diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-21 20:51:04 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-01-21 20:51:04 -0800 |
| commit | 1660568050d1a36f8a40a0af7eee85fc801301ad (patch) | |
| tree | 23e8954a18092fe38dbfd6791ac7b8c415f175a8 /old/68186-h | |
| parent | 2664cec4cffbd0d7a9ad68bf6149cdc69b6f6d64 (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/68186-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/68186-h.htm | 9046 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/front.jpg | bin | 275888 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/frontispiece.jpg | bin | 356070 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/logo.png | bin | 4826 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p006.jpg | bin | 365386 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p012.jpg | bin | 379369 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p046.jpg | bin | 334725 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p054.jpg | bin | 363926 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p058.jpg | bin | 312319 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p120.jpg | bin | 353463 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p136.jpg | bin | 367967 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p156.jpg | bin | 275192 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p166.jpg | bin | 314809 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p194.jpg | bin | 396664 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p207.jpg | bin | 291757 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p208.jpg | bin | 386484 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p240.jpg | bin | 272085 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p272.jpg | bin | 339156 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/p280.jpg | bin | 335432 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/68186-h/images/titlepage.png | bin | 31209 -> 0 bytes |
20 files changed, 0 insertions, 9046 deletions
diff --git a/old/68186-h/68186-h.htm b/old/68186-h/68186-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a127f3a..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/68186-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9046 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html -PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/html4/loose.dtd"> -<!-- This HTML file has been automatically generated from an XML source on 2022-05-27T10:11:55Z using SAXON HE 9.9.1.8 . --> -<html lang="en"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> -<title>Insect Life: Souvenirs of a Naturalist</title> -<meta name="generator" content="tei2html.xsl, see https://github.com/jhellingman/tei2html"> -<meta name="author" content="Jean-Henri-Casimir Fabre (1823–1915)"> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/front.jpg"> -<link rel="schema.DC" href="http://dublincore.org/documents/1998/09/dces/"> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Jean-Henri-Casimir Fabre (1823–1915)"> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Insect Life: Souvenirs of a Naturalist"> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en"> -<meta name="DC.Format" content="text/html"> -<meta name="DC.Publisher" content="Project Gutenberg"> -<style type="text/css"> /* <![CDATA[ */ -html { -line-height: 1.3; -} -body { -margin: 0; -} -main { -display: block; -} -h1 { -font-size: 2em; -margin: 0.67em 0; -} -hr { -height: 0; -overflow: visible; -} -pre { -font-family: monospace; -font-size: 1em; -} -a { -background-color: transparent; -} -abbr[title] { -border-bottom: none; -text-decoration: underline; -text-decoration: underline dotted; -} -b, strong { -font-weight: bolder; -} -code, kbd, samp { -font-family: monospace; -font-size: 1em; -} -small { -font-size: 80%; -} -sub, sup { -font-size: 67%; -line-height: 0; -position: relative; -vertical-align: baseline; -} -sub { -bottom: -0.25em; -} -sup { -top: -0.5em; -} -img { -border-style: none; -} -body { -font-family: serif; -font-size: 100%; -text-align: left; -margin-top: 2.4em; -} -div.front, div.body { -margin-bottom: 7.2em; -} -div.back { -margin-bottom: 2.4em; -} -.div0 { -margin-top: 7.2em; -margin-bottom: 7.2em; -} -.div1 { -margin-top: 5.6em; -margin-bottom: 5.6em; -} -.div2 { -margin-top: 4.8em; -margin-bottom: 4.8em; -} -.div3 { -margin-top: 3.6em; -margin-bottom: 3.6em; -} -.div4 { -margin-top: 2.4em; -margin-bottom: 2.4em; -} -.div5, .div6, .div7 { -margin-top: 1.44em; -margin-bottom: 1.44em; -} -.div0:last-child, .div1:last-child, .div2:last-child, .div3:last-child, -.div4:last-child, .div5:last-child, .div6:last-child, .div7:last-child { -margin-bottom: 0; -} -blockquote div.front, blockquote div.body, blockquote div.back { -margin-top: 0; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -.divBody .div1:first-child, .divBody .div2:first-child, .divBody .div3:first-child, .divBody .div4:first-child, -.divBody .div5:first-child, .divBody .div6:first-child, .divBody .div7:first-child { -margin-top: 0; -} -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6, .h1, .h2, .h3, .h4, .h5, .h6 { -clear: both; -font-style: normal; -text-transform: none; -} -h3, .h3 { -font-size: 1.2em; -} -h3.label { -font-size: 1em; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -h4, .h4 { -font-size: 1em; -} -.alignleft { -text-align: left; -} -.alignright { -text-align: right; -} -.alignblock { -text-align: justify; -} -p.tb, hr.tb, .par.tb { -margin: 1.6em auto; -text-align: center; -} -p.argument, p.note, p.tocArgument, .par.argument, .par.note, .par.tocArgument { -font-size: 0.9em; -text-indent: 0; -} -p.argument, p.tocArgument, .par.argument, .par.tocArgument { -margin: 1.58em 10%; -} -.opener, .address { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-bottom: 1.6em; -} -.addrline { -margin-top: 0; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -.dateline { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-bottom: 1.6em; -text-align: right; -} -.salute { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-left: 3.58em; -text-indent: -2em; -} -.signed { -margin-top: 1.6em; -margin-left: 3.58em; -text-indent: -2em; -} -.epigraph { -font-size: 0.9em; -width: 60%; -margin-left: auto; -} -.epigraph span.bibl { -display: block; -text-align: right; -} -.trailer { -clear: both; -margin-top: 3.6em; -} -span.abbr, abbr { -white-space: nowrap; -} -span.parnum { -font-weight: bold; -} -span.corr, span.gap { -border-bottom: 1px dotted red; -} -span.num, span.trans { -border-bottom: 1px dotted gray; -} -span.measure { -border-bottom: 1px dotted green; -} -.ex { -letter-spacing: 0.2em; -} -.sc { -font-variant: small-caps; -} -.asc { -font-variant: small-caps; -text-transform: lowercase; -} -.uc { -text-transform: uppercase; -} -.tt { -font-family: monospace; -} -.underline { -text-decoration: underline; -} -.overline, .overtilde { -text-decoration: overline; -} -.rm { -font-style: normal; -} -.red { -color: red; -} -hr { -clear: both; -border: none; -border-bottom: 1px solid black; -width: 45%; -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -margin-top: 1em; -text-align: center; -} -hr.dotted { -border-bottom: 2px dotted black; -} -hr.dashed { -border-bottom: 2px dashed black; -} -.aligncenter { -text-align: center; -} -h1, h2, .h1, .h2 { -font-size: 1.44em; -line-height: 1.5; -} -h1.label, h2.label { -font-size: 1.2em; -margin-bottom: 0; -} -h5, h6 { -font-size: 1em; -font-style: italic; -} -p, .par { -text-indent: 0; -} -p.firstlinecaps:first-line, .par.firstlinecaps:first-line { -text-transform: uppercase; -} -.hangq { -text-indent: -0.32em; -} -.hangqq { -text-indent: -0.42em; -} -.hangqqq { -text-indent: -0.84em; -} -p.dropcap:first-letter, .par.dropcap:first-letter { -float: left; -clear: left; -margin: 0 0.05em 0 0; -padding: 0; -line-height: 0.8; -font-size: 420%; -vertical-align: super; -} -blockquote, p.quote, div.blockquote, div.argument, .par.quote { -font-size: 0.9em; -margin: 1.58em 5%; -} -.pageNum a, a.noteRef:hover, a.pseudoNoteRef:hover, a.hidden:hover, a.hidden { -text-decoration: none; -} -.advertisement, .advertisements { -background-color: #FFFEE0; -border: black 1px dotted; -color: #000; -margin: 2em 5%; -padding: 1em; -} -span.accent { -display: inline-block; -text-align: center; -} -span.accent, span.accent span.top, span.accent span.base { -line-height: 0.40em; -} -span.accent span.top { -font-weight: bold; -font-size: 5pt; -} -span.accent span.base { -display: block; -} -.footnotes .body, .footnotes .div1 { -padding: 0; -} -.fnarrow { -color: #AAAAAA; -font-weight: bold; -text-decoration: none; -} -.fnarrow:hover, .fnreturn:hover { -color: #660000; -} -.fnreturn { -color: #AAAAAA; -font-size: 80%; -font-weight: bold; -text-decoration: none; -vertical-align: 0.25em; -} -a { -text-decoration: none; -} -a:hover { -text-decoration: underline; -background-color: #e9f5ff; -} -a.noteRef, a.pseudoNoteRef { -font-size: 67%; -line-height: 0; -position: relative; -vertical-align: baseline; -top: -0.5em; -text-decoration: none; -margin-left: 0.1em; -} -.externalUrl { -font-size: small; -font-family: monospace; -color: gray; -} -.displayfootnote { -display: none; -} -div.footnotes { -font-size: 80%; -margin-top: 1em; -padding: 0; -} -hr.fnsep { -margin-left: 0; -margin-right: 0; -text-align: left; -width: 25%; -} -p.footnote, .par.footnote { -margin-bottom: 0.5em; -margin-top: 0.5em; -} -p.footnote .fnlabel, .par.footnote .fnlabel { -float: left; -margin-left: -0.1em; -margin-top: 0.9em; -min-width: 1.0em; -padding-right: 0.4em; -} -.apparatusnote { -text-decoration: none; -} -.apparatusnote:target, .fndiv:target { -background-color: #eaf3ff; -} -table.tocList { -width: 100%; -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -border-width: 0; -border-collapse: collapse; -} -td.tocPageNum, td.tocDivNum { -text-align: right; -min-width: 10%; -border-width: 0; -white-space: nowrap; -} -td.tocDivNum { -padding-left: 0; -padding-right: 0.5em; -vertical-align: top; -} -td.tocPageNum { -padding-left: 0.5em; -padding-right: 0; -vertical-align: bottom; -} -td.tocDivTitle { -width: auto; -} -p.tocPart, .par.tocPart { -margin: 1.58em 0; -font-variant: small-caps; -} -p.tocChapter, .par.tocChapter { -margin: 1.58em 0; -} -p.tocSection, .par.tocSection { -margin: 0.7em 5%; -} -table.tocList td { -vertical-align: top; -} -table.tocList td.tocPageNum { -vertical-align: bottom; -} -table.inner { -display: inline-table; -border-collapse: collapse; -width: 100%; -} -td.itemNum { -text-align: right; -min-width: 5%; -padding-right: 0.8em; -} -td.innerContainer { -padding: 0; -margin: 0; -} -.index { -font-size: 80%; -} -.index p { -text-indent: -1em; -margin-left: 1em; -} -.indexToc { -text-align: center; -} -.transcriberNote { -background-color: #DDE; -border: black 1px dotted; -color: #000; -font-family: sans-serif; -font-size: 80%; -margin: 2em 5%; -padding: 1em; -} -.missingTarget { -text-decoration: line-through; -color: red; -} -.correctionTable { -width: 75%; -} -.width20 { -width: 20%; -} -.width40 { -width: 40%; -} -p.smallprint, li.smallprint, .par.smallprint { -color: #666666; -font-size: 80%; -} -span.musictime { -vertical-align: middle; -display: inline-block; -text-align: center; -} -span.musictime, span.musictime span.top, span.musictime span.bottom { -padding: 1px 0.5px; -font-size: xx-small; -font-weight: bold; -line-height: 0.7em; -} -span.musictime span.bottom { -display: block; -} -ul { -list-style-type: none; -} -.splitListTable { -margin-left: 0; -} -.splitListTable td { -vertical-align: top; -} -.numberedItem { -text-indent: -3em; -margin-left: 3em; -} -.numberedItem .itemNumber { -float: left; -position: relative; -left: -3.5em; -width: 3em; -display: inline-block; -text-align: right; -} -.itemGroupTable { -border-collapse: collapse; -margin-left: 0; -} -.itemGroupTable td { -padding: 0; -margin: 0; -vertical-align: middle; -} -.itemGroupBrace { -padding: 0 0.5em !important; -} -.titlePage { -border: #DDDDDD 2px solid; -margin: 3em 0 7em; -padding: 5em 10% 6em; -text-align: center; -} -.titlePage .docTitle { -line-height: 1.7; -margin: 2em 0; -font-weight: bold; -} -.titlePage .docTitle .mainTitle { -font-size: 1.8em; -} -.titlePage .docTitle .subTitle, .titlePage .docTitle .seriesTitle, -.titlePage .docTitle .volumeTitle { -font-size: 1.44em; -} -.titlePage .byline { -margin: 2em 0; -font-size: 1.2em; -line-height: 1.5; -} -.titlePage .byline .docAuthor { -font-size: 1.2em; -font-weight: bold; -} -.titlePage .figure { -margin: 2em auto; -} -.titlePage .docImprint { -margin: 4em 0 0; -font-size: 1.2em; -line-height: 1.5; -} -.titlePage .docImprint .docDate { -font-size: 1.2em; -font-weight: bold; -} -div.figure { -text-align: center; -} -.figure { -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -} -.floatLeft { -float: left; -margin: 10px 10px 10px 0; -} -.floatRight { -float: right; -margin: 10px 0 10px 10px; -} -p.figureHead, .par.figureHead { -font-size: 100%; -text-align: center; -} -.figAnnotation { -font-size: 80%; -position: relative; -margin: 0 auto; -} -.figTopLeft, .figBottomLeft { -float: left; -} -.figTopRight, .figBottomRight { -float: right; -} -.figure p, .figure .par { -font-size: 80%; -margin-top: 0; -text-align: center; -} -img { -border-width: 0; -} -td.galleryFigure { -text-align: center; -vertical-align: middle; -} -td.galleryCaption { -text-align: center; -vertical-align: top; -} -.lgouter { -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -display: table; -} -.lg { -text-align: left; -padding: .5em 0; -} -.lg h4, .lgouter h4 { -font-weight: normal; -} -.lg .lineNum, .sp .lineNum, .lgouter .lineNum { -color: #777; -font-size: 90%; -left: 16%; -margin: 0; -position: absolute; -text-align: center; -text-indent: 0; -top: auto; -width: 1.75em; -} -p.line, .par.line { -margin: 0; -} -span.hemistich { -visibility: hidden; -} -.verseNum { -font-weight: bold; -} -.speaker { -font-weight: bold; -margin-bottom: 0.4em; -} -.sp .line { -margin: 0 10%; -text-align: left; -} -.castlist, .castitem { -list-style-type: none; -} -.castGroupTable { -border-collapse: collapse; -margin-left: 0; -} -.castGroupTable td { -padding: 0; -margin: 0; -vertical-align: middle; -} -.castGroupBrace { -padding: 0 0.5em !important; -} -body { -padding: 1.58em 16%; -} -.pageNum { -display: inline; -font-size: 8.4pt; -font-style: normal; -margin: 0; -padding: 0; -position: absolute; -right: 1%; -text-align: right; -letter-spacing: normal; -} -.marginnote { -font-size: 0.8em; -height: 0; -left: 1%; -position: absolute; -text-indent: 0; -width: 14%; -text-align: left; -} -.right-marginnote { -font-size: 0.8em; -height: 0; -right: 3%; -position: absolute; -text-indent: 0; -text-align: right; -width: 11% -} -.cut-in-left-note { -font-size: 0.8em; -left: 1%; -float: left; -text-indent: 0; -width: 14%; -text-align: left; -padding: 0.8em 0.8em 0.8em 0; -} -.cut-in-right-note { -font-size: 0.8em; -left: 1%; -float: right; -text-indent: 0; -width: 14%; -text-align: right; -padding: 0.8em 0 0.8em 0.8em; -} -span.tocPageNum, span.flushright { -position: absolute; -right: 16%; -top: auto; -text-indent: 0; -} -.pglink::after { -content: "\0000A0\01F4D8"; -font-size: 80%; -font-style: normal; -font-weight: normal; -} -.catlink::after { -content: "\0000A0\01F4C7"; -font-size: 80%; -font-style: normal; -font-weight: normal; -} -.exlink::after, .wplink::after, .biblink::after, .qurlink::after, .seclink::after { -content: "\0000A0\002197\00FE0F"; -color: blue; -font-size: 80%; -font-style: normal; -font-weight: normal; -} -.pglink:hover { -background-color: #DCFFDC; -} -.catlink:hover { -background-color: #FFFFDC; -} -.exlink:hover, .wplink:hover, .biblink:hover, .qurlink:hover, .seclin:hover { -background-color: #FFDCDC; -} -body { -background: #FFFFFF; -font-family: serif; -} -body, a.hidden { -color: black; -} -h1, h2, .h1, .h2 { -text-align: center; -font-variant: small-caps; -font-weight: normal; -} -p.byline { -text-align: center; -font-style: italic; -margin-bottom: 2em; -} -.div2 p.byline, .div3 p.byline, .div4 p.byline, .div5 p.byline, .div6 p.byline, .div7 p.byline { -text-align: left; -} -.figureHead, .noteRef, .pseudoNoteRef, .marginnote, .right-marginnote, p.legend, .verseNum { -color: #660000; -} -.rightnote, .pageNum, .lineNum, .pageNum a { -color: #AAAAAA; -} -a.hidden:hover, a.noteRef:hover, a.pseudoNoteRef:hover { -color: red; -} -h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 { -font-weight: normal; -} -table { -margin-left: auto; -margin-right: auto; -} -.tablecaption { -text-align: center; -} -.arab { font-family: Scheherazade, serif; } -.aran { font-family: 'Awami Nastaliq', serif; } -.grek { font-family: 'Charis SIL', serif; } -.hebr { font-family: Shlomo, 'Ezra SIL', serif; } -.syrc { font-family: 'Serto Jerusalem', serif; } -/* CSS rules generated from rendition elements in TEI file */ -.xs { -font-size: x-small; -} -.small { -font-size: small; -} -.large { -font-size: large; -} -.xl { -font-size: x-large; -} -.xxl { -font-size: xx-large; -} -.center { -text-align: center; -} -.cbxl { -font-weight: bold; -text-align: center; -font-size: x-large; -} -/* CSS rules generated from @rend attributes in TEI file */ -.cover-imagewidth { -width:485px; -} -.logowidth { -width:193px; -} -.frontispiecewidth { -width:720px; -} -.titlepage-imagewidth { -width:458px; -} -.p006width { -width:720px; -} -.p012width { -width:720px; -} -.p046width { -width:465px; -} -.p054width { -width:720px; -} -.p058width { -width:466px; -} -.p120width { -width:720px; -} -.p136width { -width:720px; -} -.p156width { -width:720px; -} -.p166width { -width:720px; -} -.p194width { -width:720px; -} -.p207width { -width:720px; -} -.p208width { -width:720px; -} -.p240width { -width:720px; -} -.p272width { -width:720px; -} -.p280width { -width:720px; -} -/* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Insect life, by Jean-Henri Fabre</p> -<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:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Insect life</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>Souvenirs of a naturalist</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jean-Henri Fabre</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: F. Merrifield</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Margaret Roberts</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: M. Prendergast Parker</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 27, 2022 [eBook #68186]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSECT LIFE ***</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="485" 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 center large">INSECT LIFE -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 imprint"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure logowidth"><img src="images/logo.png" alt="Publisher’s logo." width="193" height="58"></div><p> -</p> -<p class="center">MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="sc">Limited</span> -</p> -<p class="center">LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA <br>MELBOURNE -</p> -<p class="center">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY -</p> -<p class="center">NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO <br>DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO -</p> -<p class="center">THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, <span class="sc">Ltd.</span> -</p> -<p class="center">TORONTO -</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="720" height="462"><div class="figAnnotation frontispiecewidth"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>Frontispiece.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">THE SACRED BEETLE.</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.png" alt="Original Title Page." width="458" height="720"></div><p> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="titlePage"> -<div class="docTitle"> -<div class="mainTitle">INSECT LIFE</div> -<div class="subTitle">SOUVENIRS OF A NATURALIST</div> -</div> -<div class="byline"><span class="docAuthor">J.-H. FABRE</span><br> -DOCTEUR ÈS SCIENCES<br> -‘that inimitable observer.’—<span class="sc">Charles Darwin</span> -<br> -TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH<br> -BY THE<br> -AUTHOR OF ‘MADEMOISELLE MORI’ -<br> -WITH A PREFACE BY<br> -<span class="docAuthor">DAVID SHARP, M.A., F.R.S.</span> -<br> -AND EDITED BY<br> -<span class="docAuthor">F. MERRIFIELD</span> -<br> -WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br> -<span class="docAuthor">M. PRENDERGAST PARKER</span></div> -<div class="docImprint">MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED<br> -ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON -<br> -<span class="docDate">1913</span></div> -</div> -<p></p> -<div class="div1 imprint"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">To the attentive eye the sight of industrial insects exhibiting the most refined art -in their labours is a spectacle both strange and sublime. Human Reason is confounded -by Instinct thus raised to the highest pitch of which Nature can offer an example, -and the perturbation of intelligence increases on observing, patiently and minutely, -the details of the life of those creatures most highly endowed with instinct. -</p> -<p class="signed"><span class="sc">E. Blanchard.</span> -</p> -<p><i>First Edition 1901. Reprinted 1913</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb.v">[<a href="#pb.v">v</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 preface"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">PREFACE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">This little volume introduces the work of a great French naturalist to the reader -of English. Réaumur, another Frenchman, is the greatest naturalist devoting himself -to the observation of insects the world has yet seen. His six quarto volumes—<i lang="fr">Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire des insectes</i>—were published between 1734 and 1742. J.-H. Fabre, who happily is still with us, -is second only to Réaumur in this part of the great field of Natural History. -</p> -<p>Though compatriots the two men are remarkably different in the nature of their genius. -Réaumur, stately and slow, both discursive and diffuse. Fabre,—styled by Charles Darwin -the immortal Fabre,—a most patient, indefatigable observer, ready to sacrifice everything -to the carrying on of his work, but making deductions too rapidly from his observations, -and taking a philosophical position from which he refuses to budge, even though he -stand alone among the naturalists of this generation. -</p> -<p>Fabre’s great merit is his graphic portraiture of the living insect as it really is. -This proves to be <span class="pageNum" id="pb.vi">[<a href="#pb.vi">vi</a>]</span>very different from insect life as it is usually supposed to be by the uninstructed, -and as it is only too frequently represented to be in books. In the volume now offered -to the reader he is almost entirely concerned with the instinct of Hymenoptera, the -highest of the insect world in this respect. His studies of this subject have been -continued in several other volumes, and he has also included in the series the results -of many years of observation of the habits of other and very different insects. -</p> -<p>His philosophical position may be briefly stated to be a determined refusal to recognise -evolution as a legitimate idea. In this we may think him wrong; but it must be admitted -that his views form a valuable antithesis to those of the many evolutionists who take -the position that all that remains for the naturalist to do is to repeat the words -Natural Selection and variation, and declare that thereby we understand the Cosmos. -</p> -<p>Fabre is a difficult writer to translate. Probably no one has ever written on this -subject with equal brilliancy and vivacity. But he is the most Gallic of Frenchmen. -If his words are literally translated, they scarcely make English; if freely translated, -the charm of his diction is too easily missed. -</p> -<p>We hope that this volume may induce the student to read Fabre’s subsequent volumes.<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e245src" href="#xd31e245">1</a> Taken <span class="pageNum" id="pb.vii">[<a href="#pb.vii">7</a>]</span>altogether they are, if not superior, at least not inferior to this one—preferred -simply because it is the first of the series. -</p> -<p>In his works there is a good deal of delightful autobiography. Starting as a child -amidst the direst poverty, he has become a highly accomplished man, a great naturalist, -a brilliant writer; and <span class="corr" id="xd31e254" title="Source: he he">he</span> has done this with a complete contempt for money, and a great indifference to the -other rewards that Society is ready to bestow for such work. -</p> -<p class="signed">D. SHARP. -</p> -<p class="dateline"><span class="sc">Cambridge</span>, <i>20th August 1901</i>. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb.ix">[<a href="#pb.ix">ix</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e245"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e245src">1</a></span> <i lang="fr">Souvenirs Entomologiques</i> (Ch. Delagrave, 15 Rue Soufflot, Paris), of which there are now seven series, this -volume being a translation of the first. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e245src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</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> -<table class="tocList"> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum xs">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">I.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch1" id="xd31e278"><span class="sc">The Sacred Beetle</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">II.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch2" id="xd31e289"><span class="sc">The Enclosure</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">27</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">III.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch3" id="xd31e300"><span class="sc">Cerceris Bupresticida</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">40</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">IV.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch4" id="xd31e311"><span class="sc">Cerceris Tuberculata</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">51</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">V.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch5" id="xd31e322"><span class="sc">One Skilful to Slay</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">67</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">VI.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch6" id="xd31e333"><span class="sc">The Yellow-winged Sphex</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">80</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">VII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch7" id="xd31e344"><span class="sc">Three Strokes of a Dagger</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">93</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">VIII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch8" id="xd31e355"><span class="sc">Larva and Nymph</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">101</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">IX.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch9" id="xd31e366"><span class="sc">Advanced Theories</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">116</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">X.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch10" id="xd31e377"><span class="sc">The Sphex of Languedoc</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">132</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XI.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch11" id="xd31e389"><span class="sc">The Science of Instinct</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">146</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch12" id="xd31e400"><span class="sc">The Ignorance of Instinct</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">164</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XIII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch13" id="xd31e411"><span class="sc">An Ascent of Mont Ventoux</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">179</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XIV.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch14" id="xd31e422"><span class="sc">The Emigrants</span></a> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb.x">[<a href="#pb.x">x</a>]</span></td> -<td class="tocPageNum">193</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XV.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch15" id="xd31e434"><span class="sc">The Ammophila</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">205</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XVI.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch16" id="xd31e445"><span class="sc">The Bembex</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">219</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XVII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch17" id="xd31e456"><span class="sc">Hunting Diptera</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">233</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XVIII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch18" id="xd31e467"><span class="sc">A Parasite—The Cocoon</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">243</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XIX.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch19" id="xd31e478"><span class="sc">The Return to the Nest</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">258</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XX.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch20" id="xd31e489"><span class="sc">Mason Bees</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">271</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXI.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch21" id="xd31e500"><span class="sc">Experiments</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">289</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXII.</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch22" id="xd31e512"><span class="sc">An Exchange of Nests</span></a> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">306</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><a href="#descriptive" id="xd31e520"><span class="sc">Descriptive Notes</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">317</td> -</tr> -</table> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb.xi">[<a href="#pb.xi">xi</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 last-child contents"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -<table class="tocList"> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#frontispiece">The Sacred Beetle</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p006">Dung Beetles gathering Provender</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum"><i>Facing page</i> 6</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p012">Geotrupes stercorarius fighting for the Pellet</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">12</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p046">Cerceris bupresticida and its Prey; Bupresticis micans and Buprestis flavomaculata</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">46</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p054">Cerceris tuberculata dragging Weevil to its Burrow</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">54</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p058">Cerceris ferreri and its Prey, the Weevil; Rhynchites betulæ on Birch Leaves, showing -two leaves rolled up by the Weevil</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">58</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p120">Sphex flavipennis about to seize Grasshopper</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">120</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p136">Sphex occitanica taking a Sun Bath</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">136</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p156">The Sphex of Languedoc dragging to its Burrow an Ephippiger of the Vine</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">156</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p166">The Sphex of Languedoc and its enemy, the Praying Mantis</a></span> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb.xii">[<a href="#pb.xii">xii</a>]</span></td> -<td class="tocPageNum">166</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p194">Ammophila hirsuta attacking a Grub</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">194</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p207">Ammophila sabulosa taking stone to cover its Burrow; A. argentata Mining</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">207</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p208">Ammophila hirsuta hunting for Caterpillars; Ammophila sabulosa on the Wing</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">208</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p240">Bembex rostrata taking Gadfly to its Nest; Bembex rostrata Mining</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">240</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p272">Mason Bees—Chalicodoma muraria on Old Nest</a></span> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum">272</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum"></td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"><span class="sc"><a href="#p280">Mason Bees—Chalicodoma sicula and Nest</a></span> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">280</td> -</tr> -</table> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb1">[<a href="#pb1">1</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="body"> -<div id="ch1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e278">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">I</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE SACRED BEETLE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">This was how it came about. We were five or six, I the oldest and their professor, -still more their comrade and friend; they, young fellows with warm hearts and lively -imaginations, overflowing with that youthful vitality which makes one so open to impressions -and so eager for knowledge. -</p> -<p>Talking of one thing and another we followed a path bordered with elder and hawthorn, -where already the Rose Beetle was revelling in the overwhelming scent of the clustering -blossoms. We were going to see if the Sacred Scarabæus had yet appeared on the sandy -plateau of Les Angles, rolling the ball of dung which ancient Egypt looked on as emblematic -of the world; we wanted to discover whether the running stream at the bottom of the -hill might not hide young newts under the net of water weeds—newts whose branchiæ -look like tiny sprays of coral; to see if that elegant little fish of the rivulet, -the stickleback, had donned his wedding cravat of azure and purple; if the new-come -swallows were <span class="pageNum" id="pb2">[<a href="#pb2">2</a>]</span>dipping on pointed wings over the meadows chasing the midges which scatter their eggs -in their airy dance; to see if the Eyed Lizard was sunning his blue-spotted body at -the mouth of a hole made in the sandstone; or if the flocks of Laughing Gulls, come -up from the sea after the legions of fish which ascend the Rhône to spawn, were hovering -over the river, and now and again uttering their cry like the laugh of a maniac. But -enough; suffice it to say that, like simple folk who find much pleasure in living -with the brute creation, we were intending to spend a morning in enjoying the ineffable -awakening of life in springtime. -</p> -<p>We were not disappointed. The stickleback was in full dress, his scales would have -made silver look dim; his throat was of the brightest vermilion. On the approach of -a great horse-leech with no good intentions, up rose the spines on back and side as -if moved by a spring. Thus bravely encountered, the bandit beat an ignominious retreat -down among the water-plants. The dull race of molluscs, Planorbinæ, and water-snails -were sucking in air on the surface of the water, and the great Water Beetle, with -its hideous larva, went by wringing the neck now of one, now of another, without the -stupid band seeming to notice it. But let us leave the waters of the plain and climb -the steep cliff dividing us from the tableland where sheep are feeding and horses -are being exercised for the approaching races, one and all bestowing largesse on the -rejoicing dung beetles. -</p> -<p>For here at work are the scavenger beetles to whom is entrusted the high office of -clearing the <span class="pageNum" id="pb3">[<a href="#pb3">3</a>]</span>ground of impurities. It is impossible to admire sufficiently the variety of tools -with which they are furnished, both to stir the dung with, to divide and shape it, -and to hollow the deep retreats into which they shut themselves with their booty. -These tools form a kind of technological museum, where there is a specimen of every -kind of digging instrument. Some might be copied from those devised by human industry, -others are of an original type, and might serve as models for new tools for man. Copris -hispanica wears a strong horn on its head, forked and bent back, like the long spike -of a pickaxe. To a similar horn C. lunaris adds two strong points, shaped liked a -ploughshare, projecting from the thorax, and between them a sharp-edged protuberance, -serving as a wide rake. Bubas bubalus and B. bison, both exclusively Mediterranean -species, have foreheads armed with two stout, diverging horns, between which projects -a horizontal share from the corslet. Geotrupes typhæus carries three points on the -front of its thorax, parallel and standing straight out, the middle one shorter than -the others. Onthophagus taurus owns as implements two long curving appendages like -the horns of a bull, while the furcate Onthophagus has a two-pronged fork on its flat -head. Even those least well off have on one part or other hard tubercules—tools blunt -indeed, but which the patient insect knows very well how to utilise. All are furnished -with a shovel, <i>i.e.</i> a large, flat, sharp-edged head; all use a rake—in other words, they collect materials -with their toothed front legs. -</p> -<p>As compensation for their unpleasant work, <span class="pageNum" id="pb4">[<a href="#pb4">4</a>]</span>more than one gives out a strong scent of musk, and its ventral parts gleam like polished -metal. Geotrupes hypocrita has the under part of its body bright with metallic lights -of copper and gold, and G. stercorarius with amethystine violet. But the usual colour -is black. It is in tropical regions that we find dung beetles in gorgeous array—absolutely -living jewels. Under camel droppings in Upper Egypt is found a beetle rivalling the -dazzling green of an emerald; Guiana, Brazil, Senegal, can show Copridæ of a metallic -red, rich as the red of copper, bright as that of a ruby. If such a jewelled race -be wanting to our country, still its dung beetles are not less remarkable for their -habits. -</p> -<p>What eagerness is displayed around a dropping! Never did adventurers from the four -corners of the world show such eagerness in working a Californian claim! Before the -sun grows too hot there they are by hundreds, large and small, pell-mell, of every -kind and form and shape, hastening to secure a slice of the cake! Some work in the -open air and rake the surface, some open galleries in the thickest part, seeking choice -morsels, others toil in the under part and bury their treasure as soon as possible -in the adjacent ground, and the smallest crumble some scrap fallen from the excavations -of their strong fellow-workers. Some again—newcomers, and doubtless the hungriest—eat -then and there, but the aim of the greater number is to lay up a store which will -allow them to pass long days of plenty down in some sure retreat. A fresh dropping -is not to be found just when wanted in a plain where no thyme grows; such a gift is -<span class="pageNum" id="pb5">[<a href="#pb5">5</a>]</span>indeed a piece of good fortune, and only comes to the lucky. So when found, the wealth -is prudently stored. The smell has carried the good news a couple of miles round, -and all have rushed to gather up provender. Some laggards are still coming in on the -wing or on foot. -</p> -<p>What is the one now trotting towards the heap, fearing to arrive too late? His long -legs work with a brusque, awkward action, as if moved by some machine inside him; -his little red antennæ spread their fans—sure sign of anxious greediness. He is coming, -has arrived, not without upsetting some of the guests. It is the Sacred Beetle, all -in black, the largest and most celebrated of our dung beetles. -</p> -<p>Here he is at table, beside his fellow-guests, who are giving last touches to their -balls with the flat of their large front legs, or enriching them with a last layer -before retiring to enjoy the fruit of their labours in peace. Let us follow this famous -ball in each stage of construction. -</p> -<p>The edge of the beetle’s head is large and flat, and armed with six angular teeth -arranged in a semicircle. It is the tool for digging and dividing, the rake to lift -or reject such vegetable fibres as are not nutritious, to seek out what is best and -rake it together. A choice is thus made, for these keen connoisseurs like one thing -better than another—a somewhat careless choice, indeed, if the beetle alone be concerned, -but one which is rigorously scrupulous if the maternal ball be in question, with its -central hollow where the egg will hatch. Then every scrap of fibre is rejected, and -only the quintessence of the stercorous matter is used to build the inner layer of -<span class="pageNum" id="pb6">[<a href="#pb6">6</a>]</span>the cell. Then, as soon as it is hatched, the young larva finds in the walls of its -dwelling a dainty food which strengthens digestion and enables it later to attack -the coarse outer layers. For its own needs the beetle is less fastidious, contenting -itself with a general selection. The toothed head hollows and seeks, rejects and gathers, -somewhat at haphazard. The forelegs aid mightily. They are flattened, bent into the -arc of a circle, are furnished with strong nerves and armed with five stout teeth. -If an effort has to be made, an obstacle overthrown, a path forced through the thickest -part of the heap, the dung beetle elbows its way; in other words, throws its toothed -legs right and left, and clears a half circle with a vigorous sweep of its rake. Room -being made, these same feet have a new task; they collect bundles of the material -raked up by the head, and pass it under the insect to the four hind-feet. These are -planned for the turner’s trade. The legs, especially the last pair, are long and slender, -slightly bent in an arc, and ending in a very sharp spur or talon. A glance shows -that they form a spherical compass, capable of holding a globe in the bent legs to -verify and correct its shape. In fact, their mission is to shape the ball. Bundle -after bundle the material accumulates under the insect, held between the four legs -which by a slight pressure lend it their own curve and something of shape. Then from -time to time the rough hewn ball is set in motion between the legs of the double spherical -compass, turned underneath the beetle, and rolled into a perfect sphere. Should the -outer layer fail in plasticity and threaten to scale off, or if some <span class="pageNum" id="pb7">[<a href="#pb7">7</a>]</span>part be too fibrous, and refuse to be shaped by rotation, the faulty part is retouched -by the forefeet; little taps of their broad surface give consistency to the new layer -and imbed the recalcitrant fibre in the general mass. When the sun shines and work -is urgent, one is amazed by the feverish activity with which the turner labours. Work -goes on fast; first there was a pellet, now it is as large as a nut, by and by it -will be of the size of an apple. I have seen some greedy beetles make up a ball as -large as an apple. Assuredly there is food in the larder for some days to come! -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p006width" id="p006"><img src="images/p006.jpg" alt="DUNG BEETLES GATHERING PROVENDER" width="720" height="465"><div class="figAnnotation p006width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 6.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">DUNG BEETLES GATHERING PROVENDER</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Provender being gathered, the next thing is to retire from the <i>mêlée</i>, and carry it to a fitting place. Now we see some of the most characteristic habits -of the Scarabæus. He sets out at once, embracing the ball with the long hind legs, -whose talons, planted in the mass, serve as pivots—leans on the intermediary legs -as pivots, and using as levers the flat of the toothed forefeet, which press the ground -alternately, journeys backward with his load, the body bent, the head low, and the -hinder part upraised. The hind feet, which are the chief organs in the mechanism, -move continually, going and coming and changing the place where the talons are stuck -in, to alter the axis of rotation, to keep the load balanced and advance by an alternate -push right and left. Thus the ball comes in contact with the ground in every part -of it, which gives it a perfect shape and lends consistency to the outer layer by -a uniform pressure. Courage! it moves, it rolls, and the journey’s end will be reached, -though not without trouble. Here is a first difficulty. The beetle <span class="pageNum" id="pb8">[<a href="#pb8">8</a>]</span>has to cross a slope, and the heavy ball would naturally follow the incline, but for -reasons best known to itself, the insect prefers to cross this natural slope—an audacious -plan, which one false step or a grain of sand to upset the balance will defeat. The -false step is made, the ball rolls to the bottom of the valley, and the insect, upset -by the impetus of its load, staggers, gets again on its legs, and hastens to harness -itself afresh. The mechanism works capitally. But look out, scatterbrain! follow the -hollow of the valley, it will spare labour and misadventure. The road is good and -quite level, and your ball will roll along with no exertion. Not a bit of it. The -insect has made up its mind to remount the slope already so fatal to it. Perhaps it -suits it to return to the heights. Against that I have nothing to say, the Scarabæus -knows better than I do whether it be advisable to dwell in lofty regions. At all events, -take this path which will lead you up by a gentle incline. Not at all. If there be -near at hand some very stiff slope impossible to climb, then that slope this wrong-headed -insect prefers. Then begins the labour of Sisyphus. With endless precautions the monstrous -load is painfully hoisted, step by step to a certain height, the beetle always going -tail first. One asks one’s self by what miracle of statics such a mass can be kept -on the slope. Ah! a clumsy movement brings all this toil to naught. Down goes the -ball, dragging the beetle with it. The escalade is repeated, soon followed by a fresh -fall. The attempt is renewed, and better managed at the difficult points; a nasty -grass-root, which occasioned the previous tumbles, is prudently <span class="pageNum" id="pb9">[<a href="#pb9">9</a>]</span>turned; we have almost got to the top. But gently! gently! the ascent is perilous, -and a mere nothing may ruin all. A leg slips on a bit of smooth gravel, and ball and -scavenger roll down together. The beetle begins all over again, with tireless obstinacy. -Ten times, twenty times, will it attempt that further ascent, until persistency vanquishes -all obstacles, or until, better advised, it takes the level road. -</p> -<p>The scavenger does not always roll his ball single-handed, but frequently takes a -partner, or rather, a partner takes him. The affair is usually managed thus: the ball -being prepared, a beetle comes out of the throng, pushing it backwards. One of the -newcomers, whose own work is hardly begun, leaves its task and runs to the ball, now -in motion, to lend a hand to the lucky proprietor, who appears to accept the proffered -aid in an amiable spirit. The two work as partners, each doing its best to convey -the ball to a place of safety. Was a treaty made in the workshop, a tacit agreement -to share the cake? While one kneaded and shaped, was the other tapping rich veins -whence to extract choice material for their common use? I have never observed such -collaboration, but have always seen every beetle exclusively occupied by his own affairs -on the field of labour, so that the last comer has no acquired rights. -</p> -<p>Is it, then, an association of the two sexes, a couple about to set up house? For -a time I thought so. The two scavengers pushing a ball, one before and one behind, -with equal zeal, used to remind me of certain couplets once on a time popular on barrel-organs— -</p> -<div lang="fr" class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">Pour monter notre ménage, hélas comment ferons-nous? -</p> -<p class="line">Toi devant, moi derrière, nous pousserons le tonneau.</p> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="pb10">[<a href="#pb10">10</a>]</span></p> -<p>But the evidence of the scalpel forces me to give up this family idyll. There is no -outward sign of sex in the Scarabæus, but on dissecting a couple employed on one and -the same ball they often turned out to be of the same sex. In fact, there is neither -community of family nor community of labour. What, then, is the reason of the apparent -partnership? Merely an attempt at filching. The eager fellow-worker, under pretence -of giving a helping hand, cherishes the project of carrying off the ball at the earliest -opportunity. To make one for itself at the heap demands labour and patience; to abstract -a ready-made one, or at least to foist one’s self in as a sharer of the feast, is -much more convenient. If the owner’s watchfulness should slacken, one will flee with -the treasure; if too closely looked after, one can at least sit down at table on the -pretext of services rendered. With such tactics all turns to profit, so that pillage -is carried on as one of the most lucrative of trades. Some, as I have just said, play -an underhand game, hastening to the aid of some comrade who has not the least need -of them, and under the cloak of charitable assistance conceal a highly indelicate -greed. Others, bolder or more confident in their strength, go straight to the goal -and rob by main force. Every moment some such scene as this will take place. A beetle -departs alone, rolling his ball, his own property, acquired by conscientious labour; -another comes flying, whence I know not, drops heavily, folds his smoky wings under -their elytra, and with the back of his toothed feet oversets the proprietor, which, -being hindside before, cannot defend itself. While the latter <span class="pageNum" id="pb11">[<a href="#pb11">11</a>]</span>struggles to its feet the aggressor stations itself on the top of the ball, as a point -of vantage whence to repel attack, folds its feet under its breast, ready for action, -and awaits events. The bereaved owner moves round the ball, seeking a favourable point -whence to attempt an assault; the thief revolves on the top of the citadel, constantly -facing him. If the former raises itself for an escalade, the latter gives it a cuff -which stretches it flat on its back. Secure on the top of the fortress, the besieged -would bring to nought for all time the efforts of its adversary to recover its lost -property if the besieger did not alter his tactics. Sapping threatens to bring down -both citadel and garrison. The ball being undermined, staggers and rolls, carrying -with it the robber, struggling his hardest to keep at the top, which he generally -succeeds in doing, thanks to the hurried gymnastics that enable him to regain the -altitude lost by the rotation of his standing place. If a false movement should bring -him to the ground, the chances become equal, and the contest turns to a wrestling -match. Robber and robbed grapple body to body, breast to breast. Their feet twist -and untwist, their joints intertwine, their horny armour clashes and grinds with the -harsh sound of filed metal. Then one will succeed in throwing its adversary on the -back, and, freeing itself, hastily takes up a position on the top of the ball, and -the siege is recommenced, now by the robber, now by the robbed, as the chances of -the fight may have decided. The former, no doubt a hardy brigand and adventurer, often -gets the best of it. After two or three defeats the ex-owner wearies of the contest -<span class="pageNum" id="pb12">[<a href="#pb12">12</a>]</span>and returns philosophically to the heap and makes a new ball. As for the other, when -all fear of a surprise is over, he harnesses himself to the conquered ball and pushes -it whither it seems good to him. I have occasionally seen a third thief rob the robber. -And upon my word I was not sorry. -</p> -<p>Vainly do I ask myself what Prudhon introduced into Scarabæus-morality the audacious -paradox that “Property spells theft,” or what diplomatist taught the dung-beetle that -“they may take who have the power, and they may keep who can.” I have not the evidence -required to lead me to the origin of these spoliations which have become a habit, -or of this abuse of strength in order to seize a ball of dirt. All that I can affirm -is that among beetles theft is universal. These dung rollers pillage one another with -a cool effrontery really matchless. I leave it to future observers to elucidate this -curious problem in the psychology of animals, and return to the couple rolling their -balls in partnership. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p012width" id="p012"><img src="images/p012.jpg" alt="GEOTRUPES STERCORARIUS FIGHTING FOR THE PELLET" width="720" height="462"><div class="figAnnotation p012width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 12.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">GEOTRUPES STERCORARIUS FIGHTING FOR THE PELLET</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>But first let us dissipate an error current in books. In the magnificent work of M. -Emile Blanchard, <i>Metamorphoses, Habits, and Instincts of Animals</i>, I find the following passage: “Sometimes our insect is stopped by an insurmountable -obstacle: the ball has fallen into a hole. At such a time the Ateuchus<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e734src" href="#xd31e734">1</a> displays a really astonishing grasp of the situation, and a yet more astonishing -power of communication between individuals of the same species. Recognising the impossibility -of getting the ball over the obstacle, the Ateuchus seemingly abandons it, and flies -away. If you are sufficiently endowed <span class="pageNum" id="pb13">[<a href="#pb13">13</a>]</span>with that great and noble virtue called Patience, remain near this forsaken ball. -After a while the Ateuchus will return, and not alone; it will be followed by two, -three, or four companions who, alighting at the appointed spot, will join in trying -to lift up the load. The Ateuchus has been to seek reinforcements, and this explains -why several beetles uniting to transport a single ball is such a common sight in dry -fields.” I also read in Illiger’s <i>Entomological Magazine</i>: “A Gymnopleurus pilularius,<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e741src" href="#xd31e741">2</a> while constructing the ball of dung destined to contain its eggs, let it roll into -a hole, whence the insect tried long and vainly to extract it. Finding this only waste -of time, he hastened to a neighbouring heap of manure to seek three of his kind, which, -uniting their efforts to his, succeeded in getting out the ball, and then went back -to their own work.” -</p> -<p>I humbly beg pardon of my illustrious master, M. Blanchard, but assuredly things do -not happen thus. First, the two accounts are so much alike that they must have had -a common origin. After observations not followed up closely enough to merit blind -confidence, Illiger put forward the story of his Gymnopleurus, and the same fact has -been attributed to the Scarabæus because it really is a common thing to find two of -these insects busy rolling a ball, or getting it out of some difficult position. But -the partnership does not at all prove that one went to ask help from the other in -some difficulty. I have had a large measure of the patience <span class="pageNum" id="pb14">[<a href="#pb14">14</a>]</span>recommended by M. Blanchard; I may claim to have spent long days in the intimacy of -Scarabæus sacer; I have tried every means to comprehend its manners and customs, and -to study them from life, and never did I see anything which suggested that one had -called its companions to its aid. As I shall presently relate, I have put the dung-beetle -to proofs far more serious than that of a ball fallen into a hole, and into far graver -difficulties than having to climb a slope—a thing which is mere sport for the obstinate -Sisyphus, who seems to enjoy the rough gymnastics required by steep places, as if -the ball grew thereby firmer, and therefore more valuable. I have invented situations -where the insect had extreme need of help, and never could I detect any proof of good -offices between comrades. I have seen pillaged and pillagers, and nothing else. If -a number of beetles surrounded the same ball, it meant battle. My humble opinion is -that several Scarabæi gathered round a pellet with intent to thieve was what gave -rise to these stories of comrades called in to give a helping hand. Incomplete observations -have turned an audacious robber into a serviceable companion who put his own work -aside to do a friendly turn. It is no slight thing to admit that an insect has a truly -surprising grasp of the situation and a facility of communication between individuals -more surprising still; therefore I insist on this point, Are we to suppose that a -Scarabæus in distress conceives the idea of begging for help?—flies off, explores -the country round to find comrades at work on a dropping, and having found them, by -some pantomime, especially by movements of the antennæ, addresses them more <span class="pageNum" id="pb15">[<a href="#pb15">15</a>]</span>or less thus: “Hullo, you there! My load is upset in a hole yonder; come and help -me to get it out. I will do as much for you another time.” And are we to suppose too -that his colleagues understand him? And, more wonderful still, that they leave their -work, their ball newly begun, their beloved ball, exposed to the greed of others, -and certain to be filched during their absence, in order to help the supplicant! I -am profoundly incredulous of so much self-sacrifice, and my incredulity is borne out -by all which I have seen during many long years, not in collection boxes, but on the -spots where the Scarabæi work. Outside of the cares of maternity—cares in which it -almost always shows itself admirable, the Insect—unless, indeed, it lives in society -like bees and ants and some others—thinks and cares for nothing but itself. -</p> -<p>Let us drop this discussion, excused by the importance of the subject. I have already -said that a Scarabæus, owner of a ball which it is pushing backwards, is often joined -by another which hastens to its aid with interested views, ready to rob if it gets -the chance. Let us call the pair associates, though that is hardly the name for them, -since one forces itself on the other, who perhaps only accepts help for fear of worse. -The meeting is, however, perfectly peaceable. The arrival of the assistant does not -distract the proprietor for an instant from his labours; the newcomer seems animated -by the best intentions, and instantly sets to work. The way they harness themselves -is different for each. The owner of the ball occupies the chief position, the place -of honour; he pushes behind the load, his <span class="pageNum" id="pb16">[<a href="#pb16">16</a>]</span>hind feet upraised, his head downward. The helper is in front, in a reverse position, -head raised, toothed arms on the ball, long hind legs on the ground. Between the two -moves the ball, pushed before it by the one, dragged towards it by the other. The -efforts of the couple are not always harmonious, especially as the assistant turns -his back to the road to be traversed, and the view of the owner is bounded by his -load. Hence repeated accidents and ludicrous tumbles, taken cheerfully, each hastening -to pick himself up and resume his former position. On level ground this style of draught -does not answer to the expenditure of energy, for want of precision in combined movements; -the Scarabæus behind would do as well or better alone, and the assistant, having proved -his goodwill at the risk of disturbing the mechanism, decides to keep quiet of course -without abandoning the precious globe, which he looks on as already his. A ball touched -is a ball acquired. He will not be so imprudent as to let go; the other would instantly -take advantage of it. So he folds his legs under him, flattens himself, incrusts himself, -as it were, on the ball, and becomes part of it. Ball and beetle roll together, pushed -along by the lawful owner. Whether it should go over the body of the other, whether -he be above, below, or on one side of the rolling load, matters not—the intruder lies -low. A singular helper this, who lets himself be run over for the sake of a share -in the provender! But let them come to a steep incline, and he gets a chance of displaying -his usefulness. On the steep slope he takes the lead, holding up the heavy load with -his toothed feet while his <span class="pageNum" id="pb17">[<a href="#pb17">17</a>]</span>comrade steadies himself to hoist the load a little higher. Thus, by a combination -of judicious efforts, I have seen them mount ascents, the one above holding up, the -lower one pushing, where all the obstinate efforts of a single beetle must have failed. -All, however, have not the same zeal in difficult moments; some, just when their assistance -is most wanted on a slope, do not appear in the least aware that there is anything -to overcome. While the unhappy Sisyphus is exhausting himself in efforts to surmount -his difficulties, the other remains passive, incrusted on the ball, rolling down with -it, and forthwith hoisted up again. -</p> -<p>I have often tried the following experiment on two associates in order to judge of -their inventive faculties in a serious predicament. Let us suppose them on level ground, -the assistant firmly seated on the ball, the other pushing. Without disturbing the -latter, I nail the ball to the ground with a long, strong pin; it comes to a sudden -stop. The beetle, unaware of my treachery, doubtless believes in some rut, some dandelion -root or pebble stopping the way. He redoubles his efforts, struggles his hardest, -but nothing moves. What has happened? Let us go and see. Twice or thrice he walks -round his pellet. Discovering nothing which can explain its immovableness, he goes -behind and pushes again. The ball remains motionless. Let us look above. He climbs -up to find nothing but his motionless colleague, for I have taken care to drive the -head of the pin in deep enough to hide the head in the mass of the ball. He examines -the summit and again descends; fresh thrusts are vigorously applied in <span class="pageNum" id="pb18">[<a href="#pb18">18</a>]</span>front and on either side with the same want of success. Certainly no scavenger beetle -ever yet found himself confronted by such a problem of inertia. It is the very moment -for claiming assistance, a thing all the more easy that the colleague is close at -hand, squatted on the top of the dome. Will the Scarabæus give him a shake, or address -him somewhat thus: What are you about, lazy bones? Come and look here; something has -broken down. Nothing proves that he does so, for the beetle long persists in trying -to move the immovable, examining now on this side, now on that, now above, now below, -while his friend still remains quiescent. In the end, however, the latter becomes -aware that something unusual is going on; it is brought home to him by the uneasy -comings and goings of his companion and by the immobility of the ball, so in his turn -he comes down to look into the matter. Double harness does not prove more effectual -than single, and matters grow complicated. The little fans of their antennæ open and -shut, open again, quiver and betray their lively anxiety. Then a stroke of genius -ends their perplexities. Who knows what may be underneath? They explore below the -ball, and a slight excavation reveals the pin. They recognise at once that the crux -is there. Had I a voice in the matter I should have said, “An excavation must be made, -and the stake which holds the ball must be got out.” This very elementary proceeding, -and one so easy to such expert excavators, was not adopted nor even attempted. The -scavenger beetle was cleverer than the man. The two colleagues, one on this side, -one <span class="pageNum" id="pb19">[<a href="#pb19">19</a>]</span>on that, insinuated themselves under the ball, which slipped up along the pin in proportion -as the living wedges raised it, the softness of the material allowing of this clever -manœuvre. Soon the ball was suspended at a height equal to that of the beetles’ bodies. -What remained to do was more difficult. From lying flat they gradually got on their -legs and pushed upward with their backs. It was hard to accomplish, the feet losing -strength the more they stretched upward, but they did it. Then came a moment when -they could no longer use their backs to push, the highest point possible being reached. -There was a last resource, but one much less favourable to the development of strength. -Now in one of the postures in which it drags a ball, now in the other,—that is to -say, either head downward or the reverse,—the insect pushes with hind or fore feet. -Finally, unless the pin be too long, the ball drops to the ground. The perforation -is repaired as best it can be, and the ball is at once dragged onward. -</p> -<p>But if the pin should be too long, the ball remains suspended at a height which the -insect cannot increase by rearing itself up. In this case, after vain evolutions around -the inaccessible maypole, the beetles give up the struggle, unless you are kind-hearted -enough to complete the work yourself, and restore their treasure, or unless you aid -them by raising the floor with a little flat stone, a pedestal from whence the insect -can continue its work. Its use does not seem to be immediately understood, for neither -beetle shows any readiness to profit by it. However, by chance or otherwise, one gets -on the stone. Oh, joy! as it passed it felt the ball touch its back. <span class="pageNum" id="pb20">[<a href="#pb20">20</a>]</span>Thereupon courage returns, and the struggle begins again. Standing on its platform -the beetle stretches its joints, rounds its back, and hoists the pellet. When that -no longer avails, it manœuvres with its feet, now upright, now head downward. There -is a new pause and new signs of uneasiness when the limit of extension is reached. -Without disturbing the creature let us put another little stone on the first. By the -help of the new step, which gives a support for its levers, the insect pursues its -task. Adding one step to another as required, I have seen the Scarabæus, perched on -a shaky pile of three or four fingers’ breadth, persisting in its labour until the -ball was completely freed. -</p> -<p>Had it some vague consciousness of the services rendered by the elevation of its point -of leverage? I cannot believe it, although the beetle profited very cleverly by my -platform of little stones, for if the very elementary idea of using a higher base -to reach something too elevated was not beyond it, how was it that neither beetle -bethought him of offering his back to the other, thus rendering the task possible? -One assisting the other, they might have doubled the height attained. They are far -indeed from any such combinations. Here, each pushes the ball with all its might, -but pushes as if alone, without seeming to suspect the happy result which would be -brought about by a combined effort. When the ball is fastened to the ground by a pin, -they behave as they would when the ball is stopped by a loop of dandelion, or held -by some slender bit of stalk which has got into the soft, rolling mass. My artifice -brought about a stoppage not unlike <span class="pageNum" id="pb21">[<a href="#pb21">21</a>]</span>those which occur when the ball is rolling amid the many inequalities of the ground, -and the insect acts as it would have acted in some circumstances where I had not interfered. -It uses its back as a wedge and lever and pushes with its feet without at all varying -its means of action, even when it might call a comrade to its help. -</p> -<p>If it has to face the difficulties of a ball nailed to the ground with no assistant, -its dynamic manœuvres are exactly the same, and it succeeds, so long as we give the -indispensable help of a platform gradually built up. Should this help be refused, -the Scarabæus, no longer stimulated by the touch of its beloved ball, loses hope, -and sooner or later, no doubt with bitter regret, flies off, whither I know not. What -I do know is, that it does not return with a squadron of companions whom it has implored -to help it. What could it do with them, since it cannot utilise even the single comrade -when one shares the ball? Perhaps, however, an experiment which suspends the pellet -at a height inaccessible to the insect when its means of action are exhausted may -be too much outside of ordinary conditions. Let us try a miniature ditch, deep enough -and steep enough to prevent a beetle when placed at the bottom with its load from -rolling it up. These are the exact conditions named by Blanchard and Illiger. What -happens? When persistent yet fruitless efforts show the beetle that it can do nothing, -it spreads its wings and flies off. Long, very long have I waited, on the faith of -what these learned men say, expecting it to return with its friends, but I have always -waited in vain. Often, too, many days later I have found the ball <span class="pageNum" id="pb22">[<a href="#pb22">22</a>]</span>just where I tried the experiment, either at the top of the pin or at the bottom of -the hole, proving that nothing fresh had happened. A pellet abandoned from necessity -is abandoned for good and all, without salvage by the help of other beetles. Dexterous -use of wedge and lever to move the arrested ball is the highest intellectual effort -I have ever seen in the Scarabæus sacer. As a counterpoise to what experiment refutes, -namely, an appeal for help to brother beetles, I very willingly chronicle this feat -of mechanics for the glorification of the Scarabæus. Straying over sandy plains thickset -with thyme, ruts, and slopes, the ball is rolled for a while by the two partners, -the material thus acquiring a firmness which they probably find palatable. By and -by a favourable spot is selected. The proprietor, who has always kept the place of -honour behind the ball and is the one who performs almost the whole work of draught, -begins to hollow out the dining-room. Beside him is the ball, to which his associate -clings, motionless. Head and toothed legs attack the sand, flinging quantities backward, -and the excavation advances rapidly. Soon the insect disappears therein. Each time -that he brings a load to upper air he never fails to glance at the ball to make sure -that all is going on well. Now and again he brings it nearer to the edge of the cavity, -feels it, and seems to gain new zeal from its contact. The other beetle, hypocrite -that he is, continues to inspire confidence by his motionless attitude on the ball. -Meanwhile, the underground hall grows larger and deeper, and the excavator appears -more rarely, hindered by the extent of his labours. The moment is favourable, <span class="pageNum" id="pb23">[<a href="#pb23">23</a>]</span>the sleeper rouses up. The crafty partner decamps with the ball, dragging it behind -him with the haste of a thief fearing to be caught in the act. This abuse of trust -rouses my ire, but I let it pass in the interest of the story—time enough to interfere -on behalf of morality if the upshot threaten to turn out ill. -</p> -<p>Already the thief is some yards away. The robbed beetle comes up from his hole, looks, -and finds nothing. No doubt he has himself had a hand in like proceedings. Scent and -sight soon put him on the track and he hurriedly comes up with the robber, whereupon -this sly dog promptly changes his position, gets on his hind legs and clasps the ball -with his toothed arms as he does when acting helper. Ah, you rascal! I see through -you! you would excuse yourself by declaring that the ball rolled down the slope, and -that you are trying to stop it and take it home. I, however, who am an impartial witness, -assert that the ball, being well balanced at the mouth of the hole, did not move of -its own accord. Besides, the ground is level. I affirm that I saw you set it in motion -and make off with unequivocal intentions. It was an attempt at larceny or I know nothing -about it. My evidence not being taken into consideration, the owner listens mildly -to his companion’s excuses, and the two roll the ball back as if nothing had happened. -</p> -<p>But if the thief can get far enough away, or can conceal his track by adroitly doubling -back, the loss is irreparable. To have collected provisions under a fiery sun, to -have conveyed them a weary way, to have hollowed out a comfortable banqueting hall -in <span class="pageNum" id="pb24">[<a href="#pb24">24</a>]</span>the sand, and then, just when all is ready, and appetite whetted by toil lends charms -to the prospect of the approaching feast, to find one’s self suddenly robbed by a -companion is certainly a reverse of fortune that would try most people’s courage. -But the dung beetle does not allow itself to be cast down by this malicious blow of -fate; it rubs its cheeks, spreads its antennæ, sniffs the air, and flies to the nearest -heap to begin again. This is a trait of character which I admire and envy. -</p> -<p>Let us suppose the Scarabæus lucky enough to have met with a reliable partner, or, -better still, that he has no self-invited associate. The hole is ready, made in friable -earth, usually in sand, rather shallow, about the size of one’s fist, communicating -with the outer air by a short passage, just wide enough to let the ball pass. As soon -as the provender is introduced, the Scarabæus shuts itself in, stopping up the mouth -of the passage with fragments kept in reserve in a corner. Once the door is closed, -nothing outside betrays the banqueting hall. And now hurrah! all is for the best, -in the best of all possible worlds. The table is sumptuously laid, the ceiling tempers -the heat of the sun, only allowing a gentle moist heat to penetrate; the calm, the -darkness, the concert given by the field-cricket overhead, all favour digestion. Carried -away by my interest, I have caught myself listening at the door, believing that I -heard sung at table the famous -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">Ah! how sweet ’tis nought to do -</p> -<p class="line">When all around is endless stir.