the Lion’s visitors entered his
+den, but did not see how they went out. With us the case is reversed: we know the
+way out of the Mason-bee’s fortress, but we do not know the way in. To leave the cell
+whose owner it has eaten, the Anthrax becomes a boring-tool. When the exit-tunnel
+is opened this tool splits like a pod bursting in the sun, and from the strong framework
+there escapes a dainty Fly. A soft bit of fluff that contrasts strangely with the
+roughness of the prison whence it comes. On this point we know pretty well what there
+is to know. But the entrance of the grub into the cell puzzled me for a quarter of
+a century.
+</p>
+<p>It is plain that the mother cannot place her egg in the Bee’s cell, which is closed
+and barricaded with a cement wall. To pierce it she would have to become a boring-tool
+once more, and get into the cast-off rags which she left at the doorway of the exit-tunnel.
+She would have <span class="pageNum" id="pb263">[<a href="#pb263">263</a>]</span>to become a pupa again. For the full-grown Fly has no claws, nor mandibles, nor any
+implement capable of working its way through the wall.
+</p>
+<p>Can it be, then, the grub that makes its own way into the storeroom, that same grub
+that we have seen sucking the life out of the Bee’s larva? Let us call the creature
+to mind: a little oily sausage, which stretches and curls up just where it lies, without
+being able to shift its position. Its body is a smooth cylinder, its mouth a circular
+lip. It has no means whatever of moving; not even a hair or a wrinkle to enable it
+to crawl. It can do nothing but digest its food. It is even less able than the mother
+to make its way into the Mason-bee’s dwelling. And yet its provisions are there: they
+must be reached: it is a matter of life and death. How does the Fly set about it?
+In the face of this puzzle I resolved to attempt an almost impossible task and watch
+the Anthrax from the moment it left the egg.
+</p>
+<p>Since these Flies are not really plentiful in my own neighbourhood I made an expedition
+to Carpentras, the dear little town where I spent my twentieth year. The old college
+where I made my first attempts as a teacher was unchanged in appearance. It still
+looked like a penitentiary. In my early days it was considered unwholesome for boys
+to be gay and active, so our system of education applied the remedy of melancholy
+and gloom. Our houses of instruction were above all houses <span class="pageNum" id="pb264">[<a href="#pb264">264</a>]</span>of correction. In a yard between four walls, a sort of bear-pit, the boys fought to
+make room for their games under a spreading plane-tree. All round it were cells like
+horseboxes, without light or air: those were the class-rooms.
+</p>
+<p>I saw, too, the shop where I used to buy tobacco as I came out of the college; and
+also my former dwelling, now occupied by monks. There, in the embrasure of a window,
+sheltered from profane hands, between the closed outer shutters and the panes, I kept
+my chemicals—bought for a few <i lang="fr">sous</i> saved out of the housekeeping money. My experiments, harmless or dangerous, were
+made on a corner of the fire, beside the simmering broth. How I should love to see
+that room again, where I pored over mathematical problems; and my familiar friend
+the blackboard, which I hired for five francs a year, and could never buy outright
+for want of the necessary cash!
+</p>
+<p>But I must return to my insects. My visit to Carpentras, unfortunately, was made too
+late in the year to be very profitable. I saw only a few Anthrax Flies hovering round
+the face of the cliff. Yet I did not despair, because it was plain that these few
+were not there to take exercise, but to settle their families.
+</p>
+<p>So I took my stand at the foot of the rock, under a broiling sun, and for half a day
+I followed the movements of my Flies. They flitted quietly in front of the slope,
+a few inches away from the earthly covering. <span class="pageNum" id="pb265">[<a href="#pb265">265</a>]</span>They went from one Bee’s nest to another, but without attempting to enter. For that
+matter, the attempt would be useless, for the galleries are too narrow to admit their
+spreading wings. So they simply explore the cliff, going to and fro, and up and down,
+with a flight that was now sudden, now smooth and slow. From time to time I saw one
+of them approach the wall and touch the earth suddenly with the tip of her body. The
+proceeding took no longer than the twinkling of an eye. When it was over the insect
+rested a moment, and then resumed flight.
