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Fabre, Jean-Henri, 1823-1915.
The wonders of instinct.
 THE
WONDERS OF INSTINCT
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 THE
WONDERS OF INSTINCT

a Te ae

JEAN HENRI FABRE

Author of “‘SociaL Lire IN THE INSECT
WokrLp,”’ etc.

TRANSLATED BY

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS

AND
BERNARD MIALL

WITH 16 ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO,
1918
 Copyright, 1918, by:
THE CENTURY CoO.

Reprinted October, 1918

 CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PEP UGEPAREMAS A dete Rs) Sh alla lee) GN 4) “Role soy
Hifeeterey GREEN? 'GRASSHOPPER” <) a gs ech ws cada os IO

Ill THE VBE OING «sO el aoe een Wa eR ne ROM yk Satie or Betas

RABE EOCCAPRICORN al 's) hcclial od ts <5) dav om, We! 2s le he AS

Vali beBURYING-BEETLESI: THE POURTAL sulle) os 6) er 5Q

VI THe BuryING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS . ... . . 76

NWSE ERETUEBOTIER ti hepa i ich Yet) ein yet fen cole eee eC LOL
WE nteS PINE-PROCESSIONARY— faye sc otsfl iso) s,s -s) 6 219

WEXGRMSTER SPIDERS get ber es whens e bbs hes, Luss ated

XE ISAN DED MPEIRA fay atalc csi ior uclyee stirs) wee Wis LOQ

XO ELEMIS MENTS arte re WeorenGlll.t cette ceo Marcie eat ore ast uae 2O2
PORTE MOSM URS monet lured is) ey s nih. eo chutes vlan Mae in Sore EE
NAME GEOW=VWIORM aN men fe. tegles Sensis fe wi-ste fo Masta 208
MOV elie. CABBAGE-CATERPILUAR 0) ure) (fn a ced te) 5 200:
GSIOESe | et as ee at ol Lia ics ete a ie to pK)
Note.— Chapters V and VI have been translated by Mr. Bernard
Miall; the remainder by Mr. Alexander Teixeira de Mattos.
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

See erEtat Tag! ors vg: vb gy shoe cel es a! ue eerontisptede

FACING

TES LG. of She igs ie lyn yyy MeSS ere ‘ag

SIEGE LES SI eS Ac Sag, Gee eo ar ed ee een
etetdstewaOrine Great Capricorn: 20 wis seis a Se a8
The Great Capricorn: The Male and the Female . . . . . 56
Experiments—
The Burying-beetles and the Mole . . . . &
Experiments
— The Burying-beetles and the Mouse . . . . 88
Experiments
— The Burying-beetles and the Suspended Mole . 92
Experiments
— The Burying-beetles and the Suspended Mole . 06
The Bluebottle aes Her ie in the Slit of a Dead Bird’s
Beak 5 ue 3 . 104
The Lycosa Lifting Her White a ofres Towards the Sam
to Assist the Hatching . .. . A . 156
The Banded Epeira red Her Flourish, After Fnshing
Her Web: 935 32.5 - AAS Rez
The Banded aes LettingHerself Dropby
the End of Her
‘Thread, * . A : el
The Banded ae a tie Her renee We oe e ES Peon LO:
Wsinia-nests inva bratible Lwit) %.) bn ese oe e = 9 230
Gsmiacnestsinsiderar Reeds cilcutes c3 st sae len «) 230
Artificial Hive Invented iethe Author to ae the Osmia’s
ayino ye cin 7 - BM hae lig ch230
Old Nests Used by the Osmia inpe Veta O'S tert ecneet 200.
DOU OTT tet ei or ae voll tle Fo ae toa ns, BOM
pane Cappaceseatorpiliat: .6 kes. 6) aie Nena) 8) eh 2 2B
 THE
WONDERS OF INSTINCT
 THE WONDERS OF
INSTINCT
CHAPTER I
THE HARMAS
Tuis is what I wished for, hoc erat in votis: a bit of land,
oh, not so very large, but fenced in, to avoid the draw-
backs of a public way; an abandoned, barren, sun-
scorched bit of land, favored by thistles and by Wasps
and Bees. Here, without fear of being troubled by the
passers-by, I could consult the Ammophila and the
Sphex + and engage in that difficult conversation whose
questions and answers have experiment for their lan-
guage; here, without distant expeditions that take up my
time, without tiring rambles that strain my nerves, I could
contrive my plans of attack, lay my ambushes and watch
their effects at every hour of the day. Hoc erat in votis.
Yes, this was my wish, my dream, always cherished, al-
ways vanishing into the mists of the future.
And it is no easy matter to acquire a laboratory in the
open fields, when harassed by a terrible anxiety about
one’s daily bread. For forty years have I fought, with
steadfast courage, against the paltry plagues of life; and
the long-wished-for laboratory has come at last. What:
it has cost me in perseverance and relentless work I will!
1Two species of Digger- or Hunting-wasps.— Translatar’s Note.
3
rae THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
not try to say. It has come; and, with it — a more seri-
ous conditio n a little leisure. I say.perhaps,
— perhaps
for my leg is still hampered with a few links of the con-
vict’s chain.
The wish is realized. It is a little late, O! my pretty
insects! I greatly fear that the peach is offered to me
when I am beginning to have no teeth wherewith to eat
it. Yes, it is a little late: the wide horizons of the out-
set have shrunk into a low and stifling canopy, more and
more straitened day by day. Regretting nothing in the
past, save those whom I have lost; regretting nothing,
not even my first youth; hoping nothing either, I have
reached the point at which, worn out by the experience of
things, we ask ourselves if life be worth the living.
Amid the ruins that surround fne, one strip of wall re-
mains standing, immovable upon its solid base: my pas-
sion for scientific truth. Is that enough, O! my busy
insects, to enable me to add yet a few seemly pages to
your history? Will my strength not cheat my good in-
tentions? Why, indeed, did I forsake you so long?
Friends have reproached me for it. Ah, tell them, tell
those friends, who are yours as well as mine, tell them
that it was not forgetfulness on my part, not weariness,
nor neglect: I thought of you; I was convinced that the
Cerceris’ } cave had more fair secrets to reveal to us, that
the chase of the Sphex held fresh surprises in store.
But time failed me; I was alone, deserted, struggling
against misfortune. Before philosophizing, one had to
live. Tell them that, and they will pardon me.
1A species of Digger-wasp.— Translator’s Note.
 THE HARMAS 5
Others have reproached me with my style, which has
not the solemnity, nay, better the dryness of the schools.
They fear lest a page that is read without fatigue should
not always be the expression of the truth. Were I to
take their word for it, we are profound only on condition
of being obscure. Come here, one and all of you — you,
the sting-bearers, and you, the wing-cased armor-clads
—take up my defense and bear witness in my favor.
Tell of the intimate terms on which I live with you, of
the patience with which I observe you, of the care with
which I record your actions. Your evidence is unani-
mous; yes, my pages, though they bristle not with hollow
formulas nor learned smatterings, are the exact narrative
of facts observed, neither more nor less; and whoso cares
to question you in his turn will obtain the same replies.
And then, my dear insects, if you cannot convince those
good people, because you do not carry the weight of
tedium, I, in my turn, will say to them: .
“You rip up the animal and I study it alive; you turn
it into an object of horror and pity, whereas I cause it to
be loved; you labor in a torture-chamber and dissecting-
room, I make my observations under the blue sky, to the
song of the Cicadz;1 you subject cell and protoplasm to
chemical tests, I study instinct in its loftiest manifesta-
tions; you pry into death, I pry into life. And why
should I not complete my thought: the boars have mud-
died the clear stream; natural history, youth’s glorious
study, has, by dint of cellular improvements, become a
pper and
1The Cicada Cigale, an insect akin to the Grassho
Note.
found more particularly in the south of France.— Translators
6 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
hateful and repulsive thing. Well, if I write for men of
learning, for philosophers, who, one day, will try to some
extent to unravel the tough problem of instinct, I write
also, I write above all things, for the young, I want to
make them love the natural history which you make them
hate; and that is why, while keeping strictly to the do-
main of truth, I avoid your scientific prose, which too
often, alas, seems borrowed from some Iroquois idiom! ”
But this is not my business for the moment: I want to
speak of the bit of land long cherished in my plans to
form a laboratory of living entomology, the bit of land
which I have at last obtained in the solitude of a little
village. It is a harmas, the name given in this district,’
to an untilled, pebbly expanse abandoned to the vegetation
of the thyme. It is too poor to repay the work of the
plow, but the Sheep passes there in spring, when it has
chanced to rain and a little grass shoots up.
My harmas, however, because of its modicum of red
earth swamped by a huge mass of stones, has received a
rough first attempt at cultivation: I am told that vines
once grew here. And, in fact, when we dig the ground
before planting a few trees, we turn up, here and there,
remains of the precious stock, half-carbonized by time.
The three-pronged fork, therefore, the only implement
of husbandry that can penetrate such a soil as this, has
entered here; and I am sorry, for the primitive vege-
tation has disappeared. No more thyme, no more laven-
der, no more clumps of kermes-oaks, the dwarf oak that
forms forests across which we step by lengthening our
1The country round Sérignan, in Provence— Translator’s Note,
 THE HARMAS 4
stride a little. As these plants, especially the first two,
might be of use to me by offering the Bees and Wasps a
spoil to forage, I am compelled to reinstate them in the
ground whence they were driven by the fork.
What abounds without my mediation is the invaders
of any soil that is first dug up and then left for a long
time to its own resources. We have, in the first rank,
the couch-grass, that execrable weed which three years
of stubborn warfare have not succeeded in exterminating.
Next, in respect of number, come the centauries, grim-
looking one and all, bristling with prickles or starry hal-
berds. They are the yellow-flowered centaury, the moun-
tain centaury, the star-thistle and the rough centaury: the
first predominates. Here and there, amid their inextri-
cable confusion, stands, like a chandelier with spreading
orange flowers for lights, the fierce Spanish oyster-plant,
whose spikes are strong as nails. Above it towers the
Illyrian cotton-thistle, whose straight and solitary stalk
soars to a height of three to six feet and ends in large
pink tufts. Its armor hardly yields before that of the
oyster-plant. Nor must we forget the lesser thistle-tribe,
with, first of all, the prickly or “cruel” thistle, which is
so well armed that the plant-collector knows not where to
grasp it; next, the spear-thistle, with its ample foliage,
ending each of its veins with a spear-head; lastly, the
black knap-weed, which gathers itself into a spiky knot.
In among these, in long lines armed with hooks, the
shoots of the blue dewberry creep along the ground. To
visit the prickly thicket when the Wasp goes foraging,
you must wear boots that come to mid-leg or else resign
8 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
yourself to a smarting in the calves. As long as the
ground retains a few remnants of the vernal rains, this
rude vegetation does not lack a certain charm, when the
pyramids of the oyster-plant and the slender branches of
the cotton-thistle rise above the wide carpet formed by the
yellow-flowered centaury’s saffron heads; but let the
droughts of summer come and we see but a desolate
waste, which the flame of a match would set ablaze from
one end to the other. Such is, or rather was, when I took
possession of it, the Eden of bliss where I mean to live
henceforth alone with the insect. Forty years of des-
perate struggle have won it for me.
Eden, I said; and, from the point of view that interests
me, the expression is not out of place. This cursed
ground, which no one would have had at a gift to sow
with a pinch of turnip-seed, is an earthly paradise for
the Bees and the Wasps. Its mighty growth of thistles
and centauries draws them all to me from everywhere
around. Never, in my insect-hunting memories, have
I seen so large a population at a single spot; all the trades
have made it their rallying-point. Here come hunters of
every kind of game, builders in clay, weavers of cotton
goods, collectors of pieces cut from a leaf or the petals of
a flower, architects in pasteboard, plasterers mixing mor-
tar, carpenters boring wood, miners digging underground
galleries, workers handling goldbeater’s skin and many
more.
Who is this one? An Anthidium.! She scrapes the
1A Cotton-bee— Translator’s Note.
 THE HARMAS 9
cobwebby stalk of the yellow-flowered centaury and
gathers a ball of wadding which she carries off proudly
in the tips of her mandibles. She will turn it, under:
ground, into cotton-felt satchels to hold the store of
honey and the egg. And these others, so eager for
plunder? They are Megachiles,! carrying under their
bellies their black, white, or blood-red reaping-brushes.
They will leave the thistles to visit the neighboring shrubs
and there cut from the leaves oval pieces which will be
made into a fit receptacle to contain the harvest. And
these, clad in black velvet? They are Chalicodome,?
who work with cement and gravel. We could easily find
their masonry on the stones in the harmas. And these,
noisily buzzing with a sudden flight? They are the
Anthophore,’? who live in the old walls and the sunny
banks of the neighborhood.
Now come the Osmiz. One stacks her cells in the
spiral staircase of an empty snail-shell; another, attack-
ing the pith of a dry bit of bramble, obtains for her
grubs a cylindrical lodging and divides it into floors by
means of partition-walls; a third employs the natural
channel of a cut reed; a fourth is a rent-free tenant of
the vacant ‘galleries of some Mason-bee. Here are the
Macrocerze and the Eucere, whose males are proudly
horned; the Dasypodz, who carry an ample brush of
bristles on their hind-legs for a reaping implement; the
Andrenz, so manyfold in species; the slender-bellied
1 Leaf-cutting Bees.— Translator’s Note.
2 Mason-bees.— Translators Note.
8A species of Wild Bees.—Translator’s Note.
10 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Halicti.1 I omit a host of others. If I tried to con-
tinue this record of the guests of my thistles, it would
muster almost the whole of the honey-yielding tribe.
A learned entomologist of Bordeaux, Professor Pérez,
to whom I submit the naming of my prizes, once asked
me if I had any special means of hunting, to send him so
many rarities and even novelties. JI am not at all an
experienced and still less a zealous hunter, for the insect
interests me much more when engaged in its work than
when stuck on a pin in a cabinet. The whole secret of
my hunting is reduced to my dense nursery of thistles
and centauries.
By a most fortunate chance, with this populous family
of honey-gatherers was allied the whole hunting tribe.
The builders’ men had distributed here and there, in the
harmas, great mounds of sand and heaps of stones, with
a view of running up some surrounding walls. The
work dragged on slowly; and the materials found occu-
pants from the first year. The Mason-bees had chosen
the interstices between the stones as a dormitory where
to pass the night in serried groups. The powerful Eyed
Lizard, who, when close-pressed, attacks wide-mouthed
both man and dog, had selected a cave wherein to lie in
wait for the passing Scarab;? the Black-eared Chat,
garbed like a Dominican, white-frocked with black wings,
sat on the top stone, singing his short rustic lay: his nest,
with its sky-blue eggs, must be somewhere in the heap.
1Osmiz, Macrocere, Eucere, Dasypode, Andrenez, and Halicti
are all different species of Wild Bees.— Translator’s Note.
7 A Dung-beetle known also as the Sacred Beetle.— Translator’s
Note.
 THE HARMAS 11
The little Dominican disappeared with the loads of stones.
I regret him: he would have been a charming neighbor.
The Eyed Lizard I do not regret at all.
The sand sheltered a different colony. Here, the
Bembeces ! were sweeping the threshold of their burrows,
flinging a curve of dust behind them; the Languedocian
Sphex was dragging her Ephippigera? by the antenne ;
a Stizus * was storing her preserves of Cicadelle.* To
my sorrow, the masons ended by evicting the sporting
tribe; but, should I ever wish to recall it, I have but to
renew the mounds of sand: they will soon all be there.
Hunters that have not disappeared, their homes being
different, are the Ammophilz, whom I see fluttering, one
in spring, the others in autumn, along the garden-walks
and over the lawns, in search of a Caterpillar; the Pom-
pili,> who travel alertly, beating their wings and rum-
maging in every corner in quest of a Spider. The largest
of them waylays the Narbonne Lycosa,® whose burrow is
not infrequent in the harmas. This burrow is a vertical
well, with a curb of fescue-grass intertwined with silk.
You can see the eyes of the mighty Spider gleam at the
bottom of the den like little diamonds, an object of terror
to most. What a prey and what dangerous hunting for
the Pompilus! And here, on a hot summer afternoon,
1A species of Digger-wasps.— Translator’s Note.
2A species of Green Grasshopper.— Translator’s Note.
3A species of Hunting-wasp.— Translator's Note.
4 Froghoppers.— Translator’s Note.
5 The Pompilus is a species of Hunting-wasp known also as the
Ringed Calicurgus.— Translator’s Note.
6 Known also as the Black-bellied Tarantula— Translator’s Note.
12 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
is the Amazon-ant, who leaves her barrack-rooms in long
battalions and marches far afield to hunt for slaves. ‘ We
will follow her in her raids when we find time. Here
again, around a heap of grasses turned to mold, are
Scoliz ! an inch and a half long, who fly gracefully and
dive into the heap, attracted by a rich prey, the grubs of
Lamellicorns, Oryctes, and Cetoniz.?
What subjects for study! And there are more to come.
The house was as utterly deserted as the ground. When
man was gone and peace assured, the animal hastily seized
on everything. The Warbler took up his abode in the
lilac-shrubs ;the Greenfinch settled in the thick shelter of
the cypresses; the Sparrow carted rags and straw under
every slate; the Serin-finch, whose downy nest is no big-
ger than half an apricot, came and chirped in the plane-
tree tops; the Scops made a habit of uttering his monot-
onous, piping note here, of an evening; the bird of Pallas
Athene, the Owl, came hurrying along to hoot and hiss.
In front of the house is a large pond, fed by the aque-
duct that supplies the village pumps with water. Here,
from half a mile and more around, come the Frogs and
Toads in the lovers’ season. The Natterjack, sometimes
as large as a plate, with a narrow stripe of yellow down
his back, makes his appointments here to take his bath;
when the evening twilight falls, we see hopping along the
edge the Midwife Toad, the male, who carries a cluster of
eggs, the size of peppercorns, wrapped round his hind-
1Large Hunting-wasps.— Translator’s Note. .
2 Different species of Beetles. The Cetonia is the Rose-chafer.—
Translator’s Note.
 THE HARMAS : 13
legs: the genial paterfamilias has brought his precious
packet from afar, to leave it in the water and afterwards
retire under some flat stone, when he will emit a sound
like a tinkling bell. Lastly, when not croaking amid the
foliage, the Tree-frogs indulge in the most graceful
dives. And so, in May, as soon as it is dark, the pond
becomes a deafening orchestra: it is impossible to talk at
table, impossible to sleep. We had to remedy this by
means perhaps a little too rigorous. What could we
do? He who tries to sleep and cannot needs become
ruthless.
Bolder still, the Wasp has taken possession of the
dwelling-house. On my door-sill, in a soil of rubbish,
nestles the White-banded Sphex: when I go indoors, I
must be careful not to damage her burrows, not to tread
upon the miner absorbed in her work. It is quite a
quarter of a century since I last saw the saucy Cricket-
hunter. When I made her acquaintance, I used to visit
her at a few miles’ distance: each time, it meant an ex-
pedition under the blazing August sun. To-day I find
her at my door; we are intimate neighbors. The em-
brasure of the closed window provides an apartment of a
mild temperature for the Pelopzus.! The earth-built
nest is fixed against the freestone wall. To enter her
home, the Spider-huntress uses a little hole left open by
accident in the shutters. On the moldings of the Vene-
of
tian blinds, a few stray Mason-bees build their group
Eumenes?
cells; inside the outer shutters, left ajar, a
1A species of Mason-wasp.— Translators Note.
2 Another Mason-wasp.— Translator’s Note.
 14 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
constructs her little earthen dome, surmounted by a short,
bell-mouthed neck. The Common Wasp and the Polis-
tes! are my dinner-guests: they visit my table to see if
the grapes served are as ripe as they look.
Here surely — and the list is far from complete— is
a company both numerous and select, whose conversation
will not fail to charm my solitude, if I succeed in draw-
ing it out. My dear beasts of former days, my old
friends, and others, more recent acquaintances, all are
here, hunting, foraging, building in close proximity.
Besides, should we wish to vary the scene of observation,
the mountain * is but a few hundred steps away, with
its tangle of arbutus, rock-roses and arborescent heather;
with its sandy spaces dear to the Bembeces; with its marly
slopes exploited by different Wasps and Bees. And that
is why, foreseeing these riches, I have abandoned the
town for the village and come to Sérignan to weed my
turnips and water my lettuces.
Laboratories are being founded at great expense, on
our Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts, where people cut
up small sea-animals, of but meager interest to us: they
spend a fortune on powerful microscopes, delicate dissect-
ing-instruments, engines of capture, boats, fishing-crews,
aquariums, to find out how the yolk of an Annelid’s?
egg is constructed, a question whereof I have never yet
been able to grasp the full importance; and they scorn
1A Wasp that builds her nest in trees— Translator’s Note.
* Mont Ventoux, an outlying summit of the Alps, 6,270 feet high.
— Translator’s Note.
8 A red-blooded Worm.— Tyanslator’s Note.
 ANC NINOS Library

THE HARMAS 1
the little land-animal, which lives in constant touch with
us, which provides universal psychology with documents
of inestimable value, which too often threatens the pub-
lic wealth by destroying our crops. When shall we have
an entomological laboratory for the study not of the
dead insect, steeped in alcohol, but of the living insect;
a laboratory having for its object the instinct, the habits,
the manner of living, the work, the struggles, the propa-
gation of that little world with which agriculture and
philosophy have most seriously to reckon? To know
thoroughly the history of the destroyer of our vines
might perhaps be more important than to know how this
or that nerve-fiber of a Cirriped! ends; to establish by
experiment the line of demarcation between intellect and
instinct; to prove, by comparing facts in the zoological
progression, whether human reason be an irreducible
faculty or not: all this ought surely to take precedence of
the number of joints in a Crustacean’s antenna. These
enormous questions would need an army of workers; and
we have not one. The fashion is all for the Mollusc and
the Zoophyte.2_ The depths of the sea are explored with
many drag-nets; the soil which we tread is consistently
disregarded. While waiting for the fashion to change,
I open my harmas laboratory of living entomology ; and
this laboratory shall not cost the ratepayers one farthing.
1Cirripeds are sea-animals with hair-like legs, including the
Barnacles and Acorn-shells.— Translators Note.
2 Zodphytes are plant-like sea-animals, including Star-fishes, Jelly-
fishes, Sea-anemones, and Sponges,— Translator’s Note.
 CHAPTER
THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER

WE are in the middle of July. The astronomical dog-

days are just beginning; but in reality the torrid season
has anticipated the calendar and for some weeks past the
heat has been overpowering.
This evening in the village they are celebrating the
National Festival.1_ While the little boys and girls are
hopping round a bonfire whose gleams are reflected
upon the church-steeple, while the drum is pounded to
mark the ascent of each rocket, I am sitting alone in a
dark corner, in the comparative coolness that prevails at
nine o’clock, harking to the concert of the festival of the
fields, the festival of the harvest, grander by far than that
which, at this moment, is being celebrated in the village
square with gunpowder, lighted torches, Chinese lanterns
and, above all, strong drink. It has the simplicity of
beauty and the repose of strength.
It is late; and the Cicade are silent. Glutted with
light and heat, they have indulged in symphonies all the
livelong day. The advent of the night means rest for
them, but a rest frequently disturbed. In the dense
branches of the plane-trees a sudden sound rings out like
1The 14th of July, the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille—
Translator’s Note.
16
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 17
a cry of anguish, strident and short. It is the desperate
wail of the Cicada, surprised in his quietude by the
Green Grasshopper, that ardent nocturnal huntress, who
springs upon him, grips him in the side, opens and ran-
sacks his abdomen. An orgy of music, followed by
butchery.
I have never seen and never shall see that supreme
expression of our national revelry, the military review
at Longchamp; nor do I much regret it. The newspapers
tell me as much about it as I want to know. They give
me a sketch of the site. I see, installed here and there
amid the trees, the ominous Red Cross, with the legend,
“ Military Ambulance; Civil Ambulance.” There will
be bones broken, apparently; cases of sunstroke; re-
grettable deaths, perhaps. It is all provided for and all
in the program.
Even here, in my village, usually so peaceable, the
festival will not end, I am ready to wager, without the
exchange of a few blows, that compulsory seasoning of
a day of merry-making. No pleasure, it appears, can be
fully relished without an added condiment of pain.
Let us listen and meditate far from the tumult. While
the disemboweled Cicada utters his protest, the festival
up there in the plane-trees is continued without a change
of orchestra. It is now the time of the nocturnal per-
formers. Hard by the place of slaughter, in the green
bushes, a delicate ear perceives the hum of the Grass-
hoppers. It is the sort of noise that a spinning-wheel
makes, a very unobtrusive sound, a vague rustle of dry
membranes rubbed together. Above this dull bass there
18 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
rises, at intervals, a hurried, very shrill, almost metallic
clicking. There you have the air and the recitative, in-
tersected by pauses. The rest is the accompaniment.
Despite the assistance of a bass, it is a poor concert,
very poor indeed, though there are about ten executants
in my immediate vicinity. The tone lacks intensity. My
old tympanum is not always capable of perceiving these
subtleties of sound. The little that reaches me is ex-
tremely sweet and most appropriate to the calm of twi-
light. Just a little more breadth in your bow-stroke,
my dear Green Grasshopper, and your technique would
be better than the hoarse Cicada’s, whose name and
reputation you have been made to usurp in the countries
of the north.
Still, you will never equal your neighbor, the little
bell-ringing Toad, who goes tinkling all round, at the foot
of the plane-trees, while you click up above. He is the
smallest of my batrachian folk and the most venturesome
in his expeditions.
How often, at nightfall, by the last glimmers of day-
light, have I not come upon him as I wandered through
my garden, hunting for ideas! Something runs away,
rolling over and over in front of me. Is it a dead leaf
blown along by the wind? No, it is the pretty little Toad
disturbed in the midst of his pilgrimage. He hurriedly
takes shelter under a stone, a clod of earth, a tuft of
grass, recovers from his excitement and loses no time in
picking up his liquid note.
On this evening of national rejoicing, there are nearly
a dozen of him tinkling against one another around me.
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 19
Most of them are crouching among the rows of flower-
pots that form a sort of lobby outside my house. Each
has his own note, always the same, lower in one case,
higher in another, a short, clear note, melodious and of
exquisite purity.
With their slow, rhythmical cadence, they seem to be
intoning litanies. Cluck, says one; click, responds an-
other, on a finer note; clock, adds a third, the tenor of
the band. And this is repeated indefinitely, like the bells
of the village pealing on a holiday: cluck, click, clock;
cluck, click, clock!
The batrachian choristers remind me of a certain har-
monica which I used to covet when my six-year-old ear
began to awaken to the magic of sounds. It consisted
of a series of strips of glass of unequal length, hung on
two stretched tapes. A cork fixed to a wire served as a
hammer. Imagine an unskilled hand striking at random
on this key-board, with a sudden clash of octaves, dis-
sonances and topsy-turvy chords; and you will have a
pretty clear idea of the Toads’ litany.
As a song, this litany has neither head nor tail to it;
as a collection of pure sounds, it is delicious. This is
the case with all the music in nature’s concerts. Our ear
discovers superb notes in it and then becomes refined
and acquires, outside the realities of sound, that sense of
order which is the first condition of beauty.
Now this. sweet ringing of bells between hiding-place
and hiding-place is the matrimonial oratorio, the discreet
summons which every Jack issues to his Jill. The sequel
to the concert may be guessed without further enquiry;
20 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
but what it would be impossible to foresee is the strange
finale of the wedding. Behold the father, in this case a
real paterfamilias, in the noblest sense of the word,
coming out of his retreat one day in an unrecognizable
state. He is carrying the future, tight-packed around
his hind-legs; he is changing houses laden with a cluster
of eggs the size of peppercorns. His calves are girt, his
thighs are sheathed with the bulky burden; and it covers
his back like a beggar’s wallet, completely deforming him.
Whither is he going, dragging himself along, incapable
of jumping, thanks to the weight of his load? He is
going, the fond parent, where the mother refuses to go;
he is on his way to the nearest pond, whose warm waters
are indispensable to the tadpoles’ hatching and existence.
When the eggs are nicely ripened around his legs under
the humid shelter of a stone, he braves the damp and the
daylight, he the passionate lover of dry land and dark-
ness; he advances by short stages, his lungs congested
with fatigue. The pond is far away, perhaps; no matter:
the plucky pilgrim will find it.
He’s there. Without delay, he dives, despite his pro-
found antipathy to bathing; and the cluster of eggs is
instantly removed*by the legs rubbing against each other.
The eggs are now in their element; and the rest will be
accomplished of itself. Having fulfilled his obligation to
go right under, the father hastens to return to his well-
sheltered home. He is scarcely out of sight before the
little black tadpoles are hatched and playing about. They
were but waiting for the contact of the water in order to
burst their shells.
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 21
Among the singers in the July gloaming, one alone,
were he able to vary his notes, could vie with the Toad’s
harmonious bells. This is the little Scops-owl, that
comely nocturnal bird of prey, with the round gold eyes.
He sports on his forehead two small feathered horns
which have won for him in the district the name of
Machoto banarudo, the Horned Owl. His song, which
is rich enough to fill by itself the still night air, is of a
nerve-shattering monotony. With imperturbable and
measured regularity, for hours on end, kew, kew, the bird
spits out its cantata to the moon.
One of them has arrived at this moment, driven from
the plane-trees in the square by the din of the rejoicings,
to demand my hospitality. I can hear him in the top
of a cypress near by. From up there, dominating the
lyrical assembly, at regular intervals he cuts into the
vague orchestration of the Grasshoppers and the Toads.
His soft note is contrasted, intermittently, with a sort
of Cat’s mew, coming from another spot. This is the
call of the Common Owl, the meditative bird of Minerva.
After hiding all day in the seclusion of a hollow olive-
tree, he started on his wanderings when the shades of
evening began to fall. Swinging along with a sinuous
flight, he came from somewhere in the neighborhood to
the pines in my enclosure, whence he mingles his harsh
mewing, slightly softened by distance, with the general
concert.
The Green Grasshopper’s clicking is too faint to be
s
clearly perceived amidst these clamorers ; all that reache
is a mo-
me is the least ripple, just noticeable when there
22 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
ment’s silence. He possesses as his apparatus of sound
only a modest drum and scraper, whereas they,. more
highly privileged, have their bellows, the lungs, which
send forth a column of vibrating air. There is no com-
parison possible.
Let us return to the insects.
One of these, though inferior in size and no less spar-
ingly equipped, greatly surpasses the Grasshopper in
nocturnal rhapsodies. I speak of the pale and slender
Italian Cricket (CEcanthus pellucens, Scop.), who is so
puny that you dare not take him up for fear of crushing
him. He makes music everywhere among the rosemary-
bushes, while the Glow-worms light up their blue lamps
to complete the revels. The delicate instrumentalist con-
sists chiefly of a pair of large wings, thin and gleam-
ing as strips of mica. Thanks to these dry sails, he
fiddles away with an intensity capable of drowning the
Toads’ fugue. His performance suggests, but with more
brilliancy, more tremolo in the execution, the song of the
Common Black Cricket. Indeed the mistake would cer-
tainly be made by any one who-did not know that, by the
time the very hot weather comes, the true Cricket, the
chorister of spring, has disappeared. His pleasant violin
has been succeeded by another more pleasant still and
worthy of special study. We shall return to him at an
opportune moment.
These then, limiting ourselves to select specimens, are
the principal participants in this musical evening: the
Scops-owl, with his languorous solos; the Toad, that
tinkler of sonatas; the Italian Cricket, who scrapes the
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 23
first string of a violin; and the Green Grasshopper, who
seems to beat a tiny steel triangle.
We are celebrating to-day, with greater uproar than
conviction, the new era, dating politically from the fall
of the Bastille; they, with glorious indifference to human
things, are celebrating the festival of the sun, singing the
happiness of existence, sounding the loud hosanna of the
July heats.
What care they for man and his fickle rejoicings! For
whom or for what will our squibs be spluttering a few
years hence? Far-seeing indeed would he be who could
answer the question. Fashions change and bring us the
unexpected. The time-serving rocket spreads its sheaf
of sparks for the public enemy of yesterday, who has
become the idol of to-day. To-morrow it will go up for
somebody else.
In a century or two, will any one, outside the histori-
ans, give a thought to the taking of the Bastille? It is
very doubtful. We shall have other joys and also other
cares.
Let us look a little farther ahead. A day will come,
so everything seems to tell us, when, after making prog-
ress upon progress, man will succumb, destroyed by the
excess of what he calls civilization. Too eager to play
the god, he cannot hope for the animal’s placid longevity;
he will have disappeared when the little Toad is still
saying his litany, in company with the Grasshopper, the
this
Scops-owl and the others. They were singing on
planet before us; they will sing after us, celebrat ing what
can never change, the fiery glory of the sun.
24. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
I will dwell no longer on this festival and will become
once more the naturalist, anxious to obtain information
concerning the private life of the insect. The Green
Grasshopper (Locusta viridissima, Lin.) does not appear
to be common in my neighborhood. Last year, intending
to make a study of this insect and finding my efforts
to hunt it fruitless, I was obliged to have recourse to the
good offices of a forest-ranger, who sent me a pair of
couples from the Lagarde plateau, that bleak district
where the beech-tree begins its escalade of the Ventoux.
Now and then freakish fortune takes it into her head
to smile upon the persevering. What was not to be
found last year has become almost common this summer.
Without leaving my narrow enclosure, I obtain as many
Grasshoppers as I could wish. I hear them rustling at
night in the green thickets. Let us make the most of the
windfall, which perhaps will not occur again.
In the month of June my treasures are installed, in a
sufficient number of couples, under a wire cover stand-
ing on a bed of sand in an earthen pan. It is indeed a
magnificent insect, pale-green all over, with two whitish
stripes running down its sides. Its imposing size, its
slim proportions and its great gauze wings make it the
most elegant of our Locustide. Iam enraptured with my
captives. What will they teach me? We shall see
For the moment, we must feed them.
I offer the prisoners a leaf of lettuce. They bite into
it, certainly, but very sparingly and with a scornful tooth.
It soon becomes plain that I am dealing with half-hearted
vegetarians. They want something else: they are beasts
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 25
of prey, apparently. But what manner of prey? A
lucky chance taught me.
At break of day I was pacing up and down outside my
door, when something fell from the nearest plane-tree
with a shrill grating sound. I ran up and saw a Grass-
hopper gutting the belly of a struggling Cicada. In vain
the victim buzzed and waved his limbs: the other did not
let go, dipping her head right into the entrails and root-
ing them out by small mouthfuls.
I knew what I wanted to know: the attack had taken
place up above, early in the morning, while the Cicada
was asleep; and the plunging of the poor wretch, dis-
sected alive, had made assailant and assailed fall in a:
bundle to the ground. Since then I have repeatedly had
occasion to witness similar carnage.
I have even seen the Grasshopper —the height of
audacity, this— dart in pursuit of a Cicada in mad
the
flight. Even so does the Sparrow-hawk pursue
or
Swallow in the sky. But the bird of prey here is inferi
itself. ‘ne
to the insect. It attacks a weaker than
us, much
Grasshopper, on the other hand, assaults a coloss
the
larger than herself and stronger; and nevertheless
The Grass-
result of the unequal fight is not in doubt.
her powerful
hopper rarely fails with the sharp pliers of
unprovided
jaws to disembowel her capture, which, being
and kicking.
with weapons, confines itself to crying out
the prize,
The main thing is to retain one’s hold of
Any Cicada
which is not difficult in somnolent darkness.
on her nocturnal
encountered by the fierce Locustid
death. This explains
rounds is bound to die a lamentable
 26 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
those sudden agonized notes which grate through the
woods at late, unseasonable hours, when the cymbals. have
- long been silent. The murderess in her suit of apple-
green has pounced on some sleeping Cicada. —
My boarders’ menu is settled: I will feed them on
Cicade. They take such a liking to this fare that, in two
or three weeks, the floor of the cage is a knacker’s yard
strewn with heads and empty thoraces, with torn-off
wings and disjointed legs. The belly alone disappears
almost entirely. This is the tit-bit, not very substantial,
but extremely tasty, it would seem. Here, in fact, in the
insect’s crop, the syrup is accumulated, the sugary sap
which the Cicada’s gimlet taps from the tender bark.
Is it because of this dainty that the prey’s abdomen is
preferred to any other morsel? It is quite possible.
I do, in fact, with a view to varying the diet, decide to
serve up some very sweet fruits, slices of pear, grape-
pips, bits of melon. All this meets with delighted appre-
ciation. The Green Grasshopper resembles the English:
she dotes on underdone meat seasoned with jelly. This
perhaps is why, on catching the Cicada, she first rips up
his paunch, which supplies a mixture of flesh and pre-
serves,
To eat Cicadz and sugar is not possible in every part
of the country. In the north, where she abounds, the
Green Grasshopper would not find the dish which at-
tracts her so strongly here. She must have other
resources. To convince myself of this, T give her
Anoxiz (A. pilosa, Fab.), the summer equivalent of the
spring Cockchafer. The Beetle is accepted without hesi-
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 27
tation. Nothing is left of him but the wing-cases, head
and legs. The result is the same with the magnificent
plump Pine Cockchafer (Melolontha fullo, Lin.), a
sumptuous morsel which I find next day eviscerated by
my gang of knackers.
These examples teach us enough. They tell us that
the Grasshopper is an inveterate consumer of insects,

especially of those which are not protected by too hard

highly
a cuirass; they are evidence of tastes which are
carnivorous, but not exclusively so, like those of the
Praying Mantis, who refuses everything except game.
The butcher of the Cicade is able to modify an exces-
sively heating diet with vegetable fare. After meat and
of
blood, sugary fruit-pulp; sometimes even, for lack
anything better, a little green stuff.
Nevertheless, cannibalism is prevalent. True, I never
is
witness in my Grasshopper-cages the savagery which
harpo ons her
so common in the Praying Mantis, who
ing suc-
rivals and devours her lovers; but, if some weakl
by his car-
cumb, the survivors hardly ever fail to profit
ry prey.
cass as they would in the case of any ordina
they feast
With no scarcity of provisions as an excuse,
all the
upon their defunct companion. For the rest,
s, a pro-
saber-bearing clan display, in varying degree
d com-
pensity for filling their bellies with their maime
rades.
very
In other respects, the Grasshoppers live together
ever takes
peacefully in my cages. No serious strife
rivalry in the
place among them, nothing beyond a little
A Grass-
matter of food. I hand ina piece of pear.
28 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
hopper alights on it at once. Jealously she kicks away
any one trying to bite at the delicious morsel. Selfish-
ness reigns everywhere. When she has eaten her fill,
she makes way for another, who in her turn becomes
intolerant. One after the other, all the inmates of the
menagerie come and refresh themselves. After cram-
ming their crops, they scratch the soles of their feet a
little with their mandibles, polish up their forehead and
eyes with a leg moistened with spittle and then, hanging
to the trellis-work or lying on the sand in a posture of
contemplation, blissfully they digest and slumber most
of the day, especially during the hottest part of it.
It is in the evening, after sunset, that the troop becomes
lively. By nine o’clock the animation is at its height.
With sudden rushes they clamber to the top of the dome,
to descend as hurriedly and climb up once more. They
come and go tumultuously, run and hop around the cir-
cular track and, without stopping, nibble at the good
things on the way.
The males are stridulating by themselves, here and
there, teasing the passing fair with their antenne. The
future mothers stroll about gravely, with their saber half-
raised. The agitation and feverish excitement means
that the great business of pairing is at hand. The fact
will escape no practised eye.
It is also what I particularly wish to observe. My
wish is satisfied, but not fully, for the late hours at which
events take place did not allow me to witness the final
act of the wedding. It is late at night or early in the
morning that things happen.
 THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 29

The little that I see is confined to interminable pre-

ludes. Standing face to face, with foreheads almost

touching, the lovers feel and sound each other for a long
time with their limp antenne. They suggest two fencers
to
crossing and recrossing harmless foils. From time
strokes
time, the male stridulates a little, gives a few short
of the bow and then falls silent, feeling perhaps too much
overcome to continue. Eleven o’clock strikes; and the
con-
declaration is not yet over. Very regretfully, but
quered by sleepiness, I quit the couple.
at
Next morning, early, the female carries, hanging
ar-
the bottom of her ovipositor, a queer bladder-like
pea and
rangement, an opaline capsule, the size of a large
egg-shaped
roughly subdivided into a small number of
vesicles. When the insect walks, the thing scrapes along
s of sand.
the ground and becomes dirty with sticky grain
fertilizing
The Grasshopper then makes a banquet off this
and devours it
capsule, drains it slowly of its contents,
ws the
bit by bit; for a long time she chews and reche
down. In
gummy morsel and ends by swallowing it all
has disappeared,
less than half a day, the milky burden
consumed with zest down to the last atom.
one
This inconceivable banquet must be imported,
ed is it
would think, from another planet, so far remov
are the
from earthly habits. What a singular race
om on
Locustidz, one of the oldest in the animal kingd
the Cepha lopod ,
dry land and, like the Scolopendra and
manners of an-
acting as a belated representative of the
tiquity!
 CHAPTER III
THE EMPUSA
THE sea, life’s first foster-mother, still preserves in her
depths many of those singular and incongruous shapes
which were the earliest attempts of the animal kingdom;
the land, less fruitful, but with more capacity for prog-
ress, has almost wholly lost the strange forms of other
days. The few that remain belong especially to the series
of primitive insects, insects exceedingly limited in their
industrial powers and subject to very summary metamor-
phoses, if to any at all. In my district, in the front rank
of those entomological anomalies which remind us of the
denizens of the old coal-forests, stand the Mantide,
including the Praying Mantis, so curious in habits and
structure. Here also is the Empusa (E. pauperata,
Latr.), the subject of this chapter.
Her larva is certainly the strangest creature among
the terrestrial fauna of Provence: a slim swaying thing
of so fantastic an appearance that uninitiated fingers dare
not lay hold of it. The children of my neighborhood,
impressed by its startling shape, call it “the Devilkin.”
In their imaginations, the queer little creature sav ors of
witchcraft. One comes across it, though always sparsely
,
in spring, up to May; in autumn; and sometimes in
winter, if the sun be strong. The tough grasses
of the
waste-lands, the stunted bushes which catch
the sun and
30
 THE EMPUSA 31
are sheltered from the wind by a few heaps of stones are
the chilly Empusa’s favorite abode.
Let us give a rapid sketch of her. The abdomen,
which always curls up so as to join the back, spreads
paddlewise and twists into a crook. Pointed scales, a
sort of foliaceous expansions arranged in three rows,
cover the lower surface, which becomes the upper sur-
face because of the crook aforesaid. The scaly crook is
propped on four long, thin stilts, on four legs armed with
knee-pieces, that is to say, carrying at the end of the
thigh, where it joins the shin, a curved, projecting blade
not unlike that of a cleaver.
Above this base, this four-legged stool, rises, at a sud-
den angle, the stiff corselet, disproportionately long and
almost perpendicular. The end of this bust, round and
slender as a straw, carries the hunting-trap, the grappling
limbs, copied from those of the Mantis. They consist
of a terminal harpoon, sharper than a needle, and a
cruel vice, with the jaws toothed like a saw. The jaw
formed by the arm proper is hollowed into a groove and
carries on either side five long spikes, with smaller in-
dentations in between. The jaw formed by the fore-
arm is similarly furrowed, but its double saw, which fits
into the groove of the upper arm when at rest, is formed
of finer, closer and more regular teeth. The magnifying-
glass reveals a score of equal points in each row. The
machine only lacks size to be a fearful implement of tor-
ture.
The head is in keeping with this arsenal. What a
queer-shaped head it is! A pointed face, with walrus
 32 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
mustaches furnished by the palpi; large goggle
eyes, be-
tween them, a dirk, a halberd blade; and,
on the fore-
head a mad, unheard-of thing: a sort of tall miter,
an
extravagant head-dress that juts forward,
spreading
right and left into peaked wings and cleft along
the top.
What does the Devilkin want with that monst
rous pointed
cap, than which no wise man of the East, no
astrologer
of old ever wore a more splendiferous?
This we shall
learn when we see her out hunting.
The dress is commonplace; gray tints
predominate.
Towards the end of the larval period,
after a few moult-
ings, it begins to give a glimpse of
the adult’s richer
livery and becomes striped, still very faint
ly, with pale-
green, white and pink. Already the
two sexes are dis-
tinguished by their antenne. Those of the future
mothers are thread-like; those of the futur
e males are
distended into a spindle at the lower
half, forming a
case or sheath whence graceful plumes
will spring at a
later date.
Behold the creature, worthy of a Callo
t’s! fantastic
pencil. If you come across it in the
bramble-bushes, it
Sways upon its four stilts, it wags its
head, it looks at you
with a knowing air, it twists its
miter round and peers
over its shoulder. You seem to
read mischief in its
pointed face. You try to take hold of
it. The imposing
attitude ceases forthwith, the raise
d corselet is lowered
and the creature makes off with migh
ty strides, helping
itself along with its fighting-limbs,
which clutch the twigs.
1 Jacques Callot (1592-1635),
the French engraver and paint
famed for the grotesque natur er,
e of his subjects.— Translator
’s Note.
AHL
vsndwWwa
 THE EMPUSA 33
The flight need not last long, if you have a practised eye.
The Empusa is captured, put into a screw of paper, which
will save her frail limbs from sprains, and lastly penned
ina wire-gauze cage. In this way, in October, I obtain
a flock sufficient for my purpose.
How to feed them? My Devilkins are very little; they
are a month or two old at most. I give them Locusts
suited to their size, the smallest that I can find. They
refuse them. Nay, more, they are frightened of them.
Should a thoughtless Locust meekly approach one of the
Empusze, suspended by her four hind-legs to the trellised
dome, the intruder meets with a bad reception. The
pointed miter is lowered; and an angry thrust sends him
rolling. We have it: the wizard’s cap is a defensive
weapon, a protective crest. The Ram charges with his
forehead, the Empusa butts with her miter.
-
But this does not mean dinner. I serve up the House
The
fly, alive. She is accepted, without hesitation.
watchful
moment that the Fly comes within reach, the
her corselet
Devilkin turns her head, bends the stalk of
the
slantwise and, flinging out her fore-limb, harpoons
Fly and grips her between her two saws. No Cat pounc-
ing upon a Mouse could be quicker.
It is
The game, however small, is enough for a meal.
l days. This
enough for the whole day, often for severa
of these
is my first surprise: the extreme abstemiousness
for ogres: I
fiercely-armed insects. I was prepared
at rare in-
Gnd ascetics satisfied with a meager collation
y-four hours at
tervals. A Fly fills their belly for twent
least.
 34 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Thus passes the late autumn: the Empusz, more and
more temperate from day to day, hang motionless from
the wire gauze. Their natural abstinence is my best ally,
for Flies grow scarce; and a time comes when I should
be hard put to it to keep the menageries supplied with pro-
visions.
During the three winter months, nothing stirs. From
time to time, on fine days, I expose the cage to the sun’s
trays, in the window. Under the influence of this heat-
bath, the captives stretch their legs a little, sway from
side to side, make up their minds to move about, but
without displaying any awakening appetite. The rare
Midges that fall to my assiduous efforts do not appear
to tempt them. It is a rule for them to spend the cold
season in a state of complete abstinence.
My cages tell me what must happen outside, during
the winter. Ensconced in the crannies of the rockwork,
in the sunniest places, the young Empusz wait, in
a state
of torpor, for the return of the hot weather. Notwi
th-
standing the shelter of a heap of stones, there
must be
painful moments when the frost is prolonged
and the
snow penetrates little by little into the best-p
rotected
crevices. No matter: hardier than they look, the refuge
es
escape the dangers of the winter season.
Sometimes,
when the sun is strong, they venture out
of their hiding-
place and come to see if spring be nigh.
Spring comes. We are in March. My
prisoners be-
stir themselves, change their skin. They
need victuals.
My catering difficulties recommence.
The House-fly, so
easy to catch, is lacking in these days.
I fall back upon
 THE EMPUSA 35
earlier Diptera: Eristales, or Drone-flies. The Em-
pusa refuses them. They are too big for her and can
offer too strenuous a resistance. She wards off their ap-
proach with blows of her miter.
A few tender morsels, in the shape of very young
Grasshoppers, are readily accepted. Unfortunately,
such windfalls do not often find their way into my sweep-
ing-net. Abstinence becomes obligatory until the arrival
of the first Butterflies. Henceforth, Pieris brassice, the
White Cabbage Butterfly, will contribute the greater por-
tion of the victuals.
Let loose in the wire cage, the Pieris is regarded as
excellent game. The Empusa lies in wait for her, seizes
her, but releases her at once, lacking the strength to over-
power her. The Butterfly’s great wings, beating the air,
go. I
give her shock after shock and compel her to let
of
come to the weakling’s assistance and cut the wings
full
her prey with my scissors. The maimed ones, still
up the trellis-work and are forthwith
of life, clamber
by
grabbed by the Empuse, who, in no way frightened
is to their taste
their protests, crunch them up. The dish
and, moreover, plentiful, so much so that there are al-

ways some despised remnants.

t are
The head only and the upper portion of the breas
best part
devoured: the res—tthe plump abdomen, the
, the wing-
of the thorax, the legs and lastly, of course
flung aside untouched. Does this mean
stumps —is
are chosen?
that the tenderest and most succulent morsels
the Empusa
No, for the belly is certainly more juicy; and
to the last
refuses it, though she eats up her House-fly
36 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
particle. It is a strategy of war. I am again in the
presence of a neck-specialist as expert as the Mantis her-
self in the art of swiftly slaying a victim that struggles
and, in struggling, spoils the meal.
Once warned, I soon perceive that the game, be it Fly,
Locust, Grasshopper, or Butterfly, is always struck in the
neck, from behind. The first bite is aimed at the point
containing the cervical ganglia and produces sudden death
or immobility. Complete inertia will leave the consumer
in peace, the essential condition of every satisfactory re-
past.
The Devilkin, therefore, frail though she be, possesses
the secret of immediately destroying the resistance of
her prey. She bites at the back of the neck first, in order
to give the finishing stroke. She goes on nibbling around
the original attacking-point. In this way the Butterfly’s
head and the upper part of the breast are disposed of.
But, by that time, the huntress is surfeited: she wants so
little! The rest lies on the ground, disdained, not for
lack of flavor, but because there is too much of it. A
Cabbage Butterfly far exceeds the capacity of the Em-
pusa’s stomach. The Ants will benefit by what is left.
There is one other matter to be mentioned, before
observing’ the metamorphosis. The position adopted by
the young Empuse in the wire-gauze cage is invariably
the same from start to finish. Gripping the trellis-work
by the claws of its four hind-legs, the insect occupies the
top of the dome and hangs motionless, back. downwards,
with the whole of its body supported by the four suspen-
sion-points. If it wishes to move, the front harpoons
 THE EMPUSA 37
open, stretch out, grasp a mesh and draw it to them.
When the short walk is over, the lethal arms are brought
back against the chest. One may say that it is nearly
always the four hind-shanks which alone support the
suspended insect.
And this reversed position, which seems to us so try-
ing, lasts for no short while: it is prolonged, in my cages,
for ten months without a break. The Fly on the ceiling,
it is true, occupies the same attitude; but she has her
moments of rest: she flies, she walks in a normal posture,
she spreads herself flat in the sun. Besides, her acrobatic
feats do not cover a long period. The Empusa, on the
other hand, maintains her curious equilibrium for ten
months on end, without a break. Hanging from the
trellis-work, back downwards, she hunts, eats, digests,
doses, casts her skin, undergoes her transformation,
mates, lays her eggs and dies. She clambered up there
when she was still quite young; she falls down, full of
days, a corpse.
Things do not happen exactly like this under natural
conditions. The insect stands on the bushes back up-
wards; it keeps its balance in the regular attitude and
turns over only in circumstances that occur at long in-
tervals. The protracted suspension of my captives is all
the more remarkable inasmuch as it is not at all an innate
habit of their race.
It reminds one of the Bats, who hang, head down-
wards, by their hind-legs from the roof of their caves.
A special formation of the toes enables birds to sleep on
one leg, which automatically and without fatigue clutches
38 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
the swaying bough. The Empusa shows me nothing akin
to their contrivance. -The extremity of her walking-legs
has the ordinary structure: a double claw at the tip, a
double steelyard-hook; and that is all.
I could wish that anatomy would show me the working
of the muscles and nerves in those tarsi, in those legs
more slender than threads, the action of the tendons that
control the claws and keep them gripped for ten months,
unwearied in waking and sleeping. If some dexterous
scalpel should ever investigate this problem, I can recom-
mend another, even more singular than that of the Em-
pusa, the Bat and the bird. I refer to the attitude of
certain Wasps and Bees during the night’s rest.
An Ammophila with red fore-legs (A. holosericea) is
plentiful in my enclosure towards the end of August and
selects a certain lavender-border for her dormitory. At
dusk, especially after a stifling day, when a storm is
brewing, I am sure to find the strange sleeper settled
there. Never was more eccentric attitude adopted for a
night’s rest! The mandibles bite right into the lavender-
stem. Its square shape supplies a firmer hold than a
round stalk would do. With this one and one only prop,
the animal’s body juts out stiffly, at full length, with legs
folded. It forms a right angle with the supporting axis,
so much so that the whole weight of the insect, which has
turned itself into the arm of a lever rests upon the mandi-
bles.
The Ammophila sleeps extended in space by virtue of
her mighty jaws. It takes an animal to think of a thing
like that, which upsets all our preconceived ideas of re-
 THE EMPUSA 39
pose. Should the threatening storm burst, should the
stalk sway in the wind, the sleeper is not troubled by her
swinging hammock; at most, she presses her forelegs
for a moment against the tossed mast. As soon as equi-
librium is restored, the favorite posture, that of the hori-
zontal lever, is resumed. Perhaps the mandibles, like the
bird’s toes, possess the faculty of gripping tighter in pro-
portion to the rocking of the wind.
The Ammophila is not the only one to sleep in this
singular position, which is copied by many others—
Anthidia,t Odyneri,?, Euceree?— and mainly by the
males. All grip a stalk with their mandibles and sleep
with their bodies outstretched and their legs folded back.
Some, the stouter species, allow themselves to rest the
tip of their arched abdomen against the pole.
This visit to the dormitory of certain Wasps and Bees
does not explain the problem of the Empusa; it sets up
another one, no less difficult. It shows us how deficient
we are in insight, when it comes to differentiating be-
tween fatigue and rest in the cogs of the animal ma-
chine. The Ammophila, with the static paradox af-
forded by her mandibles; the Empusa, with her claws
unwearied by ten months’ hanging, leave the physiolo-
gist perplexed and make him wonder what really consti-
tutes rest. In absolute fact, there is no rest, apart from
that which puts an end to life. The struggle never
ceases; some muscle is always toiling, some nerve strain-
1 Cotton-bees.— Translator’s Note.
2A genus of Mason-wasps.— Translator’s Note.
8 A species of Burrowing-bees.— Translator’s Note.
40 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
ing. Sleep, which resembles a return to the peace of
of the
non-existence, is, like waking, an effort, here
leg, of the curled tail; there of the claw, of the jaws.
The transformation is effected about the middle of
May and the adult Empusa makes her appearance. She
is even more remarkable in figure and attire than the
Praying Mantis. Of her youthful eccentricities, she re-
tains the pointed miter, the saw-like arm-guards, the long
bust, the knee-pieces, the three rows of scales on the lower
surface of the belly; but the abdomen is now no longer
twisted into a crook and the animal is comelier to look
upon. Large pale-green wings, pink at the shoulder and
swift in flight in both sexes, cover the belly, which is
striped white and green underneath. The male, the
dandy sex, adorns himself with plumed antenne, like
those of certain Moths, the Bombyx tribe. In respect of
size, he is almost the equal of his mate.
Save for a few slight structural details, the Empusa
is the Praying Mantis. The peasant confuses them.
When, in spring, he meets the mitered insect, he thinks
he sees the common Prégo-Diéu, who is a daughter of the
autumn. Similar forms would seem to indicate similar-
ity of habits. In fact, led away by the extraordinary
armor, we should be tempted to attribute to the Empusa
a mode of life even more atrocious than that of the
Mantis. I myself thought so at first; and any one, rely-
ing upon false analogies, would think the same. It is
a fresh error: for all her warlike aspect, the Empusa
is a peaceful creature that hardly repays the trouble of
rearing.
 INSECTS AT REST
by the strength of their mandibles
Bees and wasps asleep, extended in space
 THE EMPUSA a
her in assemblies
Installed under the gauze bell, whet
les, she at no time
of half a dozen or in separate coup
a, she is very abstemi-
loses her placidity. Like the larv
a Fly or two as her daily
~ ous and contents herself with
ration.
lsome. The Mantis,
Big eaters are naturally quarre
becomes irritated and shows
bloated with Locusts, soon in-
her frugal meals, does not
fight The Empusa, with
ns. There is no strife
dulge in hostile demonstratio
those sudden unfurlings of
among neighbors nor any of
tis when she assumes the
the wings so dear to the Man
a startled Adder; never
spectral attitude and puffs like whereat
e cannibal banquets
the least inclination for thos
sted in the fight is devoured.
the sister who has been wor
nown.
Such atrocities are here unk
ials. The male is enter-
Unknown also are tragic nupt l
is subjected to a long tria
prising and assiduous and
s and days he worries his
before succeeding. For day
Due decorum is preserved
mate, who ends by yielding.
thered groom retires, re-
after the wedding. The fea
s his little bit of hunting,
spected by his bride, and doe
ended and gobbled up.
without danger of being appreh
peace and mutual in-
The two sexes live together in
July. Then the male,
difference until the middle of
sel with himself, hunts
grown old and decrepit, takes coun from
his walk, creeps down
no more, becomes shaky in
dome and at last col-
the lofty heights of the trellised
comes by a natural death.
lapses on the ground. His end
the male of the Praying
And remember that the other,
gluttonous spouse.
Mantis, ends in the stomach of his
 42 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
The laying follows close upon the disappearance of the
males.
One word more on comparative manners. The Man-
tis goes in for battle and cannibalism; the Empusa is
peaceable and respects her kind. To what cause are
these profound moral differences due, when the organic
structure is the same? Perhaps to the difference of diet.
Frugality, in fact, softens character, in animals as in
men; gross feeding brutalizes it. The gormandizer
gorged with meat and strong drink, a fruitful source of
savage outbursts, could not possess the gentleness of
the
ascetic who dips his bread into a cup of milk. The Man-
tis is that gormandizer, the Empusa that ascetic.
Granted. But whence does the one derive her
vora-
cious appetite, the other her temperate ways,
when it
would seem as though their almost identi
cal structure
ought to produce an identity of needs?
These insects
tell us, in their fashion, what many have
already told us:
that propensities and aptitudes do not
depend exclusively
upon anatomy ; high above the physi
cal laws that govern
matter rise other laws that govern
instincts,
 CHAPTER IV

