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diff --git a/old/67000-0.txt b/old/67000-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c1c6bce..0000000 --- a/old/67000-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7121 +0,0 @@ -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. - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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-} -.p204width { -width:615px; -} -.p238width { -width:573px; -} -.p258width { -width:595px; -} -@media handheld { -} -/* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> - -<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"> </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. 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 <span class="tocPageNum xd31e183">PAGE</span> -</p> -<p><a href="#ch1" id="xd31e187">MY WORK AND MY WORKSHOP</a> <span class="tocPageNum">1</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER II -</p> -<p><a href="#ch2" id="xd31e195">THE SACRED BEETLE</a> <span class="tocPageNum">11</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER III -</p> -<p><a href="#ch3" id="xd31e203">THE CICADA</a> <span class="tocPageNum">25</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER IV -</p> -<p><a href="#ch4" id="xd31e211">THE PRAYING MANTIS</a> <span class="tocPageNum">40</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER V -</p> -<p><a href="#ch5" id="xd31e219">THE GLOW-WORM</a> <span class="tocPageNum">54</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER VI -</p> -<p><a href="#ch6" id="xd31e228">A MASON-WASP</a> <span class="tocPageNum">69</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER VII -</p> -<p><a href="#ch7" id="xd31e236">THE PSYCHES</a> <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> <span class="tocPageNum">109</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER IX -</p> -<p><a href="#ch9" id="xd31e253">TWO STRANGE GRASSHOPPERS</a> <span class="tocPageNum">121</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER X -</p> -<p><a href="#ch10" id="xd31e261">COMMON WASPS</a> <span class="tocPageNum">138</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER XI -</p> -<p><a href="#ch11" id="xd31e270">THE ADVENTURES OF A GRUB</a> <span class="tocPageNum">157</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER XII -</p> -<p><a href="#ch12" id="xd31e278">THE CRICKET</a> <span class="tocPageNum">175</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER XIII -</p> -<p><a href="#ch13" id="xd31e286">THE SISYPHUS</a> <span class="tocPageNum">198</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER XIV -</p> -<p><a href="#ch14" id="xd31e294">THE CAPRICORN</a> <span class="tocPageNum">209</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER XV -</p> -<p><a href="#ch15" id="xd31e302">LOCUSTS</a> <span class="tocPageNum">227</span> -</p> -<p>CHAPTER XVI -</p> -<p><a href="#ch16" id="xd31e310">THE ANTHRAX FLY</a> <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> <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> <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 <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 <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 <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 <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 <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 <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 <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 <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 <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” <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 <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. <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. <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; 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