+</p>
+<p>I was certain that, at the moment when the Fly tapped the earth, she laid her eggs
+on the spot. Yet, though I rushed forward and examined the place with my lens, I could
+see no egg. In spite of the closest attention I could distinguish nothing. The truth
+is that my state of exhaustion, together with the blinding light and scorching heat,
+made it difficult for me to see anything. Afterwards, when I made the acquaintance
+of the tiny thing that comes out of that egg, my failure no longer surprised me: for
+even in the leisure and peace of my study I have the greatest difficulty in finding
+the infinitesimal creature. How then could I see the egg, worn out as I was under
+the sun-baked cliff?
+</p>
+<p>None the less I was convinced that I had seen the Anthrax Flies strewing their eggs,
+one by one, on the spots frequented by the Bees who suit their grubs. They <span class="pageNum" id="pb266">[<a href="#pb266">266</a>]</span>take no precaution to place the egg under cover, and indeed the structure of the mother
+makes any such precaution impossible. The egg, that delicate object, is laid roughly
+in the blazing sun, among grains of sand, in some wrinkle of the chalk. It is the
+business of the young grub to manage as best it can.
+</p>
+<p>The next year I continued my investigations, this time on the Anthrax of the Chalicodoma,
+a Bee that abounds in my own neighbourhood. Every morning I took the field at nine
+o’clock, when the sun begins to be unendurable. I was prepared to come back with my
+head aching from the glare, if only I could bring home the solution of my puzzle.
+The greater the heat, the better my chances of success. What gives me torture fills
+the insect with delight; what prostrates me braces the Fly.
+</p>
+<p>The road shimmers like a sheet of molten steel. From the dusty, melancholy olive-trees
+rises a mighty, throbbing hum, the concert of the Cicadæ, who sway and rustle with
+increasing frenzy as the temperature increases. The Cicada of the Ash adds its strident
+scrapings to the single note of the Common Cicada. This is the moment! For five or
+six weeks, oftenest in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon, I set myself to explore
+the rocky waste.
+</p>
+<p>There were plenty of the nests I wanted, but I could not see a single Anthrax on their
+surface. Not one settled in front of me to lay her egg. At most, from time <span class="pageNum" id="pb267">[<a href="#pb267">267</a>]</span>to time, I could see one passing far away, with an impetuous rush. I would lose her
+in the distance; and that was all. It was impossible to be present at the laying of
+the egg. In vain I enlisted the services of the small boys who keep the sheep in our
+meadows, and talked to them of a big black Fly and the nests on which she ought to
+settle. By the end of August my last illusions were dispelled. Not one of us had succeeded
+in seeing the big black Fly perching on the dome of the Mason-bee.
+</p>
+<p>The reason is, I believe, that she never perches there. She comes and goes in every
+direction across the stony plain. Her practised eye can detect, as she flies, the
+earthen dome which she is seeking, and having found it she swoops down, leaves her
+egg on it, and makes off without setting foot on the ground. Should she take a rest
+it will be elsewhere, on the soil, on a stone, on a tuft of lavender or thyme. It
+is no wonder that neither I nor my young shepherds could find her egg.
+</p>
+<p>Meanwhile I searched the Mason-bees’ nests for grubs just out of the egg. My shepherds
+procured me heaps of the nests, enough to fill baskets and baskets; and these I inspected
+at leisure on my work-table. I took the cocoons from the cells, and examined them
+within and without: my lens explored their innermost recesses, the sleeping larva,
+and the walls. Nothing, nothing, nothing! For a fortnight and more nests were searched
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb268">[<a href="#pb268">268</a>]</span>and rejected, and heaped up in a corner. My study was crammed with them. In vain I
+ripped up the cocoons; I found nothing. It needed the sturdiest faith to make me persevere.
+</p>
+<p>At last I saw, or seemed to see, something move on the Bee’s larva. Was it an illusion?
+Was it a bit of down stirred by my breath? It was not an illusion; it was not a bit
+of down; it was really and truly a grub! But at first I thought the discovery unimportant,
+because I was so greatly puzzled by the little creature’s appearance.