THE CAPRICORN
happy moments to
My youthful meditations owe some
when endowed with
Condillac’s 1 famous statue which,
t of a rose and out of
the sense of smell, inhales the scen
e world of ideas.
the single impression creates a whol
faith in syllogisms,
My twenty-year-old mind, full of
lery of the abbé-phi-
loved to follow the deductive jugg
the statue take life in
losopher: I saw, or seemed to see,
g attention, memory,
that action of the nostrils, acquirin
paraphernalia, even as
judgment and all the psychological
by the impact of a
still waters are aroused and rippled
illusion under the
grain of sand. I recovered from my
animal. The Capri-
instruction of my abler master, the
more obscure than
corn shall teach us that the problem is
the abbé led me to believe.
, preparing my
When wedge and mallet are at work
sky that heralds
provision of firewood under the gray
Abbé de Mureaux (1715-80), the
1 Etienne Bonnot de Condillac,
tiona l philosophy. His most important
leading exponent of sensa ,
, in which he imagines a statue
work is the Traité des sensations s one by one,
endo ws it with the sense
organizéd like a man, and -
He argues by a process of imagi
beginning with that of smell. and all human
all huma n facul ties
native reconstruction that of
med sensation, to the exclusion
knowledge are merely transfor has its source in
short , every thing
any other principle, that, in ors
what he has acquired.— Translat
sensation: man is nothing but
Note.
43
 44 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
winter, a favorite relaxation creates a welcome break in
my daily output of prose. By my express orders, the
woodman has selected the oldest and most ravaged trunks
in his stack. My tastes bring a smile to his lips; he won-
ders by what whimsy I prefer wood that is worm-eaten
— chirouna, as he calls it — to sound wood which burns
so much better. I have my views on the subject; and the
worthy man submits to them.
And now to us two, O my fine oak-trunk seamed with
scars, gashed with wounds whence trickle the brown
drops smelling of the tan-yard. The mallet drives home,
the wedges bite, the wood splits. What do your flanks
contain? Real treasures for my studies. In the dry and
hollow parts, groups of various insects, capable of living
through the bad season of the year, have taken up their
winter quarters: in the low-roofed galleries, galleries
which some Buprestis-beetle has built, Osmia-bees, work-
ing their paste of masticated leaves, have piled their cells,
one above the other; in the deserted chambers and vesti-
bules, Megachiles + have arranged: their leafy jars; in the
live wood, filled with juicy saps, the larve of the Capri-
corn (Cerambyx miles), the chief author of the oak’s
undoing, have set up their home.
Strange creatures, of a verity, are these grubs, for
an
insect of superior organization: bits of intestines
crawl-
ing about! At this time of year, the middle of autum
n,
I meet them of two different ages. The older
are almost
as thick as one’s finger ;the others hardly
attain the diam-
eter of a pencil. I find, in addition, pup
more or less
1 Leaf-cutting Bees,— Translator’s
Note,
 THE CAPRICORN 46
fully colored, perfect insects, with a distended abdomen,
ready to leave the trunk when the hot weather comes
again. Life inside the wood, therefore, lasts three years.
How is this long period of solitude and captivity spent?
In wandering lazily through the thickness of the oak, in
making roads whose rubbish serves as food. The horse
in Job swallows the ground? in a figure of speech; the
Capricorn’s grub literally eats its way. With its carpen-
ter’s gouge, a strong black mandible, short, devoid of
notches, scooped into a sharp-edged spoon, it digs the
opening of its tunnel. The piece cut out is a mouthful
which, as it enters the stomach, yields its scanty juices
and accumulates behind the worker in heaps of wormed
wood. The refuse leaves room in front by passing
through the worker. A labor at once of nutrition and of
road-making, the path is devoured while constructed ; it
is blocked behind as it makes way ahead. That, how-
ever, is how all the borers who look to wood for victuals
and lodging set about their business.
For the harsh work of its two gouges, or curved chis-
els, the larva of the Capricorn concentrates its muscular
strength in the front of its body, which swells into a
pestle-head. The Buprestis-grubs, those other industri-
ous carpenters, adopt a similar form; they even exag-
gerate their pestle. The part that toils and carves hard
wood requires a robust structure; the rest of the body,
which has but to follow after, continues slim. The
essential thing is that the implement of the jaws should
1“Chafing and raging, he swalloweth the ground, neither doth
he make account when the noise of the trumpet soundeth,’—
Jos xxxix, 23 (Douai version).— Translator’s Note.
46 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
possess a solid support and a powerful motor. The
Cerambyx-larva strengthens its chisels with a stout, black,
horny armor that surrounds the mouth; yet, apart from
its skull and its equipment of tools, the grub has a skin
as fine as satin and white as ivory. This dead white
comes from a copious layer of grease which the animal’s
spare diet would not lead us to suspect. True, it has
nothing to do, at every hour of the day and night, but
gnaw. The quantity of wood that passes into its stomach
makes up for the dearth of nourishing elements.
The legs, consisting of three pieces, the first globular,
the last sharp-pointed, are mere rudiments, vestiges.
They are hardly a millimeter’ long. For this reason
they are of no use whatever for walking; they do not even
bear upon the supporting surface, being kept off it by the
obesity of the chest. The organs of locomotion are some-
thing altogether different. The grub of the Capricorn
moves at the same time on its back and belly; instead of
the useless legs of the thorax, it has a walking-apparatus
almost resembling feet, which appear, contrary to every
rule, on the dorsal surface.
The first seven segments of the abdomen have, both
above and below, a four-sided facet, bristling with rough
protuberances. This the grub can either expand or con-
tract, making it stick out or lie flat at will. The upper
facets consist of two excrescences separated by the mid-
dorsal line; the lower ones have not this divided appear-
ance. These are the organs of locomotion, the
am-
bulacra. When the larva wishes to move forwards,
it
1.039 inch— Translator’s Note,
 THE CAPRICORN 47
expands its hinder ambulacra, those on the back as well
as those on the belly, and contracts its front ones. Fixed
to the side of the narrow gallery by their ridges, the hind-
pads give the grub a purchase. The flattening of the
fore-pads, by decreasing the diameter, allows it to slip
forward and to take half a step. To complete the step
the hind-quarters have to be brought up the same dis-
tance. With this object, the front pads fill out and pro-
vide support, while those behind shrink and leave free
scope for their segments to contract.
With the double support of its back and belly, with al-
ternate puffings and shrinkings, the animal easily ad-
vances or retreats along its gallery, a sort of mold which
the contents fill without a gap. But if the locomotory
pads grip only on one side progress becomes impossible.
When placed on the smooth wood of my table, the animal
wriggles slowly; it lengthens and shortens without ad-
vancing by a hair’s-breadth. Laid on the surface of a
piece of split oak, a rough, uneven surface, due to the
gash made by the wedge, it twists and writhes, moves the
front part of its body very slowly from left to right and
right to left, lifts it a little, lowers it and begins again.
These are the most extensive movements made. The
vestigial legs remain inert and absolutely useless. Then
why are they there? It were better to lose them alto-
gether, if it be true that crawling inside the oak has de-
prived the animal of the good legs with which it started.
The influence of environment, so well-inspired in endow-
ing the grub with ambulatory pads, becomes a mockery
when it leaves it these ridiculous stumps. Can the struc-
 48 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
ture, perchance, be obeying other rules than those of en
vironment ?
Though the useless legs, the germs of the future limbs,
persist, there is no sign in the grub of the eyes where-
with the Cerambyx will be richly gifted. The larva has
not the least trace of organs of vision. What would it
do with sight in the murky thickness of a tree-trunk?
Hearing is likewise absent. In the never-troubled
silence of the oak’s inmost heart, the sense of hearing
would be a non-sense. Where sounds are lacking, of
what use is the faculty of discerning them? Should
there be any doubts, I will reply to them with the follow-
ing experiment. Split lengthwise, the grub’s abode
leaves a half-tunnel wherein I can watch the occupant’s
doings. When left alone, it now gnaws the front of its
gallery, now rests, fixed by its ambulacra to the two sides
of the channel. I avail myself of these moments of quiet
to inquire into its power of perceiving sounds. The
banging of hard bodies, the ring of metallic objects, the
grating of a file upon a saw are tried in vain. The ani-
mal remains impassive. Not a wince, not a movement of
the skin; no sign of awakened attention. I succeed no
better when I scratch the wood close by with a hard point,
to imitate the sound of some neighboring larva gnawing
the intervening thickness. The indifference to my noisy
tricks could be no greater in a lifeless object. ~The ani-
mal is deaf.
Can it smell? Everything tells us no. Scent is of
assistance in the search for food. But the Capricorn grub
need not go in quest of eatables: it feeds on its home,
 THE LARVA OF THE GREAT CAPRICORN
The grub
The grub digging its galleries in the trunk of the oak
 THE CAPRICORN 49
it lives on the wood that gives it shelter. Let us make
an attempt or two, however. I scoop in a log of fresh
cypress-wood a groove of the same diameter as that of
the natural galleries and I place the worm inside it.
Cypress-wood is strongly scented; it possesses in a high
degree that resinous aroma which characterizes most of
the pine family. Well, when laid in the odoriferous
channel, the larva goes to the end, as far as it can go,
and makes no further movement. Does not this placid
quiescence point to the absence of a sense of smell?
has
The resinous flavor, so strange to the grub which
it; and
always lived in oak, ought to vex it, to trouble
a
the disagreeable impression ought to be revealed by
away.
certain commotion, by certain attempts to get
has
Well, nothing of the kind happens: once the larva
not stir.
found the right position in the groove, it does
in its
I do more: I set before it, at a very short distance
effect.
normal canal a piece of camphor. Again, no
nothing.
Camphor is followed by naphthaline. Still
that I am
After these fruitless endeavors, I do not think
smell.
going too far when I deny the creature a sense of
Taste is there, no doubt. But such taste! The food
, and
is without variety: oak, for three years at a stretch
in
nothing else. What can the grub’s palate appreciate
this monotonous fare? The tannic relish of a fresh
of an
piece, oozing with sap; the uninteresting flavor
ment: these
over-dry piece, robbed of its natural condi
probably represent the whole gustative scale.
ve sense
There remains touch, the far-spreading, passi
the goad of
common to all live flesh that quivers under
 50 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
pain. The sensitive schedule of the Cerambyx-grub,
therefore, is limited to taste and touch, both exceedingly
obtuse. This almost brings us to Condillac’s statue.
The imaginary being of the philosopher had one sense
only, that of smell, equal in delicacy to our own; the real
being, the ravager of the oak, has two, inferior, even
when put together, to the former, which so plainly per-
ceived the scent of a rose and distinguished it so clearly
from any other. The real case will bear comparison
with the fictitious.
What can be the psychology of a creature possessing
such a powerful digestive organism combined with such
a feeble set of senses? A vain wish has often come to
me in my dreams; it is to be able to think, for a few
minutes, with the crude brain of my Dog, to see the world
with the faceted eyes of a Gnat. How things would
change in appearance! They would change much more
if interpreted by the intellect of the grub. What have
the lessons of touch and taste contributed to that rudi-
mentary receptacle of impressions? Very little; almost
nothing. The animal knows that the best bits possess
an astringent flavor; that the sides of a passage not care-
fully planed are painful to the skin. This is the ut-
most limit of its acquired wisdom. In comparison, the
statue with the sensitive nostrils was a marvel of
knowl-
edge, a paragon too generously endowed by its
inventor.
It remembered, compared, judged, reasoned: does the
drowsily digesting paunch remember? Does it compare?
Does it reason? I defined the Capricorn-grub as a bit
of an intestine that crawls about. The undeniable accur-
 THE CAPRICORN 51
acy of this definition provides me with my answer: the
grub has the aggregate of sense-impressions that a bit of
an intestine may hope to have.
And this nothing-at-all is capable of marvelous acts
of foresight; this belly, which knows hardly aught of
the present, sees very clearly into the future. Let us
take an illustration on this curious subject. For three
years on end the larva wanders about in the thick of
the trunk; it goes up, goes down, turns to this side and
that; it leaves one vein for another of better flavor, but
without moving too far from the inner depths, where:
the temperature is milder and greater safety reigns. A
day is at hand, a dangerous day for the recluse obliged
to quit its excellent retreat and face the perils of the sur-
face. Eating is not everything: we have to get out of
this. The larva, so well-equipped with tools and mus-
cular strength, finds no difficulty in going where it pleases,
by boring through the wood; but does the coming Capri-
corn, whose short spell of life must be spent in the open
air, possess the same advantages? Hatched inside the
trunk, will the long-horned insect be able to clear itself
a way of escape?
That is the difficulty which the worm solves by in-
spiration. Less versed in things of the future, despite
my gleams of reason, I resort to experiment with a view
to fathoming the question. I begin by ascertaining that
the Capricorn, when he wishes to leave the trunk, is
absolutely unable to make use of the tunnel wrought by
the larva. It is a very long and very irregular maze,
blocked with great heaps of wormed wood. Its diameter
 52 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
decreases progressively from the final blind alley to the
starting-point. The larva entered the timber as slim as
a tiny bit of straw; it is to-day as thick as my finger.
In its three years’ wanderings it always dug its gallery
according to the mold of its body. Evidently, the road
by which the larva entered and moved about cannot be
the Capricorn’s exit-way: his immoderate antennz, his
long legs, his inflexible armor-plates would encounter an
insuperable obstacle in the narrow, winding corridor,
which would have to be cleared of its wormed wood and,
moreover, greatly enlarged. It would be less fatiguing
to attack the untouched timber and dig straight ahead.
Is the insect capable of doing so? We shall see.
I make some chambers of suitable size in oak logs
chopped in two; and each of my artificial cells receives a
newly transformed Cerambyx, such as my provisions of
firewood supply, when split by the wedge, in October.
The two pieces are then joined and kept together with
a few bands of wire. June comes. I hear a scraping
inside my billets. Will the Capricorns come out, or not?
The delivery does not seem difficult to me: there is hardly
three-quarters of an inch to pierce. Not one emerges.
When all is silence, I open my apparatus. The captives,
from first to last, are dead. A vestige of sawdust, less
than a pinch of snuff, represents all their work.
I expected more from those sturdy tools, their man-
dibles. But, as I have said elsewhere, the tool does not
make the workman. In spite of their boring-implements,
the hermits die in my cases for lack of skill. I subject
 THE CAPRICORN 53
others to less arduous tests. I enclose them in spacious
reed-stumps, equal in diameter to the natal cell. The
obstacle to be pierced is the natural diaphragm, a yield-
ing partition two or three millimeters * thick. Some free
themselves; others cannot. The less valiant ones suc-
cumb, stopped by the frail barrier. What would it be
if they had to pass through a thickness of oak?
We are now persuaded: despite his stalwart appear-
ance, the Capricorn is powerless to leave the tree-trunk
by his unaided efforts. It therefore falls to the worm,
to the wisdom of that bit of an intestine, to prepare the
way for him. We see renewed, in another form, the
feats of prowess of the Anthrax, whose pupa, armed with
trepans, bores through rock on the feeble Fly’s behalf.
Urged by a presentiment that to us remains an unfathom-
able mystery, the Cerambyx-grub leaves the inside of the
oak, its peaceful retreat, its unassailable stronghold, to
wriggle towards the outside, where lives the foe, the
Woodpecker, who may gobble up the succulent little
sausage. At the risk of its life, it stubbornly digs and
gnaws to the very bark, of which it leaves no more intact
than the thinnest film, a slender screen. Sometimes,
even, the rash one opens the window wide.
This is the Capricorn’s exit-hole. The insect will
have but to file the screen a little with its mandibles,
to bump against it with its forehead, in order to bring
it down; it will even have nothing to do when the window
is free, as often happens. The unskilled carpenter, bur-
1.078 to .117 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 54 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
dened with his extravagant head-dress, will emerge from
the darkness through this opening when the summer
heats arrive.
After the cares of the future come the cares of the
present. The larva, which has just opened the aperture
of escape, retreats some distance down its gallery and,
in the side of the exit-way, digs itself a transformation-
chamber more sumptuously furnished and barricaded
than any that I have ever seen. It is a roomy niche,
shaped like a flattened ellipsoid, the length of which
reaches eighty to a hundred millimeters.1 The two
axes
of the cross-section vary :the horizontal measures twenty-
five to thirty millimeters:? the vertical measures
only
fifteen? This greater dimension of the cell, where the
thickness of the perfect insect is concerned,
leaves a cer-
tain scope for the action of its legs when the time
comes
for forcing the barricade, which is more than a close-
fitting mummy-case would do.
The barricade in question, a door which the
larva
builds to exclude the dangers from without,
is two- and
even three-fold. Outside, it is a stack of woody refuse,
of particles of chopped timber; inside,
a mineral hatch,
a concave cover, all in one piece, of a chalk
y white.
Pretty often, but not always, there is added
to these two
layers an inner casing of shavings. Behind
this com-
pound door, the larva makes its arrangements
for the
metamorphosis, The sides of the chamber are rasped,
thus providing a sort of down formed of
raveled woody
13 to 4 inches.— Translator’s Note.
? 075 to 1.17 inch— Translator’s
Note.
8.585 inch— Translator’s Note.
 THE CAPRICORN 55
fibers, broken into minute shreds. The velvety matter,
as and when obtained, is applied to the wall in a continu-
ous felt at least a millimeter thick.1 The chamber is
thus padded throughout with a fine swan’s-down, a deli-
cate precaution taken by the rough worm on behalf of the
tender pupa.
Let us hark back to the most curious part of the
furnishing, the mineral hatch or inner door of the en-
trance. It is an elliptical skull-cap, white and hard as
chalk, smooth within and knotted without, resembling
more or less closely an acorn-cup. The knots show that
the matter is supplied in small, pasty mouthfuls, solidify-
ing outside in slight projections which the insect does
not remove, being unable to get at them, and polished on
the inside surface, which is within the worm’s reach.
What can be the nature of that singular lid whereof the
Cerambyx furnishes me with the first specimen? It is
as hard and brittle as a flake of lime-stone. It can be
dissolved cold in nitric acid, discharging little gaseous
bubbles. The process of solution is a slow one, requir-
ing several hours for a tiny fragment. Everything is
dissolved, except a few yellowish flocks, which appear to
be of an organic nature. As a matter of fact, a piece of
the hatch, when subjected to heat, blackens, proving the
presence of an organic glue cementing the mineral mat-
ter. The solution becomes muddy if oxalate of ammonia
be added; it then deposits a copious white precipitate.
These signs indicate calcium carbonate. I look for urate
of ammonia, that constantly recurring product of the
1.039 inch.— Translators Note.
56 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
various stages of the metamorphoses. It is not there:
I find not the least trace of murexide. The lid, therefore,
is composed solely of carbonate of lime and of an organic
cement, no doubt of an albuminous character, which gives
consistency to the chalky paste.
Had circumstances served me better, I should have
tried to discover in which of the worm’s organs the stony
deposit dwells. I am however, convinced: it is the
stomach, the chylific ventricle, that supplies the chalk.
It keeps it separated from the food, either as original
matter or as a derivative of the ammonium urate; it
purges it of all foreign bodies, when the larval period
comes to an end, and holds it in reserve until the time
comes to disgorge it. This freestone factory causes me
no astonishment: when the manufacturer undergoes his
change, it serves for various chemical works. Certain
Oil-beetles, such as the Sitaris, locate in it the urate of
ammonia, the refuse of the transformed organism; the
Sphex, the Pelopzi, the Scoliz use it to manufacture the
shellac wherewith the silk of the cocoon is varnished.
Further investigations will only swell the aggregate of
the products of this obliging organ.
When the exit-way is prepared and the cell uphol-
stered in velvet and closed with a three-fold barricade,
the industrious worm has concluded its task. It lays
aside its tools, sheds its skin and becomes a nymph, a
pupa, weakness personified, in swaddling-clothes, on a
soft couch. The head is always turned towards the door.
This is a trifling detail in appearance; but it is every-
thing in reality. To lie this way or that in the long cell
THE GREAT CAPRICORN: THE MALE AND THE FEMALE
 THE CAPRICORN 57
is a matter of great indifference to the grub, which is very
supple, turning easily in its narrow lodging and adopt-
ing whatever position it pleases. The coming Capricorn
will not enjoy the same privileges. Stiffly girt in his
horn cuirass, he will not be able to turn from end to end;
he will not even be capable of bending, if some sudden
wind should make the passage difficult. He must abso-
lutely find the door in front of him, lest he perish in the
casket. Should the grub forget this little formality,
should it lie down to its nymphal sleep with its head at
the back of the cell, the Capricorn is infallibly lost: his
cradle becomes a hopeless dungeon.
But there is no fear of this danger: the knowledge of
our bit of an intestine is too sound in things of the future
for the grub to neglect the formality of keeping its
head to the door. At the end of spring, the Capricorn,
now in possession of his full strength, dreams of the
joys of the sun, of the festivals of light. He wants to
get out. What does he find before him? A heap of
filings easily dispersed with his claws; next, a stone lid
which he need not even break into fragments: it comes
undone in one piece; it is removed from its frame with
a few pushes of the forehead, a few tugs of the claws.
In fact, I find the lid intact on the threshold of the aban-
doned cells. Last comes a second mass of woody rem-
nants, as easy to disperse as the first. The road is now
free: the Cerambyx has but to follow the spacious vesti-
bule, which will lead him, without the possibility of mis-
take, to the exit. Should the window not be open, all
that he has to do is to gnaw through a thin screen: an easy
 58 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
task; and behold him outside, his long antenne aquiver
with excitement.
What have we learnt from him? Nothing, from him;
much from his grub. This grub, so poor in sensory
organs, gives us no little food for reflection with its
prescience. It knows that the coming Beetle will not be
able to cut himself a road through the oak and it bethinks
itself of opening one for him at its own risk and peril.
It knows that the Cerambyx, in his stiff armor, will
never
be able to turn and make for the orifice of the
cell; and
it takes care to fall into its nymphal sleep with
its head
to the door. It knows how soft the pupa’s flesh
will be
and upholsters the bedroom with velvet. It knows
that
the enemy is likely to break in during the slow
work of
the transformation and, to set a bulwark against
his at-
tacks, it stores a calcium pap inside its stomach.
It
‘knows the future with a clear vision, or, to
be accurate,
behaves as though it knew it. Whence did it
derive the
motives of its actions? Certainly not from
the experi-
ence of the senses. What does it know
of the outside
world? Let us repeat, as much as a bit of an
intestine
can know. And this senseless creature
fills us with
amazement! I regret that the clever logician, instead of
conceiving a statue smelling a rose, did
not imagine it
gifted with some instinct. How quickly
he would have
recognized that, quite apart from sense-impressi
ons, the
animal, including man, possesses certain
psychological re-
sources, certain inspirations that are innate and
not ac-
quired!
 CHAPTER V