</p> -</div> -<p class="first">from the opera of <i>Galathea</i>. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb25">[<a href="#pb25">25</a>]</span></p> -<p>Who would dare disturb the beatitude of such a banquet? Alas! the desire for knowledge -makes one capable of anything, and I have not shrunk from even this. I now give the -result of thus violating the sanctity of home-life. The ball filled almost the whole -space, the magnificent store of victuals rising from floor to ceiling, a narrow passage -separated it from the walls. In this sat the banqueters, two at most, often but one, -their faces to the table, their backs to the wall. When once they have taken their -places nobody stirs, all their vital powers are absorbed by the digestive faculties. -No little movement which might cause the loss of a mouthful, no daintiness which might -waste the food—everything must be done decently and in order. To see them thus absorbed -round a lump of dung, one would say that they were aware of their rôle as earth-cleansers, -and consciously devoted themselves to that marvellous chemistry which out of impurity -brings the flower that gladdens the eye, and the wing-cases of the Scarabæus which -adorn the turf in springtime. To fit it for this all-important work, which turns into -living matter the residue that horse and sheep cannot utilise, in spite of the perfection -of their digestive organs, the dung beetle needs special tools. Accordingly anatomy -shows the immense length of its intestine, which, folded repeatedly on itself, slowly -deals with the material in its manifold circuits, and exhausts the very last atom -capable of being used. Where the stomach of the herbivorous animal can extract nothing, -this powerful alembic draws riches which under its influence become the ebony mail -of the Scarabæus sacer, and a cuirass of gold and <span class="pageNum" id="pb26">[<a href="#pb26">26</a>]</span>rubies for other species. Sanitary principles require that this marvellous change -be made as rapidly as possible; therefore the Scarabæus is endowed with a matchless -power of digestion. Once shut up with food, it never ceases to eat and digest until -the whole store is devoured. Proof of this is easily come by. Open the cell where -it has retired from the world at any hour and you find the insect eating, and behind -it, still attached to the creature, is a continuous cord, rolled carelessly like a -bundle of cables. Without going into particulars, we can guess what this cord represents. -Mouthful by mouthful the great ball passes into the digestive organs, yielding up -its nutritive principle, and reappearing spun into a rope. Now this unbroken cord, -often without a joint and always hanging from the orifice, proves, with absolute certainty, -how continuous is the action of digestion. By the time that the food is nearly eaten, -the rope is astonishingly long. Where else could one find another stomach, that, to -avoid any loss in the debit and credit ledger of life, can feast for a week or a fortnight -on such miserable cheer? When the whole mass has been digested, the hermit returns -to daylight, seeks, finds, and shapes a new ball, and begins all over again. This -royal life lasts one or two months, from June to July; then, with the coming of the -fierce heat, which the grasshoppers love, the Scarabæi take up summer quarters and -bury themselves in the cool earth. With the first rains they reappear, less numerous -and less active than in spring, but apparently taken up by the all-important task -of continuing their race. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb27">[<a href="#pb27">27</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e734"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e734src">1</a></span> The Scarabæus is also called Ateuchus. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e734src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e741"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e741src">2</a></span> G. pilularius is a scavenger beetle nearly related to the Scarabæus. As its name suggests, -it too rolls balls of dung. It is found very generally, even in the north, whereas -S. sacer scarcely leaves the shores of the Mediterranean. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e741src" title="Return to note 2 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e289">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">II</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE ENCLOSURE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">If you seek among writers for information as to the habits of Scarabæus sacer in particular, -and on the dung robbers in general, you find that science has not got beyond some -of the beliefs current in the time of the Pharaohs. We are told that the ball which -is dragged along contains an egg, and is a cradle where the larva will find board -and lodging. The parents roll it over rough ground to make it round, and when shocks -and shakes and tumbles all along the slopes have shaped it properly, they bury it -and abandon it to mother earth. -</p> -<p>So rough a start in life always seemed to me unlikely. How could a beetle’s egg, so -tender and fragile as it is, endure the rocking of its rolling cradle? There exists -in the germ a spark of life which the slightest touch, the merest trifle, can extinguish, -and is it likely that the parents should take it into their heads to lug it about -over hill and dale for hours? Not they; maternal tenderness does not subject its progeny -to the martyrdom of Regulus. -</p> -<p>However, something more than logical reasoning <span class="pageNum" id="pb28">[<a href="#pb28">28</a>]</span>was required to sweep away received opinions. I therefore opened hundreds of balls -rolled by the dung beetles and others out of holes dug under my eyes, and never, never -did I find either a central niche or an egg in the pellets. They are invariably rough -heaps of food, hastily shaped, with no particular structure inside them, merely provender -with which the beetles shut themselves up to enjoy an orgy in peace for some days. -They covet and steal them with an energy which they certainly would not show if it -implied new family cares. It would be absurd for one Scarabæus to steal the eggs of -another, each having enough to do in securing the future of its own. So on that point -no more doubt can exist; the balls rolled by beetles never contain eggs. -</p> -<p>My first attempt to resolve the thorny question as to the bringing up of the larva -was by constructing an ample enclosure with an artificial soil of sand and soil constantly -renewed. Some twenty Scarabæus sacer were introduced, together with Copris, Gymnopleurus, -and Onthophagus, and never did entomological experiment cost me so many mortifications. -The main difficulty was to renew the food. My landlord owned a stable and a horse. -I gained the confidence of his servant, who first laughed at my plans, and then allowed -himself to be gained over by a silver coin. Every breakfast for my beetles cost twopence -halfpenny; never before did the budget of a scavenger beetle amount to such a sum, -I can still see and shall always see Joseph, as, when after grooming his horse of -a morning, he would raise his head a little above the wall between the two gardens -and call “Heigh! heigh!” on <span class="pageNum" id="pb29">[<a href="#pb29">29</a>]</span>which I would hurry to receive a pot of manure. Discretion on both sides was necessary, -as will be seen. One day his master appeared at the moment of transfer, and made up -his mind that all his manure went over the wall, and that what he wanted for his cabbages -went to grow my verbenas and narcissus. Vainly did I try to explain; my explanations -seemed to him mere jests. Joseph got a sound scolding, was called this and that, and -threatened with dismissal if it happened again. It did not. -</p> -<p>I still had the resource of going bashfully along the road with a twist of paper to -gather up stealthily provisions for my pupils. I did so, and do not blush for it. -Sometimes fate was kind. A donkey carrying the produce of the market-gardens of Château-Renard -and Barbentane to Avignon would depose an offering as he passed my door. Such a gift, -instantly collected, enriched me for several days. In short, by hook or by crook, -by watching for a dropping, or turning diplomatist to get one, I succeeded in feeding -my captives. If success is earned by an experiment conducted with a fervour that nothing -can discourage, my experiment deserved to prosper. It did not. After some time my -Scarabæi, consumed by home-sickness in a space which deprived them of their wider -movements, let themselves die miserably without revealing their secret. Gymnopleurus -and Onthophagus responded better to my expectations. In due time I shall use the information -furnished by them. -</p> -<p>Along with my attempts at education in an enclosed space, I carried on direct researches, -the <span class="pageNum" id="pb30">[<a href="#pb30">30</a>]</span>results of which were far from what I desired. I felt that I must have assistants. -Just then a joyous band of children were crossing the high land. It was a Thursday, -and oblivious of school and hated lessons, an apple in one hand and a piece of bread -in the other, they were coming from the neighbouring village of Les Angles and wending -their way to search on the bare hill where the bullets drop when the garrison is shooting -at a mark. A few bits of lead, worth about a halfpenny, were the object of this early -morning expedition. -</p> -<p>The tiny rosy flowers of wild geranium enamelled the turf which for a brief moment -beautified this Arabia Petrea; the water wagtail, half black, half white, uttered -its scornful cry as it fluttered from one point of rock to another; on the threshold -of burrows, dug at the foot of tufts of thyme, the field-crickets filled the air with -their monotonous symphony. And the children were happy in this festival of spring—happier -still at their prospective riches—that halfpenny which they would get in return for -the bullets they would find, that halfpenny which would enable them next Sunday to -buy at the stall set up before the church two peppermint bull’s-eyes—two great bull’s-eyes -at a farthing apiece! -</p> -<p>I accosted the tallest, whose wide-awake air gave me hopes of him; the little ones -formed a circle, each munching his apple; I explained the matter and showed them Scarabæus -sacer rolling his ball, and told them that in a like ball, buried somewhere, I knew -not where, a hollow is sometimes found, and in this hollow a grub. The thing to be -done was to <span class="pageNum" id="pb31">[<a href="#pb31">31</a>]</span>search about and watch the beetles in order to find such a ball. Those with no maggot -would not count. To stimulate the children by a fabulous sum which would henceforward -secure to me the time hitherto devoted to some farthing’s worth of lead, I promised -a franc, a lovely new coin worth twenty halfpennies, for each inhabited ball. At the -mention of this sum eyes opened wide with delightful <i>naïveté</i>. I had quite upset their ideas on the subject of money by naming this exorbitant -price as the value of a piece of dirt. Then, to show I was in good earnest, I distributed -some halfpence to clinch the bargain. The following week at the same day and hour -I was to appear at the same place and faithfully perform the conditions of our compact -towards all who should have made the precious discovery. Having thoroughly posted -up all the party, I dismissed the children. “He really means it!” they said as they -went away; “he really means it! If we could only get one apiece!” and with hearts -swelling with sweet hope, they clinked their pence in the hollow of the hand. The -flattened bullets were forgotten. I saw the children scatter over the plain and hunt -about. -</p> -<p>On the appointed day the week after I returned to the tableland confident of success. -My young helpers would no doubt have mentioned this lucrative trade in beetle-balls -to their comrades and shown their handsels to convince the incredulous. Accordingly -I found a larger party assembled than the first time. On seeing me they ran up, but -there was no eagerness, no shout of joy. I saw that things had gone ill. Many times -on coming out of <span class="pageNum" id="pb32">[<a href="#pb32">32</a>]</span>school had they sought for what I had described, but in vain. Some balls, found underground -with the Scarabæus, were brought, but they were mere heaps of food, and there was -no grub. Fresh explanations were given and a new appointment was made for the following -Thursday. Again the same want of success. The seekers, discouraged, were now few. -I made a last appeal, but nothing came of it. Finally, I paid the most zealous, those -who had been faithful to the last, and we dissolved partnership. I could count on -no one but myself for researches, which seemed simple enough, but really were exceedingly -difficult. Even up to the present time, after many years, excavations made in favourable -spots and hopeful opportunities have not yet given any clear, consistent result. I -am reduced to combining incomplete observations and to filling up gaps by analogy.<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e826src" href="#xd31e826">1</a> The little which I have seen, together with observations on other dung beetles—Gymnopleurus, -Copris, and Onthophagus—in my enclosure is summed up in the following statement. -</p> -<p>The ball destined for the egg is not fashioned in public, in the hurry-scurry of the -general workshop. It is a work of art and much patience, demanding minute care impossible -amid a crowd. One must retire to meditate one’s plans and set to work, so the mother -makes a hollow from four to eight inches deep in the sand. It is a rather spacious -hall, communicating with the outside by a much narrower gallery. The insect carries -down choice materials, no doubt first rolled into pellets. She must make <span class="pageNum" id="pb33">[<a href="#pb33">33</a>]</span>many journeys, for the contents of the hole are out of all proportion with the door, -and could not be carried in at once. I recollect a Spanish Copris which, at the moment -I came upon it, was finishing a ball as large as an orange at the bottom of a burrow -only communicating with the outside world by means of a gallery where I could but -just insert my finger. It is true that the Copris do not roll balls or make long journeys -to fetch food. They dig a hole immediately under the dung, and crawl backward with -successive loads to the bottom of their cavity. The facility for provisioning and -the security offered by working under the manure favour a taste for luxury not to -be expected in the same degree among beetles belonging to the rude trade of ball-rollers; -but should it return two or three times, Scarabæus sacer can amass wealth of which -Copris hispanica might well be jealous. -</p> -<p>So far the insect has only raw material, put together anyhow. The first thing to do -is to select very carefully, taking what is most delicate for the inner layers, upon -which the larva will feed, and the coarser for the outer ones which merely serve as -a protecting shell. Then around a central hollow which receives the egg the materials -must be arranged layer after layer, according to their decreasing fineness and nutritive -value; the strata must be made consistent and adhere one to another; and finally, -the bits of fibre in the outside crust, which has to protect the whole thing, must -be felted together. How can the Scarabæus, clumsy and stiff as it seems, accomplish -such a work in complete darkness, at the bottom of a hole so full of provisions that -there is <span class="pageNum" id="pb34">[<a href="#pb34">34</a>]</span>barely room to move? When I think how delicate is the work done and how rude the tools -of the workman,—of the angular feet fitted to hollow the ground, and, if need be, -even tufa,—I am reminded of an elephant trying to make lace. Explain who can this -miracle of maternal industry; I give it up, especially as it has not been my good -fortune to see the artist at work. Let us restrict ourselves to describing this masterpiece. -</p> -<p>The ball which contains the egg is generally as large as a middle-sized apple. In -the midst is an oval cavity about a centimetre in diameter. At the bottom is the egg, -fixed vertically; it is cylindrical, rounded at each end, yellowish-white, about as -large as a grain of wheat, but shorter. The wall of the hollow is washed over with -a greenish-brown, semi-fluid matter, manure cream, destined as the first food of the -larva. Does the mother collect the quintessence of the dung to make this delicate -food? The look of it tells me that it is a pap prepared in the maternal stomach. The -pigeon softens grain in its crop, and turns it into a kind of milk food which it disgorges -for its nestlings. It would seem that the beetle shows the same tender care. It half -digests the choice food, and disgorges it in the shape of a delicate film to line -the walls of the cavity where the egg is laid. Thus, when first hatched, the larva -finds food easy of digestion, which rapidly strengthens its stomach and allows it -to attack the under layers which lack the same refinement of preparation. Under the -semi-fluid paste is a choice pulp, compact and homogeneous, whence every particle -of fibre is banished. Beyond are the coarser strata <span class="pageNum" id="pb35">[<a href="#pb35">35</a>]</span>where vegetable fibres abound, and finally the outside of the ball is composed of -the coarsest materials felted together into a resistant shell. Manifestly there is -a progressive change of diet. On issuing from the egg the feeble grub licks the fine -paste on the walls of its dwelling. There is but little of it, still it is strengthening -and of high nutritious value. To the bottle of early infancy succeeds the pap of the -weanling, intermediate between the dainty fare of the start and the coarse nourishment -at the end. This layer is thick enough and abundant enough to make the maggot into -a robust grub. Then, strong food for the strong, barley bread with its husks, raw -dung full of sharp bits of hay. The larva is superabundantly provisioned with it, -and, having attained its growth, comes to the imprisoning outer layer. The capacity -of the dwelling has increased with that of its inhabitant. The small original cavity -with its excessively thick walls is now a large cell with sides only a few lines thick. -The inner layers have turned into larva, nymph, or Scarabæus, as the case may be. -In short, the ball is now a shell, hiding within its spacious interior the mysteries -of metamorphosis. -</p> -<p>My observations go no further; my certificates of the birth and condition of the Scarabæus -do not go beyond the egg; I have not actually seen the larva which, however, is known -and described by various authors. Neither have I seen the perfect insect while yet -enclosed in the cell, previous to exercising its functions as ball-roller and excavator, -and that is exactly what I should most have desired to see. I should have liked to -find the <span class="pageNum" id="pb36">[<a href="#pb36">36</a>]</span>creature in its birthplace, recently transformed, new to all labour, so that I might -have examined the worker’s hand before it set to its tasks, and for the following -reason. -</p> -<p>Insects have each foot terminated by a kind of finger or tarsus, composed of a series -of delicate portions which may be compared to the joints of our fingers. They end -in a crooked nail. One claw to each foot is the rule, and this claw, at least in the -case of the superior Coleoptera, especially the scavenger beetles, contains five joints. -Now by a strange exception, the Scarabæus has no tarsi on its forefeet, while possessing -well-shaped ones with five joints on the two other pairs. They are imperfect, maimed, -wanting in their front limbs in that which represents, roughly indeed, our hand in -an insect. A like anomaly is found in the Onitis and Bubas, also of the scavenger -family. Entomology has long noted this curious fact without being able to give a satisfactory -explanation. Is it a birth imperfection? Does the beetle come into the world without -fingers on its front limbs, or does it lose them as soon as it enters on its toilsome -labours? -</p> -<p>One might easily suppose such mutilation a consequence of the insect’s hard work. -To grope, to excavate, to rake, to divide now among the gravel in the soil, now in -the fibrous mass of manure, is not a work in which organs so delicate as the tarsi -can be used without danger. Yet graver is it that when the insect is rolling its ball -backward, head downward, it is with the end of the forefeet that it grips the ground. -What becomes of the weak feet, no thicker than a thread, in this perpetual contact -<span class="pageNum" id="pb37">[<a href="#pb37">37</a>]</span>with all the inequalities of the soil? They are useless—merely in the way, and sooner -or later they are bound to disappear, crushed, torn off, worn out. Our workmen, alas! -are too often maimed by handling heavy tools, and lifting great weights, and the same -may be the case with the Scarabæus which rolls a ball that to it is a huge load. In -that case the maimed arms would be a noble certificate of a life of toil. -</p> -<p>But serious doubts at once suggest themselves. If these mutilations be accidental, -and the result of laborious work, they should be the exception, not the rule. Because -a workman or several workmen have had a hand crushed in machinery, it does not follow -that all others should be maimed. If the Scarabæus often, or even very often, loses -the fore-claws in its trade of ball-roller, there must be some which, cleverer or -more fortunate, have preserved their tarsi. Let us then consult facts. I have observed -a very large number of the species of Scarabæus which inhabit France, the S. sacer, -common in Provence; S. semipunctatus, which is seldom found far from the sea, and -frequents the sandy shores of Cette, Palavas, and of the Gulf of Juan; also S. longicollis, -which is much more widely spread than the two others, and found at least as far up -the Rhône Valley as Lyons. Finally, I have observed an African kind, S. cicatricosus, -found in the environs of Constantine, and the want of tarsi on the forefeet has proved -invariable in all four species, at all events as far as my observations go. Therefore -the Scarabæus is maimed from birth, and it must be no accident but a natural peculiarity. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb38">[<a href="#pb38">38</a>]</span></p> -<p>Moreover, we have further proof in another reason. Were the absence of fore-claws -accidental, and the consequence of rough labour, there are other insects, especially -among the scavenger beetles, which undertake excavations yet more difficult than those -of the Scarabæus, and which ought therefore to be still more liable to lose their -front claws, as these are useless and in the way when the foot has to serve as a strong -tool for excavation. For instance, the Geotrupes, who deserve their name of <span class="corr" id="xd31e859" title="Source: Earth-piecer">Earth-piercer</span> so well, make hollows in the hard and beaten soil of paths among pebbles cemented -by clay—vertical pits so deep that to reach the lowest cell one has to use powerful -digging tools, and even then one does not always succeed. Now these miners <i lang="fr">par excellence</i>, who easily open long galleries in surroundings whose surface the Scarabæus sacer -could hardly disturb, have their front tarsi intact, as if to perforate tufa were -a work calling for delicacy rather than strength. Everything then points to the belief -that, if observed in its natal cell, the baby Scarabæus would be found mutilated like -the veteran who has travelled the world and grown worn with labour. -</p> -<p>On this absence of fingers might be based an argument in favour of the theories now -in fashion—the struggle for life and the evolution of the species. One might say that -the Scarabæus had originally tarsi on all its feet in conformity with the general -laws of insect organisation. One way or another, some have lost these embarrassing -appendages on their forefeet, they being hurtful rather than useful. Finding themselves -the better for this mutilation, <span class="pageNum" id="pb39">[<a href="#pb39">39</a>]</span>which proved favourable to their work, little by little they gained a superiority -over the less favoured ones, founded a race by transmitting their fingerless stumps -to their descendants, and finally, the primitively fingered insect became the fingerless -Scarabæus of our time. I am willing to agree to this reasoning if it could first be -demonstrated why, with like labours,—labours even far harder,—the Geotrupes has preserved -his tarsi. Meantime let us continue to believe that the first Scarabæus who rolled -a ball, perhaps on the shores of some lake where bathed the Palæotherium, was as much -without tarsi as him of our own day. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb40">[<a href="#pb40">40</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e826"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e826src">1</a></span> Fabre subsequently completed the whole life-history and published it in the fifth -series of his <i lang="fr">Souvenirs</i> (1897). <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e826src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch3" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e300">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">III</h2> -<h2 class="main">CERCERIS BUPRESTICIDA</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Every one has met with books which, according to his turn of mind, have been epoch-making, -opening to him horizons whose very existence he had never guessed. They throw wide -open the gates of a new world where henceforward he will use his mental powers; they -are the spark which, falling on a hearth, kindles into flame materials otherwise never -utilised. And very often it is mere chance which puts into our hands some book which -makes a new starting-point in the evolution of our ideas. The most casual circumstance, -a few lines which happen to come under our eye, decide our future and impel us into -the path which thenceforward we shall follow. One winter evening, beside a stove where -the ashes were yet warm, while my family slept, I was forgetting, while I read, all -the cares of the morrow—the black cares of the professor of physics, who, after having -piled one university diploma on another and rendered for a quarter of a century services -whose merit was not denied, earns for himself and family 1600 francs—less than a groom -in a well-to-do household. Such was the shameful <span class="pageNum" id="pb41">[<a href="#pb41">41</a>]</span>parsimony of that day in educational matters; thus did Red tape will it. I was a free-lance, -son of my solitary studies. Thus, amid my books I was putting aside acute professorial -worries when I chanced to light on an entomological pamphlet which had come into my -hands I forget how. It was by the patriarch of entomology of that day, the venerable -savant Léon Dufour, on the habits of a Hymenopteron whose prey was the Buprestis. -Certainly long ere this I had felt a great interest in insects; from childhood I had -delighted in beetles, bees, and butterflies; as far back as I can recollect I see -myself enraptured by the splendours of a beetle’s elytra, or the wings of the great -Swallowtail butterfly. The materials lay ready on the hearth, but the spark to kindle -them had been lacking. The accidental perusal of Léon Dufour’s pamphlet was that spark. -I had a mental revelation. So then to arrange lovely beetles in a cork box, to name -and classify was not the whole of science; there was something far superior, namely, -the close study of the structure, and still more of the faculties of insects. Thrilled -by emotion I read of a grand instance of this. A little later, aided by those fortunate -circumstances which always befriend the ardent seeker, I published my first entomological -work, the complement of Léon Dufour’s. It gained the honours of the Institute of France, -a prize for experimental physiology being adjudged to it, and—far sweeter reward!—shortly -after I received a most flattering and encouraging letter from the very man who had -inspired me. From far away in the Landes the venerated master sent me the cordial -expression <span class="pageNum" id="pb42">[<a href="#pb42">42</a>]</span>of his enthusiasm, and urged me to continue my studies. At that recollection my old -eyes still grow wet with a holy emotion. Oh, bright days of illusion, of faith in -the future, what has become of you! -</p> -<p>I hope that the reader will not be sorry to meet with an extract from the pamphlet -which was the starting-point of my own researches, the more so that it is necessary -for the understanding of what follows. So I will let my Master speak, only abridging -slightly:— -</p> -<blockquote> -<p class="first">In all insect history I know of no fact more curious and extraordinary than that which -I am about to relate. It concerns a species of Cerceris which feeds its progeny on -the most splendid kinds of Buprestis. Let me share with you, my friend, the vivid -impressions gained by studying the habits of this Hymenopteron. In July 1839 a friend, -who lives in the country, sent me two Buprestis bifasciata, an insect new to my collection, -telling me that a kind of wasp which was carrying one of these pretty beetles had -dropped it on his coat, and that a few minutes later a similar wasp had let fall another -on the ground. In July 1840, having been called in as physician by my friend, I reminded -him of his capture of the preceding year, and asked about the circumstances. Season -and place corresponding with it, I hoped to do as much myself, but that particular -day was dark and chilly, unfavourable therefore to the flight of Hymenoptera. Nevertheless, -we made a tour of inspection in the garden walks, and seeing no insects I bethought -myself of seeking in the ground for the homes of burrowing Hymenoptera. A tiny heap -of sand recently thrown up, like a miniature mole-hill, attracted my attention. Scratching -it away, I saw that it masked the orifice of a gallery descending far down. We carefully -dug up the ground with a spade, and soon caught sight of the shining elytra of the -coveted Buprestis. Soon I not only found wing-cases but a whole Buprestis, nay, <span class="pageNum" id="pb43">[<a href="#pb43">43</a>]</span>three and four displayed their gold and emerald. I could not believe my eyes. But -that was only the prelude to my feast. In the chaos caused by my own exhumations a -Hymenopteron appeared and was taken by me; it was the captor of the Buprestis, trying -to escape from amid her victims. I recognised an old acquaintance, a Cerceris which -I have found some two hundred times in Spain and around Saint Sever. -</p> -<p>But my ambition was far from satisfied. It was not enough to know ravisher and prey: -I wanted the larva for which all this rich store was laid up. After exhausting the -first vein of Buprestis I hastened to make new excavations. Digging down more carefully -I finally discovered two larvæ, which completed the good fortune of this campaign. -In less than an hour I turned over three haunts of the Cerceris, and my booty was -some fifteen whole Buprestids with fragments of a yet greater number. I calculated, -and I believe it fell far short of the truth, that there were twenty-five nests in -this garden, a fact representing an immense number of buried Buprestids. What must -it be, I said to myself, in localities where in a few hours I have caught as many -as sixty Cerceris on blossoming garlic, with nests most probably near, and no doubt -provisioned quite as abundantly! Imagination, backed by probability, showed me underground, -within a small space, B. bifasciata by thousands, although I who have observed the -entomology of our parts for over thirty years have never noticed a single one. Once -only, perhaps twenty years ago, did I see, sticking in a hole of an ancient oak, the -abdomen and elytra of this insect. This fact was a ray of light, for it told me that -the larva of B. bifasciata must live in the wood of the oak, and entirely explained -the abundance of this beetle in a district where the forests consist chiefly of that -tree. As Cerceris bupresticida is rare on the clayey hills of the latter stretch of -country compared to the sandy plains where grows Pinus maritima, it became an interesting -question whether this Hymenopteron when it inhabits the pine region provisions its -nest as it does in <span class="pageNum" id="pb44">[<a href="#pb44">44</a>]</span>the oak district. I had good reason to believe that it did not, and you will soon -see with some surprise how exquisite is the entomological tact of our Cerceris in -her choice of the numerous kind of Buprestids. -</p> -<p>Let us hasten to the pine region to taste new pleasures. The spot to be explored is -a garden belonging to a property in the midst of forests of the maritime pines. The -haunts of the Cerceris were soon recognised; they were exclusively found in the main -paths, where the beaten and compact soil offered the burrowing Hymenoptera sufficient -solidity for the construction of their subterranean dwellings. I visited some twenty, -and I did it, I may say, by the sweat of my brow. It is a very laborious kind of exploration, -for the nests and provisions are only found at the depth of one foot, so that it is -necessary to invest the place by a line of square trenches seven or eight inches from -the mouth of the hole, first inserting a stalk of grass in the gallery by way of clue. -One must sap with a garden spade, so that the central clod, thoroughly detached all -round, may be raised in one piece, then reversed on the ground and broken up carefully. -Such is the manœuvre which I found successful. You would have shared our enthusiasm -at the sight of the beautiful species of Buprestis which this new style of research -revealed to our eager gaze. You ought to have heard our exclamations as each time -the clod was reversed, new treasures were revealed rendered yet more brilliant by -the hot sun, or when we discovered the larvæ of every age attached to their prey, -or the cocoons of these larvæ incrusted with copper, bronze, and emerald. I who had -been for three or four times ten years, alas! a practical entomologist had never beheld -such an enchanting sight or had had such good fortune. We only wanted you to double -our enjoyment. With ever increasing admiration we dwelt now on the brilliant Coleoptera -and now on the marvellous sagacity of the Cerceris which had buried and laid them -up for food. Can you believe it? Out of more than 400 beetles dug up, there was not -one which did not belong to the old <span class="pageNum" id="pb45">[<a href="#pb45">45</a>]</span>genus Buprestis! Our Hymenopteron had not committed the smallest error. How much there -is to learn from this intelligent industry in so small an insect! What value Latreille -would have attached to the vote of this Cerceris in favour of the natural system!<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e895src" href="#xd31e895">1</a> -</p> -<p>Let us pass on to the various contrivances of the Cerceris in making and provisioning -her nest. I have already said that she chooses ground whose surface is beaten, compact, -and solid. I should add that this ground must be dry and in full sunshine. This choice -shows an intelligence, or, if you like, an instinct, which one is tempted to believe -is the result of experience. Crumbly earth or mere sand would of course be easier -to work, but then how construct an orifice which will remain wide open for ingress -and exit, and a gallery whose walls will not constantly fall in, yield, and become -blocked by the least rain? The choice is therefore both reasonable and perfectly well -calculated. -</p> -<p>Our burrowing Hymenopteron hollows her gallery with her mandibles and front tarsi, -which accordingly are furnished with stiff points to act as rakes. The orifice must -not only have the diameter of the miner’s body, but be able to admit a prey of larger -bulk. This shows admirable forethought. As the Cerceris digs deeper she brings out -the rubbish, and this makes the heap which I compared to a tiny molehill. The gallery -is not vertical, as this would have exposed it to be filled up by wind or other causes. -Not far from the starting-point it makes an angle; its length is from seven to eight -inches. At the far end the industrious mother establishes the cradle of her progeny. -Five cells, separate and independent of one another, are hollowed in the shape and -nearly of the size of an olive; within they are solid and polished. Each can contain -three Buprestids, the ordinary allowance for a larva. The Cerceris lays an egg amid -the three victims, and then stops up the gallery with <span class="pageNum" id="pb46">[<a href="#pb46">46</a>]</span>earth, so that when once the provisions for the brood are laid in, the cells have -no communication with the outside. -</p> -<p>Cerceris bupresticida must be an indefatigable, daring, and skilful huntress. The -cleanness, the freshness of the beetles which she buries in her den testify that they -are seized just as they emerge from the wooden galleries where their final metamorphosis -takes place. But what inconceivable instinct urges a creature that lives solely on -the nectar of flowers to seek amid a thousand difficulties animal food for carnivorous -offspring, which it will never see, and to post itself on trees quite unlike one another, -which hide deep in their trunks the insects which are to fall her victims? What entomological -tact, yet more inconceivable, makes her lay down a strict law to select them in a -single generic group, and to catch species differing very considerably in size, shape, -and colour? You observe how unlike are Buprestis biguttata, with its slender long -body and dark colour; B. octoguttata, oval-oblong, with great stains of a beautiful -yellow on a blue or green ground; and B. micans, three or four times the size of B. -biguttata, with a splendid metallic greeny gold. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p046width" id="p046"><img src="images/p046.jpg" alt="CERCERIS BUPRESTICIDA AND ITS PREY, BUPRESTICIS MICANS AND BUPRESTIS FLAVOMACULATA" width="465" height="720"><div class="figAnnotation p046width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 46.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">CERCERIS BUPRESTICIDA AND ITS PREY, BUPRESTICIS MICANS AND BUPRESTIS FLAVOMACULATA</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>There is another very singular fact in the manœuvres of our assassin of Buprestids. -The buried ones, like those which I have seized in the grasp of their murderers, give -no sign of life, and are unquestionably quite dead, yet, as I observed with surprise, -no matter when they are dug up, not only do they keep all their freshness of colour, -but every bit of them—feet, antennæ, palpi, and the membranes which unite the various -parts of their bodies—is perfectly supple and flexible. At first one supposes the -explanation, as far as concerns the buried ones, to be in the coolness of the ground, -and absence of air and light, and for those taken from their murderers, in the very -recent date of death. But observe that after my explorations, having isolated in cones -of paper the numerous Buprestids dug up, I have often left them over thirty-six hours -before pinning them out. And yet, notwithstanding the dryness and great heat of July, -I have always found the same <span class="pageNum" id="pb47">[<a href="#pb47">47</a>]</span>flexibility in the joints. More than this, after that lapse of time, I have dissected -several, and their visceræ were as perfectly preserved as if I had used my scalpel -on the live insect. Now, long experience has taught me that even in a beetle of this -size, when twelve hours have passed in summer after its death, the interior organs -are either dried up or corrupted so that it is impossible to be sure of form or structure. -There is some peculiarity about Buprestids put to death by the Cerceris which prevents -corruption or desiccation for a week, or perhaps two. But what is this peculiarity?</p> -</blockquote><p> -</p> -<p>To explain this wonderful preservation which makes an insect dead for several weeks -into a piece of game not even high, but, on the contrary, as fresh as when first caught, -and that during the greatest heat of summer, the skilful historian of Cerceris bupresticida -supposes that there must be an antiseptic liquid acting as do the preparations used -in preserving anatomical specimens. This liquid can only be the poison injected by -the Hymenopteron into the body of the victim. A minute globule of the venomous humour -accompanying the dart or lancet, destined for this purpose, acts as a kind of pickle -or antiseptic fluid to preserve the flesh on which the larva is to feed. But then -how superior to our processes are those of the Cerceris with regard to preserved food! -We salt or smoke or enclose in tins hermetically sealed provisions which remain eatable, -to be sure, but which are far, very far from having the qualities of fresh meat. Sardines -drowned in oil, Dutch smoked herrings, cod hardened into slabs by salt and sun,—can -any of these sustain comparison with the same fish brought alive to the kitchen? For -meat properly so-called it is still <span class="pageNum" id="pb48">[<a href="#pb48">48</a>]</span>worse. Beyond salting and drying we have nothing which even for a short period can -keep meat eatable. At the present time, after innumerable fruitless attempts of the -most varied kind, special ships are equipped at great cost, which, furnished with -powerful freezing apparatus, convey to us the flesh of sheep and oxen slaughtered -in the Pampas of South America, frozen and kept from corruption by intense cold. How -far superior is the method of the Cerceris, so rapid, so cheap, so expeditious! What -lessons we should have to learn from such transcendental chemistry when an imperceptible -drop of liquid poison renders in an instant the prey incorruptible! What am I saying?—incorruptible?—that -is far from being all; the game is put into a condition which prevents desiccation, -leaves their suppleness to the limbs, and maintains all the organs in pristine freshness, -both the internal and external. In short, the Cerceris puts the insect into a state -differing only from life by a corpse-like immobility. -</p> -<p>Such is the conclusion arrived at by Léon Dufour before this incomprehensible marvel -of the dead Buprestis untouched by corruption. An antiseptic fluid, incomparably superior -to anything that human science could produce, would explain the mystery. He, the Master, -skilful of the skilful, thoroughly used to most delicate anatomy; he who with magnifying -glass and scalpel has scrutinised the whole circuit of entomology, leaving no corner -unexplored; he, in short, for whom the organisation of insects has no secrets,—can -advance no better conjecture than an antiseptic liquid to give at least a kind of -explanation of a fact which leaves him confounded. Let me <span class="pageNum" id="pb49">[<a href="#pb49">49</a>]</span>insist on this comparison between the instinct of the animal and the reason of the -sage in order the better to demonstrate in due time the overwhelming superiority of -the former. -</p> -<p>I will add but a few words to the history of the C. bupresticida. This Hymenopteron, -common in the Landes, as we have heard, seems to be rare in the department of Vaucluse. -It is only at long intervals that I have met with it, in autumn, and always isolated -specimens, on the spiny heads of Eryngium campestre, in the environs of Avignon or -round Orange and Carpentras. In the latter spot, so favourable to burrowing hymenoptera, -from its sandy soil of Mollasse, I had the good fortune, not indeed of being present -at the exhumation of such entomological riches as Léon Dufour describes, but of finding -some old nests which I feel certain belonged to Cerceris bupresticida, from the shape -of the cocoons, the kind of provender stored up, and the existence of the Hymenopteron -in the neighbourhood. These nests, hollowed in a very friable sandstone, called <i>safre</i> in those parts, were filled with remains of beetles, easily recognised, and consisting -of detached wing-cases, empty corslets, and whole feet. Now these remains of the larva’s -feast all belonged to one species, and this was a Buprestis, Sphænoptera geminata. -Thus from the west to the east of France, from the department of the Landes to Vaucluse, -the Cerceris remains faithful to its favourite prey; longitude does not affect its -predilections, a hunter of Buprestids among the maritime pines of the ocean sand-hills, -it is equally so amid the evergreen oaks and olives of Provence. <span class="pageNum" id="pb50">[<a href="#pb50">50</a>]</span>The species is changed according to place, climate, and vegetation—causes influencing -greatly the insect population, but the Cerceris keeps to its chosen genus, the Buprestis. -For what strange reason? That is what I shall try to demonstrate. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb51">[<a href="#pb51">51</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e895"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e895src">1</a></span> The beetles dug up belonged to the following species:—Buprestis octoguttata, B. bifasciata, -B. pruni, B. tarda, B. biguttata, B. micans, B. flavomaculata, B. chrysostigma, B. -novem-maculata. <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e895src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch4" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e311">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">IV</h2> -<h2 class="main">CERCERIS TUBERCULATA</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">With my mind full of the great deeds of the Buprestis hunter, I watched for an opportunity -of observing in my turn the labours of the Cerceris, and I watched so closely that -finally I got my chance. True, it was not the Hymenopteron celebrated by Dufour, with -such sumptuous provisions that when dug up they made one think of the powder from -a nugget broken by the miner’s pickaxe in some gold field: it was a closely related -species, a giant brigand which contents itself with more modest prey—in short, Cerceris -tuberculata or C. major, the largest and strongest of the genus. -</p> -<p>The last fortnight in September is the time when our Hymenopteron makes its burrows, -and buries in the depths the prey destined for its brood. The position of the domicile, -always sagaciously chosen, is governed by those mysterious laws varying with the species, -but unchangeable for any one of them. The Cerceris of Léon Dufour requires a horizontal, -beaten, compact soil, like that of a path, to avoid landslips and changes which would -ruin its gallery with the first rain. Ours, on the <span class="pageNum" id="pb52">[<a href="#pb52">52</a>]</span>contrary, selects vertical ground. By this slight architectural modification she avoids -most of the dangers which might threaten her tunnel; therefore she is not particular -as to the nature of the soil, and hollows her gallery either in friable earth with -a little clay, or in the crumbling soil of the Mollasse, which makes the labour of -excavation much easier. The only indispensable condition seems to be that the soil -should be dry, and exposed to the sun for the greater part of the day. It is therefore -in the steep bank along a road, and in the sides of hollows made by rain in the sandy -Mollasse, that our Hymenopteron makes its abode. Such conditions are frequent near -Carpentras in what is known as the hollow way, and it is there that I have found C. -tuberculata in the greatest abundance, and have collected most of the facts relating -to its history. -</p> -<p>It is not enough to choose this vertical situation; other precautions are taken to -guard against the already advanced season. If some bit of hard sandstone project like -a shelf, or if a hole the size of one’s fist should have been hollowed naturally in -the ground, it will be under this shelter or in this cavity that the gallery is made, -a natural vestibule being thus added by the Cerceris to its own edifice. Although -there is no kind of community among them, these insects like to associate in small -parties, and I have always found their nests in groups of about ten, with orifices, -though usually far apart, sometimes touching. -</p> -<p>When the sun shines it is wonderful to see the ways of these hard-working miners. -Some patiently extract bits of gravel from the bottom of a hole <span class="pageNum" id="pb53">[<a href="#pb53">53</a>]</span>with their mandibles, and push out the heavy mass; others scratch the walls of their -tunnel with the sharp rakes of their tarsi, forming a heap of rubbish which they sweep -out backward, and send sliding down the steep incline in long dusty streams. It was -these periodical sand waves thrown out of galleries in process of construction which -betrayed my first Cerceris, and led to the discovery of the nests. Others, either -weary, or having completed their hard task, rested and polished their antennæ and -wings under the natural caves which usually protect their dwelling, or else sat motionless -at the mouth of their holes, only displaying their wide, square faces, barred with -yellow and black. Others again were flying with a deep hum on the bushes near the -cochineal oak, where the males, always on the watch near the burrows in process of -construction, speedily join them. Couples form, often troubled by the arrival of a -second male, which tries to supplant the happy possessor. The humming grows menacing, -quarrels begin, and often both males roll in the dust until one acknowledges the superiority -of his rival. Not far off the female waits with indifference the upshot of the struggle, -accepting finally the male bestowed on her by the chances of the fight, and the pair -fly out of sight to seek peace in some distant thicket. Here the part of the male -ends. One half smaller than the females, they prowl about the burrows but never enter, -and never take any part in the hard work of excavation, or that perhaps yet harder -of provisioning the cells. -</p> -<p>In a few days the galleries are ready, especially as after some repairs those of the -preceding year <span class="pageNum" id="pb54">[<a href="#pb54">54</a>]</span>are used again. Other Cerceris, as far as I know, have no fixed home, transmitted -from one generation to another. True Bohemians, they establish themselves wherever -the chances of their vagabond life may lead them, so long as the soil suits them. -But C. tuberculata is faithful to her penates. The projecting shelf of sandstone used -by its predecessors is used again; it hollows out the same layer of sand hollowed -by its forbears, and, adding its own labour to theirs, obtains deep-seated retreats -sometimes only visited with difficulty. The diameter of the galleries would admit -a thumb, and the insect can move about easily, even when laden with the prey which -we shall see it capture. Their direction is horizontal, from four to eight inches, -then makes a sudden turn downward more or less obliquely, now in one direction, now -in another. Except the horizontal part, and the angle of the tunnel, the direction -seems to depend on the difficulties of the ground, as is proved by the windings and -changes in the farthest part of this kind of canal, which is half a yard in length. -At the far end are the cells, not numerous, and provisioned with five or six dead -beetles. But let us leave the details of how a Cerceris builds, and turn to more wonderful -facts. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p054width" id="p054"><img src="images/p054.jpg" alt="CERCERIS TUBERCULATA DRAGGING WEEVIL TO ITS BURROW" width="720" height="464"><div class="figAnnotation p054width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 54.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">CERCERIS TUBERCULATA DRAGGING WEEVIL TO ITS BURROW</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>The victim chosen to feed the larvæ is a large weevil (Cleonus ophthalmicus). One -sees the captor arrive, carrying the victim between its feet, body to body, head to -head. It alights heavily some way from the hole to complete the journey without the -aid of wings, and drags the prey laboriously with its jaws, on ground if not vertical, -at least very steeply inclined, which often results in sending <span class="pageNum" id="pb55">[<a href="#pb55">55</a>]</span>captor and captive headlong to the bottom, but the indefatigable mother finally darts -into her burrow, covered with dust, but with the prey of which she has never let go. -If she does not find walking with such a burden easy, it is otherwise with her flight, -which is surprisingly powerful, if one considers that the strong little creature is -carrying a prey nearly as large as and heavier than herself. I have had the curiosity -to weigh the Cerceris and her prey separately, and the first weighed 150 milligrammes, -and the second about 250, almost double. -</p> -<p>These weights speak eloquently for the vigorous huntress, and I never wearied of watching -how swiftly and easily she resumed her flight, and rose out of sight with the game -between her feet when approached too closely. But she did not always fly away, and -then, though it was difficult to do so, and yet avoid hurting her, I would make her -drop the prey by worrying and upsetting her with a straw. Then I would take possession -of the victim, and the Cerceris, thus despoiled, would hunt about, go into her hole -for a moment, come out, and resume the chase. In less than ten minutes the sharp-sighted -insect would find a new victim, murder it and carry it off, not seldom to my profit. -Eight times running have I stolen from the same individual; eight times did the indefatigable -Cerceris resume her fruitless journey. Her perseverance tired out mine, and I let -her keep the ninth capture. -</p> -<p>By this means, and by breaking open cells already filled with provisions, I got nearly -a hundred weevils, and in spite of what I had a right to <span class="pageNum" id="pb56">[<a href="#pb56">56</a>]</span>expect from what Léon Dufour has told us of the habits of the Cerceris bupresticida, -I could not repress my astonishment at the sight of the singular collection which -I had made. His Cerceris, though it limits itself to one genus, yet takes any species -within that limit, but the more exclusive C. tuberculata preys exclusively on Cleonus -ophthalmicus. On looking through my booty I met with but one single exception, and -that belonged to a closely allied species, C. alternans—one which I never met with -again in my frequent visits to the Cerceris. Later researches furnished me with a -second exception, Bothynoderes albidus, and these are all. Can a specially succulent -and savoury prey explain this predilection for a single species? Do the larvæ find -in this unvaried diet juices which suit them peculiarly, and which they would not -find elsewhere? I do not think so, and if Léon Dufour’s Cerceris hunted all the kinds -of Buprestids, no doubt it was because they all have the same nutritive properties. -But this must generally be the case with all the Curculionidæ; their alimentary properties -must be identical, and in that case this amazing choice can only be one of size, and -therefore of economy of labour and time. Our Cerceris, the giant of its race, chooses -C. ophthalmicus as the largest in our district, and perhaps the commonest. But if -this favourite prey fail, it must fall back upon other species, even if smaller, as -is proved by the two exceptions above mentioned. -</p> -<p>Moreover, it is by no means the only one to hunt the long-nosed class of weevils. -Many other Cerceris, according to their size, strength, and the <span class="pageNum" id="pb57">[<a href="#pb57">57</a>]</span>chances of the chase, capture Curculionidæ most various in genus, species, shape, -and size. It has long been known that Cerceris arenaria feeds her young with similar -food. I myself have found in its burrows Sitona lineata, S. tibialis, Cneorhinus hispidus, -Brachyderes gracilis, Geonemus flabellipes, Otiorhynchus maleficus. Cerceris aurita -is known to prey on Otiorhynchus raucus and Phytonomus punctatus. In the larder of -Cerceris ferreri I saw Phytonomus murinus, P. punctatus, Sitona lineata, Cneorhinus -hispidus, Rhynchites betuleti. This weevil, which rolls up vine leaves into the shape -of cigars, is sometimes of a superb metallic blue, but more usually of a splendid -golden copper. I have found as many as seven of these brilliant insects laid up in -one cell, and the gorgeous colours of the little heap might almost bear comparison -with the jewels buried by the huntress of the Buprestids. Other species, especially -the weaker, hunt smaller game, the lesser size being compensated by numbers. Thus, -Cerceris quadricincta heaps in each cell some thirty Apion gravidum, but does not -disdain on occasion bigger weevils, such as Sitona lineata, Phytonomus murinus. Cerceris -labiata also lays up small species. Finally, the smallest Cerceris in my part of France, -C. julii, hunts the least weevils, Apion gravidum and Bruchus granarius, game proportioned -to its own size. To end this list of provender, let us add that some Cerceris follow -other gastronomic laws, and bring up their families on Hymenoptera. Such is C. ornata. -These tastes being alien to our subject, let us pass on. -</p> -<p>We see that out of eight species of Cerceris <span class="pageNum" id="pb58">[<a href="#pb58">58</a>]</span>which lay up Coleoptera as food, seven hunt weevils and one Buprestids. What singular -reason confines the chase of these Hymenoptera within such narrow limits? What are -the motives of such an exclusive selection? What internal likeness is there between -the Buprestids and the weevils, outwardly quite dissimilar, that both should become -food for carnivorous and nearly related larvæ? No doubt between such and such a victim -there are differences as to taste and nutritive qualities which the larvæ thoroughly -appreciate, but there must be a far graver reason than these gastronomic considerations -to explain these strange predilections. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p058width" id="p058"><img src="images/p058.jpg" alt="CERCERIS FERRERI AND ITS PREY, THE WEEVIL;" width="466" height="720"><div class="figAnnotation p058width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 58.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">CERCERIS FERRERI AND ITS PREY, THE WEEVIL;</p> -<p class="first">Rhynchites betulæ on birch leaves, showing two leaves rolled up by the weevil -</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>After all that has been so admirably said by Léon Dufour on the long and marvellous -preservation of the insects destined as food for the carnivorous larvæ, it is needless -to say that the weevils which I dug up, as well as those taken from between the feet -of their murderer, were perfectly fresh, though permanently motionless. Freshness -of colour, suppleness of the membranes and smallest articulations, normal condition -of the viscera, all combine to make one doubt whether the inert body under one’s eyes -can really be a corpse, all the more that even under the magnifying glass it is impossible -to perceive the smallest wound; and in spite of one’s self one expects every moment -to see the insect move and walk. Yet more, in weather so hot that insects which had -died naturally would in a few hours have become dried up and crumbly, or again in -damp weather which would with equal rapidity have made them decay and grow mouldy. -I have kept specimens in glass tubes or cones of paper over a month with no precautions, -and wonderful <span class="pageNum" id="pb59">[<a href="#pb59">59</a>]</span>to say, after all this length of time, the intestines were as fresh as ever, and I -found dissection as easy as if the creatures were alive. No, in presence of such facts -one cannot talk of an antiseptic, and believe in real death; life is still there—life -latent and passive—vegetative life. It alone, struggling successfully for a time against -the destructive invasion of chemical forces, can thus preserve the organism from decomposition. -Life is still there, but without motion, and we have under our eyes such a marvel -as chloroform or ether might produce—a marvel caused by the mysterious laws of the -nervous system. -</p> -<p>The functions of this vegetative life are slackened and troubled no doubt, but still -they are feebly exercised. I have the proof of this in that action of the viscera -which takes place normally and at intervals in the weevils during the first week of -that deep slumber, which will never be broken, and yet which is not death. It only -ceases when the intestine is empty, as is shown by autopsy. But the faint rays of -life which the creature manifests do not stop there; and though sensation appears -annihilated for ever, I have succeeded in reawakening some vestige of them. Having -placed weevils, recently exhumed and absolutely motionless, in a bottle with sawdust -moistened with benzine, I was not a little surprised to see a quarter of an hour later -moving antennæ and feet. For a moment I thought I could recall them to life. Vain -hope! these movements, last trace of a sensitiveness about to cease, soon stopped, -and could not be excited a second time. I have repeated this experiment from <span class="pageNum" id="pb60">[<a href="#pb60">60</a>]</span>some hours to several days after the murder, and always with the same success; only -movement is tardy in appearing in proportion as the date of the victim’s death is -distant. The movements are always from the forepart backward. First, the antennæ move, -then the front tarsi tremble and share in the oscillations; next, the second pair -do the same; and finally, the third. Once movement is excited, all these members oscillate -without any order until all become again motionless, as they do sooner or later. Unless -death has been quite recent, movement does not go beyond the tarsi, and the legs remain -motionless. -</p> -<p>Ten days after the murder I could not obtain the least sign of irritability by the -proceeding described, and I had recourse to the Voltaic battery. This is more effective, -and provokes muscular contractions where the vapour of benzine fails. One or two elements -of Bunsen suffice, which are armed with the rheophores of slender needles. Plunging -the point of the one under the furthest ring of the abdomen, and the point of the -other under the neck, you obtain each time that the current is established, not only -the quivering of the tarsi, but a strong flexion of the feet, which fold themselves -under the body, and relax when the current is interrupted. These movements, very energetic -during the first days, gradually lose intensity, and after a certain time appear no -more. On the tenth day I have still been able to obtain visible motions, but on the -fifteenth the pile was unable to provoke them, notwithstanding the suppleness of the -limbs and freshness of the viscera. I have submitted also <span class="pageNum" id="pb61">[<a href="#pb61">61</a>]</span>to the action of the pile Coleoptera really dead, Blaps, Saperda, Lamia, asphyxiated -by benzine or sulphureous gas, and two hours later it was impossible to provoke the -movements obtained so easily from weevils lying already for several days in the singular -state, intermediate between life and death, into which their redoubtable enemy plunges -them. -</p> -<p>All these facts contradict the supposition of an animal completely dead, and the hypothesis -of a real corpse rendered incorruptible by some antiseptic liquid. One can only explain -them by admitting that the animal is struck in the principle of its movements, and -that sensitiveness, suddenly benumbed, dies slowly out, while the more tenacious, -vegetative functions die yet more slowly and preserve the intestines during the time -necessary for the larva. -</p> -<p>The most important detail to show was how the murder is committed. Evidently, the -chief part must be played by the poisoned dart of the Cerceris. But where and how -does it penetrate the body of the weevil, covered with a hard cuirass, with pieces -so closely joined? Even under the magnifying glass nothing told where the sting entered. -Direct examination, therefore, was required to discover the murderous ways of the -Cerceris—a problem before whose difficulties Léon Dufour had already recoiled, and -the solution of which seemed to me for a time impossible. I tried, however, and had -the satisfaction of succeeding, though not without some groping about. -</p> -<p>When they fly from their holes to the chase, the Cerceris go here and there, sometimes -on one <span class="pageNum" id="pb62">[<a href="#pb62">62</a>]</span>side, sometimes on the other, and return from all directions, loaded with prey, so -that they must seek it on all sides; but as they barely take ten minutes between going -and returning, the space worked over could not be very great, especially considering -the time necessary to discover the prey, to attack and render it an inert mass. I, -therefore, set myself to examine all the adjacent ground with close attention, hoping -to discover some Cerceris on the hunt. One afternoon devoted to this weary work convinced -me of the uselessness of my researches, and of the little chance I had of surprising -any of the few Cerceris, scattered here and there, and soon lost to view by their -rapid flight; above all, in difficult ground, planted with olives, I gave up the attempt. -But by carrying live weevils to the neighbourhood of the nests might I not tempt the -Cerceris by a prey found without trouble, and so observe the drama? The notion seemed -good, and the very next day I set out to find live Cleonus ophthalmicus. Vineyards, -wheat-fields, and crops of lucerne, and heaps of stones did I visit and examine one -and all, and after two days of close search I possessed—dare I own it?