+</p>
+<p>In a couple of days I was the owner of ten such worms and had placed each of them
+in a glass tube, together with the Bee-grub on which it wriggled. It was so tiny that
+the least fold of skin concealed it from my sight. After watching it one day through
+the lens I sometimes failed to find it again on the morrow. I would think it was lost:
+then it would move, and become visible once more.
+</p>
+<p>For some time the belief had been growing in me that the Anthrax had <i>two</i> larval forms, a first and a second, the second being the form I knew, the grub we
+have already seen at its meals. Was this new discovery, I asked myself, the first
+form? Time showed me that it was. For at last I saw my little worms transform themselves
+into the grub I have already described, and make their first start at draining their
+victims with kisses. <span class="pageNum" id="pb269">[<a href="#pb269">269</a>]</span>A few moments of satisfaction like those I then enjoyed make up for many a weary hour.
+</p>
+<p>This tiny worm, the first form or “primary larva” of the Anthrax, is very active.
+It tramps over the fat sides of its victim, walking all round it. It covers the ground
+pretty quickly, buckling and unbuckling by turns, very much after the manner of the
+Looper-caterpillar. Its two ends are its chief points of support. When walking it
+swells out, and then looks like a bit of knotted string. It has thirteen rings or
+segments, including its tiny head, which bristles in front with short, stiff hairs.
+There are four other pairs of bristles on the lower surface, and with the help of
+these it walks.
+</p>
+<p>For a fortnight the feeble grub remains in this condition, without growing, and apparently
+without eating. Indeed, what could it eat? In the cocoon there is nothing but the
+larva of the Mason-bee, and the worm cannot eat this before it has the sucker or mouth
+that comes with the second form. Nevertheless, as I said before, though it does not
+eat it is far from idle. It explores its future dish, and runs all over the neighborhood.
+</p>
+<p>Now, there is a very good reason for this long fast. In the natural state of the Anthrax-grub
+it is necessary. The egg is laid by the mother on the surface of the nest, at a distance
+from the Bee’s larva, which is protected by a thick rampart. It is the business of
+the new-born <span class="pageNum" id="pb270">[<a href="#pb270">270</a>]</span>grub to make its way to its provisions, not by violence, of which it is incapable,
+but by patiently slipping through a maze of cracks. It is a very difficult task, even
+for this slender worm, for the Bee’s masonry is exceedingly compact. There are no
+chinks due to bad building, no cracks due to the weather. I see but one weak point,
+and that only in a few nests: it is the line where the dome joins the surface of the
+stone. This weakness so seldom occurs that I believe the Anthrax-grub is able to find
+an entrance at any spot on the dome of the Bee’s nest.
+</p>
+<p>The grub is extremely weak, and has nothing but invincible patience. How long it takes
+to work its way through the masonry I cannot say. The work is so laborious and the
+worker so feeble! In some cases I believe it may be months before the slow journey
+is accomplished. So it is very fortunate, you see, that this first form of the Anthrax,
+which exists only in order to pierce the walls of the Bees’ nest, should be able to
+live without food.
+</p>
+<p>At last I saw my young worms shrink, and rid themselves of their outer skin. They
+then appeared as the grub I knew and was so anxiously expecting, the grub of the Anthrax,
+the cream-colored cylinder with the little button of a head. Fastening its round sucker
+to the Bee-grub, it began its meal. You know the rest.
+</p>
+<p>Before taking leave of this tiny animal let us dwell <span class="pageNum" id="pb271">[<a href="#pb271">271</a>]</span>for a moment on its marvellous instinct. Picture it as having just left the egg, just
+awakened to life under the fierce rays of the sun. The bare stone is its cradle; there
+is no one to welcome it as it enters the world, a mere thread of half-solid substance.
+Instantly it starts on its struggle with the flint. Obstinately it sounds each pore
+of the stone; it slips in, crawls on, retreats, begins again. What inspiration urges
+it towards its food, what compass guides it? What does it know of those depths, or
+of what lies in them? Nothing. What does the root of a plant know of the earth’s fruitfulness?
+Again, nothing. Yet both the root and the worm make for the nourishing spot, Why?