THE BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL

BesipE the footpath in April lies the Mole, disemboweled

by the peasant’s spade; at the foot of the hedge the piti-
less urchin has stoned to death the Lizard, who was about
to don his green, pearl-embellished costume. The
passer-by has thought it a meritorious deed to crush be-
neath his heel the chance-met Adder; and a gust of wind
has thrown a tiny unfeathered bird from its nest. What
will become of these little bodies and of so many other
pitiful remnants of life? They will not long offend our
sense of sight and smell. The sanitary officers of the
fields are legion.
An eager freebooter, ready for any task, the Ant is the
e, to
first to come hastening and begin, particle by particl
attract s
dissect the corpse. Soon the odor of the corpse
the
the Fly, the genitrix of the odious maggot. At
ing, slow-
same time, the flattened Silpha, the glisten
with snow
trotting Horn-beetle, the Dermestes, powdered
all,
upon the abdomen, and the slender Staphylinus,
in squads,
whence coming no one knows, hurry hither
and drain-
with never-wearied zeal, investigating, probing
ing the infection.
Mole!
What a spectacle, in the spring, beneath a dead
iful sight for one
The horror of this laboratory is a beaut
59
 60 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
who is able to observe and to meditate. Let us overcome
our disgust ;let us turn over the unclean refuse with our
foot. What a swarming there is beneath it, what a
tumult of busy workers! The Silphe, with wing-cases
wide and dark, as though in mourning, fly distraught,
hiding in the cracks in the soil; the Saprini, of polished
ebony which mirrors the sunlight, jog hastily off, desert-
ing their workshop; the Dermestes, of whom one wears
a fawn-colored tippet, spotted with white, seek to fly
away, but, tipsy with their putrid nectar, tumble over and
reveal the immaculate whiteness of their bellies, which
forms a violent contrast with the gloom of the rest of
their attire.
What were they doing there, all these feverish work-
ers? They were making a clearance of death on behalf
of life. Transcendent alchemists, they were transform-
ing that horrible putridity into a living and inoffensive
product. They were draining the dangerous corpse to
the point of rendering it as dry and sonorous as the re-
mains of an old slipper hardened on the refuse-heap by
the frosts of winter and the heats of summer. They were
working their hardest to render the carrion innocuous.
Others will soon put in their appearance, smaller crea-
tures and more patient, who will take over the relic and
exploit it ligament by ligament, bone by bone, hair by
hair, until the whole has been resumed by the treasury
of life. All honor to these purifiers! Let us put back
the Mole and go our way. .
Some other victim of the agricultural labors of spring
—a Shrew-mouse, Field-mouse, Mole, Frog, Adder, or
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 61
Lizar —dwill provide us with the most vigorous and
famous of these expurgators of the soil. This is the
Burying-beetle, the Necrophorus, so different from the
cadaveric mob in dress and habits. In honor of his ex-
alted functions he exhales an odor of musk; he bears a
red tuft at the tip of his antennz; his breast is covered
with nankeen; and across his wing-cases he wears a

double, scalloped scarf of vermilion. An elegant, almost

sumptuous costume, very superior to that of the others,
but yet lugubrious, as befits your undertaker’s man.
He is no anatomical dissector, cutting his subject open,
carving its flesh with the scalpel of his mandibles; he is
literally a gravedigger, a sexton. While the others—
Silphe, Dermestes, Horn-beetles — gorge themselves
with the exploited flesh, without, of course, forgetting the
interests of the family, he, a frugal eater, hardly touches
his booty on his own account. He buries it entire, on the
spot, in a cellar where the thing, duly ripened, will form
sh
the diet of his larve. He buries it in order to establi
his progeny therein.
This hoarder of dead bodies, with his stiff and almost
away
heavy movements, is astonishingly quick at storing
wreckage. Ina shift of a few hours, a comparatively
enormous animal —a Mole, for example — disappears,
engulfed by the earth. The others leave the dried, emp-
for months
tied carcass to the air, the sport of the winds
ciean job of
on end; he, treating it as a whole, makes a
remains but
things at once. No visible trace of his work
a tiny hillock, a burial-mound, a tumulus.
rus is the
With his expeditious method, the Necropho
 62 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
first of the little purifiers of the fields. He is also one
of the most celebrated of insects in respect of his psychical
capacities. This undertaker is endowed, they say, with
intellectual faculties approaching to reason, such as are
not possessed by the most gifted of the Bees and Wasps,
the collectors of honey or game. He is honored by the
two following anecdotes, which I quote from Lacordaire’s
Introduction to Entomology, the only general treatise at
my disposal :
“ Clairville,” says the author, “ records that he saw a
Necrophorus vespillo, who, wishing to bury a dead
Mouse and finding the soil on which the body lay too
hard, proceeded to dig a hole at some distance in soil
more easily displaced. This operation completed, he at-
tempted to bury the Mouse in this cavity, but, not succeed-
ing, he flew away, returning a few moments later accom-
panied by four of his fellows, who assisted him to move
the Mouse and bury it.”
In such actions, Lacordaire adds, we cannot refuse to
admit the intervention of reason.
“The following case,’ he continues, “ recorded by
Gledditsch, has also every indication of the intervention
of reason. One of his friends, wishing to desiccate a
Frog, placed it on the top of a stick thrust into the
ground, in order to make sure that the Necrophori should
not come and carry it off. But this precaution was of no
effect; the insects, being unable to reach the Frog, dug
under the stick and, having caused it to fall, buried it as
well as the body.” !
1 Suites a Buffon. Introduction a Pentomologie, vol. ii, pp. 460-61.
— Author's Note.
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 63
To grant, in the intellect of the insect, a lucid under-
standing of the relations between cause and effect, be-
tween the end and the means, is an affirmation of serious
import. I know of scarcely any better adapted to the
philosophical brutalities of my time. But are these two
_ little stories really true? Do they involve the conse-
quences deduced from them? Are not those who accept
them as reliable testimony a little over-simple?
To be sure, simplicity is needed in entomology. With-
out a good dose of this quality, a mental defect in the
eyes of practical folk, who would busy himself with the
lesser creatures? Yes, let us be simple, without being
childishly credulous. Before making insects reason, let
us reason a little ourselves: let us, above all, consult the
experimental test. A fact gathered at hazard, without
criticism, cannot establish a law.
I do not propose, O valiant grave-diggers, to belittle
your merits; such is far from being my intention. I
have that in my notes, on the other hand, which will do
you more honor than the case of the gibbet and the Frog;
I have gleaned, for your benefit, examples of prowess
which will shed a new luster upon your reputation.
No, my intention is not to lessen your renown. How-
ever, it is not the business of impartial history to main-
tain a given thesis; it follows whither the facts lead it.
I wish simply to question you upon the power of logic
attributed to you. Do you.or do you not enjoy gleams
of reason? Have you within you the humble germ of
human thought? That is the problem before us.
To solve it we will not rely upon the accidents which
 64 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
good fortune may now and again procure for us. We
must employ the breeding-cage, which will permit of as-
siduous visits, continued inquiry and a variety of artifices.
But how populate the cage? The land of the olive-tree
is not rich in Necrophori. To my knowledge it possesses
only a single species, N. vestigator (Hersch.) ; and even
this rival of the grave-diggers of the north is pretty
scarce. The discovery of three or four in the course
of the spring was as much as my searches yielded in the
old days. This time, if I do not resort to the ruses of the
trapper, I shall obtain them in no greater numbers;
whereas I stand in need of at least a dozen.
These ruses are very simple. To go in search of the
layer-out of bodies, who exists only here and there in
the country-side, would be almost always waste of time:
the favorable month, April, would elapse before my cage
was suitably populated. To run after him is to trust too
much to accident; so we will make him come to us by
scattering in the orchard an abundant collection of dead
Moles. To this carrion, ripened by the sun, the insect
will not fail to hasten from the various points of the
horizon, so accomplished is he in the detection of such a
delicacy.
I make an arrangement with a gardener in the neigh-
borhood, who, two or three times a week, supplements
the penury of my acre and a half of stony ground, pro-
viding me with vegetables raised in a better soil. I ex-
plain to him my urgent need of Moles, an indefinite
num-
ber of moles. Battling daily with trap and spade against
the importunate excavator who uproots his crops, he
is
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 65
for me
in a better position than any one else to procure
ous
that which I regard for the moment as more preci
t cab-
than his bunches of asparagus or his white-hear
bages.
st, being
The worthy man at first laughs at my reque
h I attribute to
greatly surprised by the importance whic
but at last he con-
the abhorrent creature, the Darboun;
at the back of his mind
sents, not without a suspicion
erful flannel-lined
that I am going to make myself a wond
of the Moles, some-
waistcoat with the soft, velvety skins
well. We settle
thing good for pains in the back. Very
that the Darbouns
the matter. The essential thing is
shall reach me.
twos, by threes, by
They reach me punctually, by
leaves, at the bottom of
fours, packed in a few cabbage-
thy man who lent him-
the gardener’s basket. The wor
my strange requirements
self with such good grace to
parative psychology will
will never guess how much com
essor of thirty
owe him! Ina few days I was the poss
d here and there, as they
Moles, which were scattere
of the orchard, amid the
reached me, in bare portions -
s, and the lavender
rosemary-bushes, the arbutus-tree
beds.
and to examine, several
Now it only remained to wait
of my little corpses, a dis-
times a day, the under-side
would avoid who had not
gusting task which any one
Only little Paul, of all the
the sacred fire in his veins.
of his nimble hand to seize
household, lent me the aid logist
stated that the entomo
the fugitives. Ihave already
In this important busi-
has need of simplicity of mind.
 66 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
ness of the Necrophori, my assistants were a child and an
illiterate.
Little Paul’s visits alternating with mine, we had not
_ long to wait. The four winds of heaven bore forth in all
directions the odor of the carrion; and the undert
akers
hurried up, so that the experiments, begun with four
subjects, were continued with fourteen, a numbe
r not at-
tained during the whole of my previous searches,
which
were unpremeditated and in which no bait was
used as
decoy. My trapper’s ruse was completely succes
sful.
Before I report the results obtained in the cage,
let us
for a moment stop to consider the normal
conditions of
the labors that fall to the lot of the Necro
phori. The
Beetle does not select his head of game, choos
ing one in
Proportion to his strength, as do the preda
tory Wasps;
he accepts it as hazard presents it to
him. Among his
finds there are little creatures, such
as the Shrew-mouse;
animals of medium size, such as the
Field-mouse; and
enormous beasts, such as the Mole,
the Sewer-rat and the
Snake, any of which exceeds the power
s of excavation of
a single grave-digger. In the ma jority of cases transpor-
tation is impossible, so disproportioned
is the burden to
the motive-power. A slight displacement, catised by
the
effort of the insects’ backs,
is all that can possibly be
effected.
Ammophilus and Cerceris, Sphex
and Pompilus ex-
cavate their burrows wherever
they please; they carry
their prey thither on the wing,
or, if too heavy, drag it
afoot. The Necrophorus kno
ws no such facilities in his
task, Incapable of carrying the
monstrous corpse, no
 THE BURIAL 67
BURYING-BEETLES:
dig the grave
matter where encountered, he is forced to
where the body lies.
soil;
This obligatory place of sepulture may be in stony
where
it may occupy this or that bare spot, or some other
es into the
the grass, especially the couch-grass, plung
There
ground its inextricable network of little cords.
stunted
is a great probability, too, that a bristle of
s from the
brambles may support the body at some inche
broken
soil. Slung by the laborers’ spade, which has just
ere, at ran-
his back, the Mole falls here, there, anywh
what the ob-
dom; and where the body falls, no matter
stac provis
—le ded they be not insurmountable — there
the undertaker must utilize it.
of such
The difficulties of inhumation are capable
that the Necro-
variety as causes us already to foresee
in the accomplish-
phorus cannot employ fixed methods
hazards, he
ment of his labors. Exposed to fortuitous
the limits of his
must be able to modify his tactics within
, to disentangle,
modest perceptions. To saw, to break
are so matty methods
to lift, to shake, to displace: these
to the grave-digger
of procedure which are indispensable
in a predicament. Deprived of these resources, reduced
would be incapable
to uniformity of method, the insect
its lot.
of pursuing the calling which has fallen to
d be to draw
We see at once how imprudent it woul
which rational co-
conclusions from an isolated case in
might appear to
ordination or premeditated intention
doubt has its mo-
intervene. Every instinctive action no
place judge whether
tive; but does the animal in the first
n by a careful con-
the action is opportune? Let us begi
 68 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
sideration of the creature’s labors; let us support each
piece of evidence by others; and then we shall be able to
answer the question.
First of all, a word as to diet. A general scavenger,
the Burying-beetle refuses nothing in the way of cadav
eric
putridity. All is good to his senses, feathered game
or
furry, provided that the burden do not exceed his
strength.
He exploits the batrachian or the reptile with
no less
animation. He accepts without hesitation extraordinary
finds, probably unknown to his race, as
witness a certain
Gold-fish, a red Chinese Carp, whose body, placed
in one
of my cages, was instantly considered an excell
ent tit-bit
and buried according to the rules. Nor is butche
r’s meat
despised. A mutton-cutlet, a strip of beefst
eak, in the
right stage of maturity, disappeared benea
th the soil,
receiving the same attentions as those which
were lav-
ished on the Mole or the Mouse. In short, the Necro-
phorus has no exclusive preferences; anything
putrid he
conveys underground.
The maintenance of his industry, ther
efore, presents
no sort of difficulty. If one kind of
game be lacking,
some othe —rthe first to hand— wil] very well
replace
it. Neither is there much trouble in esta
blishing the site
of his industry. A capacious dish-cov
er of wire-gatize is
sufficient, resting on an earthen pan
filled to the brim with
fresh, heaped sand. To obviate
criminal attempts on
the part of the Cats, whom the
game would not fail to
tempt, the cage is installed in a
closed room with glazed
windows, which in winter js the
refuge of the plants and
in summer an entomological laborato
ry,
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 69
Now to work. The Mole lies in the center of the in-
closure. The soil, easily shifted and homogeneous,
realizes the best conditions for comfortable work. Four
Necrophori, three males and a female, are there with the
body. They remain invisible, hidden beneath the carcass,
which from time to time seems to return to life, shaken
from end to end by the backs of the workers. An ob-
server not in the secret would be somewhat astonished to
see the dead creature move. From time to time, one of
the sextons, almost always a male, emerges and goes the
rounds of the animal, which he explores, probing its vel-
vet coat. He hurriedly returns, appears again, once
more investigates and creeps back under the corpse.
The tremors become more pronounced; the carcass
oscillates, while a cushion of sand, pushed outward from
below, grows up all about it. The Mole, by reason of
his own weight and the efforts of the grave-diggers, who
are laboring at their task beneath him, gradually sinks,
for lack of support, into the undermined soil.
Presently the sand which has been pushed outward
quivers under the thrust of the invisible miners, slips into
the pit and covers the interred Mole. It is a clandestine
burial. The body seems to disappear of itself, as though
engulfed by a fluid medium. For a long time yet, until
the depth is regarded as sufficient, the body will continue
to descend.
It is, when all is taken into account, a very simple
operation. As the diggers, underneath the corpse, deepen
the cavity into which it sinks, tugged and shaken by the
sextons, the grave, without their intervention, fills of
70 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
itself by the mere downfall of the shaken soil. Useful
shovels at the tips of their claws, powerful backs, capable
of creating a little earthquake: the diggers need nothing
more for the practice of their profession. Let us add —
for this is an essential point—the art of continually
jerking and shaking the body, so as to pack it into a
lesser volume and cause it to pass when passage is ob-
structed. We shall presently see that this art plays a
part of the greatest importance in the industry of the
Necrophori.
Although he has disappeared, the Mole is still far from
having reached his destination. Let us leave the under-
takers to complete their task. What they are now doing
below ground is a continuation of what they did on the
surface and would teach us nothing new. We will wait
for two or three days.
The moment has come. Let us inform ourselves of
what is happening down there. Let us visit the retting-
vat. I shall invite no one to be present at the exhuma-
tion. Of those about me, only little Paul has the courage
to assist me.
The Mole is a Mole no longer, but a greenish horror,
putrid, hairless, shrunk into a round, greasy mass. The
thing must have undergone careful manipulation to be
thus condensed into a small volume, like a fowl in the
hands of the cook, and, above all, to be so completely de-
prived of its fur. Is this culinary procedure undertaken
in respect of the larve, which might be incommoded by
the fur? Or, is it just a casual result, a mere loss of hair
due to putridity? I am not certain. But it is always
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 71
the case that these exhumations, from first to last, have
revealed the furry game furless and the feathered game
featherless, except for the tail-feathers and the pinion-
feathers of the wings. Reptiles and fish, on the other
hand, retain their scales.
Let us return to the unrecognizable thing which was
once a Mole. The tit-bit lies in a spacious crypt, with
firm walls, a regular workshop, worthy of being the bake-
house of a Copris-beetle. Except for the fur, which is
lying in scattered flocks, it is intact. The grave-diggers
have not eaten into it; it is the patrimony of the sons,
not the provision of the parents, who, in order to sustain
themselves, levy at most a few mouthfuls of the ooze of
putrid humors.
Beside the dish which they are kneading and protecting
are two Necrophori; a couple, no more. Four collabo-
rated in the burial. What has become of the other two,
both males? I find them hidden in the soil, at a distance,
almost at the surface.
This observation is not an isolated one. Whenever I
am present at a burial undertaken by a squad in which the
males, zealous one and all, predominate, I find presently,
when the burial is completed, only one couple in the mor-
tuary cellar. Having lent their assistance, the rest have
discreetly retired.
These grave-diggers, in truth, are remarkable fathers.
They have nothing of the happy-go-lucky paternal care-
lessness that is the general rule among insects, which
plague and pester the mother for a moment with their at-
tentions and thereupon leave her to care for the offspring!
72 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
But those who in the other races are unemployed in this
case labor valiantly, now in the interest of their own
family, now for the sake of another’s, without distinction.
If a couple is in difficulties, helpers arrive, attracted by
the odor of carrion; anxious to serve a lady, they creep
under the body, work at it with back and claw, bury it and
then go their ways, leaving the householders to their
happiness.
For some time longer these latter manipulate the mor-
sel in concert, stripping it of fur or feather, trussing it
and allowing it to simmer to the taste of the larve.
When all is in order, the couple go forth, dissolving their
partnership, and each, following his fancy, recommences
elsewhere, even if only as a mere auxiliary.
Twice and no oftener hitherto have I found the father
preoccupied by the future of his sons and laboring in
order to leave them rich: it happens with certain Dung-
beetles and with the Necrophori, who bury dead bodies.
Scavengers and undertakers both have exemplary morals.
Who would look for virtue in such a quarter?
What follows — the larval existence and the metamor-
phosis
— is a secondary detail and, for that matter, fa-
miliar. It is a dry subject and I shall deal with it briefly.
About the end of May, I exhume a Brown Rat, buried by
the grave-diggers a fortnight earlier. Transformed into
a black, sticky jelly, the horrible dish provides me with
fifteen larvee, already, for the most part, of the normal
size. A few adults, connections, assuredly, of the brood,
are also stirring amid the infected mass. The period of
hatching is over now; and food is plentiful. Having
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 73
nothing else to do, the foster-parents have sat down to
the feast with the nurselings.
_» The undertakers are quick at rearing a family. It is at
most a fortnight since the Rat was laid in the earth; and
here already is a vigorous population on the verge of
the metamorphosis. Such precocity amazes me. It
deadly
would seem as though the liquefaction of carrion,
a food product ive of
to any other stomach, is in this case
and ac-
especial energy, which stimulates the organism
may be consum ed
celerates its growth, so that the victuals
Living
before its approaching conversion into mold.
ultimate reaction s
chemistry makes haste to outstrip the
of mineral chemistry.
ual attributes
White, naked, blind, possessing the habit
lanceolate outline,
of life in darkness, the larva, with its
Ground-beetle.
is slightly reminiscent of the grub of the
ng excellent
The mandibles are black and powerful, maki
, but capable
scissors for dissection. The limbs are short
ents of the abdo-
of a quick, toddling gait. The segm
ce with a narrow
men are armored on the upper surfa
s, whose office
reddish plate, armed with four tiny spike
rt when the larva
apparently is to furnish points of suppo
the soil, there to
quits the natal dwelling and dives into
cic segments are
undergo the transformation. The thora
provided with wider plates, but unarmed.
of their larval
The adults discovered in the company
are all abomin-
family, in this putridity that was a Rat,
ably verminous. So shiny and neat in their attire, when
of April, the Necrophori,
at work under the first Moles
us to look upon. A
when June approaches, become odio
 74 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
layer of parasites envelops them; insinuating itself into
the joints, it forms an almost continuous surface. The
insect presents a misshapen appearance under this over-
coat of vermin, which my hair-pencil can hardly brush
aside. Driven off the belly, the horde make the tour of
the sufferer and encamp on his back, refusing to relin-
quish their hold.
I recognize among them the Beetle’s Gamasis, the
Tick
who so often soils the ventral amethyst of our Geotrupes.
No; the prizes of life do not fall to the share of the
use-
ful. Necrophori and Geotrupes devote themse
lves to
works of general salubrity; and these two corpor
ations,
so interesting in the accomplishment of their
hygienic
functions, so remarkable for their domestic morali
ty, are
given over to the vermin of poverty. Alas,
of this dis-
crepancy between the services rendered and
the harsh-
ness of life there are many other examples
outside the
world of scavengers and undertakers!
The Burying-beetles display an exemplary
domestic
morality, but it does not persist until the
end. During
the first fortnight of June, the family being
sufficiently
provided for, the sextons strike work
and my cages are
deserted, so far as the surface is conce
rned, in spite of
new arrivals of Mice and Sparrows.
From time to time
some grave-digger leaves the subsoil
and comes crawling
languidly in the fresh air.
Another rather curious fact now attra
cts my attention.
All, as soon as they emerge from
underground, are
cripples, whose limbs have been ampu
tated at the joints,
some higher up, some lower
down. I see one mutilated
 BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL 75
this odd
Beetle who has only one leg left entire. With
tattered,
limb and the stumps of the others lamentably
it were, over the
scaly with vermin, he rows himself, as
dusty surface. A comrade emerges, one better off for
out his abdomen.
legs, who finishes the cripple and cleans
their days,
So my thirteen remaining Necrophori end
shorn of
half-devoured by their companions, or at least
outset are
several limbs. The pacific relations of the
succeeded by cannibalism.
getz
History tells us that certain peoples, the Massa
to spare
and others, used to kill their aged folk in order
them the miseries of senility. The fatal blow on the
The
hoary skull was in their eyes an act of filial piety.
ities.
Necrophori have their share of these ancient barbar
Full of days and henceforth useless, dragging out weary
a
Why
existence, they mutually exterminate one another.
prolong the agony of the impotent and the imbecile?
The Massagete might invoke, as an excuse for their
evil
atrocious custom, a dearth of provisions, which is an
for, thanks to my
counselor; not so the Necrophori,
the
generosity, victuals are superabundant, both beneath
soil and on the surface. Famine plays no part in this
slaughter. Here we have the aberration of exhaustion,
As
the morbid fury of a life on the point of extinction.
disposition
is generally the case, work bestows a peaceable
per-
on the grave-digger, while inaction inspires him with
he breaks
verted tastes. Having no longer anything to do
being muti-
his fellow’s limbs, eats him up, heedless of
te deliver-
lated or eaten up himself. This is the ultima
ance of verminous old age.
 CHAPTER VI
THE BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS
LET us proceed to the rational prowess
which has earned
for the Necrophorus the better part
of his renown and,
to begin with, let us submit the case relat
ed by Clairville
— that of the too hard soil and the call
for assistance —
to experimental test.
With this object in view, I pave the
center of the space
beneath the cover, level with the
soil, with a brick and
sprinkle the latter with a thin layer
of sand. This
will be the soil in which digging
is impracticable. All
about it, for some distance and on the
same level, spreads
the loose soil, which is easy to dig.
In order to approximate to the cond
itions of the little
story, I must have a Mouse; with
a Mole, a heavy mass,
the work of removal would perhaps
present too much
difficulty. To obtain the Mouse I
place my friends and
neighbors under requisition ;they laug
h at my whim but
none the less proffer their traps.
Yet, the moment a
Mouse is needed, that very common
animal becomes rare.
Braving decorum in his spee
ch, which follows the Lati
n
of his ancestors, the Provenca
l says, but even more
crudely than in my translation:
If you look for dung,
the Asses become constipated! ’’
At last I possess the Mouse of my
dreams! She comes
76
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 77
to me from that refuge, furnished with a truss of straw,
in which official charity gives the hospitality of a day to
the beggar wandering over the face of the fertile earth;
from that municipal hostel whence one inevitably emerges
verminous. O Réaumur, who used to invite marquises
to see your caterpillars change their skins, what would
you have said of a future disciple conversant with such
wretchedness as this? Perhaps it is well that we should
not be ignorant of it, so that we may take compassion on
the sufferings of beasts.
The Mouse so greatly desired is mine. I place her
upon the center of the brick. The grave-diggers under
the wire cover are now seven in number, of whom three
are females. All have gone to earth: some are inactive,
close to the surface; the rest are busy in their crypts.
The presence of the fresh corpse is promptly perceived.
About seven o’clock in the morning, three Necrophori
hurry up, two males and a female. They slip under the
Mouse, who moves in jerks, a sign of the efforts of the
burying-party. An attempt is made to dig into the layer
of sand which hides the brick, so that a bank of sand
accumulates about the body.
For a couple of hours the jerks continue without re-
sults. I profit by the circumstance to investigate the
manner in which the work is performed. The bare
brick allows me to see what the excavated soil concealed
from me. If it is necessary to move the body, the Beetle
turns over; with his six claws he grips the hair of the
dead animal, props himself upon his back and pushes,
making a lever of his head and the tip of his abdomen.
78 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
If digging is required, he resumes the normal position.
So, turn and turn about, the sexton strives, now with his
claws in the air, when it is a question of shifting the body
or dragging it lower down; now with his feet on the
ground, when it is necessary to deepen the grave.
The point at which the Mouse lies is finally recog-
nized as unassailable. A male appears in the open. He
explores the specimen, goes the round of it, scratches a
little at random. He goes back; and immediately the
body rocks. Is he advising his collaborators of what he
has discovered? Is he arranging matters with a view to
their establishing themselves elsewhere, on propitious
soil?
The facts are far from confirming this idea. When
he shakes the body the others imitate him and push,
but without combining their efforts in a given direction,
for, after advancing a little towards the edge of the
brick, the burden goes back again, returning to the point
of departure. In the absence of any concerted under-
standing, their efforts of leverage are wasted. Nearly
three hours are occupied by oscillations which mutually
annul one another. The Mouse does not cross the little
sand-hill heaped about it by the rakes of the workers.
For the second time a male emerges and makes a round
of exploration. A bore is made in workable earth,
close beside the brick. This is a trial excavation. to re-
veal the nature of the soil; a narrow well, of no great
depth, into which the insect plunges to half its length.
The well-sinker returns to the other workers, who arch
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS = 79
their backs, and the load progresses a finger’s-breadth
towards the point recognized as favorable. Have they
done the trick this time? No, for after a while the
Mouse recoils. No progress towards a solution of the
difficulty.
Now two males come out in search of information,
each of his own accord. Instead of stopping at the point
already sounded, a point most judiciously chosen, it
seemed, on account of its proximity, which would save
laborious transportation, they precipitately scour the
whole area of the cage, sounding the soil on this side and
on that and plowing superficial furrows in it. They get
as far from the brick as the limits of the enclosure permit.
They dig, by preference, against the base of the cover;
here they make several borings, without any reason, so
far as I can see, the bed of soil being everywhere equally
assailable away from the brick; the first point sounded is
abandoned for a second, which is rejected in its turn. A
third and a fourth are tried; then another and yet an-
other. At the sixth point the selection is made. In all
these cases the excavation is by no means a grave des-
tined to receive the Mouse, but a mere trial boring, of in-
considerable depth, its diameter being that of the digger’s
body.
A return is made to the Mouse, who suddenly quivers,
oscillates, advances, recoils, first in one direction, then in
another, until in the end the little hillock cf sand is
crossed. Now we are free of the brick and on excellent
soil. Little by little the load advances. This is no cart-
80 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
age by a team hauling in the open, but a jerky displace-
ment, the work of invisible levers. The body seems to
move of its own accord. |
This time, after so many hesitations, their efforts are
concerted; at all events, the load reaches the region
sounded far more rapidly than I expected. Then begins
the burial, according to the usual method. It is one
o’clock. The Necrophori have allowed the hour-hand
of the clock to go half round the dial while verifying the
condition of the surrounding spots and displacing the
Mouse.
In this experiment it appears at the outset that the
males play a major part in the affairs of the household.
Better-equipped, perhaps, than their mates, they make
investigations when a difficulty occurs; they inspect the
soil, recognize whence the check arises and choose the
point at which the grave shall be made. In the lengthy
experiment of the brick, the two males alone explored
the surroundings and set to work to solve the difficulty.
Confiding in their assistance, the female, motionless be-
neath the Mouse, awaited the result of their investiga-
tions. The tests which are to follow will confirm the
merits of these valiant auxiliaries.
In the second place, the point where the Mouse lay
being recognized as presenting an insurmountable resist-
ance, there was no grave dug in advance, a little farther
off, in the light soil. All attempts were limited, I repeat,
to shallow soundings which informed the insect of the
possibility of inhumation.
It is absolute nonsense to speak of their first preparing
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 81
the grave to which the body will afterwards be carted.
To excavate the soil, our grave-diggers must feel the
weight of their dead on their backs. They work only
when stimulated by the contact of its fur. Never, never
in this world do they venture to dig a grave unless the
body to be buried already occupies the site of the cavity.
This is absolutely confirmed by my two and a half months
and more of daily observations.
The rest of Clairville’s anecdote bears examination no
better. We are told that the Necrophorus in difficulties
goes in search of assistance and returns with companions
who assist him to bury the Mouse. This, in another
form, is the edifying story of the Sacred Beetle whose
pellet had rolled into a rut. Powerless to withdraw his
treasure from the gulf, the wily Dung-beetle called to-
gether three or four of his neighbors, who benevolently
recovered the pellet, returning to their labors after the
_ work of salvage.
The exploit — so ill-interpreted — of the thieving pill-
roller sets me on my guard against that of the under-
taker. Shall I be too exigent if I enquire what precau-
tions the observer adopted to recognize the owner of the
told,
Mouse on his return, when he reappears, as we are
with four assistants? What sign denotes that one of the
five who was able, in so rational a manner, to appeal for
help? Can one even be sure that the one to disappear re-
turns and forms one of the band? There is nothing
a
to indicate it; and this was the essential point which
sterling observer was bound not to neglect. Were they
not rather five chance Necrophori who, guided by the
82 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
smell, without any previous understanding, hastened to
the abandoned Mouse to exploit her on their own ac-
count? TI incline to this opinion, the most likely of all
in the absence of exact information.
Probability becomes certainty if we submit the case to
the verification of experiment. The test with the brick
already gives us some information. For six hours my
three specimens exhausted themselves in efforts before
they got to the length of removing their booty and placing
it on practicable soil. In this long and heavy task help-
ful neighbors would have been anything but unwelcome.
Four other Necrophori, buried here and there under a
little sand, comrades and acquaintances, helpers of the
day before, were occupying the same cage; and not one
of those concerned thought of summoning them to give
assistance. Despite their extreme embarrassment, the
owners of the Mouse accomplished their task to the end,
without the least help, though this could have been so eas-
ily requisitioned.
Being three, one might say, they considered themselves
sufficiently strong ;they needed no one else to lend them a
hand. The objection does not hold good. On many oc-
casions and under conditions even more difficult than
those presented by a stony soil, I have again and again
seen isolated Necrophori exhausting themselves in striv-
ing’ against my artifices; yet not once did they leave
their work to recruit helpers. Collaborators, it is true,
did often arrive, but they were convoked by their sense of
smell; not by the first possessor. They were fortuitous
helpers ;they were never called in, They were welcomed
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 83
without disagreement, but also without gratitude. They
were not summoned; they were tolerated. In the glazed
shelter where I keep the cage I happened to catch one of
these chance assistants in the act. Passing that way in
the night and scenting dead flesh, he had entered where
none of his kind had yet penetrated of his own free will.
I surprised him on the wire-gauze dome of the cover.
If the wire had not prevented him, he would have set to
work incontinently, in company with the rest. Had
my captives invited him? Assuredly not. He had
hastened thither attracted by the odor of the Mole, heed-
less of the efforts of others. So it was with those whose
obliging assistance is extolled. I repeat, in respect of
their imaginary prowess, what I have said elsewhere of
that of the Sacred Beetles: the story is a childish one,
worthy of ranking with any fairy-tale written for the
amusement of the simple.
A hard soil, necessitating the removal of the body, is
not the only difficulty familiar to the Necrophori. Often,
perhaps more often than not, the ground is covered with
grass, above all with couch-grass, whose tenacious root-
lets form an inextricable network below the surface. To
dig in the interstices is possible, but to drag the dead ani-
mal through them is another matter: the meshes of the
net are too close to give it passage. Will the grave-
digger find himself reduced to impotence by such an im-
pediment, which must be an extremely common one?
That could not be.
Exposed to this or that habitual obstacle in the exercise
of his calling, the animal is always equipped accordingly ;
84. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
otherwise his profession would be impracticable. No end
is attained without the necessary means and aptitudes.
Besides that of the excavator, the Necrophorus certainly
possesses another art: the art of breaking the cables, the
roots, the stolons, the slender rhizomes which check the
body’s descent into the grave. To the work of the shovel
and the pick must be added that of the shears. All this
is perfectly logical and may be foreseen with complete
lucidity. Nevertheless, let us invoke experiment, the best
of witnesses.
I borrow from the kitchen-range an iron trivet whose
legs will supply a solid foundation for the engine which
I am devising. This is a coarse network of strips of
raphia, a fairly accurate imitation of the network of
couch-grass roots. The very irregular meshes are no-
where wide enough to admit of the passage of the creature
to be buried, which in this case is a Mole. The trivet
is planted with its three feet in the soil of the cage; its
top is level with the surface of the soil. A little sand
conceals the meshes. The Mole is placed in the center;
and my squad of sextons is let loose upon the body.
Without a hitch the burial is accomplished in the course
of anafternoon. The hammock of raphia, almost equiv-
alent to the natural network of couch-grass turf, scarcely
disturbs the process of inhumation. Matters do not go
forward quite so quickly; and that is all. No attempt is
made to shift the Mole, who sinks into the ground where
he lies. The operation completed, I remove the trivet.
The network is broken at the spot where the corpse lay.
 *XPERIMENTS
The Mole is fixed fore and aft, with a lashing of raphia, to a light horizontal cross-bar resting on two
forks. The Necrophori, after long tiring themselves in digging under the body, end by severing the bonds
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 85
A few strips have been gnawed through; a small number,
only so many as were strictly necessary to permit the
passage of the body.
Well done, my undertakers! I expected no less of
your savoir-faire. You have foiled the artifices of the
experimenter by employing your resources against natural
obstacles. With mandibles for shears, you have pa-
tiently cut my threads as you would have gnawed the
cordage of the grass-roots. This is meritorious, if not
deserving of exceptional glorification. The most limited
of the insects which work in earth would have done as
much if subjected to similar conditions.
Let us ascend a stage in the series of difficulties. The
Mole is now fixed with a lashing of raphia fore and aft
to a light horizontal cross-bar which rests on two firmly
planted forks. It is like a joint of venison on a spit,
though rather oddly fastened. The dead animal touches
the ground throughout the length of its body.
The Necrophori disappear under the corpse, and,
feeling the contact of its fur, begins to dig. The grave
grows deeper and an empty space appears, but the cov-
eted object does not descend, retained as it is by the cross-
bar which the two forks keep in place. The digging
slackens, the hesitations become prolonged.
However, one of the grave-diggers ascends to the
surface, wanders over the Mole, inspects him and ends
by perceiving the hinder strap. Tenaciously he gnaws
and ravels it. I hear the click of the shears that
completes the rupture. Crack! The thing is done.
 86 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Dragged down by his own weight, the Mole sinks into
the grave, but slantwise, with his head still outside, kept
in place by the second ligature.
The Beetles proceed to the burial of the hinder part of
the Mole; they twitch and jerk it now in this direction,
now in that. Nothing comes of it; the thing refuses to
give. A fresh sortie is made by one of them to discover
what is happening overhead. The second ligature is
perceived, is severed in turn, and henceforth the work
proceeds as well as could be desired.
My compliments, perspicacious cable-cutters! But I
must not exaggerate. The lashings of the Mole were
for you the little cords with which you are so famili
ar
in turfy soil. You have severed them, as well as
the
hammock of the previous experiment, just as you sever
with the blades of your shears any natural filament which
stretches across your catacombs. It is, in your calling,
an indispensable knack. If you had had to learn it
by
experience, to think it out before practising it, your race
would have disappeared, killed by the hesitations of its
apprenticeship, for the spots fertile in Moles, Frogs,
Li-
zards and other victuals to your taste are usually grass-
covered.
You are capable of far better things yet; but, befor
e
proceeding to these, let us examine the case
when the
ground bristles with slender brushwood, which
holds the
corpse at a short distance from the ground.
Will the
find thus suspended by the hazard of its fall
remain un-
employed? Will the Necrophori pass on, indiff
erent to
the superb tit-bit which they see and smell a
few inches
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 87
above their heads, or will they make it descend from its
gibbet? |
Game does not abound to such a point that it can be
disdained if a few efforts will obtain it. Before I see
the thing happen I am persuaded that it will fall, that
the Necrophori, often confronted by the difficulties of a
body which is not lying on the soil, must possess the
instinct to shake it to the ground. The fortuitous sup-
port of a few bits of stubble, of a few interlaced bram-
bles, a thing so common in the fields, should not be able
to baffle them. The overthrow of the suspended body,
if placed too high, should certainly form part of their
instinctive methods. For the rest, let us watch them at
work.
I plant in the sand of the cage a meager tuft of thyme.
The shrub is at most some four inches in height. In
the branches I place a Mouse, entangling the tail, the
paws and the neck among the twigs in order to increase
the difficulty. The population of the cage now consists
of fourteen Necrophori and will remain the same until
the close of my investigations. Of course they do not
all take part simultaneously in the day’s work; the ma-
jority remain underground, somnolent, or occupied in
setting their cellars in order. Sometimes only one, often
two, three or four, rarely more, busy themselves with
the dead creature which I offer them. To-day two .
hasten to the Mouse, who is soon perceived overhead in
the tuft of thyme.
They gain the summit of the plant by way of the wire
trellis of the cage. Here are repeated, with increased
 88 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
hesitation, due to the inconvenient nature of the support,
the tactics employed to remove the body when the soil is
unfavorable. The insect props itself against a branch,
thrusting alternately with back and claws, jerking and
shaking vigorously until the point whereat it is working
is freed from its fetters. In one brief shift, by dint of
heaving their backs, the two collaborators extricate the
body from the entanglement of twigs. Yet another
shake; and the Mouse is down. The burial follows.
There is nothing new in this experiment; the find has
been dealt with just as though it lay upon soil unsuitable
for burial. The fall is the result of an attempt to trans-
port the load.
The time has come to set up the Frog’s gibbet cele-
brated by Gledditsch. The batrachian is not indispen-
sable; a Mole will serve as well or even better. With
a ligament of raphia I fix him, by his hind-legs, to a
twig which I plant vertically in the ground, inserting
it
to no great depth. The creature hangs plumb against
the gibbet, its head and shoulders making ample contact
with the soil.
The grave-diggers set to work beneath the part which
lies upon the ground, at the very foot of the stake;
they
dig a funnel-shaped hole, into which the muzzle
, the head
and the neck of the mole sink little by little. The
gibbet
becomes uprooted as they sink and eventually
falls,
dragged over by the weight of its heavy burden
. I am
assisting at the spectacle of the overturned stake,
one of
the most astonishing examples of rational
accomplish-
 EXPERIMENTS
of a tuft of thyme. By
A dead mouse is placed on the branches
ng at the body, the Burying-
dint of jerking, shaking and tuggi the twigs and bringing
ed in extri catin g it from
beetles succe
it down
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 89
ment which has ever been recorded to the credit of the
insect.
This, for one who is considering the problem of in-
_stinct, is an exciting moment. But let us beware of
forming conclusions as yet; we might be in too great a
hurry. Let us ask ourselves first whether the fall of the
stake was intentional or fortuitous. Did the Necrophori
lay it bare with the express intention of causing it to
fall? Or did they, on the contrary, dig at its base solely
in order to bury that part of the mole which lay on the
ground? That is the question, which, for the rest, is
very easy to answer.
The experiment is repeated; but this time the gibbet
is slanting and the Mole, hanging in a vertical position,
touches the ground at a couple of inches from the base
of the gibbet. Under these conditions absolutely no at-
tempt is made to overthrow the latter. Not the least
scrape of a claw is delivered at the foot of the gibbet.
The entire work of excavation is accomplished at a dis-
tance, under the body, whose shoulders are lying on the
ground. There — and there only —a hole is dug to re-
ceive the free portion of the body, the part accessible to
the sextons.
A difference of.an inch in the position of the suspended
animal annihilates the famous legend. Even so, many a
time, the most elementary sieve, handled with a little
logic, is enough to winnow the confused mass of affirma-
tions and to release the good grain of truth.
Yet another shake of the sieve. The gibbet is oblique
go THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
or vertical indifferently; but the Mole, always fixed by
a hinder limb to the top of the twig, does not touch the
soil; he hangs a few fingers’-breadths from the ground,
out of the sextons’ reach.
What will the latter do? Will they scrape at the foot
of the gibbet in order to overturn it? By no means; and
the ingenuous observer who looked for such tactics would
be greatly disappointed. No attention is paid to the base
of the support. It is not vouchsafed even a stroke of
the rake. Nothing is done to overturn it, nothing, abso-
lutely nothing! It is by other methods that the Burying-
beetles obtain the Mole.
These decisive experiments, repeated under many dif-
ferent forms, prove that never, never in this world do
the Necrophori dig, or even give a superficial scrape, at
the foot of the gallows, unless the hanging body touch
the ground at that point. And, in the latter case, if the
twig should happen to fall, its fall is in nowise an inten-
tional result, but a mere fortuitous effect of the burial
already commenced.
What, then, did the owner of the Frog of whom Gled-
ditsch tells us really see? If his stick was overturned,
the body placed to dry beyond the assaults of the Necro-
phori must certainly have touched the soil: a strange pre-
caution against robbers and the damp! We may fit-
tingly attribute more foresight to the preparer of dried
Frogs and allow him to hang the creature some inches
from the ground. In this case all my experiments em-
phatically assert that the fall of the stake undermined by
the sextons is a pure matter of imagination.
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS g1
Yet another of the fine arguments in favor of the
reasoning power of animals flies from the light of in-
vestigation and founders in the slough of error! I ad-
mire your simple faith, you masters who take seriously
the statements of chance-met observers, richer in imag-
ination than in veracity; I admire your credulous zeal,
when, without criticism, you build up your theories on
such absurdities.
Let us proceed. The stake is henceforth planted verti-
cally, but the body hanging on it does not reach the base:
a condition which suffices to ensure that there is never
any digging at this point. I make use of a Mouse, who,
by reason of her trifling weight, will lend herself better
to the insect’s manceuvers. The dead body is fixed by
the hind-legs to the top of the stake with a ligature of
raphia. It hangs plumb, in contact with the stick.
Very soon two Necrophori have discovered the tit-bit.
They climb up the miniature mast; they explore the body,
dividing its fur by thrusts of the head. It is recognized
to be an excellent find. So to work. Here we have
again, but under far more difficult conditions, the tactics
employed when it was necessary to displace the unfavor-
ably situated body: the two collaborators slip between the
Mouse and the stake, when, taking a grip of the latter
and exerting a leverage with their backs, they jerk and
shake the body, which oscillates, twirls about, swings
away from the stake and relapses. All the morning is
passed in vain attempts, interrupted by explorations on
the animal’s body.
In the afternoon the cause of the check is at last recog-
92 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
nized; not very clearly, for in the first place the two ob-
stinate riflers of the gallows attack the hind-legs of the
Mouse, a little below the ligature. They strip them bare,
flay them and cut away the flesh about the heel. They
have reached the bone, when one of them finds the raphia
beneath his mandibles. This, to him, is a familiar thing,
representing the gramineous fiber so frequent in the case
of burial in grass-covered soil. Tenaciously the shears
gnaw at the bond; the vegetable fetter is severed and the
Mouse falls, to be buried a little later.
If it were isolated, this severance of the suspending tie
would be a magnificent performance; but considered in
connection with the sum of the Beetle’s customary labors
it loses all far-reaching significance. Before attacking
the ligature, which was not concealed in any way, the
insect exerted itself for a whole morning in shaking the
body, its usual method. Finally, finding the cord, it sev-
ered it, as it would have severed a ligament of couch-
grass encountered underground. os
Under the conditions devised for the Beetle, the use of
the shears is the indispensable complement of the use
of the shovel; and the modicum of discernment at his
disposal is enough to inform him when the blades of
his shears will be useful. He cuts what embarrasses
him with no more exercise of reason than he displays
when placing the corpse underground. So little does
he grasp the connection between cause and effect that he
strives to break the bone of the leg before gnawing at
the bast which is knotted close beside him. The difficult
task is attacked before the extremely simple.
 EXPERIMENTS
but at a point
The stake is slanting; the Mole touches the ground, -beetles begin
two inches from the base of the gibbet. The Burying
make no attempt
by digging to no purpose under the body. They at
to overturn the stake. In this experiment they obtain the Mole
g the bond
last by employing the usual method, that is by gnawin
 ves
‘\ Paiead 6 UF := ™ .