—three weevils! -bare, dusty, maimed of antennæ or tarsi, shabby old creatures which, perhaps, the -Cerceris would not touch! Since the day of that fevered search, when, for a weevil’s -sake, I bathed myself in perspiration during my wild expedition, many a year has passed, -and yet, in spite of almost daily entomological researches, I am still ignorant of -the life and habits of this Cleonus, which I met here and there, straying on the edge -of paths. Wonderful powers of instinct! <span class="pageNum" id="pb63">[<a href="#pb63">63</a>]</span>in the same spots, and in a fraction of time, one Hymenopteron would have found hundreds -of these insects which man cannot find, and found them fresh and shining, no doubt -just emerged from the cocoon! -</p> -<p>No matter; let us experiment with my wretched victim. A Cerceris has just gone into -her gallery with her prey; before she comes out for a new expedition I place a weevil -a few inches from her hole. The weevil moves about; when it strays too far I bring -it back to its place. At last the Cerceris shows her wide face at the mouth of her -hole; my heart beats fast. She walks for a few minutes near her dwelling, sees the -weevil, brushes against it, turns, passes several times over its back, and flies off -without even honouring my captive with a bite—my captive which cost me so much labour! -I was confounded—knocked over. New attempts at other holes, new disappointments. Decidedly -these dainty hunters will have none of the game which I offer them. Perhaps they find -it too old, too tasteless; perhaps, in handling it, I communicated some smell to it -which displeases them. Foreign contact disgusts these connoisseurs. -</p> -<p>Should I be more fortunate if I obliged the Cerceris to defend herself? I enclosed -one with a Cleonus in a bottle, irritating them by shaking it. The Hymenopteron, sensitive -by nature, was more impressed than the other prisoner, with its dull, heavy organisation; -she thought of escape, not attack. Their parts were exchanged; the weevil became the -aggressor, sometimes seizing with the end of its trunk a foot of its mortal foe, who -made <span class="pageNum" id="pb64">[<a href="#pb64">64</a>]</span>no attempt at defence, so terrified was she. I could devise nothing more; my desire -to be present at the <i>dénoûment</i> had only added to former difficulties. Well, let us try again. -</p> -<p>A luminous idea flashed upon me, bringing hope, so naturally did it touch the very -heart of the question. Of course, it was the right thing and must succeed. My disdained -game must be offered to the Cerceris in the heat of the chase—then, absorbed and preoccupied, -she will not discover its imperfections. I have already said that on returning from -the chase the Cerceris alights at the foot of the incline at some distance from the -hole, whither she laboriously drags the prey. What I then had to do was to deprive -her of her victim, drawing it away by one foot with pincers, and instantly throwing -her the living weevil in exchange. This manœuvre succeeded perfectly. As soon as the -Cerceris felt the prey slip under her body and escape her, she stamped with impatience, -turned round, and perceiving the weevil which had replaced hers, flung herself upon -it and clasped it in order to carry it away. But she promptly perceived that this -prey was alive, and then the drama began and ended with inconceivable rapidity. The -Cerceris faced her victim, seized its proboscis with her powerful jaws and grasped -it vigorously, and while the weevil reared itself up, pressed her forefeet hard on -its back as if to force open some ventral articulation. Then the tail of the murderess -slid under the Cleonus, curved and darted its poisoned lancet swiftly two or three -times at the joining of the prothorax, between the first and second pair of feet. -In a twinkling all was over. Without <span class="pageNum" id="pb65">[<a href="#pb65">65</a>]</span>one convulsive movement, with no motion of the limbs such as accompany the death of -an animal, the victim fell motionless for ever, as if annihilated. It was at once -wonderful and terrible in its rapidity. Then the assassin turned the Weevil on its -back, placing herself body to body with it, her legs on either side of it, and flew -off. Three times I renewed the experiment with my three Weevils, and the same scene -was always enacted. -</p> -<p>Of course, each time I gave the Cerceris back her first prey and withdrew my Cleonus -to examine it at greater leisure. This examination only confirmed my opinion of the -terrible skill of the assassin. It is impossible to find the slightest trace of a -wound, or the smallest flow of vital liquids from the point which was struck. But -the most striking thing is the rapid, complete annihilation of all movement. Vainly -did I seek even immediately after the murder for any trace of sensibility in the three -Weevils done to death under my eyes—neither pinching nor pricking provoked it; to -do so required the artificial means already mentioned. Thus these robust Cleonus, -which, pierced alive with a pin and fixed by a collector on his fatal sheet of cork, -would have struggled for days, weeks, nay, whole months, instantly lose all power -of motion from the effect of a little prick which inoculates them with a minute drop -of poison. Chemistry knows none so active in so small a dose; scarcely could prussic -acid produce such an effect, if, indeed, it could do so at all. It is not then to -toxology, but to physiology and anatomy that we must turn to find the cause of such -instantaneous catalepsy; it is not so much <span class="pageNum" id="pb66">[<a href="#pb66">66</a>]</span>the great virulence of the poison injected, as the importance of the organ injured -by it which we must consider in order to explain these marvels. What, then, is found -at the point where the sting penetrates? -<span class="pageNum" id="pb67">[<a href="#pb67">67</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch5" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e322">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">V</h2> -<h2 class="main">ONE SKILFUL TO SLAY</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Hymenopteron has partly revealed her secret by showing us where the sting strikes. -But does that explain the question? Not yet, by any means. Let us retrace our steps, -forget for a moment what the insect has taught us, and consider the problem set before -the Cerceris. The problem is this: to lay up in an underground cell a certain number -of heads of game which may suffice to nourish the larva hatched from the egg laid -upon the heap of provender. -</p> -<p>At first sight this storing of food appears simple enough, but reflexion soon discovers -graver difficulties. Our own game is brought down by a shot and killed with horrible -wounds. The Hymenopteron has refinements unknown to us; she chooses to have her prey -intact, with all its elegance of form and colour. No broken limbs, no gaping wounds, -no hideous disembowelment. Her prey has all the freshness of the living insect; she -does not destroy an atom of the fine-coloured powder which the mere contact of our -fingers deflowers. If the insect were really dead, really a corpse, how difficult -it would be for us to obtain such a result! Any one can slay <span class="pageNum" id="pb68">[<a href="#pb68">68</a>]</span>an insect by stamping brutally on it, but to kill it neatly leaving no sign is no -easy operation, within every one’s power. How many of us would be at our wits’ end -if we had to kill on the spot, without crushing it, a little creature so tenacious -of life that even beheaded it still goes on struggling! One must have been a practical -entomologist before thinking of asphyxiation, and here, again, success would be doubtful -with the primitive methods of vapour of benzine or burnt sulphur. In this deleterious -atmosphere the insect struggles too long, and tarnishes its brightness. One must have -recourse to more heroic methods—for instance, to the terrible exhalations of prussic -acid slowly disengaging themselves from strips of paper impregnated with cyanide of -potassium, or better still, as being without danger to the collector, to the thunderbolt -of vapour of bisulphide of carbon. It requires a real art, an art calling to its aid -the redoubtable arsenal of chemistry, to kill an insect neatly; to do that is what -the elegant method of the Cerceris brings about so quickly, if we admit the stupid -supposition that her prey really becomes a dead body. -</p> -<p>A dead body! But that is by no means the diet of the larvæ, little ogres greedy for -fresh meat, to whom game ever so slightly tainted would inspire insurmountable disgust. -They must have fresh meat with no high taste—that first sign of decay. Yet the prey -cannot be laid up alive in the cell like animals destined to furnish fresh meat to -the crew and passengers of a vessel. What would become of a delicate egg laid among -living food? What would become of the feeble larva, a worm bruised by the slightest -<span class="pageNum" id="pb69">[<a href="#pb69">69</a>]</span>thing among vigorous Coleoptera moving their long spurred legs for whole weeks? It -is absolutely necessary—and here we seem caught in a blind alley—to obtain deathly -immobility with the freshness of life for the interior organs. Before such an alimentary -problem the best instructed man of the world would stand helpless—even the practised -entomologist would own himself at a loss. The larder of the Cerceris would defy their -reasoning powers. -</p> -<p>Let us then imagine an academy of entomologists and physiologists, a congress where -the question should be discussed by Flourens, Majendies, Claude Bernards. To obtain -at once complete immobility and long preservation of food, the first and most natural -and simple idea would be that of preserved meats. One would invoke some antiseptic -liquid, as the illustrious savant of the Landes did with regard to his Buprestids, -and attribute such virtue to the poisonous fluid of the Cerceris, but this strange -quality has yet to be proved. Gratuitous hypothesis replacing the unknown quantity -of the preserving liquid may perhaps be the final verdict of the learned assembly, -as it was that of the naturalist of the Landes. -</p> -<p>Should one insist and explain that the larvæ require not preserved food which could -never have the properties of flesh still palpitating, but prey yet alive, so to say, -in spite of complete absence of motion, the learned Congress, after ripe consideration, -will fall back upon paralysis: “Yes, of course; the creature has to be paralysed without -being killed.” There is but one means of arriving at this <span class="pageNum" id="pb70">[<a href="#pb70">70</a>]</span>result, namely, to injure, cut, and destroy the nervous system of the insect in one -or more skilfully chosen points. -</p> -<p>If the question be thus left in hands unfamiliar with the secrets of a delicate anatomy -it will not have advanced far. What is the arrangement of this nervous system which -must be paralysed without killing the insect? First, where is it? In the head no doubt -and along the back, like the brain and spinal marrow in the superior animals. “A grave -mistake!” our congress would reply; the insect is so to say an animal reversed, which -walks on its back—that is, it has the spinal marrow below instead of above, all along -breast and stomach; therefore on the lower surface alone can the operation to paralyse -the insect be performed. -</p> -<p>This difficulty removed, a far graver one presents itself. Armed with his scalpel, -the anatomist can direct its point where he will in spite of obstacles which he may -have to set aside. The Hymenopteron has no choice. Its victim is a solidly cuirassed -beetle, its lancet a dart, extremely delicate, which the horny mail would certainly -turn aside. Only certain points are vulnerable to the frail tool, namely, the joints, -protected simply by a membrane with no power of resistance. But the joints of the -limbs, although vulnerable, do not in the least fulfil the necessary conditions, for -through these the utmost that could be obtained is local paralysis, not one affecting -the whole organism of motion. Without any prolonged struggle, without repeated operations, -which, if too numerous, might endanger the victim’s life, the Hymenopteron has, if -possible, to abolish all <span class="pageNum" id="pb71">[<a href="#pb71">71</a>]</span>motive power at one blow. Therefore she must direct her dart at the nervous centres, -the source of the power of motion whence radiate the nerves running up to the various -organs of movement. Now these sources of locomotion, these nervous centres, consist -of a certain number of ganglia, more numerous in the larva, less so in the perfect -insect, and arranged on the median line of the under surface in a string of beads -more or less distant and connected by a double ribbon of nervous tissue. In all insects -which have reached the perfect state the ganglia called thoracic, <i>i.e.</i> those furnishing nerves to wings and feet and governing their movements, are three -in number. Here are the points to be struck: if their action can be in any way destroyed, -the possibility of movement is destroyed also. -</p> -<p>Two ways of reaching these motive centres offer themselves to the feeble dart of the -Hymenopteron; one, the joint between neck and corslet; the other the spot where the -latter joins the continuation of the thorax, between the first and second pair of -feet. The way through the neck does not answer; it is too far from the ganglia, which -lie near the base of the feet which they animate. The blow must be dealt at the other -spot, and through that only. Thus would an academy decide where Claude Bernards illuminated -the question by their profound science. And it is precisely there, between the first -and second pairs of feet on the median line of the under surface, that the Cerceris -plunges her lancet. By what learned intelligence must she be inspired! -</p> -<p>To choose as the spot in which to plant her sting the one vulnerable point, the point -which only a <span class="pageNum" id="pb72">[<a href="#pb72">72</a>]</span>physiologist versed in the anatomy of insects could determine beforehand is by no -means enough; the Hymenopteron has a far greater difficulty to overcome, and she overcomes -it with a mastery which fills one with amazement. We said that the nervous centres -controlling the organs of motion in an insect are three. These are more or less distant -from each other, but sometimes, though rarely, near together. They possess a certain -independence of action, so that an injury to one does not cause, at all events immediately, -more than paralysis of members connected with it, while the other ganglia and their -corresponding members are not affected by it. To reach these three sources of motion -one after the other, the second farther off than the first, and the last farther still, -and by a single way, between the first and second pairs of feet, seems impossible -for the sting, which is too short, and besides, so difficult to aim well in such conditions. -True, certain Coleoptera have the three ganglia of the thorax almost touching, and -others have the two last completely united, soldered, smelted together. It is also -recognised that in proportion as the different nervous centres combine and centralise, -the characteristic functions of animality become more perfect, and also, alas, more -vulnerable. Those Coleoptera with centres of motion so near that they touch or even -gather into one mass, and so are made part of each other, would be instantly paralysed -by one sting; or if several were needed, at all events the ganglia to be paralysed -are all collected under the point of the dart. -</p> -<p>Now which are the Coleoptera so specially easy <span class="pageNum" id="pb73">[<a href="#pb73">73</a>]</span>to paralyse? That is the question. The lofty science of a Claude Bernard, floating -in the fundamental generalities of organisation and life, is no longer enough for -us; it is unable to inform and guide us in this entomological selection. I appeal -to every physiologist under whose eye these lines may fall. Without having recourse -to his book-shelves, could he name the Coleoptera where such a nervous centralisation -is found, and even with the help of his library, could he instantly lay his hand on -the information wanted? The truth is, we are entering on the minute details of the -specialist; the highway is quitted for a path known to few. -</p> -<p>I find the necessary documents in the fine work of M. E. Blanchard (<i lang="fr">Annales des Sciences Naturelles</i>, 3me série, tome v.) on the nervous system of Coleoptera. There I find that this -centralisation of nerve power belongs especially to the Scarabæus, but most of these -are too large; the Cerceris could neither attack nor carry them away; besides, many -live in filth, where the cleanly Hymenopteron could not go to seek them. Motive centres -very close together are also found among the Histers, which live on impurity, amid -the smell of decay, and again that will not do; also in the Scolytus, which is too -small, and finally in Buprestids and Weevils. -</p> -<p>What unexpected light amid the pristine obscurities of the problem! Amid the immense -number of the Coleoptera which the Cerceris seem able to prey upon, two groups alone, -Weevils and Buprestids, fulfil the indispensable conditions. They live far from decay -and dung, which perhaps cause invincible repugnance in this dainty Cerceris; they -are <span class="pageNum" id="pb74">[<a href="#pb74">74</a>]</span>of most varied size, proportioned to that of their different captors, which may thus -choose according to their convenience. They are far more vulnerable than all the others -at the one point where the sting of the Hymenopteron can penetrate successfully, for -at that point, all easily accessible to the dart, crowd the motor centres of feet -and wings. At this point the three thoracic ganglia of Weevils lie very close, the -hind two are contiguous. At that same spot in the Buprestids the second and third -are welded in one large mass a little distance from the first. And as it is precisely -Buprestids and Weevils which are hunted, to the absolute exclusion of all other game, -by the eight species of Cerceris, whose food stores of Coleoptera have been ascertained, -a certain internal likeness, namely, in centralisation of the nervous system must -be the explanation why there are heaped in the dens of various Cerceris victims, outwardly -so unlike. -</p> -<p>In this choice, upon which even transcendent knowledge could not improve, such an -assembly of difficulties is splendidly resolved, that one asks if one be not the dupe -of some involuntary illusion, and if preconceived theories have not obscured the reality -of facts, in short, whether the pen has not described imaginary marvels. A scientific -result is only solidly established when confirmed by experiments repeated in every -possible way. Now let us submit to experimental proof the physiological operation -taught us by Cerceris tuberculata. If it be possible to obtain artificially what the -Hymenopteron obtained by her sting, <i>i.e.</i> abolition of movement, and long preservation of the victim in a <span class="pageNum" id="pb75">[<a href="#pb75">75</a>]</span>state of perfect freshness; if it be possible to bring about this wonder with the -Coleoptera hunted by the Cerceris, or with those possessing a like nervous centralisation, -while one fails with those whose ganglia are far apart, one must admit, however exacting -one may be in the matter of proof, that the Hymenopteron possesses in the unconscious -inspirations of instinct the resources of sublime science. Let us see then what experiment -shows. The manner of operation is very simple. With a needle, or, better still, with -the point of a fine steel pen, we must introduce a tiny drop of some corrosive liquid -into the thoracic motive centres, pricking the insect slightly at the jointing of -the prothorax behind the first pair of feet. The liquid which I use is ammonia, but -it is evident that any other liquid whose action is equally strong would produce the -same results. The metal pen being charged with ammonia as it might be with a droplet -of ink, I give the prick. The effects thus obtained differ enormously, according to -whether the experiment be made upon species with thoracic ganglia near together or -upon those where these same ganglia are far apart. With regard to the first category, -my experiments were made on Scarabæus, S. sacer and S. longicollis; on a bronze Buprestis; -and on weevils, especially that Cleonus hunted by the heroine of these observations. -In the second category I have experimented on Caraboidea, Carabus, Procrustes, Chlœnius, -Sphodrus, Nebria; Longicornia, Saperda, and Lamia; on Melasomes; Blaps, Scaurus, and -Asida. -</p> -<p>Among the Scarabæus class, the Buprestids, and the <span class="pageNum" id="pb76">[<a href="#pb76">76</a>]</span>Weevils, the effect is instantaneous. Every movement stops suddenly, without any convulsion, -as soon as the fatal drop has touched the nerve centres. The sting of the Cerceris -does not produce prompter extinction. Nothing can be more striking than this sudden -immobility in a vigorous Scarabæus sacer, but the likeness between the effects produced -by the dart of the Cerceris and the steel pen charged with ammonia does not stop here. -Scarabæids, Buprestids, and Weevils artificially stung, in spite of their complete -immobility, preserve for three weeks, one month, or even two, the perfect flexibility -of every joint and the normal freshness of the interior organs. With them defecation -takes place on the first days as in the normal condition, and movement can be excited -by the Voltaic current. In a word, they behave exactly as do Coleoptera sacrificed -by the Cerceris. There is complete identity between the state into which she plunges -her victims and that produced at will by injecting ammonia into the nerve centres -of the thorax. Now, as it is impossible to attribute the perfect preservation of the -insect during so long a time to the drop injected, one must altogether reject the -notion of an antiseptic fluid, and grant that in spite of utter immobility the creature -is not really dead. A spark of life exists, keeping the organs for some time in normal -freshness, but dying out by degrees and leaving them at last subject to corruption. -Moreover, the ammonia in some cases produces extinction of movement in the feet only, -and then the deleterious action of the fluid having doubtless not extended far enough, -the antennæ preserve some mobility, <span class="pageNum" id="pb77">[<a href="#pb77">77</a>]</span>and one sees that the creature, even a month after inoculation, draws them back quickly -at the least touch—an evident proof that life has not completely abandoned the inert -body. This movement is not rare with Weevils wounded by the Cerceris. -</p> -<p>Injection of ammonia always stops motion at once in Buprestids, Weevils, and Scarabæus, -but it is not always possible to put the creature into the state just described. If -the wound be too deep, or the little drop instilled be too strong, at the end of two -or three days the victim really dies, and after two or three days there is but a decaying -body. If, on the contrary, the prick be too slight, it recovers the power of motion, -at least partially, after being inanimate for more or less time. The Cerceris herself -may operate clumsily, just like man, for I have seen this kind of resurrection in -a victim struck by the dart of a Hymenopteron. Sphex flavipennis, whose history will -presently occupy us, heaps in her dens young crickets struck by her venomed lancet. -From one of her holes I have taken three poor crickets whose extreme flabbiness would, -in any other circumstances, have denoted death. But here, again, death was only apparent. -Placed in a bottle, these crickets kept quite fresh but motionless for nearly three -weeks, after which two grew mouldy, while the third came partly to life—that is to -say, it regained motion of the antennæ, mouth-parts, and, which is more remarkable, -of the first two pairs of feet. If even the skill of the Hymenopteron sometimes fails -to benumb a victim for good and all, can one expect constant success with the rough -experiments of man? -<span class="pageNum" id="pb78">[<a href="#pb78">78</a>]</span></p> -<p>In Coleoptera of the second category—those where the ganglia of the thorax are distant -one from another—the effect of ammonia is quite different. Those which show themselves -least vulnerable are the Caraboidea. A puncture which would instantly have annihilated -motion in the large Scarabæus sacer, in the middle size Caraboidea only causes violent, -disordered convulsions. By degrees the creature quiets down, and after some hours’ -rest resumes its habitual movements as if nothing had happened to it. If the experiment -be repeated on it twice, thrice, even four times, the results are the same, until -the wound becomes too serious, and it dies outright, as is proved by the drying up -and putrefaction which soon follow. -</p> -<p>The Melasomes and the Longicorns are more sensitive to the action of ammonia. The -injection of a small corrosive drop quickly renders them motionless, and after some -twitching they seem dead. But the paralysis which would have persisted in Weevils, -Scarabids, and Buprestids is but momentary. Before long motion reappears as energetic -as before. It is only when the dose of ammonia is of a certain strength that movement -does not reappear. But then the creature is really dead, and putrefaction rapidly -comes on. It is then impossible to cause complete and persistent paralysis in Coleoptera -with ganglia far apart by the means so efficacious in those with ganglia near together. -At the utmost one can only obtain momentary paralysis, which passes quickly away. -The demonstration is decisive. Cerceris which prey on Coleoptera conform in their -<span class="pageNum" id="pb79">[<a href="#pb79">79</a>]</span>choice to what the most learned physiology and finest anatomy alone can teach. It -would be vain to endeavour to see nothing here but chance agreement; it is not chance -which explains such harmony. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb80">[<a href="#pb80">80</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch6" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e333">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">VI</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE YELLOW-WINGED SPHEX</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">In their impenetrable coat of mail the Coleoptera offer but one vulnerable point to -their dart-bearing foe. This defect in the cuirass is known to the assassin, and the -poisoned sting is there inserted, striking at one blow the three centres of motion, -the Weevil and Buprestid, which alone have a nervous organisation sufficiently centralised, -being selected. But what happens when the insect wears no armour and is soft-skinned, -so that the Hymenopteron can pierce it anywhere that the chances of the struggle may -direct? Is there then a choice as to where the blow is given? Like the assassin who -strikes at the heart to shorten the dangerous struggles of his victim, does the Sphex -follow the tactics of the Cerceris, and strike by preference at the motor ganglia? -If so, what happens when these are distant from one another, acting so independently -that paralysis of one does not affect the others? These questions will be answered -by the history of an insect which hunts field crickets, Sphex flavipennis. -</p> -<p>It is towards the end of July that this Sphex <span class="pageNum" id="pb81">[<a href="#pb81">81</a>]</span>tears open the cocoon which until then has protected it, and flies away from its subterranean -cradle. During the whole of August one constantly sees it seeking drops of honey on -the spiny heads of Eryngium campestre, the commonest of such robust plants as brave -the dog days. But this careless life is brief, for in the earliest days of September -the Sphex has begun the hard existence of miner and hunter. It is usually on some -small flat spot on banks along a road that the dwelling is established, only there -must be two indispensable conditions—a sandy soil easy to work, and sun. Beyond this -no precaution is taken to shelter the domicile against autumn rain and winter frost. -A horizontal position, unsheltered, beaten by rain and wind, suit the Sphex perfectly, -so long as it is exposed to the sun. But when the work is half-way through, if heavy -rain should come, it is sad to see next day galleries in course of construction choked -with sand and finally abandoned. -</p> -<p>Rarely does the Sphex work in solitude; it is in small bands of ten, twenty, or more -excavators that the claim selected is worked. One must have spent some days watching -one of these colonies in order to form any idea of the restless activity, the feverish -haste, the abrupt movements, of these hard-working miners. They rapidly attack the -ground with the rakes of their forefeet, canis instar, as Linnæus says. A puppy does -not show more energy in scratching up the ground in play. At the same time each labourer -hums a joyous song—shrill, high-pitched, interrupted at short intervals, and modulated -by vibrations of wings and thorax. One <span class="pageNum" id="pb82">[<a href="#pb82">82</a>]</span>would think they were a troop of merry comrades, stimulating one another to work by -a cadenced rhythm. Meanwhile, the sand flies, falling in fine dust on their quivering -wings, and the heavier gravel, pulled out bit by bit, rolls far away. If a bit resist -too much, the insect goes at it with a high note, reminding one of the cry with which -a woodcutter accompanies the stroke of his axe. Under the redoubled efforts of tarsi -and mandibles the cavity is already sketched out, and the Sphex can already dart into -it. Then comes a lively interchange of forward movements to detach material, and of -backward to brush out fragments. In this hurried coming and going the Sphex does not -so much walk as dart forward, as though impelled by a spring. With panting abdomen, -antennæ vibrating, the whole body moved by a strong thrill, she springs forward and -is out of sight. You still hear the unwearied hum underground, and one sees from time -to time hind legs pushing backward a wave of sand to the mouth of the burrow. From -time to time labour underground is interrupted either that the Sphex may dust herself -in the sunlight, and get rid of grains of dust which insinuate themselves into delicate -joints and hamper the liberty of her movements, or that she make a reconnaissance -in the neighbourhood. Notwithstanding these short interruptions, in a few hours the -gallery is hollowed out and the Sphex appears on her threshold, to voice her triumph, -and give the last touch to her labours by effacing some inequality, or carrying away -some particles of earth, the objection to which only the eye of a Sphex could perceive. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb83">[<a href="#pb83">83</a>]</span></p> -<p>Of the many tribes of Sphegidæ visited by me, there is one of which I retain a specially -lively recollection, on account of its singular installation upon the edge of a high -road, where were little heaps of mud thrown up from side ditches by the cantonnier’s -shovel. One, well sun-dried, had a conical shape like a sugar-loaf over fifteen inches -high. The situation pleased the Sphegidæ, who had established a more populous community -than I have ever again met with. From base to summit the cone of dried mud was pierced -with burrows, giving it the appearance of a huge sponge. In every story was feverish -animation, and a busy coming and going which brought to mind the scene in some great -workshop when orders are pressing. Crickets were being dragged by the antennæ up the -slopes of the conical city; there was storing of provisions in the larders of the -cells; dust was pouring from galleries in process of construction; at intervals the -grimy faces of the miners appeared at mouths of passages—there was a constant going -and coming. Now and then, in a short interval of leisure, a Sphex ascended the top -of the cone, perhaps to take a general and well-satisfied view from this belvedere. -What a tempting sight!—one to make me long to carry away the entire city with its -inhabitants. It was useless to try; the mass was too heavy. One cannot take up a village -by the roots to plant it elsewhere. -</p> -<p>Let us look at the Sphex at work in flat ground, as is much more frequently the case. -As soon as the burrow is hollowed out, the chase begins. Let us profit by the absence -of the Hymenopteron <span class="pageNum" id="pb84">[<a href="#pb84">84</a>]</span>in search of game, and take a look at her dwelling. The spot chosen by a Sphex colony -is generally horizontal, though the ground is not so level but that there are little -mounds crowned by a tuft of grass or thrift, or inequalities consolidated by the slender -roots of the vegetation which covers them. It is on the sides of such furrows that -the Sphex places her den. For two or three inches in depth the gallery is horizontal, -serving as an approach to the hidden shelter for the provender and the larvæ. In this -vestibule the Sphex takes refuge in bad weather, rests there at night, and occasionally -by day for a few instants, showing only her expressive face and impudent eyes. Beyond -the vestibule an abrupt turn descends more or less obliquely to a depth of two or -three inches more, ending in an oval cell rather larger in diameter, whose axis lies -parallel with the horizontal gallery. The cell walls are not covered with any particular -cement, but in spite of their bareness they have evidently been the object of most -careful labour. The sand is heaped and levelled on the floor, on the ceiling, and -sides, so as to do away with the risk of landslips, or any roughness which might injure -the delicate skin of the larva. This cell communicates with the passage by a narrow -entrance, just wide enough to allow the Sphex, burdened with prey, to enter. When -this first cell is furnished with an egg and necessary provisions, the Sphex walls -up the entrance, but does not yet abandon her burrow. A second cell is hollowed beside -the first, and provisioned in the same manner; there is then a third made, and sometimes -a fourth. Only then does the Sphex cast back into the <span class="pageNum" id="pb85">[<a href="#pb85">85</a>]</span>burrow the rubbish heaped at the entrance, completely effacing all outward trace of -her work. Three cells are usually found in each burrow, rarely two, and yet more rarely -four. As one learns by dissecting the insect, one may estimate the number of eggs -laid at about thirty, which would make the number of burrows needed ten. Now these -are hardly begun before September, and are finished before the end of the month. Consequently -the Sphex cannot devote more than two or three days at most to each burrow and its -stores. Evidently the active little creature has not a minute to lose, when in so -short a time she has to hollow out the lair, procure a dozen crickets, sometimes brought -from a distance through endless difficulties, to store them, and finally to stop up -the burrow. Moreover, there are days when wind makes hunting impossible; rainy days -or overcast ones suspending all work. The Sphex cannot give to her building the enduring -solidity that Cerceris tuberculata gives to its deep galleries. This species transmit -their solid abodes from one generation to another, each year hollowed more deeply, -so that I was often bathed in perspiration when I tried to reach them, and frequently -my efforts and my implements proved useless. The Sphex inherits nothing, and must -herself do everything, and that rapidly. Her dwelling is but a tent, hastily erected -and moved on the morrow. In compensation the larvæ, covered but by a thin layer of -sand, know how to supply the shelter which their mother has not given them; they can -clothe themselves with a double and triple waterproof covering, far superior to the -thin cocoon of the Cerceris. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb86">[<a href="#pb86">86</a>]</span></p> -<p>But here comes a Sphex with noisy hum, returning from the chase. She pauses on a neighbouring -bush, holding in her mandibles one of the antennæ of a big cricket, weighing far more -than herself. Tired out by the weight, she rests a moment, then grasps her captive -between her feet, and with a supreme effort flies right across the ravine between -her and her abode. She alights heavily on the flat ground where I am watching, in -the very middle of a Sphex village. The rest of the journey is made on foot, the Sphex, -not in the least intimidated by my presence, comes astride her victim, holding her -head proudly aloft while she drags along the cricket between her feet by one of its -antennæ held in her jaws. If the soil be bare there is no difficulty, but should a -network of grass spread its runners across the way, it is curious to see the astonishment -of the Sphex at finding her efforts baffled by this little obstacle—curious to witness -her marches and countermarches and repeated attempts until the difficulty is surmounted -either by the aid of her wings or a well-planned <i>détour</i>. The cricket is at last conveyed to its destination and placed so that its antennæ -come exactly to the mouth of the burrow. Then the Sphex abandons it and descends in -haste to the bottom of the cave. A few seconds later she puts her head out with a -little cry of joy. The antennæ of the cricket are within reach; she seizes them and -promptly conveys it down to her den. -</p> -<p>I still ask myself in vain why these complicated manœuvres at the moment of conveying -the cricket into the burrow. Why, instead of going down <span class="pageNum" id="pb87">[<a href="#pb87">87</a>]</span>alone and returning to resume the prey left on the threshold, does not the Sphex drag -it into the gallery, as she did in the open air, since the space is wide enough, or -take it with her while she enters backwards? The various predatory Hymenoptera which -I have been able to observe all drag their prey at once to the bottom of their cells, -holding it underneath them by their mandibles and intermediary feet. Léon Dufour’s -Cerceris does indeed somewhat complicate her movements, since after putting down her -Buprestis for a moment at the door of her underground abode, she instantly goes backward -into the gallery, seizes her victim with her mandibles and drags it down; but that -is very unlike the tactics adopted in a like case by the Sphex. Why this domiciliary -visit, which invariably precedes the introduction of the prey? May it not be that -before descending hampered by a load, the Sphex thinks it prudent to give a look round -the bottom of her dwelling to make sure that all is in order and to drive out, if -necessary, some impertinent parasite which may have slipped in during her absence? -Several Diptera, predatory flies, especially Tachinidæ, watch at the doors of all -the hunting Hymenoptera, spying out the favourable moment to lay their eggs on other -people’s game, but none penetrate into the dwelling, nor venture into the dark passages, -where, if by ill-luck the owner caught them, they might have to pay dearly for their -audacity. The Sphex, like others, pays her tribute to the predatory Tachinidæ, but -they never enter her burrow to commit their misdeeds. Besides, have they not all the -time they need to lay their eggs on the cricket? <span class="pageNum" id="pb88">[<a href="#pb88">88</a>]</span>If they look sharp, they may very well profit by the Sphex’s momentary absence from -her victim to confide their posterity to it. What yet greater danger menaces the Sphex -which renders this preliminary descent to the bottom of the burrow such an imperious -necessity? -</p> -<p>The one observed fact which can throw any light on the problem is this. Amid a colony -of Sphegidæ in full activity, whence all other Hymenoptera are habitually excluded, -I one day surprised a sportsman of a different kind, Tachytes nigra, carrying one -by one, without any haste and with the greatest composure, amid the crowd where he -was but an intruder, grains of sand, little bits of dry stalk, and other small materials, -to stop up a burrow of the same shape and size as the neighbouring ones of the Sphegidæ. -This labour was pursued too conscientiously to admit of any doubt as to the presence -of the worker’s egg in the underground dwelling. A Sphex with anxious movements, apparently -the legitimate owner of the burrow, never failed each time that the Tachytes entered -the gallery to dart in pursuit, but emerged swiftly, as if frightened, followed by -the other, who continued her task unmoved. I visited this burrow, the evident cause -of strife between them, and found a cell provisioned with four crickets. Suspicion -almost gave place to certainty, for this allowance far exceeded the needs of a Tachytes’ -larva, which is at least one-half smaller than the Sphex. The calm insect whose care -to stop up the burrow at first suggested that it was the owner was really a usurper. -How comes it that the Sphex, larger and <span class="pageNum" id="pb89">[<a href="#pb89">89</a>]</span>more robust than her adversary, allows herself to be robbed with impunity, limiting -herself to a fruitless pursuit, and flying like a coward when the intruder, who seems -not even to perceive her, turns round to come out of the burrow? Is it with insects -as with men, the first quality needed for success is audacity—audacity—audacity? Certainly -the usurper had no lack of it. I can still see that Tachytes, imperturbably calm, -going and coming before the meek Sphex, which stamped with impatience, but did not -venture to fall upon the thief. -</p> -<p>Let us add that in other circumstances I have repeatedly found this Hymenopteron, -I suppose to be a parasite—this Tachytes nigra, dragging a cricket by one of its antennæ. -Was it a prey lawfully acquired? I would fain think so, but the indecision of the -insect which strayed about the ruts in the paths as if seeking a convenient burrow -always left me suspicious. I have never been present when it burrowed, if indeed it -ever does undertake that labour, and what is more, I have seen it abandon its game -to decay, perhaps not knowing what to do with it for want of a hole where to put it. -Such wastefulness seems to indicate goods ill-gotten, and I ask myself if the cricket -were not stolen when the Sphex left it on her threshold? I also suspect Tachytes obsoleta, -banded with white round the abdomen like Sphex albisecta, which nourishes its larvæ -with crickets such as are hunted by the latter. I have never seen it digging galleries, -but I have caught it dragging crickets that the Sphex would not have disdained. This -similarity of food in species of different genera makes me doubtful whether the <span class="pageNum" id="pb90">[<a href="#pb90">90</a>]</span>booty were lawfully come by. Let me add, however, to atone in some measure for the -injury which my suspicions may do to the character of the genus, that I have seen -the perfectly lawful capture of a little cricket yet wingless by Tachytes tarsina, -and have also seen it hollow cells and store them with prey bravely acquired. Thus -I have only suspicions to offer as to why the Sphex persists in descending to the -bottom of her hole before carrying in prey. Is there some other end besides that of -dislodging a parasite which may have got in during the owner’s absence? I despair -of finding out; who can interpret the thousand manœuvres of instinct? Poor human reason -which cannot even explain the wisdom of a Sphex! -</p> -<p>At all events, it is proved that these manœuvres are singularly invariable, <i>àpropos</i> of which I will mention an experiment which greatly interested me. At the moment -when the Sphex makes her domiciliary visit, I take the cricket and put it some way -off. The Sphex comes up, utters her usual cry, looks round with astonishment, and -seeing the game too far off, comes out to seize and put it in the right position. -Then she goes down again without the cricket. Same manœuvre on my part, same disappointment -when she reappears. Again the prey is brought to the mouth of the hole, and again -the Sphex goes down alone, and so on as long as my patience holds out. Forty times -on end have I tried the experiment on the same individual; her persistence vanquished -mine, and her tactics never varied. -</p> -<p>Having proved the inflexible pertinacity of all <span class="pageNum" id="pb91">[<a href="#pb91">91</a>]</span>the Sphegidæ in one colony on whom I cared to experiment, I could not but perplex -myself over it. “Does then the insect obey a fixed tendency which circumstances cannot -modify?” I asked myself. “Are its actions all done by rule, and is it unable to acquire -the least experience from its own proceedings?” Later observations modified this too -absolute judgment. -</p> -<p>The following year, at the proper time, I visited the same spot. The new generation -had inherited for their burrows the place chosen by the preceding ones; it had also -faithfully inherited their tactics, for the cricket experiment gave the same results. -Such as were the Sphegidæ of the past year such are those of the present one, equally -persistent in a fruitless attempt. My error grew confirmed until good luck brought -me to another colony in a different place. I renewed my experiments. After two or -three trials with the old, well-known result, the Sphex got astride of the cricket, -seized its antennæ with her mandibles, and dragged it at once into the burrow. Who -looked a fool then? The experimenter baffled by the clever Hymenopteron. At the other -holes her neighbours, some sooner, some later, found me out, and went down with their -prey instead of persisting in leaving it on the threshold to seize it later. What -is the meaning of this? This colony, descended from another stock, for sons return -to the spot selected by their forefathers, is cleverer than the one observed last -year. Craft is inherited; there are sharper-witted tribes and duller ones, apparently -according to the faculties of their forefathers. With Sphegidæ, as with us, the kind -<span class="pageNum" id="pb92">[<a href="#pb92">92</a>]</span>of intellect changes with the province. Next day I tried the cricket experiment in -another locality, and it invariably succeeded. I had come upon a dense-minded tribe, -a true colony of Bœotians, as in my earlier observations. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb93">[<a href="#pb93">93</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch7" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e344">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">VII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THREE STROKES OF A DAGGER</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">There can be no doubt that the Sphex uses her greatest skill when immolating a cricket; -it is therefore very important to explain the method by which the victim is sacrificed. -Taught by my numerous attempts to observe the war tactics of the Cerceris, I immediately -used on the Sphex the plan already successful with the former, <i>i.e.</i> taking away the prey and replacing it by a living specimen. This exchange is all -the easier because, as we have seen, the Sphex leaves her victim while she goes down -her burrow, and the audacious tameness, which actually allows her to take from your -fingertips, or even off your hand, the cricket stolen from her and now offered, conduces -most happily to a successful result of the experiment by allowing the details of the -drama to be closely observed. -</p> -<p>It is easy enough to find living crickets; one has only to lift the first stone, and -you find them, crouched and sheltering from the sun. These are the young ones of the -current year, with only rudimentary wings, and which, not having the industry of the -perfect insect, do not yet know how to dig deep <span class="pageNum" id="pb94">[<a href="#pb94">94</a>]</span>retreats where they would be beyond the investigations of the Sphex. In a few moments -I find as many crickets as I could wish, and all my preparations are made. I ascend -to the top of my observatory, establish myself on the flat ground in the midst of -the Sphex colony and wait. -</p> -<p>A huntress comes, conveys her cricket to the mouth of her hole and goes down alone. -The cricket is speedily replaced by one of mine, but placed at some distance from -the hole. The Sphex returns, looks round, and hurries to seize her too distant prey. -I am all attention. Nothing on earth would induce me to give up my part in the drama -which I am about to witness. The frightened cricket springs away. The Sphex follows -closely, reaches it, darts upon it. Then there is a struggle in the dust when sometimes -conqueror, sometimes conquered is uppermost or undermost. Success, equal for a moment, -finally crowns the aggressor. In spite of vigorous kicks, in spite of bites from its -pincer-like jaws, the cricket is felled and stretched on its back. -</p> -<p>The murderess soon makes her arrangements. She places herself body to body with her -adversary, but in a reverse position, seizes one of the bands at the end of the cricket’s -abdomen and masters with her forefeet the convulsive efforts of its great hind-thighs. -At the same moment her intermediate feet squeeze the panting sides of the vanquished -cricket, and her hind ones press like two levers on its face, causing the articulation -of the neck to gape open. The Sphex then curves her abdomen vertically, so as to offer -a convex surface impossible for the <span class="pageNum" id="pb95">[<a href="#pb95">95</a>]</span>mandibles of the cricket to seize, and one beholds, not without emotion, the poisoned -lancet plunge once into the victim’s neck, next into the jointing of the two front -segments of the thorax, and then again towards the abdomen. In less time than it takes -to tell, the murder is committed, and the Sphex, after setting her disordered toilette -to rights, prepares to carry off her victim, its limbs still quivering in the death-throes. -Let us reflect a moment on the admirable tactics of which I have given a faint sketch. -The Cerceris attacks a passive adversary, incapable of flight, whose sole chance of -safety is found in a solid cuirass whose weak points the murderers know. But here -what a difference! The prey is armed with redoubtable mandibles, capable of disembowelling -the aggressor if they can seize her, and a pair of strong feet, actual clubs, furnished -with a double row of sharp spines, which can be used alternatively to enable the cricket -to bound far away from an enemy or to overturn one by brutal kicks. Accordingly, note -what precautions on the part of the Sphex before using her dart. The victim, lying -on its back, cannot escape by using its hind levers, for want of anything to spring -from, as of course it would were it attacked in its normal position, as are the big -Weevils by Cerceris tuberculata. Its spiny legs, mastered by the forefeet of the Sphex, -cannot be used as offensive weapons, and its mandibles, held at a distance by the -hind-feet of the Hymenopteron, open threateningly but can seize nothing. But it is -not enough for the Sphex to render it impossible for her victim to hurt her: she must -hold it so firmly garrotted that no <span class="pageNum" id="pb96">[<a href="#pb96">96</a>]</span>movement can turn the sting from the points where the drop of poison must be instilled, -and probably it is in order to hinder any motion of the abdomen that one of the end -segments is grasped. If a fertile imagination had had free play to invent a plan of -attack it could not have devised anything better, and it is questionable whether the -athletes of the classic palestra when grappling an adversary would have assumed attitudes -more scientifically calculated. -</p> -<p>I have just said that the dart is plunged several times into the victim’s body, once -under the neck, then behind the prothorax, lastly near the top of the abdomen. It -is in this triple blow that the infallibility, the infused science of instinct, appear -in all their magnificence. First let us recall the chief conclusions to which the -preceding study of the Cerceris have led us. The victims of Hymenoptera whose larva -live on prey are not corpses, in spite of entire immobility. There is merely total -or partial paralysis, and more or less annihilation of animal life, but vegetative -life—that of the nutritive organs—lasts a long while yet, and preserves from decomposition -the prey which the larvæ are not to devour for a considerable time. To produce this -paralysis the predatory Hymenoptera use just those methods which the advanced science -of our day might suggest to the experimental physiologist—namely, wounding, by means -of a poisoned dart, those nervous centres which animate the organs of locomotion. -We know too that the various centres or ganglia of the nervous chain in articulate -animals act to a certain degree independently, so that injury to one only causes, -at all events immediately, paralysis of the corresponding <span class="pageNum" id="pb97">[<a href="#pb97">97</a>]</span>segment, and this in proportion as the ganglia are more widely separated and distant -from each other. If, on the contrary, they are soldered together, injury to the common -centre causes paralysis of all the segments where its ramifications spread. This is -the case with Buprestids and Weevils, which the Cerceris paralyses by a single sting, -directed at the common mass of the nerve centres in the thorax. But open a cricket, -and what do we find to animate the three pairs of feet? We find what the Sphex knew -long before the anatomist, three nerve centres far apart. Thence the fine logic of -the three stabs. Proud science! humble thyself. -</p> -<p>Crickets sacrificed by Sphex flavipennis are no more dead, in spite of all appearances, -than are Weevils struck by a Cerceris. The flexibility of the integuments displays -the slightest internal movement, and thus makes useless the artificial means used -by me to show some remains of life in the Cleonus of Cerceris tuberculata. If one -closely observes a cricket stretched on its back a week or even a fortnight or more -after the murder, one sees the abdomen heave strongly at long intervals. Very often -one can notice a quiver of the palpi and marked movements in the antennæ and the bands -of the abdomen, which separate and then come suddenly together. By putting such crickets -into glass tubes I have kept them perfectly fresh for six weeks. Consequently, the -Sphex larvæ, which live less than a fortnight before enclosing themselves in their -cocoons, are sure of fresh food as long as they care to feast. -</p> -<p>The chase is over; the three or four crickets needed to store a cell are heaped methodically -on their backs, their heads at the far end, their feet <span class="pageNum" id="pb98">[<a href="#pb98">98</a>]</span>toward the entrance. An egg is laid on each. Then the burrow has to be closed. The -sand from the excavation lying heaped before the cell door is promptly swept out backward -into the passage. From time to time fair-sized bits of gravel are chosen singly, the -Sphex scratching in the fragments with her forefeet, and carrying them in her jaws -to consolidate the pulverised mass. If none suitable are at hand, she goes to look -for them in the neighbourhood, apparently choosing with such scrupulous care as a -mason would show in selecting the best stones for a building. Vegetable remains and -tiny bits of dead leaf are also employed. In a moment every outward sign of the subterranean -dwelling is gone, and if one has not been careful to mark its position, it is impossible -for the most attentive eye to find it again. This done, a new burrow is made, provisioned -and walled up as soon as the Sphex has eggs to house. Having finished laying, she -returns to a careless and vagabond life until the first cold weather ends her well-filled -existence. -</p> -<p>The Sphex’s task is accomplished. I will finish mine by an examination of her weapon. -The organ destined for the elaboration of her poison is composed of two elegantly -branched tubes communicating separately with a common reservoir or pear-shaped vial, -whence proceeds a slender channel leading to the axis of the sting and conducting -to its end the little poisoned drop. The dart is extremely small, and not such as -one would expect from the size of the Sphex, especially from the effect which her -sting produces on crickets. The point is quite smooth, without the barbs found in -the sting of the hive bee. <span class="pageNum" id="pb99">[<a href="#pb99">99</a>]</span>The reason of this is evident. The bee uses her sting to avenge an injury only at -the cost of life, the barbs preventing its withdrawal from the wound, and thus causing -mortal ruptures in the viscera at the end of the abdomen. What could the Sphex have -done with a weapon which would have been fatal the first time it was used? Even supposing -that the barbed dart could have been withdrawn, I doubt if any Hymenopteron using -its weapon, especially to wound game destined for its progeny, would be provided with -one. For here the dart is not a fine gentleman’s weapon, unsheathed for vengeance, -which is said to be the pleasure of the gods, but a very costly one, since the vindictive -bee sometimes pays for it with life. It is a worker’s tool, on which depends the future -of the larvæ, thus it should be one easily used in a struggle with captured prey, -plunging into and coming out of the flesh without any delay—a condition much better -fulfilled by a smooth blade than by a barbed one. -</p> -<p>I wished to ascertain at my own expense if the Sphex’s sting be very painful—that -sting which knocks over robust victims with frightful rapidity. Well, I own with great -admiration that it is slight and cannot be at all compared as to pain with those of -the bee and the irascible wasp. It hurts so little that, instead of using pincers, -I never hesitated to catch with my fingers any Sphegidæ which I wanted for my researches. -I may say the same of the various Cerceris, Philanthides, Palares, and even of the -huge Scoliides, whose very look is terrifying, and in general of all predatory Hymenoptera -which I have been able to observe. I except, however, those that hunt spiders, <span class="pageNum" id="pb100">[<a href="#pb100">100</a>]</span>the Pompili, and even their sting is far less severe than that of a bee. -</p> -<p>One last remark. We know how furiously Hymenoptera armed with a sting used only for -defence rush at the bold man who disturbs their nest, and punish his temerity. Those -on the contrary whose sting is used only for hunting are very pacific, as if they -guessed how important for their family is the little poison drop in their vase. That -droplet is the safeguard of their race—I might really say their means of subsistence; -therefore they use it economically, in the serious business of the chase, with no -parade of vengeful courage. I was not once punished by a sting when I established -myself amid colonies of our various predatory Hymenoptera, whose nests I overturned, -carrying off larvæ and provisions. To induce the creature to use its weapon, one must -lay hold of it, and even then the skin is not always pierced, unless one puts within -reach a part more delicate than the fingers, such as the wrist. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb101">[<a href="#pb101">101</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch8" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e355">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">VIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">LARVA AND NYMPH</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The egg of Sphex flavipennis is white, elongated, and cylindrical, slightly curved, -and measuring three to four millimetres in length. Instead of being laid fortuitously -on any part of the victim, it is invariably placed on one spot, across the cricket’s -breast—a little on one side, between the first and second pairs of feet. The eggs -of the white bordered, and of the Languedocian Sphex occupy a like position—the first -on the breast of a cricket, the second on that of an ephippiger. This chosen spot -must possess some highly important peculiarity for the security of the young larva, -as I have never known it vary. -</p> -<p>Hatching takes place at the end of two or three days. A most delicate covering splits, -and one sees a feeble maggot, transparent as crystal, somewhat attenuated and even -compressed in front, slightly swelled out behind, and adorned on either side by a -narrow white band formed by the chief trachea. The feeble creature occupies the same -position as the egg; its head is, as it were, engrafted on the same spot where the -front end of the egg was fixed, and the remainder of its body rests on the victim -without <span class="pageNum" id="pb102">[<a href="#pb102">102</a>]</span>adhering to it. Its transparency allows us readily to perceive rapid fluctuations -within its body, undulations following one another with mathematical regularity, and -which, beginning in the middle of the body, are impelled, some forward and some backward. -These are due to the digestive canal, which imbibes long draughts of the juices drawn -from the sides of the victim. -</p> -<p>Let us pause a moment before a spectacle so calculated to arrest attention. The prey -is laid on its back, motionless. In the cell of Sphex flavipennis it is a cricket, -or three or four, piled up; in that of the Languedocian Sphex there is a single victim, -but proportionately large, a plump-bodied ephippiger. The grub is a lost grub if torn -from the spot whence it draws nourishment. Should it fall, all is over, for weak as -it is, and without means of locomotion, how would it again find the spot where it -should quench its thirst? The merest trifle would enable the victim to get rid of -the animalcule gnawing at its entrails, yet the gigantic prey gives itself up without -the least sign of protestation. I am well aware that it is paralysed, and has lost -the use of its feet from the sting of its assassin, but at this early stage it preserves -more or less power of movement and sensation in parts unaffected by the dart. The -abdomen palpitates, the mandibles open and shut, the abdominal styles and the antennæ -oscillate. What would happen if the grub fixed on one of the spots yet sensitive near -the mandibles, or even on the stomach, which, being tenderer and more succulent, would -naturally suggest itself as fittest for the first mouthfuls of the feeble grub? Bitten -on the quick parts, <span class="pageNum" id="pb103">[<a href="#pb103">103</a>]</span>cicada, cricket, and ephippiger would display at least some shuddering of the skin, -which would detach and throw off the minute larva, for which probably all would be -over, since it would risk falling into the formidable, pincer-like jaws. -</p> -<p>But there is a part of the body where no such peril is to be feared—the thorax wounded -by the sting. There and there only can the experimenter on a recent victim dig down -the point of a needle—nay, pierce through and through without evoking any sign of -pain. And there the egg is invariably laid—there the young larva always attacks its -prey. Gnawed where pain is no longer felt, the cricket does not stir. Later, when -the wound has reached a sensitive spot, it will move of course as much as it can; -but then it is too late—its torpor will be too deep, and besides, its enemy will have -gained strength. That is why the egg is always laid on the same spot, near the wounds -caused by the sting on the thorax, not in the middle, where the skin might be too -thick for the new-born grub, but on one side—toward the junction of the feet, where -the skin is much thinner. What a judicious choice! what reasoning on the part of the -mother when, underground, in complete darkness, she perceives and utilises the one -suitable spot for her egg! -</p> -<p>I have brought up Sphex larvæ by giving them successively crickets taken from cells, -and have thus been able, day by day, to follow the rapid progress of my nurslings. -The first cricket—that on which the egg is laid—is attacked, as I have already said, -toward the point where the dart first struck—between the first and second pairs of -legs. At the end of a <span class="pageNum" id="pb104">[<a href="#pb104">104</a>]</span>few days the young larva has hollowed a hole big enough for half its body in the victim’s -breast. One may then sometimes see the cricket, bitten to the quick, vainly move its -antennæ and abdominal styles, open and close its empty jaws, and even move a foot, -but the larva is safe and searches its vitals with impunity. What an awful nightmare -for the paralysed cricket! This first ration is consumed in six or seven days; nothing -is left but the outer integument, whose every portion remains in place. The larva, -whose length is then twelve millimetres, comes out of the body of the cricket through -the hole it had made in the thorax. During this operation it moults, and the skin -remains caught in the opening. It rests, and then begins on a second ration. Being -stronger it has nothing to fear from the feeble movements of the cricket, whose daily -increasing torpor has extinguished the last shred of resistance, more than a week -having passed since it was wounded; so it is attacked with no precautions, and usually -at the stomach, where the juices are richest. Soon comes the turn of the third cricket, -then that of the fourth, which is consumed in ten hours. Of these three victims there -remains only the horny integument, whose various portions are dismembered one by one -and carefully emptied. If a fifth ration be offered, the larva disdains or hardly -touches it, not from moderation, but from an imperious necessity. -</p> -<p>It should be observed that up to now the larva has ejected no excrement, and that -its intestine, in which four crickets have been engulfed, is distended to bursting. -Thus, a new ration cannot tempt its <span class="pageNum" id="pb105">[<a href="#pb105">105</a>]</span>gluttony, and henceforward it only thinks about making a silken dwelling. Its repast -has lasted from ten to twelve days without a pause. Its length now measures from twenty-five -to thirty millimetres, and its greatest width from five to six. Its usual shape, somewhat -enlarged behind and narrowed in front, agrees with that general in larvæ of Hymenoptera. -It has fourteen segments, including the head, which is very small, with weak mandibles -seemingly incapable of the part just played by them. Of these fourteen segments the -intermediary ones are provided with stigmata. Its livery is yellowish-white, with -countless chalky white dots. -</p> -<p>We saw that the larva began on the stomach of the second cricket, this being the most -juicy and fattest part. Like a child who first licks off the jam on his bread, and -then bites the slice with contemptuous tooth, it goes straight to what is best, the -abdominal intestines, leaving the flesh, which must be extracted from its horny sheath, -until it can be digested deliberately. But when first hatched it is not thus dainty: -it must take the bread first and the jam later, and it has no choice but to bite its -first mouthful from the middle of the victim’s chest, exactly where its mother placed -the egg. It is rather tougher, but the spot is a secure one, on account of the deep -inertia into which three stabs have thrown the thorax. Elsewhere, there would be, -generally, if not always, spasmodic convulsions which would detach the feeble thing -and expose it to terrible risks amid a heap of victims whose hind legs, toothed like -a saw, might occasionally kick, and whose jaws could still grip. Thus it is motives -of <span class="pageNum" id="pb106">[<a href="#pb106">106</a>]</span>security, and not the habits of the grub, which determine the mother where to place -its egg. -</p> -<p>A suspicion suggests itself to me as to this. The first cricket, the ration on which -the egg is laid, exposes the grub to more risks than do the others. First, the larva -is still a weakly creature; next, the victim was only recently stung, and therefore -in the likeliest state for displaying some remains of life. This first cricket has -to be as thoroughly paralysed as possible, and therefore it is stabbed three times. -But the others, whose torpor deepens as time passes,—the others which the larvæ only -attack when grown strong,—have they to be treated as carefully? Might not a single -stab, or two, suffice to bring on a gradual paralysis while the grub devours its first -allowance? The poison is too precious to be squandered; it is powder and shot for -the Sphex, only to be used economically. At all events, if at one time I have been -able to see a victim stabbed thrice, at another I have only seen two wounds given. -It is true that the quivering point of the Sphex’s abdomen seemed seeking a favourable -spot for a third wound; but if really given, it escaped my observation. I incline -to believe that the victim destined to be eaten first always is stabbed three times, -but that economy causes the others only to be struck twice. The study of the caterpillar-hunting -Ammophila will later confirm this suspicion. -</p> -<p>The last cricket being finished, the larva sets to work to spin a cocoon. In less -than forty-eight hours the work is completed, and henceforward the skilful worker -may yield within an impenetrable shelter to the overpowering lethargy which is stealing -<span class="pageNum" id="pb107">[<a href="#pb107">107</a>]</span>over it—a state of being which is neither sleeping nor waking, death nor life, whence -it will issue transfigured ten months later. Few cocoons are so complex as is this -one. Besides a coarse outer network, there are three distinct layers, forming three -cocoons, one within another. Let us examine in detail these various courses of the -silken edifice. First comes an open network, coarse and cobwebby, on which the larva -places itself and hangs as in a hammock to work more easily at the cocoon properly -so called. This incomplete net, hastily spun to serve as a scaffolding, is made with -threads carelessly placed and holding grains of sand, bits of earth, and remains from -the larva’s banquet—cricket’s thighs, still banded with red, feet, and skull. The -next covering, which is the first of the real cocoon, is a felted wrapper, light red, -very fine, very supple, and somewhat crumpled. A few threads cast here and there connect -it with the preceding scaffolding and the following covering. It forms a cylindrical -purse, with no opening and too large for what it contains, thus causing the surface -to wrinkle. Then comes an elastic case, markedly smaller than the purse which contains -it, almost cylindrical, and rounded at the upper end, toward which is turned the head -of the larva, while at the lower it makes a blunt cone. Its colour is light red, except -towards the lower end, where the shade is darker. It is fairly firm, though it yields -to a moderate pressure, except in the conical part, which resists and seems to contain -a hard substance. On opening this sheath it is seen to be formed of two layers closely -pressed together, but easily separable. The outer is a silken felt <span class="pageNum" id="pb108">[<a href="#pb108">108</a>]</span>precisely like that of the preceding purse, the inner one, the third of the cocoon, -is a kind of lacquer—a brilliant violet-brown varnish, fragile, very soft to the touch, -and of quite a different nature to the rest of the cocoon. The microscope shows that -instead of being a felt of silky filaments like the other coverings, it is a homogeneous -covering of a peculiar varnish, whose origin is, as we shall see, sufficiently strange. -As for the resistance of the conical end of the cocoon, one finds it caused by a load -of friable matter, dark violet, and shining with numerous black particles. This load -is the dry mass of excrement, ejected once for all by the larva, inside its cocoon, -and to it is due the darker colour of the conical end. The average length of this -complex dwelling is twenty-seven millimetres, and its greatest width nine. -</p> -<p>Let us return to the purple varnish which covers the interior of the cocoon. At first, -I thought it should be attributed to the silk glands, which, after serving to spin -the double wrapper of silk and the scaffolding, must finally have secreted it. To -convince myself, I opened larvæ which had just completed their task of weaving, and -had not yet begun to lay on the lacquer. At that period I found no trace of violet -fluid in their glands. It is only seen in the digestive canal, which is swelled with -a purple pulp, and later in the stercorous load sent down to the lower end of the -cocoon. Elsewhere all is white, or faintly tinged with yellow. I am far from suggesting -that the larva plasters its cocoon with excrement, yet I am convinced that this wash -is produced by the digestive organs, and I <span class="pageNum" id="pb109">[<a href="#pb109">109</a>]</span>suspect—though I cannot positively assert it, having several times missed the moment -to ascertain it—that the larva disgorges and applies with its mouth the quintessence -of the purple pulp in its stomach to make the wash of lacquer. Only after this last -piece of work would it eject the remains of digestion in a single mass, and thus is -explained the disgusting necessity of storing the excrement within the larva’s habitation. -</p> -<p>At all events the usefulness of this layer is clear; its absolute impermeability protects -the larva from the damp which would certainly penetrate the poor shelter hollowed -for it by its mother. Recollect that it is buried but a few inches deep in sandy, -open ground. To judge how far cocoons thus varnished are capable of resisting damp, -I have plunged them in water for several days, yet never found any trace of moisture -within them. Let us compare the Sphex cocoon, with manifold coverings to protect the -larva in a burrow itself unprotected, with that of Cerceris tuberculata, sheltered -by a layer of sandstone, more than half a yard down in the ground. This cocoon has -the form of a very long pear, with the small end cut off. It is composed of a single -silken wrap, so fine that the larva is seen through it. In my many entomological researches -I have always found the labour of larva and mother supplement each other. In a deep -well-sheltered dwelling the cocoon is of light materials; for a surface abode, exposed -to wind and weather, it is strongly constructed. -</p> -<p>Nine months pass, during which a work is done which is quite hidden. I pass over this -period, <span class="pageNum" id="pb110">[<a href="#pb110">110</a>]</span>occupied by the unknown mystery of transformation, and to come to the nymph, go from -the end of September to the first days of the following July. The larva has thrown -aside its faded vestment, and the chrysalis, a transitory organisation, or rather, -a perfect insect in swaddling bands, awaits motionless the awakening which is still -a month off. Feet, antennæ, the visible portions of the mouth, and the undeveloped -wings, look like clearest crystal, and are regularly spread out under the thorax and -abdomen. The rest of the body is of an opaque white, slightly tinged with yellow; -the four intermediary segments of the abdomen show on either side a narrow, blunt -prolongation; the last segment has above a blade-like termination, shaped like the -section of a circle, furnished below with two conical protuberances, side by side, -thus making in all eleven appendages starring the contour of the abdomen. Such is -the delicate creature which, to become a Sphex, must assume a particoloured livery -of black and red, and throw off the fine skin which swaddles it so closely. -</p> -<p>I have been curious to follow day by day the progress and coloration of the chrysalid, -and to experiment whether sunlight—that rich palette whence Nature draws her colours—could -influence their progress. With this aim I have taken chrysalids out of their cocoon -and kept them in glass tubes, where some, in complete darkness, realised natural conditions, -while others, hung up against a white wall, were all day long in a strong light. These -diametrically opposed conditions did not affect the colouring, or if there were some -slight difference, it was to the disadvantage of those exposed to light. <span class="pageNum" id="pb111">[<a href="#pb111">111</a>]</span>Quite unlike to what occurs with plants, light does not influence insect-colouring, -nor even quicken it. It must be so, since in the species most gifted with splendid -colour—Buprestids and Carabids for instance—the wonderful hues that would seem stolen -from a sunbeam are really elaborated in darkness, deep in the ground, or in the decayed -trunk of some aged tree. -</p> -<p>The first indication of colour is in the eyes, whose horny facets pass successively -from white to tawny, then to a slaty hue, and lastly to black. The simple ones at -the top of the forehead share in their turn in this coloration before the rest of -the body has at all lost its whitish tint. It should be noted that this precocity -in the most delicate of organs, the eye, is general in animals. Later a smoky line -appears in the furrow separating the mesothorax from the metathorax, and four-and-twenty -hours later the whole back of the mesothorax is black. At the same time the division -of the prothorax grows shaded, a black dot appears in the central and upper part of -the metathorax, and the mandibles are covered with a rusty tint. Gradually a deeper -and deeper shade spreads over the last segments of the thorax, and finally reaches -the head and sides. One day suffices to turn the smoky tint of the head and the furthest -segments of the thorax into deep black. Then the abdomen shares in the rapidly increasing -coloration. The edge of the anterior segments is tinted with daffodil, while the posterior -segments acquire a band of ashy black. Then the antennæ and feet take a darker and -darker tint, till they become black, all the base of the abdomen turns <span class="pageNum" id="pb112">[<a href="#pb112">112</a>]</span>orange-red, and the tip black. The livery would then be complete, but that the tarsi -and mouthpieces are transparent red and the stumps of wings ashy black. Four-and-twenty -hours later the chrysalis will burst its bonds. It only takes six or seven days to -acquire its permanent tints; the eyes have done so a fortnight before the rest of -the body. From this sketch the law of chromatic evolution is easily apprehended. We -see that, omitting the eyes and ocelli, whose early perfection recalls what takes -place in the higher animals, the starting-point of coloration is a central one, the -mesothorax, whence it invades progressively by centrifugal progression—first the rest -of the thorax, then the head and abdomen, and finally the various appendages, antennæ, -and feet. The tarsi and mouthpieces take colour later still, and the wings only on -coming out of their cases. -</p> -<p>Now we have the Sphex in full costume, but she still has to free herself from the -chrysalis case. This is a very fine wrap, enfolding every smallest detail of structure, -and hardly veiling the shape and colours of the perfect insect. As prelude to the -last act of metamorphosis, the Sphex, rousing suddenly from her torpor, begins to -shake herself violently, as if to call life into her long-benumbed limbs. The abdomen -is alternately lengthened and contracted, the feet are suddenly spread, then bent, -then spread again, and their various joints are stiffened with effort. The creature, -curved backwards on its head and the point of the abdomen, with ventral surface upward, -distends by vigorous shakes the jointing of its neck and of the petiole <span class="pageNum" id="pb113">[<a href="#pb113">113</a>]</span>attaching the abdomen to the thorax. At last its efforts are crowned with success, -and after half an hour of these rough gymnastics the sheath, pulled in every direction, -ruptures at the neck, at the insertion of the feet and petiole, and, in short, wherever -the body has been movable enough to allow of sufficiently violent displacement. -</p> -<p>All these tears leave several irregular strips, the chief of which envelops the abdomen -and comes up the back of the thorax. To it belong the wing sheaths. A second strip -covers the head. Lastly, each foot has its own sheath, more or less dilapidated toward -the base. The biggest, which forms the chief part of the whole covering, is got off -by alternate dilatations and contractions of the abdomen, which gradually push it -back into a little ball connected for some time with the animal by tracheal filaments. -Then the Sphex again becomes motionless, and the operation is over, though head, antennæ, -and feet are still more or less covered. It is clear that the feet cannot be freed -in one piece on account of the roughnesses and thorns with which they are armed. These -rags of skin dry up and are got rid of later by rubbing the feet together, and by -brushing, smoothing, and combing the whole body with the tarsi when the Sphex has -acquired full vigour. -</p> -<p>The way in which the wings come out of their sheaths is the most remarkable feature -in this casting of the skin. In their undeveloped state they are folded lengthways -and much contracted. A little while before they acquire their normal appearance one -can easily draw them out of their sheaths; <span class="pageNum" id="pb114">[<a href="#pb114">114</a>]</span>but then they do not expand, remaining always crumpled, while, when the large piece -of which the sheaths are a part is pushed back by the movements of the abdomen, they -may be seen issuing gradually from the sheaths, and immediately they gain freedom, -assuming dimensions out of all proportion to the narrow prison from which they emerge. -They are then the seat of an abundant influx of vital juices which swell and spread -them out, and the turgescence thus induced must be the chief cause of their coming -out of their sheaths. When freshly expanded the wings are heavy, full of moisture, -and of a very light straw colour. If the influx should take place in an irregular -manner, the point of the wing is seen to be weighed down by a yellow droplet contained -between its under and upper surface. -</p> -<p>After denuding itself of the abdominal sheath, which draws away with it the wing-cases, -the Sphex again is motionless for about three days. During this interval the wings -assume their normal colouring, the tarsi take colour also, and the mouth-parts, at -first spread out, assume their normal position. After twenty-four days as a nymph -the insect attains its perfect state, tears its imprisoning cocoon, opens a way through -the sand, and appears one fine morning in the light as yet unknown to it. Bathed in -sunshine, it brushes wings and antennæ, passes its feet again and again over its abdomen, -washes its eyes with its forefeet moistened with saliva, like a cat, and, its toilette -made, flies joyfully away. Two months of life are before it. -</p> -<p>Beauteous Sphegidæ, hatched under my eyes <span class="pageNum" id="pb115">[<a href="#pb115">115</a>]</span>and brought up by my hand, ration by ration, on a bed of sand, at the bottom of an -old feather box,—you whose transformations I have followed step by step, waking up -with a start at night for fear of missing the moment when the nymph breaks through -her swaddling bands and the wings issue from their cases. You have taught me so many -things, learning nothing yourselves, knowing without teachers all that you need to -know. Oh, my beautiful Sphegidæ! fly away without fear of my tubes, my phials, and -all my boxes and cages, and all my prisons for you; fly through the warm sunshine, -beloved by the cicadas! Go, and beware of the Praying Mantis, who meditates your destruction -on the purple thistles; beware of the lizard watching for you on the sunny slopes. -Depart in peace, hollow out your burrows, stab your crickets scientifically, and continue -your race, so as to afford to others what you have afforded to me—some of the few -moments of happiness in my life. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb116">[<a href="#pb116">116</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch9" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e366">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">IX</h2> -<h2 class="main">ADVANCED THEORIES</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">There are many species of Sphex, but for the most part strangers to our country. As -far as I know, the French fauna contains but three—all lovers of the hot sun in the -olive region—namely, Sphex flavipennis, S. albisecta, and S. occitanica. It is not -without keen interest that an observer notices in all three of these predatory insects -a choice of provender in conformity with the strict laws of entomological classification. -To nourish their larvæ each confines itself to Orthoptera. The first hunts grasshoppers, -the second crickets, and the third ephippigers. -</p> -<p>These prey are so different outwardly that to associate them and seize their analogies, -either the practised eye of the entomologist, or the not less expert one of the Sphex -is needed. Compare the grasshopper with the cricket: the former has a round, stumpy -head; it is short and thickset, quite black, with red stripes on its hind thighs; -the latter is grayish and slim, with a small conical head, springing suddenly by unbending -its long hind legs, and carrying on this spring with fanlike wings. Now <span class="pageNum" id="pb117">[<a href="#pb117">117</a>]</span>compare both with the ephippiger, who carries his musical instrument on his back, -two harshly toned cymbals, shaped like hollow scales, and who drags his obese body -heavily along, ringed with pale green and butter colour, and ending in a long dagger. -Place these three species side by side, and own with me that to be able to choose -creatures so unlike, and yet keep to the same entomological order, the Sphex must -have such an eye as not only a fairly observant person, but a practised entomologist -would not be ashamed of. -</p> -<p>In the presence of these singular predilections, which seem to have limits laid down -by some master of classification,—a Latreille for instance—it becomes interesting -to inquire if foreign Sphegidæ hunt game of the same order. Unfortunately information -as to this is scanty or absolutely <i>nil</i> as regards most species. This regrettable lack is chiefly caused by the superficial -method generally adopted. An insect is caught, transfixed with a long pin, fastened -in a box with a cork bottom; a ticket with a Latin name is put under its feet, and -all is said. This way of looking at entomological history does not satisfy me. It -is useless to tell me that such a species has so many joints in its antennæ, so many -nerves in its wings, so many hairs on a part of the abdomen or thorax; I do not really -know the creature until I have learned its manner of life, its instincts and habits. -And observe what a luminous superiority has a description of the latter kind, given -in two or three words over long descriptions, sometimes so hard to understand. Let -us suppose that you want to introduce Sphex occitanica to me; <span class="pageNum" id="pb118">[<a href="#pb118">118</a>]</span>you describe the number and arrangement of the wing nerves, and you speak of cubital -and recurrent nerves; next follows the written description of the insect. Here it -is black, there rusty red, smoky brown at the wing tips, at such a spot it is black -velvet, at another silvery down, and at a third smooth. It is all very precise, very -minute—one must grant that much justice to the clear-sighted patience of him who describes; -but it is very long, and besides, not always easy to follow, to such a degree that -one may be excused for being sometimes a little bewildered, even when not altogether -a novice. But add to the tedious description just this—hunts ephippigers, and with -these two words light shines at once; there can be no mistake about my Sphex, none -other selecting that prey. And to illuminate the subject thus, what was needed? Real -observation, and not to let entomology consist in rows of impaled insects. But let -us pass on and consider such little as is known as to the manner in which foreign -Sphegidæ hunt. I open Lepeletier de St. Fargeau’s <i>History of Hymenoptera</i>, and find that on the other side of the Mediterranean, in our Algerian provinces, -S. flavipennis and S. albisecta have the same tastes that characterise them here. -In the land of palms they catch Orthoptera just as they do in the land of olives. -Although separated by the width of the sea, these sporting fellow citizens of the -Kabyle and the Berber hunt the same game as their relatives in Provence. I see mentioned -a fourth species, S. afra, as hunting crickets round Oran. Moreover, I have a recollection -of having read—I know not where—of a fifth <span class="pageNum" id="pb119">[<a href="#pb119">119</a>]</span>species, which makes war on crickets upon the steppes in the neighbourhood of the -Caspian Sea. Thus in the lands bordering the Mediterranean we have five different -species whose larvæ all live on Orthoptera. -</p> -<p>Now let us cross the equator, and descend in the other hemisphere to the Mauritius -and Réunion Islands, and we shall find, not a Sphex but a Hymenopteron, nearly allied, -of the same tribe, Chlorion or Ampulex, chasing the horrid kakerlacs, the curse of -merchandise in ships and colonial ports. These kakerlacs are none other than cockroaches, -one species of which haunts our houses. Who does not know this stinking insect, which, -thanks to its flat shape, like that of an enormous bug, insinuates itself into gaps -in furniture and partitions, and swarms everywhere that there is food to devour. Such -is the cockroach of our houses—a disgusting likeness of the not less disgusting prey -beloved by the Chlorion. Why does a near relation of our Sphex select the kakerlac -as prey. The reason is simple: With its buglike form the kakerlac is an Orthopteron -by the same rights as the grasshopper, ephippiger, and cricket. From these six examples, -the only ones known to me, and from such widely distant localities, may we not conclude -that all Sphegidæ hunt Orthoptera? Without adopting so sweeping a conclusion, one -at least sees what the usual food of their larvæ must be. -</p> -<p>There is a reason for this surprising choice. What is it? What motives fix a diet -which in the strict limits of one and the same entomological order is now composed -of ill-smelling kakerlacs, now <span class="pageNum" id="pb120">[<a href="#pb120">120</a>]</span>of dry, but well-flavoured crickets, and in yet another of plump grasshoppers, or -corpulent ephippigers? I confess that to me it is incomprehensible, and I leave the -problem to others. Observe, however, that the Orthoptera rank among insects as the -ruminants do among mammalia. Endowed with a mighty paunch and a placid character, -they feed on herbage, and easily get corpulent. They are numerous and met with everywhere, -slow of gait, and thus easy to catch, and, moreover, of a size just right for prey. -Who can say if the Sphegidæ—vigorous hunters which require a large prey—do not find -in these ruminants among insects what we find in our domestic ruminants—the sheep -and ox, peaceful victims rich in flesh? This is, however, a mere supposition. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p120width" id="p120"><img src="images/p120.jpg" alt="SPHEX FLAVIPENNIS ABOUT TO SEIZE GRASSHOPPER" width="720" height="457"><div class="figAnnotation p120width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 120.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">SPHEX FLAVIPENNIS ABOUT TO SEIZE GRASSHOPPER</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>I have more than a supposition in another case, equally important. Do the consumers -of Orthoptera ever vary their diet? Should their favourite game fail, can they do -with another? Does S. occitanica think that except a fat ephippiger, there is nothing -in the wide world worth eating. Does S. albisecta admit nothing but crickets to her -table, and S. flavipennis only grasshoppers? Or according to time, place, and circumstance, -does each replace the favourite food by some equivalent? It would be of the highest -importance to bring forward such facts if they exist, as they would tell us whether -the suggestions of instinct are absolute and immutable, or if they vary, and within -what limits. It is true that in the cell of a Cerceris are buried most varied species -of Buprestids or of the Weevil group, which shows that she has a great latitude of -choice; <span class="pageNum" id="pb121">[<a href="#pb121">121</a>]</span>but such an extension of hunting ground cannot be supposed for the Sphex, which I -have found so faithful to one exclusive prey, invariable for each species, and which, -moreover, finds among the Orthoptera kinds of very different shapes. I have, however, -had the good fortune to meet with one case—only one—of complete change in the larva’s -food, and I mention it the more willingly in the archives of the Sphegidæ because -such facts, scrupulously observed, will one day be corner-stones for him who may desire -to build the psychology of instinct on solid foundations. -</p> -<p>This is my fact. The scene is on a jetty by the Rhône. On one side is the great river, -with its thunder of waters, on the other, a dense thicket of osiers, willows, and -reeds, and between the two a narrow path with a bed of fine sand. A yellow-winged -Sphex appears, hopping and dragging its prey along. What do I see! It is no grasshopper, -but a common Acridian! And yet the Hymenopteron really is the Sphex so well known -to me (S. flavipennis), the energetic huntress of grasshoppers! I can hardly believe -my eyes. The burrow is not far off; she enters and stores her booty. I seat myself, -determined to await a new expedition—wait hours if need be to see if so extraordinary -a capture is repeated. Seated there I occupy the whole width of the path. Two simple -conscripts come up, new-clipped, with that incomparable, automaton-look conferred -by the first days of barrack life. They are chattering together—no doubt talking of -their homes and the girls they left behind them; each is peeling a willow switch with -a <span class="pageNum" id="pb122">[<a href="#pb122">122</a>]</span>knife. A fear seizes me; ah! it is not easy to try an experiment on the public way, -where, when some fact watched for during long years does present itself, a passer-by -may disturb or annihilate chances which may never occur again! I rise anxiously to -make way for the conscripts; I withdraw into the osier bed, and leave the narrow way -free. To do more was not prudent; to say, “My good fellows, do not go that way,” would -have made bad worse. They would have supposed some snare hidden in the sand, and questions -would have arisen to which no reply that would satisfy them could have been given. -My request, moreover, would have turned these idlers into lookers-on, very embarrassing -company in such studies, so I resolved to say nothing, and trust to my luck. Alas! -alas! my star betrayed me. The heavy regulation boot was planted exactly on the Sphex’s -roof. A shudder ran through me as though I had myself received the impress of the -iron heel. -</p> -<p>The conscripts gone I proceeded to the salvage of the contents of the ruined burrow. -There was the Sphex mutilated by the pressure, and there were not only the cricket -which I saw carried down, but two others—three crickets in all instead of the usual -grasshoppers. What was the reason of this strange variation? Were there no grasshoppers -near the burrow, and did the distressed Hymenopteron do the best she could with Acridians—contenting -herself as it were with blackbirds for want of thrushes, as the proverb says? I hesitate -to believe it, for there was nothing in the neighbourhood to denote absence of her -favourite game. Some happier means may <span class="pageNum" id="pb123">[<a href="#pb123">123</a>]</span>unriddle this new problem. In any case S. flavipennis, either from imperious necessity, -or from motives unknown to me, sometimes replaces her favourite prey, the grasshopper, -by another, the Acridian, altogether unlike outwardly to the former, but still an -Orthopteron. -</p> -<p>The observer on whose authority Lepeletier de St. Fargeau speaks of this Sphex’s habits -witnessed in Africa, near Oran, a similar storing of Acridians. S. flavipennis was -surprised by him dragging along an Acridian. Was it an accidental case, like the one -seen by me on the banks of the Rhône? Was it the exception, or was it the rule? Were -grasshoppers wanting around Oran, and did the Hymenopteron replace them by Acridians? -Circumstances compel me to ask the question without finding a reply. -</p> -<p>Here should be interpolated a certain passage from Lacordaire’s <i>Introduction to Entomology</i>,<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e1293src" href="#xd31e1293">1</a> against which I long to raise my voice in protest. Here it is: “Darwin, who has written -a book on purpose to prove the identity of the intellectual principle which produces -action in man and animals, walking one day in his garden noticed on the ground in -a shady walk a Sphex which had just caught a fly nearly as big as itself. He saw it -cut off with its mandibles the victim’s head and abdomen, keeping only the thorax, -to which the wings remained attached. It then flew away, but a breath of wind striking -the fly’s wings twirled the Sphex round, <span class="pageNum" id="pb124">[<a href="#pb124">124</a>]</span>and hindered its progress. Thereupon it lit again on the walk, cut off first one wing -and then the other from the fly, and having thus removed the cause of its difficulties, -flew off with the remainder of its prey. This fact indicates manifest signs of reasoning. -Instinct might have induced the Sphex to cut off the wings of its victim before transporting -it to the nest, as do some species of the same genus, but here were consecutive ideas -and results of those ideas quite inexplicable, unless one admits the intervention -of reason.” -</p> -<p>This little story, which so lightly bestows reason on an insect, is wanting not only -in truth but in mere probability—not in the act itself, which I do not question at -all, but in its motives. Darwin saw what he relates, but he was mistaken as to the -hero of the drama; as to the drama itself, and as to its meaning—profoundly mistaken, -and I can prove it. -</p> -<p>First and foremost the old English savant ought to have known enough about the creatures -which he so freely ennobles to call things by their right name. Let us therefore take -the word Sphex in its strictly scientific sense. Then by what strange aberration does -this English Sphex, if English ones there are, choose a fly as its prey when its fellows -hunt such different game—namely, Orthoptera? And even if we grant, what I consider -inadmissible, a Sphex catching flies, other difficulties crowd in. It is now proved -on evidence that the burrowing Hymenoptera do not carry dead bodies to their larvæ, -but merely prey benumbed and paralysed. What, then, is the meaning of this prey whose -head, abdomen, and wings are cut off? The torso carried away is but a <span class="pageNum" id="pb125">[<a href="#pb125">125</a>]</span>portion of a corpse that would infect the cell and be useless to the larva, not yet -to be hatched for several days. It is perfectly clear that Darwin’s insect was not -a Sphex, strictly speaking. What, then, did he see? The word fly, by which the captured -prey is designated, is a very vague term which might be applied to the greater part -of the immense order of Diptera, and therefore leaves us uncertain among thousands -of species. Probably the name of Sphex is used equally vaguely. When Darwin’s book -appeared, not only the real Sphegidæ were so called, but also the Crabronides. Now -among these last some provide their larvæ with Diptera, the prey required for the -unknown Hymenopteron of the English naturalist. Was then Darwin’s Sphex a Crabro? -No, for these hunters of Diptera, like the hunters of any other game, require prey -which will keep fresh and motionless, but half alive for the fortnight or three weeks -needed before the eggs hatch, and for the complete development of the larvæ. These -little ogres require meat not decayed, nor even high, but fresh. I know no exception -to this rule, and therefore the name Sphex cannot have been used in its old meaning. -</p> -<p>Instead of dealing with a precise fact, really worthy of science, we have an enigma -to find out. Let us continue to examine it. Several of the Crabronides are so like -wasps in figure and form and shape and their yellow and black livery, that they might -deceive any eye unpractised in the delicate distinctions of entomology. In the eyes -of every one who has not made a special study of the subject, a Crabro is a wasp. -Is it not possible that the English observer, <span class="pageNum" id="pb126">[<a href="#pb126">126</a>]</span>regarding things from a lofty height, and considering unworthy of close examination -the petty fact, which, however, was to serve to corroborate his transcendent views -and grant reason to animals, may have in his turn committed an error, conversely and -very excusably, by taking a wasp for one of the Crabronides? I could almost declare -it is so, and for the following reasons. Wasps, if not always at any rate frequently, -bring up their family on animal food, but instead of provisioning each cell they distribute -nourishment singly to the larvæ, and several times in the day; feeding them from their -mouths with soft pap, as the father and mother do young birds. This pap consists of -mashed insects, ground down in the jaws of the nursing wasp; the insects preferred -for it are Diptera, especially the common fly; if fresh meat offers itself it is largely -used. Who has not seen wasps penetrate into our kitchens, or dart on the joints in -a butcher’s shop, cut off some scrap of flesh which suits them, and carry away a tiny -spoil for the use of their larvæ? When half-closed shutters allow a ray of light to -fall on the floor of a room where the house-fly is taking a comfortable nap, or brushing -its wings, who has not seen a wasp suddenly enter, pounce upon it, crush it in its -jaws, and flee with the booty? This again is a dainty meal for the carnivorous nurslings. -Sometimes the prey is at once dismembered, sometimes on the way, sometimes at the -nest. The wings, in which there is no nourishment, are cut off and rejected; the feet, -poor in juices, are also sometimes disdained. There remains a mutilated corpse, head, -thorax, abdomen, or part thereof, which <span class="pageNum" id="pb127">[<a href="#pb127">127</a>]</span>the wasp chews repeatedly to reduce into a pap for the larvæ to feast on. I have tried -to bring up larvæ myself on fly-paste. The experiment was tried on a nest of Polistes -gallica, the wasp which fixes her little rose-shaped nest of gray paper cells on the -bough of some shrub. My kitchen apparatus was a piece of marble slab, on which I crushed -up the fly-paste after cleaning my game—in other words, having taken away the parts -which were too tough—wings and feet; and the feeding-spoon was a slender straw, at -the end of which, going from cell to cell, I handed the food to larvæ, which opened -their mouths just like young birds in a nest. I did just the same and succeeded just -as well in the days when I used to bring up broods of sparrows—that joy of childhood! -All went on as well as heart could wish as long as my patience held out against the -trials of a bringing up so absorbing and full of small cares. -</p> -<p>The obscurity of the enigma is replaced by the full light of truth, thanks to the -following observation, made with all the leisure that a strict precision demands. -In the first days of October two great clumps of blossoming asters at the door of -my study became the rendezvous of a quantity of insects, among which the hive bee -and Eristalis tenax were the most numerous. A gentle murmur arose from them, like -that of which Virgil wrote, “Sæpe levi somnum suadebit inire susurro.” But if the -poet finds in it only an invitation to slumber, the naturalist finds a subject for -study; these small folk luxuriating on the last flowers of the year may perhaps afford -him some new information. So I <span class="pageNum" id="pb128">[<a href="#pb128">128</a>]</span>am on the watch before the two clumps with their countless lilac corollas. -</p> -<p>The air is perfectly still; the sun burns, the air is heavy—all signs of a coming -storm; but these are conditions eminently favourable to the labours of the Hymenoptera, -which seem to foresee to-morrow’s rain, and redouble their activity in turning the -present hour to profit. The bees work ardently; the Eristalis fly clumsily from flower -to flower. Now and then, into the midst of the peaceable throng who are swilling nectar, -bursts a wasp, insect of rapine, attracted there by prey, not honey. -</p> -<p>Equally ardent in carnage, but unequal in strength, two species divide the chase; -the common wasp, Vespa vulgaris, which catches Eristalis, and the hornet, V. crabro, -which hunts hive bees. Both carry on the chase in the same way. They fly fast backwards -and forwards over the flowers, and suddenly throw themselves on the prey which is -on its guard and flies off, while their impulse carries them headfirst against the -deserted flower. Then the chase is continued in the air, just as a sparrowhawk hunts -a lark. But bee and Eristalis foil the wasp by their sudden turns, and it goes back -to fly above the blossoms. By and by some insect less swift to escape gets captured. -The common wasp instantly drops on the turf with its Eristalis, and I drop down too -at the same moment, putting aside with both hands the dead leaves and bits of grass -which might hinder my seeing clearly, and this is the drama which I behold, if proper -precautions be taken not to scare the wasp. -</p> -<p>First there is a wild struggle among the blades of <span class="pageNum" id="pb129">[<a href="#pb129">129</a>]</span>grass between the wasp and an Eristalis bigger than itself. The Dipteron is unarmed -but strong, and a shrill hum tells of desperate resistance. The wasp carries a poignard, -but does not know how to use it methodically, and is ignorant of the vulnerable points -so well known to the hunters which need flesh that must keep good for a considerable -time. What its nurslings want is a paste made of flies newly crushed, so that it matters -little how the game is killed. The sting is used blindly—anywhere, pointed at the -head, sides, thorax, or under part of the victim, as chance directs while the two -wrestle. The Hymenopteron, paralysing its victim, acts like the surgeon, who directs -his scalpel with a skilled hand; the wasp when slaying acts like a common assassin -stabbing blindly in a struggle. Thus the resistance of the Eristalis is long, and -its death rather the result of being cut up by a pair of scissors than of stabs with -a dagger. These scissors are the wasp’s mandibles, cutting, disembowelling, and dividing. -When the game has been garroted and is motionless between the feet of its captor, -a bite of the mandibles severs the head from the body; then the wings are shorn off -at the junction with the shoulder; the feet follow, cut off one by one; then the abdomen -is rejected, but emptied of its interior, which the wasp appears to preserve with -her favourite part, the thorax, which is richer in muscle than the rest of the Eristalis. -Without further delay she flies off, carrying it between her feet. Having reached -the nest she will mash it up and distribute it to the larvæ. -</p> -<p>The hornet having seized a bee acts almost in the same way, but it is a giant of a -robber, and the <span class="pageNum" id="pb130">[<a href="#pb130">130</a>]</span>fight cannot last long, despite the sting of the victim. Upon the very flower where -the capture was made, or oftener on some twig of a neighbouring shrub, the hornet -prepares its dish. First of all the bag of the bee is torn open, and the honey lapped -up. The prize is thus twofold—that of a drop of honey, and the bee itself for the -larvæ to feast on. Sometimes the wings are detached, as well as the abdomen, but -generally the hornet is contented with making a shapeless mass of the bee which is -carried off whole. It is at the nest that the parts valueless for food are rejected, -especially the wings. Or the paste may be prepared on the spot, the bee being crushed -at once between the hornet’s mandibles, after wings, feet, and sometimes the abdomen -are cut off. -</p> -<p>Here, then, in all its details is the fact observed by Darwin. A wasp, Vespa vulgaris, -seizes Eristalis tenax; with her mandibles she cuts off head, wings, and abdomen of -the victim, keeping only the thorax, with which she flies away. But we need no breath -of air to explain why they were cut off; the scene takes place in perfect shelter, -in the grass. The captor rejects such parts as are useless for the larvæ, and that -is all. -</p> -<p>In short, a wasp is certainly the heroine of Darwin’s story. What, then, becomes of -that reasoning which made the creature, in order better to contend with the wind, -deprive its prey of abdomen, head, and wings, leaving only a thorax? It becomes a -very simple fact, whence flow none of the great consequences that were drawn from -it,—the very trivial fact that a wasp began at once to cut up her prey, and only considered -the trunk worthy <span class="pageNum" id="pb131">[<a href="#pb131">131</a>]</span>of her larvæ. Far from discovering the least indication of reasoning, I see only an -act of instinct so elementary that it is really not worth consideration. -</p> -<p>To abase man and exalt animals in order to establish a point of contact, then a point -of fusion,—such has been the usual system of the advanced theories now in fashion. -Ah! how often do we not find in these sublime theories that are a sickly craze of -our day, proofs peremptorily asserted, which under the light of experiment would appear -as absurd as the Sphex of the learned Erasmus Darwin! -<span class="pageNum" id="pb132">[<a href="#pb132">132</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e1293"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e1293src">1</a></span> In a later essay, <i>Fragments on Psychology</i>, M. Fabre withdraws these strictures on (Erasmus) Darwin, explaining that they are -based on a misquotation by Lacordaire, who writes “Sphex” where Darwin had said “wasp.” <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e1293src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch10" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e377">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">X</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">When the chemist has ripely considered his plan of research, he mixes his reactives -at whatever moment suits him best, and sets his retorts on the fire. He is master -of time, place, and circumstance, chooses his own hour, isolates himself in his laboratory, -where he will be undisturbed, and brings about such or such conditions as reflexion -may suggest. He is searching out the secrets of brute nature, whose chemical activities -science can arouse at will. -</p> -<p>The secrets of living nature—not those of anatomy, but those of life in action, especially -of instinct—offer conditions far more difficult and delicate to the observer. Far -from being able to take his own time, he is the slave of season, day, or hour, even -of the moment. If an opportunity offer, it must be seized at once—it may be very long -ere it comes again. And as it usually comes just when one is thinking least about -it, nothing is ready whereby to turn it to account. One must improvise there and then -one’s little means of experiment, combine one’s plan, devise one’s wiles, imagine -one’s tactics, and feel only too fortunate if inspiration come quickly enough to <span class="pageNum" id="pb133">[<a href="#pb133">133</a>]</span>allow one to profit by the chance offered. Moreover, such chances come only to one -who looks out for them, watches for days and days,—here on sandy slopes exposed to -the burning sun, there in the cauldron of some path enclosed by high banks, or on -some shelf of sandstone, the solidity of which is not always such as to inspire confidence. -If it be granted you to set up your observatory under the scanty shade of an olive -that you may think will shelter you from a pitiless sun, then bless the fate which -is treating you like a sybarite; your lot is in Eden. Above all—keep a sharp lookout. -The spot is promising, and who knows? Any moment the chance may come. -</p> -<p>It has come! tardily, it is true, but it has come. Ah! could one but observe now, -in the peace of one’s study, isolated, absorbed, thinking only of what one is studying, -far from the profane passer-by who will stop, seeing you so preoccupied where he sees -nothing, will overwhelm you with questions and take you for a diviner of springs with -the magic hazel wand, or worse, as a doubtful character, seeking by incantations old -pots full of money hidden underground. Even if you seem to him to have the look of -a Christian, he will come near, look at what you are looking at, and smile in a fashion -which leaves no possible doubt as to his humble opinion of people who spend their -time in watching flies. You would only be too happy if this annoying visitor would -depart, laughing in his sleeve, but without disturbing everything and repeating the -disaster caused by the soles of my two conscripts. -</p> -<p>Or if it is not the passer-by who is perplexed by <span class="pageNum" id="pb134">[<a href="#pb134">134</a>]</span>your unaccountable proceedings, it will be the garde-champêtre, that inexorable representative -of the law amid the fallow fields. Long has he had his eye upon you. He has so often -seen you wandering like a troubled ghost for no reason that he can perceive; has so -often caught you seeking something in the ground, or knocking down some bit of wall -in some hollow way with infinite precaution that he begins to look on you as a suspicious -character, a vagabond, a gipsy, a tramp, or, at all events, a maniac. If you have -a botanical tin, to him it is the ferret-cage of the poacher, and it will be impossible -to convince him that you are not destroying all the rabbits in the neighbouring warrens, -regardless of the laws of the chase and the rights of the owner. Beware! However thirsty -you may be, lay no finger on a cluster in the vineyard hard by; the man of the municipal -livery would be there, delighted to bear witness and get at last an explanation of -your exasperatingly perplexing conduct. -</p> -<p>I must do myself the justice to say that I have never committed such a misdeed, and -yet one day when I was lying on the sand, absorbed in the domestic affairs of a Bembex, -I heard beside me, “In the name of the law, I summon you to follow me!” It was the -garde-champêtre of Les Angles, who having vainly watched for an opportunity of catching -me in some offence, and being daily more desirous of an answer to the riddle which -tormented him, had finally decided on a summons. An explanation became necessary. -The poor man did not appear in the least convinced. “Bah! bah!” said he, “you’ll never -get me to believe that you come and roast <span class="pageNum" id="pb135">[<a href="#pb135">135</a>]</span>yourself in the sun just to watch flies. I keep my eye on you, you know, and the first -time.… Well, that’s enough.” He departed. I have always believed that my red ribbon -had a good deal to do with this departure, and I ascribe to that ribbon other similar -services during my botanical or entomological rambles. It seemed to me—was it an illusion?—it -did seem to me that during my botanical expeditions on Mont Ventoux, the guide was -more manageable than usual and the donkey less obstinate. -</p> -<p>The little dark red ribbon has not always protected me from the tribulations the entomologist -must expect when carrying on experiments upon the highway. Since dawn I had been lying -in ambush at the bottom of a ravine; Sphex occitanica was the object of my early visit. -A party of three women vintagers passed on their way to work. A glance was cast on -the seated figure apparently lost in thought. “Good day” was politely offered and -politely answered. At sunset the women returned with full baskets. The man was still -there, seated on the same stone, his eyes fixed on the same spot. My motionless figure, -my persistent stay in that lonely place, must have struck them greatly. As they passed -I saw one tap her forehead, and heard her whisper, “A poor innocent, <i>pe’caïre</i>! a poor innocent!” and all three made the sign of the cross. -</p> -<p>An innocent, an idiot, a poor inoffensive creature who is deficient; and all three -crossed themselves—an idiot being one to them marked by God’s seal. “How?” said I. -“What cruel mockery of fate! You who are labouring to discover what is instinct and -what reason in the animal; you yourself are a <span class="pageNum" id="pb136">[<a href="#pb136">136</a>]</span>half-wit in the eyes of these women! What humiliation! However, <i>pe’caïre</i>, that term of supreme commiseration in Provençal, uttered from the bottom of the -heart, made me quickly forget the <i>Innocent</i>.” -</p> -<p>It is to that same ravine that I invite my reader, if he is not repelled by the small -annoyances of which I have given him a foretaste. S. occitanica haunts these parts, -not in numbers giving one another rendezvous when nidification is going on, but solitary -individuals far apart, wherever their vagabond peregrinations have led them. Just -as their relative S. flavipennis seeks the society of relations and the animation -of a work-yard and company, so, on the other hand, does the Languedocian Sphex prefer -calm, isolation, and solitude. Graver in behaviour, more formal in manner, more elegant -of figure, and in more sombre attire, she always lives apart, careless of what others -are doing, disdaining companionship, a very misanthrope among Sphegidæ. S. flavipennis -is sociable; S. occitanica is unsociable—a profound difference, alone sufficient to -characterise them. -</p> -<p>This suggests how greatly the difficulty of observing the latter is increased. No -long meditated experiment is possible, nor can one attempt to repeat it a second time -if the first has failed. If you make preparations beforehand,—for instance, if you -put in reserve a piece of game to substitute for that of the Sphex,—it is to be feared, -indeed it is almost certain, that she will not appear, or if she comes, your preparations -turn out useless. Everything must be improvised at once—conditions which I have not -always been able to realise as I could have wished. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p136width" id="p136"><img src="images/p136.jpg" alt="SPHEX OCCITANICA TAKING A SUN BATH" width="720" height="466"><div class="figAnnotation p136width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 136.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">SPHEX OCCITANICA TAKING A SUN BATH</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Let us take courage; the position is good. <span class="pageNum" id="pb137">[<a href="#pb137">137</a>]</span>Many a time I have here surprised the Sphex reposing on a vine-leaf, exposed to the -full rays of the sun. The insect, lying flat and spread out, is voluptuously enjoying -the delights of warmth and light. From time to time a kind of frenzy of pleasure bursts -forth in her; she thrills with well-being, drums rapidly on her resting-place with -the points of her feet, and produces a sound somewhat like the roll of a drum, or -heavy rain falling on foliage perpendicularly. You may hear this joyous drumming several -paces off. Then again comes perfect stillness, followed by a fresh nervous commotion, -and that waving of tarsi which is a sign of supreme happiness. I have known some of -these ardent sun-worshippers suddenly leave a half-finished burrow to settle on a -neighbouring vine and take a bath of sun and light, returning reluctantly to give -a careless sweep to the hole, and finally abandon the workshop, unable longer to resist -the temptation of luxuriating on a vine leaf. Perhaps this voluptuous resting-place -is also an observatory whence to inspect the neighbourhood, and espy and choose prey. -This Sphex catches only the ephippiger of the vine, scattered here and there on the -leaves or on any convenient bush. The game is succulent—all the more that only females -full of eggs are selected. -</p> -<p>Let us pass over numerous expeditions, fruitless researches, and the tedium of long -waiting, and present the Sphex to the reader just as she shows herself to the observer. -Here she is, at the bottom of a hollow way with high sandy banks. She comes on foot, -but aids herself with her wings in dragging along her heavy captive. The ephippiger’s -antennæ, like <span class="pageNum" id="pb138">[<a href="#pb138">138</a>]</span>long fine threads, are the harness ropes. With her mandibles and holding her head -high, she grasps one of them, passing it between her feet, and the prey is dragged -on its back. If some unevenness of ground should oppose itself to this style of haulage, -she stops, clasps the ample provender, and transports it by very short flights, going -on foot between whiles whenever this is possible. One never sees her undertake sustained -flights for long distances carrying prey, as do those strong cruisers, the Bembex -and Cerceris, which will carry perhaps for a good half mile through the air, the former -their Diptera, the latter their weevils—very light prey compared with the huge ephippiger. -The overwhelming size of its captive forces S. occitanica to convey it along the ground—a -means of transit both slow and difficult. The same reason—namely, the great size and -weight of the prey—entirely upsets the usual order followed by the Hymenoptera, in -their labours,—an order well known, and consisting in first hollowing a burrow and -then victualling it. The prey not being disproportioned to the size of the spoiler, -facility of transport by flight allows the Hymenopteron a choice as to the position -of her domicile. What matter if she has to hunt at considerable distances? Having -made a capture, she returns home with rapid flight; it is indifferent to her whether -she is near or far. Therefore she prefers the spot where she was born, and where her -predecessors have lived; there she inherits deep galleries, the accumulated labour -of former generations; with a little repair they can be used as avenues to new chambers, -better defended than would be a <span class="pageNum" id="pb139">[<a href="#pb139">139</a>]</span>single excavation a little below the surface made annually. Such is the case with -Cerceris tuberculata and Philanthus apivorus, and even if the inherited dwelling should -not be solid enough to resist wind and weather from one year’s end to another, and -to be handed down to the next generation, at all events the Hymenopteron finds conditions -of greater safety in spots consecrated by ancestral experience. There she hollows -out galleries, each serving as corridors to a group of cells, thus economising the -labour to be expended on the entire egg-laying. -</p> -<p>In this way are formed, not true societies, there being no concerted effort to a common -end, but at least gatherings where the sight of other Sphegidæ no doubt animates the -labour of each. In fact, one can notice between these small tribes, sprung from one -and the same stock, and the solitary miners, a difference in activity, recalling in -one case the emulation of a populous workshop, and in the other the dulness of labourers -in the tedium of isolation. For the animal as well as man activity is contagious, -and excited by its own example. Let us sum up. Where there is a moderate weight for -the spoiler, it is possible to carry it on the wing for a great distance, and then -the Hymenopteron can arrange the burrows at pleasure, choosing by preference its birthplace. -From this preference of the birthplace results an agglomeration—a coming together -of insects of the same species, whence arises emulation in their work. This first -step towards social life is the result of easy journeys. Is it not so with man? excuse -the comparison! Men, where ways are bad, <span class="pageNum" id="pb140">[<a href="#pb140">140</a>]</span>build solitary cottages, while where there are good roads, they collect in populous -cities, served by railroads, which, so to say, annihilate distance; they assemble -in immense human hives called London or Paris. -</p> -<p>The Languedocian Sphex has quite another lot. Its prey is a heavy ephippiger—a single -morsel representing the whole sum of provender amassed by the other predatory insects -bit by bit. What the Cerceris and other strong-flying insects do by dividing their -labour is accomplished by a single effort. The weight of the prey rendering flight -impossible, it must be brought home with all the delays and fatigue of dragging it -along the ground. This one fact obliges her to accommodate the position of her burrow -to the chances of the chase: first the prey and then the dwelling. Hence no rendezvous -at a general meeting-place; no living among neighbours, no tribes stimulating themselves -by mutual example—only isolation where chance has led the Sphex—solitary labour, unenthusiastic, -though always conscientious. First of all prey is sought, attacked, and paralysed. -Then comes making the burrow. A favourable spot is chosen as near as possible to that -where lies the victim, so as to abridge the toil of transport, and the cell of the -future larva is rapidly hollowed to receive an egg and food as soon as possible. Such -is the very different method shown by all my observations. I will mention the chief -of them. -</p> -<p>If surprised in its mining, one always finds this Sphex alone—sometimes at the bottom -of some dusty niche a fallen stone has left in an old wall—<span class="pageNum" id="pb141">[<a href="#pb141">141</a>]</span>sometimes in a shelter formed by a projecting bit of sandstone, such as is sought -by the fierce-eyed lizard as a vestibule to its retreat. The sun falls full upon it; -the place is a furnace. The soil is extremely easy to hollow, formed as it is by ancient -dust which has dropped little by little from the roof. The mandibles, which act as -pincers to dig with, and the tarsi, as rakes to clear away, soon hollow the cavity. -Then the Sphex flies off, but in a leisurely way, and without any great expenditure -of wing power, a manifest sign that the expedition is not a long one. One’s eye can -easily follow the insect and discover where it alights, usually some ten yards off. -Sometimes it decides to go on foot. It sets out, hurrying to a spot where we will -be indiscreet enough to follow, our presence noways troubling it. Having arrived on -foot or on the wing it hunts about for a while, as one may conclude from its indecision -and short excursions on all sides. It seeks and at last finds, or rather finds anew. -The object found is an ephippiger, half-paralysed, but still moving antennæ, tarsi, -and ovipositor—a victim which the Sphex certainly poignarded a little while before -with several stings, and then left her prey, an embarrassing burden, while she still -hesitated as to the choice of a domicile. Perhaps she abandoned it on the very spot -of the capture, leaving it rather obvious on a grass tuft the better to find it later, -and trusting to her good memory to return where lies the booty, set to work to explore -the neighbourhood and find a suitable spot to burrow. This done she came back for -the game which was found without much hesitation, and now she prepares to convey it -home. <span class="pageNum" id="pb142">[<a href="#pb142">142</a>]</span>She bestrides the insect, seizes one or both antennæ and sets off, pulling and dragging -with all the strength of loins and jaws. -</p> -<p>Sometimes the journey is accomplished at one trial; more frequently she leaves her -load and hurries home. Perhaps it occurs to her that the entrance door is not wide -enough for this ample morsel, perhaps she bethinks her of some defect of detail that -might interfere with provisioning the cell. Yes, she retouches her work, enlarges -the doorway, levels the threshold, consolidates the arch, all with a few sweeps of -the tarsi. Then she returns to the ephippiger, lying on its back a few paces distant, -and drags it on again. But a new idea seems to flash across her lively mind. She had -visited the gateway but had not looked within; who knows if all be well there? She -hastens back, leaving the ephippiger midway. The interior is visited, and apparently -some touches as with a trowel are given by the tarsi, to lend a last finish to the -walls. Without lingering over these final touches the Sphex returns to her prey, and -harnesses herself to the antennæ. Forward! Will the journey be accomplished this time? -I would not answer for it. I have known a Sphex, perhaps more suspicious than others, -or more forgetful of the minor details of architecture, set her omissions right or -allay her suspicions by abandoning her prey five or six times successively, and hurrying -to the burrow, which each time was touched up a little or simply entered. It is true -that others go straight home, without even stopping to rest. I must add that when -the Sphex comes home to perfect her dwelling, she does not <span class="pageNum" id="pb143">[<a href="#pb143">143</a>]</span>fail to give an occasional, distant glance at the ephippiger left on the way, to make -sure that nothing touches it. This prudence recalls that of the Scarabæus sacer issuing -from the hole which it is digging to feel its dear ball, and bring it a little nearer. -</p> -<p>The deduction to be drawn from the facts just stated is evident. Since every Sphex -occitanica we surprise while it burrows—be it at the very beginning, at the first -stroke of her tarsi in the dust, or later, the dwelling being ready—makes a short -expedition on foot or on the wing, and always finds a victim already stabbed, already -paralysed, one may conclude with certainty that she first makes her capture, and later -burrows, so that the place of capture decides that of the domicile. -</p> -<p>This reversal of method which prepares the food before the larder, while previously -we saw the larder precede the food, I attribute to the weight of the prey being too -great to carry on the wing. It is not that S. occitanica is ill-organised for flight; -on the contrary, she can soar splendidly, but her prey would overwhelm her if she -depended only on her wings. She needs the support of the ground and must drag her -prey, and displays wonderful vigour in doing this. Loaded with prey she always goes -on foot, or takes very short flights when these spare time and toil. Let me quote -an instance taken from my latest observations on this curious Hymenopteron. -</p> -<p>A Sphex appeared suddenly, whence I know not, dragging an ephippiger apparently just -caught hard by. As things were she had to burrow, but the position was as bad as possible—a -highway, hard as <span class="pageNum" id="pb144">[<a href="#pb144">144</a>]</span>stone. There was no time for difficult mining, since the prey must be stored as soon -as possible; she needed light soil where the cell could be quickly made. I have already -described her favourite soil—dust deposed by years at the bottom of some hole in a -wall, or in some little hollow of a rock. The Sphex which I was observing stopped -at the foot of a country house with a newly whitewashed façade, and measuring from -six to eight metres in height. Instinct told her that under the roof tiles she would -find hollows rich in ancient dust. Leaving her prey at the foot of the façade, she -flew on to the roof. For some time I saw her seek vainly about. Then, having found -a suitable position, she set to work under the hollow of a tile. In ten minutes or -a quarter of an hour at most the domicile was ready; she flew down, promptly found -the ephippiger, and then had to carry up her prey. Would it be on the wing, as circumstances -suggest? Not at all; the Sphex adopted the difficult method of escalading a vertical -wall with a surface smoothed by the mason’s trowel and from six to eight metres high. -Seeing her take this road, dragging her game between her feet, I thought at first -that it was impossible, but was soon reassured as to the outcome of this audacious -attempt. Supporting herself by the little roughnesses of the mortar, the vigorous -insect, in spite of the embarrassment of her heavy load, made her way up this vertical -plane with the same security, the same speed, as on horizontal ground. The top is -reached without any hindrance, and the prey provisionally deposited at the edge of -the roof on the rounded bark of a tile. While the Sphex was retouching her <span class="pageNum" id="pb145">[<a href="#pb145">145</a>]</span>burrow the ill-balanced prey slipped and fell to the foot of the wall. She must begin -again, and again by means of an escalade. The same imprudence is repeated; once more -left on the curved tile the prey slips and falls to the ground. With a calm which -such accidents cannot disturb, the Sphex for the third time hoists the ephippiger -by climbing the wall, and, better advised, drags it straight to the bottom of the -hole. -</p> -<p>If carrying the prey on the wing has not been attempted even in such conditions as -the above, it is clear that the Sphex is incapable of flight with so heavy a load. -To this impotence we owe the few details of habits which are the subject of this chapter. -A prey not too heavy to be carried on the wing makes a semi-sociable species of S. -flavipennis—that is to say, one seeking the company of its fellows; a heavy prey impossible -to carry through the air renders S. occitanica a species devoted to solitary labour—a -kind of savage, disdainful of the solace derived from neighbourhood of one’s fellows. -The greater or lesser weight of their prey decides the fundamental character. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb146">[<a href="#pb146">146</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch11" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e389">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XI</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE SCIENCE OF INSTINCT</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">I have no doubt that in order to paralyse her prey, Sphex occitanica follows the method -of the one that hunts grasshoppers, plunging her sting repeatedly into the breast -of the ephippiger in order to reach the thoracic ganglia. She must be familiar with -the operation of injuring the nerve centres, and I am assured beforehand of her consummate -skill in the learned operation. It is an art familiar to all the predatory Hymenoptera -who bear a poisoned dagger, and it is not given them for nothing. But I must own that -I have never yet beheld the deadly manœuvre, thanks to the solitary life of this Sphex. -</p> -<p>When a number of burrows are made and then provisioned on some common ground, one -has only to wait there to see now one insect return from the chase, now another, with -her prey, and it is easy to substitute a live victim for the one sacrificed, renewing -the experiment at will. Besides, the certainty that the subjects for experiment will -not fail when wanted allows everything to be prepared beforehand, while with S. occitanica -these conditions of success do not exist. To set out and look for her with one’s <span class="pageNum" id="pb147">[<a href="#pb147">147</a>]</span>preparations made is all but useless, so sparsely are these solitary insects scattered. -Moreover, if you do meet with one, it will probably be during her idle hour when nothing -is to be learned. I repeat that it is almost always unexpectedly, when you are not -thinking about it, that the Sphex appears with her ephippiger. This is the moment—the -one propitious moment—to attempt a substitution of prey and to induce her to let you -witness those dagger thrusts. Let us hasten; time presses; in a few moments the burrow -will have enclosed the provender, and the grand chance will be lost. -</p> -<p>Need I speak of my mortification in these promising moments—a mocking lure offered -by fortune! Under my eyes is matter for curious observations, and I cannot profit -by it! I cannot steal the Sphex’s secret, for I have no equivalent to offer for her -prey. Just try, if you like, to go about looking for an ephippiger when there are -but a few minutes to find it in! Why, it took me three days of wild search before -I could find weevils for my Cerceris! Yet twice did I make that desperate attempt. -Ah! if the garde-champêtre had caught me then rushing about the vineyards, what a -chance he would have had to believe me guilty of theft, and of reporting me! Vines -and grapes—nothing was respected by my hurried steps, fettered by the vine garlands. -I must and would have an ephippiger, and have it then and there. And once I did find -one during one of these rapid expeditions. I beamed with joy, little foreseeing the -bitter disappointment awaiting me. -</p> -<p>If only I can come in time! if only the Sphex is <span class="pageNum" id="pb148">[<a href="#pb148">148</a>]</span>still dragging her victim! Thank heaven! all favours me. She is still at some distance -from her hole, and is bringing along her prey. With my pincers I gently draw it back. -She resists, clutches the antennæ and will not let go. I pull harder, even making -her go backwards; it is in vain, she holds on. I had with me a pair of delicate little -scissors, part of my entomological outfit, and I rapidly cut the harness, otherwise -the long antennæ of the ephippiger. The Sphex still advanced, but soon paused, surprised -by the sudden lightening of her load, which now indeed only consisted of the antennæ -detached by my malicious artifice. The real burden, the heavy-bodied insect, remained -behind, instantly replaced by my living one. The Sphex turned, let go the ropes, which -now drew nothing, and retraced her steps. Now she is face to face with the prey substituted -for her own. She examines it, walks round it with suspicious caution, stops, wets -her foot with saliva and washes her eyes. While thus meditating does she say to herself -something of this kind: “Well, am I awake or am I asleep? Do I see clearly or not? -This thing is not mine. Of what or whom am I the dupe?” At all events she is in no -haste to bite my prey. She holds aloof, and shows not the smallest wish to seize it. -To excite her I offered the insect with the tips of my fingers, putting the antennæ -almost in her jaws, well aware of her audacious tameness, and that she will take from -your fingers prey withdrawn and then offered. What is this? She draws back, disdaining -my offers and the prey put within her reach. I put down the ephippiger, which, unconscious -of danger, goes <span class="pageNum" id="pb149">[<a href="#pb149">149</a>]</span>straight to its assassin. Now for it. Alas! no; the Sphex continues to draw back, -behaves like a veritable coward, and finally takes wing. I never saw her again. Thus -ended to my confusion an experiment which had so excited my enthusiasm. -</p> -<p>Later, and gradually, as I visited more burrows I came to understand my want of success -and the obstinate refusal of the Sphex. I always, without exception, found stored -a female ephippiger with an abundant and succulent store of eggs inside her. This, -it would seem, is the favourite food of the larvæ. In my rush among the vines I had -laid hands on one of the other sex. It was a male which I offered to the Sphex! More -clear-sighted than I in the great victualling question, she would have nothing to -say to my game. “A male! Is that the kind of dinner for my larvæ? And, pray, for whom -do you take them?” How sensitive must be these dainty eaters who appreciate the difference -between the tender flesh of the female and the comparatively dry body of the male! -What a penetrating glance which can distinguish instantly the one sex from the other, -though alike in form and colour! The female has an ovipositor to bury her eggs with, -and this is almost the only outward difference between her and the male. This difference -never escapes the keen-sighted <span class="corr" id="xd31e1428" title="Source: Spex">Sphex</span>, and that is why my experiment made her rub her eyes, immensely puzzled by a prey -without an ovipositor, which she was perfectly sure had one when it was caught. At -such a transformation what must have passed in her little Sphex brain? -</p> -<p>Now let us follow her when, the burrow being ready, she returns to find her victim, -deserted not <span class="pageNum" id="pb150">[<a href="#pb150">150</a>]</span>far from the place of capture, and after the operation which paralysed it. The ephippiger -is in a state like that of the cricket slain by S. flavipennis—a certain proof that -stings have been darted into the ganglia of the thorax. Nevertheless, many movements -continue, but disconnected, though endowed with a certain vigour. Unable to stand, -the insect lies on one side or on its back, moving its long antennæ and palpi rapidly, -opening and closing its mandibles, and biting as hard as in its normal condition. -The abdomen pants fast and deeply; the ovipositor is suddenly brought under the stomach, -which it almost touches. The feet move, but languidly and irregularly, the middle -ones seemingly more benumbed than the others. If touched with a needle, the whole -body starts wildly; efforts are made to rise and walk without success. In short, the -creature would be full of life but for the impossibility of locomotion and even of -getting on its feet. There is then a paralysis altogether local—paralysis of the feet, -or rather partial abolition and ataxy of movement in them. Is this very incomplete -inertia caused by some special disposition of the victim’s nervous system, or is it -that only a single stab is given, instead of wounding each ganglion of the thorax, -as does the huntress of grasshoppers? I cannot say. -</p> -<p>However, for all its starts, its convulsions, its irregular movements, the victim -is none the less unable to harm the larvæ destined to devour it. I have taken from -the Sphex’s burrow ephippigers struggling just as much as in the first moments of -their semi-paralysis, and yet the feeble grub, born but a few hours earlier, was biting -the gigantic victim <span class="pageNum" id="pb151">[<a href="#pb151">151</a>]</span>with entire immunity. This striking result is caused by the mother laying her egg -in one particular spot. I have already told how S. flavipennis glues her egg on the -cricket’s breast, rather on one side, between the first and second pairs of feet. -S. albisecta chooses the same place, and S. occitanica an analogous one, rather further -back toward the base of one of the large hind thighs, all three thus evincing admirable -knowledge as to where the egg will be safe. -</p> -<p>For consider the ephippiger shut in the burrow. It is on its back, absolutely incapable -of turning over. Vainly does it struggle; the irregular movements of its feet are -useless, the cell being too wide for them to gain support from the walls. What do -the victim’s convulsions matter to the larva? It is on a spot where it cannot be reached -by tarsi, mandibles, ovipositor, or antennæ—a point absolutely motionless, where there -is not even a shudder of the skin. There is entire security unless the ephippiger -can move, turn, and get on its feet, and that one condition is admirably guarded against. -</p> -<p>But with several, all in the same degree of paralysis, there would be great risk for -the larva. Though there would be nothing to fear from the first insect attacked, as -the larva is out of its reach, there would be peril from the neighbourhood of the -others, which in stretching out their legs hither and thither might strike it and -tear it up with their spurs. Perhaps this is why S. flavipennis, which heaps three -or four grasshoppers in one cell, almost entirely paralyses them, while S. occitanica, -providing each burrow with a single victim, leaves great power of motion to the ephippiger, -simply preventing change <span class="pageNum" id="pb152">[<a href="#pb152">152</a>]</span>of place or rising to its feet, thus—though I cannot affirm it—economising dagger -thrusts. -</p> -<p>If the half-paralysed ephippiger be harmless for the larva established on a point -of its body where defence is impossible, things are otherwise for the Sphex itself, -which has to get it home. First, the prey clutches bits of grass with its tarsi as -it is dragged along, being still able to use them pretty freely, causing considerable -difficulty in getting it onward. The Sphex, heavily weighted by her load, is exposed -to exhaustion by her efforts to make her prey let go its desperate hold on grassy -places. But that is the least of the difficulties; it has full use of its mandibles, -which snap and bite with their old vigour. Just in front of these terrible pincers -is the slender body of the spoiler, as the latter draws the victim along. The antennæ -are grasped not far from their root, so that the ephippiger, lying on its back, has -its mouth now opposite the abdomen, and now the thorax of the Sphex, who, standing -high on her long legs, watches, I am convinced, in order not to be seized by the mandibles -gaping beneath. A moment of forgetfulness, a slip, a mere nothing, might bring her -within reach of a pair of strong nippers which would not let slip the chance of a -pitiless vengeance. In certain specially difficult cases, if not always, the movement -of these redoubtable pincers must be stopped, and the harpoon-like tarsi prevented -from adding to the difficulties of transport. -</p> -<p>What will the Sphex do to obtain this result? Man, and even a learned man, would hesitate, -bewilder himself with vain attempts, and perhaps despair of success. Let him come -and take a lesson <span class="pageNum" id="pb153">[<a href="#pb153">153</a>]</span>from the Sphex, who, without having learned, without ever seeing any one else at work, -is thoroughly up in her profession of operator. She knows that under her victim’s -skull lies a circlet of nerve-knots, somewhat analogous to the brain of higher animals. -She knows too that this chief nerve centre directs the action of the mouth-parts, -and, moreover, is the seat of will, without whose command no muscle acts; finally, -she is aware that if this kind of brain be injured, all resistance will cease, the -insect no longer possessing will-power. As for the method of operation, it is the -easiest thing possible for her, and when we have studied at her school we may try -in our turn. The sting is no longer employed; in her wisdom the <span class="corr" id="xd31e1450" title="Source: Spex">Sphex</span> decides compression to be preferable to the poisoned sting. Let us bow to her decision, -for we shall presently see how prudent it is to be convinced of our ignorance compared -with the animal’s knowledge. Lest by re-writing my account I fail to do justice to -the sublime talent of this masterly operation, I transcribe my notes written on the -spot directly after witnessing the exciting spectacle. -</p> -<p>The Sphex, finding that her prey resists too much, hooking itself here and there to -blades of grass, pauses to perform the singular operation about to be described—a -kind of <i>coup de grâce</i>. The Hymenopteron, still astride her victim, makes the articulation in the upper -part of the neck, at the nape, to open wide. Then she seizes the neck with her mandibles, -groping as far forward as possible under the skull, but making no outward wound, grasps -and chews repeatedly the nerve-centres of the head. This renders her victim quite -motionless, and incapable <span class="pageNum" id="pb154">[<a href="#pb154">154</a>]</span>of the least resistance, whereas previously the feet, though unable to move in the -manner necessary for walking, vigorously resisted being dragged along. This is the -fact in all its eloquence. While leaving intact the thin, supple membrane of the neck, -the insect finds a way into the skull with the point of its mandibles, and bruises -the brain. There is neither effusion of blood nor wound, but merely external compression. -Of course I kept the paralysed ephippiger under inspection in order to watch the consequences -of the operation at my leisure, and equally of course I hastened to repeat on living -specimens what the Sphex had taught me. I will now compare my results with hers. -</p> -<p>Two ephippigers, whose cervical ganglia I compressed with pincers, fell quickly into -a state like that of her victims, only they sounded their harsh cymbals if irritated -by the point of a needle, and their feet made some irregular languid movements. The -difference in the results obtained doubtless arises from the fact that my victim had -not been previously stung in the thoracic ganglia, as those had been which the Sphex -had struck in the breast. Allowing for this important point, it will be seen that -I made no bad pupil, and imitated my teacher in physiology, the Sphex, not ill. I -own that it was not without a certain satisfaction that I found I had done almost -as well as the insect does. -</p> -<p>As well! What have I just said? Wait a little, and it will be seen that I had to attend -the Sphex’s school for many another day. For my two ephippigers speedily died—died -outright, and after three or four days I had only decaying bodies under my eyes. <span class="pageNum" id="pb155">[<a href="#pb155">155</a>]</span>But the ephippiger of the Sphex? Need I say that ten days after the operation this -was perfectly fresh, as it has to be for the larva whose destined prey it is. Yet -more, a few hours after the operation under the skull, there reappeared as if nothing -had happened movements of an irregular kind in feet, antennæ, palpi, ovipositor, and -mandibles—in short, the creature was again in the same state as before the Sphex bit -its brain. And the movements went on, only feebler each day. The Sphex had only benumbed -her victim for a period amply sufficient to enable her to get it home without resistance, -while I, who thought myself her rival, was but a clumsy, barbarous butcher, and killed -mine. She, with her inimitable dexterity, compressed the brain scientifically to cause -a lethargy of a few hours; I, brutal through ignorance, perhaps crushed this delicate -organ, primal source of life, with my pincers. If anything could prevent my blushing -at my defeat, it would be that few if any could rival the Sphex in skill. -</p> -<p>Ah! now I comprehend why she did not use her sting to injure the ganglia of the neck. -A drop of poison instilled here, at the centre of vital force, would annihilate all -nerve power, and death would soon follow. But the Sphex does not at all desire death. -Dead food by no means suits the larvæ, and still less a body smelling of decay. All -that is needed is lethargy, a passing torpor, hindering resistance while the victim -is carted along—resistance difficult to overcome and dangerous to the Sphex. This -torpor is obtained by the proceeding known in laboratories of experimental science -as compression <span class="pageNum" id="pb156">[<a href="#pb156">156</a>]</span>of the brain. The Sphex acts like a Flourens who, baring an animal’s brain and pressing -on the cerebrum, abolishes at once sensibility, will, intelligence, and motion. The -pressure ceases and all reappears. So reappear the remains of life in the ephippiger -as the lethargic effects of a skilful pressure go off. The ganglia of the skull, squeezed -by the mandibles, but without mortal contusions, gradually recover activity, and put -an end to the general torpor. It is alarmingly scientific! -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p156width" id="p156"><img src="images/p156.jpg" alt="THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC DRAGGING TO ITS BURROW AN EPHIPPIGER OF THE VINE" width="720" height="470"><div class="figAnnotation p156width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 156.