+I do not understand. I do not even try to understand. The question is far above us.
+</p>
+<p>We have now followed the complete history of the Anthrax. Its life is divided into
+four periods, each of which has its special form and its special work. The primary
+larva enters the Bees’ nest, which contains provisions; the secondary larva eats those
+provisions; the pupa brings the insect to light by boring through the enclosing wall;
+the perfect insect strews its eggs. Then the story starts afresh.
+<span class="pageNum" id="pb272">[<a href="#pb272">272</a>]</span></p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="back">
+<div class="transcriberNote">
+<h2 class="main">Colophon</h2>
+<h3 class="main">Availability</h3>
+<p class="first">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 <a class="seclink xd31e52" title="External link" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/">www.gutenberg.org</a>.
+</p>
+<p>This eBook is produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="seclink xd31e52" title="External link" href="https://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>.
+</p>
+<p>Scans of this book are available from the Internet Archive (copy <a class="seclink xd31e52" title="External link" href="https://archive.org/details/fabresbookofinse00fabre">1</a>, <a class="seclink xd31e52" title="External link" href="https://archive.org/details/fabresbookofinse00fabriala">2</a>).
+</p>
+<h3 class="main">Metadata</h3>
+<table class="colophonMetadata" summary="Metadata">
+<tr>
+<td><b>Title:</b></td>
+<td>Fabre’s book of insects</td>
+<td></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><b>Author:</b></td>
+<td>Jean-Henri-Casimir Fabre (1823–1915)</td>
+<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/51689251/" class="seclink">Info</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><b>Illustrator:</b></td>
+<td>Edward Julius Detmold (1883–1957)</td>
+<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/43077330/" class="seclink">Info</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><b>Editor:</b></td>
+<td>Maud Margaret Key Stawell (1865–1949)</td>
+<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/62941165/" class="seclink">Info</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><b>Translator:</b></td>
+<td>Alexander Teixeira de Mattos (1865–1921)</td>
+<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/55502069/" class="seclink">Info</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><b>Language:</b></td>
+<td>English</td>
+<td></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td><b>Original publication date:</b></td>
+<td>1921</td>
+<td></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<h3 class="main">Revision History</h3>
+<ul>
+<li>2021-12-22 Started.
+</li>
+</ul>
+<h3 class="main">External References</h3>
+<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These links may not work
+for you.</p>
+<h3 class="main">Corrections</h3>
+<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p>
+<table class="correctionTable" summary="Overview of corrections applied to the text.">
+<tr>
+<th>Page</th>
+<th>Source</th>
+<th>Correction</th>
+<th>Edit distance</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e786">42</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">plently</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">plenty</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e818">46</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">over-lapping</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">overlapping</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e858">51</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">grabed</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">grabbed</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e952">62</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">themseves</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">themselves</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1016">70</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">wth</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">with</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1089">80</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">PELOPAEUS</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">PELOPÆUS</td>
+<td class="bottom">2</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1132">84</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">discerment</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">discernment</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1255">100</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">eider-down</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">eiderdown</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1329">111</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">shapless</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">shapeless</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1433">126</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">outstreched</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">outstretched</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1486">132</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">were</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">where</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1542">140</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">farm-house</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">farmhouse</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1578">144</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">country-side</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">countryside</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1605">148</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">contaking</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">containing</td>
+<td class="bottom">2</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1635">152</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">hugh</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">huge</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1675">157</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">AVENTURES</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">ADVENTURES</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1687">157</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">abondoned</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">abandoned</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1853">176</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">fire-side</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">fireside</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1860">176</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">transalation</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">translation</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1926">185</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">is</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">in</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1944">187</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">pinchers</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">pincers</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2111">209</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">
+[<i>Not in source</i>]
+</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">I</td>
+<td class="bottom">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2279">233</a></td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">Their</td>
+<td class="width40 bottom">There</td>
+<td class="bottom">2</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS ***</div>
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-22 09:16:56 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-01-22 09:16:56 -0800
commit	1215d675c0a9c83df07a10c3888f64527c930ec0 (patch)
tree	5a17c346704d676d70f94eaa1a602177350de3d3