{/
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 93
. Difficult, yes, but not impossible, provided that the
Mouse be young. I begin again with a ligature of iron
wire, on which the shears of the insect can obtain no
purchase, and a tender Mouselet, half the size of an adult.
This time a tibia is gnawed through, cut in two by the
Beetle’s mandibles near the spring of the heel. The de-
tached member leaves plenty of space for the other, which
readily slips from the metallic band; and the little body
falls to the ground.
But, if the bone be too hard, if the body suspended be
that of a Mole, an adult Mouse, or a Sparrow, the wire
ligament opposes an insurmountable obstacle to the at-
tempts of the Necrophori, who, for nearly a week, work
at the hanging body, partly stripping it of fur or feather
and disheveling it until it forms a lamentable object, and
at last abandon it, when dessication sets in. A last re-
source, however, remains, one as rational as infallible.
It is to overthrow the stake. Of course, not one dreams
of doing so.
For the last time let us change our artifices. The top
of the gibbet consists of a little fork, with the prongs
widely opened and measuring barely two-fifths of an inch
ed
in length. With a thread of hemp, less easily attack
above the
than a strip of raphia, I bind together, a little
and between the
heels, the hind-legs of an adult Mouse;
To make
legs I slip one of the prongs of the fork.
upwards;
the body fall it is enough to slide it a little way
front of a poul-
it is like a young Rabbit hanging in the
terer’s shop.
preparations.
Five Necrophori come to inspect my
 94. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
After a great deal of futile shaking, the tibic are at-
tacked. This, it seems, is the method usually employed
when the body is retained by one of its limbs in some
natrow fork of a low-growing plant. While trying to
saw through the bone —a heavy job this time — one of
the workers slips between the shackled limbs. So situ-
ated, he feels against his back the furry touch of the
Mouse. Nothing more is needed to arouse his propen-
sity to thrust with his back. With a few heaves of the
lever the thing is done; the Mouse rises a little, slides
over the supporting peg and falls to the ground.
Is this manceuver really thought out? Has the insect
indeed perceived, by the light of a flash of reason, that
in order to make the tit-bit fall it was necessary to un-
hook it by sliding it along the peg? Has it really per-
ceived the mechanism of suspension? I know some per-
sons — indeed, I know many— who, in the presence of
this magnificent result, would be satisfied without further
investigation.
More difficult to convince, I modify the experiment
before drawing a conclusion. I suspect that the Necro-
phorus, without any prevision of the consequences of his
action, heaved his back simply because he felt the legs of
the creature above him. With the system of suspension
adopted, the push of the back, employed in all cases of
difficulty, was brought to bear first upon the point of
support; and the fall resulted from this happy coinci-
dence. That point, which has to be slipped along the peg
in order to unhook the object, ought really to be situated
at a short distance from the Mouse, so that the Necro-
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS 95
phori shall no longer feel her directly against their backs
when they push.
A piece of wire binds together now the tarsi of a Spar-
row, now the heels of a Mouse and is bent, at a distance
of three-quarters of an inch or so, into a little ring, which
slips very loosely over one of the prongs of the fork, a
short, almost horizontal prong. To make the hanging
body fall, the slightest thrust upon this ring is sufficient;
and, owing to its projection from the peg, it lends itself
excellently to the insect’s methods. In short, the ar-
rangement is the same as it was just now, with this
difference, that the point of support is at a short distance
from the suspended animal.
My trick, simple though it be, is fully successful. For
a long time the body is repeatedly shaken, but in vain;
the tibie or tarsi, unduly hard, refuse to yield to the
patient saw. Sparrows and Mice grow dry and shriv-
eled, unused, upon the gibbet. Sooner in one case, later
in another, my Necrophori abandon the insoluble problem
in mechanics: to push, ever so little, the movable support
and so to unhook the coveted carcass.
Curious reasoners, in faith! If they had had, but now,
a lucid idea of the mutual relations between the shackled
limbs and the suspending peg; if they had made the
Mouse fall by a reasoned manceuver, whence comes it
that the present artifice, no less simple than the first, is
to them an insurmountable obstacle? For days and days
they work on the body, examine it from head to foot,
without becoming aware of the movable support, the
cause of their misadventure. In vain do I prolong my
 96 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
watch; never do I see a single one of them push it with
his foot or butt it with his head. Ne
Their defeat is not due to lack of strength. Like the
Geotrupes, they are vigorous excavators. Grasped in the
closed hand, they insinuate themselves through the inter-
stices of the fingers and plow up your skin in a fashion
to make you very quickly loose your hold. With his
head, a robust plowshare, the Beetle might very easily
push the ring off its short support. He is not able to do
so because he does not think of it; he does not think
of it because he is devoid of the faculty attributed to him,
in order to support its thesis, by the dangerous prodigal-
ity of transformism.
Divine reason, sun of the intellect, what a clumsy slap
in thy august countenance, when- the glorifiers of the
animal degrade thee with such dullness!
Let us now examine under another aspect the mental
obscurity of the Necrophori. My captives are not so
satisfied with their sumptuous lodging that they do not
seek to escape, especially when there is a dearth of labor,
that sovereign consoler of the afflicted, man or beast. In-
ternment within the wire cover palls upon them. So,
the Mole buried and all in order in the cellar, they stray
uneasily over the wire-gauze of the dome: they clamber
up, descend, ascend again and take to flight, a flight
which instantly becomes a fall, owing to collision with the
wire grating. They pick themselves up and begin again.
The sky is superb; the weather is hot, calm and propitious
for those in search of the Lizard crushed beside the
foot-
path. Perhaps the effluvia of the gamy tit-bit have
in
eR
.

EXPERIMENTS
the hind feet to
With a ligament of raphia, the Mole is fixed by
a twig planted vertically in the soil. The head and shoulders
ori at the
touch the ground. By digging under these, the Necroph
time uproot the gibbet, which eventual ly falls, dragged over
same
by the weight of its burden
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS — 97
reached them, coming from afar, imperceptible to any
other sense than that of the Sexton-beetles. So my
Necrophori are fain to go their ways.
Can they? Nothing would be-easier if a glimmer of
reason were to aid them. Through the wire network,
over which they have so often strayed, they have seen,
outside, the free soil, the promised land which they long
to reach. A hundred times if once they have dug at the
foot of the rampart. There, in vertical wells, they take
up their station, drowsing whole days on end while un-
employed. If I give them a fresh Mole, they emerge
from their retreat by the entrance corridor and come to
hide themselves beneath the belly of the beast. The
burial over, they return, one here, one there, to the con-
fines of the enclosure and disappear beneath the soil.
Well, in two and a half months of captivity, despite
long stays at the base of the trellis, at a depth of three-
quarters of an inch beneath the surface, it is rare indeed
for a Necrophorus to succeed in circumventing the ob-
stacle, to prolong his excavation beneath the barrier, to
make an elbow in it and to bring it out on the other side,
a trifling task for these vigorous creatures. Of fourteen
only one succeeded in escaping.
A chance deliverance and not premeditated ; for, if the
happy event had been the result of a mental combination,
the other prisoners, practically his equals in powers of
perception, would all, from first to last, discover by ra-
tional means the elbowed path leading to the outer world;
and the cage would promptly be deserted. The failure
of the great majority proves that the single fugitive was
 98 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
simply digging at random. . Circumstances favored him;
-and that is all. Do not let us make it a merit that he
succeeded where all the others failed.
Let us also beware of attributing to the Necrophori an
understanding’ more limited than is usual in entomologi-
cal psychology. I find the ineptness of the undertaker
in all the insects reared under the wire cover, on the bed
of sand into which the rim of the dome sinks a little way.
With very rare exceptions, fortuitous accidents, no insect
has thought of circumventing the barrier by way of the
base; none has succeeded in gaining the exterior by
means of a slanting tunnel, not even though it were a
miner by profession, as are the Dung-beetles par excel-
lence. Captives under the wire dome, but desirous of
escape, Sacred Beetles, Geotrupes, Copres, Gymnopleuri,
Sisyphi, all see about them the freedom of space, the joys
of the open sunlight; and not one thinks of going round
under the rampart, a front which would present no diffi-
culty to their pick-axes.
Even in the higher ranks of animality, examples of
similar mental obfuscation are not lacking. Audubon
relates how, in his days, the wild Turkeys were caught
in North America.
In a clearing known to be frequented by these birds,
a great cage was constructed with stakes driven into the
ground. In the center of the enclosure opened a short
tunnel, which dipped under the palisade and returned
to the surface outside the cage by a gentle slope, which
was open to the sky. The central opening, large enough
to give a bird free passage, occupied only a portion of
 BURYING-BEETLES: EXPERIMENTS — 99
the enclosure, leaving around it, against the circle of
stakes, a wide unbroken zone. A few handfuls of maize
were scattered in the interior of the trap, as well as round
about it, and in particular along the sloping path, which
passed under a sort of bridge and led to the center of
the contrivance. In short, the Turkey-trap presented an
ever-open door. The bird found it in order to enter, but
did not think of looking for it in order to return by it.
According to the famous American ornithologist, the
Turkeys, lured by the grains of maize, descended the in-
sidious slope, entered the short underground passage and
beheld, at the end of it, plunder and the light. A few
steps farther and the gluttons emerged, one by one, from
beneath the bridge. They distributed themselves about
the enclosure. The maize was abundant; and the Tur-
keys’ crops grew swollen.
When all was gathered, the band wished to retreat, but
not one of the prisoners paid any attention to the central
hole by which he had arrived. Gobbling uneasily, they
passed again and again across the bridge whose arch was
yawning beside them; they circled round against the pali-
sade, treading a hundred times in their own footprints;
they thrust their necks, with crimson wattles,
their
through the bars; and there, with beaks in the open air,
they remained until they were exhausted.
Remember, inept fowl, the occurrences of a little while
ago; think of the tunnel which led you hither! If there
be in that poor brain of yours an atom of capacity, put
two ideas together and remind yourself that the passage
by which you entered is there and open for your escape!
 100 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
You will do nothing of the kind. The light, an irresisti-
ble attraction, holds you subjugated against the palisade;
and the shadow of the yawning pit, which has but lately
permitted you to enter and will quite as readily permit of
your exit, leaves you indifferent. To recognize the use
of this opening you would have to reflect a little, to
evolve the past ; but this tiny retrospective calculation is be-
yond your powers. So the trapper, returning a few days
later, will find a rich booty, the entire flock imprisoned!
Of poor intellectual repute, does the Turkey deserve
his name for stupidity? He does not appear to be more
limited than another. Audubon depicts him as endowed
with certain useful ruses, in particular when he has to
baffle the attacks of his nocturnal enemy, the Virginian
Owl. As for his actions in the snare with the under-
ground passage, any other bird, impassioned of the light,
would do the same.
Under rather more difficult conditions, the Necro-
phorus repeats the ineptness of the Turkey. When he
wishes to return to the open daylight, after resting in a
short burrow against the rim of the wire cover, the Bee-
tle, seeing a little light filtering down through the loose
soil, reascends by the path of entry, incapable of telling
himself that it would suffice to prolong the tunnel as far
in the opposite direction for him to reach the outer world
beyond the wall and gain his freedom. Here again is
one in whom we shall seek in vain for any indication of
reflection. Like the rest, in spite of his legendary re-
nown, he has no guide but the unconscious promptings
of instinct.
 GHAPTER, VIL
THE BLUEBOTTLE