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC DRAGGING TO ITS BURROW AN EPHIPPIGER OF THE VINE</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Fortune has her entomological caprices; you run after her and do not come up with -her; you forget her, and lo, here she is tapping at your door! How many useless excursions, -how many fruitless plans, you made to try to see Sphex occitanica sacrifice her victim! -Twenty years go by; these pages are already in the printer’s hands, when, in the first -days of this month (August 8, 1878), my son Emile darts into my study. “Quick! quick!” -he cries, “a Sphex is dragging along her prey under the plane trees, before the door -of the court!” Emile, initiated into the affair by what I had told him, and, better -still, by like facts seen in our out-of-door life, was quite right. I hurried away, -and saw a splendid S. occitanica dragging a paralysed ephippiger by the antennæ. She -moved toward the poultry yard, seemingly desirous of scaling the wall, to make her -burrow under some roof tile. Some years before I had seen a similar Sphex accomplish -the ascent with her game, and choose her domicile under the arch of an ill-joined -tile. Perhaps this new one was descended from her whose difficult ascent I have chronicled. -A like feat is probably about to be <span class="pageNum" id="pb157">[<a href="#pb157">157</a>]</span>repeated, and this time before numerous witnesses, for all the household working under -the shade of the plane trees formed a circle round the Sphex. They wonder at the audacious -tameness of the insect, noways disturbed by the gallery of interested spectators. -All are struck by her proud and robust bearing, as, with raised head and the victim’s -antennæ well grasped by her mandibles, she drags after her the enormous burden. I -alone among the spectators feel some regret. “Ah, had I but some live ephippigers!” -I could not help saying, without the least hope of seeing my wish realised. “Live -ephippigers!” replied Emile; “why, I have some quite fresh, caught this morning.” -Four steps at a time he flew upstairs to his little study, where barricades of dictionaries -enclosed a park wherein was brought up a fine caterpillar of Sphinx euphorbiæ. He -brought back three ephippigers as good as heart could wish—two females and one male. -How came these insects at hand just at the right moment for an experiment vainly tried -twenty years before? This is another story. A southern shrike had nested on one of -the tall plane trees in the avenue. Some days before the Mistral, the rude wind of -our parts, had blown so violently that branches bent as well as reeds, and the nest -overturned by the undulations of its branch let fall the four nestlings it contained. -The next day I found the brood on the ground—three killed by the fall, the fourth -still alive. The survivor was entrusted to Emile, who thrice a day went cricket-hunting -on the turf in the neighbourhood to feed his charge. But crickets are not very large, -while the nestling’s appetite was. Something <span class="pageNum" id="pb158">[<a href="#pb158">158</a>]</span>else was preferred—ephippigers, collected from time to time on the dry stalks and -prickly leaves of the Eryngium. The three insects brought me by Emile came from the -shrike’s larder. My pity for the fallen nestlings had brought me this unhoped-for -good luck. -</p> -<p>Having made the circle of spectators draw back and leave free passage for the Sphex, -I took away her prey with my pincers, giving her immediately in exchange one of my -ephippigers with an ovipositor like that of the one abstracted. Stamping was the only -sign of impatience shown by the bereaved Hymenopteron. She ran at the new prey, too -corpulent to try to avoid pursuit, seized it with her mandibles by the saddle-shaped -corslet, got astride, and curving her abdomen, passed its end under the ephippiger’s -thorax. There doubtless the stings are given, but the difficulty of observation prevents -me from telling how many. The ephippiger—gentle victim—lets itself be operated on -unresistingly, like the dull sheep of our slaughter-houses. The Sphex takes her time -and manœuvres her lancet with a deliberation favourable to the observer; but the prey -touches the ground with the whole lower part of its body, and what happens there cannot -be seen. As for interfering and lifting the ephippiger a little so as to see better, -it is not to be thought of; the murderess would sheath her weapon and retire. The -next act is easy to observe. After having stabbed the thorax, the end of the abdomen -appears under the neck, which she forces widely open by pressing the nape. Here the -sting enters with marked persistence, as if more effective than elsewhere. One <span class="pageNum" id="pb159">[<a href="#pb159">159</a>]</span>might suppose that the nerve centre struck was the lower part of the œsophagean collar, -but the persistence of movement in the mouthpieces, mandibles, jaws, and palpi, animated -by this source of nerve power, shows that this is not so. Through the neck the Sphex -simply reaches the thoracic ganglia, or at least the first, more easily attainable -through the thin skin of the neck than through the integuments of the chest. -</p> -<p>All is over. Without one convulsion or sign of pain the ephippiger is rendered henceforward -an inert mass. For the second time I deprived the Sphex of the subject operated on, -replacing it by the second female at my disposal. The same manœuvres were followed -by the same result. Three times, almost without a pause, the Sphex repeated her skilled -surgery, first on her own capture, then on those exchanged by me. Will she do so a -fourth time on the male which I still have? It is doubtful, not that she is weary, -but because the game does not suit her. I have never seen a Sphex with any but female -prey, which, filled as they are with eggs, are the favourite food of the larvæ. My -suspicion was well founded. Deprived of her third capture, she obstinately refused -the male which I offered her. She ran hither and thither with hurried steps, seeking -her lost prey. Three or four times she approached the ephippiger, walked round it, -cast a disdainful glance at it, and finally flew away. This was not what her larvæ -wanted. Experiment reiterated it after twenty years’ interval. -</p> -<p>The three females, two stabbed under my eyes, remained mine. All the feet were quite -paralysed, <span class="pageNum" id="pb160">[<a href="#pb160">160</a>]</span>Whether in its natural position or on its back or side, the creature retains whichever -is given it. Constant oscillations of the antennæ, and, at intervals, some pulsations -of the stomach and movements of the mouthpieces, are the only sign of life. Motion -is destroyed but not feeling, for at the least prick where the skin is thin, the whole -body shudders faintly. Perhaps one day physiology will discover in these victims a -subject for fine studies on the functions of the nervous system. The Hymenopteron’s -sting, incomparably skilful in reaching a given point and inflicting a wound to affect -it alone, will replace, with immense advantage, the brutal scalpel of the experimenter, -which disembowels where it should lightly touch. Meanwhile, here are the results obtained -from the three victims, but from another point of view. -</p> -<p>Only movement of the feet being destroyed, there being no injury save that to the -nerve centres, the source of motion, the creature perishes, not from its wound, but -from inanition. The experiment was tried thus: -</p> -<p>Two uninjured ephippigers found in the fields were imprisoned without food, one in -the dark, the other in the light. In four days the latter died of hunger, in five -the former. This difference of a day is easily explained. In the light the creature -is more eager to recover liberty, and as every movement of the animal machine causes -a corresponding expenditure of energy, greater activity used up sooner the reserves -of the organisation. With light, more agitation and shorter life; in darkness, less -movement and longer life; both insects fasted <span class="pageNum" id="pb161">[<a href="#pb161">161</a>]</span>equally. One of the three stabbed was kept in the dark and foodless. In this case -there was not only darkness and want of food, but the serious wounds inflicted by -the Sphex, and yet for seventeen days it perpetually moved its antennæ. As long as -this kind of pendulum oscillates, the clock of life has not stopped. On the eighteenth -day the creature ceased to wave its antennæ and died. Thus the seriously wounded insect -lived in the same conditions as the uninjured one four times as long. What seems as -if it should be a cause of death is really the cause of life. -</p> -<p>However paradoxical it may at first appear, this result is perfectly simple. Intact, -the creature agitates and spends itself; paralysed, it makes only those feeble, internal -movements, inseparable from all organised life, and the waste of substance is in proportion -to the amount of action employed. In the first case the animal machine works and spends -itself; in the second it is at rest and saves itself up. Nourishment no longer repairing -loss, the insect in motion spends in four days its food reserves and dies; the motionless -one does not spend them, and lives eighteen. Physiology tells us that life is continual -destruction, and the Sphex’s victims are a most elegant demonstration of this fact. -</p> -<p>One more remark. Fresh food is absolutely necessary to larvæ of the Hymenopteron. -If the prey were stored intact, in four or five days it would be a dead body, given -up to decay, and the newly hatched grubs would find no food but a corrupted mass. -Touched by the sting it can live two or three weeks—a period more than sufficient -for the <span class="pageNum" id="pb162">[<a href="#pb162">162</a>]</span>egg to hatch and the grub to develop. The paralysis has thus a double result—immobility, -so as not to endanger the life of the delicate larvæ, and long preservation of the -flesh to assure wholesome nourishment for them. Even when enlightened by science human -logic could find nothing better. -</p> -<p>My two other ephippigers, stung by the Sphex, were kept in darkness with food. To -feed inert creatures, differing only from dead bodies by the perpetual oscillation -of their long antennæ, seems at first an impossibility; however, the play of the mouth -organs gave me some hope, and I made the attempt. My success surpassed my expectations. -There was no question, of course, of offering them a lettuce leaf or any other green -thing on which they might have browsed in their normal condition; they were feeble -invalids, to be nourished with a feeding-cup, so to say, and broth. I used sugar and -water. -</p> -<p>The insect being laid on its back, I put a drop of sugared liquid on its mouth with -a straw. Instantly the palpi stirred, mandibles and jaws moved; the drop was consumed -with evident satisfaction, especially if the fast had been somewhat prolonged. I renewed -the dose till it was refused. The repast took place once or twice a day at irregular -intervals, as I could not devote myself very much to a hospital of this kind. -</p> -<p>Well, with this meagre diet one of the ephippigers lived twenty-one days. This was -little longer than the life of the one which I allowed to die of inanition. It is -true that twice the insect had had a bad fall, having dropped from the experiment -table to the floor through some awkwardness of mine. <span class="pageNum" id="pb163">[<a href="#pb163">163</a>]</span>The bruises consequent may have hastened its end. As for the other, exempt from accidents, -it lived six weeks. As the nourishment offered, sugar and water, could not indefinitely -replace the natural food, it is very probable that it would have lived longer still -had its customary diet been available. Thus the point which I had in view is demonstrated: -victims pierced by the sting of the Hymenopteron die from inanition and not of their -wound. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb164">[<a href="#pb164">164</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch12" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e400">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE IGNORANCE OF INSTINCT</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Sphex has just shown us with what infallible, transcendent art she acts, guided -by the unconscious inspiration of instinct: she will now show how poor she is in resources, -how limited in intelligence, and even illogical in cases somewhat out of her usual -line. By a strange contradiction, characteristic of the instinctive faculties, with -deep science is associated ignorance not less deep. Nothing is impossible to instinct, -however great be the difficulty. In constructing her hexagonal cells with their floor -of three lozenge-shaped pieces, the bee resolves, with absolute precision, the arduous -problems of maximum and minimum, to solve which man would need a powerful, mathematical -mind. Hymenoptera, whose larvæ live on prey, have methods in their murderous art -hardly equalled by those of a man versed in the most delicate mysteries of anatomy -and physiology. Nothing is difficult to instinct so long as the action moves in the -unchanging groove allotted to the animal, but, again, nothing is easy to instinct -if the action deviates from it. The very insect which amazes us and alarms us by its -high intelligence will, a moment later, astonish <span class="pageNum" id="pb165">[<a href="#pb165">165</a>]</span>us by its stupidity before some fact extremely simple, but strange to its usual habits. -The Sphex will offer an example. -</p> -<p>Let us follow her dragging home an ephippiger. If fortune favour us, we may be present -at a little scene which I will describe. On entering the shelter under a rock where -the burrow is made, the Sphex finds, perched on a blade of grass, a carnivorous insect -which, under a most sanctimonious aspect, hides the morals of a cannibal. The danger -threatened by this bandit in ambush on her path must be known to the Sphex, for she -leaves her game and runs bravely at the Mantis to administer some sharp blows and -dislodge, or at all events, alarm and inspire it with respect. It does not move, but -closes its deadly weapons—the two terrible saws of the arm and forearm. The Sphex -returns to her prey, harnesses herself to the antennæ, and passes audaciously under -the blade of grass where the Mantis sits. From the direction of her head one can see -that she is on her guard, and is holding the enemy motionless under her threatening -eyes. Such courage is duly rewarded; the prey is stored without further misadventure. -</p> -<p>A word more of the Praying Mantis, the <i>Prégo Diéou</i> as it is called in Provence, <i>i.e.</i> the Pray-to-God. And, indeed, its long, pale green wings, like ample veils, its head -upraised to heaven, its arms folded and crossed on its breast, give it a false resemblance -to a nun in ecstatic devotion. All the same, it is a ferocious creature, bent on carnage. -Although not especially favourite hunting-grounds, the workshops of various burrowing -Hymenoptera are often visited by <span class="pageNum" id="pb166">[<a href="#pb166">166</a>]</span>it. Posted on some bush near the burrows, it waits until chance brings some Sphex -returning home within reach, thus achieving a double capture, catching together Sphex -and prey. Its patience is long tried; the Sphex is suspicious and on her guard, but -from time to time a rash one lets herself be caught. By a sudden rustle of half-spread -wings, as by a convulsive movement, the Mantis terrifies the approaching Sphex, which -hesitates for a moment, and then with the suddenness of a spring the toothed forearm -folds back on an arm also toothed, and the insect is seized between the blades of -the double saw, as though the jaws of a wolf trap were closing on the beast as it -takes the bait. Then, without unclosing the cruel machine, the Mantis gnaws little -mouthfuls of its victim. Such are the ecstasies, the prayers, and the mystic meditations -of the <i>Prégo Diéou</i>. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p166width" id="p166"><img src="images/p166.jpg" alt="THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC AND ITS ENEMY, THE PRAYING MANTIS" width="720" height="469"><div class="figAnnotation p166width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 166.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC AND ITS ENEMY, THE PRAYING MANTIS</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Among the scenes of carnage which the Mantis has left in my memory, let me describe -the following. It passes before a working-place of Philanthus apivorus. These miners -nourish their larvæ with hive-bees, which they seize on flowers while collecting pollen -and honey. If the Philanthus feels that the bee is full of honey, it does not fail -to squeeze it before storing it, either on the way, or at the entrance of the hole, -to make it disgorge the delicious liquid; this it drinks by licking the tongue of -the unfortunate bee, which, dying, extends it at full length. This profanation of -a dying creature, squeezed by its murderer to empty its body and enjoy the contents, -has something so hideous that I should call it a crime if a Philanthus could be held -responsible. In <span class="pageNum" id="pb167">[<a href="#pb167">167</a>]</span>the midst of this horrible banquet I have seen both murderer and prey seized by the -Mantis; the robber was plundered by a second robber. Horrible to relate, while the -Mantis held it transpierced by the points of the double saw, and was already gnawing -the under parts, the Philanthus went on licking the honey, unable to abandon the delicious -food even in the throes of death. Let us cast a veil over these horrors. -</p> -<p>We return to the Sphex, with whose burrow we must make acquaintance before going further. -It is made of fine sand, or rather in the fine dust at the bottom of a natural shelter. -Its passage is very short—an inch or two without a turn, leading into a single spacious -oval chamber, and all is a rude, hastily made den, rather than a dwelling hollowed -with art and leisure. I have already said that the captured prey, left for a brief -moment or two where it was hunted, is the cause of the simplicity of this abode and -of there being but one chamber or cell to each hollow. For who can say whither the -chances of the day’s hunt may lead? The dwelling must be near the heavy prey, and -to-day’s abode, too far off to admit of carrying the second ephippiger there, cannot -be used to-morrow. Thus each time prey is caught there must be new digging out—a new -burrow with its one cell, now here, now there. Now let us try some experiments to -see how the insect behaves amid circumstances new to it. -</p> -<p>First experiment.—A Sphex, dragging her prey, is at a few inches from her burrow. -Without disturbing her I cut the antennæ of the ephippiger, which we already know -serve as harness. Having <span class="pageNum" id="pb168">[<a href="#pb168">168</a>]</span>recovered from her astonishment at the sudden lightening of her load, the Sphex returns -and unhesitatingly seizes the base of the antennæ, the short stumps not cut off. Very -short they are—hardly a millimetre long; no matter, they suffice for the Sphex, who -grips what remains of her ropes and drags anew. With many precautions not to hurt -her, I cut off the two stumps, now level with the skull. Finding nothing to seize -at the parts familiar to her, she takes hold on one side of one of the long palpi -of her victim, and drags it, not at all put out by this modification in her style -of harnessing herself. I leave her alone. The prey is got home and placed with its -head to the mouth of the burrow. The Sphex enters to make a short inspection of the -interior before proceeding to store provisions. Her tactics recall those of S. flavipennis -in like circumstances. I profit by this brief moment to take the abandoned prey, deprive -it of all its palpi, and place it a little farther off—a pace from the burrow. The -Sphex reappears and goes straight to her game, which she saw from her threshold. She -seeks above the head, she seeks below, on one side, and finds nothing to seize. A -desperate attempt is made; opening wide her mandibles she tries to grasp the ephippiger -by the head, but her pincers cannot surround anything so large, and slip off the round, -polished skull. She tries several times in vain; at length, convinced of the futility -of her efforts, draws back, and seems to renounce further attempts. She appears discouraged—at -least she smooths her wings with her hind feet, while with her front tarsi, first -passing them through her mouth, she washes her <span class="pageNum" id="pb169">[<a href="#pb169">169</a>]</span>eyes, a sign among Hymenoptera, as I believe, that they give a thing up. -</p> -<p>Yet there were points by which the ephippiger might be seized and dragged as easily -as by the antennæ and palpi. There are the six feet, there is the ovipositor—all organs -slender enough to be thoroughly grasped and used as traction ropes. I own that the -easiest way of getting the prey into the storehouse is to introduce it head first -by the antennæ; yet, drawn by one foot, especially a front one, it would enter almost -as easily, for the orifice is wide and the passage short, even if there be one. How -came it then that the Sphex never once tried to seize one of the six tarsi or the -point of the ovipositor, while she did make the impossible, absurd attempt to grip -with mandibles far too short the huge head of her prey? Perhaps the idea did not occur -to her. Let us try to suggest it. I place under her mandibles first a foot, then the -end of the abdominal sabre. She refuses obstinately to bite; my repeated solicitations -come to nothing. A very odd kind of hunter this to be so embarrassed by her game and -unable to think of seizing it by a foot if it cannot be taken by the horns! Perhaps -my presence and all these unusual events may have troubled her faculties; let us leave -her to herself, with her burrow and ephippiger, and give her time to consider and -to imagine in the calm of solitude some means of managing the business. I walked away -and returned in a couple of hours to find the Sphex gone, the burrow open, and the -ephippiger where I had laid it. The conclusion is that the Sphex tried nothing, but -departed, abandoning home, <span class="pageNum" id="pb170">[<a href="#pb170">170</a>]</span>game—everything, when to utilise them all that was needed would have been to take -the prey by one foot. Thus this rival of Flourens, who just now startled us by her -science when pressing the brain to induce lethargy, is invariably dull when the least -unusual event occurs. The Sphex, which knows so well how to reach the thoracic ganglia -of a victim with her sting, and those of the brain with her mandibles, and which makes -such a judicious difference between a poisoned sting that would destroy the vital -influence of the nerves, and compression causing only momentary torpor, cannot seize -her prey in a new way. To understand that a foot may be taken instead of the antennæ -is impossible; nothing will do but the antennæ or another filament of the head or -one of the palpi. For want of these ropes her whole race would perish, unable to surmount -this trifling difficulty. -</p> -<p>Second experiment.—The Sphex is busy closing her burrow where the prey is stored and -the egg laid. With her fore tarsi she sweeps backward before her door, and launches -from the entrance a spurt of dust, which passes beneath her, and springs up behind -in a parabolic curve as continuous as if it were a slender stream of some liquid, -so rapidly does she sweep. From time to time she chooses some sand grains with her -mandibles, strengthening materials inserted singly in the dusty mass. To consolidate -this she beats it with her head, and heaps it with her mandibles. Walled up by this -masonry, the entrance rapidly disappears. In the midst of the work I intervene. Having -put the Sphex aside I clear out the short gallery carefully with the blade <span class="pageNum" id="pb171">[<a href="#pb171">171</a>]</span>of a knife, take away the materials which block it, and entirely restore the communication -of the cell with the outer air. Then, without injuring the edifice, I draw the ephippiger -out of the cell where it is lying with its head to the far end, and its ovipositor -to the entrance. The egg is as usual on its breast, near the base of one of the hind -legs—a proof that the Sphex had given her last touch to the burrow, and would never -return. These dispositions made, and the ephippiger placed safely in a box, I gave -up my place to the Sphex, who had been watching while her domicile was rifled. Finding -the entrance open, she entered and remained some moments, then came forth and took -up her work where I interrupted it, beginning to stop the entrance conscientiously, -sweeping the dust backward, and transporting sand grains to build them with minute -care, as if doing a useful work. The orifice being again thoroughly blocked, she brushed -herself, seemed to give a glance of satisfaction at her work, and finally flew off. -</p> -<p>Yet she must have known that the burrow was empty, since she had gone inside, and -made prolonged stay, but yet after this visit to the plundered dwelling, she set to -work to close it with as much care as if nothing had happened. Did she propose to -turn it later to account, returning with a fresh prey, and laying a new egg? In that -case the burrow was closed to defend it from indiscreet visitors while the Sphex was -away. Or it was a measure of prudence against other miners who might covet a ready-made -chamber, or a wise precaution against internal wear and tear, and, in fact, <span class="pageNum" id="pb172">[<a href="#pb172">172</a>]</span>some predatory Hymenoptera are careful when obliged to suspend work to defend the -mouth of their burrow by closing it up temporarily. I have seen certain Ammophilæ, -whose burrow is a vertical well, close the entrance with a little flat stone when -the insect goes a-hunting, or stops mining when the hour to leave off work comes at -sunset. But in that case the stoppage is slight—a mere slab set on the top of the -well. It takes but a moment when the insect comes to displace the little flat stone, -and the door is open. But what we have just seen the Sphex construct is a solid barrier—strong -masonry, where layers of alternate dust and gravel occupy the whole passage. It is -definitive, and no temporary work, as is sufficiently shown by the careful way in -which it is constructed. Besides, as I think I have already proved, it is very doubtful, -considering the manner in which she acted, whether the Sphex would return to use the -dwelling which she had prepared. A new ephippiger will be caught elsewhere, and elsewhere -too will the storehouse destined for it be hollowed. As, however, these are but conclusions -drawn by reasoning, let us consult experiment, more conclusive here than logic. I -let nearly a week pass in order to allow the Sphex to return to the burrow so methodically -closed, and use it if she liked for her nest-laying. Events answered to the logical -deduction; the burrow was just as I had left it, well closed, but without food, egg, -or larva. The demonstration was decisive; the Sphex had not returned. -</p> -<p>Thus we see the plundered Sphex go into her house, pay a leisurely visit to the empty -chamber, <span class="pageNum" id="pb173">[<a href="#pb173">173</a>]</span>and the next moment behave as if she had not perceived the absence of the big prey -which a little while before had encumbered the cell. Did she not realise the absence -of food and egg? Was she really so dull—she, so clear-sighted when playing the murderer—that -the cell was empty? I dare not accuse her of such stupidity. She did perceive it. -But why then that other piece of stupidity which made her close, and very conscientiously -too, an empty chamber which she did not mean to store? It was useless—downright absurd—to -do this, and yet she worked with as much zeal as if the future of the larva depended -on it. The various instinctive actions of insects are then necessarily connected; -since one thing has been done, such another must inevitably follow to complete the -first, or prepare the way for the next, and the two acts are so necessarily linked -that the first must cause the second, even when by some chance this last has become -not only superfluous, but sometimes contrary to the creature’s interest. What object -could there be in stopping a burrow now useless, since it no longer contained prey -and egg, and which will remain useless, since the Sphex will not return to it? One -can only explain this irrational proceeding by regarding it as the necessary consequence -of preceding actions. In the normal state of things the Sphex hunts her prey, lays -an egg, and closes the hole. The prey has been caught, the egg laid, and now comes -the closing of the burrow, and the insect closes it without reflecting at all, or -guessing the fruitlessness of her labour. -</p> -<p>Third experiment.—To know all and nothing, <span class="pageNum" id="pb174">[<a href="#pb174">174</a>]</span>according as the conditions are normal or otherwise, is the strange antithesis presented -by the insect. Other examples drawn from the Sphegidæ will confirm us in this proposition. -Sphex albisecta attacks middle-sized Acridians, the various species scattered in the -neighbourhood of her burrow all furnishing a tribute. From the abundance of these -Acrididæ the chase is carried on near at hand. When the vertical well-like burrow -is ready, the Sphex merely flies over the ground near, and espies an Acridian feeding -in the sunshine. To pounce and sting while it struggles is done in a moment. After -some fluttering of the wings, which unfold like carmine or azure fans, some moving -of feet up and down, the victim becomes motionless. Next it must be got home by the -Sphex on foot. She performs this toilsome operation as do her kindred, dragging her -game between her feet, and holding one of the antennæ in her mandibles. If a grass -thicket has to be traversed, she hops and flutters from blade to blade, keeping firm -hold of her prey. When within a few feet of her dwelling she executes the same manœuvre -as does S. occitanica, but without attaching the same importance to it, for sometimes -she neglects it. The game is left on the road, and though no apparent danger threatens -the dwelling, she hurries toward its mouth, and puts in her head repeatedly, or even -partly enters, then returns to the Acridian, brings it nearer, and again leaves it -to revisit her burrow, and so on several times, always with eager haste. -</p> -<p>These repeated visits have sometimes annoying results. The victim, rashly abandoned -on a slope, <span class="pageNum" id="pb175">[<a href="#pb175">175</a>]</span>rolls to the bottom, and when the Sphex returns and does not find it where she left -it, she must hunt for it, sometimes in vain. If found, there will be a difficult climb, -which, however, does not prevent her leaving it once more on the perilous slope. The -first of these repeated visits to her cell is easily explained. Before bringing her -heavy load she is anxious to make sure that the entrance is clear, and that nothing -will hinder her carrying in the prey. But what is the use of her other visits, repeated -so speedily one after another? Are the Sphex’s ideas so unstable that she forgets -the one just made, and hurries back a moment later, only to forget that she has done -so, and so on? It would indeed be a slippery memory where impressions vanished as -soon as made. Let us leave this too obscure question. -</p> -<p>At length the game is brought to the edge of the well, its antennæ hanging into the -mouth, and there is an exact repetition of the method used by S. flavipennis, and, -though in less striking conditions, by S. occitanica. She enters alone, reappears -at the entrance, seizes the antennæ, and drags in the Acridian. While she was within -I have pushed the prey rather farther off, and have always obtained precisely the -same result as in the case of the huntress of crickets. In both Sphegidæ there was -the same persistence in plunging into their burrows before dragging down their prey. -We must recollect that S. flavipennis does not always allow herself to be duped by -my trick of withdrawing the insect. There are elect tribes among them,—strong-minded -families,—who after a <span class="pageNum" id="pb176">[<a href="#pb176">176</a>]</span>while find out the tricks of the experimenter, and know how to baffle them. But these -revolutionaries capable of progress are the few; the rest, rigid conservatives in -manners and customs, are the majority, the crowd. I cannot say whether the hunters -of Acrididæ show more or less cunning in different districts. -</p> -<p>But the most remarkable thing, and the one to which I want specially to come, is this. -After withdrawing the prey of S. albisecta several times from the mouth of the hole, -and obliging her to fetch it back, I profited by her descent to the bottom of her -den to seize and put the prey where she could not find it. She came up, sought about -for a long time, and, when quite convinced that it was not to be found, went down -again. A few moments later she reappeared. Was it to return to the chase? Not the -least in the world; she began to close the hole, and with no temporary cover, such -as a small flat stone to mark the orifice, but with a solid mass of carefully collected -dust and gravel swept into the passage until it was quite filled. S. albisecta only -makes a single cell at the bottom of her well, and puts in but one victim. This one -specimen had been caught and dragged to the edge of the hole, and if it was not stored, -that was my fault, not her’s. The Sphex worked by an inflexible rule, and according -to that rule she completed the work by stopping up the hole even if empty. Here we -have an exact repetition of the useless labour of S. occitanica whose dwelling I rifled. -</p> -<p>Fourth experiment.—It is almost impossible to <span class="pageNum" id="pb177">[<a href="#pb177">177</a>]</span>be certain whether S. flavipennis, which makes several calls at the bottom of the -same passage, and heaps several grasshoppers in each, commits the same irrational -mistakes when accidentally disturbed. A cell may be closed, although empty or imperfectly -stored, and yet the Sphex will return to the same burrow to make others. Yet I have -reason to believe that this Sphex is subject to the same aberrations as her two relations. -The facts on which I base my belief are these. When the work is completed, there are -generally four grasshoppers in each cell, but it is not uncommon to find three or -only two. Four appears to me the usual number—first, because it is the most frequent, -and secondly, when I have brought up young larvæ dug up when eating their first grasshopper, -I found that all, even those only provided with two or three, easily finished those -offered, up to four, but after that they hardly touched the fifth ration. If four -grasshoppers are required by the larva to develop fully, why is it sometimes only -provided with three or even only two? Why this immense difference in the amount of -food? It cannot be from any difference in the joints served up, since all are unmistakably -of the same size, but must come from losing prey on the road. In fact, one finds at -the foot of the slopes whose upper parts are occupied by Sphegidæ, grasshoppers killed, -and then lost down the incline, when, for some reason or other, the Sphex has momentarily -left them. These grasshoppers become the prey of ants and flies, and the Sphex who -finds them takes good care not to pick them up, as they would take enemies into the -burrow. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb178">[<a href="#pb178">178</a>]</span></p> -<p>These facts seem to demonstrate that if S. flavipennis can compute exactly how many -victims to catch, she cannot attain to counting how many reach their destination, -as if the creature had no other guide as to number than an irresistible impulse leading -her to seek game a fixed number of times. When this number of journeys has been made,—when -the Sphex has done all that is possible to store the captured prey,—her work is done, -and the cell is closed, whether completely provisioned or not. Nature has endowed -her with only those faculties called for under ordinary circumstances by the interests -of the larva, and these blind faculties, unmodified by experience, being sufficient -for the preservation of the race, the animal cannot go farther. -</p> -<p>I end then as I began: instinct knows everything in the unchanging paths laid out -for it; beyond them it is entirely ignorant. The sublime inspirations of science, -the astonishing inconsistencies of stupidity, are both its portion, according as the -creature acts under normal conditions or under accidental ones. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb179">[<a href="#pb179">179</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch13" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e411">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">AN ASCENT OF MONT VENTOUX</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">By its isolation, which leaves it freely exposed on every side to the influence of -atmospheric agencies, and from the height which makes it the culminating point of -France on this side of the frontiers of Alps or Pyrenees, the bare Provençal mountain, -Mont Ventoux, lends itself remarkably to studies of plant species according to climate. -At the base flourish the tender olive and that crowd of small semi-woody plants whose -aromatic scent requires the sun of southern regions. On the summit, where snow lies -at least half the year, the ground is covered with a northern flora, partly borrowed -from the arctic regions. Half a day’s journey in a vertical line brings before one’s -eyes a succession of the chief vegetable types met with in the same meridian in long -travels from south to north. When you start your feet crush the perfumed thyme which -forms a continuous carpet on the lower slopes; some hours later they tread the dusky -cushions of Saxifraga oppositifolia, the first plant seen by a botanist who lands -in July on the shores of Spitzbergen. In the hedges below you had gathered the <span class="pageNum" id="pb180">[<a href="#pb180">180</a>]</span>scarlet blossoms of the pomegranate, which loves an African sky; up above you find -a hairy little poppy sheltering its stalks under a covering of small stony fragments, -and which opens its large yellow corolla in the icy solitudes of Greenland and the -North Cape, just as it does on the highest slopes of Ventoux. -</p> -<p>Such contrasts have always a new charm, and twenty-five ascents have not yet brought -me satiety. In August 1865 I undertook the twenty-third. We were eight persons—three -who came to botanise, five attracted by a mountain expedition and the panorama of -the heights. None of those who were not botanists have ever again desired to accompany -me. In truth, the expedition is a rough one, and a sunrise does not atone for the -fatigue endured. -</p> -<p>The best comparison for Mont Ventoux is that of a heap of stones broken up to mend -the roads. Raise this heap steeply up to two kilometres, and give it a base in proportion, -cast on the white of its limestone the blackness of forests, and you get a clear idea -of the general look of the mountain. This heap of débris—sometimes little chips, sometimes -huge masses of rock—rises from the plain without preliminary slopes or successive -terraces to render ascent less trying by dividing it into stages. The climb begins -at once, by rocky paths, the best of which is not as good as a road newly laid with -stones, and rising ever rougher and rougher to the summit, a height of 1912 metres. -Fresh lawns, glad rivulets, the ample shade of ancient trees—all that gives such a -charm to other mountains is here unknown, replaced by an endless bed of calcareous -rock broken <span class="pageNum" id="pb181">[<a href="#pb181">181</a>]</span>into scales which yield under one’s feet with a sharp, almost metallic sound. For -cascades Mont Ventoux has streams of stones, the sound of which, as they roll downward, -replaces the murmur of falling water. -</p> -<p>We have reached Bedoin, at the foot of the mountain, arrangements with the guide are -completed, the hour of departure is settled, provisions chosen and prepared. Let us -try to sleep, for the next night will be a sleepless one on the mountain. But to fall -asleep was the difficulty; I have never achieved it, and this is the chief cause of -fatigue. I would therefore advise any readers who propose to botanise on Mont Ventoux -not to arrive at Bedoin on a Sunday night. They will thus avoid the bustle of a country -inn, endless conversations at the top of the speakers’ voices, the echo of billiard -balls, the clinking of glasses, with the drinking-songs, the nocturnal couplets of -passers-by, the bellowing of wind instruments at the neighbouring ball, and the other -tribulations inseparable from this holy day of rest and enjoyment. Could one sleep -there on other nights? I hope so, but cannot answer for it. I never closed an eye. -All night long the rusty spit, labouring for our benefit, groaned under my bedroom; -only a thin plank separated me from that diabolical machine. -</p> -<p>But already the sky was growing light; a donkey brayed under the windows; the hour -had come to rise, and we might as well not have gone to bed at all. Provisions and -baggage were loaded, our guide cried “Ja! hi!” and we set off. At the head of the -caravan walked Triboulet with his mule and ass—Triboulet, the eldest and chief of -the Ventoux guides. <span class="pageNum" id="pb182">[<a href="#pb182">182</a>]</span>My botanical colleagues scrutinised the vegetation on either side of the road by the -early light; the others talked. I followed the party, a barometer slung over my shoulder, -a note-book and pencil in my hand. -</p> -<p>My barometer, intended for ascertaining the height of the chief botanical stations, -soon became a pretext for attacks on the gourd of rum. “Quick, the barometer!” some -one would exclaim every time that a remarkable plant was pointed out, and we would -all press round the gourd, the barometer coming later. The freshness of the morning -and our walk made us appreciate these references to the barometer so much that the -level of the tonic liquid lowered even faster than that of the column of mercury. -For the future it would be wise to consult Torricelli’s tube less frequently. -</p> -<p>The temperature grew colder; olive and ilex disappear, next vine and almond, then -mulberry, walnut, and white oak; box grows plentiful. We enter on a monotonous region, -stretching from the limit of cultivation to the lower edge of the beech woods, where -the chief plant is Satureia montana, known here as <i lang="fr">pébré d’asé</i>,—asses’ pepper,—from the acrid smell of its small leaves, impregnated with essential -oil. Certain little cheeses which form part of our provisions are powdered with this -strong spice, and more than one of us casts a famishing glance at the provision bags -carried by the mule. Our rough, early expedition had brought an appetite, nay, better -still, a devouring hunger, “latrantem stomachum,” as Horace wrote. I showed my companions -how to still this hunger until we came to <span class="pageNum" id="pb183">[<a href="#pb183">183</a>]</span>our next halt, pointing out a little sorrel with arrow-shaped leaves, springing among -the loose stones, and to set an example I gathered a mouthful. There was a laugh at -the notion. I let them laugh, and soon saw one busier than another gathering the precious -sorrel. -</p> -<p>While chewing the acid leaves we came to the beeches, first large solitary bushes, -sweeping the ground, then dwarf trees, close together, then strong trunks, forming -a thick dark forest whose soil is a chaos of limestone blocks. Overloaded in winter -by snow, beaten all the year round by fierce gusts of the Mistral, many are branchless, -twisted into strange shapes, or even prostrate. An hour or more was passed in traversing -the wooded zone, which, seen from a distance, looked like a black girdle on the sides -of the mountain. Now again the beeches became stunted and scattered; we had reached -their upper limit, and, despite the sorrel, all were right glad to come to the spot -chosen for our halt and breakfast. -</p> -<p>We were at the fountain of La Grave, a slender thread of water caught, as it issues -from the ground, in a line of long troughs made of beech trunks, where the mountain -shepherds water their flocks. The temperature of the spring was 7 degrees Cent.—a -freshness inestimable for us who came up from the sultry heat of the plain. The cloth -was spread over a charming carpet of Alpine plants, among which glittered the thyme-leaved -Paronychia, whose large thin bracts are like silver scales. The provisions are taken -out of their bags, the bottles out of their bed of hay. On this side are the solid -dishes, legs <span class="pageNum" id="pb184">[<a href="#pb184">184</a>]</span>of mutton stuffed with garlic, and piles of bread; there the insipid chickens, good -to amuse one’s grinders when serious hunger has been appeased. Not far off, in a place -of honour, are the Ventoux cheeses sprinkled with asses’ pepper, and hard by Arles -sausages, whose pink flesh is marbled with squares of bacon and whole pepper. In this -corner are green olives still dripping with pickle, and black ones seasoned with oil. -In another are melons from Cavaillon, some white, some orange, to suit all tastes, -and there a pot of anchovies which make a man drink hard and be tireless on the march, -and finally the bottles, cooling in the icy water of a trough. Is nothing forgotten? -Yes, we have not mentioned the crown of the feast, raw onions eaten with salt. Our -two Parisians, for there are two among us, my fellow botanists, are at first taken -somewhat aback by this decidedly bracing bill of fare. They will be the first, a little -later, to break forth in its praise. All is ready. Let us to table! Then began one -of those homeric meals which make an epoch in one’s life. The first mouthfuls have -a touch of frenzy. Slices of leg of mutton and bread succeed one another with alarming -rapidity. Each of us, without communicating his apprehensions, casts an anxious look -on the provender, and says inwardly, “If we go on at this rate, will there be enough -for this evening and to-morrow?” However, the craving abated: first we devoured silently, -then we ate and talked; fears for the next day abated too; we did justice to him who -ordered the bill of fare, and who, foreseeing our voracity, arranged to meet it worthily. -Now came the time to appreciate the <span class="pageNum" id="pb185">[<a href="#pb185">185</a>]</span>provisions as connoisseurs; one praises the olives, stabbing them singly with the -point of his knife; another lauds the anchovies as he cuts up the little yellow-ochre -fish on his bread; a third speaks enthusiastically of the sausages; and one and all -agree in praising the asses’-pepper cheeses, no bigger than the palm of one’s hand. -Pipes and cigars are lighted, and we lie on our backs in the sun upon the grass. -</p> -<p>After an hour’s rest it is, “Up! time presses; we must go on!” The guide and luggage -were to go westward, along the wood, where there is a mule path. He will wait for -us at Jas or Bâtiment, at the upper limit of the beeches, some 1550 metres above the -sea. The Jas is a large stone, but capable of sheltering man and beast at night. We -were to go upward to the crest which we should follow so as to reach the highest part -more easily. After sunset we would go down to the Jas, where the guide would have -long arrived; such was the plan proposed and adopted. -</p> -<p>We have reached the crest. Southward extend, as far as eye can see, the comparatively -easy slopes by which we ascended on the north. The scene is savagely grand, the mountain -sometimes perpendicular, sometimes falling in frightfully steep terraces, little less -than a precipice of 1500 metres. Throw a stone, and it never stops till, bound after -bound, it reaches the valley where one can see the bed of the Toulourenc wind like -a ribbon. While my companions moved masses of rock and sent them rolling into the -gulf that they might watch the terrible descent, I discovered under a big stone an -old <span class="pageNum" id="pb186">[<a href="#pb186">186</a>]</span>acquaintance in the entomological world—Ammophila hirsuta, which I had always found -isolated on banks along roads in the plain, while here, on the top of Mont Ventoux, -were several hundreds heaped under the same shelter. I was trying to find the cause -of this agglomeration, when the southern breeze, which had already made us anxious -in the course of the morning, suddenly brought up a bevy of clouds melting into rain. -Before we had noticed them a thick rain-fog wrapped us round, and we could not see -a couple of paces before us. Most unluckily one of us, my excellent friend, Th. Delacour, -had wandered away looking for Euphorbia saxatilis, one of the botanical curiosities -of these heights. Making a speaking trumpet of our hands we all shouted together. -No one replied. Our voices were lost in the dense fog and dull sound of the wind in -the whirling mass of cloud. Well, since the wanderer cannot hear us we must seek him. -In the darkness of the mist it was impossible to see one another two or three paces -off, and I alone of the seven knew the locality. In order to leave no one behind, -we took each other’s hands, I placing myself at the head of the line. For some minutes -we played a game of blindman’s buff, which led to nothing. Doubtless, on seeing the -clouds coming up, Delacour, well used to Ventoux, had taken advantage of the last -gleams of light to hurry to the shelter of Jas. We also must hurry there, for already -the rain was running down inside our clothes as well as outside, and our thin white -trousers clung like a second skin. A grave difficulty met us: our turnings and goings -and comings while we searched <span class="pageNum" id="pb187">[<a href="#pb187">187</a>]</span>had reduced me to the condition of one whose eyes have been bandaged, and has then -been made to pirouette on his heels. I had lost the points of the compass, and no -longer knew in the very least which was the southern side. I questioned one and another; -opinions were divided and very uncertain. The conclusion was that not one of us could -say which was the north and which the south. Never—no, never have I realised the value -of the points of the compass as at that moment. All around was the unknown of gray -cloudland; below we could just make out the beginning of a slope here or there, but -which was the right one? We must make up our minds to descend, trusting to good fortune. -If by ill luck we took the northern slope we risked breaking our necks over those -precipices the very look of which had so inspired us with fear. Perhaps not one of -us would survive. I went through some moments of acute perplexity. -</p> -<p>“Let us stay here,” said the majority, and wait till the rain stops. “Bad advice,” -said the others, and I was of the number; “bad advice. The rain may last a long while, -and drenched as we are, at the first chill of night we shall freeze on the spot.” -My worthy friend, Bernard Verlot, come from the Jardin des Plantes at Paris on purpose -to ascend Mont Ventoux with me, showed an imperturbable calm, trusting to my prudence -to get out of the scrape. I drew him a little on one side so as not to increase the -panic of the others, and told him my terrible apprehensions. We held a council of -two, and tried to supply the place of the magnetic needle by reasoning. “When the -clouds came up,” <span class="pageNum" id="pb188">[<a href="#pb188">188</a>]</span>said I, “was it not from the south?” “Certainly from the south.” “And though the wind -was hardly perceptible, the rain slanted slightly from south to north?” “Yes, I noticed -that until I got bewildered. Is not that something to guide us? Let us descend on -the side whence the rain comes.” “I had thought of that, but felt doubtful; the wind -was too light to have a clearly defined direction. It might be a revolving current -such as are produced on a mountain top surrounded by cloud. Nothing assures me that -the first direction has been continuous, and that the current of air does not come -from the north.” “And in that case?” “Ah! there is the crux! I have an idea! If the -wind has not changed, we ought to be wettest on the left side, since the rain came -on that side till we lost our bearings. If it has changed we must be pretty equally -wet all round. We must feel and decide. Will that do?” “It will.” “And if I am mistaken?” -“You will not be mistaken.” -</p> -<p>In two words the matter was explained to our friends. Each felt himself, not outside, -which would not have been sufficient, but under his innermost garment, and it was -with unspeakable relief that I heard one and all announce the left side much wetter -than the right. The wind had not changed. Very good, let us turn toward the rainy -quarter. The chain was formed again, Verlot as rearguard, to leave no straggler behind. -Before starting, I said once more to my friend, “Shall we risk it?” “Risk it; I follow -you,” and we plunged into the awful unknown. -</p> -<p>Twenty of those strides which one cannot moderate <span class="pageNum" id="pb189">[<a href="#pb189">189</a>]</span>on a steep slope, and all fear was over. Under our feet was not empty space but the -longed-for ground covered with stones which gave way and rolled down behind us in -streams. To one and all this rattle denoting <i>terra firma</i> was heavenly music. In a few minutes we reached the upper fringe of beeches. Here -the gloom was yet deeper than on the mountain top; one had to stoop to the ground -to see where one was setting foot. How in the midst of this darkness were we to find -the Jas, buried in the depth of the wood? Two plants which always follow man, Good -King Henry (Chenopodium Bonus Henricus) and the nettle, served me as a clue. I swept -my free hand through the air as I walked, and at each sting I knew there was a nettle -and an indication. Verlot, our rearguard, made similar lunges, and supplied the want -of sight by the burning stings. Our companions showed no faith in this style of research. -They talked of continuing the wild descent and of returning if necessary to Bedoin. -More confident in the botanical instinct so keen in himself also, Verlot joined with -me in persisting in our search, reassuring the most demoralised, and showing that -it was possible by questioning plants with our hands to reach our destination in the -darkness. They yielded to our reasoning, and shortly after, from one clump of nettles -to another, the party arrived at the Jas. -</p> -<p>Delacour was there, as well as the guide with the baggage, sheltered in good time -from the rain. A blazing fire and change of garments soon restored our usual cheerfulness. -A block of snow, brought from the neighbouring valley, was hung in a bag <span class="pageNum" id="pb190">[<a href="#pb190">190</a>]</span>before the hearth. A bottle caught the melted water. This would be our fountain for -the evening meal. The night was spent on a bed of beech leaves, well crushed by our -predecessors, and they were many. Who knows for how many years the mattress had never -been renewed? Now it was a hard-beaten mass. The mission of those who could not sleep -was to keep up the fire. Hands were not wanting to stir it, for the smoke, with no -other exit than a large hole made by the partial falling in of the roof, filled the -hut with an atmosphere made to smoke herrings. To get a mouthful of breathable air -one must seek it with one’s nose nearly level with the ground. There was coughing; -there was strong language, and stirring of the fire; but vain was every attempt to -sleep. By 2 a.m. we were all on foot to climb the highest cone and behold the sunrise. -The rain was over, the sky splendid, auguring a radiant day. -</p> -<p>During the ascent some of us felt a kind of sea-sickness, caused partly by fatigue -and partly by the rarefaction of the air. The barometer sank 140 millimetres; the -air we breathed had lost one-fifth of its density, and was consequently one-fifth -poorer in oxygen. By those in good condition this slight modification would pass unnoticed, -but, added to the fatigue of the previous day and to want of sleep, it increased our -discomfort. We mounted slowly, our legs aching, our breathing difficult. Every twenty -steps or so one had to halt. At last the summit was gained. We took refuge in the -rustic chapel of St. Croix to take breath and counteract the biting cold by a pull -at the gourd, which this <span class="pageNum" id="pb191">[<a href="#pb191">191</a>]</span>time we emptied. Soon the sun rose. To the farthest limit of the horizon Mont Ventoux -projected its triangular shadow, tinted violet from the effect of the diffracted rays. -Southward and westward stretched misty plains, where, when the sun rose higher, one -would distinguish the Rhône as a silver thread. On the north and east an enormous -cloud-bed spreads under our feet like a sea of cotton wool, whence the dark tops of -the lower mountains rise as if they were islets of scoriæ, while others with their -glaciers shine glorious on the side where the Alps uplift their chain of mountains. -</p> -<p>But botany calls, and we must tear ourselves from this magic spectacle. August, the -month when we made our ascent, is somewhat late; many plants were out of blossom. -Those who really want to be successful should come up here in the first fortnight -of July, and, above all, should forestall the arrival of the herds and flocks on these -heights. Where a sheep has browsed one finds but poor remains. As yet spared by the -grazing flocks, the stony screes on the top of Mont Ventoux are in July literally -a bed of flowers. Memory calls up the lovely dew-bathed tufts of Androsace villosa, -with white flowers and rosy centres; Viola cenisia, opening great blue corollas on -the shattered heaps of limestone; Valeriana saliunca, with perfumed blossoms, but -roots that smell like dung; Globularia cordifolia, forming close carpets of a crude -green, starred with little blue heads; Alpine forget-me-not, blue as the sky above -it; the iberis of Candolle, whose slender stalk bears a dense head of tiny white flowers -and creeps down among the loose stones; Saxifraga oppositifolia and <span class="pageNum" id="pb192">[<a href="#pb192">192</a>]</span>S. muscoides, both making dark thick little cushions, the former with purple blossoms, -the latter with white, washed with yellow. When the sun is hotter one sees a splendid -butterfly flutter from one blossomed tuft to another, its white wings marked by four -patches of vivid rose-carmine encircled with black. It is Parnassius apollo, the graceful -dweller in Alpine solitudes, near the eternal snows. Its caterpillar lives on saxifrages. -With the Apollo let us end this sketch of the joys which await the naturalist on the -top of Mont Ventoux and return to the Ammophila hirsuta, crouching in great numbers -under a sheltering stone, when the rain came up and surrounded us. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb193">[<a href="#pb193">193</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch14" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e422">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XIV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE EMIGRANTS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">I have already told how on the top of Mont Ventoux, some 6000 feet above the sea, -I had one of those pieces of entomological good luck, which would be fruitful indeed -did they but occur often enough to allow of continuous study. Unhappily mine is a -unique observation, and I despair of repeating it. Future observers must replace my -probabilities by certainties. I can only found conjectures on it. -</p> -<p>Under the shelter of a large flat stone I discovered some hundreds of Ammophila hirsuta, -heaped in a mass almost as compact as a swarm of bees. As soon as the stone was lifted -all the small people began to move about, but without any attempt to take wing. I -moved whole handfuls, but not one seemed inclined to leave the heap. Common interests -appeared to unite them indissolubly. Not one would go unless all went. With all possible -care I examined the flat stone which sheltered them, as well as the soil and immediate -neighbourhood, but could discover no explanation of this strange assemblage. Finding -nothing better to do, I tried <span class="pageNum" id="pb194">[<a href="#pb194">194</a>]</span>to count them, and then came the clouds to end my observations and plunge us into -that perplexing darkness I have already described. At the first drops of rain I hastened -to put back the stone and replace the Ammophila people under shelter. I give myself -a good mark, as I hope the reader also will, for having taken the precaution of not -leaving the poor things, disturbed by my curiosity, exposed to the downpour. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p194width" id="p194"><img src="images/p194.jpg" alt="AMMOPHILA HIRSUTA ATTACKING A GRUB" width="720" height="469"><div class="figAnnotation p194width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 194.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">AMMOPHILA HIRSUTA ATTACKING A GRUB</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Ammophila hirsuta is not rare in the plain, but is always found singly on the edge -of a road or on sandy slopes, now digging a well, now dragging a heavy prey. It is -solitary, like Sphex occitanica, and I was greatly surprised by finding such a number -gathered under one stone at the top of Mont Ventoux. Instead of my solitary acquaintance, -here was a great assembly. Let us try to educe the probable causes of this agglomeration. -By an exception very rare among mining Hymenoptera, Ammophila hirsuta builds in the -first days of spring. Toward the end of March, if the season be mild, or at least -in the first fortnight of April, when the grasshoppers take their adult form, and -painfully cast off their first skin on their thresholds,—when Narcissus poeticus expands -its first flowers, and the bunting utters its long-drawn note from the top of the -poplars in the meadow,—Ammophila hirsuta sets to work to hollow and provision a home -for her larvæ, whereas other species and the predatory Hymenoptera in general undertake -this labour only in autumn, during September and October. This very early nidification, -preceding by six months the date adopted by the immense majority, at once suggests -<span class="pageNum" id="pb195">[<a href="#pb195">195</a>]</span>certain considerations. One asks if those found burrowing so early in April are really -insects of that year—<i>i.e.</i> whether these spring workers completed their metamorphosis and came out of their -cocoons during the preceding three months. The general rule is that the Fossor becomes -a perfect insect, leaves its burrow, and occupies itself with its larvæ all in one -season. It is in June and July that the greater part of the hunting Hymenoptera come -from the galleries where they lived as larvæ, and in August, September, and October -they follow their occupations as burrowers and hunters. -</p> -<p>Does a similar law apply to Ammophila hirsuta? Does the same season witness the final -transformation and the labours of the insect? It is very doubtful, for the Hymenoptera, -occupied with mining at the end of March, would have to complete their metamorphosis -and break forth from the cocoon in winter, or at latest in February. The severity -of the climate at that date forbids any such conclusion. It is not when the bitter -Mistral howls for a fortnight at a time and freezes the ground, nor when snow-storms -follow its icy breath, that the delicate transformations of the nymph state can take -place, and the perfect insect venture to quit the shelter of its cocoon. It needs -the soft dampness of earth under a summer sun before it can leave its cell. -</p> -<p>If I did but know the exact date at which Ammophila hirsuta leaves the cocoon it would -greatly help me; but, to my deep regret, I do not. My notes, gathered day by day, -show the confusion inseparable from researches that are generally dealing with points -that cannot be foreseen, and are <span class="pageNum" id="pb196">[<a href="#pb196">196</a>]</span>silent on this point, whose importance I fully realise now that I want to arrange -my materials in order to write these lines. I find mention of the Ammophila of the -sands coming out of the egg on June 5, and A. argentata on the 20th; but I have nothing -in my archives regarding the hatching of A. hirsuta. It is a detail left unnoticed -through forgetfulness. The dates for the two other species accord with the general -law, the perfect insect appearing at the hot time of year. By analogy I fix the same -date for the coming forth of A. hirsuta from the cocoon. -</p> -<p>Whence, then, come those which one sees at work on their burrows at the end of March -and April? We must conclude that they were hatched in the previous year and emerged -from their cells at the usual time in June and July, lived through the winter, and -began to build as soon as spring came. In a word, they are insects that hibernate. -Experience fully confirms this conclusion. -</p> -<p>Do but search patiently in a vertical bank of earth or sand well exposed to the sun, -especially where generations of the various honey-gathering Hymenoptera have followed -one another year after year, riddling the ground with a labyrinth of passages till -it looks like a huge sponge, you are nearly sure to see in the heart of winter A. -hirsuta either alone or in little parties of three or four, crouched in some warm -retreat, waiting inactive till summer shall come. This cheering little meeting, amid -the gloom and cold of winter, with the graceful insect which at the first notes of -the bunting and the cricket enlivens the grassy paths, is one that I have been able -to enjoy at will. If the weather be calm and the sun <span class="pageNum" id="pb197">[<a href="#pb197">197</a>]</span>has a little power, the chilly insect comes out to bask on its threshold, luxuriating -in the hottest beams, or it will venture timidly outside and walk slowly over the -spongy bank, brushing its wings. So, too, does the little gray lizard, when the sun -begins to warm the old wall which is its home. -</p> -<p>But vainly would one seek in winter, even in the most sheltered spots, for a Cerceris, -Sphex, Philanthus, Bembex, and other Hymenoptera with carnivorous larvæ. All died -after their autumn labours, and their race is only represented by the larvæ benumbed -down in their cells. Thus, by a very rare exception, Ammophila hirsuta, hatched in -the hot season, passes the following winter in some warm refuge, and this is why it -appears so early in the year. -</p> -<p>With these data let us try to explain the Ammophila swarm on the crest of Mont Ventoux. -What could these numerous Hymenoptera under their sheltering stone have been about? -Were they meaning to take up winter quarters there and await under their flat stone, -benumbed, the season propitious to their labours? Everything points to the improbability -of this. It is not in August, at the time of the greatest heat, that an animal is -overcome with winter sleep. Want of their food—the honey juice sucked from flowers—cannot -be suggested. September showers will soon come, and vegetation, suspended for a while -by the heat of the dog days, will assume new vigour and cover the fields with a flowery -carpet almost as varied as that of spring. This period—one of enjoyment for most of -the Hymenoptera—cannot possibly be one of torpor for A. hirsuta. Again, can one suppose -that the heights <span class="pageNum" id="pb198">[<a href="#pb198">198</a>]</span>of Ventoux, swept by the gusty Mistral, uprooting beech and pine,—summits where the -bise whirls about the snow for six months of the year,—crests wrapped for the greater -part of the year by cold clouds and mist,—can be adopted as a winter refuge by such -a sun-loving insect? One might as well make it hibernate among the ice fields of the -North Cape! No, it is not there that A. hirsuta must pass the cold season. The group -observed there were making a temporary halt. At the first indication of rain, which, -though it escaped us, could not escape the insect so eminently sensitive to the variations -of the atmosphere, the wayfarers had taken refuge under a stone, and were waiting -for the rain to pass before they resumed their flight. Whence came they? Where were -they going? -</p> -<p>In this same month of August, and especially in September, there come to the warm -olive region flocks of little migratory birds; descending by stages from the lands -where they have loved,—fresher, more wooded, more peaceful lands than ours,—where -they have brought up their broods. They come almost to a day in an invariable order, -as if guided by the dates of an almanac known only to themselves. They sojourn for -a while in our plains, where abound the insects which are the chief food of most of -them; they visit every clod in our fields where the ploughshare has turned up innumerable -worms in the furrows, and feast on them, and with this diet they speedily lay on fat,—a -storehouse and reserve to serve as nutrition against toils to come, and thus well -provided for the journey they go on southward, to reach winterless <span class="pageNum" id="pb199">[<a href="#pb199">199</a>]</span>lands where insects are always to be found, such as Spain and Southern Italy, the -isles of the Mediterranean and Africa. This is the season for the pleasure of shooting -and for succulent roasts of small birds. -</p> -<p>The Calandrelle, or Crèou, as Provence calls it, is the first to arrive. As soon as -August has begun it may be seen exploring the stony fields, seeking the seeds of the -Setaria, an ill weed affecting cultivated ground. At the least alarm it flies off, -making a harsh guttural sound sufficiently expressed by its Provençal name. It is -soon followed by the whinchat, which preys quietly on small weevils, crickets, and -ants in old fields of luzern. With the whinchat begins the long line of small birds -suitable for the spit. It is continued in September by the most celebrated of them—the -common wheat-ear, glorified by all who are capable of appreciating its high qualities. -Never did the Beccafico of the Roman <i>gourmet</i>, immortalised in Martial’s epigrams, rival the delicious, perfumed ball of fat the -wheat-ear makes when it has grown scandalously obese on an immoderate diet. It consumes -every kind of insect voraciously. My archives as a sportsman-naturalist give a list -of the contents of its gizzard. All the small people of the fallows are in it,—larvæ -and weevils of every kind, crickets, chrysomelides, grasshoppers, cassidides, earwigs, -ants, spiders, hundred-legs, snails, wire-worms, and ever so many more. And as a change -from this spicy diet there are grapes, blackberries, and cornel-berries. Such is the -bill of fare sought incessantly by the wheat-ear as it flutters from clod to clod, -the white feathers of its <span class="pageNum" id="pb200">[<a href="#pb200">200</a>]</span>outspread tail giving it the look of a butterfly on the wing. Heaven only knows to -what amount of fat it can attain. -</p> -<p>Only one other bird surpasses it in the art of fattening itself, and that is its fellow -emigrant,—another voracious devourer of insects,—the bush pipit as it is absurdly -styled by those who name birds, while the dullest of our shepherds never hesitate -to call it Le Grasset, <i>i.e.