To purge the earth of death’s impurities and cause de-

ceased animal matter to be once more numbered among
the treasures of life there are hosts of sausage-queens,
including, in our part of the world, the Bluebottle (Call-
phora vomitaria, Lin.) and the Gray Fleshfly (Sar-
cophaga carnaria, Lin.). Every one knows the first, the
big, dark-blue Fly who, after effecting her designs in the
ill-watched meat-safe, settles on our window-panes and
keeps up a solemn buzzing, anxious to be off in the sun
and ripen a fresh emission of germs. How does she lay
her eggs, the origin of the loathsome maggot that battens
poisonously on our provisions whether of game or butch-
er’s meat? What are her stratagems and how can we
foil them? This is what I purpose to investigate.
The Bluebottle frequents our homes during autumn
and a part of winter, until the cold becomes severe; but
her appearance in the fields dates back much earlier. On
the first fine day in February, we shall see her warming
I
herself, chillily, against the sunny walls. In April,
notice her in considerable numbers on the laurustinus.
sugary
It is here that she seems to pair, while sipping the
extidations of the small white flowers. The whole of the
summer season is spent out of doors, in brief flights from
one refreshment-bar to the next. When autumn comes,
Iol
 102 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
with its game, she makes her way into our houses and
remains until the hard frosts.
This suits my stay-at-home habits and espiecially my
legs, which are bending under the weight of years. I
need not run after the subjects of my present study; they
call on me. Besides, I have vigilant assistants. The
household knows of my plans. One and all bring me, in
a little screw of paper, the noisy visitor just captured
against the panes.
Thus do I fill my vivarium, which consists of a large,
bell-shaped cage of wire-gauze, standing in an earthen-
ware pan full of sand. A mug containing honey is the
dining-room of the establishment. Here the captives
come to recruit themselves in their hours of leisure. To
occupy their maternal cares, I employ small birds—
Chaffinches, Linnets, Sparro — brought
ws down, in the
enclosure, by my son’s gun.
I have just served up a Linnet shot two days ago. I
next place in the cage a Bluebottle, one only, to avoid
confusion. Her fat belly proclaims the advent of laying-
time. An hour later, when the excitement of being put
in prison is allayed, my captive is in labor. With eager,
jerky steps, she explores the morsel of game, goes from
the head to the tail, returns from the tail to the head,
repeats the action several times and at last settles near
an eye, a dimmed eye sunk into its socket.
The ovipositor bends at a right angle and dives into
the junction of the beak, straight down to’ the root.
Then the eggs are emitted for nearly half an hour. The
layer, utterly absorbed in her serious business, remains
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 103
stationary and impassive and is easily observed through
my lens. A movement on my part would doubtless
scare her; but my restful presence gives her no anxiety.
I am nothing to her.
The discharge does not go on continuously until the
ovaries are exhausted; it is intermittent and performed
in so many packets. Several times over, the Fly leaves
the bird’s beak and comes to take a rest upon the wire-
gauze, where she brushes her hind-legs one against the
other. In particular, before using it again, she cleans,
smooths and polishes her laying-tool, the probe that
g,
places the eggs. Then, feeling her womb still teemin
she returns to the same spot at the joint of the beak.
The delivery is resumed, to cease presently and then be-
ate
gin anew. A couple of hours are thus spent in altern
standing near the eye and resting on the wire-gauze.
At last it is over. The Fly does not go back to the
next
bird, a proof that her ovaries are exhausted. The
nuous
day she is dead. The eggs are dabbed in a conti
of the
layer, at the entrance to the throat, at the root
r
tongue, on the membrane of the palate. Their numbe
is
appears considerable; the whole inside of the gullet
n prop betwe en
white with them. I fix a little woode
the two mandibles of the beak, to keep them open and
enable me to see what happens.
a
I learn in this way that the hatching takes place in
born, the young
couple of days. As soon as they are
are
vermin, a swarming mass, leave the place where they
and disappear down the throat.
The beak of the bird invaded was closed at the start,
 104 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
as far as the natural contact of the mandibles allowe
d.
There remained a narrow slit at the base, suffici
ent at
most to admit the passage of a horse-hair. It was
through this that the laying was performed. Lengthen-
ing her ovipositor like a telescope, the mother insert
ed
the point of her implement, a point slightly harde
ned
with a horny armor. The fineness of the probe equals
the fineness of the aperture. But, if the beak were en-
tirely closed, where would the eggs be laid then?
With a tied thread I keep the two mandibles in abso-
lute contact ; and I place a second Bluebottle in the pres-
ence of the Linnet, whom the colonists have alread
y
entered by the beak. This time the laying takes place
on one of the eyes, between the lid and the eyeball.
At
the hatching, which again occurs a couple of days
later,
the grubs make their way into the fleshy depths
of the
socket. The eyes and the beak, therefore, form
the two
chief entrances into feathered game.
There are others; and these are the wounds.
I cover
the Linnet’s head with a paper hood which will
prevent
invasion through the beak and eyes. I serve
it, under
the wire-gauze bell, to a third egg-layer. The
bird has
been struck by a shot in the breast, but
the sore is not
bleeding: no outer stain marks the injure
d spot. More-
over, I am careful to arrange the feathe
rs, to smooth
them with a hair-pencil, so that the bird looks
quite smart
and has every appearance of being untouched.
The Fly is soon there. She inspects the
Linnet from
end to end; with her front tarsi she
fumbles at the breast
and belly. It is a sort of auscultation by sense of touch.
yeoq S,pllq peop & JO }YS dy} Ul S889 TOY SUIAR] BIWOGeNITg AYL
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 105
The insect becomes aware of what is under the feathers
by the manner in which these react. If scent lends its
assistance, it can only be very slightly, for the game
is not yet high. The wound is soon found. No drop
of blood is near it, for it is closed by a plug of down
rammed into it by the shot. The Fly takes up her posi-
tion without separating the feathers or uncovering the
wound. She remains here for two hours without stir-
ring, motionless, with her abdomen concealed beneath
the plumage. My eager curiosity does not distract her
from her business for a moment.
When she has finished, I take her place. There is
nothing either on the skin or at the mouth of the wound.
I have to withdraw the downy plug and dig to some depth
before discovering the eggs. The ovipositor has there-
fore lengthened its extensible tube and pushed beyond
the feather stopper driven in by the lead. The eggs are
in one packet ;they number about three hundred.
When the beak and eyes are rendered inaccessible,
when the body, moreover, has no wounds, the laying
still takes place, but this time in a hesitating and niggardly
fashion. I pluck the bird completely, the better to watch
what happens; also, I cover the head with a paper hood
to close the usual means of access. For a long time, with
jerky steps, the mother explores the body in every direc-
tion; she takes her stand by preference on the head,
which she sounds by tapping on it with her front tarsi.
She knows that the openings which she needs are there,
under the paper; but she also knows how frail are her
grubs, how powerless to pierce their way through the
 106 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
strange obstacle which stops her as well and interferes
with the work of her ovipositor. The cowl inspires her
with profound distrust. Despite the tempting bait of
the veiled head, not an egg is laid on the wrapper, slight
though it may be.
Weary of vain attempts to compass this obstacle, the
Fly at last decides in favor of other points, but not on
the breast, belly, or back, where the hide would seem too
tough and the light too intrusive. She needs dark hid-
ing-places, corners where the skin is very delicate. The
spots chosen are the cavity of the axilla, corresponding
with our arm-pit, and the crease where the thigh joins
the belly. Eggs are laid in both places, but not many,
showing that the groin and the axilla are adopted only
reluctantly and for lack of a better spot.
With an unplucked bird, also hooded, the same ex-
periment failed: the feathers prevent the Fly from slip-
ping into those deep places. Let us add, in conclusion,
that, on a skinned bird, or simply on a piece of butcher’s
meat, the laying is effected on any part whatever, pro-
vided that it be dark. The gloomiest corners are the
favorite ones.
It follows from all this that, to lay her eggs, the Blue-
bottle picks out either naked wounds or else the mucous
membranes of the mouth or eyes, which are not protected
by a skin of any thickness. She also needs darkness.
The perfect efficiency of the paper bag, which prevents
the inroads of the worms through the eye-sockets or the
beak, suggests a similar experiment with the whole bird.
It is a matter of wrapping the body in a sort of artificial
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 107
skin which will be as discouraging to the Fly as the
natural skin: Linnets, some with deep wounds, others
almost intact, are placed one by one in paper envelopes
similar to those in which the nursery-gardener keeps his
seeds, envelopes just folded, without being stuck. The
paper is quite ordinary and of middling thickness. Torn
pieces of newspaper serve the purpose.
These sheaths with the corpses inside them are freely
exposed to the air, on the table in my study, where they
are visited, according to the time of day, in dense shade
and in bright sunlight. Attracted by the effluvia from
the dead meat, the Bluebottles haunt my laboratory, the
windows of which are always open. I see them daily
alighting on the envelopes and very busily exploring
them, apprised of the contents by the gamy smell. Their
incessant coming and going is a sign of intense cupidity;
and yet none of them decides to lay on the bags. They
do not even attempt to slide their ovipositor through the
slits of the folds. The favorable season passes and not
an egg is laid on the tempting wrappers. All the mothers
abstain, judging the slender obstacle of the paper to be
more than the vermin will be able to overcome.
se
This caution on the Fly’s part does not at all surpri
-
me: motherhood everywhere has great gleams of perspi
cacity. What does astonish me is the following result.
The parcels containing the Linnets are left for a whole
year uncovered on the table; they remain there for a
time
second year anda third. I inspect the contents from
pled
to time. The little birds are intact, with unrum
mummies.
feathers, free from smell, dry and light, like
 108 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
They have become not decomposed, but mummified.
I expected to see them putrefying, running into sanies,
like corpses left to rot in the open air. On the contrary,
the birds have dried and hardened, without undergoing
any change. What did they want for their putrefaction?
Simply the intervention of the Fly. The maggot, there-
fore, is the primary cause of dissolution after death; it
is, above all, the putrefactive chemist.
A conclusion not devoid of value may be drawn from
my paper game-bags. In our markets, especially in those
of the South, the game is hung unprotected from the
hooks on the stalls. Larks strung up by the dozen with
a wire through their nostrils, Thrushes, Plovers, Teal,
Partridges, Snipe, in short, all the glories of the spit
which the autumn migration brings us, remain for days
and weeks at the mercy of the Flies. The buyer allows
himself to be tempted by a goodly exterior ;he makes his
purchase and, back at home, just when the bird is being
prepared for roasting, he discovers that the promised
dainty is alive with worms. O horror! There is
nothing for it but to throw the loathsome, verminous
thing away.
The Bluebottle is the culprit here. Everybody knows
it and nobody thinks seriously of shaking off her tyranny:
not the retailer, nor the wholesale dealer, nor the killer
of the game. What is wanted to keep the maggots out?
Hardly anything: to slip each bird into a paper sheath.
If this precaution were taken at the start, before the Flies
arrive, any game would be safe and could be left indefi-
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 109
nitely to attain the degree of ripeness required by the
epicure’s palate.
Stuffed with olives and myrtleberries, the Corsican
Blackbirds are exquisite eating. We sometimes receive
them at Orange, layers of them, packed in baskets through
which the air circulates freely and each contained in a
paper wrapper. They are in a state of perfect preserva-
tion, complying with the most exacting demands of the
kitchen. I congratulate the nameless shipper who con-
ceived the bright idea of clothing his Blackbirds in paper.
Will his example find imitators? I doubt it.
There is, of course, a serious objection to this method
of preservation. In its paper shroud, the article is in-
visible ;it is not enticing; it does not inform the passer-by
of its nature and qualities. There is one resource left
which would leave the bird uncovered: simply to case the
head ina paper cap. The head being the part most men-
aced, because of the mucous membrane of the throat and
eyes, it would be enough, as a rule, to protect the head,
in order to keep off the Flies and thwart their attempts.
Let us continue to study the Bluebottle, while varying
our means of information. A tin, about four inches
deep, contains a piece of butcher’s meat. The lid is not
put in quite straight and leaves a narrow slit at one point
of its circumference, allowing, at most, of the passage of
a fine needle. When the bait begins to give off a gamy
scent, the mothers come, singly or in numbers. They
are attracted by the odor which, transmitted through a
thin crevice, hardly reaches my nostrils.
 110 ‘THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
They explore the metal receptacle for some time, seek-
ing an entrance. Finding naught that enables them to
reach the coveted morsel, they decide to lay their eggs
on the tin, just beside the aperture. Sometimes, when
the width of the passage allows of it, they insert the
ovipositor into the tin and lay the eggs inside, on the
very edge of the slit. Whether outside or in, the eggs
are dabbed down in a fairly regular and absolutely white
layer.
We have seen the Bluebottle refusing to lay her eggs
on the paper bag, notwithstanding the carrion fumes of
the Linnet enclosed ;yet now, without hesitation, she lays
them on a sheet of metal. Can the nature of the floor
make any difference to her? I replace the tin lid
by a
paper cover stretched and pasted over the orifice. With
the point of my knife I make a narrow slit in this new
lid. That is quite enough: the parent accepts the
paper.
What determined her, therefore, is not simply the
smell, which can easily be perceived even through the un-
cut paper, but, above all, the crevice, which
will provide
an entrance for the vermin, hatched outside,
near the
narrow passage. The maggots’ mother has
her own
logic, her prudent foresight. She knows Row feeble
her
wee grubs will be, how powerless to cut their way
through
an obstacle of any resistance ; and so, despit
e the tempta-
tion of the smell, she refrains from laying
, so long as
she finds no entrance through which the new-b
orn worms
can slip unaided.
I wanted to know whether the color, the
shininess, the
degree of hardness and other qualities
of the obstacle
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 111

would influence the decision of a mother obliged to lay

her eggs under exceptional conditions. With this object
in view, I employed small jars, each baited with a bit of
- butcher’s meat. The respective lids were made of dif-
ferent-colored paper, of oil-skin, or of some of that tin-
foil, with its gold or coppery sheen, which is used for
sealing liqueur-bottles. On not one of these covers did
the mothers stop, with any desire to deposit their eggs;
but, from the moment that the knife had made the narrow
slit, all the lids were, sooner or later, visited and all,
sooner or later, received the white shower somewhere
near the gash. The look of the obstacle, therefore, does
not count; dull or brilliant, drab or colored: these are
details of no importance; the thing that matters is that
there should be a passage to allow the grubs to enter.
Though hatched outside, at a distance from the coveted
morsel, the new-born worms are well able to find their
refectory. As they release themselves from the egg,
without hesitation, so accurate is their scent, they slip
beneath the edge of the ill-joined lid, or through the pass-
age cut by the knife. Behold them entering upon their
promised land, their reeking paradise.
Eager to arrive, do they drop from the top of the wall?
Not they! Slowly creeping, they make their way down
the side of the jar; they use their fore-part, ever in quest
of information, as a crutch and grapnel in one. They
reach the meat and at once install themselves upon it.
Let us continue our investigation, varying the condi-
tions. A large test-tube, measuring nine inches high, is
baited at the bottom with a lump of butcher’s meat. It
 112 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
is closed with wire-gauze, whose meshes, two millimeters 1
wide, do not permit of the Fly’s passage. The’ Blue-
bottle comes to my apparatus, guided by scent rather than
sight. She hastens to the test-tube, whose contents are
veiled under an opaque cover, with the same alacrity as to
the open tube. The invisible attracts her quite as much
as the visible.
She stays awhile on the lattice of the mouth, inspects
it attentively; but, whether because circumstances failed
to serve me, or because the wire network inspired her
with distrust, I never saw her dab her eggs upon it for
certain. As her evidence was doubtful, I had recourse
to the Flesh-fly (Sarcophaga carnaria).
This Fly is less finicking in her preparations, she has
more faith in the strength of her worms, which are born
ready-formed and vigorous, and easily shows me what
I wish to see. She explores the trellis-work, chooses a
mesh through which she inserts the tip of her abdomen,
and, undisturbed by my presence, emits, one after the
other, a certain number of grubs, about ten or so. True,
her visits will be repeated, increasing the family at a rate
of which I am ignorant.
The new-born worms, thanks to a slight viscidity,
cling for a moment to the Wire-gauze; they swarm,
wriggle, release themselves and leap into the chasm. It
is a nine-inch drop at least. When this is done, the
mother makes off, knowing for a certainty that her off-
spring will shift for themselves. If they fall on the
1.078 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 THE BLUEBOTTLE ei}
meat, well and good; if they fall elsewhere, they can
reach the morsel by crawling.
This confidence in the unknown factor of the precipice,
with no indication but that of smell, deserves fuller in-
vestigation. From what height will the Flesh-fly dare to
let her children drop? I top the test-tube with another
tube, the width of the neck of a claret-bottle. The
mouth is closed either with wire-gauze or with a paper
cover with a slight cut in it. Altogether, the apparatus
measures twenty-five inches in height. No matter: the
fall is not serious for the lithe backs of the young grubs;
and, in a few days, the test-tube is filled with larve, in
which it is easy to recognize the Flesh-fly’s family by
the fringed coronet that opens and shuts at the maggot’s
stern like the petals of a little flower. I did not see
the mother operating: I was not there at the time; but
there is no doubt possible of her coming, nor of the great
dive taken by the family: the contents of the test-tube
furnish me with a duly authenticated certificate.
I admire the leap and, to obtain one better still, I
replace the tube by another, so that the apparatus now
stands forty-six inches high. The column is erected at
a spot frequented by Flies, in a dim light. Its mouth,
closed with a wire-gauze cover, reaches the level of vari-
ous other appliances, test-tubes, and jars, which are al-
ready stocked or awaiting their colony of vermin. When
the position is well known to the Flies, I reinove the other
tubes and leave the column, lest the visitors should turn
aside to easier ground.
 114 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
From time to time the Bluebottle and the Flesh-fly
perch on the trellis-work, make a short investigation, and
then decamp. Throughout the summer season, for three
whole months, the apparatus remains where it is, without
result: never a worm. What is the reason? Does the
stench of the meat not spread, coming from that depth?
Certainly it spreads: it is unmistakable to my dulled nos-
trils and still more so to the nostrils of my children, whom
I call to bear witness. Then why does the Flesh-fly, who
but now was dropping her grubs from a goodly height,
refuse to let them fall from the top of the column twice
.as high? Does she fear lest her worms should be bruised
by an excessive drop? There is nothing about her to
point to anxiety aroused by the length of the shaft. I
never see her explore the tube or take its size. She
stands on the trellised orifice; and there the matter
ends.
Can she be apprised of the depth of the chasm by the com-
parative faintness of the offensive odors that arise from
it? Can the sense of smell measure the distance and
judge whether it be acceptable or not? Perhaps.
The fact remains that, despite the attraction of the
scent, the Flesh-fly does not expose her worms
to dis-
proportionate falls. Can she know beforehand that,
when the chrysalids break, her winged family,
knocking
with a sudden flight against the sides of a tall
chimney,
will be unable to get out? This foresight would
be in
agreement with the rules which order matern
al instinct
according to future needs.
But, when the fall does not exceed a certa
in depth,
the budding worms of the Flesh-fly are dropped witho
ut
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 115
a qualm, as all our experiments show. This principle
has a practical application which is not without its value
in matters of domestic economy. It is as well that the
wonders of entomology should sometimes give us a hint
of commonplace utility.
The usual meat-safe is a sort of large cage with a top
and bottom of wood and four wire-gauze sides. Hooks
fixed into the top are used whereby to hang pieces which
we wish to protect from the Flies. Often, so as to em-
ploy the space to the best advantage, these pieces are
simply laid on the floor of the cage. With these ar-
rangements, are we sure of warding off the Fly and her
vermin?
Not at all. We may protect ourselves against the
Bluebottle, who is not much inclined to lay her eggs at
a distance from the meat; but there is still the Flesh-fly,
who is more venturesome and goes more briskly to work
and who will slip the grubs through a hole in the meshes
and drop them inside the safe. Agile as they are and
g
well able to crawl, the worms will easily reach anythin
on the floor; the only things secure from their attacks will
be the pieces hanging from the ceiling. It is not in the
if this
nature of maggots to explore the heights, especially
implies climbing down a string in addition .
People also use wire-gauze dish-covers. The trellised
meat-
dome protects the contents even less than does the
drop
safe. The Flesh-fly takes no heed of it. She can
her worms through the meshes on the covere d joint.
r.
Then what are we to do? Nothing could be simple
to preser ve
We need only wrap the birds which we wish
 116 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
— Thrushes, Partridges, Snipe and so on —in separate
paper envelopes; and the same with our beef and mutton.
This defensive armor alone while leaving ample room for
the air to circulate, makes any invasion by the worms im-
possible, even without a cover or a meat-safe: not that
paper possesses any special preservative virtues, but solely
because it forms an impenetrable barrier. The Blue-
bottle carefully refrains from laying her eggs upon it and
the Flesh-fly from bringing forth her offspring, both of
them knowing that their new-born young are incapable of
piercing the obstacle.
Paper is equally successful in our strife against the
Moths, those plagues of our furs and clothes. To keep
away these wholesale ravagers, people generally use cam-
phor, naphthalene, tobacco, bunches of lavender, and
other strong-scented remedies. Without wishing to ma-
lign those preservatives, we are bound to admit that the
means employed are none too effective. The smell does
very little to prevent the havoc of the Moths.
I would therefore advise our housewives, instead
of all
this chemist’s stuff, to use newspapers of a suitable shape
and size. Take whatever you wish to protect — your
furs, your flannel, or your clothes — and pack each article
carefully in a newspaper, joining the edges with a double
fold, well pinned. If this joining is properly done, the ©
Moth will never get inside. Since my advice has been
taken and this method employed in my household, the
old damage has no longer been repeated. |
To return to the Fly. A piece of meat is hidden in a
jar under a layer of fine, dry sand, a finger’s-breadth
 THE BLUEBOTTLE 117
thick. The jar has a wide mouth and is left quite open.
Let whoso come that will, attracted by the smell. The
Bluebottles are not long in inspecting what I have pre-
pared for them: they enter the jar, go out and come back
again, inquiring into the invisible thing revealed by its
fragrance. A diligent watch enables me to see them
fussing about, exploring the sandy expanse, tapping it
with their feet, sounding it with their proboscis. I leave
the visitors undisturbed for a fortnight or three weeks.
None of them lays any eggs.
This is a repetition of what the paper bag, with its
dead bird, showed me. The Flies refuse to lay on the
sand, apparently for the same reasons. The paper was
considered an obstacle which the frail vermin would not
be able to overcome. With sand, the case is worse.
Its grittiness would hurt the new-born weaklings, its dry-
ness would absorb the moisture indispensable to their
movements. Later, when preparing for the metamor-
phosis, when their strength has come to them, the grubs
will dig the earth quite well and be able to descend; but,
at the start, that would be very dangerous for them.
Knowing these difficulties, the mothers, however greatly
tempted by the smell, abstain from breeding. As a
matter of fact, after long waiting, fearing lest some
packets of eggs may have escaped my attention, I inspect
the contents of the jar from top to bottom. Meat and
sand contain neither larvee nor pup: the whole is abso-
lutely deserted.
The layer of sand being only a finger’s-breadth thick,
this experiment requires certain precautions. The meat
118 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
may expand a little, in going bad, and protrude in one
or two places. However small the fleshy eyots that show
above the surface, the Flies come to them and breed.
Sometimes also the juices oozing from the putrid meat
soak a small extent of the sandy floor. That is enough
for the maggot’s first establishment. These causes of
failure are avoided with a layer of sand about an inch
thick. Then the Bluebottle, the Flesh-fly, and other Flies
whose grubs batten on dead bodies are kept at a distance.
In the hope of awakening us to a proper sense of our
insignificance, pulpit orators sometimes make an unfair
use of the grave and its worms. Let us put no faith
in their doleful rhetoric. The chemistry of man’s final
dissolution is eloquent enough of our emptiness: there is
no need to add imaginary horrors. The worm of the
sepulcher is an invention of cantankerous minds, incapa-
ble of seeing things as they are. Covered by but a few
inches of earth, the dead can sleep their quiet sleep: no
Fly will ever come to take advantage of them.
At the surface of the soil, exposed to the air, the
hideous invasion is possible; aye, it is the invariable rule.
For the melting down and remolding of matter, man is
no better, corpse for corpse, than the lowest of the brutes.
Then the Fly exercises her rights and deals with us as
she does with any ordinary animal refuse. Nature treats
us with magnificent indifference in her great regenerating
factory: placed in her crucibles, animals and men,
beggars
and kings are one and all alike. There you have true
equality, the only equality in this world of ours: equali
ty
in the presence of the maggot.
 CHAPTER -VIIE
THE PINE PROCESSIONARY
Drover Dincponc’s Sheep followed the Ram which
Panurge had maliciously thrown overboard and leapt
nimbly into the sea, one after the other, “ for you know,”
says Rabelais, “it is the nature of the sheep always to
follow the first, wheresoever it goes.”
The Pine Caterpillar is even more sheeplike, not from
foolishness, but from necessity: where the first goes all
the others go, in a regular string, with not an empty space
between them.
They proceed in single file, in a continuous row, each
touching with its head the rear of the one in front of
it. The complex twists and turns described in his
vagaries by the caterpillar leading the van are scrupu-
lously described by all the others. No Greek theoria
winding its way to the Eleusinian festivals was ever more
orderly. Hence the name of Processionary given to the
gnawer of the pine.
His character is complete when we add that he is a
rope-dancer all his life long: he walks only on the tight-
rope, a silken rail placed in position as he advances.
The caterpillar who chances to be at the head of the pro-
cession dribbles his thread without ceasing and fixes it on
the path’ which his fickle preferences cause him to take.
The thread is so tiny that the eye, though armed with a
magnifying-glass, suspects it rather than sees it.
119
120 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
But a second caterpillar steps on the slender foot-
board and doubles it with his thread; a third trebles it;
and all the others, however many there be, add the sticky
spray from their spinnerets, so much so that, when the
procession has marched by, there remains, as a record of
its passing, a narrow white ribbon whose dazzling white-
ness shimmers in the sun. Very much more sumptuous
than ours, their system of road-making consists in up-
holstering with silk instead of macadamizing. We
sprinkle our roads with broken stones and level them by
the pressure of a heavy steam-roller; they lay over their
paths a soft satin rail, a work of general interest to which
each contributes his thread.
What is the use of all this luxury? Could they not,
like other caterpillars, walk about without these costly
preparations? I see two reasons for their mode of pro-
gression. It is night when the Processionaries sally forth
to browse upon the pine-leaves. They leave their nest,
situated at the top of a bough, in profound darkness;
they go down the denuded pole till they come to the
nearest branch that has not yet been gnawed, a branch
which becomes lower and lower by degrees as the con-
sumers finish stripping the upper stories; they climb up
this untouched branch and spread over the green needles.
When they have had their suppers and begin to feel
the keen night air, the next thing is to return to the
shelter of the house. Measured in a straight line, the
distance is not great, hardly an arm’s length; but it can-
not be covered in this way on foot. The caterpillars have
to climb down from one crossing to the next, from the
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 121

needle to the twig, from the twig to the branch, from the
branch to the bough and from the bough, by a no less
angular path, to go back home. It is useless to rely
upon sight as a guide on this long and erratic journey.
The Processionary, it is true, has five ocular specks on
either side of his head, but they are so infinitesimal, so
difficult to make out through the magnifying-glass, that
we cannot attribute to them any great power of vision.
Besides, what good would those short-sighted lenses be
in the absence of light, in black darkness?
It is equally useless to think of the sense of smell.
Has the Processional any olfactory powers or has he
not? Idonotknow. Without giving a positive answer
of
to the question, I can at least declare that his sense
smell is exceedingly dull and in no way suited to help
him find his way. This is proved, in my experiments,
by a number of hungry caterpillars that, after a long
fast, pass close beside a pine-branch without betraying
is the
any eagerness or showing a sign of stopping. It
long
sense of touch that tells them where they are. So
as their lips do not chance to light upon the pasture -land,
s.
not one of them settles there, though he be ravenou
scented from
They do not hasten to food which they have
on their
afar; they stop at a branch which they encounter
way.
sight and smell, what remains to guide
Apart from
on
them in returning to their nest? The ribbon spun
the road. In the Cretan labyrinth, Theseus would have
ne
been lost but for the clue of thread with which Ariad
es
supplied him. The spreading maze of the pine-needl
 122 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
is, especially at night, as inextricable a labyrinth as that
constructed for Minos. The Processionary finds his way
through it, without the possibility of a mistake, by the aid
of his bit of silk. At the time for going home, each
easily recovers either his own thread or one or other of
the neighboring threads, spread fanwise by the diverging
herd; one by one the scattered tribe line up on the com-
mon ribbon, which started from the nest; and the sated
caravan finds its way back to the manor with absolute
certainty.
Longer expeditions are made in the daytime, even in
winter, if the weather be fine. Our caterpillars then
come down from the tree, venture on the ground, march
in procession for a distance of thirty yards or so.
The
object of these sallies is not to look for food,
for
the native pine-tree is far from being exhausted:
the
shorn branches hardly count amid the vast
leafage.
Moreover, the caterpillars observe complete abstinence
till nightfall. The trippers have no other object than
a constitutional, a pilgrimage to the outskirts
to see what
these are like, possibly an inspection of the
locality where,
later on, they mean to bury themselves
in thé sand for
their metamorphosis,
It goes without Saying that, in these
greater evolu-
tions, the guiding cord is not neglected.
It is now more
necessary than ever. All contribute to it from
the pro-
duce of their spinnerets, as is the
invariable rule when-
ever there is a progression. Not one takes a step for-
ward without fixing to the path the
thread from his lips.
If the series forming the procession
be at all long, the
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 123
to find ;
ribbon is dilated sufficiently to make it easy
it is not picked
nevertheless, on the homeward journey,
up without some hesitation. For observe that the cater-
pillars when on the march never turn completely; to
d utterly un-
wheel round on their tight-rope is a metho
n the road
known to them. In order therefore to regai
ag whose
already covered, they have to describe a zig-z
the leader’s
windings and extent are determined by
which are
fancy. Hence come gropings and roamings
ng the herd to
sometimes prolonged to the point of causi
a serious matter.
spend the night out of doors. It is not
To-morrow the
They collect into a motionless cluster.
or later be suc-
search will start afresh and will sooner
meets the guide-
cessful. Oftener still the winding curve
as the first cater-
thread at the first attempt. As soon
hesitation ceases;
pillar has the rail between his legs, all
hurried steps.
and the band makes for the nest with
is evident from
The use of this silk-tapestried roadway
himself against the
a second point of view. To protect
face when work-
severity of the winter which he has to
elf a shelter in
ing, the Pine Caterpillar weaves hims
of enforced idle-
which he spends his bad hours, his days
er resources of his
ness. Alone, with none but the meag
in protecting him-
silk-glands, he would find no difficulty
by the winds. A
self on the top of a branch buffeted
snow, gales and icy
substantial dwelling, proof against
a large number. Out
fogs, requires the codperation of
the community obtains
of the individual’s piled-up atoms,
a spacious and durable establishment.
complete. Every
The enterprise takes a long time to
 124 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
evening, when the weather permits, the building has to
be strengthened and enlarged. It is indispensable,
there-
fore, that the corporation of workers
should not be dis-
solved while the stormy season continues and
the insects
are still in the caterpillar stage. But, without
special
arrangements, each nocturnal expedition at grazing-time
would be a cause of separation. At that
moment of
appetite for food there is a return to individualis
m. The
caterpillars become more or less scattered,
settling singly
on the branches around; each browses
his pine-needle
separately. How are they to find one anothe
r afterwards
and become a community again?
The several threads left on the road
make this easy.
With that guide, every caterpillar, however
far he may be,
comes back to his companions without
ever missing the
way. They come hurrying from a host
of twigs, from
here, from there, from above, from
below; and soon the
scattered legion reforms into a group.
The silk thread
is something more than a toad-mak
ing expedient: it is
the social bond, the system that keep
s the members of
the brotherhood indissolubly united.
At the head of every procession, long
or short, goes a
first caterpillar whom TI will call the
leader of the march
or file, though the word leader, whic
h I use for the want
of a better, is a little out of place here
. Nothing, in fact,
distinguishes this caterpillar from
the others: it just de-
pends upon the order in which they
happen to line up;
and mere chance brings him to the
front. Among the
Processionaries, every captain is an
officer of fortune.
The actual leader leads: presently he
will be a subaltern,
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 125
if the line should break up in consequence of some ac-
cident and be formed anew in a different order.
His temporary functions give him an attitude of his
own. While the others follow passively in a close file,
he, the captain, tosses himself about and with an abrupt
movement flings the front of his body hither and thither.
As he marches ahead he seems to be seeking his way.
Does he in point of fact explore the country? Does he
choose the most practicable places? Or are his hesita-
tions merely the result of the absence of a guiding thread
on ground that has not yet been covered? His subordi-
nates follow very placidly, reassured by the cord which
they hold between their legs; he, deprived of that support,
is uneasy.
Why cannot I read what passes under his black, shiny
skull, so like a drop of tar to look at? To judge by
actions, there is here a modicum of discernment which
is able, after experimenting, to recognize excessive rough-
nesses, over-slippery surfaces, dusty places that offer no
resistance and, above all, the threads left by other ex-
cursionists. This is all or nearly all that my long ac-
quaintance with the Processionaries has taught me as to
their mentality.. Poor brains, indeed; poor creatures,
whose commonwealth has its safety hanging upon a
thread!
The processions vary greatly in length. The finest
that I have seen manceuvering on the ground measured
twelve or thirteen yards and numbered about three hun-
dred caterpillars, drawn up with absolute precision in a
wavy line. But, if there were only two in a row the
 126 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
order would still be perfect: the second touches and fol-
lows the first. et
By February I have processions of all lengths in the
greenhouse. What tricks can I play upon them? I see
only two: to do away with the leader; and to cut the
thread.
The suppression of the leader of the file produces
nothing striking. If the thing is done without creating
a disturbance, the procession does not alter its ways at
all. The second caterpillar, promoted to captain, knows
the duties of his rank off-hand: he selects and leads, or
rather he hesitates and gropes.
The breaking of the silk ribbon is not very important
either. I remove a caterpillar from the middle of the
file. With my scissors, so as not to cause a commotion
in the ranks, I cut the piece of ribbon on which he stood
and clear away every thread of it. Asa result of this
breach, the procession acquires two marching leaders,
each independent of the other. It may be that the one
in the rear joins the file ahead of him, from which he
is separated by but a slender interval ;in that case, things
return to their original condition. More frequently, the
two parts do not become reunited. In that case, we have
two distinct processions, each of which wanders where it
pleases and diverges from the other. Nevertheless, both
will be able to return to the nest by discovering sooner
or later, in the course of their peregrinations, the ribbon
on the other side of the break. |
These two experiments are only moderately interest-
ing. I have thought out another, one more fertile in
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 127
possibilities. I purpose to make the caterpillars describe
a close circuit, after the ribbons running from it and
liable to bring about a change of direction have been
destroyed. The locomotive engine pursues its invariable
course so long as it is not shunted on to a branch-line.
If the Processionaries find the silken rail always clear in
front of them, with no switches anywhere, will they con-
tinue on the same track, will they persist in following
a road that never comes to an end? What we have to
do is to produce this circuit, which is unknown under
ordinary conditions, by artificial means.
The first idea that suggests itself is to seize with the
forceps the silk ribbon at the back of the train, to bend
it without shaking it and to bring the end of it ahead of
the file. If the caterpillar marching in the van steps upon
it, the thing is done: the others will follow him faithfully.
The operation is very simple in theory but most difficult
in practice and produces no useful results. The ribbon,
which is extremely slight, breaks under the weight of the
grains of sand that stick to it and are lifted with it. If
it does not break, the caterpillars at the back, however
delicately we may go to work, feel a disturbance which
makes them curl up or even let go.
There is a yet greater difficulty: the leader refuses the
ribbon laid before him; the cut end makes him distrust-
ful. Failing to see the regular, uninterrupted road, he
slants off to the right or left, he escapes at a tangent. 13
I try to interfere and to bring him back to the path of
my choosing, he persists in his refusal, shrivels up, does
not budge; and soon the whole procession is in confusion.
128. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
We will not insist: the method is a poor one, very waste-
ful of effort for, at best, a problematical success.
We ought to interfere as little as possible and obtain
a natural closed circuit. Can it be done? Yes. It
lies in our power, without the least meddling, to see a
procession march along a perfect circular track. I owe
this result, which is eminently deserving of our attention,
to pure chance. ~
On the shelf with the layer of sand in which the nests
are planted stand some big palm-vases measuring nearly
a yard and a half in circumference at the top. The cater-
pillars often scale the sides and climb up to the mold-
ing which forms a cornice around the opening. This
place suits them for their processions, perhaps because
of the absolute firmness of the surface, where there is
no fear of landslides, as on the loose, sandy soil below;
and also, perhaps, because of the horizontal position,
which is favorable to repose after the fatigue of the
ascent. It provides me with a circular track all ready-
made. I have nothing to do but wait for an occasion
propitious to my plans. This occasion is not long in
coming.
On the 30th of January, 1896, a little before twelve
o'clock in the day, I discover a numerous troop making
their way up and gradually reaching the popular cornice.
Slowly, in single file, the caterpillars climb the great
vase, mount the ledge and advance in regular procession,
while others are constantly arriving and continuing the
series. I wait for the string to close up, that is to say,
for the leader, who keeps following the circular mold-
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 129
ing, to return to the point from which he started. My
object is achieved in a quarter of an hour. The closed
circuit is realized magnificently, in something very nearly
approaching a circle.
The next thing is to get rid of the rest of the ascend-
ing column, which would disturb the fine order of the
procession by an excess of newcomers; it is also impor-
tant that we should do away with all the silken paths,
both new and old, that can put the cornice into communi-
cation with the ground. With a thick hair-pencil I sweep
away the surplus climbers; with a big brush, one that
leaves no smell behind it— for this might afterwards
prove confusing —I carefully rub down the vase and
get rid of every thread which the caterpillars have laid
on the march. When these preparations are finished, a
curious sight awaits us.
In the uninterrupted circular procession there is no
longer a leader. Each caterpillar is preceded by another
on whose heels he follows guided by the silk track, the
work of the whole party; he again has a companion
close behind him, following him in the same orderly
way. And this is repeated without variation throughout
the length of the chain. None commands, or rather
none modifies the trail according to his fancy; all obey,
trusting in the guide who ought normally to lead the
march and who in reality has been abolished by my
trickery.
From the first circuit of the edge of the tub the rail
of silk has been laid in position and is soon turned into
a narrow ribbon by the procession, which never ceases
 130 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
dribbling its thread as it goes. The rail is simply
doubled and has no branches anywhere, for my brush
has destroyed them all. What will the caterpillars do
on this deceptive, closed path? Will they walk endlessly
round and round until their strength finally gives out
entirely?
The old schoolmen were fond of quoting Buridan’s
Ass, that famous Donkey who, when placed between two
bundles of hay, starved to death because he was unable
to decide in favor of either by breaking the equilibrium
between two equal but opposite attractions. They slan-
dered the worthy animal. The Ass, who is no more
foolish than any one else, would reply to the logical snare
by feasting off both bundles. Will my caterpillars show
a little of their mother wit? Will they, after many at-
tempts, be able to break the equilibrium of their closed
circuit, which keeps them on a road without a turning?
Will they make up their minds to swerve to this side
or
that, which is the only method of reaching their
bundle
of hay, the green branch yonder, quite near,
not two
feet off?
I thought that they would and I was wrong
. I said
to myself:
“The procession will go on turning
for some time,
for an hour, two hours, perhaps;
then the caterpillars
will perceive their mistake. They will
abandon the de-
ceptive road and make their descent some
where or other.”
That they should remain up there, hard
pressed by
hunger and the lack of cover, when
nothing prevented
them from going away, seemed to me inco
nceivable im-
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 131
becility. Facts, however, forced me to accept the in-
credible. Let us describe them in detail.
The circular procession begins, as I have said, on the
3zoth of January, about midday, in splendid weather.
The caterpillars march at an even pace, each touching
the stern of the one in front of him. The unbroken
chain eliminates the leader with his changes of direction;
and all follow mechanically, as faithful to their circle as
are the hands of a watch. The headless file has no
liberty left, no will; it has become mere clockwork. And
this continues for hours and hours. My success goes
far beyond my wildest suspicions. I stand amazed at it,
or rather I am stupefied.
Meanwhile, the multiplied circuits change the original
rail into a superb ribbon a twelfth of ah inch broad. I
can easily see it glittering on the red ground of the pot.
The day is drawing to a close and no alteration has yet
taken place in the position of the trail. A striking proof
confirms this.
The trajectory is not a plane curve, but one which, at
a certain point, deviates and goes down a little way to
the lower surface of the cornice, returning to the top
some eight inches farther. I marked these two points of
deviation in pencil on the vase at the outset. Well, all
that afternoon and, more conclusive still, on the follow-
ing days, right to the end of this mad dance, I see the
string of caterpillars dip under the ledge at the first point
and come to the top again at the second. Once the first
thread is laid, the road to be pursued is permanently
established.
 132. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
If the road does not vary, the speed does. I measure
nine centimeters 1 a minute as the average distance cov-
ered. But there are more or less lengthy halts; the
pace slackens at times, especially when the temperature
falls. At ten o’clock in the evening the walk is little
more than a lazy swaying of the body. I foresee an
early halt, in consequence of the cold, of fatigue and
doubtless also of hunger.
Grazing-time has arrived. The caterpillars have come
crowding from all the nests in the greenhouse to browse
upon the pine-branches planted by myself beside the
silken purses. Those in the garden do the same, for
the temperature is mild. The others, lined up along the
earthenware cornice, would gladly take part in the feast;
they are bound to have an appetite after a ten hours’
walk. The branch stands green and tempting not a
hand’s-breadth away. To reach it they need but go
down; and the poor wretches, foolish slaves of their
ribbon that they are, cannot make up their minds to do
so. I leave the famished ones at half-past ten, persuaded
that they will take counsel with their pillow and that on
the morrow things will have resumed their ordinary
course. ’
I was wrong I was expecting too much of them
when I accorded them that faint gleam of intelligence
which the tribulations of a distressful stomach
ought, one
would think, to have aroused. I visit them at dawn.
They are lined up as on the day before, but motionless.
When the air grows a little warmer, they shake off their
13% inches.— Translator’s Note.
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 133
torpor, revive and start walking again. The circular
procession begins anew, like that which I have already
seen. There is nothing more and nothing less to be
noted in their machine-like obstinacy.
This time it is a bitter night. A cold snap has super-
vened, was indeed foretold in the evening by the garden
caterpillars, who refused to come out despite appearances
which to my duller senses seemed to promise a continu-
ation of the fine weather. At daybreak the rosemary-
walks are all asparkle with rime and for the second time
this year there is a sharp frost. The large pond in the
garden is frozen over. What can the caterpillars in the
conservatory be doing? Let us go and see.
All are ensconced in their nests, except the stubborn
processionists on the edge of the vase, who, deprived
—
of shelter as they are, seem to have spent a very bad
t any
night. I find them clustered in two heaps, withou
the
attempts at order. They have suffered less from
cold, thus huddled together.
"Tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good. The
into
severity of the night has caused the ring to break
chance of
two segments which will, perhaps, afford a
Each group, as it survives and resume s its walk,
safety.
not being
will presently be headed by a leader who,
obliged to follow a caterpillar in front of him, will
be able
possess some liberty of movement and perhaps
ber
to make the procession swerve to one side. Remem
walking
that, in the ordinary processions, the caterpillar
if nothing
ahead acts as a scout. While the others,
their ranks, he at-
occurs to create excitement, keep to
 134 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
tends to his duties as a leader and is continually turning
his head to this side and that, investigating, seeking,
groping, making his choice. And things happen as he
decides: the band follows him faithfully. Remember
also that, even on a road which has already been traveled
and beribboned, the guiding caterpillar continues to ex-
plore.
There is reason to believe that the Processionaries
who have lost their way on the ledge will find a chance
of safety here. Let us watch them. On recovering
from their torpor, the two groups line up by degrees into
two distinct files. There are therefore two leaders, free
to go where they please, independent of each other.
Will they succeed in leaving the enchanted circle? At
the sight of their large black heads swaying anxiously
from side to side, I am inclined to think so for a moment.
But I am soon undeceived. As the ranks fill out, the
two sections of the chain meet and the circle is reconsti-
tuted. The momentary leaders once more become simple
subordinates ; and again the caterpillars march round
and
round all day.
For the second time in succession, the
night, which
is very calm and magnificently starry, brings
a hard frost.
In the morning the Processionaries on the
tub, the only
ones who have camped unsheltered, are gathe
red into a
heap which largely overflows both sides
of the fatal
ribbon. I am present at the awakening
of the numbed
ones. ‘The first to take the road is, as luck
will have it,
outside the track. Hesitatingly he ventures into un-
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 135
known ground. He reaches the top of the rim and de-
scends upon the other side of the earth in the vase. He
is followed by six others, no more. Perhaps the rest of
the troop, who have not fully recovered from their noc-
turnal torpor, are too lazy to bestir themselves.
_ The result of this brief delay is a return to the old
track. The caterpillars embark on the silken trail and
the circular march is resumed, this time in the form of
a ring with a gap init. There is no attempt, however,
to strike a new course on the part of the guide whom this
gap has placed at the head. A chance of stepping out-
side the magic circle has presented itself at last; and he
does not know how to avail himself of it.
As for the caterpillars who have made their way to the
inside of the vase, their lot is hardly improved. They
climb to the top of the palm, starving and seeking for
food. Finding nothing to eat that suits them, they re-
trace their steps by following the thread which they have
left on the way, climb the ledge of the pot, strike the
procession again and, without further anxiety, slip back
into the ranks. Once more the ring is complete, once
more the circle turns and turns.
Then when will the deliverance come? There is a
legend that tells of poor souls dragged along in an endless
round until the hellish charm is broken by a drop of
holy water. What drop will good fortune sprinkle on
my Processionaries to dissolve their circle and bring them
back to the nest? I see only two means of conjuring
These
the spell and obtaining a release from the circuit.
 136 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
two means are two painful ordeals. A strange linking
of cause and effect: from sorrow and wretchedness good
is to come.
And, first, shriveling as the result of cold, the cater-
pillars gather together without any order, heap them-
selves some on the path, some, more numerous these,
outside it. Among the latter there may be, sooner or
later, some revolutionary who, scorning the beaten track,
will trace out a new road and lead the troop back home.
We have just seen an instance of it. Seven penetrated
to the interior of the vase and climbed the palm. True,
it was an attempt with no result but still an attempt.
For complete success, all that need be done would have
been to take the opposite slope. An even chance is a
great thing. Another time we shall be more successful.
In the second place, the exhaustion due to fatigue and
hunger. A lame one stops, unable to go farther. In
front of the defaulter the procession still continues to
wend its way for a short time. The ranks close up and
an empty space appears. On coming to himself and re-
suming the march, the caterpillar who has caused the
breach becomes a leader, having nothing before him.
The least desire for emancipation is all that he wants to
make him launch the band into a new path which perhaps
will be the saving path.
In short, when the Processionaries’ train is in difficu
l-
ties, what it needs, unlike ours, is to run off
the rails.
The side-tracking is left to the caprice of a leader
who
alone is capable of turning to the right or left;
and this
leader is absolutely non-existent so long as the ring
re-
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 137
mains unbroken. Lastly, the breaking of the circle, the
one stroke of luck, is the result of a chaotic halt, caused
principally by excess of fatigue or cold. .
The liberating accident, especially that of fatigue,
occurs fairly often. In the course of the same day, the
moving circumference is cut up several times into two or
three sections; but continuity soon returns and no change
takes place. Things go on just the same. The bold in-
novator who is to save the situation has not yet had his
inspiration.
There is nothing new on the fourth day, after an icy
night like the previous one; nothing to tell except the
following detail. Yesterday I did not remove the trace
left by the few caterpillars who made their way to the
inside of the vase. This trace, together with a junction
connecting it with the circular road, is discovered in the
course of the morning. Half the troop takes advantage
of it to visit the earth in the pot and climb the palm; the
other half remains on the ledge and continues to walk
along the old rail. In the afternoon the band of emi-
grants rejoins the others, the circuit is completed and
things return to their original condition.
We come to the fifth day. The night frost becomes
more intense, without however as yet reaching the green-
house. It is followed by bright sunshine in a calm and
limpid sky. As soon as the sun’s rays have warmed the
panes a little, the caterpillars, lying in heaps, wake up
and resume their evolutions on the ledge of the vase.
This time the fine order of the beginning is disturbed
and a certain disorder becomes manifest, apparently an
 138 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
omen of deliverance near at hand. The scouting-path
inside the vase, which was upholstered in silk yesterday
and the day before, is to-day followed to its origin on
the rim by a part of the band and is then deserted after
a short stop. The other caterpillars follow the usual
ribbon. The result of this bifurcation is two almost
equal files, walking along the ledge in the same direction,
at a short distance from each other, sometimes meeting,
separating farther on in every case with some
lack of
order.
Weariness increases the confusion. The crippled,
who
refuse to go on, are many. Breaches increase; files are
split up into sections each of which has its
leader, who
pokes the front of his body this way and that to explo
re
the ground. Everything seems to point to
the disinte-
gration which will bring safety. My hopes
are once
more disappointed. Before the night the single
file is
reconstituted and the invincible gyration resum
ed.
Heat comes, just as suddenly as the cold
did. To-day,
the 4th of February, is a beautiful, mild
day. The
greenhouse is full of life. Numerous festo
ons of cater-
pillars, issuing from the nests, meander
along the sand
on the shelf. Above them, at every moment, the ring
on the ledge of the vase breaks up and
comes together
again. For the first time I see daring leaders
who, drunk
with heat, standing only on their hinde
r prolegs at the
extreme edge of the earthenware rim,
fling themselves
forward into space, twisting about, soun
ding the depths.
The endeavor is frequently repeated,
while the whole
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 139
troop stops. The caterpillars’ heads give sudden jerks,
their bodies wriggle.
One of the pioneers decides to take the plunge. He
slips under the ledge. Four follow him. The others,
still confiding in the perfidious silken path, dare not copy
him and continue to go along the old road.
The short string detached from the general chain
gropes about a great deal, hesitates long on the side of
the vase; it goes half-way down, then climbs up again
slantwise, rejoins and takes its place in the procession.
This time the attempt has failed, though at the foot of
the vase, not nine inches away, there lay a bunch of
pine-needles which I had placed there with the object of
enticing the hungry ones. Smell and sight told them
nothing. Near as they were to the goal, they went up
again.
No matter, the endeavor has its uses. Threads were
laid on the way and will serve as a lure to further
enterprise. The road of deliverance has its first land-
marks. And, two days later, on the eighth day of the
experiment, the caterpillars — now singly, anon in small
groups, then again in strings of some length — come
down from the ledge by following the staked-out path.
At sunset the last of the laggards is back in the nest.
Now for a little arithmetic. For seven times twenty-
four hours the caterpillars have remained on the ledge
of the vase. To make an ample allowance for stops due
to the weariness of this one or that and above all for the
rest taken during the colder hours of the night we will
 140 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
deduct one-half of the time. This leaves eighty-four
hours’ walking. The average pace is nine centimeters !
a minute. The aggregate distance covered, therefore, is
453 meters, a good deal more than a quarter of a mile,
which is a great walk for these little crawlers. The
circumference of the vase, the perimeter of the track,
is exactly I m. 35.2. Therefore the circle covered, al-
ways in the same direction and always without result,
was described three hundred and thirty-five times.
These figures surprise me, though I am already fa-
miliar with the abysmal stupidity of insects as a class
whenever the least accident occurs. I feel inclined to
ask myself whether the Processionaries were not kept up
there so long by the difficulties and dangers of the de-
scent rather than by the lack of any gleam of intelligence
in their benighted minds. The facts, however, reply that
the descent is as easy as the ascent.
The caterpillar has a very supple back, well adapted
for twisting round projections or slipping underneath.
He can walk with the same ease vertically or horizontally,
with his back down or up. Besides, he never moves for-
ward until he has fixed his thread to the ground. With
this support to his feet, he has no falls to fear, no
mat-
ter what his position.
I had a proof of this before my eyes during a whole
week. As I have already said, the track, instead of keep-
ing on one level, bends twice, dips at a certain
point
under the ledge of the vase and reappears at the
top a
13% inches.— Translator’s Note.
*4 feet 5 inches.— Translator’s Note.
 THE PINE PROCESSIONARY 141
little farther on. At one part of the circuit, therefore,
the procession walks on the lower surface of the rim;
and this inverted position implies so little discomfort or
danger that it is renewed at each turn for all the cater-
pillars from first to last.
It is out of the question then to suggest the dread of
a false step on the edge of the rim which is so nimbly
turned at each point of inflexion. The caterpillars in
distress, starved, shelterless, chilled with cold at night,
cling obstinately to the silk ribbon covered hundreds of
times because they lack the rudimentary glimmers of
reason which would advise them to abandon it.
Experience and reflection are not in their province.
The ordeal of a five hundred yards’ march and three to
four hundred turns teach them nothing; and it takes
casual circumstances to bring them back to the nest.
They would perish on their insidious ribbon if the dis-
order of the nocturnal encampments and the halts due
to fatigue did not cast a few threads outside the circular
path. Some three or fotir move along these trails, laid
without an object, stray a little way and, thanks to their
wanderings, prepare the descent, which is at last accom-
plished in short strings favored by chance.
The school most highly honored to-day is very anxious
to find the origin of reason in the dregs of the animal
kingdom. Let me call its attention to the Pine Proces-
sionary.
 CHAPTER IX