</i> the fattest of the fat. The name is sufficient to point out its leading characteristic. -Never another bird attains such a degree of obesity. A moment arrives when, loaded -all over with fat, it becomes like a small pat of butter. The unfortunate bird can -hardly flutter from one mulberry tree to another, panting in the thick foliage, half -choked with melting fat, a victim to his love of weevil. -</p> -<p>October brings the slender gray wagtail, pied ash colour and white, with a large black -velvet gorget. The charming bird, running and wagging its tail, follows the ploughman -almost under the horses’ feet, picking up insects in the newly turned furrow. About -the same time comes the lark,—first in little companies thrown out as scouts, then -in countless bands which take possession of cornfield and fallow, where abounds their -usual food, the seeds of the Setaria. Then on the plain, amid the sparkle of dewdrops -and frost crystals suspended to each blade of grass, a mirror shoots intermittent -flashes under the morning sun. Then the little owl, driven from shelter by the sportsman, -makes its short flight, alights, stands upright with sudden starts and rolling of -alarmed eyes, and the lark comes with a dipping <span class="pageNum" id="pb201">[<a href="#pb201">201</a>]</span>flight, anxious for a close inspection of the bright thing or the odd bird. There -it is, some fifteen paces away—its feet hanging, its wings outspread like a <i>saint-esprit</i>. The moment has come; aim and fire. I hope that my readers may experience the emotions -of this delightful sport. -</p> -<p>With the lark, and often in the same flocks, comes the titlark—the <i>sisi</i>—another word giving the bird’s little call. None rushes more vehemently upon the -owl, round and round which it circles and hovers incessantly. This may suffice as -a review of the birds which visit us. Most of them make it only a halting-place, staying -for a few weeks, attracted by the abundance of food, especially of insects; then, -strengthened and plump, off they go. A few take up winter quarters in our plains, -where snow is very rare, and there are countless little seeds to be picked up even -in the heart of the cold season. The lark which searches wheat fields and fallows -is one; another is the titlark, which prefers fields of luzern and meadows. -</p> -<p>The skylark, so common in almost every part of France, does not nest in the plains -of Vaucluse, where it is replaced by the crested lark—friend of the highway and of -the road-mender. But it is not necessary to go far north to find the favourite places -for its broods; the next department, the Drôme, is rich in its nests. Very probably, -therefore, among the flocks of larks which take possession of our plains for all autumn -and winter many come from no farther than the Drôme. They need only migrate into the -next department to find plains that know not snow, and a certainty of little seeds. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb202">[<a href="#pb202">202</a>]</span></p> -<p>A like migration to a short distance seems to me to have caused the assemblage of -Ammophila on the top of Mont Ventoux. I have proved that this insect spends the winter -in the perfect state, sheltering somewhere and awaiting April to build its nest. Like -the lark it must take precautions against the cold season; though capable of fasting -till flowers return, the chilly thing must find protection against the deadly attacks -of the cold. It must flee snowy districts, where the soil is deeply frozen, and, gathering -in troops like migrant birds, cross hill and dale to seek a home in old walls and -banks warmed by a southern sun. When the cold is gone, all or part of the band will -return whence they came. This would explain the assemblage on Mont Ventoux. It was -a migrant tribe, which, on its way from the cold land of the Drôme to descend into -the warm plains of the olive, had to cross the deep, wide valley of the Toulourenc, -and, surprised by the rain, halted on the mountain top. Apparently A. hirsuta has -to migrate to escape winter cold. When the small migratory birds set out in flocks, -it too must journey from a cold district to a neighbouring one which is warmer. Some -valleys crossed, some mountains overpassed, and it finds the climate sought. -</p> -<p>I have two other instances of extraordinary insect gatherings at great heights. I -have seen the chapel on Mont Ventoux covered with seven-spotted ladybirds, as they -are popularly called. These insects clung to the stone of walls and pavement so close -together that the rude building looked, at a few paces off, like an object made of -coral beads. I should not dare to say how many myriads were <span class="pageNum" id="pb203">[<a href="#pb203">203</a>]</span>assembled there. Certainly it was not food which had attracted these eaters of Aphidæ -to the top of Mont Ventoux, some 6000 feet high. Vegetation is too scanty—never Aphis -ventured up there. -</p> -<p>Another time, in June, on the tableland of St. Amand, at a height of 734 mètres, I -saw a similar gathering, only less numerous. At the most projecting part of the tableland, -on the edge of an escarpment of perpendicular rocks, rises a cross with a pedestal -of hewn stone. On every side of this pedestal, and on the rocks serving as its base, -the very same beetle, the seven-spotted ladybird of Mont Ventoux, was gathered in -legions. They were mostly quite still, but wherever the sunbeams struck there was -a continuous exchange of place between the newcomers, who wanted to find room, and -those resting, who took wing only to return after a short flight. Neither here any -more than on the top of Mont Ventoux was there anything to explain the cause of these -strange assemblages on arid spots without Aphidæ and noways attractive to Coccinellidæ,—nothing -which could suggest the secret of these populous gatherings upon masonry standing -at so great an elevation. -</p> -<p>Have we here two examples of insect migration? Can there be a general meeting such -as swallows hold before the day of their common departure? Were these rendezvous whence -the cloud of ladybirds were to seek some district richer in food? It may be so, but -it is very extraordinary. The ladybird has never been talked of for her love of travel. -She seems a home-loving creature enough when we see her slaying the green-fly on rose -trees, <span class="pageNum" id="pb204">[<a href="#pb204">204</a>]</span>and black-fly on beans, and yet with her short wings she mounts to the top of Ventoux -and holds a general assembly where the swallow herself only ascends in her wildest -flights. Why these gatherings at such heights? Why this liking for blocks of masonry? -<span class="pageNum" id="pb205">[<a href="#pb205">205</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch15" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e434">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE AMMOPHILA</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">A slender waist, a slim shape, an abdomen much compressed at the upper part, and seemingly -attached to the body by a mere thread, a black robe with a red scarf on its under -parts,—such is the description of these Fossors; like Sphegidæ in form and colouring, -but very different in habits. The Sphegidæ hunt Orthoptera, crickets, ephippigers, -and grasshoppers, while the Ammophila chases caterpillars. This difference of prey -at once suggests new methods in the murderous tactics of instinct. -</p> -<p>Did not the name sound pleasant to the ear, I should be inclined to quarrel with Ammophila, -which means sand-lover, as being too exclusive and often erroneous. The true lovers -of sand—dry, powdery, and slippery sand—are the Bembex, which prey on flies: but the -caterpillar-hunters, whose history I am about to tell, have no liking for pure, loose -sand, and even avoid it as being too subject to landslips which may be caused by a -mere trifle. Their vertical pits, which must remain open until the cell is stored -with food and an egg, require more solid <span class="pageNum" id="pb206">[<a href="#pb206">206</a>]</span>materials if they are not to be blocked prematurely. What they want is a light soil, -easy to mine, where the sandy element is cemented by a little clay and lime. The edges -of paths—slopes of thin grass exposed to the sun,—such are the places they favour. -In spring, from the first days of April, one sees Ammophila hirsuta there; in September -and October there are A. sabulosa, A. argentata, and A. holosericea. I will make an -abstract of the notes furnished by these four species. -</p> -<p>For all four the burrow is a vertical shaft, a kind of well, with at most the dimension -of a large goose quill, and about two inches deep. At the bottom is a single cell, -formed by a simple widening of the shaft. To sum up, it is a poor dwelling, obtained -at small expense, at one sitting, affording no protection if the larva had not four -wrappers in its cocoon, like the Sphex. The Ammophila excavates alone, deliberately, -with no joyous ardour. As usual, the anterior tarsi do duty as rakes and the mandibles -as mining tools. If some grain of sand offer too much resistance, you may hear rising -from the bottom of the well a kind of shrill grinding sound, produced by the vibration -of the wings and entire body as if to express the insect’s struggles. Frequently the -Hymenopteron comes up with a load of refuse in its jaws, some bit of gravel which -it drops as it flies some little way off, in order not to block up the place. Some -appear to merit special attention by their form and size,—at least the Ammophila does -not treat them like the rest, for instead of carrying them away on the wing, she goes -on foot and drops them near the shaft. They <span class="pageNum" id="pb207">[<a href="#pb207">207</a>]</span>are choice material—blocks ready prepared to stop up the dwelling by and by. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p207width" id="p207"><img src="images/p207.jpg" alt="AMMOPHILA SABULOSA TAKING STONE TO COVER ITS BURROW; A. ARGENTATA MINING" width="720" height="467"><div class="figAnnotation p207width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 207.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">AMMOPHILA SABULOSA TAKING STONE TO COVER ITS BURROW; A. ARGENTATA MINING</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>This outside work is done with a self-contained air and great diligence. High on its -legs, its abdomen outstretched at the end of its long petiole, it turns round and -moves its whole body at once with the geometrical stiffness of a line revolving on -itself. If it has to throw away to a distance the rubbish it decides to be only encumbrances, -it does this with little silent flights, often backwards, as if, having come out of -the shaft tail first, it thought to save time by not turning round. Species with long-stalked -bodies, like A. sabulosa and A. argentata, are those that chiefly display this automaton-like -rigidity. Their abdomen, enlarged to a pear-shape at the end of a thread, is very -troublesome to manage; a sudden movement might injure the fine stalk, and the insect -has to walk with a kind of geometrical precision, and if it flies, it goes backward -to avoid tacking too often. On the other hand, A. hirsuta, which has an abdomen with -a short petiole, works at its burrow with swift easy movements such as one admires -in most of the miners. It can move more freely, not being embarrassed by its abdomen. -</p> -<p>The dwelling is hollowed out. Later on, when the sun has passed from the spot where -the hole is bored, the Ammophila is sure to visit the little heap of stones set aside -during her burrowing, intent to choose some bit which suits her. If she can find nothing -that will do she explores round about, and soon discovers what she wants—namely, a -small flat stone rather larger than the mouth of her well. She carries it off in her -mandibles, and for the time <span class="pageNum" id="pb208">[<a href="#pb208">208</a>]</span>being closes the shaft with it. Next day, when it is hot again, and when the sun bathes -the slopes and favours the chase, she will know perfectly well how to find her home -again, secured by the massive door, and she will return with a paralysed caterpillar, -seized by the nape of its neck and dragged between its captor’s feet; she will lift -the stone, which is just like all the others near, and the secret of which is known -only to her, will carry down the prey, lay an egg, and then stop the burrow once for -all by sweeping into the shaft all the rubbish kept near at hand. -</p> -<p>Several times I have seen this temporary closing of the hole by A. sabulosa and A. -argentata when the sun grew low and the late hour obliged them to wait until the next -day to go out hunting. When they had put the seals on their dwellings I too waited -for the morrow to continue my observations, but first I made sure of the spot by taking -my bearings and sticking in some bits of wood in order to rediscover the well when -closed, and always, unless I came too early, if I let the Hymenopteron profit by full -sunshine, I found the burrow stored and closed for good and all. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p208width" id="p208"><img src="images/p208.jpg" alt="AMMOPHILA HIRSUTA HUNTING FOR CATERPILLARS; AMMOPHILA SABULOSA ON THE WING" width="720" height="466"><div class="figAnnotation p208width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 208.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">AMMOPHILA HIRSUTA HUNTING FOR CATERPILLARS; AMMOPHILA SABULOSA ON THE WING</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>The fidelity of memory shown here is striking. The insect, belated at its work, puts -off completing it until the morrow. It passes neither evening nor night in the new-made -abode, but departs after marking the entrance with a small stone. The spot is no more -familiar to it than any other, for like Sphex occitanica the Ammophila lodges her -family here and there as she may chance to wander. The creature came here by chance, -like the soil, and dug <span class="pageNum" id="pb209">[<a href="#pb209">209</a>]</span>the burrow, and now departs. Whither? Who knows? Perhaps to the flowers near, to lick -up by the last gleam of day a drop of sugary liquid at the bottom of their cups, just -as a miner after labouring in his dark gallery seeks the consolation of his bottle -when evening comes. The Ammophila may be enticed farther and farther by the inviting -blossoms. Evening, night, and morning pass, and now she must return to her burrow -and complete her task,—return after all her windings and wanderings in the chase that -morning, and the flight from flower to flower, and the libations of the previous evening. -That a wasp should return to the nest and a bee to the hive does not surprise me; -these are permanent abodes, and the ways back are known by long practice, but the -Ammophila, who has to return after so long an absence, has no aid from acquaintance -with the locality. Her shaft is in a place which she visited yesterday, perhaps for -the first time, and must find again to-day when quite beyond her bearings, and, moreover, -when she is encumbered by heavy prey. Yet this exploit of topographical memory is -accomplished, and sometimes with a precision which left me amazed. The insect made -straight for the burrow as if long used to every path in the neighbourhood; but at -other times there would be long visitation and repeated searches. -</p> -<p>If the difficulty become serious, the prey, which is an embarrassing load in a hurried -exploration, is laid in some obvious place, on a tuft of thyme or grass, where it -can be easily seen when wanted. Freed from this burden the Ammophila resumes an active -search. As she hunted about I have <span class="pageNum" id="pb210">[<a href="#pb210">210</a>]</span>traced with a pencil the track made by her. The result was a labyrinth of lines, with -curves and sudden angles, now returning inward and now branching outward—knots and -meshes and repeated intersections—a maze, showing how perplexed and astray was the -insect. -</p> -<p>The shaft found and the stone lifted, she must return to the prey, not without some -uncertainty when comings and goings have been too many. Although it was left in a -place obvious enough, the Ammophila often seems at a loss when the time comes to drag -it home; at least, if there be a very long search for the burrow, one sees her suddenly -stop and go back to the caterpillar, feel it and give it a little bite, as if to make -sure that it is her very own game and property, hurrying back to seek for the burrow, -but returning a second time if needful, or even a third, to visit her prey. I incline -to believe that these repeated visits are made to refresh her memory as to where she -left it. -</p> -<p>This is what happens in very complex cases, but generally the insect returns without -difficulty to the spot whither its vagrant life may have led it. For guide it has -that local memory whose marvellous feats I shall later have occasion to relate. As -for me, in order to return next day to the burrow hidden under the little flat stone, -I dared not trust to my memory, but had to use notes, sketches, to take my bearings, -and stick in pegs—in short, a whole array of geometry. -</p> -<p>The temporary closing of the burrow with a flat stone as practised by A. sabulosa -and A. holosericea appears unknown to the two other species; at least I <span class="pageNum" id="pb211">[<a href="#pb211">211</a>]</span>never saw their homes protected by a covering. This is natural in the case of A. hirsuta, -for, I believe, this species hunts the prey first and then burrows near the place -of capture. As provender can therefore be at once stored it is useless to take any -trouble about a cover. As for A. holosericea, I suspect there is another reason for -not using any temporary door. While the two others only put one caterpillar in each -cell, she puts as many as five, but much smaller ones. Just as we ourselves neglect -to shut a door where some one is constantly passing to and fro, perhaps this Ammophila -neglects to place a stone on a well which she will go down at least five times within -a short space of time. All four lay up caterpillars of moths for their larvæ. A. holosericea -chooses, though not exclusively, those slender, long caterpillars known as Loopers. -They move as a compass might by opening and closing alternately, whence their expressive -French name of Measurers. The same burrow includes provisions of varied colours—a -proof that this Ammophila hunts all kinds of Loopers so long as they are small, for -she herself is but feeble and the larva cannot eat much, in spite of the five heads -of game set before it. If Loopers fail, the Hymenopteron falls back on other caterpillars -equally small. Rolled up from the effect of the sting which paralysed them, all five -are heaped in the cell; the top one bears the egg for which the provender is destined. -</p> -<p>The three other Ammophilæ give but one caterpillar to each cell. True—size makes up -for this; the game selected is corpulent, plump, amply sufficing the grub’s appetite. -For instance, I have <span class="pageNum" id="pb212">[<a href="#pb212">212</a>]</span>taken out of the mandibles of A. holosericea a caterpillar fifteen times her own weight—fifteen -times!—an enormous sum if you consider what an expenditure of strength it implies -to drag such game by the nape of its neck over the endless difficulties of the ground. -No other Hymenopteron tried in the scales with its prey has shown me a like disproportion -between spoiler and capture. The almost endless variety of colouring in the provender -exhumed from the burrows or recognised in the grasp of the various species also proves -that the three have no preference, but seize the first caterpillar met with, provided -it be neither too large nor too small, and belongs to the moths. The commonest prey -are those gray caterpillars which infest the plant at the junction of a root and stem -just below the soil. -</p> -<p>That which governs the whole history of the Ammophila, and more especially attracted -my attention, was the way in which the insect masters its prey and plunges it into -the harmless state required for the safety of the larva. The prey, a caterpillar, -is very differently organised from the victims which we have hitherto seen sacrificed—Buprestids, -Weevils, Grasshoppers, and Ephippigers. It is composed of a series of segments or -rings set end to end, the three first bearing the true feet which will be those of -the future butterfly; others bear membranous or false feet special to the caterpillar -and not represented in the butterfly; others again are without limbs. Each ring has -its ganglion, the source of feeling and movement, so that the nerve system comprehends -twelve distinct centres well separated from each other, <span class="pageNum" id="pb213">[<a href="#pb213">213</a>]</span>without counting the œsophageal ganglion placed under the skull, and which may be -compared to the brain. -</p> -<p>We are here a long way from the nerve centralisation of the Weevil and Buprestis that -lends itself so readily to general paralysis by a single stab; very far too from the -thoracic ganglia which the Sphex wounds successively to put a stop to the movements -of her crickets. Instead of a single centralised point—instead of three nerve centres—the -caterpillar has twelve, separated one from another by the length of a segment and -arranged in a ventral chain along the median line of the body. Moreover, as is the -rule among lower animals, where the same organ is very often repeated and loses power -by diffusion, these various nervous centres are largely independent of each other, -each animating its own segment, and are but slightly disturbed by disorder in neighbouring -ones. Let one segment lose motion and feeling, yet those uninjured will none the less -remain long capable of both. These facts suffice to show the high interest attaching -to the murderous proceedings of the Hymenopteron with regard to its prey. -</p> -<p>But if the interest be great, the difficulty of observation is not small. The solitary -habits of the Ammophila,—their being scattered singly over wide spaces, and their -being almost always met with by mere chance,—almost forbid, as in the case of Sphex -occitanica, any experiment being prepared beforehand. Long must a chance be watched -for and awaited with unalterable patience, and one must know how instantly to profit -by it when at last it comes just when least expected. I have waited for such a chance -for <span class="pageNum" id="pb214">[<a href="#pb214">214</a>]</span>years and years, and then, all at once, I got the opportunity with a facility for -observation and clearness of detail which made up for the long waiting. -</p> -<p>At the beginning of my observations I succeeded twice in watching the murder of the -caterpillar, and saw, as far as the rapidity of the operation allowed, that the sting -of the Hymenopteron struck once for all at the fifth or sixth segment of the victim. -To confirm this I bethought myself of making sure which ring was stabbed by examining -caterpillars which I had not seen sacrificed, but had carried off from their captors -while they were being dragged to the burrow; but it was vain to use a microscope,—no -microscope can show any trace of such a wound. This was the plan adopted. The caterpillar -being quite still, I tried each segment with the point of a fine needle, measuring -the amount of sensibility by the greater or less pain given. Should the needle entirely -transpierce the fifth segment or the sixth, there is no movement. But prick even slightly -one in front or behind, the caterpillar struggles with a violence proportioned to -the distance from the poisoned segment. Especially does the least touch on the hinder -ones produce frantic contorsions. So there was but one stab, and it was given in the -fifth or sixth segment. -</p> -<p>What special reason is there that one or other of these two should be the spot chosen -by the assassin? None in their organisation, but their position is another thing. -Omitting the Loopers of Ammophila holosericea, I find that the prey of the others -has the following organisation, counting the head as the first segment:—Three pairs -of true feet on rings two, three, and four; four pairs of membranous feet on <span class="pageNum" id="pb215">[<a href="#pb215">215</a>]</span>rings seven, eight, nine, and ten, and a last similar pair set on the thirteenth and -final ring; in all eight pairs of feet, the seven first making two marked groups—one -of three, the other of four pairs. These two groups are divided by two segments without -feet, which are the fifth and sixth. -</p> -<p>Now, to deprive the caterpillar of means of escape, and to render it motionless, will -the Hymenopteron dart its sting into each of the eight rings provided with feet? Especially -will it do so when the prey is small and weak? Certainly not: a single stab will suffice -if given in a central spot, whence the torpor produced by the venomous droplet can -spread gradually with as little delay as possible into the midst of those segments -which bear feet. There can be no doubt which to choose for this single inoculation; -it must be the fifth or sixth, which separate the two groups of locomotive rings. -The point indicated by rational deduction is also the one adopted by instinct. Finally, -let us add that the egg of the Ammophila is invariably laid on the paralysed ring. -There, and there alone, can the young larva bite without inducing dangerous contorsions; -where a needle prick has no effect, the bite of a grub will have none either, and -the prey will remain immovable until the nursling has gained strength and can bite -farther on without danger. -</p> -<p>With further researches doubts assailed me, not as to my deductions, but as to how -widely I might extend them. That many feeble Loopers and other small caterpillars -are disabled by a single stab, especially when struck at so favourable a point as -the one just named, is very probable in itself, and, moreover, is <span class="pageNum" id="pb216">[<a href="#pb216">216</a>]</span>shown both by direct observation and by experiments on their sensibility with the -point of a needle. But Ammophila sabulosa and hirsuta catch huge prey, whose weight, -as already said, is fifteen times that of the captor. Can such giant prey be treated -like a poor Looper? Can a single stab subdue the monster and render it incapable of -harm? If the fearsome gray worm strike the cell walls with its strong body, will it -not endanger the egg or the little larva? One dares not imagine a <i>tête-à-tête</i> in the small cell at the bottom of the burrow between the frail, newly-hatched creature -and this kind of dragon:—still able to coil and uncoil its lithe folds. -</p> -<p>My suspicions were heightened by examination as to the sensitiveness of the caterpillar. -While the small game of Ammophila holosericea and hirsuta struggle violently if pricked -elsewhere than in the part stabbed, the large caterpillars of A. sabulosa, and above -all of A. hirsuta, remain motionless, no matter which segment be stimulated. They -show no contortions or sudden twisting of the body, the steel point only producing -as a sign faint shudderings of the skin. As the safety of a larva provided with such -huge prey requires, motion and feeling are almost quite destroyed. Before introducing -it into the burrow, the Hymenopteron turns it into a mass—inert indeed, yet not dead. -</p> -<p>I have been able to watch the Ammophila use her instrument on the robust caterpillar, -and never did the infused science of instinct show me anything more striking. With -a friend—alas! soon after snatched from me by death—I was returning from the tableland -of Les Angles after preparing snares to put <span class="pageNum" id="pb217">[<a href="#pb217">217</a>]</span>the cleverness of Scarabæus sacer to the proof, when we caught sight of an Ammophila -hirsuta very busy at the foot of a tuft of thyme. We instantly lay down very close -by. Our presence noways alarmed the insect, which alighted for a moment on my sleeve, -decided that since her visitors did not move they must be harmless, and returned to -her tuft of thyme. Well used to the ways of Ammophila, I knew what this audacious -tameness meant—she was occupied by some serious affair. We would wait and see. The -Ammophila scratched in the ground round the collar of the plant, pulling up thin little -grass roots, and poked her head under the tiny clods which she raised up, ran hurriedly, -now here, now there, round the thyme, visiting every crack which gave access under -it; yet she was not digging a burrow, but hunting something hidden underground, as -was shown by manœuvres like those of a dog trying to get a rabbit out of its hole. -And presently, disturbed by what was going on overhead and closely tracked by the -Ammophila, a big gray worm made up his mind to quit his abode and come up to daylight. -It is all over with him; the hunter is instantly on the spot, gripping the nape of -his neck and holding on in spite of his contortions. Settled on the monster’s back -the Ammophila bends her abdomen, and methodically, deliberately—like a surgeon thoroughly -familiar with the anatomy of his subject—plunges a lancet into the ventral surface -of every segment, from the first to the last. Not one ring is omitted; with or without -feet each is stabbed in due order from the front to the back. -</p> -<p>This is what I saw with all the leisure and ease <span class="pageNum" id="pb218">[<a href="#pb218">218</a>]</span>required for an irreproachable observation. The Hymenopteron acts with a precision -of which science might be jealous; it knows what man but rarely knows; it is acquainted -with the complex nervous system of its victim, and keeps repeated stabs for those -with numerous ganglia. I said “It knows; is acquainted”: what I ought to say is, “It -acts as if it did.” What it does is suggested to it; the creature obeys, impelled -by instinct, without reasoning on what it does. But whence comes this sublime instinct? -Can theories of atavism, of selection, of the struggle for life, interpret it reasonably? -For my friend and myself it was and is one of the most eloquent revelations of the -ineffable logic which rules the world and guides the unconscious by the laws which -it inspires. Stirred to the heart by this flash of truth, both of us felt a tear of -emotion rise to our eyes. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb219">[<a href="#pb219">219</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch16" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e445">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XVI</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE BEMBEX</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Not far from Avignon, on the right bank of the Rhône opposite the mouth of the Durance, -is one of my favourite points for the observations about to be recorded. It is the -Bois des Issarts. Let no one deceive himself as to the value of the word “bois”—wood, -which usually gives the idea of a soil carpeted with fresh moss and the shade of lofty -trees, through whose foliage filters a subdued light. Scorching plains, where the -cicada grinds out its song under pale olives, know nothing of such delicious retreats -full of shade and coolness. -</p> -<p>The Bois des Issarts is composed of thin and scattered groups of ilex, which hardly -lessen the force of the sun’s rays. When I established myself during the dog days -in July and August, I used to settle myself at some spot in the wood favourable for -observations. I took refuge under a great umbrella, which later lent me most unexpected -aid of another kind, very valuable too, as my story will show in good time. If I had -neglected to equip myself with this article, embarrassing enough in a long walk, the -only way to avoid sunstroke was to lie at full length <span class="pageNum" id="pb220">[<a href="#pb220">220</a>]</span>behind some heap of sand, and when my temporal arteries beat intolerably, the last -resource was to shelter my head at the mouth of a rabbit hole. Such are the means -of getting cool in the Bois des Issarts. -</p> -<p>The soil, unoccupied by any woody vegetation, is almost bare and composed of a fine, -arid, very light sand, heaped by the wind in little hillocks where the stems and roots -of the ilex hinder its blowing about. The slope of such hillocks is generally very -smooth, from the extreme lightness of the material, which runs down into the least -depression, thus restoring the regularity of the surface. It is enough to thrust a -finger into the sand, and then to withdraw it in order immediately to cause a downfall, -which fills up the cavity and re-establishes the former state of things without leaving -any trace. But at a certain depth, varying according to the more or less recent date -of the last rains, the sand retains a dampness which keeps it stable, and lends a -consistency allowing of slight excavations without roof and walls falling in. A burning -sun, a radiant blue sky, sand slopes yielding without the least difficulty to the -strokes of the Hymenopteron’s rake, abundant game for the larvæ, a peaceful site rarely -troubled by the foot of the passer-by,—all unite here in this paradise of the Bembex. -Let us see the industrious insect at work. -</p> -<p>If the reader will come under my umbrella, or profit by my rabbit burrow, this is -the sight which will meet him towards the end of July. A Bembex (B. rostrata) arrives -of a sudden and alights without hesitation or investigation at a spot which, as far -as I see, differs in nothing from the rest of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb221">[<a href="#pb221">221</a>]</span>sandy surface. With her front tarsi, which, armed with stiff rows of hairs, suggest -at once broom, brush, and rake, she begins to dig a subterranean dwelling, standing -on her four hind feet, the two last slightly apart, while the front ones alternately -scratch and sweep the loose sand. The precision and rapidity of the action could not -be greater were the circular movement of the tarsi worked by a spring. The sand, shot -backward under the creature, clears the arch of its hind legs, trickling like a liquid -in a continuous thread, describing a parabola and falling some eight inches away. -This dusty jet, constantly fed for five or ten minutes, is enough to show with what -dizzy rapidity the tools are used. I could quote no second example of equal swiftness, -which yet in no way detracts from the elegance and free movements of the insect as -it advances and retires, now on one side, now on another, without allowing the parabola -of sand to stop. -</p> -<p>The soil hollowed is of the lightest kind. As the Hymenopteron excavates, the sand -near falls and fills the cavity. In the landslip are mingled little bits of wood, -decayed leaf-stalks, and grains of gravel larger than the rest. The Bembex picks these -up in her mandibles, and, moving backward, carries them to a distance, returning to -sweep again, but always lightly, without attempting to penetrate into the earth. What -is the object in this surface labour? It would be impossible to learn from a first -glance, but after spending many days with my dear Hymenoptera, and grouping together -the scattered results of my observations, I think I divine the motive of these proceedings. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb222">[<a href="#pb222">222</a>]</span></p> -<p>The nest is certainly there—underground, at the depth of a few inches: in a little -cell, dug in cool firm sand, is an egg, perhaps a larva, which the mother feeds daily -with flies, the invariable food of Bembex larvæ. She must be able at any moment to -penetrate to this nest, carrying on the wing, between her feet, the nursling’s daily -ration, just as a bird of prey arrives at its eyrie carrying game for its brood in -its claw. But while the bird returns to a nest on some inaccessible shelf of rock, -without any difficulty beyond the weight of its prey, the Bembex must undertake each -time the hard work of mining, opening afresh a gallery blocked and closed by ever-sliding -sand in proportion as she proceeds. The only stable part of this underground abode -is the spacious cell inhabited by the larva amid the remains of a fortnight’s feast; -the narrow vestibule entered by the mother to go down to the cell, or come forth for -the chase, gives way each time, at all events at the upper end, built in dry sand, -rendered even looser by her constant goings and comings. Thus at each entrance or -exit the Hymenopteron must clear out a passage. The exit offers no difficulties, even -should the sand have the same consistency as when first stirred; the insect’s movements -are free; it is safe under cover, can take its time and use tarsi and mandibles at -its leisure. Going in is another matter. The Bembex is embarrassed by her prey, pressed -to her body by her feet, so that there is no free use of the mining tools. What is -more serious is that impudent parasites—veritable bandits in ambush—are crouching -here and there about the burrow watching her difficult <span class="pageNum" id="pb223">[<a href="#pb223">223</a>]</span>entrance to hurriedly drop their egg on the game just as it disappears into the gallery. -If they succeed, the son of the house, the Hymenopteron’s nursling, will perish, starved -by greedy guests. -</p> -<p>The Bembex seems aware of this danger, and arranges so as to enter quickly, without -serious obstacles, so that the sand blocking the door should yield to a mere push -from her head, aided by a rapid sweep of the forelegs. To this end she, so to say, -sifts the materials round her abode. In leisure moments, when the sun shines and the -larva has its food, and does not need her care, the mother rakes before her door, -and puts on one side all the tiny bits of wood, of over-large gravel or leaves, which -might get on her path and bar the passage at the perilous moment of return. The Bembex -which we saw so hard at work was busy sifting so as to make access to her abode easier; -the materials of the vestibule are examined, minutely sorted, and cleared of every -encumbrance. Who can tell whether the rapid labour and joyous activity of the insect -do not express in their own way her maternal satisfaction and happiness in caring -for the roof of the cell which has received the precious trust of the egg? As the -Bembex confines herself to exterior household cares without seeking to penetrate the -sand, everything must be in order within, and there is nothing pressing to do. We -may wait, but for the time the insect will teach us nothing more. Let us therefore -examine the underground dwelling. -</p> -<p>By lightly scratching the bank with the blade of a knife just where the Bembex was -oftenest seen, one soon discovers the entrance hall, which, blocked <span class="pageNum" id="pb224">[<a href="#pb224">224</a>]</span>as it is for part of its length, is none the less recognisable by the special look -of the materials moved about. This passage, a finger’s-breadth in size, rectilinear -or winding, longer or shorter, according to the nature of the ground, measures eight -to twelve inches. It leads to a single chamber, hollowed in damp sand, with walls -undaubed with mortar, which might prevent landslips and lend polish to the rough surface. -Enough if the ceiling lasts while the larva is being fed up. Future falling-in matters -little when the larva is enclosed in its stout cocoon—a kind of strong box, which -we shall see in process of construction. In workmanship the cell is as rustic as possible, -being merely a rude excavation with no well-determined form, low roofed, and of a -size which might hold two or three nests. -</p> -<p>Within lies one head of game—one only—quite small and quite insufficient for the voracious -nursling for whom it is destined. It is a golden green-fly, Lucilia Cæsar, a dweller -in tainted meat, and is quite motionless. Is it really dead or only paralysed? This -will be cleared up later. Just now let us observe the cylindrical egg upon its side, -white, slightly curved, and a couple of millimetres in length. It is a Bembex egg. -As we have foreseen from the mother’s behaviour, there is no pressing household business; -the egg is laid and a first ration provided for the needs of the feeble larva, which -ought to hatch in twenty-four hours. For some time the Bembex need not re-enter her -hole, confining herself to keeping a good lookout in the neighbourhood, or possibly -making new burrows and laying there egg after egg, always in a separate cell. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb225">[<a href="#pb225">225</a>]</span></p> -<p>This peculiarity of beginning to lay in food by a single small piece of game is not -peculiar to Bembex rostrata; all the other species do the same. Open any cell after -the egg is laid, and you always find it glued to the side of a Dipteron—all the food -there is; moreover, this first ration is invariably small, as if the mother had sought -some specially tender mouthful for her frail nursling. Another motive, the freshness -of the food, may also have guided her choice. Later we will look further into the -matter. This first ration—always a moderate one—varies much, according to the frequency -of such or such a kind of game in the neighbourhood. It is sometimes a Lucilia Cæsar, -sometimes a Stomoxys, or some small Eristalis, or a delicate Bombylius clad in black -velvet, but the commonest is a Sphærophoria with a slender abdomen. This fact (and -it has no exception) of storing the nest with but a single Dipteron,—a ration far -too meagre for a larva with a voracious appetite,—at once puts us on the track of -the most remarkable habit of the Bembecidæ. Hymenoptera whose larvæ live on prey heap -into each cell the whole number of victims needed by the grub, which is hatched and -lives alone,—an egg having been laid on one fly and the dwelling closed up. The larva -has before it its whole store of food. But the Bembex is an exception to this rule. -First a head of game is brought to the cell and an egg dropped on it. Then the mother -leaves the burrow, which closes of its own accord; besides which she takes care to -rake the surface smooth, and hide the entrance from every eye but her own. -</p> -<p>Two or three days pass: the egg hatches and <span class="pageNum" id="pb226">[<a href="#pb226">226</a>]</span>the small larva eats up its choice ration. Meanwhile, the mother remains near: one -may see her licking the sugary exudations on the flower-heads of Eryngium campestre -for nourishment, then settling with enjoyment on the burning sand, whence she doubtless -surveys the exterior of her dwelling, or she sifts the sand at its entrance, then -flies off and vanishes—perhaps to excavate other cells to be stored in a like manner. -But however prolonged her absence, she does not forget the young larva so scantily -provided for; maternal instinct teaches her the hour when the grub has finished its -food and needs new sustenance. Then she comes back to the nest whose invisible entrance -she knows right well how to find, and penetrates the hollow—this time laden with a -larger prey. This deposited, she goes out again, and awaits outside the time for a -second expedition. It soon comes, for the larva shows a devouring appetite. Again -the mother arrives with fresh provender. -</p> -<p>During almost a fortnight, while the larva is growing, the meals follow each other -thus, one by one, as it needs them, and so much the nearer together as the nursling -grows stronger. Toward the end of the fortnight the mother requires all her activity -to supply the glutton’s appetite as it crawls heavily amid the remains of its repasts—wings, -feet, and horny rings of abdomens. Each moment she returns with a new capture or comes -forth for the chase. In short, the Bembex brings up her family from hand to mouth -without storing provisions, like the bird which brings a beakful of food to the little -ones still in the nest. Among the numerous proofs <span class="pageNum" id="pb227">[<a href="#pb227">227</a>]</span>of this method of upbringing—one very singular in a Hymenopteron which feeds its family -on prey—I have already mentioned the presence of the egg in a cell where but one little -fly is found as provender—always one—never more. Another proof is the following one, -which does not require any special moment for its ascertainment. -</p> -<p>Let us examine the burrow of a Hymenopteron, which provides beforehand for its larvæ. -If we choose the moment when the insect enters with a captive, we shall find in the -cell a certain number of victims already stored, but never a larva—not even an egg, -for this is only laid when the provisions are complete. The egg deposited, the cell -is closed, and the mother returns no more. It is, therefore, only in burrows where -the mother’s visits are no longer needed that one can find larvæ amid the larger or -smaller heap of food. Visit, on the other hand, the dwelling of a Bembex as she enters -with the produce of her chase, and you are sure to find a larva, larger or smaller, -amid the remains of food already devoured. The ration now brought is to continue a -repast which has been going on for several days, and is to be prolonged upon the produce -of future expeditions. If we can make this examination towards the end of the larva’s -upbringing,—an advantage which I have enjoyed at pleasure,—we shall find upon a great -heap of fragments a portly larva, to which the mother is still bringing food. The -Bembex only ceases to do so and to leave the cell definitely when the larva, distended -by a wine-coloured pap, refuses to eat, and reclines, thoroughly stuffed, on the remains -of wings and feet of the game which it has devoured. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb228">[<a href="#pb228">228</a>]</span></p> -<p>Each time that she penetrates into the burrow on returning from the chase, the mother -brings but a single fly. Were it possible by means of the remains contained in a cell -where the larva is full grown to count the victims served up, one would at least know -how often the Hymenopteron visited its burrow after the egg is laid. Unfortunately, -these broken meats—munched and munched again in moments of scarcity—are for the most -part unrecognisable. But on opening a cell with a less advanced nursling, one can -examine the provisions, some of the prey being yet whole or nearly so, and others, -more numerous, being trunks in sufficiently good preservation to be distinguishable. -Incomplete as it is, the enumeration thus obtained strikes one with surprise, as showing -what activity the Hymenopteron must display to satisfy the demands of such a table. -Here is one of the bills of fare observed. -</p> -<p>At the end of July around the larva of Bembex Julia, which had almost reached the -third of its full size, I found the prey of which the following is the list:—Six Echinomyia -rubescens—two whole and four in pieces; four Syrphus corollæ—two whole, two in fragments; -three Gonia atra—all intact, and one just brought by the mother, which had enabled -me to discover the burrow; two Pollenia ruficollis—one whole, one attacked; a Bombylius -reduced to pulp; two Echinomyia intermedia in bits; and finally two Pollenia floralis, -also in bits—total, twenty. Certainly we have here a bill of fare as abundant as varied, -but as the larva had only attained to a third of its complete size, the entire bill -of fare might well amount to sixty articles. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb229">[<a href="#pb229">229</a>]</span></p> -<p>The verification of this magnificent sum-total is easily obtained. I myself will undertake -the maternal cares of the Bembex, and feed the larva until it is thoroughly satisfied. -I place the cell in a little cardboard box furnished with a layer of sand. On this -bed is placed the larva with due regard to its delicate epidermis. Around it, without -omitting a single fragment, I arrange the provender with which it was supplied, and -return home with the box still in my hand, to avoid any shake which might turn it -topsy-turvy and endanger my charge during a journey of several miles. Any one who -had seen me on the dusty road to Nîmes, exhausted with fatigue and bearing religiously -in my hand, as the only result of my painful journey, a wretched grub, distending -itself with a heap of flies, would assuredly have smiled at my simplicity. The journey -was achieved without hindrance; when I got home the larva was peacefully consuming -its flies as if nothing had happened. On the third day the provisions taken from the -burrow were finished, and the grub with its pointed mouth was searching in the heap -of remains without finding anything to its taste. The dry, horny, juiceless pieces -which it got hold of were rejected with disgust. The moment had come for me to continue -the food supply. The first Diptera within reach must content my prisoner; I slew them -by squeezing them between my fingers, but did not crush them. Three Eristalis tenax -composed the first ration, together with a Sarcophaga. In twenty-four hours all were -devoured. The next day I provided two Eristalis and four house-flies. This sufficed -for that day, but nothing was left over. I <span class="pageNum" id="pb230">[<a href="#pb230">230</a>]</span>went on thus for a week, giving the grub each morning a larger ration. On the ninth -day it refused to eat and began to spin its cocoon. The bill of fare for the week’s -high feeding amounted to sixty-two items, chiefly Eristalis and house-flies, which, -added to the twenty items found entire or in fragments in the cell, formed a total -of eighty-two. -</p> -<p>Possibly I may not have brought up my larva with the wholesome frugality which the -mother would have shown; there may have been some waste in the daily rations, provided -all at once and left entirely to the discretion of the grub. I fancied that in some -particulars things did not go on exactly as in the cell, for my notes have such details -as: “In the alluvial sands of the Durance I discovered a burrow into which Bembex -oculata had taken a Sarcophaga agricola. At the bottom of the gallery was a larva, -numerous fragments, and some Diptera entire—namely, four Sphærophoria scripta, one -Onesia viarum, and two Sarcophaga agricola, counting that which the Bembex had brought -under my very eyes.” Now it must be remarked that one half of this game, the Sphærophoria, -was quite at the bottom of the cell—under the very jaws of the larva, while the other -half was still in the gallery—on the threshold of the cell—consequently out of the -grub’s reach, as it could not leave its place. It would seem that when game abounds, -the mother disposes provisionally of her captures on the threshold of the cell, and -forms a reserve on which she draws as need arises, especially on rainy days, when -all labour is at a standstill. This economy in distributing food would prevent the -waste unavoidable with my larva perhaps too sumptuously <span class="pageNum" id="pb231">[<a href="#pb231">231</a>]</span>treated. I subtract then from the sum obtained, and reduce it to sixty pieces of medium -size, between that of the house-fly and Eristalis tenax. This would be about the number -of Diptera given by the mother to the larva when the prey is middle-sized, as is the -case with all the Bembecids of my district except B. rostrata and B. bidentata, which -especially favour the gadfly. For these the number of slain would be from one to two -dozen, according to the size of the Dipteron, which varies greatly in the gadfly species. -</p> -<p>In order not to return to the kind of provisions, I give a list of the Diptera observed -in the burrows of the six kinds of Bembex, which are the subject of this essay. -</p> -<p>(1) B. olivacea, Rossi. Once only have I seen this species, at Cavaillon, preying -on Lucilia Cæsar. The five next are common round Avignon. -</p> -<p>(2) B. oculata, Jur<span class="corr" id="xd31e1868" title="Not in source">.</span> The Dipteron upon which the egg is laid is generally a Sphærophoria, especially S. -scripta; sometimes it is a Geron gibbosus. Further provender consisted in Stomoxys -calcitrans, Pollenia ruficollis, P. rudis, Pipiza nigripes, Syrphus corollæ, Onesia -viarum, Calliphora vomitoria, Echinomyia intermedia, Sarcophaga agricola, Musca domestica. -The usual food was Stomoxys calcitrans, of which I have found fifty or sixty in a -single burrow. -</p> -<p>(3) Bembex tarsata, Lat. It, too, lays its egg on Sphærophoria scripta; but it also -hunts Anthrax flava, Bombylius nitidulus, Eristalis æneus, E. sepulchralis, Merodon -spinipes, Syrphus corollæ, Helophilus trivittatus, Zodion notatum. Its favourite prey -consists in Bombylius and Anthrax. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb232">[<a href="#pb232">232</a>]</span></p> -<p>(4) Bembex Julii (a new species). The egg hatches either on a Sphærophoria or a Pollenia -floralis, and the provender is a mixture of Syrphus corollæ, Echinomyia rubescens, -Gonia atra, Pollenia floralis, P. ruficollis, Clytia pellucens, Lucilia Cæsar, Dexia -rustica, Bombylius. -</p> -<p>(5) Bembex rostrata. This is above all a captor of gadflies. It lays its egg on a -Syrphus corollæ, or a Lucilia Cæsar, but then only brings to the larva large game -belonging to the various kinds of Tabanus. -</p> -<p>(6) Bembex bidentata. Another ardent hunter of gadflies. I have never seen it with -other game, and do not know on what the egg is laid. -</p> -<p>This variety of provisions shows that the Bembecids have no exclusive tastes, and -attack one and all of the species of Diptera which are offered by the chances of the -chase. They seem, however, to have some favourites—one species especially choosing -Bombylius, another Stomoxys, and a third and fourth, Gadflies. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb233">[<a href="#pb233">233</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch17" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e456">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XVII</h2> -<h2 class="main">HUNTING DIPTERA</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">After this bill of fare for Bembecids in the larva state, we must seek the motive -which causes these Hymenoptera to adopt a mode of storage exceptional among Fossors. -Why, instead of laying up sufficient food and dropping an egg on it, which would allow -the cell to be closed at once without need of returning, does the Hymenopteron oblige -itself to come and go perpetually for a fortnight from the fields to the burrow and -back again, toiling every time through the sand to issue forth and hunt, or bring -back prey? The explanation is that the food must be fresh—an all-important matter, -for the grub absolutely refuses game which is at all high, with a hint of decay; like -the larvæ of all Fossors, it must have fresh provisions—always fresh provisions. -</p> -<p>We have seen in the case of the Cerceris, Sphex, and Ammophila how the mother resolves -the feeding problem, by placing beforehand in the cell a sufficient quantity of game, -and also that of keeping it for weeks perfectly fresh—nay, almost alive, though motionless—in -order to secure the safety of the grub which <span class="pageNum" id="pb234">[<a href="#pb234">234</a>]</span>feeds on the prey. This marvel is brought about by the most skilful means known to -physiology. The poisoned sting is sent into the nerve centres once or oftener, according -to the construction of the nervous system, and the victim retains all which we call -life, except power of motion. -</p> -<p>Let us see if the Bembex practises this deep science of murder. Diptera taken from -between the feet of their captor as the latter enters the burrow mostly seem quite -dead. They are motionless; only in rare cases are there some slight convulsions of -the tarsi—the last vestiges of life soon to be extinct. The same appearance of complete -death is found, as a rule, in insects not really killed but paralysed by the skilful -stab of a Cerceris or a Sphex. The question as to life or death can, therefore, only -be decided by the manner in which the victims keep fresh. -</p> -<p>Placed in little paper twists or glass tubes, the Orthoptera of the Sphex, the caterpillars -of the Ammophila, the Coleoptera of the Cerceris, preserve flexibility of limb and -freshness of colour, and the normal state of their intestines, for weeks and months. -They are not corpses, but bodies plunged in a lethargy from which there will be no -awakening. The Diptera of the Bembex behave quite otherwise. Eristalis, Syrphus,—in -short, all which are brightly coloured,—soon lose their brilliance; the eyes of certain -gadflies, magnificently gilded, and with three purple bands, soon grow pale and dim, -like the gaze of a dying man. All these Diptera, great and small, placed in paper -twists where air circulates, dry up and grow brittle in two or three days, <span class="pageNum" id="pb235">[<a href="#pb235">235</a>]</span>while all kept from evaporation in glass tubes, where the air is stagnant, grow mouldy -and decay. So they are dead—really dead—when carried to the larva. If some few preserve -a little life, a few days, a few hours ends all. Not being clever enough to use its -sting, or for some other reason, the assassin kills its victims outright. -</p> -<p>Knowing this complete death of the prey at the moment when it is seized, who would -not admire the logic of the Bembecid’s manœuvres? How methodical all is, and how one -thing brings about another in all which the wary Hymenopteron does! As the food could -not be stored without its decaying at the end of two or three days, it cannot be laid -in wholesale at the beginning of a phase of life destined to last at least a fortnight, -and there must be a hunt and distribution of provisions day by day, in proportion -to the larva’s growth. The first ration—that on which the egg is laid—will last longer -than the others, and must be small, for the little grub will take several days to -eat it, and if too big it would go bad before it was finished. Therefore it will not -be a huge gadfly or a corpulent Bombylius, but a small Sphærophoria, or something -of that kind, as a tender meal for a still frail larva. Later, and gradually larger, -will come the bigger joints. -</p> -<p>In the mother’s absence the burrow must be closed to prevent awkward intrusions, but -the entrance must be one opened quickly, without serious difficulty, when the Hymenopteron -returns loaded with prey, and laid in wait for by audacious parasites. These conditions -would be wanting in a tenacious soil, such as that in which the mining Hymenoptera -habitually <span class="pageNum" id="pb236">[<a href="#pb236">236</a>]</span>establish themselves. The wide-open entrance would each time require long and painful -labour, whether to close it with earth or gravel, or to clear it. The domicile, therefore, -must be hollowed in earth with a very light surface, in dry, fine sand, yielding at -once to the least effort of the mother, and which slips and closes the entrance like -floating tapestry, which, pushed back by the hand, allows entrance and then drops -back. Such is the sequence of acts, deduced by human reason, and put into practice -by the wisdom of the Bembex. -</p> -<p>Why does the spoiler kill the prey instead of paralysing it? Is it want of skill with -the sting? Is it a difficulty arising from the organisation of the Diptera or from -the manœuvres of the chase? I must own, at once, that I have failed to put a Dipteron, -without killing it, into that state of complete immobility into which it is so easy -to plunge a Buprestis, a Weevil, or a Scarabæus, by injecting a little drop of ammonia, -on the point of a needle, into the thoracic ganglia. It is difficult to render your -subject motionless; when it no longer moves, actual death has occurred, as is proved -by its speedy decay or desiccation. But I have too much confidence in the resources -of instinct,—I have seen the ingenious solution of too many problems,—to believe that -a difficulty, though insurmountable for the experimenter, can baffle an insect; therefore, -without casting doubt on the Bembex’s capacity for murder, I should be inclined to -seek other motives. -</p> -<p>Perhaps the Dipteron, so thinly cuirassed, of so little substance,—so lean, in short,—could -not, when <span class="pageNum" id="pb237">[<a href="#pb237">237</a>]</span>paralysed by a sting, resist evaporation, and would dry up in two or three weeks. -Consider the slender Sphærophoria—the larva’s first mouthful. What is there in this -body to evaporate? An atom—a mere nothing. The body is a thin strip—its two walls -touch. Could such prey form a basis for preserved food when a few hours would evaporate -its juices, unrenewed by nutrition? To say the least, it is doubtful. -</p> -<p>Let us proceed to consider the manner of hunting, by way of throwing a final light -on the subject. In prey withdrawn from the clasp of a Bembex, one may not infrequently -observe indications of a capture made in haste, as best might be, in the chances of -a wild struggle. Sometimes the Dipteron has its head turned backward, as if its neck -had been twisted, its wings are crumpled, and its hairs, if it have any, are ruffled. -I have seen one with the body ripped open by a bite from the mandibles, and legs lost -in the battle. Usually, however, the prey is intact. -</p> -<p>No matter. Considering that the game has wings prompt in flight, the capture must -be made with a suddenness which it seems to me hardly allows of obtaining paralysis -without death. A Cerceris with its heavy weevil, a Sphex engaged with a corpulent -grasshopper or a paunched ephippiger, an Ammophila holding its caterpillar by the -nape of its neck, have all three the advantage over a prey too slow to avoid attack. -They may take their time, choose at leisure the exact spot where the sting shall penetrate, -and, in short, can act with the precision of a physiologist who uses his scalpel on -a patient laid upon the <span class="pageNum" id="pb238">[<a href="#pb238">238</a>]</span>operating table; but for the Bembex it is another matter. At the least alarm the prey -is off, and its power of wing defies that of the pursuer. The Hymenopteron must pounce -on its prey, without measuring its attack or calculating its blow, like a hawk hunting -over the fallows. Mandibles, claws, sting—all weapons—must be used at the same moment -in the hot battle, to end as fast as possible a struggle in which the least indecision -would give the prey time to escape. If these conjectures agree with facts, the Bembex -can only secure a dead body, or, at all events, a prey wounded to death. -</p> -<p>Well, my calculations are right. The Bembex attacks with an energy which would do -honour to a bird of prey. To surprise one on the chase is no easy matter, and it would -be useless to lay in a stock of patience and watch near the burrow, for the insect -flies to a distance, and it is impossible to follow its rapid evolutions, and doubtless -its manœuvres would be still unknown to me but for the help of an article from which -I should assuredly never have expected a like service—namely, the umbrella which served -me as a tent amid the sands of Issarts. -</p> -<p>I was not the only one to profit by its shade; my companions were usually numerous. -Gadflies of different kinds would take refuge under the silken canopy, and roost peacefully -here and there on the outspread silk, rarely failing to appear when the heat was overpowering. -To pass the hours when I was unemployed, I used to observe with pleasure their great -gilded eyes shining like carbuncles under my canopy, or their grave movements when -some spot <span class="pageNum" id="pb239">[<a href="#pb239">239</a>]</span>of their ceiling became too much heated, and they were forced to move a little way. -</p> -<p>One day—ping! ping! the tense silk was resounding like the parchment of a drum. Perhaps -an acorn has fallen on my umbrella. Soon after, close together, came ping! ping! Has -some idle jester come to disturb my solitude, and fling acorns or little pebbles on -my umbrella? I came out of my tent and inspected the neighbourhood. Nothing! The blow -was repeated. I looked upward, and the mystery was explained. The Bembecids of the -neighbourhood, which prey on gadflies, had found out the rich store of food which -was keeping me company, and were darting audaciously under my shelter to seize the -gadflies on the ceiling. Nothing could have been better. I had only to keep quiet -and observe. -</p> -<p>Every moment a Bembex entered like a sudden flash, and darted up to the silken ceiling, -which resounded with a dull thud. A tumult went on aloft, in which one could not distinguish -attacker from attacked, so lively was the <i>mêlée</i>. The struggle was very brief; almost at once the Hymenopteron retired with a captive -between its feet. The dull band of gadflies drew a little back all round on this sudden -irruption, which decimated them, but without leaving the treacherous shelter. It was -so hot outside; wherefore move? Plainly, such swift attack and prompt departure with -the prey does not allow the Bembex to use a poignard according to rules. The sting -no doubt fulfils its office, but is directed with no precision towards such spots -as are exposed by the chances of the combat. To slay outright the <span class="pageNum" id="pb240">[<a href="#pb240">240</a>]</span>half-murdered gadfly, still struggling between the feet of its assassin, I have seen -the Bembex chew the head and thorax of her victim. This habit, peculiar to the Bembecids, -shows that the Bembex desires death, not paralysis, since she ends the life of the -Diptera with so little ceremony. Everything considered, I think that on the one side -the nature of the prey, so quickly dried up, and on the other, the difficulties of -so vehement an attack, are the reasons why the Bembecids serve up dead prey to their -larvæ, and consequently provide it daily. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p240width" id="p240"><img src="images/p240.jpg" alt="BEMBEX ROSTRATA TAKING GADFLY TO ITS NEST; BEMBEX ROSTRATA MINING" width="720" height="461"><div class="figAnnotation p240width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 240.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">BEMBEX ROSTRATA TAKING GADFLY TO ITS NEST; BEMBEX ROSTRATA MINING</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Let us follow the Hymenopteron when it returns with its captive closely clasped to -the burrow. Here is one—B. tarsata—coming loaded with a Bombylius. The nest is placed -at the sandy foot of a vertical slope, and the approach of the Bembex is announced -by a sharp humming, somewhat plaintive, and only ceasing when the insect has alighted. -One sees her hover above the bank, then descend, following the vertical line slowly -and cautiously, still emitting the sharp hum. If her keen gaze should discover anything -unusual, she delays her descent, hovers a moment, ascends again, redescends, then -flies away, swift as an arrow. In a few moments she returns. Hovering at a certain -height she appears to inspect the locality, as if from the top of an observatory. -The vertical descent is resumed with most circumspect deliberation; finally, she alights -without hesitation at a spot which to my eye has nothing to distinguish it from the -rest of the sandy surface. The plaintive note ceases at once. She must have alighted -somewhat by chance, since the most practised eye could not distinguish one spot from -another <span class="pageNum" id="pb241">[<a href="#pb241">241</a>]</span>on the sandy tract. She will have dropped down somewhere near her hole, whose entrance -she will now seek, marked since her last exit not only by the natural falling in of -materials, but by her scrupulous sweeping. No! she does not hesitate in the least—does -not feel about—does not seek. All have agreed that the organs fitted to direct insects -in their researches reside in the antennæ. At the moment of returning to the nest -I see nothing special in their play. Without once losing hold of the prey the Bembex -scratches a little in front of her just where she alighted, pushes with her head, -and straightway enters clasping the Dipteron to her body. The sand falls in, the door -closes, and the Hymenopteron is at home. -</p> -<p>I have watched the Bembex return home a hundred times, yet it is always with fresh -astonishment that I see the keen-sighted insect at once detect an entrance which nothing -indicates, and which indeed is jealously hidden—not indeed when she has entered (for -the sand, more or less fallen in, does not become level, and now leaves a slight depression, -now a porch incompletely obstructed), but always after she comes out, for when going -on an expedition she never neglects to efface the traces of the sliding sand. Let -us await her departure, and we shall see that she sweeps before her door and levels -everything scrupulously. When she is gone, I defy the keenest eye to rediscover the -entrance. To find it when the sandy tract was of some extent I was forced to have -recourse to a kind of triangulation, and how often did my triangle and efforts of -memory prove vain after a few hours’ absence! I <span class="pageNum" id="pb242">[<a href="#pb242">242</a>]</span>was obliged to have recourse to a stake—in other words, a grass stalk planted before -the entrance—a means not always effectual, for it often disappeared during the frequent -settings to rights of the outside of the Bembex’s nest. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb243">[<a href="#pb243">243</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch18" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e467">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XVIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">A PARASITE—THE COCOON</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">I have just described the Bembex hovering, loaded with her prey, above the nest, and -descending with a vertical flight—very slow, and accompanied by a plaintive hum. This -cautious, hesitating mode of arrival might suggest that the insect was examining from -above in order to find her door, and trying to recall the locality before alighting. -But I shall show that there is another motive. In ordinary conditions, when nothing -alarms her, she comes suddenly, without hovering or plaintive hum or hesitation, and -alights at her threshold, or close by. So faithful is her memory that she has no need -to search about. Let us find out the cause of the hesitating arrival just described. -</p> -<p>The insect hovers, descends slowly, mounts again, flies off and returns, because serious -danger threatens. That plaintive hum is a sign of anxiety, and is never produced unless -there is peril. But who is the enemy? Is it I, sitting by and watching? Not in the -least; I am quite unimportant—a block unworthy of notice. The dreaded enemy—the foe -who must be avoided at any price—is on the ground, perfectly <span class="pageNum" id="pb244">[<a href="#pb244">244</a>]</span>still upon the sand, near the nest. It is a small Dipteron—nothing at all to look -at—of inoffensive aspect. This petty fly is the terror of the Bembex. That bold assassin -of Diptera, who so promptly twists the neck of colossal gadflies, full fed on blood -from an ox’s back, dares not enter her home because she sees herself watched by another -Dipteron—a mere pigmy, which would scarce make one mouthful for her larva. -</p> -<p>Why not pounce on it and get rid of it? The Bembex flies fast enough to overtake it, -and, small as it is, the larvæ would not disdain it, since they eat all and every -Diptera. Yet the Bembex flies in terror before an enemy which one bite would hew in -pieces. I really feel as though I saw a cat wild with terror before a mouse. The ardent -pursuer of Diptera is driven away by a Dipteron, and that one of the smallest! I bow -before the facts without any hope of ever comprehending this reversal of parts. To -be able to get rid easily of a mortal enemy, who is meditating the ruin of your family, -and who might make a feast for them—to be able, I say, to do this, and not to do it -when the foe is there, within reach, watching you, defying you,—is the height of folly -in an animal. Folly, however, is not rightly the word: let us rather talk of the harmony -of creatures, for since this wretched little Dipteron has its small part to play in -the great whole of things, the Bembex must needs respect it and basely flee before -it,—otherwise long ago there would have been no more Dipteron of this species in the -world. -</p> -<p>Let us trace the history of this parasite. Among Bembex nests there are found, and -that frequently, <span class="pageNum" id="pb245">[<a href="#pb245">245</a>]</span>some which are occupied at the same time by the larvæ of the Hymenoptera and by other -larvæ—strangers to the family and greedily sharing their food. These strangers are -smaller than the nursling of the Bembex—shaped like a tear, and of the colour of wine, -from the food paste which can be seen through their transparent bodies. Their number -varies from six to ten or more. They belong to a kind of Dipteron, as may be perceived -from their form and from the pupæ which one afterwards finds in their place. The demonstration -is completed by bringing them up one’s self in a box, where, fed daily with flies, -and laid on sand, they turn into pupæ, whence issue the following year little Diptera—Tachinids -of the genus Miltogramma. -</p> -<p>This is the Dipteron which, when lying in wait near the burrow, awakens such alarm -in the Bembex. Her terror is only too well founded. This is what happens in the dwelling. -Around the heap of food which the mother wears herself out in providing in sufficient -quantity, sit in company with the legitimate nursling from six to ten hungry guests, -who put their sharp mouths into the general heap as unceremoniously as if they were -at home. Concord seems to reign at table. I have never seen the legitimate larva take -offence at the indiscretion of the strangers, nor observed these attempt to trouble -its repast. All keep themselves together, and eat peaceably without annoying their -neighbours. -</p> -<p>So far all would be well, were it not that a grave difficulty arises. However active -may be the mother-nurse, it is clear that she cannot meet such a consumption of food. -She has to be incessantly on the <span class="pageNum" id="pb246">[<a href="#pb246">246</a>]</span>wing to feed one larva: what must happen if there are a dozen gluttons to provide -for? The result of this enormous increase of family can only be want, or even famine, -not for the larvæ of the Dipteron (which develop more rapidly than that of the Bembex, -profiting by the days when abundance still reigns, their host being yet in early youth), -but for the latter, who reaches the moment of metamorphosis without being able to -make up for lost time. Besides, when the first guests become pupæ and leave the table -free to it, others come, as long as the mother visits the nest, and complete its starvation. -</p> -<p>In burrows invaded by numerous parasites the Bembex larva is undoubtedly much smaller -than one would expect from the heap of food consumed, the remains of which encumber -the cell. Limp, emaciated,—only half or a third of its proper size,—it vainly tries -to spin a cocoon, the silk for which it has not got, and it perishes in a corner of -the cell, amid the pupæ of guests more fortunate than itself. Or its end may be yet -more tragic. Should provender fail, or the mother delay too long in returning with -food, the Diptera devour it. I ascertained this black deed by bringing up the brood -myself. All went well as long as food was plentiful, but if through neglect, or on -purpose, the daily supply failed, next day or the day after I was sure to find the -Diptera larvæ greedily rending that of the Bembex. Thus, when the nest is invaded -by parasites, the legitimate larva is fated to perish either by hunger or a violent -death, and this it is which makes the sight of Miltogramma prowling round the nest -so odious to the Bembex. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb247">[<a href="#pb247">247</a>]</span></p> -<p>The Bembex is not the only victim of these parasites: the burrows of one and all of -the mining Hymenoptera are invaded by Tachinids, especially by the Miltogramma. Various -observers—notably Lepeletier de Saint Fargeau—have spoken of the manœuvres of these -impudent Diptera; but as far as I know none have perceived the very curious case of -parasitism at the expense of the Bembex—very curious, because the conditions are quite -different. Nests of other Fossors are stored beforehand, and the Miltogramma drops -an egg on the prey just as it is being carried in. The provender stored and her egg -laid, the Hymenopteron closes up the cell where thenceforward live the legitimate -larva and the strangers, unvisited in their prison. Thus, the robbery committed by -the parasite is unknown to the mother, and must consequently remain unpunished. -</p> -<p>With the Bembex it is quite otherwise. The mother constantly returns during the fortnight -that she is bringing up the larva; she knows that her offspring is living among numerous -intruders, who appropriate the greater part of the food; every time that she brings -provender she touches and feels at the bottom of her den these detestable guests, -who, far from contenting themselves with remains, seize what is best. She must perceive, -however small her powers of arithmetic may be, that twelve are more than one; besides, -she would discover this from the disproportion between the consumption of food and -her means of hunting, and yet, instead of seizing these bold intruders and bundling -them out, she serenely tolerates them. Tolerates! Why, she <span class="pageNum" id="pb248">[<a href="#pb248">248</a>]</span>feeds them and brings them their rations, and perhaps feels as much tenderness for -them as for her own larva. It is a new version of the cuckoo story in yet more singular -circumstances. The theory that the cuckoo, almost as big as a sparrowhawk and coloured -like it, should look imposing enough to introduce an egg unresisted into the nest -of the weak hedge-sparrow, and that the latter, overawed perhaps by the alarming look -of her toad-faced nursling, should accept and care for the stranger, has something -in its favour. But what shall we say of a sparrow which, turning parasite, should -go with splendid audacity and intrust her eggs to the eyrie of a bird of prey—the -nest of the sparrowhawk itself—the sanguinary devourer of sparrows? What should we -say of the bird of prey who should accept the charge and bring up the brood tenderly? -It is precisely thus that the Bembex acts,—she, a captor of Diptera who yet brings -up other Diptera—a huntress who distributes food to a prey whose last repast will -be her own disembowelled offspring! I leave to cleverer people the task of explaining -these amazing relations. -</p> -<p>Let us observe the tactics employed by the Tachinid, whose object is to confide her -egg to the nest of the miner. It is an invariable rule that the fly should never penetrate -into the burrow, even if left open and the owner absent. The crafty parasite would -take good care not to entangle itself in a passage, where, having no possibility of -flight, it might pay dearly for its effrontery. The only moment for its designs—a -moment watched for with the greatest patience—is that when the Hymenopteron <span class="pageNum" id="pb249">[<a href="#pb249">249</a>]</span>enters the gallery, clasping her prey. At that instant, brief as it is, when the Bembex -or any other miner has half her body within the entrance, and is about to disappear -underground, the Miltogramma arrives on the wing, perches on the prey slightly, projecting -beyond the hinder end of the Bembex, and while she is delayed by the difficulties -of entering, the Miltogramma, with unparalleled promptitude, lays an egg on the prey, -or two, or even three eggs, successively. The hesitation of the Bembex, embarrassed -by her load, lasts but the twinkling of an eye; but that matters not—it is long enough -for the fly to accomplish its misdeed without being dragged beyond the threshold. -What must not be the suppleness of organs to achieve this instantaneous laying of -the egg! The Bembex disappears, herself introducing the enemy, and the Tachinid goes -and crouches in the sun, close to the burrow, and meditates fresh crimes. If one would -make sure that the Dipteron’s eggs have really been deposited during this rapid manœuvre, -it suffices to open the burrow and follow the Bembex to the bottom of her abode. The -prey which one takes from her bears underneath at least one egg—sometimes more, according -to the length of the delay at the entrance. These very minute eggs could only belong -to a parasite, and if any doubt remained, you can bring up the brood in a box, and -the result will be Diptera larvæ—later pupæ, and finally Miltogramma. -</p> -<p>The fly shows wonderful sagacity in the moment selected by it—the only one which could -permit of her carrying out her purpose with neither peril nor vain efforts. The Bembex, -half-way through <span class="pageNum" id="pb250">[<a href="#pb250">250</a>]</span>the entrance, cannot see her enemy audaciously perched on the hind quarters of the -prey, or, if she suspects the bandit’s presence, cannot drive it away, having no freedom -of movement in the strait passage, and in spite of all precautions to facilitate speedy -entrance, cannot always vanish underground with the celerity required, so quick is -the parasite. In fact, this is the only propitious moment, since prudence forbids -the Dipteron to penetrate into the den, where other Diptera, far stronger than itself, -are served up as food for the larvæ. Outside, in the open air, the difficulty is insurmountable, -so great is the vigilance of the Bembex. Let us give a moment to the arrival of the -mother, when the nest is being watched by the Miltogramma. -</p> -<p>Some of these flies—more or fewer, generally three or four—have settled on the sand -and are quite motionless, all gazing at the burrow, the entrance of which they know -very well, carefully hid though it be. Their dull-brown colour, their large crimson-red -eyes, their intense stillness, have often made me think of bandits who, dressed in -a dark material, with a red kerchief over their heads, are lying in wait to do some -evil deed. The Hymenopteron comes, loaded with prey. Had she no anxieties she would -alight straightway at her door. Instead, she hovers at a certain height, descends -slowly and circumspectly, hesitates, and vibrates her wings, producing a plaintive -hum denoting apprehension. She must have seen the malefactors. They too have seen -the Bembex. The movement of their red heads shows that they are following her with -their eyes; every gaze is fixed on the coveted <span class="pageNum" id="pb251">[<a href="#pb251">251</a>]</span>booty. Then come marches and counter-marches of cunning versus prudence. -</p> -<p>The Bembex drops straight down with an imperceptible flight, as if she let herself -sink gently, making a parachute of her wings. Now she is hovering just above the ground; -the flies take wing, placing themselves one and all behind her,—some nearer, some -farther,—in a geometrical line. If she turns round to disconcert them, they turn too, -with a precision which keeps them all in the same straight line; if she advances, -so do they; if she draws back, they draw back too, measuring their flight, now slow, -now stationary, on that of the Bembex at the head of the file. They do not attempt -to fling themselves on the desired object, their tactics being merely to hold themselves -in readiness in the position of rearguard, so as to avoid any hesitation when the -rapid final manœuvre shall come. -</p> -<p>Sometimes, wearied out by their obstinate pursuit, the Bembex alights, and the flies -instantly settle on the sand, still behind her, and keep quite still. She rises again, -with a sharper hum—the sign no doubt of increasing indignation; the flies follow her. -One last means remains to throw the tenacious Diptera off the track; the Bembex flies -far away—perhaps hoping to mislead the parasites by rapid evolutions over the fields. -But the crafty flies are not taken in; they let her go, and settle down again on the -sand round the burrow. When the Bembex returns the same manœuvres begin again until -the obstinacy of the parasites has exhausted her prudence. At a moment when her vigilance -fails, the flies are <span class="pageNum" id="pb252">[<a href="#pb252">252</a>]</span>instantly there. Whichever is at the most favourable point drops upon the vanishing -prey, and the thing is done—the egg is laid. -</p> -<p>There is ample evidence that the Bembex is conscious of danger, and knows how disastrous -for the future of her nest is the presence of the hated fly; her long efforts to throw -the parasites off her track, her hesitation and flights, leave not a doubt on the -subject. How is it then, I ask myself once more, that the enemy of Diptera should -allow herself to be annoyed by another Dipteron—a tiny robber, incapable of the least -resistance, which, if she chose, she could destroy instantly? Why, when once free -from the prey which hampers her, does she not pounce on these ill-doers? What is needed -to exterminate the evil brood around her burrow? Merely a battle which would take -but a few instants. But the harmony of those laws which govern the preservation of -species will not have it so, and the Bembex will always allow herself to be harassed -without ever learning from the famous “struggle for life” the radical means of extermination. -I have seen some which, pressed too closely, let fall their prey and flew off wildly, -but without any hostile demonstration, although dropping their game left them full -liberty of action. The prey, so ardently desired a moment earlier by the Tachinidæ, -lay on the ground at the mercy of them all, and not one cared about it. It had no -value for the flies, whose larvæ need the shelter of a burrow. It was valueless also -to the Bembex, who came back, felt it for an instant and left it disdainfully. The -little break in her custody of it had rendered her suspicious of it. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb253">[<a href="#pb253">253</a>]</span></p> -<p>Let us end this chapter by the history of the larva. Its monotonous life offers nothing -remarkable during the two weeks while it eats and grows. Then comes making a cocoon. -The slight development of silk-producing organs does not allow of a dwelling of pure -silk, like those of the Ammophila and Sphegidæ—made of several wrappers which protect -the larva, and later the nymph, from damp in the ill-protected, shallow burrow during -autumn rains and winter snows. Yet this Bembex burrow is in worse conditions than -those of the Sphex, being made at a depth of only a few inches in very permeable soil. -To fashion a sufficient shelter the larva supplements by its industry the small amount -of silk at its disposal. With grains of sand artistically put together and connected -by silky matter, it constructs a most solid cocoon—impenetrable to damp. -</p> -<p>Three general methods are employed by fossorial Hymenoptera to construct the dwelling -in which metamorphosis is to take place. Some hollow burrows at a great depth under -a shelter, and then the cocoon consists of a single wrapper, so thin as to be transparent. -Such is the case with Philanthidæ and Cerceris. Others are content with a shallow -burrow in open ground; but in that case they have silk enough for manifold wrappings -of the cocoon, as with Sphegidæ, Ammophila, and Scolia; or if the quantity be insufficient, -they use agglutinated sand—as, for instance, the Bembex and Palarus. One might take -a Bembex cocoon for a solid kernel, so compact and <span class="corr" id="xd31e1989" title="Source: resistent">resistant</span> is it. The form is cylindrical—one end rounded, the other pointed. <span class="pageNum" id="pb254">[<a href="#pb254">254</a>]</span>The length is about two centimetres. Outside it is slightly wrinkled and coarse, but -within the walls are smoothed by a fine varnish. -</p> -<p>Rearing at home has enabled me to follow every detail of the construction of this -curious piece of architecture—a real strong box which can brave all the severity of -the weather. First of all the larva pushes away the remains of its feast into a corner -of the cell, or the compartment arranged for it in a box with paper partitions. Having -cleared a space, it affixes to the walls of its abode threads of a beautiful white -silk, forming a spidery web which keeps the heap of food-remains at a distance, and -serves as scaffolding for the work to come. -</p> -<p>This work consists of a hammock, suspended far from anything that can defile it, in -the centre of threads stretched from wall to wall. Fine, beautiful white silk is the -only material used. The shape is that of a sack open at one end, with a wide circular -orifice, closed at the other and ending in a point; a fisherman’s basket gives a very -fair idea of it. Then the edges of the aperture are permanently kept apart by numerous -threads fastened to the neighbouring walls. The tissue of the bag is extremely fine, -allowing all that the grub does to be seen. -</p> -<p>Things had been in this state since the previous evening, when I heard the larva scratching -in the box. On opening, I found my captive busy scratching the cardboard walls with -the tips of its mandibles, its body half out of the bag. Already it had made considerable -progress, and a heap of little fragments were piled before the opening of the hammock, -to be utilised later. For lack of other <span class="pageNum" id="pb255">[<a href="#pb255">255</a>]</span>materials it would doubtless have used these scrapings for its constructions, but -I thought it better to provide according to its tastes and give it sand. Never did -Bembex larva build with such sumptuous material. I poured out for my prisoner sand -for drying writing,—sand well sprinkled with gilded grains of mica,—before the opening -of the bag, which was in a horizontal position, suitable to the work which would follow. -The larva, half out of its hammock, chose its sand almost grain by grain, routing -in the heap with its mandibles, and, if one too bulky presented itself, it was seized -and cast aside. The sand being sorted, the larva introduced a certain quantity with -its mouth into the silken fabric, then retired into its sack and began spreading the -materials in a uniform layer on the inner surface, then glued together various grains -and inlaid them in the fabric, with silk for cement. The outer surface was constructed -more slowly. These grains were carried singly and fixed on with silk gum. -</p> -<p>This first deposit of sand only concerns the anterior part of the cocoon—that half -which ends in the opening. Before turning round to work at the back part, the larva -renews its store of materials and takes certain precautions, so as not to be embarrassed -in its masonry. The sand heaped before the entrance might slip inside and hinder the -builder in so narrow a space. The grub foresees this, and glues some grains together, -making a coarse curtain of sand, which stops up the orifice, imperfectly indeed, but -enough for the purpose. These precautions taken, the grub labours at the back part -of the cocoon. From time to time it turns round to get <span class="pageNum" id="pb256">[<a href="#pb256">256</a>]</span>fresh materials from outside, tearing away a corner of the protecting curtain, and -through this window grasping the materials needed. The cocoon is still incomplete—wide -open at the upper end and without the spherical cap needed to close it. For this final -bit of work the grub provides itself abundantly with sand, and then pushes away the -heap before the entrance. A silken cap is now woven and fitted close to the mouth -of this primitive basket. On this silken foundation are deposited, one by one, the -sand grains kept in the interior and cemented with silk-spittle. This lid completed, -the larva has only to give the last finish to the interior of the dwelling and glaze -the walls with varnish, to protect its tender skin from the roughness of the sand. -</p> -<p>The hammock of pure silk and the cap which later closes it are evidently only scaffolding -intended to support the masonry of sand and to give it a regular curve. One might -compare them to the constructions used by builders when making an arch or vault. The -work being completed, the silken support disappears, partly lost in the masonry, and -partly destroyed by contact with rough earth, and no trace remains of the ingenious -method employed to put together a construction perfectly regular, yet made of a material -so little coherent as is sand. The spherical cap which closes the original basket -is a separate work, adjusted to the main body of the cocoon. However well the two -pieces are fitted and soldered, the solidity is not such as the larva would obtain -had it built the whole dwelling continuously. Thus, on the circumference of the cover -there is a circular line less capable of resistance, but this is not <span class="pageNum" id="pb257">[<a href="#pb257">257</a>]</span>a fault of construction. On the contrary it is a fresh perfection. The insect would -experience grave difficulty in issuing from its strong box, so thick are the walls, -did not the line of junction, weaker than the rest, apparently save much effort, as -it is usually along this line that the cover is detached when the perfect Bembex emerges. -</p> -<p>I have called the cocoon a strong box. It is indeed a solid article, both from its -shape and the nature of its materials. Landslips or falling sand cannot alter its -form, since the strongest pressure of one’s fingers cannot always crush it. Thus it -matters little to the larva if the ceiling of its burrow, dug in loose soil, should -sooner or later fall in, and it need not fear, even should a passing foot press down -the thin covering of sand; it runs no risks when once enclosed in its stout shelter. -Nor does damp endanger it. I have immersed Bembex cocoons for a fortnight in water -without finding any trace of damp inside them. Ah! why cannot we have such waterproof -for our dwellings? To sum up: the cocoon, of graceful oval shape, appears rather the -product of patient art than the work of a grub. For any one not behind the scenes, -the cocoons which I saw in process of construction with the sand from my inkstand -might well have been precious articles of some unknown industry—great beads starred -with golden dots on a ground of lapis lazuli, destined for the necklace of some Polynesian -belle. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb258">[<a href="#pb258">258</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch19" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e478">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XIX</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE RETURN TO THE NEST</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The Ammophila digging her well late in the day leaves her work after stopping the -entrance with a stone, flits away from one flower to another, goes into a new neighbourhood, -and yet next day can return with a caterpillar to the abode hollowed out the evening -before, notwithstanding her want of acquaintance with the locality—often new to her; -the Bembex, loaded with prey, alights with almost mathematical precision on the threshold -of a dwelling blocked by sand and rendered uniform with the rest of the sandy surface. -Where my sight and memory are at fault, theirs have a certainty verging on infallibility. -One would say that the insect possessed something more subtle than mere recollection—a -kind of intuition of locality with which nothing in us corresponds—in short, an indefinable -faculty which I call memory for lack of any other expression by which to designate -it. The unknown cannot be named. In order to throw if possible a little light on this -point in the psychology of animals I instituted a series of experiments, which I will -now describe. -</p> -<p>The first had for its subject Cerceris tuberculata, <span class="pageNum" id="pb259">[<a href="#pb259">259</a>]</span>which hunts the Cleonus. About 10 a.m. I took a dozen females busy at the same bank -and of the same colony, either hollowing or storing burrows. Each was enclosed in -a twist of paper, and all were put into a box. About two kilometres from the nests -I freed my captives, first marking them with a white dot in the middle of the thorax -by means of a straw dipped in an indelible colour, in order to recognise them later. -They flew on every side—some here, some there, but only a few paces, alighting on -blades of grass and passing their forelegs over their eyes for a moment, as if dazzled -by the bright sunshine to which they were suddenly restored. Then they took flight—some -earlier, some later; and one and all took unhesitatingly a straight line south, <i>i.e.</i> in the direction of their home. Five hours later I returned to the common territory -of the nests. Almost directly I saw two of my white-dotted Cerceris working at their -burrows. Soon a third came in, with a weevil between her feet. A fourth soon followed—four -out of twelve in a quarter of an hour was enough for conviction; I judged it useless -to wait longer; what four could do, the others could, if indeed they had not already -done it, and one may very well suppose that the eight absentees were out hunting, -or perhaps had retired into the depths of their burrows. Thus, carried to a distance -of two kilometres, in a direction and by a way which they could not possibly perceive -from the depths of their paper prison, the Cerceris—at all events part of them—had -returned home. -</p> -<p>I do not know to what distance they go hunting; possibly they know the country round -for some two kilometres. In that case they would not have been <span class="pageNum" id="pb260">[<a href="#pb260">260</a>]</span>far enough away, and came home by their local knowledge. The experiment had to be -tried again at a greater distance, and from a point which the Cerceris could not possibly -know. -</p> -<p>I therefore took nine females from the colony whence I had got them in the morning; -three of these had been already experimented upon. Again they were conveyed in a dark -box—each imprisoned in a paper twist. The starting-place was to be the neighbouring -town of Carpentras, about three kilometres from the burrows. I meant to release them -not amid fields as before, but in a street in the midst of a populous quarter, where -the Cerceris, with their rustic habits, had assuredly never penetrated. As the hour -was late I put off the experiment, and my captives spent the night in their prison -cells. -</p> -<p>The next morning, towards eight o’clock, I marked them with a double white spot on -the thorax to distinguish them from those of the evening before, which had only one, -and set them free successively in the middle of the street. Each mounted vertically, -as if to get as soon as possible from between the houses and gain a wide horizon, -then rising above the roofs, instantly and energetically turned its flight south. -And it was from the south that I brought them into the town, and their burrows are -south. Nine times with my nine prisoners did I obtain this striking result—that an -insect quite beyond its bearings should not hesitate a moment what direction to take -to regain its nest. -</p> -<p>Some hours later I too was at the burrows. I saw several of my yesterday’s Cerceris -with a white dot, but none of the last set free. Had they been <span class="pageNum" id="pb261">[<a href="#pb261">261</a>]</span>unable to find the way back? Were they out hunting, or in their galleries recovering -from the excitement of such a trial? I do not know. The next morning I came again, -and had the satisfaction of finding at work, as active as if nothing extraordinary -had happened to them, five Cerceris with two white dots. Three kilometres of distance,—the -town with its houses, roofs, and smoky chimneys—all so novel to my rustic Cerceris,—had -proved no obstacle to their return home. -</p> -<p>Taken from its brood and carried an enormous distance, the pigeon returns promptly -to its dovecote. If one were to consider the length of journey in proportion to the -size of the animal, how superior to the pigeon is the Cerceris carried away three -kilometres and returning to its burrow! The size of the insect does not equal a cubic -centimetre, while that of the pigeon must quite equal the cube of a decimetre, if -it does not exceed it. The bird, a thousand times larger than the Hymenopteron, ought, -in order to rival it, to find its dovecote at a distance of 3000 kilometres—thrice -the greatest length of France from north to south. I do not know if a carrier-pigeon -has ever shown such prowess, but wing-power and yet more lucidity of instinct cannot -be measured by yards. Nor can we here consider the question of size, and one can only -see in the insect a worthy rival to the bird without deciding which has the advantage. -</p> -<p>Are the two guided by memory when placed by man beyond their bearings and carried -to great distances—into regions with which they are unacquainted and in unknown directions? -Is memory <span class="pageNum" id="pb262">[<a href="#pb262">262</a>]</span>as quick when, having reached a certain height at which they can in some sort take -their bearings, they launch themselves with all their power of wing towards that part -of the horizon where are their nests? Is it memory which traces their aerial way across -regions seen for the first time? Evidently not. It is not possible to recollect the -unknown. The Hymenopteron and the bird know nothing of their surroundings; nothing -can have taught them the general direction which they followed when carried thither, -for it was in the darkness of a closed box that the journey was made. Locality, orientation,—all -is unknown, and yet they find their way. They have then as guide something better -than simple memory—a special faculty, a kind of topographic consciousness of which -we can form no idea, possessing nothing analogous to it. -</p> -<p>I am now about to establish experimentally how subtle and precise is this faculty -in the narrow cycle where it is applied, and also how limited and obtuse when it has -to move out of habitual conditions. Such is the invariable antithesis of instinct. -</p> -<p>A Bembex, actively engaged in feeding her larva, has left her burrow. She will return -immediately with the product of the chase. The entrance is carefully stopped with -sand—swept backward by the insect before departing. Nothing distinguishes it from -the rest of the sandy surface. But this offers no difficulty to the Hymenopteron, -who finds her doorway again with a sagacity which I have already described. Let us -plan some treachery; let us perplex her by altering the state of the place. I cover -the entrance with a flat stone as large as <span class="pageNum" id="pb263">[<a href="#pb263">263</a>]</span>my hand. She soon returns. The complete change made upon her threshold during her -absence does not seem to cause her the slightest hesitation; at all events she alights -immediately upon the stone, and tries for an instant to hollow it, not at a chance -spot, but exactly over the opening of her burrow. Quickly turned aside from this attempt -by the hardness of the obstacle, she traverses the stone in every direction, goes -round it, slips underneath, and begins to dig in the precise direction of her dwelling. -</p> -<p>The flat stone is too trifling an obstacle to disconcert the clever fly; let us find -something better. I did not allow the Bembex to continue her excavation, which I saw -would soon prove successful, and drove her far off with my handkerchief. The absence -of the frightened insect for a considerable time allowed me to prepare my snares leisurely. -What materials must now be employed? In these improvised experiments one must know -how to turn all things to profit. Not far off on the high road is the fresh dropping -of a beast of burden; here is wood for our arrow. The dropping was collected, crushed, -and spread in a layer at least an inch thick on the threshold of the burrow and its -surroundings over more than a quarter of a yard. Assuredly here was such a façade -as never Bembex knew. Colour, the nature of the material, the effluvium,—all combined -to deceive the Hymenopteron. Can she take this stretch of manure—this dung—for the -front of the dwelling? She does! Here she comes; studying from above the unusual condition -of the place, and settling in the middle of the layer, just opposite the entrance, -routing about, making a way <span class="pageNum" id="pb264">[<a href="#pb264">264</a>]</span>through the fibrous mass, and penetrating to the sand, she promptly discovers the -mouth of the passage. I stop and drive her away a second time. -</p> -<p>Is not the precision with which the Bembex settles before her dwelling, though masked -in a way so novel, a proof that sight and memory are not in such a case the only guides? -What further can there be? Smell, perhaps. That is very doubtful, for the emanations -from the dung could not baffle the perspicacity of the insect. Nevertheless, let us -try another odour. I happen to have with me, as part of my entomological outfit, a -little phial of ether. The covering of manure is swept off and replaced by a cushion -of moss, not very thick, but covering a wide surface, on which I pour the contents -of my phial the moment I see the Bembex coming. The over-strong emanations keep her -off, but only for an instant. She alights on the moss, still reeking of ether, traverses -the obstacle and penetrates to her dwelling. The etherised effluvia did not disturb -her any more than did those of the manure; something surer than smell tells where -her nest is. -</p> -<p>The antennæ have been often suggested as the seat of a special sense to guide insects. -I have already shown how the suppression of these organs appears to offer no obstacle -to the researches of the Hymenoptera. Let us try once more in wider conditions. The -Bembex is caught, its antennæ amputated to the roots, and is then released. Stung -by the pain—wild with terror at being held between my fingers—the insect flies off -swifter than an arrow. I had to wait a whole hour, uncertain as to its <span class="pageNum" id="pb265">[<a href="#pb265">265</a>]</span>return. However, it came, and with its invariable precision alighted quite close to -its doorway, whose look I had changed for the fourth time, having covered the site -with a large mosaic of pebbles the size of a nut. My work, which, compared to the -Bembex, surpassed what for us are the Megalithic monuments of Brittany, or the lines -of Menhirs at Carnac, was powerless to deceive the mutilated insect. Though deprived -of antennæ it found the entrance in the midst of my mosaic as easily as would have -done an insect under other conditions. This time I let the faithful mother go home -in peace. -</p> -<p>The site transformed four times over, the outworks of the abode changed in colour, -scent, and material, the pain of a double wound,—all failed to disconcert the Hymenopteron -or even to make her doubtful as to the precise locality of her doorway. I had exhausted -my stratagems, and understood less than ever how the insect, if it have no special -guide in some faculty unknown to us, can find its way when sight and smell are baffled -by the artifices of which I have spoken. Some days later an experience gave me the -opportunity to take up the problem from a new point of view. The Bembex burrow had -to be bared in its whole extent, without quite destroying it, to which operation its -shallowness and almost horizontal direction, and the light soil in which it was made, -lent themselves readily. The sand was gradually scraped off with the blade of a knife, -and thus, deprived of roof from end to end, the underground abode became a semi-canal -or conduit, straight or curved, some eight inches long, open where was the entrance, -and ending <span class="pageNum" id="pb266">[<a href="#pb266">266</a>]</span>in a cul-de-sac where lay the larva amid its food. -</p> -<p>The dwelling was uncovered in full sunshine; how would the mother behave on her return? -Let us consider the question scientifically. The observer may be greatly embarrassed: -what I have already seen leads me to expect it. The mother’s impulse is to bring food -to her larva, but to reach this larva she must first find the door. Grub and entrance -are the points which appear to deserve being separately examined; therefore I take -away grub and food, and the end of the passage is cleared. There is nothing more to -do but arm one’s self with patience. -</p> -<p>At last the Bembex arrives and makes straight for her absent door, only the threshold -of which remains. There for a good hour did I see her dig, sweep the surface, send -the sand flying, and persist, not in making a new gallery, but in seeking the loose -sand barrier which should yield to the mere pressure of her head and let her pass -easily. Instead of loose materials she finds firm soil not yet disturbed. Warned by -this resistance she limits her efforts to exploring the surface, always close to where -the door should be, only allowing herself to deviate a few inches. She returns to -sound and sweep places already sounded and swept some twenty times, unable to leave -her narrow circle, so obstinately convinced is she that the door must be there and -nowhere else. With a straw I pushed her gently and repeatedly to another point. She -would have none of it, and came back at once to where the door ought to have been. -Now and then the gallery, turned into a semi-canal, appeared to attract <span class="pageNum" id="pb267">[<a href="#pb267">267</a>]</span>her attention, but very faintly. She would go a few steps along it, still raking, -and then return to the entrance. Two or three times I saw her go the whole length -of the gallery and reach the cul-de-sac where the larva should be, do a little careless -raking, and hurry back where the entrance used to be, and continue searching with -a patience which exhausted mine. More than an hour had passed, and still she sought -on the site whence the door had disappeared. -</p> -<p>What would happen in the presence of the larva? That was the second part of the question. -To continue the experiment with the same Bembex would not have offered sufficient -guarantee, as the creature, rendered more obstinate by her vain search, seemed possessed -by a fixed idea, and this would have interfered with the facts which I wanted to prove. -I required a new subject, concerned solely with the impulses of the actual moment. -An opportunity soon came. The burrow was uncovered, as I have just said; but I did -not touch the contents; larva and food were left in their places,—all was in order -inside, the roof only was wanting. Well, with this open dwelling, whose every detail -the eye could embrace,—vestibule, gallery, cell at the far end, with the grub and -its heap of provender,—this dwelling turned into a roofless gallery at the end of -which the larva was moving restlessly, under the hot sun, its mother continued the -manœuvres already described. She alighted just where the entrance had been, and there -it was that she hunted about and swept the sand—there that she always returned after -some hasty attempt elsewhere in a circuit of a few <span class="pageNum" id="pb268">[<a href="#pb268">268</a>]</span>inches. No exploration of the gallery—no anxiety for the distressed larva; though -the grub, whose delicate skin has just exchanged the gentle moisture of a cave for -burning sunshine, is writhing on its heap of chewed Diptera, the mother takes no notice -of it. For her it is no more than any one of the objects strewn on the sand,—a little -pebble, a clod, a scrap of dried mud,—nothing more. It is undeserving of attention. -This tender, faithful mother, who wears herself out in efforts to reach her nursling’s -cradle, cares nothing just now but for her entrance door—the door she is used to. -That which goes to her maternal heart is the longing to find the well-known passage. -Yet the way is open; nothing holds her back, and under her eyes wriggles the grub, -the final object of her anxiety. With one spring she would be at the side of the unhappy -larva who so needs help. Why does she not rush to her beloved nursling? She could -dig a new habitation and get it swiftly underground. But no—she persists in seeking -a way which no longer exists, while her son is grilled under her eyes. I was boundlessly -surprised by this obtuse maternity, since maternity is the most powerful and most -fertile in resource of all feelings which move the animal. Hardly could I have believed -my eyes but for endless experiments on the Cerceris and Philanthidæ, as well as on -Bembecidæ of different species. Stranger still, the mother, after long hesitation, -at length entered the unroofed passage—all that was left of the corridor. She advanced, -drew back, and gave a few careless sweeps without stopping. Guided by vague recollections, -and perhaps by the smell of <span class="pageNum" id="pb269">[<a href="#pb269">269</a>]</span>venison exhaled from the heap of Diptera, she came occasionally as far as the end -of the gallery, the very spot where lay the larva. Mother and son had met. At this -moment of reunion after long anxiety, were there earnest solicitude, sign of tenderness, -or of maternal joy? Whoever thinks so has only to repeat my experiment to convince -himself of the contrary. The Bembex did not recognise her larva at all; it was a worthless -thing, in her way,—nothing but an embarrassment. She walked over it and trampled it -unheeding, as she hurried backwards and forwards. If she wanted to dig at the bottom -of the cell, she rudely kicked it behind her,—pushed, upset, expelled it, as she might -have treated a large bit of gravel which got in her way while at work. Thus maltreated, -the larva bethought itself of defence. I have seen it seize her by one tarsus with -no more ceremony than she would have shown in biting the foot of a Dipteron caught -by her. The struggle was sharp, but at last the fierce mandibles let go, and the mother -flew wildly away with her sharpest hum. This unnatural scene of the son biting the -mother, and perhaps even trying to eat her, is unusual, and brought about by circumstances -which the observer is not always able to conjure up. What one can always witness is -the profound indifference of the Hymenopteron for its offspring, and the brutal disdain -with which that inconvenient heap, the grub, is treated. Once she has raked out the -far end of the passage, which is done in a moment, the Bembex returns to her favourite -point, the threshold, to resume her useless researches. As for the grub, it continues -to struggle <span class="pageNum" id="pb270">[<a href="#pb270">270</a>]</span>and wriggle wherever the maternal kicks may have landed it. It will perish unaided -by its mother, who could not recognise it because she was unable to find the passage -she was used to. If we return to-morrow, we shall find it in the gallery, half-broiled -by the sun, and already a prey to the flies—once its own prey. -</p> -<p>Such is the connection in acts of instinct; one leading to the next in an order that -the most serious circumstances have no power to alter. After all, what was the Bembex -seeking? Her larva, evidently. But to reach this larva she had to enter the burrow, -and to enter the burrow she had to find the door, and the mother persists in seeking -this door while the gallery lay open with provender and larva all before her. The -ruined abode, the endangered family, were for the moment unimportant; all she could -think of was the familiar passage reached through loose sand. Let all go—habitation -and inhabitant—if this passage be not found! Her actions are like a series of echoes, -awaking one another in a fixed order, the following one only sounding when the preceding -has sounded. Not because there was any obstacle; the burrow was all open, but for -want of the usual entrance the first action could not take place. That decides everything; -the first echo is mute, and so all the rest are silent. What a gulf between intelligence -and instinct! Through the ruins of the shattered dwelling a mother guided by intelligence -rushes straight to her son; guided by instinct she stops obstinately where once was -the door. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb271">[<a href="#pb271">271</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch20" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e489">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XX</h2> -<h2 class="main">MASON BEES</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Réaumur has dedicated one of his studies to the Chalicodoma of walls, which he calls -the Mason Bee. I propose to resume this study, to complete it, and especially to consider -it from a point of view entirely neglected by that illustrious observer. And first -of all I am tempted to state how I made acquaintance with this Hymenopteron. It was -when I first began to teach—towards <span class="asc">A.D.</span> 1843. On leaving the Normal School of Vaucluse a few months previously, with my certificate, -and the <i><span class="corr" id="xd31e2083" title="Source: naive">naïve</span></i> enthusiasm of eighteen, I was sent to Carpentras to manage the primary school belonging -to the college. A singular school it was, upon my word, notwithstanding its fine title -of “Upper”!—a kind of vast cellar breathing out the damp engendered by a fountain -backing on it in the street. Light came in through a door opening outward when the -weather allowed of it, and a narrow prison-window, with iron-bars, and little diamond -panes set in lead. For seats there was a plank fastened to the walls all round the -room; in the middle was a chair guiltless of straw, a blackboard, and a bit of chalk. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb272">[<a href="#pb272">272</a>]</span></p> -<p>Morning and evening, at the sound of a bell, there tumbled in some fifty young rascals, -who, having failed to master De viris and the Epitome, were devoting themselves, as -one said then, to “some good years of French.” The failures at “Rosa, a Rose,” came -to me to learn a little spelling. Children were mingled with tall lads at various -stages of education, and all distressingly agreed in playing tricks on the master—no -older, even younger, than some of themselves. -</p> -<p>I taught the little ones to read syllables, the middle ones to hold a pen in the right -way while writing a few words of dictation on their knees; for the eldest I unveiled -the secrets of fractions, and even the mysteries of the <span class="corr" id="xd31e2090" title="Source: hypothenuse">hypotenuse</span>. And the only means I had to keep this restless crowd in order, give each mind appropriate -food, arouse attention, expel dulness from the gloomy room whose very walls dripped -melancholy, were my tongue and a bit of chalk. -</p> -<p>For that matter there was equal disdain in the other classes for all which was not -Latin or Greek. One instance will suffice to show the style in which physical science -was treated, now so large a part of education. The principal of this college was an -excellent man—the worthy Abbé X, who, not anxious himself to grow green peas and bacon, -turned over such matters to some relation of his, and undertook to teach physical -science. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p272width" id="p272"><img src="images/p272.jpg" alt="MASON BEES—CHALICODOMA MURARIA ON OLD NEST" width="720" height="462"><div class="figAnnotation p272width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 272.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">MASON BEES—CHALICODOMA MURARIA ON OLD NEST</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>Let us attend one of his lessons, which happens to be on the barometer. By good luck -the college owned one. It was an old article, very dusty, hung high out of reach of -profane hands, and bearing on <span class="pageNum" id="pb273">[<a href="#pb273">273</a>]</span>its face in large letters the words, Storm, Rain, Fine. “The barometer,” began the -good abbé, addressing himself to his disciples—he used a fatherly second person singular -to each,—“the barometer gives notice of good or bad weather. Thou seest the words -written here—Storm, Rain—thou seest, Bastien?” “I see,” replies Bastien, the most -mischievous of the troop. He has run through his book, and knows more about the barometer -than does his professor. “It is composed,” the abbé goes on, “of a curved glass tube -full of mercury which rises and falls according to the weather. The small branch of -this tube is open; the other—the other—we shall see as to the other. Bastien—Get on -this chair, and just feel with the tip of thy finger if the long branch is open or -closed. I do not quite remember.” Bastien goes to the chair, stands as high as he -can on tip-toe, and feels the top of the long column with a finger tip. Then, with -a slight smile under the down of his dawning moustache, he replies, “Yes, exactly; -yes, the long branch is open at the top. I can feel the hollow.” And to corroborate -his mendacious statement he went on moving his forefinger on the top of the tube, -while his co-disciples, accomplices in mischief, stifled their laughter as best they -could. The abbé said calmly, “That will do. Come down, Bastien. Gentlemen, write in -your notes that the long branch of the barometer is open. You might forget it. I had -forgotten it myself.” -</p> -<p>Thus were physics taught. Things mended, however; a master came, and came to stay,—one -who knew that the long branch of a barometer is <span class="pageNum" id="pb274">[<a href="#pb274">274</a>]</span>closed. I obtained tables on which my pupils could write instead of scrawling on their -knees, and as my class grew daily larger, it ended by being divided. As soon as I -had an assistant to look after the younger ones, things changed for the better. -</p> -<p>Among the subjects taught, one pleased master and pupils equally. This was out-of-door -geometry, practical surveying. The college had none of the necessary outfit, but with -my large emoluments—700 francs, if you please!—I could not hesitate as to making the -outlay. A measuring chain and stakes, a level, square, and compass were bought at -my expense. A tiny graphometer, hardly bigger than one’s palm, and worth about 4s. -2d., was furnished by the college. We had no tripod, and I had one made. In short, -my outfit was complete. When May came, once a week the gloomy class-room was exchanged -for the fields, and we all felt it as a holiday. There were disputes as to the honour -of carrying the stakes, divided into packets of three, and more than one shoulder -as we went through the town felt glorified in the sight of all by the learned burden. -I myself—why conceal it?—was not without a certain satisfaction at carrying tenderly -the most precious part of the apparatus, the famous four-and-twopenny graphometer. -The scene of operations was an uncultivated pebbly plain—a <i>harmas</i>, as we call it in these parts. No curtain of live hedge, no bushes, hindered me from -keeping an eye upon my followers; here—an all important condition—I need not fear -temptation from green apricots for my scholars. There was free scope for all imaginable -<span class="pageNum" id="pb275">[<a href="#pb275">275</a>]</span>polygons; trapezes and triangles might be joined at will. Wide distances suggested -plenty of elbow room, and there was even an ancient building, once a dovecote, which -lent its vertical lines to the service of the graphometer. -</p> -<p>Now from the very first a suspicious something caught my attention. If a scholar were -sent to plant a distant stake I saw him frequently pause, stoop, rise, seek about, -and stoop again, forgetful of straight line and of signals. Another, whose work it -was to pick up pegs, forgot the iron spike and took a pebble instead; and a third, -deaf to the measurements of the angle, crumbled up a clod. The greater number were -caught licking a bit of straw, and polygons stood still, and diagonals came to grief. -What could be the mystery? I inquired, and all was explained. Searcher and observer -born, the scholar was well aware of what the master was ignorant of—namely, that a -great black bee makes earthen nests on the pebbles of the harmas, and that in these -nests there is honey. My surveyors were opening and emptying the cells with a straw. -I was instructed in the proper method. The honey, though somewhat strong-flavoured, -is very acceptable; I in turn acquired a taste for it, and joined the nest-hunters. -Later, the polygon was resumed. Thus it was that for the first time I saw Réaumur’s -Mason Bee, knowing neither its history nor its historian. -</p> -<p>This splendid Hymenopteron, with its dark violet wings and costume of black velvet, -its rustic constructions on the sun-warmed pebbles among the thyme, its honey, which -brought diversion from the severities <span class="pageNum" id="pb276">[<a href="#pb276">276</a>]</span>of compass and square, made a strong impression on my mind, and I wished to know more -about it than my pupils had taught me—namely, how to rob the cells of their honey -with a straw. Just then my bookseller had for sale a magnificent work on insects, -The Natural History of Articulated Animals, by de Castelnau, E. Blanchard, and Lucas. -It was enriched with many engravings which caught the eye. But alas, it had a price—such -a price! What did that matter? My 700 francs ought surely to suffice for everything—food -for the mind as well as for the body. That which I bestowed on the one I retrenched -from the other—a balance of accounts to which whoever takes science for a livelihood -must needs resign himself. The purchase was made. That day I bled my university stipend -abundantly; I paid away a whole month of it. It took a miracle of parsimony to fill -up the enormous deficit. -</p> -<p>The book was devoured—I can use no other word. There I learned the name of my black -bee, and there I read for the first time details of the habits of insects, and found, -with what seemed to my eyes an aureole round them, the venerated names of Réaumur, -Huber, Léon Dufour; and while I turned the pages for the hundredth time, a voice whispered -vaguely, “Thou too shalt be a historian of animals!” Naïve illusions! where are you? -But let us banish these recollections, both sweet and sad, and come to the doings -of our black bee. -</p> -<p>Chalicodoma, house of pebbles, rough-cast mortar, a name which would be perfect did -it not look odd to any one not well up in Greek. It is a <span class="pageNum" id="pb277">[<a href="#pb277">277</a>]</span>name applied to those Hymenoptera that build cells with materials such as we use for -our dwellings. It is masonry, but made by a rustic workman, better used to dried clay -than to hewn stone. A stranger to scientific classification (and this causes great -obscurity in some of his memoirs), Réaumur called the worker after the work, and named -our builders in dried clay Mason Bees, which paints them exactly. We have two kinds, -C. muraria, whose history is admirably given by Réaumur, and C. sicula, which is not -special to the land of Etna, as the name suggests, but is found in Greece, Algeria, -and the Mediterranean region of France, especially in the department of Vaucluse, -where in May it is one of the most common Hymenoptera. The two sexes of C. muraria -are so unlike in colouring that a novice observing both coming out of the same nest -would take them for strangers to one another. The female is of a splendid velvet black, -with dark violet wings; in the male the black velvet is replaced by a bright iron-red -fleece. The second species—a much smaller one—has not this difference of colour, both -sexes wearing the same costume—a general mixture of brown, red, and ashy tints. Both -begin to build in the beginning of May. The wing-tips, washed with violet on a bronze -ground, faintly recall the rich purple of the first species. -</p> -<p>As Réaumur tells us, C. muraria in the northern provinces chooses as the place to -fix her nest a wall well exposed to the sun and not plastered, as the plaster might -come off and endanger her cells. She only entrusts her constructions to a solid foundation, -such as a bare stone. I see that she is equally <span class="pageNum" id="pb278">[<a href="#pb278">278</a>]</span>prudent in the south, but, for some reason unknown to me, she generally chooses some -other base than the stone of a wall. A rolled pebble, often hardly larger than one’s -fist,—one of those with which the waters of the glacial period covered the terraces -of the <span class="corr" id="xd31e2130" title="Source: Rhone">Rhône</span> valley,—is her favourite support. The great ease with which such a one is found may -influence her; all our slightly raised plateaux, all our arid thyme-clad ground, are -but heaped pebbles cemented with red earth. In the valleys the bee can also use the -stones gathered in torrent beds; near Orange, for instance, her favourite spots are -the alluviums of the Aygues, with their stretches of rolled boulders no longer visited -by water. Or if a pebble be wanting, she will establish her nest on a boundary stone -or an enclosing wall. -</p> -<p>Chalicodoma sicula has a yet greater variety of choice. Her favourite position is -under a tile projecting from the edge of a roof. There is scarcely a little dwelling -in the fields that does not thus shelter her nests. There, every spring, she establishes -populous colonies, whose masonry, transmitted from one generation to another, and -yearly enlarged, finally covers a very considerable surface. I have seen such a one -under the tiles of a shed, which spread over five or six square yards. When the colony -were hard at work, their number and humming fairly made one dizzy. The underpart of -a balcony pleases them equally, or the frame of an unused window,—above all, if closed -by a sun-shutter, which offers a free passage. But these are great meeting-places, -where labour, each for herself, hundreds and thousands of workers. If alone, which -not seldom occurs, Chalicodoma <span class="pageNum" id="pb279">[<a href="#pb279">279</a>]</span>sicula establishes herself in the first little spot she can find, so long as it has -a solid basis and heat. As for the nature of this basis it matters little. I have -seen nests built on bare stones and brick, on a shutter, and even on the glass panes -in a shed. One thing only does not suit the bee—namely, the stucco of our houses. -Prudent, like her retainer C. muraria, she would fear ruin to her cells did she entrust -them to a support which might fall. -</p> -<p>Finally, for reasons which I cannot yet satisfactorily explain, C. sicula often entirely -changes her manner of building, turning her heavy mortar dwelling, which seems to -require a rock to support it, into an aerial one, hung to a bough. A bush in a hedge,—no -matter what—hawthorn, pomegranate, or Paliurus,—offers a support, usually about the -height of a man, Ilex and elm give a greater height. The bee chooses in some thicket -a bough about as thick as a straw, and constructs her edifice on this narrow base -with the same mortar which would be used under a balcony or the projecting edge of -a roof. When finished, the nest is a ball of earth, traversed literally by the bough. -If made by a single insect it is the size of an apricot, and of a fist if several -have worked at it; but this seldom occurs. -</p> -<p>Both species use the same materials, a calcareous clay, mixed with a little sand and -kneaded with the mason’s own saliva. Damp spots which would facilitate labour and -spare saliva to mix mortar are disdained by the Chalicodoma, which refuses fresh earth -for building, just as our builders refuse old plaster and lime. Such materials when -soaked with humidity would not hold properly. What is needed is a dry <span class="pageNum" id="pb280">[<a href="#pb280">280</a>]</span>powder, which readily absorbs the disgorged saliva, and forms with the albuminous -principles of this liquid a kind of Roman cement, hardening quickly,—something like -what we obtain with quicklime and white of egg. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p280width" id="p280"><img src="images/p280.jpg" alt="MASON BEES—CHALICODOMA SICULA AND NEST" width="720" height="467"><div class="figAnnotation p280width"><span class="figTop"> </span><span class="figBottomRight">[<i>To face p. 280.</i></span></div> -<p class="figureHead">MASON BEES—CHALICODOMA SICULA AND NEST</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>A beaten road, formed of calcareous boulders crushed by passing wheels into a smooth -surface like paving stones, is the quarry whence Chalicodoma sicula prefers to get -mortar; whether she builds on a branch, in a hedge, or under the jutting roof of some -rural habitation, it is always from a neighbouring path, or a road, or the highway, -that she seeks materials—indifferent to the constant passing of beasts and travellers. -You should see the active bee at work when the road is dazzling white in the hot sunshine. -Between the neighbouring farm where she is building and the road where the mortar -is prepared, there is the deep hum of the bees perpetually crossing each other as -they come and go. The air seems traversed by constant trails of smoke, so rapid and -direct is their flight. Those who go carry away a pellet of mortar as big as small -shot; those who come settle on the hardest and driest spots. Their whole body vibrates -as they scratch with the tips of their mandibles, and rake with their forefeet to -extract atoms of earth and grains of sand, which, being rolled between their teeth, -become moist with saliva and unite. They work with such ardour that they will let -themselves be crushed under the foot of a passer-by rather than move. Chalicodoma -muraria, however, which seeks solitude, far from human habitation, is rarely seen -on beaten paths; perhaps they are too distant from the places where she builds. If -<span class="pageNum" id="pb281">[<a href="#pb281">281</a>]</span>she can find dry earth, rich in small gravel, near the boulder chosen as the basis -of her nest, she is contented. She may either make quite a new nest in a spot hitherto -unoccupied, or over the cells of an old one, after repairing them. Let us consider -the first case. -</p> -<p>After choosing a boulder, she comes with a pellet of mortar in her mandibles, and -arranges it in a ring on the surface of the pebble. The forefeet, and above all the -mandibles, which are her most important tools, work the material, which is kept plastic -by the gradually disgorged saliva. To consolidate the unbaked clay, angular pieces -of gravel, as large as a small bean, are worked in singly on the outside of the still -soft mass. This is the foundation of the edifice. Other layers are added until the -cell has the required height of three or four centimetres. The masonry is formed by -stones laid on one another and cemented with lime, and can stand comparison with our -own. True, to economise labour and mortar, the bee uses coarse materials,—large bits -of gravel, which in her case answer to hewn blocks. They are chosen singly—very hard -ones, almost always with angles which, fitted together, give mutual support, and add -solidity to the whole. Layers of mortar, sparingly used, hold them together. The outside -of the cell thus assumes the look of a piece of rustic architecture, in which stones -project with their natural inequalities; but over the inside, which requires a smoother -surface in order not to wound the tender skin of the larva, is spread a wash of pure -mortar—artlessly, however, as if by broad sweeps of a trowel; and when it has eaten -up its honey paste, the grub<span id="xd31e2155"></span> <span class="pageNum" id="pb282">[<a href="#pb282">282</a>]</span>takes care to make a cocoon and hang the rude wall of its abode with silk. The Anthophora -and Halictus, whose larvæ spin no cocoon, varnish the inside of their earthen cells -delicately, giving them the polish of worked ivory. -</p> -<p>The construction, the axis of which is always nearly vertical, with an orifice opening -upward, so that the fluid honey may not run out, differs a little in form, according -to its basis. On a horizontal surface it rises like a little oval tower; on a vertical -or slanting one it resembles half a thimble cut down its length. In this case the -support—the pebble itself—completes the surrounding wall. The cell completed, the -bee sets to work at once to store it. The neighbouring flowers, especially those of -Genista scorpius, which in May turn the alluviums of the torrents golden, furnish -sugared liquid and pollen. She comes with her crop swelled with honey, and all yellow -underneath with pollen dust, and plunges head first into the cell, where for some -moments one may see her work her body in a way which tells that she is disgorging -honey. Her crop emptied, she comes out, but only to go in again at once—this time -backwards. With her two hind feet she now frees herself from her load, of pollen by -brushing herself underneath. Again she goes out, and returns head first. She must -stir the materials with her mandibles for a spoon, and mix all thoroughly together. -This labour of mixing is not repeated after every journey, but only from time to time, -when a considerable quantity has been collected. When the cell is half full, it is -stored; an egg must be laid on the honey paste, and the door <span class="pageNum" id="pb283">[<a href="#pb283">283</a>]</span>has to be closed. This is all done without delay. The orifice is closed by a cover -of undiluted mortar, worked from the circumference to the centre. Two days at most -seem required for the whole work, unless bad weather or a cloudy day should interrupt -it. Then, backing on the first cell, a second is built and stored in the same way, -and a third and fourth, etc., follow, each one with honey and an egg, and closed before -another is begun. Work once begun is continued until it is completed, the bee never -building a new cell until the four acts required to perfect the preceding one are -performed—namely, construction, provisioning, an egg, and sealing the cell. -</p> -<p>As Chalicodoma muraria always works alone on her chosen boulder, and shows great jealousy -if her neighbours alight there, the number of cells clustered on one pebble is not -great—usually six to ten. Are some eight larvæ her whole progeny, or will she establish -a more numerous family on other boulders? The surface of the stone would allow of -more cells if she had eggs for them, and the bee might build there very comfortably -without hunting for another, or leaving the one to which she is attached by habit -and long acquaintance. I think, therefore, that most probably all her scanty family -are settled on the same stone—at all events when she builds a new abode. -</p> -<p>The six or ten cells composing the group are certainly a solid dwelling, with their -rustic covering of gravel, but the thickness of their walls and lids—two millimetres -at most—hardly seems sufficient against rough weather. Set on its stone in the open -<span class="pageNum" id="pb284">[<a href="#pb284">284</a>]</span>air, quite unsheltered, the nest will undergo the heat of summer suns which will turn -every cell into an oven; then will come the autumn rains which will slowly eat away -the masonry, and then winter frosts which will crumble what the rain may have respected. -However hard the cement may be, can it resist all these attacks, and if it can, will -not the larvæ, sheltered by so thin a wall, suffer from over-heat in summer and too -keen cold in winter? -</p> -<p>Without having gone through all these arguments, the bee acts wisely. When all the -cells are completed she builds a thick cover over the whole group, which, being of -a material impermeable to water and almost a non-conductor, is at once a defence against -heat and cold and damp. This material is the usual mortar, made of earth and saliva, -only with no small stones in it. The bee lays it on,—one pellet after another, one -trowelful and then a second,—till there is a layer a centimetre thick over all the -cells, which disappear entirely under it. The nest is now a rude dome, about as big -as half an orange; one would take it for a clod of mud, half crushed by being flung -against a stone where it had dried. Nothing outside betrays its contents—no suggestion -of cells—none of labour. To the ordinary eye it is only a chance splash of mud. -</p> -<p>This general cover dries as rapidly as do our hydraulic cements, and the nest is almost -as hard as a stone. A knife with a strong blade is needed to cut it. In its final -shape the nest recalls in no degree the original work; one would suppose the elegant -turrets adorned with pebble work, and the final dome, looking like a bit of mud, to -be the work of <span class="pageNum" id="pb285">[<a href="#pb285">285</a>]</span>two different species. But scratch away the cover of cement and we recognise the cells -and their layers of tiny pebbles. Instead of building on a boulder yet unoccupied, -Chalicodoma muraria likes to utilise old nests which have lasted through the year -without notable injury. The mortared dome has remained much as it was at the beginning, -so solid was the masonry; only it is pierced by a number of round holes corresponding -to the chambers inhabited by the larvæ of the past generation. Such dwellings, only -needing a little repair to put them in good condition, economise much time and toil; -so Mason Bees seek them, and only undertake new constructions when old nests fail -them. -</p> -<p>From the same dome come forth brothers and sisters—reddish males and black females—all -descendants of the same bee. The males lead a careless life, avoiding all labour, -and only returning to their clay dwellings for a brief courtship of their ladies; -and they care nothing for the deserted dwelling. What they want is nectar from flower-cups, -not mortar between their mandibles. But there are the young mothers, who have sole -charge of the future of the family—to which of them will fall the inheritance of the -old nest? As sisters they have an equal right to it—so would human justice decide, -now that it has made the enormous progress of freeing itself from the old savage right -of primogeniture; but Mason Bees have not got beyond the primitive basis of property—the -right of the first comer. -</p> -<p>So when the time to lay has come, a bee takes the first free nest which suits her -and establishes herself <span class="pageNum" id="pb286">[<a href="#pb286">286</a>]</span>there, and woe to any sister or neighbour who thenceforward disputes possession of -it. A hot reception and fierce pursuit would soon put the new-comer to flight; only -one cell is wanted at the moment out of all which gape like little wells around the -dome, but the bee calculates that by and by the rest will be useful, and she keeps -a jealous watch on them all and drives away every visitor. I cannot remember having -seen two Mason Bees working on the same pebble. -</p> -<p>The work is now very simple. The bee examines the inside of the old cell to see where -repairs are needed, tears down the rags of cocoon hanging on the walls, carries out -the bits of earth fallen from the vault pierced by the inhabitant in order to get -out, mortars any places out of repair, mends the orifice a little, and that is all. -Then comes storage, laying an egg, and stopping up the cell. When these are successively -completed, the general cover, the mortar dome, is repaired if necessary, and all is -finished. -</p> -<p>Chalicodoma sicula prefers a sociable life to a solitary one, and hundreds—nay, several -thousands—will establish themselves on the under surface of the tiles on a hovel, -or the edge of a roof. It is not a real society with common interests, dear to all, -but merely a gathering where each works for herself and is not concerned for the rest—a -throng recalling the swarm of a hive only by their number and industry. They use the -same mortar as Chalicodoma muraria, equally <span class="corr" id="xd31e2182" title="Source: resistent">resistant</span> and waterproof, but finer and without pebbles. First the old nests are utilised. -Every free cell is repaired, stored, and shut up. But the old ones are far from sufficing -to the population, which increases rapidly year by year, and on the <span class="pageNum" id="pb287">[<a href="#pb287">287</a>]</span>surface of the nest, where the cells are hidden below the old general mortar covering, -new ones are built as required. They are placed more or less horizontally, one beside -another, with no kind of order. Every constructor builds as the fancy takes her, where -and as she wills; only she must not interfere with her neighbour’s work, or rough -treatment will soon call her to order. The cells accumulate in chance fashion in this -workyard, where there is no general plan whatever. Their form is that of a thimble -divided down the axis, and their enclosure is completed either by adjacent cells, -or the surface of the old nest. Outside they are rough, and look like layers of knotted -cords corresponding to the layers of mortar. Inside the walls are level but not smooth; -a cocoon will replace the absent polish. -</p> -<p>As soon as a cell is built it is stored and walled up, as we have seen with Chalicodoma -muraria. This work goes on through the whole of May. At length all the eggs are laid, -and the bees, without any distinction as to what does or does not belong to them, -all set to work on a common shelter of the colony—a thick bed of mortar, filling up -spaces and covering all the cells. In the end the nests look like a large mass of -dry mud—very irregular, arched, thickest in the middle, the primitive kernel of the -establishment, thinnest at the edges, where there are fewest cells, and very variable -in extent, according to the number of workers, and consequently to the time when the -nest was begun. Some are not much larger than one’s hand, while others will occupy -the greater part of the edge of a roof, and be measured by square yards. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb288">[<a href="#pb288">288</a>]</span></p> -<p>If Chalicodoma sicula works alone, as she often does, on the shutter of an unused -window or on a stone or a branch, she behaves in just the same way. For instance, -if the nest is on a bough, she begins by solidly fixing the basis of her cell on the -slender twig. Then the building rises into a little vertical tower. This cell being -stored and ceiled, another follows, supported both by the bough and the first cell, -until six to ten cells are grouped one beside the other, and finally a general cover -of mortar encloses them all together with the bough, which gives them a firm foundation. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb289">[<a href="#pb289">289</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch21" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e500">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XXI</h2> -<h2 class="main">EXPERIMENTS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Built on small pebbles which one can carry whither one will, remove, or interchange, -without disturbing either the work of the constructor or the quiet of the inhabitants -of the cells, the nests of Chalicodoma muraria lend themselves readily to experiment—the -only method capable of throwing a little light on the nature of instinct. Profitably -to study the physical faculties of the animal it is not enough to know how to turn -to account such circumstances as a happy chance may offer to the observer: one must -be capable of originating others, and vary them as much as possible and submit them -to mutual control; in short, to give science a solid basis of fact one must experiment. -Then some day will vanish before the evidence of exact documents the fantastic legends -which cumber our books, such as the Scarabæus inviting his comrades to help in dragging -his ball out of a rut, or a Sphex cutting up a fly to carry it in spite of the wind, -and much more which is misused by those who desire to see in the animal world that -which is not there. Thus, too, will materials be prepared which, used sooner or later -by a learned <span class="pageNum" id="pb290">[<a href="#pb290">290</a>]</span>hand, will cast premature and baseless theories back into oblivion. -</p> -<p>Réaumur generally confines himself to stating facts as they offered themselves to -him in the normal course of things, and does not attempt to penetrate further into -the powers of the insect by means of conditions brought about artificially. In his -day there was everything to do, and the harvest was so great that the illustrious -reaper hurried on to what was most urgent,—the gathering of it in, leading his successors -to examine grain and ear in detail. Nevertheless, he mentions an experiment made on -Chalicodoma muraria by his friend Du Hamel. The nest was placed in a glass funnel, -the mouth of which was closed by a piece of gauze. Three males were hatched, which, -though they had penetrated mortar hard as a stone, either did not attempt to pierce -the thin gauze, or thought it beyond their power to do so. All three died under the -glass. Insects generally only know how to execute that which they need to do in the -common order of nature, adds Réaumur. -</p> -<p>For two reasons the experiment does not satisfy me. First of all, to give gauze to -be pierced by insects with tools made to pierce lumps as hard as tufa does not seem -a happy idea; you cannot expect a navvy’s pickaxe to do the same work as the scissors -of a seamstress. Secondly, the transparent glass prison seems ill chosen. As soon -as it had opened a way through the thickness of its earthen dome, the insect found -itself in daylight, and to it daylight means final deliverance and freedom. It strikes -against an invisible obstacle—the glass, and glass <span class="pageNum" id="pb291">[<a href="#pb291">291</a>]</span>does not suggest an obstacle to it. Beyond, it sees a <span class="corr" id="xd31e2206" title="Source: frees pace">free space</span> bathed in sunshine. It exhausts itself in efforts to fly there, unable to comprehend -the uselessness of struggling against this strange, invisible barrier, and perishes, -obstinate and exhausted, without a glance at the gauze which closes the conical tube. -The experiment must be repeated under better conditions. -</p> -<p>The obstacle I selected was common gray paper—opaque enough to keep the insect in -the dark—thin enough not to offer serious resistance to the prisoner’s efforts. As -there is a vast difference by way of obstacle between a paper partition and a vault -of unbaked clay, let us see first if Chalicodoma muraria knows how, or rather if it -is able, to pierce such a barrier. The two mandibles—pickaxes adapted to pierce hard -mortar—are they also scissors capable of cutting thin material? That is the point -to be ascertained. -</p> -<p>In February, when the insect is already in the perfect state, I withdrew a certain -number of cocoons uninjured from their cells, and placed each separately in a piece -of reed, closed at one end naturally, open at the other. The pieces of reed represented -the nest-cells. The cocoons were introduced so that the head of the insect should -turn to the opening<span class="corr" id="xd31e2212" title="Not in source">.</span> Finally, my artificial cells were closed in various ways. Some had a stopper of kneaded -earth, which, when dry, answered in thickness and consistency to the mortar of the -nest; others were shut by a cylinder of Sorghum vulgare at least a centimetre thick, -and others with a stopper of gray paper, solidly fixed by its edges. All these bits -of <span class="pageNum" id="pb292">[<a href="#pb292">292</a>]</span>cane were arranged side by side, vertically, in a box, with the artificial roof at -the top, so that the insects were in the exact position they had in a nest. To open -them they must do as they would had I not intervened—break through the wall overhead. -I protected all with a large bell glass, and awaited the month of May when they would -emerge. -</p> -<p>The result greatly surpassed my expectations. The earthen stopper made by me was pierced -with a round hole, noways differing from that made by the mason bee through its mortar -dome. The vegetable barrier, so new to my prisoner,—namely, the Sorghum cylinder,—was -likewise opened by a hole, apparently made by a single effort, and the gray paper -allowed the insect to pass, not by bursting through, but once more by a neat round -hole. So my bees were capable of work for which they were not created. To issue from -their reed cells they did what probably none of their race ever did before; they perforated -the Sorghum pith and made a hole in the paper just as they would have done with their -natural clay ceiling. When the moment came to free themselves, the nature of the obstacle -was no hindrance so long as it was not too strong for them, and thenceforward the -plea of incapacity could not be evoked where a mere paper barrier was in question. -</p> -<p>At the same time as the reed cells, two intact nests on their pebbles were placed -under the glass bell. On one I pressed closely a sheet of gray paper over the mortar -dome, so that to come forth the insect must first pierce the dome and then the paper, -no space being left between them; while a little cone of gray paper was gummed on -the stone <span class="pageNum" id="pb293">[<a href="#pb293">293</a>]</span>round the other nest, so that, as in the first case, there was a double barrier, an -earthen and a paper one, with, however, this difference—that the two barriers were -not close together, there being a space between them of about a centimetre at the -base, and increasing as the cone rises. The results of these two experiments were -quite unlike. The Hymenoptera from the nest where paper had been applied to the dome -came forth by piercing the double barrier, the outer one being pierced by a clean -round hole, as in the reed cells closed in the same way. For the second time it is -shown that if the bee is stopped by a paper barrier, the cause is not incapacity to -deal with such an obstacle. On the other hand, after they had pierced their earthen -vault, the dwellers in the second nest who found the sheet of paper a little way off, -made no attempt to overcome the obstacle over which they would so easily have triumphed -had it been attached to the nest. They died under the cover without an effort for -freedom. So had perished Réaumur’s bees under his glass tube when there was but a -bit of gauze between them and freedom. This fact appears to me rich in consequences. -What! Here are strong insects which find penetrating tufa mere play, and a stopper -of thin wood or a sheet of paper quite easy to pierce, new as these are to them, and -yet these vigorous insects let themselves stupidly perish imprisoned in a cone of -paper which they might have torn to bits with one bite of their mandibles. They might—but -they never dreamed of doing so. The motive of their dull inertness can be only this—the -insect is excellently endowed with tools and instinctive <span class="pageNum" id="pb294">[<a href="#pb294">294</a>]</span>faculties, in order to accomplish the final act of its metamorphosis, <i>i.e.</i> issuing from the cocoon or cell. Its mandibles furnish it with scissors, file, pick, -and lever to cut, gnaw, and pull down not only its cocoon and wall of mortar, but -any other barrier not too tenacious which may be substituted for the natural wall -of its nest. Moreover,—and this is a chief condition, without which its outfit would -be useless,—there is, I will not say the will to use these tools, but an inward stimulus -inviting it to employ them. The hour to come forth having arrived, this stimulus awakens, -and the insect sets to work to bore a passage. -</p> -<p>In that case it matters little whether the material to be pierced is natural mortar, -Sorghum pith, or paper. The imprisoning cover will not resist long<span class="corr" id="xd31e2227" title="Not in source">.</span> It even matters little if the obstacle be thickened and a paper barrier be added -to the earthen one. Both count as one if there be no interval between them, and the -insect passes through them because this coming forth seems to it a single action. -With the paper cone, whose wall is at a short distance, the conditions are changed, -although the total thickness of barrier is really the same. The insect has done all -that it was destined to do in order to free itself. To move freely on the mortar dome -means to it that deliverance is achieved. It has bored its way out; the work is accomplished. -But round the nest another barrier presents itself—the paper wall. To pierce through, -the action already accomplished must be repeated—that action which the insect has -to perform but once in its life. It must double that which naturally is but single; -and it <span class="pageNum" id="pb295">[<a href="#pb295">295</a>]</span>cannot, simply because it has not the will to do it. It perishes for lack of the smallest -ray of intelligence. Yet in this singular intellect it is the fashion nowadays to -see a rudiment of human reason! The fashion will pass and the facts remain, bringing -us back to the good old ideas of the soul and its immortal destinies. -</p> -<p>Réaumur relates, too, how his friend Du Hamel, having seized a mason bee with his -pincers when it had entered half-way into its cell, head first, to fill it with bee-bread, -carried it into a room at a considerable distance from the spot where he caught it. -The bee escaped and flew through the window. Du Hamel immediately returned to the -nest. The mason bee reached it almost at the same time, and resumed work. It only -seemed a little wilder, says the narrator. -</p> -<p>Why were you not with me, venerated master, on the banks of the Aygues, with their -stretches of pebbles, dry for three parts of the year, and an enormous torrent when -it rains? I would have shown you something far better than the fugitive escaped from -your pincers. You should have seen, and shared my surprise thereat, not the short -flight of a mason bee, which, carried into a room near at hand, escapes and returns -straight home in a neighbourhood familiar to her, but long journeys by unknown ways. -You would have seen the bee, carried away by me to a long distance, return with a -geographical precision which the swallow would not disown, or the martin, or the carrier-pigeon, -and you would have asked yourself, as I did, what inexplicable knowledge of the map -of the country guides this mother <span class="pageNum" id="pb296">[<a href="#pb296">296</a>]</span>in seeking her nest. Let us come to the facts. We must repeat on the mason bee my -earlier experiments with the Cerceris—namely, carrying the insect in darkness far -from the nest, marking and setting it free. In case any one should wish to repeat -the experiment, I will explain my method of operation, which may make it easier for -a beginner. The insect destined for a long journey must of course be captured with -certain precautions. No nippers, no pincers which might maim a wing, strain it, and -endanger power of flight. While the bee is absorbed in work within her cell, I cover -the latter with a little glass tube. As she flies out she goes into this, and thus, -without touching her, I can transfer her to a twist of paper and close it quickly. -A botanical tin serves as a means of transporting the captives, each in its paper -prison. -</p> -<p>It is on the spots chosen as starting-places that the most delicate operation takes -place—namely, marking each captive before freeing her. I use chalk powdered fine and -moistened with a strong solution of gum arabic. Dropped somewhere on the insect with -a straw, it leaves a white mark, which dries quickly and adheres to the bee’s fleece. -If a mason bee has to be marked, so as to distinguish her from another in an experiment -of short duration, such as I shall presently describe, I only touch the tip of the -abdomen with a straw charged with colour while the insect is half inside the cell, -head down-wards. The bee does not notice the slight touch and works on undisturbed; -but the mark is not very durable, nor at a spot favourable for its preservation, since -the bee frequently brushes her body to <span class="pageNum" id="pb297">[<a href="#pb297">297</a>]</span>detach pollen, and sooner or later effaces it. It is therefore in the very middle -of the thorax—between the wings—that I drop the gummed chalk. -</p> -<p>In such work it is hardly possible to wear gloves. The fingers require all their dexterity -to seize the mason bee with sufficient delicacy, and to master her struggles without -rough pressure. It is evident that if nothing else be gained, one is sure of stings; -with a little address they can generally be avoided, but not always; one must take -them with resignation. Besides, a mason bee’s sting is by no means so painful as that -of a hive bee. The white spot dropped on the thorax—off goes the mason bee, and the -mark dries as she goes. -</p> -<p>The first time I tried the experiment I took two mason bees busy at their nests on -the boulders covering the alluvial lands along the Aygues, not far from Serignan, -and carried them to my home at Orange, where I freed them after marking each. According -to the Ordnance map the distance between the two places is about four kilometres in -a right line. The captives were freed in the evening at an hour when bees begin to -leave off work, so it was likely that my two would spend the night somewhere near. -</p> -<p>The next morning I returned to the nests. It was still too cold, and work was suspended. -When the dew was dried the masons set to work. I saw a bee, but without the white -spot, taking pollen to one of the two nests whence had come the travellers whom I -expected. A stranger, having found the cell unoccupied, and having expatriated the -owner, had established herself there, unaware that it was <span class="pageNum" id="pb298">[<a href="#pb298">298</a>]</span>the property of another. Perhaps she had been storing it since the previous evening. -Towards ten o’clock, at the hottest time, suddenly the proprietor arrived. Her rights -as first occupier were inscribed as far as I was concerned in irrefutable characters -in white chalk on her thorax. Here was one of my travellers come back. -</p> -<p>Over waves of corn, over fields of red sainfoin, she had accomplished the four kilometres, -and returned to her nest after collecting booty on the way, for she came,—worthy creature -that she was!—all yellow underneath with pollen. To return from the verge of the horizon -was a marvel, but to do so with a well-furnished pollen brush was really sublime economy! -A journey, even if compulsory, is always for a bee an opportunity of collecting food. -She found the stranger in her nest. “What’s all this? You just wait!” and fell furiously -on the other, who perhaps had thought no wrong. Then there were hot pursuits through -the air. From time to time the two hovered almost motionless, facing one another with -a couple of inches between them, doubtless measuring each other with their eyes, and -humming abuse at one another. Sometimes one, sometimes the other alighted on the nest -in question. I expected to see a wrestle, and stings used; but I was mistaken. The -duties of maternity spoke too imperiously to allow them to risk life, and wipe out -the injury in a mortal duel. All was limited to hostile demonstrations and a few tussles -leading to nothing. -</p> -<p>However, the proprietor seemed to draw redoubled courage and strength from consciousness -of her <span class="pageNum" id="pb299">[<a href="#pb299">299</a>]</span>rights. She encamped permanently on the nest and received the other bee each time -that she ventured to approach with an irritated quiver of the wings in token of just -indignation. The stranger finally withdrew discouraged, and instantly the mason resumed -work as actively as if she had not undergone the chances and changes of a long journey. -</p> -<p>Yet another word as to rights of property. While a mason bee is absent it is not unusual -for some homeless vagabond to visit the nest, take a liking to it, and set to work, -sometimes at the same cell, sometimes at the next, if there are several free, as often -happens with old nests. When the first occupant returns she does not fail to drive -away the intruder, who always ends by getting the worst of it, so lively and invincible -is the real owner’s sense of property. Reversing the savage Prussian maxim, “Strength -before right,” here right comes before strength; otherwise the constant retreat of -the intruder would be quite inexplicable, since the latter’s strength is in no way -inferior to that of the real owner. If she has less audacity it must come from not -feeling braced by the sovereign strength of being right, which decides among equals, -even in the brute creation. -</p> -<p>The second of my two travellers did not appear, either on the day when the first came, -nor later. I decided to make another experiment—this time with five subjects. Place -of starting and arrival, distance and hours, were the same. I found three at the nests -on the following day; two were missing. -</p> -<p>It is therefore quite clear that Chalicodoma <span class="pageNum" id="pb300">[<a href="#pb300">300</a>]</span>muraria carried away four kilometres, and, set free where she certainly could never -have been before, can return home. But why did one out of two, and two out of five, -fail to do so? What one could do, why not another? Are they not equally gifted with -the faculty which guides them through the unknown? Is it not rather inequality in -the power of flight? I recollected that my Hymenoptera did not all fly off with the -same energy; hardly were some out of my fingers, launching themselves impetuously -into the air, than I lost sight of them, while others let themselves drop a few paces -off after a short flight. It seems certain that these had suffered during the journey—perhaps -from the concentrated heat in the furnace of my box, or I may have harmed the jointure -of the wings while marking them—an operation difficult to perform when one has to -avoid being stung. These are maimed, weak creatures—unable to go on with all sail -spread, as they ought, for this journey. The experiment must be tried again, only -counting those bees which instantly leave my fingers with a swift, strong flight. -We shall omit those which hesitate or linger close by on some bush. Moreover, I will -do my best to compute the time employed in returning to the nest. -</p> -<p>Such an experiment requires a considerable number of subjects, as the weak and maimed, -who may be many, must be rejected. Chalicodoma muraria cannot furnish the quantity -needed; it is not common enough, and I am anxious not to disturb the small people -by the Aigues whom I want for other observations later. Fortunately I have near my -house, under the projecting edge of the roof of a shed, a magnificent <span class="pageNum" id="pb301">[<a href="#pb301">301</a>]</span>colony of Chalicodoma sicula in full activity. I can draw at pleasure on the populous -city. The insect is small—less than half the size of C. muraria; no matter—all the -more merit if it can traverse the four kilometres which I have in reserve for it, -and find its nest. I took forty, isolating them as usual in paper cones. -</p> -<p>A ladder was placed against the wall in order to reach the nest; it was to be used -by my daughter Aglaë, to allow her to mark the exact instant when the first one returned. -I set the clock on the mantelpiece and my watch together, that I might compare the -moment of departure and arrival. Then I carried off my forty captives to the spot -where Chalicodoma muraria works beside the Aygues. The expedition had a double scope—to -observe Réaumur’s mason bee and set the Sicilian one free. The latter would have to -fly back four kilometres. -</p> -<p>At length my prisoners were released—all marked with a large white dot in the middle -of the thorax. It is not for nothing that one successively handles forty wrathful -Hymenoptera which forthwith unsheath and make play with their poisoned stings. Before -the mark could be made, too often the stab was given, and my burning fingers moved -in self-defence sometimes against my will; I handled them with more consideration -for myself than for the insect, and sometimes squeezed my bees too hard. To experiment -in order to lift a small corner of the veil that covers a truth is a beautiful and -noble thing, which can enable one to brave many perils, yet surely one may show a -little impatience if in a brief space of time one’s finger tips get stung forty times. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb302">[<a href="#pb302">302</a>]</span>If any one should reproach me for my clumsy handling, I would suggest that he make -the experiment, and then judge how far the situation was pleasant. -</p> -<p>In short, either from the fatigue of the journey, or because I pressed too hard and -injured some articulations, out of my forty Hymenoptera only twenty flew off strongly -and unhesitatingly; the rest strayed over the herbage near at hand, unable to keep -their balance, or remained on the willows where I had put them, refusing to fly even -when excited by a straw. These faint-hearted ones, these maimed ones, these incapables -hurt by my fingers, must be struck off the list. Twenty started with an unhesitating -flight. That was amply sufficient. -</p> -<p>At the moment of departure there was nothing special in the direction taken—nothing -of that straight line to the nest which the Cerceris took in a like case. As soon -as they were free the Chalicodoma fled scared—one in this direction, one to a completely -opposite point; but, as far as their fiery flight allowed, I think I saw a rapid return -of those bees which had flown in the wrong direction for their nests, and most seemed -to go to that side of the horizon. I leave this point with the doubts unavoidable -with regard to insects lost sight of at some twenty metres distance. So far the experiment -had been favoured by calm weather, but now things grew complicated. The heat was stifling, -and the sky grew stormy. Rather a strong wind rose, blowing from the south—the very -direction which my bees should take to return home. Could they overcome this contrary -current and cleave this aerial torrent <span class="pageNum" id="pb303">[<a href="#pb303">303</a>]</span>with their wings? If they try it they must keep close to the ground, as I saw those -Hymenoptera doing which continued to work, but it appeared out of the question to -soar into the high regions where they might obtain a clear acquaintance with the surrounding -country. It was therefore with great apprehension as to the success of my experiment -that I returned to Orange after again trying to learn some secret from the bees on -the Aygues pebbles. -</p> -<p>Hardly had I entered my house when I saw Aglaë, flushed with excitement. “Two,” she -cried—“two came at twenty minutes to three, all laden with pollen!” A friend chanced -to have come in—a grave legal personage, who, hearing what was on hand, forgot the -Code and stamped paper, and insisted on also watching for the arrival of my homing -pigeons. The result interested him more than did the lawsuit about the partition wall. -In a Senegalian sun and furnace heat reflected from the wall, every five minutes did -he mount the ladder bareheaded, with no other protection against sunstroke than his -thick, gray locks. Instead of the single watcher whom I had posted I found two good -pairs of eyes watching the bees’ return. I had freed them about two o’clock, and the -first two returned to the nest at twenty minutes to three, so that three-quarters -of an hour had sufficed for travelling four kilometres,—a very striking result, especially -if we remember that the bees worked on the road, as was proved by the pollen on their -bodies, and besides they must have been hindered by having the wind against them. -Two more came back under my eyes, and they had signs of having worked on the way by -their load of <span class="pageNum" id="pb304">[<a href="#pb304">304</a>]</span>pollen. As it was growing late, observations could not be continued. When the sun -goes down the mason bees leave the nest and take refuge I know not where—here and -there—perhaps under roof tiles and in little shelters in walls. I could not count -on the arrival of the others until work was resumed in full sunshine. -</p> -<p>The next day, when sunshine recalled the scattered workers, I again counted the bees -with white dots on their thorax. My success surpassed all my hopes; I counted fifteen—fifteen -of the deported bees storing or building as if nothing had happened! Then the storm, -which had threatened more and more, burst, and a succession of rainy days stopped -all further observations. -</p> -<p>Such as it was, the experiment sufficed. Out of twenty bees which seemed fit for the -journey when released, fifteen at least had come back—two in the first hour, and three -in the course of the evening, and the rest next morning. They had come back in spite -of having the wind against them, and—a yet greater difficulty—in spite of their unfamiliarity -with the place whither I had transported them. There could be no question that it -was for the first time that they saw the osier beds of the Aygues which I had chosen -as the starting-place. Never on their own account had they gone so far afield, for -they find all they want by way of building material and food close to my shed. The -road at the foot of the wall furnishes mortar; the meadows round my house offer nectar -and pollen. Economical of time as they are, they would not fly four kilometres to -procure what abounds close to the nests. I see <span class="pageNum" id="pb305">[<a href="#pb305">305</a>]</span>them daily taking material from the road, and making a harvest on the meadow flowers, -especially on Salvia. According to all appearance they do not fly beyond a circle -of a hundred metres. How then did my exiles return? What guided them? Not memory, -certainly, but some special faculty, which we can only recognise by its astonishing -effects without pretending to explain it, so far outside our own psychology is it. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb306">[<a href="#pb306">306</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch22" class="div1 last-child chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e512">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">XXII</h2> -<h2 class="main">AN EXCHANGE OF NESTS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Let us continue our series of experiments on Chalicodoma muraria. From its position -on a stone which one can move at will, its nest lends itself to very interesting trials. -This is the first of them. I change the place of a nest by carrying the pebble it -is placed on some couple of yards away. Edifice and base forming but one, the move -was made without at all disturbing the cells. I set the pebble in an open place well -in sight, as it was before. When the bee returned, she could not fail to see it. -</p> -<p>After a few minutes the owner arrived and went straight where the nest used to be. -She hovered gently just above the vacant spot, looked, and alighted just where the -stone used to lie. There she walked about, searching pertinaciously, then soared up -and flew away. Her absence was short; she came back speedily and resumed her search -on foot or on the wing—always on the spot formerly occupied by the nest. A new fit -of irritation expressed by a sudden flight through the osier bed, then as sudden a -return and resumption of the vain search—always <span class="pageNum" id="pb307">[<a href="#pb307">307</a>]</span>over the impression left by the pebble which I had carried away. These sudden flights, -prompt returns, and obstinate examinations of the empty place, were repeated very -many times before the mason bee could believe her nest was gone. She certainly must -have seen it in its new position, for sometimes she flew only a few inches above it, -but she did not care about it. For her it only represented the nest of another bee. -</p> -<p>Often the experiment ends without so much as a visit to the stone carried three or -four yards away; the bee departs and does not return. If the distance be less—say -a yard—sooner or later she alights on the pebble on which her nest is built. She will -visit the cell which she was making or storing a little while earlier, plunge in her -head several times, examine the surface of the stone narrowly, and after much hesitation -return to search over the original spot. The nest, which is no longer in its right -place, is altogether abandoned, though it be but a yard away. Vainly does the bee -alight on it; she cannot recognise it as hers. I convinced myself of this by finding -it several days later in just the same state as when I moved it. The cell, half filled -with honey, was still open, allowing the ants to pillage it; the cell in process of -construction was unfinished, without a single new course of mortar. Of course the -bee may have returned, but she had not resumed her work. The displaced abode was abandoned -for ever. -</p> -<p>I shall not deduce the strange paradox that a bee, capable of returning home from -a great distance, is yet incapable of finding it a yard off; the interpretation <span class="pageNum" id="pb308">[<a href="#pb308">308</a>]</span>of the facts does not involve this. The conclusion appears to be that she retains -a tenacious impression of the spot occupied by the nest, returning there with an indefatigable -obstinacy when the nest is gone. But of the nest itself she has a very vague notion—does -not recognise her own masonry kneaded with her own saliva, nor the honey paste she -had collected. Vainly does she visit her work, the cell; she abandons it, not acknowledging -it any more, since the place where lies the pebble is no longer the same. -</p> -<p>We must own that insect memory is a strange one, so lucid in general knowledge of -locality, so limited as to its home. I should be disposed to name it topographical -instinct; the creature knows the localities, but not the dear nest—the dwelling. The -Bembex led us to a like conclusion. The nest being laid open, she cared nothing for -the family—for the larva writhing distressfully in the sun unrecognised. What they -do recognise, what they seek, and find with marvellous precision, is the place where -no longer exists anything of the entrance door—not even a threshold. -</p> -<p>If any doubt remain as to the powerlessness of Chalicodoma muraria to know her nest -except by the place which the pebble occupies on the ground, this may set it at rest. -I substituted a nest of one mason bee for that of another, as alike as might be, both -in masonry and storage. Of course this exchange and those of which I shall speak later -were made during the absence of the owner. In the nest not hers, but placed where -her own had been, she established herself without hesitation. If she had been building, -<span class="pageNum" id="pb309">[<a href="#pb309">309</a>]</span>I offered her a cell in process of construction, and she worked on with the same care -and zeal as if the work already done had been her own. If she were bringing honey -and pollen, I offered a cell partly stored. Her journeys continued, with honey in -her crop and pollen underneath her body to complete filling the store of another bee. -</p> -<p>Thus the bee does not suspect the exchange, nor distinguish what is and is not hers. -She thinks she is continuing to work at a cell really her own. -</p> -<p>After leaving her for a time in possession of the exchanged nest, I restored her own. -The fresh change passed unobserved; her labour was continued in the cell restored -to her, at the point at which it had arrived in the substituted one. Then I once more -substituted the strange nest, and still she persisted in her labour. Thus alternating -nests at the same spot, I thoroughly convinced myself that the insect cannot perceive -the difference between that which is her own and that which is not. Whether the cell -be hers or not, she works with equal fervour, provided that the basis for the edifice—the -stone—remains in its original position. -</p> -<p>One may lend a livelier interest to the experiment by using two neighbouring nests—work -at which is about equally advanced. I transpose them, placing one where the other -was; the distance is hardly a cubit. Despite this close neighbourhood, which allows -the bees to see both nests at once and choose between them, the two bees on arriving -each immediately alighted on the substituted nest and went on working at it. We may -change the two nests at pleasure; we shall still see the two mason bees keep to the -<span class="pageNum" id="pb310">[<a href="#pb310">310</a>]</span>spot chosen by them and work in turn—now at their own cell, now at that of the other. -</p> -<p>It may be thought that the confusion was caused by a close resemblance between the -two nests, since, at first little expecting the results obtained, I began by choosing -those as much alike as possible, lest the bees should be repelled. My caution presupposed -a clear-sightedness the insect did not possess. I now took two nests exceedingly unlike, -except that in each the bee found a cell advanced in its work to the same point. The -first was an old nest, with the dome pierced with eight holes, the orifices of cells -of a preceding generation; one of these had been restored, and the bee was storing -it. The second was a new nest, with no dome, and composed of a single cell with little -stones on the outside. Here too the bee was storing her paste. Certainly no two nests -could differ more: the one with its eight vacant rooms, and its ample dome of clay, -the other with a single cell—bare, and at most the size of an acorn. -</p> -<p>Well, the two mason bees did not hesitate long before the two exchanged nests—hardly -a yard apart. Each went to the site of its former abode. The owner of the old nest -found but a single cell. She rapidly inspected the stone, and without further ceremony -first plunged her head into the cell to disgorge honey, and then her hind-quarters -to drop pollen. And this was no action performed to rid herself as soon as possible -of a trying burden, for she flew away and quickly returned with fresh stores to be -laid up. This bringing provisions to another’s larder was repeated as often as I would -allow. The other bee, finding, instead of one cell a spacious building <span class="pageNum" id="pb311">[<a href="#pb311">311</a>]</span>with eight chambers, was at first considerably embarrassed. Which of the eight was -the right one?—in which was her heap of bee bread? She plunged down into each room, -and at length found what she was seeking—a condition like that which she had left -when she took her last journey, the beginning of a store of food. From that moment -she behaved like her neighbour, and carried honey and pollen to a cell not made by -her. -</p> -<p>Let us restore the nests to their natural places, exchanging them afresh. Each bee, -after a little hesitation, sufficiently explained by the very great difference between -the two nests, will work alternately in her own cell and the strange one. At length -the egg is laid and the cell closed, whichever the nest may be that she is occupied -with at the moment when the provisions are sufficient. Such facts show clearly why -I hesitate to give the name of memory to the singular faculty that brings back the -insect so accurately to the site of her nest, yet does not allow her to distinguish -her work from that of another, however great may be the difference of appearance between -them. -</p> -<p>Now let us experiment on Chalicodoma muraria from another psychological point of view. -Here is a mason bee at work on the first course of her cell; in exchange I give her -one not only completed, but half full of honey, which I stole from an owner who would -speedily have laid an egg there. What will the mason do with this munificent gift -which spares her the labour of building and storage? Leave her mortar, of course, -lay an egg, and close all up. Not at all! the animal finds our logic illogical. The -insect <span class="pageNum" id="pb312">[<a href="#pb312">312</a>]</span>obeys an inevitable, unconscious impulse. It has no choice as to what it shall do,—no -discernment as to what is and is not desirable,—but glides, as it were, down an irresistible -slope prepared for it beforehand to bring it to a determined end. The facts still -to be stated affirm this strongly. -</p> -<p>The bee, which is building, and to which I offer a cell ready made and full of honey, -will not give up building for that; she is following her trade as mason, and once -on that tack, led on by unconscious impulse, she must needs build, even if her labour -be superfluous and contrary to her interests. The cell I give her is certainly quite -complete in the opinion of its own constructor, since the bee from whom I subtracted -it was finishing the store of honey. To touch it up, and, above all, to add to it -is useless and absurd. All the same the bee which is building will build. On the orifice -of the honey store she lays another layer of mortar, then another and another, until -the cell is actually a third beyond its usual height. Now the task is done—not as -well indeed as if the bee had continued the cell whose foundations she was laying -when the nests were exchanged, but certainly in a way more than enough to demonstrate -the irresistible impulse which drove the builder on. Then came the storing, likewise -abridged, for otherwise the honey would overflow by the union of the stores of two -bees. Thus the mason bee, which is beginning to build, and to which one gives a cell -completed and filled with honey, alters nothing in the order of her work. First she -builds and then she stores; only she shortens her labours—instinct warning her that -the height of the <span class="pageNum" id="pb313">[<a href="#pb313">313</a>]</span>cell and quantity of honey are beginning to assume proportions too great. -</p> -<p>The reverse of this is not less conclusive. To a mason bee which was laying up food -I would give a cell only just sketched out and unable to receive the honey paste. -This cell, still damp from the constructor’s saliva, might or might not be accompanied -by other cells, recently closed and containing an egg and honey. The bee, whose half-filled -cell is thus replaced, seems greatly puzzled on arriving with her load at this shallow -hollow offering no place for the honey. She will examine it, measure it with her eye, -try it with her antennæ, and recognise its insufficient depth. For a time she hesitates, -departs, returns, flies off again, and comes back in haste to dispose of her load. -Her embarrassment is visible; I could not help saying inwardly: “Take some mortar—take -some mortar, and finish your storehouse. It will only require a few moments to make -it deep enough.” The bee was of a different opinion. She was laying in food, and food -she must lay up, happen what might. She could not decide to lay aside the pollen brush -for the mason’s trowel, and nothing could induce her to delay the harvest which occupied -her in order to take up that work of building for which it is not the due moment. -Rather would she seek another cell, in the desired condition, and will penetrate there -to store the honey, even if received with fury by the owner. In fact, this happened. -I wished her success, knowing myself to be the cause of this desperate act. My curiosity -had turned an honest worker into a thief. -</p> -<p>Matters may take a yet more serious turn, so <span class="pageNum" id="pb314">[<a href="#pb314">314</a>]</span>obstinate and imperious is the desire to harvest the store securely. The unfinished -cell that the bee refuses to accept instead of her own complete one, with its honey, -is sometimes, as I have said, among several containing paste and egg, and newly closed. -In this case I have seen, though not always, the following sight. Having ascertained -unmistakably that the unfinished cell will not do, the bee begins to gnaw the cover -of a neighbouring one. With her saliva she softens a spot in the mortar, and patiently -digs away atom by atom in the hard covering. A long half hour passes before the tiny -dimple excavated is big enough to receive a pin’s head. I waited. Then I got out of -patience, and, feeling sure that she wanted to open the storehouse, I decided to help -her and shorten the labour. With the point of my knife I knocked off the top; but -the crown of the cell came off too, and its edge was a good deal broken. In my clumsiness -I had made a graceful vase into a wretched, shattered pot. I was right; the bee wanted -to break open the door, and without troubling herself as to the fragmentary state -of the orifice, she immediately established herself in the cell opened to her. Many -times did she bring honey and pollen, though the store was already complete. Finally, -in this cell containing an egg not hers she laid her own egg, and then closed, as -best she could, the shattered mouth. Thus this bee, who was engaged in bringing food, -neither could nor would be baffled by the impossibility brought about by me of continuing -her work unless she completed the cell which replaced hers. What she was doing she -persisted in doing in spite of obstacles. She accomplished her task thoroughly, but -in the <span class="pageNum" id="pb315">[<a href="#pb315">315</a>]</span>most absurd way,—by breaking into another bee’s cell, continuing to store in a cell -already overflowing, placing an egg where the real owner had already laid one, and -finally, closing an orifice which needed serious repairs. Could one desire a better -proof of the irresistible impulse obeyed by the insect? -</p> -<p>Finally, there are other rapid and consecutive actions so closely connected that the -execution of the second implies necessarily the repetition of the first, even when -this has become useless. I have already said how Sphex flavipennis persists in going -down into her burrow alone, having brought near it the cricket which I cruelly removed -immediately. Her repeated discomfitures did not make her give up the preliminary domiciliary -visit, useless as it is when repeated ten or twenty times. Chalicodoma muraria exhibits -under another form a like repetition of an act useless itself, but a necessary prelude -to the next one. Arrived with her booty, she goes through a double act of storage. -First she plunges head first into the cell to disgorge the contents of her crop; then -she comes out, returning at once backward to brush off her load of pollen. At the -moment when she is about to enter, tail first, I gently put her aside with a straw, -thus hindering her second action. She begins all over again, going head first into -the cell, although her crop is empty. Then comes the turn of going in backward. I -instantly put her aside again, and again she goes in head first. Once more I use my -straw. And this goes on as long as the observer pleases. Put aside just as she is -about to introduce her hinder parts into the cell, she returns to the orifice and -persists in <span class="pageNum" id="pb316">[<a href="#pb316">316</a>]</span>descending head first. Sometimes she goes quite down—sometimes only half-way, or perhaps -there is a mere pretence at descending, and she only stoops her head in the opening, -but at <span class="corr" id="xd31e2334" title="Source: anyrate">any rate</span> this quite useless action—for the honey is already disgorged—invariably precedes -the entrance backward to deposit pollen. It is almost the movement of a machine, not -a wheel of which moves till the main one begins to turn. -<span class="pageNum" id="pb317">[<a href="#pb317">317</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="back"> -<div id="descriptive" class="div1 appendix"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e520">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">DESCRIPTIVE NOTES</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">The following Hymenoptera appear new to me in the French fauna. I append their description:— -</p> -<p class="center">Cerceris antoniæ, H. Fab. -</p> -<p>Length—16–18 millimetres. Black, closely and strongly punctured; clypeus raised like -a nose, <i>i.e.</i> forming a convex projection, large at the base, pointed at the end—like half a cone -cut down its length; crest between the antennæ projecting; a line above crest, cheeks, -and a large dot behind each eye, yellow; hood—yellow with black point; mandibles, -rusty yellow; tips, black. The 4th and 5th joints of antennæ, rusty yellow, the rest -brown. Two dots on prothorax, wing scales and postscutellum, yellow; first segment -of abdomen with two dot-like spots; four next on posterior edge having a yellow band -sharply hollowed in triangle form, or even broken, and this the more as the segment -is a less distant one. -</p> -<p>Under part of the body, black; feet entirely of rusty yellow colour; wings slightly -bronzed at tip. Female. Male unknown to me. -</p> -<p>In colouring this species approaches Cerceris labiata, from which, however, it differs -remarkably in the form of the clypeus and the much larger size of the insect. Observed -round Avignon in July. I dedicate this species to my daughter Antonia, whose help -has often been valuable to me in my entomological researches. -</p> -<p class="center">Cerceris julii, H. Fab. -</p> -<p>Length—7–9 millimetres. Black, closely and strongly punctured; clypeus flat; face -covered with a fine silvery pubescence; <span class="pageNum" id="pb318">[<a href="#pb318">318</a>]</span>a narrow yellow band on each side, on the inner edge of the eyes; mandibles—yellow -with brown tips; antennæ—black above, pale red below; lower face of their basal joint, -yellow. Two small distant points on the prothorax; scales of wings and postscutellum, -yellow. A yellow band on third segment of the abdomen, and another on the fifth; these -two are deeply hollowed on the anterior edge—the first in a semicircle, the second -in a triangle. -</p> -<p>Under part of the body all black; coxæ black; thighs of the hinder pair of legs quite -black; those of the two anterior pairs, black at base, yellow at the ends; legs and -tarsi, yellow; wings rather smoke-coloured. Female.—Var. (1) Prothorax without yellow -dots; (2) two small yellow dots on second segment of abdomen; (3) wider yellow band -on inner side of the eyes; (4) front of clypeus edged with yellow. -</p> -<p>Male unknown to me. This Cerceris, the smallest of my part of France, feeds its larvæ -on the smallest kinds of weevils (Bruchus granarius and Apion gravidum). Observed -round Carpentras, where it builds in September in soft sandstone—locally called <i>safre</i>. -</p> -<p class="center">Bembex julii, H. Fab. -</p> -<p>Length—18–20 millimetres. Black, with bristling whitish hairs on head, thorax, and -base of first segment of the abdomen; labrum lengthened, yellow; clypeus, with a sloping -ridge, forming as it were an angle of three sides—one face—that of the outer edge—is -all yellow, while each of the two others is marked with a large rectangular black -patch bordering on its neighbour, and thus forming a stripe; both marks, as well as -the cheeks, are covered with a fine silvery down; cheeks on line between the antennæ, -yellow; posterior edge of eyes with a long yellow border; mandibles—yellow, with brown -tips; two first joints of antennæ yellow beneath, black above, the rest black; prothorax—black; -sides and dorsal division, yellow; mesothorax—black; the callous point, and a small -one on each side above the base of the intermediate feet, yellow; metathorax—black, -with two yellow dots behind, and a larger one on each side above the base of the hind -feet. The two first dots are sometimes wanting. -</p> -<p>Abdomen—bright black above and without hairs, except at <span class="pageNum" id="pb319">[<a href="#pb319">319</a>]</span>the base of the first segment, which bristles with whitish ones. All the segments -have a wavy transverse band, wider on the sides than in the middle, and approaching -the posterior edge in proportion as the segment is further back. On the fifth segment -the yellow band reaches the posterior edge. Anal segment—yellow, black at the base, -bristling all over the dorsal surface with papillæ of a rusty red, which serve as -base to the hairs. A row of like hair-bearing tubercules occupies also the posterior -edge of the fifth segment. Below, the abdomen is a brilliant black, with a triangular -yellow mark on each side of the four intermediate segments. -</p> -<p>Coxæ—black; thighs yellow in front, black behind; legs and tarsi—yellow; wings transparent. -</p> -<p>Male.—The zig-zag mark on the clypeus is narrower, or even absent; face then entirely -yellow; abdominal bands very pale yellow, almost white. The sixth segment has a band -like the preceding ones, but shorter and often reduced to two dots. The second segment -has underneath it a longitudinal keel, raised and spine-shaped behind. The anal one -has below it an angular, rather thick projection. Otherwise like the female. -</p> -<p>This Hymenopteron much resembles Bembex rostrata in size, shape, and arrangement of -the black and yellow colouring, but differs markedly in the following characteristics:—The -clypeus makes a triangle of three sides, while in other Bembecids it is rounded and -convex. Also at the base is a large zig-zag band, formed by two rectangular marks -joined together and softened by a silvery down, very brilliant under certain lights. -The upper surface of the anal segment bristles with papillæ and reddish hairs—likewise -the further edge of the fifth segment. The mandibles are only black at the tips, while -in Bembex rostrata the base is also black. Their habits are equally unlike; B. rostrata -especially hunts gadflies, while B. julii never catches large Diptera, but takes smaller -kinds of very varying size. It is frequent in the sandy land of the Angles, round -Avignon, and on the hill of Orange. -</p> -<p class="center">Ammophila julii, H. Fab. -</p> -<p>Length—from 16–22 millimetres. Stalk of abdomen composed of the first segment and -half the second; third cubital <span class="pageNum" id="pb320">[<a href="#pb320">320</a>]</span>narrowed towards the radial; head—black, with silvery down on the face; antennæ—black; -thorax—black, with transverse stripes on its three segments, darker on prothorax and -mesothorax. Two marks on the sides and one behind either side of the metathorax, covered -with silvery down; abdomen bare, shining. First segment—black; second—red in the part -narrowing to the petiole and in the widened part; third segment all red; the rest -of a beautiful metallic blue. Legs—black, with silvery down on the coxæ; wings slightly -reddish. Builds in October, and lays up two smallish caterpillars in each cell. Nearly -related to A. holosericea, having the same shape, but differing markedly in the colour -of the legs, which are all black, by the much less downy head and thorax, and by the -transverse stripes on the three segments of the thorax. -</p> -<p class="tb"></p><p> -</p> -<p>I wish these three Hymenoptera to bear the name of my son Jules, to whom I dedicate -them. -</p> -<p>Dear child! snatched so early from thy passionate love of flowers and insects! Thou -wert my fellow-worker; nothing escaped thy clear-sighted glance; it was for thee that -I was to write this book—for thee, to whom its recital gave such delight, and thou -wert one day to have continued it. Alas! thou didst leave us for a better home, having -heard but the first few lines of the book. But at least let thy name appear in it—borne -by some of these industrious and beauteous Hymenoptera so dear to thee! -</p> -<p class="signed">J. H. F. -</p> -<p class="dateline"><span class="sc">Orange</span>, <i>3rd April 1879</i>. -</p> -<p class="trailer center">THE END</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 imprint"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first center small"><i>Printed by</i> <span class="sc">R. & R. Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh.</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb321">[<a href="#pb321">321</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 advertisement"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main xxl">Macmillan’s Prize Library</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first center">A CAREFULLY SELECTED SERIES OF -</p> -<p class="center xl">Illustrated Books <br>Suitable for Presentation -</p> -<p>In Ornamental Bindings. Crown 8vo. Price 2s. 6d. each <br>Cloth Elegant. Gilt Edges. 3s. 6d. each (<i>except vols. marked</i> *) -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Rev. J. C. Atkinson -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>WALKS, TALKS, TRAVELS AND EXPLOITS OF TWO SCHOOLBOYS -</li> -<li>PLAY-HOURS AND HALF-HOLIDAYS -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>SCENES IN FAIRYLAND -</li> -<li>THE LAST OF THE GIANT-KILLERS</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Jane Austen -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>PRIDE AND PREJUDICE -</li> -<li>SENSE AND SENSIBILITY -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>EMMA</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By L. N. Badenoch -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE ROMANCE OF THE INSECT WORLD</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Rev. R. H. Barham -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE INGOLDSBY LEGENDS</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Edward Bertz -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE FRENCH PRISONERS</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Sir Walter Besant -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE LIFE OF CAPTAIN COOK</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By A. G. Bradley -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE LIFE OF WOLFE</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Frank Buckland -</p> -<ul> -<li>CURIOSITIES OF NATURAL HISTORY. In four volumes</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Sir W. Butler -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE LIFE OF GORDON. With Portrait</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By J. Fenimore Cooper -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS -</li> -<li>THE DEERSLAYER -</li> -<li>THE PATHFINDER -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>THE PIONEERS -</li> -<li>THE PRAIRIE</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Julian Corbett -</p> -<ul> -<li>LIFE OF DRAKE. With Portrait -</li> -<li>FOR GOD AND GOLD</li> -</ul><p> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb322">[<a href="#pb322">322</a>]</span> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Mrs. Craik -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>OLIVE -</li> -<li>THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>AGATHA’S HUSBAND</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Sir Edward Creasy -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE FIFTEEN DECISIVE BATTLES OF THE WORLD</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Daniel Defoe -</p> -<ul> -<li>ROBINSON CRUSOE</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Charles Dickens -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>OLIVER TWIST -</li> -<li>THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>CHRISTMAS BOOKS -</li> -<li>* BARNABY RUDGE</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Maria Edgeworth -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>POPULAR TALES -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>LAZY LAWRENCE, AND OTHER STORIES</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By J. H. Fabre -</p> -<ul> -<li>INSECT LIFE: <span class="sc">Souvenirs of a Naturalist</span></li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Violet G. Finny -</p> -<ul> -<li>THE REVOLT OF THE YOUNG <span class="sc">MacCORMACKS</span></li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By W. Warde Fowler -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>TALES OF THE BIRDS -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>A YEAR WITH THE BIRDS</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By J. Gilmore -</p> -<ul> -<li>STORM WARRIORS</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By George Hooper -</p> -<ul> -<li>LIFE OF WELLINGTON. With Portrait</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Professor Herbert A. Howe -</p> -<ul> -<li>* A STUDY OF THE SKY</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Thomas Hughes -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>LIFE OF LIVINGSTONE. With Portrait -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>TOM BROWN’S SCHOOL DAYS</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Raymond Jacberns -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>* THE THREE RASCALS -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>* THE NEW PUPIL</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By A. and E. Keary -</p> -<ul> -<li>HEROES OF ASGARD</li> -</ul><p> -<span class="pageNum" id="pb323">[<a href="#pb323">323</a>]</span> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Wardlaw Kennedy -</p> -<ul> -<li>BEASTS: THUMB-NAIL STUDIES IN PETS</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Charles Kingsley -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>WESTWARD HO! -</li> -<li>THE HEROES -</li> -<li>HEREWARD THE WAKE -</li> -<li>THE WATER BABIES -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY -</li> -<li>GLAUCUS -</li> -<li>AT LAST</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Henry Kingsley -</p> -<ul> -<li>TALES OF OLD TRAVEL</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Rudyard Kipling -</p> -<ul> -<li>* THE KIPLING READER</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Sir J. K. Laughton -</p> -<ul> -<li>LIFE OF NELSON. With Portrait</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By S. Lover -</p> -<ul> -<li>HANDY ANDY</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Captain Marryat -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>POOR JACK -</li> -<li>MASTERMAN READY -</li> -<li>NEWTON FORSTER -</li> -<li>PIRATE AND THREE CUTTERS -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>SNARLEYYOW -</li> -<li>PETER SIMPLE -</li> -<li>MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY -</li> -<li>JAPHET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By S. Weir Mitchell -</p> -<ul> -<li>* THE ADVENTURES OF FRANÇOIS</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Mrs. Molesworth -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>CARROTS -</li> -<li>THE TAPESTRY ROOM -</li> -<li>GRANDMOTHER DEAR -</li> -<li>A CHRISTMAS CHILD -</li> -<li>THE CUCKOO CLOCK -</li> -<li>US -</li> -<li>THE ADVENTURES OF HERR BABY<span id="xd31e2639"></span> -</li> -<li>TELL ME A STORY -</li> -<li>LITTLE MISS PEGGY -</li> -<li>* CHRISTMAS-TREE LAND -</li> -<li>* THE RECTORY CHILDREN -</li> -<li>* ROSY -</li> -<li>* TWO LITTLE WAIFS -</li> -<li>* FOUR WINDS FARM -</li> -<li>* MISS MOUSE AND HER BOYS -</li> -<li>* THE RUBY RING -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>* THE ORIEL WINDOW -</li> -<li>* SHEILA’S MYSTERY -</li> -<li>* THE CARVED LIONS -</li> -<li>* THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE -</li> -<li>* A CHRISTMAS POSY -</li> -<li>* THE GIRLS AND I -</li> -<li>* THE MAGIC NUTS -</li> -<li>* MARY<span class="pageNum" id="pb324">[<a href="#pb324">324</a>]</span> -</li> -<li>* MY NEW HOME -</li> -<li>* NURSE HEATHERDALE’S STORY -</li> -<li>* THIS AND THAT -</li> -<li>* THE HOUSE THAT GREW -</li> -<li>* THE WOODPIGEONS AND MARY -</li> -<li>* PETERKIN -</li> -<li>* JASPER -</li> -<li>* THE LITTLE GUEST</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By J. Morier -</p> -<ul> -<li>HAJJI BABA OF ISPAHAN</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Mowbray Morris -</p> -<ul> -<li>* TALES OF THE SPANISH MAIN</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By H. E. Norton -</p> -<ul> -<li>A BOOK OF COURTESY</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Mrs. Oliphant -</p> -<ul> -<li>AGNES HOPETOUN</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By C. W. C. Oman -</p> -<ul> -<li>WARWICK THE KING-MAKER</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Eleanor C. Price -</p> -<ul> -<li>IN THE LION’S MOUTH</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Sir Walter Scott -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>* KENILWORTH -</li> -<li>* THE TALISMAN -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>* COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By W. M. Thackeray -</p> -<ul> -<li>* THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND. (No Illustrations)</li> -</ul><p> -</p> -<p class="cbxl">By Charlotte M. Yonge -</p> -<table class="splitListTable"> -<tr> -<td> -<ul> -<li>THE LITTLE DUKE -</li> -<li>THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD -</li> -<li>THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE -</li> -<li>THE ARMOURER’S ’PRENTICES -</li> -</ul> -</td> -<td> -<ul> -<li>P’S AND Q’S AND LITTLE LUCY’S WONDERFUL GLOBE -</li> -<li>UNKNOWN TO HISTORY -</li> -<li>THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE’S NEST</li> -</ul> -</td> -</tr> -</table><p> -</p> -<p class="center"><i>Further volumes will be added from time to time</i> -</p> -<p class="center large">MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON -</p> -</div> -</div> -<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 xd31e54" 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 xd31e54" 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 id="xd31e64" href="#xd31e64ext">1</a>). -</p> -<h3 class="main">Metadata</h3> -<table class="colophonMetadata" summary="Metadata"> -<tr> -<td><b>Title:</b></td> -<td>Insect Life: Souvenirs of a Naturalist</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Author:</b></td> -<td>Jean-Henri-Casimir Fabre (1823–1915)</td> -<td>Info <span class="externalUrl">https://viaf.org/viaf/51689251/</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Editor:</b></td> -<td>F. Merrifield</td> -<td>Info</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Illustrator:</b></td> -<td>M. Prendergast Parker</td> -<td>Info</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Translator:</b></td> -<td>Margaret Roberts (1833–1919)</td> -<td>Info <span class="externalUrl">https://viaf.org/viaf/85444675/</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Contributor:</b></td> -<td>David Sharp (1840–1922)</td> -<td>Info <span class="externalUrl">https://viaf.org/viaf/53076883/</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>File generation date:</b></td> -<td>2022-05-27 10:11:55 UTC</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Language:</b></td> -<td>English</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Original publication date:</b></td> -<td>1913</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Open Library (Book):</b></td> -<td>OL17958944M <span class="externalUrl">https://openlibrary.org/books/OL17958944M</span></td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Open Library (Work):</b></td> -<td>OL1809411W <span class="externalUrl">https://openlibrary.org/works/OL1809411W</span></td> -<td></td> -</tr> -</table> -<h3 class="main">Revision History</h3> -<ul> -<li>2022-05-19 Started. -</li> -</ul> -<h3 class="main">External References</h3> -<p>Project Gutenberg does not use active external links in its ebooks. -The following URLs are shown purely for information. If so desired, you can copy and -paste them into the address-bar of your browser. -</p> -<table class="externalReferenceTable"> -<tr> -<th>Page</th> -<th>URL</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a class="pageref" id="xd31e64ext" href="#xd31e64">N.A.</a></td> -<td><span class="externalUrl">https://archive.org/details/insectlifesouven00fabr</span></td> -</tr> -</table> -<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="#xd31e254">7</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">he he</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">he</td> -<td class="bottom">3</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e859">38</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Earth-piecer</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Earth-piercer</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1428">149</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1450">153</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Spex</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Sphex</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1868">231</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2212">291</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2227">294</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Not in source</i>] -</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1989">253</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2182">286</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">resistent</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">resistant</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2083">271</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">naive</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">naïve</td> -<td class="bottom">1 / 0</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2090">272</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">hypothenuse</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">hypotenuse</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2130">278</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Rhone</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Rhône</td> -<td class="bottom">1 / 0</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2155">281</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">;</td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Deleted</i>] -</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2206">291</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">frees pace</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">free space</td> -<td class="bottom">2</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2334">316</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">anyrate</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">any rate</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2639">323</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">.</td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Deleted</i>] -</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -</table> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSECT LIFE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin-top:1em; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE</div> -<div style='text-align:center;font-size:0.9em'>PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <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> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/front.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/front.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a3f91d2..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/front.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b0205a5..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/frontispiece.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/logo.png b/old/68186-h/images/logo.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c46ff51..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/logo.png +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p006.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p006.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 02e163e..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p006.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p012.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p012.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4c384dc..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p012.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p046.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p046.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index d5ee39b..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p046.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p054.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p054.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b2b3136..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p054.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p058.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p058.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ffc4f91..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p058.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p120.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p120.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ecf53e0..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p120.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p136.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p136.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e09db98..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p136.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p156.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p156.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0e2970e..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p156.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p166.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p166.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 32f1bdb..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p166.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p194.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p194.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 66f48c8..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p194.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p207.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p207.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 959c99a..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p207.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p208.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p208.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3fd1ca8..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p208.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p240.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p240.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3cdd7f3..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p240.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p272.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p272.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3777ff1..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p272.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/p280.jpg b/old/68186-h/images/p280.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f21d553..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/p280.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/68186-h/images/titlepage.png b/old/68186-h/images/titlepage.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e7675b5..0000000 --- a/old/68186-h/images/titlepage.png +++ /dev/null |