THE SPIDERS
THE NarBONNE Lycosa, or BLACK-BELLIED
TARANTULA

The Burrow

MicuELeT * has told us how, as a printer's apprentice

ina cellar, he established amicable relations with a Spider.
At a certain hour of the day, a ray of sunlight would
glint through the window of the gloomy workshop and
light up the little compositor’s case. Then his eight-
legged neighbor would come from her web and on
the
edge of the case take her share of the sunshine.
The
boy did not interfere with her: he welcomed the
trust-
ing visitor as a friend and as a pleasant diversi
on from
the long monotony. When we lack the society of our
fellowmen, we take refuge in that of animals, without
always losing by the change.
I do not, thank God, suffer from the melan
choly of a
cellar: my solitude is gay with light and verdu
re; I at-
tend, whenever I please, the fields’ high festival, the
Thrushes’ concert, the Crickets’ symphony;
and yet my
friendly commerce with the Spider is marked
by an even
1Jules Michelet (1708-1874), author of L’Oiseau and Efasaen
in addition to the historical works for
which he is chiefly known.
As a lad, he helped his father, a printe
r by trade, in setting type.—
Translators Note.
T4e
 THE SPIDERS 143
greater devotion than the young type-setter’s. I admit
her to the intimacy of my study, I make room for her
among my books, I set her in the sun on my window-
ledge, I visit her assiduously at her home, in the country.
The object of our relations is not to create a means of
escape from the petty worries of life, pin-pricks whereof
I have my share like other men, a very large share, in-
deed; I propose to submit to the Spider a host of ques-
tions whereto, at times, she condescends to reply.
To what fair problems does not the habit of frequent-
ing her give rise! To set them forth worthily, the mar-
velous art which the little printer was to acquire were
not too much. One needs the pen of a Michelet; and I
have but a rough, blunt pencil. Let us try, nevertheless,
even when poorly clad, truth is still beautiful.
The most robust Spider in my district is the Narbonne
Lycosa, or Black-bellied Tarantula, clad in black velvet
on the lower surface, especially under the belly, with
brown chevrons on the abdomen and gray and white
rings around the legs. Her favorite home is the dry,
pebbly ground, covered with sun-scorched thyme. In
my harmas laboratory there are quite twenty of this
Spider’s burrows. Rarely do I pass by one of these
haunts without giving a glance down the pit where gleam,
like diamonds, the four great eyes, the four telescopes,
of the hermit. The four others, which are much smaller,
are not visible at that depth.
Would I have greater riches, I have but to walk a
hundred yards from my house, on the neighboring pla-
teau, once a shady forest, to-day a dreary solitude where
 144 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
the Cricket browses and the Wheat-ear flits from stone
to stone. The love of lucre has laid waste the land.
Because wine paid handsomely, they pulled up the forest
to plant the vine. Then came the Phylloxera, the vine-
stocks perished and the once green table-land is now no
more than a desolate stretch where a few tufts of hardy
grasses sprout among the pebbles. This waste-land is
the Lycosa’s paradise: in an hour’s time, if need were,
I should discover a hundred burrows within a limited
range.
These dwellings are pits about a foot deep, perpen-
dicular at first and then bent elbow-wise. The average
diameter is an inch. On the edge of the hole stands a
kerb, formed of straw, bits and scraps of all sorts and
even small pebbles, the size of a hazel-nut. The whole
is kept in place and cemented with silk. Often, the
Spider confines herself to drawing together the dry blades
of the nearest grass, which she ties down with the straps
from her spinnerets, without removing the blades from
the stem; often, also, she rejects this scaffolding in
favor of a masonry constructed of small stones. The
nature of the kerb is decided by the nature of the mate-
rials within the Lycosa’s reach, in the close neighborhood
of the building-yard. There is no selection: everything
meets with approval, provided that it be near at hand.
The direction is perpendicular, in so far as obstacles,
frequent in a soil of this kind, permit. A bit of gravel
can be extracted and hoisted outside; but a flint is an
immovable boulder which the Spider avoids by giving a
bend to her gallery. If more such are met with, the
 THE SPIDERS 145
residence becomes a winding cave, with stone vaults, with
lobbies communicating by means of sharp passages.
This lack of plan has no attendant drawbacks, so well
does the owner, from long habit, know every corner and
story of her mansion. If any interesting buzz occur
overhead, the Lycosa climbs up from her rugged manor
with the same speed as from a vertical shaft. Perhaps
she even finds the windings and turnings an advantage,
when she has to drag into her den a prey that happens
to defend itself.
As a rule, the end of the burrow widens into a side-
chamber, a lounge or resting-place where the Spider
meditates at length and is content to lead a life of quiet
when her belly is full.
When she reaches maturity and is once settled, the
Lycosa becomes eminently domesticated. I have been
living in close communion with her for the last three
years. I have installed her in large earthen pans on the
window-sills of my study and I have her daily under my
eyes. Well, it is very rarely that I happen on her out-
side, a few inches from her hole, back to which she bolts
at the least alarm.
We may take it then that, when not in captivity, the
Lycosa does not go far afield to gather the wherewithal
to build her parapet and that she makes shift with what
she finds upon her threshold. In these conditions, the
building-stones are soon exhausted and the masonry
ceases for lack of materials. °
The wish came over me to see what dimensions the
circular edifice would assume, if the Spider were given
 146 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
an unlimited supply. With captives to whom I myself
act as purveyor the thing is easy enough. Were it only
with a view to helping whoso may one day care to con-
tinue these relations with the big Spider of the waste-
lands, let me describe how my subjects are housed.
A good-sized earthenware pan, some nine inches deep,
is filled with a red, clayey earth, rich in pebbles, similar,
in short, to that of the places haunted by the Lycosa.
Properly moistened into a paste, the artificial soil is
heaped, layer by layer, around a central reed, of a bore
equal to that of the animal’s natural burrow. When the
receptacle is filled to the top, [ withdraw the reed, which
leaves a yawning, perpendicular shaft. I thus obtain the
abode which shall replace that of the fields.
To find the hermit to inhabit it is merely the matter
of a walk in the neighborhood. When removed from
her own dwelling, which is turned topsy-turvy by my
trowel, and placed in possession of the den produced by
my art, the Lycosa at once disappears into that den. She
does not come out again, seeks nothing better elsewhere.
A large wire-gauze cover rests on the soil in the pan and
prevents escape.
In any case, the watch, in this respect, makes no de-
mand upon my diligence. The prisoner is satisfied with
her new abode and manifests no regret for her natural
burrow. There is no attempt at flight on her part. Let
me not omit to add that each pan must receive not more
than one inhabitant. The Lycosa is very intolerant.
To her a neighbor is fair game, to be eaten without
scruple when one has might on one’s side. Time was
 THE SPIDERS 147
when, unaware of this fierce intolerance, which is more
savage still at breeding-time, I saw hideous orgies per-
petrated in my overstocked cages. I shall have occasion
to describe those tragedies later.
Let us meanwhile consider the isolated Lycose. They
do not touch up the dwelling which I have molded for
them with a bit of reed; at most, now and again, perhaps
with the object of forming a lounge or bedroom at the
bottom, they fling out a few loads of rubbish. But all,
little by little, build the kerb that is to edge the mouth.
I have given them plenty of first-rate materials, far
superior to those which they use when left to their own
resources. These consist, first, for the foundations, of
little smooth stones, some of which are as large as an
almond. With this road-metal are mingled short strips
of raphia, or palm-fiber, flexible ribbons, easily bent.
These stand for the Spider’s usual basket-work, consist-
ing of slender stalks and dry blades of grass. Lastly, by
way of an unprecedented treasure, never yet employed
by a Lycosa, I place at my captives’ disposal some thick
threads of wool, cut into inch lengths.
As I wish, at the same time, to find out whether my
animals, with the magnificent lenses of their eyes, are
able to distinguish colors and prefer one color to another,
I mix up bits of wool of different hues: there are red,
green, white, and yellow pieces. If the Spider have any
preference she can choose where she pleases.
The Lycosa always works at night, a regrettable cir-
cumstance, which does not allow me to follow the work-
er’s methods. I see the result; and that is all. Were I
 148 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
to visit the building-yard by the light of a lantern, I
should be no wiser. The Spider, who is very shy, would
at once dive into her lair; and I should have lost my
sleep for nothing. Furthermore, she is not a very dili-
gent laborer; she likes to take her time. Two or three
bits of wool or raphia placed in position represent a whole
night’s work. And to this slowness we must add long
. spells of utter idleness.
Two months pass; and the result of my liberality sur-
passes my expectations. ‘Possessing more windfalls than
they know what to do with, all picked up in their imme-
diate neighborhood, my Lycose have built themselves
donjon-keeps the like of which their race has not yet
known. Around the orifice, on a slightly sloping bank,
small, flat, smooth stones have been laid to form a broken, _
flagged pavement. The larger stones, which are Cy-
clopean blocks compared with the size of the animal that
has shifted them, are employed as abundantly as the
others.
On this rockwork stands the donjon. It is an inter-
lacing of raphia and bits of wool, picked up at random,
without distinction of shade. Red and white, green and
yellow are mixed without any attempt at order. The
Lycosa is indifferent to the joys of color.
The ultimate result is a sort of muff, a couple of inches
high. Bands of silk, supplied by the spinnerets, unite
the pieces, so that the whole resembles a coarse fabric.
Without being absolutely faultless, for there are always
awkward pieces on the outside, which the worker could
not handle, the gaudy building is not devoid of merit.
 THE SPIDERS 149
The bird lining its nest would do no better. Whoso sees
the curious, many-colored productions in my pans takes
them for an outcome of my industry, contrived with a
view to some experimental mischief; and his surprise is
great when I confess who the real author is. No one
would ever believe the Spider capable of constructing
such a monument.
It goes without saying that, in a state of liberty, on
our barren waste-lands, the Lycosa does not indulge in
such sumptuous architecture. I have given the reason:
she is too great a stay-at-home to go in search of mate-
rials and she makes use of the limited resources which
she finds around her. Bits of earth, small chips of stone,
a few twigs, a few withered grasses: that is all, or nearly
all. Wherefore the work is generally quite modest and
reduced to a parapet that hardly attracts attention.
My captives teach us that, when materials are plenti-
ful, especially textile materials that remove all fears of
landslip, the Lycosa delights in tall turrets. She under-
ce
stands the art of donjon-building and puts it into practi
as often as she possesses the means.
tell
What is the purpose of this turret? My pans will
as
us that. An enthusiastic votary of the chase, so long
she has
she is not permanently fixed, the Lycosa, once
for the
set up house, prefers to lie in ambush and wait
quarry. Every day, when the heat is greatest, I see my
d and lean
captives come up slowly from under groun
-keep. They
upon the battlements of their wooly castle
y. With
are then really magnificent in their stately gravit
apertu re, their
their swelling belly contained within the
 150 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
head outside, their glassy eyes staring, their legs gathered
for a spring, for hours and hours they wait, motionless,
bathing voluptuously in the sun.
Should a tit-bit to her liking happen to pass, forthwith
the watcher darts from her tall tower, swift as
an arrow
from the bow. With a dagger-thrust in the neck, she
stabs the jugular of the Locust, Dragon-fly or other prey
whereof I am the purveyor; and she as quickly
scales
the donjon and retires with her capture. The
perform-
ance is a wonderful exhibition of skill and
speed.
Very seldom is a quarry missed, provided that
it pass
at a convenient distance, within the range
of the hunt-
ress’ bound. But, if the prey be at some dista
nce, for
instance on the wire of the cage, the Lyco
sa takes no
notice of it. Scorning to go in pursuit, she
allows it to
roam at will. She never strikes except when
sure of her
stroke. She achieves this by means of her
tower. Hid-
ing behind the wall, she sees the stranger advancing,
keeps her eye on him and suddenly
pounces when he
comes within reach. These abrupt tactic
s make the thing
a certainty. Though he were winged
and swift of flight,
the unwary one who approaches the
ambush is Jost.
This presumes, it is true, an exemplar
y patience on the
Lycosa’s part; for the burrow has
naught that can serve
to entice victims. At best, the ledge provided by the
turret may, at rare intervals, tempt
some weary wayfarer
to use it as a resting-place. But, if the quarry do not
come to-day, it is sure to come
to-morrow, the next day,
or later, for the Locusts hop innu
merable in the waste-
land, nor are they always able to regu
late their leaps.
 THE SPIDERS 151
Some day or other, chance is bound to bring one of them
within the purlieus of the burrow. This is the moment
to spring upon the pilgrim from the ramparts. Until
then, we maintain a stoical vigilance. We shall dine
when we can; but we shall end by dining.
The Lycosa, therefore, well aware of these lingering
eventualities, waits and is not unduly distressed by a pro-
longed abstinence. She has an accommodating stomach,
which is satisfied to be gorged to-day and to remain
empty afterwards for goodness knows how long. I have
sometimes neglected my catering duties for weeks at a
time; and my boarders have been none the worse for it.
After a more or less protracted fast, they do not pine
away, but are smitten with a wolf-like hunger. All these
ravenous eaters are alike: they guzzle to excess to-day,
in anticipation of to-morrow’s dearth.

The Laying

Chance, a poor stand-by, sometimes contrives very

well. At the beginning of the month of August, the
children call me to the far side of the enclosure, rejoicing
in a find which they have made under the rosemary-
bushes. It is a magnificent Lycosa, with an enormous
belly, the sign of an impending delivery.
Early one morning, ten days later, I find her preparing
for her confinement. A silk network is first spun on
the ground, covering an extent about equal to the palm
firmly
of one’s hand. It is coarse and shapeless, but
Spider means to
fxed. This is the floor on which the
operate.
 152 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
On this foundation, which acts as a protection from
the sand, the Lycosa fashions a round mat, the size
of a
two-franc piece and made of superb white silk. With
a gentle, uniform movement, which might be regulat
ed
by the wheels of a delicate piece of clockwork, the
tip
of the abdomen rises and falls, each time touching the
supporting basé a little farther away, until the extreme
scope of the mechanism is attained.
Then, without the Spider’s moving her position, the
oscillation is resumed in the opposite direction. By
means of this alternate motion, interspersed with
numer-
ous contacts, a segment of the sheet is obtained, of a very
accurate texture. When this is done, the Spider moves
a little along a circular line and the loom works in the
same manner on another segment.
The silk disk, a sort of hardy concave paten, now no
longer receives anything from the spinnerets in its center
;
the marginal belt alone increases in thickness. The
piece
thus becomes a bowl-shaped porringer, surrounded
by a
wide, flat edge.
The time for the laying has come. With one
quick
emission, the viscous, pale-yellow eggs
are laid in the
basin, where they heap together in the shape
of a globe
which projects largely outside the cavity.
The spinner-
ets are once more set going. With short
movements, as
the tip of the abdomen rises and falls
to weave the round
mat, they cover up the exposed hemisphere
. The result
is a pill set in the middle of a circular carpe
t.
The legs, hitherto idle, are now work
ing. They take
up and break off one by one the threa
ds that keep the
 THE SPIDERS — 153
round mat stretched on the coarse supporting network.
At the same time the fangs grip this sheet, lift it by
degrees, tear it from its base and fold it over upon the
globe of eggs. It is a laborious operation, The whole
edifice totters, the floor collapses, fouled with sand. By
a movement of the legs, those soiled shreds are cast aside.
Briefly, by means of violent tugs of the fangs, which pull,
and broom-like efforts of the legs, which clear away, the
Lycosa extricates the bag of eggs and removes it as a
clear-cut mass, free from any adhesion.
It is a white-silk pill, soft to the touch and glutinous.
Its size is that of an average cherry. An observant eye
will notice, running horizontally around the middle, a
fold which a needle is able to raise without breaking it.
This hem, generally undistinguishable from the rest of
the surface, is none other than the edge of the circular
mat, drawn over the lower hemisphere. The other
hemisphere, through which the youngsters will go out,
is less well fortified: its only wrapper is the texture spun
over the eggs immediately after they were laid.
The work of spinning, followed by that of tearing, is
continued for a whole morning, from five to nine o’clock.
Worn out with fatigue, the mother embraces her dear
pill and remains motionless. I shall see no more to-day.
Next morning, I find the Spider carrying the bag of eggs
slung from her stern.
Henceforth, until the hatching, she does not leave go
of the precious burden, which, fastened to the spinnerets
by a short ligament, drags and bumps along the ground.
With this load banging against her heels, she goes about
154 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
her business; she walks or rests, she seeks her prey, at-
tacks it and devours it. Should some accident cause the
wallet to drop off, it is soon replaced. The spinnerets
touch it somewhere, anywhere, and that is enough: ad-
hesion is at once restored.
When the work is done, some of them emancipate
themselves, think they will have a look at the country
before retiring for good and all. It is these whom we
meet at times, wandering aimlessly and dragging their
bag behind them. Sooner or later, however, the vagrants
return home; and the month of August is not over before
a straw rustled in any burrow will bring the mother up,
with her wallet slung behind her. I am able to procure
as many as I want and, with them, to indulge in certain
experiments of the highest interest.
It is a sight worth seeing, that of the Lycosa dragging
her treasure after her, never leaving it, day or night,
sleeping or waking, and defending it with a courage that
strikes the beholder with awe. If I try to take the bag
from her, she presses it to her breast in despair, hangs
on to my pincers, bites them with her poison-fangs. I
can hear the daggers grating on the steel. No, she
would not allow herself to be robbed of the wallet with
impunity, if my fingers were not supplied with an im-
plement.
By dint of pulling and shaking the pill with the for-
ceps, I take it from the Lycosa, who protests furiously.
I fling her in exchange a pill taken from another Lycosa.
It is at once seized in the fangs, embraced by the legs
 THE SPIDERS 155
and hung on to the spinneret. Her own or another’s:
it is all one to the Spider, who walks away proudly with
the alien wallet. This was to be expected, in view of
the similarity of the pills exchanged.
A test of another kind, with a second subject, renders
the mistake more striking. I substitute, in the place of
the lawful bag which I have removed, the work of the
Silky Epeira. The color and softness of the material
are the same in both cases; but the shape is quite differ-
ent. The stolen object is a globe; the object presented
in exchange is an elliptical conoid studded with angular
projections along the edge of the base. The Spider
takes no account of this dissimilarity. She promptly
glues the queer bag to her spinnerets and is as pleased
as though she were in possession of her real pill. My
experimental villainies have no other consequence beyond
an ephemeral carting. When hatching-time arrives,
early in the case of Lycosa, late in that of the Epeira, the
gulled Spider abandons the strange bag and pays it no
further attention.
Let us penetrate yet deeper into the wallet-bearer’s
stupidity. After depriving the Lycosa of her eggs, I
throw her a ball of cork, roughly polished with a file
and of the same size as the stolen pill. She accepts the
corky substance, so different from the silk purse, without
the least demur. One would have thought that she
would recognize her mistake with those eight eyes of
hers, which gleam like precious stones. The silly crea-
ture pays no attention. Lovingly she embraces the cork
156 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
ball, fondles it with her palpi, fastens it to her spinnerets
and thenceforth drags it after her as though she were
dragging her own bag.
Let us give another the choice between the imitation
‘and the real. The rightful pill and the cork ball are
placed together on the floor of the jar. Will the Spider
be able to know the one that belongs to her? The fool
is incapable of doing so. She makes a wild rush and
seizes haphazard at one time her property, at another my
sham product. Whatever is first touched becomes a
good capture and is forthwith hung up.
If I increase the number of cork balls, if I put in four
or five of them, with the real pill among them, it is
seldom that the Lycosa recovers her own property. At-
tempts at inquiry, attempts at selection there are none.
Whatever she snaps up at random she sticks to, be it
good or bad. As there are more of the sham pills of
cork, these are the most often seized by the Spider.
This obtuseness baffles me. Can the animal be de-
ceived by the soft contact of the cork? I replace the
cork balls by pellets of cotton or paper, kept in their
round shape with a few bands of thread. Both are very
readily accepted instead of the real bag that has been
removed.
Can the illusion be due to the coloring, which is light
in the cork and not unlike the tint of the silk globe when
soiled with a little earth, while it is white in the paper
and the cotton, when it is identical with that of the origi-
nal pill? I give the Lycosa, in exchange for her work,
a pellet of silk thread, chosen of a fine red, the brightest
The Lycosa lying head downwards on the edge of her pit, holding in her hind-legs her white bag of
eggs and lifting them towards the sun, to assist the hatching
 THE SPIDERS 157
of all colors. The uncommon pill is as readily accepted
and as jealously guarded as the others.

The Family

For three weeks and more the Lycosa trails the bag
of eggs hanging to her spinnerets. The reader will re--’
member the experiments described in the preceding sec-
tion, particularly those with the cork ball and the thread
pellet which the Spider so foolishly accepts in exchange
for the real pill. Well, this exceedingly dull-witted
mother, satisfied with aught that knocks against her heels,
is about to make us wonder at her devotion.
Whether she come up from her shaft to lean upon the
kerb and bask in the sun, whether she suddenly retire
underground in the face of danger, or whether she be
roaming the country before settling down, never does she
let go her precious bag, that very cumbrous burden in
walking, climbing or leaping. If, by some accident, it
become detached from the fastening to which it is hung,
she flings herself madly on her treasure and lovingly em-
braces it, ready to bite whoso would take it from her.
I myself am sometimes the thief. I then hear the points
of the poison-fangs grinding against the steel of my
pincers, which tug in one direction while the Lycosa tugs
with a
in the other. But let us leave the animal alone:
to its
quick touch of the spinnerets, the pill is restored
place; and the Spider strides off, still menacin g.
rs, old
Towards the end of summer, all the householde
w-sil l or at
or young, whether in captivity on the windo
daily with
liberty in the paths of the enclosure, supply me
 158 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
the following improving sight. In the morning, as soon
as the sun is hot and beats upon their burrow, the anchor-
ites come up from the bottom with their bag and station
themselves at the opening. Long siestas on the threshold
in the sun are the order of the day throughout the fine
season; but, at the present time, the position adopted is
a different one. Formerly, the Lycosa came out into
the sun for her own sake. Leaning on the parapet, she
had the front half of her body outside the pit and the
hinder half inside. The eyes took their fill of light ;
the belly remained in the dark. When carrying her egg-
bag, the spider reverses the posture: the front is in
the
pit, the rear outside. With her hind-legs she
holds
the white pill bulging with germs lifted above
the en-
trance; gently she turns and turns it, so as
to present
every side to the life-giving rays. And this goes on for
half the day, so long as the temperature is high;
and it
is repeated daily, with exquisite patience, during
three
or four weeks. To hatch its eggs, the bird covers
them
with the quilt of its breast; it strains them to
the furnace
of its heart. The Lycosa turns hers in front
of the
hearth of hearths: she gives them the sun as an incubator.
In the early days of September the young ones,
who
have been some time hatched, are ready to come
out.
The whole family emerges from the bag strai
ghtway.
Then and there, the youngsters climb to the mothe
r’s
back. As for the empty bag, now a worthless
shred, it
is flung out of the burrow: the Lycosa does
not give it
a further thought. Huddled together, sometimes in two
or three layers, according to their number,
the little ones
 THE SPIDERS 159
cover the whole back of the mother, who, for seven or
eight months to come, will carry her family night and
day. Nowhere can we hope to see a more edifying do-
mestic picture than that of the Lycosa clothed in her
young.
From time to time I meet a little band of gipsies pass-
ing along the high-road on their way to some neigh-
boring fair. The new-born babe mewls on the mother’s
breast, in a hammock formed out of a kerchief. The
last-weaned is carried pick-a-back; a third toddles cling-
ing to its mother’s skirts; others follow closely, the
biggest in the rear, ferreting in the blackberry-laden
hedgerows. It is a magnificent spectacle of happy-go-
lucky fruitfulness. They go their way, penniless and
rejoicing. The sun is hot and the earth is fertile.
But how this picture pales before that of the Lycosa,
that incomparable gipsy whose brats are numbered by the
hundred! And one and all of them, from September to
April, without a moment's respite, find room upon the
patient creature’s back, where they are content to lead a
tranquil life and to be carted about.
The little ones are very good; none moves, none seeks
a quarrel with his neighbors. Clinging together, they
form a continuous drapery, a shaggy ulster under which
the mother becomes unrecognizable. Is it an animal,
a fluff of wool, a cluster of small seeds fastened to one
another? ’T is impossible to tell at the first glance.
The equilibrium of this living blanket is not so firm
but that falls often occur, especially when the mother
climbs from indoors and comes to the threshold to let
 160 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
the little ones take the sun. The least brush against the
gallery unseats a part of the family. The mishap is not
serious. The Hen, fidgeting about her Chicks, looks for
the strays, calls them, gathers them together. The Ly-
cosa knows not these maternal alarms. Impassively, she
leaves those who drop off to manage their own difficulty,
which they do with wonderful quickness. Commend me
to those youngsters for getting up without whining, dust-
ing themselves and resuming their seat in the saddle!
The unhorsed ones promptly find a leg of the mother, the
usual climbing-pole ;they swarm up it as fast as they
can
and recover their places on the bearer’s back. The liv-
ing bark of animals is reconstructed in the twinkling of
an eye.
To speak here of mother-love were, I think, extrava-
gant. The Lycosa’s affection for her offspring hardly
surpasses that of the plant, which is unacquainted with
any tender feeling and nevertheless bestows the nicest
and
most delicate care upon its seeds. The animal, in
many
cases, knows no other sense of motherhood. What cares
the Lycosa for her brood! She accepts anothe
r’s as
readily as her own; she is satisfied so long
as her back
is burdened with a swarming crowd, whethe
r it issue
from her ovaries or elsewhere. There is no question
here of real maternal affection.
I have described elsewhere the prowess
of the Copris
watching over cells that are not her hand
iwork and do
not coritain her offspring. With a zeal which even the
additional labor laid upon her does not easil
y weary, she
removes the mildew from the alien dung-balls, whic
h far
 THE SPIDERS 161
exceed the regular nests in number; she gently scrapes
and polishes and repairs them; she listens attentively and
enquires by ear into each nurseling’s progress. Her real
collection could not receive greater care. Her own fam-
ily or another’s: it is all one to her.
The Lycosa is equally indifferent. I take a hair-pencil
and sweep the living burden from one of my Spiders,
making it fall close to another covered with her little
ones. The evicted youngsters scamper about, find the
new mother’s legs outspread, nimbly clamber up these
and mount on the back of the obliging creature, who
quietly lets them have their way. They slip in among
the others, or, when the layer is too thick, push to the
front and pass from the abdomen to the thorax and even
to the head, though leaving the region of the eyes uncov-
ered. It does not do to blind the bearer: the common
safety demands that. They know this and respect the
lenses of the eyes, however populous the assembly be.
The whole animal is now covered with a swarming carpet
of young, all except the legs, which must preserve their
freedom of action, and the under part of the body, where
contact with the ground is to be feared.
My pencil forces a third family upon the already over-
burdened Spider; and this too is peacefully accepted.
The youngsters huddle up closer, lie one on top of the
other in layers and room is found for all. The Lycosa
has lost the last semblance of an animal, has become a
nameless bristling thing that walks about. Falls are fre-
quent and are followed by continual climbings.
I perceive that I have reached the limits, not of the
 162 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
bearer’s good-will, but of equilibrium. The Spider
would adopt an indefinite further number of foundlings,
if the dimensions of her back afforded them a firm hold.
Let us be content with this. Let us restore each family
to its mother, drawing at random from the lot. There
must necessarily be interchanges, but that is of no impor-
tance: real children and adopted children are the same
thing in the Lycosa’s eyes.
One would like to know if, apart from my artifices, in
circumstances where I do not interfere, the good-natured
dry-nurse sometimes burdens herself with a supplement-
ary family; it would also be interesting to learn what
comes of this association of lawful offspring and stran-
gers. I have ample materials wherewith to obtain an
answer to both questions. I have housed in the same
cage two elderly matrons laden with youngsters. Each
has her home as far removed from the other’s as the size
of the common pan permits. The distance is nine inches
or more. It is not enough. Proximity soon kindles
firece jealousies between those intolerant creatures, who
are obliged to live far apart so as to secure adequate
hunting-grounds.
One morning I catch the two harridans fighting out
their quarrel on the floor. The loser is laid flat upon
her back; the victress, belly to belly with her adversary,
clutches her with her legs and prevents her from moving
a limb. Both have their poison-fangs wide open, ready
to bite without yet daring, so mutually formidable are
they. After a certain period of waiting, during which
the pair merely exchange threats, the stronger of the two,
 THE SPIDERS 163
the one on top, closes her lethal engine and grinds the
head of the prostrate foe. Then she calmly devours the
deceased by small mouthfuls.
Now what do the youngsters do, while their mother is
being eaten? Easily consoled, heedless of the atrocious
scene, they climb on the conqueror’s back and quietly take
their places among the lawful family. The ogress raises
no objection, accepts them as her own. She makes a
meal off the mother and adopts the orphans.
Let us add that, for many months yet, until the final
emancipation comes, she will carry them without draw-
ing any distinction between them and her own young.
Henceforth the two families, united in so tragic a fash-
ion, will form but one. We see how greatly out of place
it would be to speak, in this connection, of mother-love
and its fond manifestations.
Does the Lycosa at least feed the younglings who, for
seven months, swarm upon her back? Does she invite
them to the banquet when she has secured a prize? I
thought so at first; and, anxious to assist at the family
repast, I devoted special attention to watching the moth-
ers eat. Asa tule, the prey is consumed out of sight,
in the burrow; but sometimes also a meal is taken on the
threshold, in the open air. Besides, it is easy to rear
the Lycosa and her family in a wire-gauze cage, with
of
a layer of earth wherein the captive will never dream
sinking a well, such work being out of season. Every-
thing then happens in the open.
sses the
Well, while the mother munches, chews, expre
from
juices and swallows, the youngsters do not budge
 164 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
their camping-ground on her back. Not one quits its
place nor gives a sign of wishing to slip down and joinin
the meal. Nor does the mother extend an invitation to
them to come and recruit themselves, nor put any broken
victuals aside for them. She feeds and the others look
on, or rather remain indifferent to what is happening.
Their perfect quiet during the Lycosa’s feast points to
the possession of a stomach that knows no cravings.
Then with what are they sustained, during their seven
months’ upbringing on the mother’s back? One con-
ceives a notion of exudations supplied by the bearer’s
body, in which case the young would feed on their
mother, after the manner of parasitic vermin, and gradu-
ally drain her strength.
We must abandon this notion. Never are they seen
to put their mouths to the skin that should be a sort of
teat to them. On the other hand, the Lycosa, far from
being exhausted and shriveling, keeps perfectly well and
plump. She has the same pot-belly when she finishes
rearing her young as when she began. She has not lost
weight: far from it; on the contrary, she has put on
flesh: she has gained the wherewithal to beget a new
family next summer, one as numerous as to-day’s.
Once more, with what do the little ones keep up their
strength? We do not like to suggest reserves supplied
by the egg as rectifying the animal's expenditure of vital
force, especially when we consider that those reserves,
themselves so close to nothing, must be economized in
view of the silk, a material of the highest importance,
of which a plentiful use will be made presently. There
 THE SPIDERS 165
must be other powers at play in the tiny animal’s
machinery.
Total abstinence from food could be understood, if
it were accompanied by inertia: immobility is not life.
But the young Lycosz, though usually quiet on their
mother’s back, are at all times ready for exercise and
for agile swarming. When they fall from the maternal
perambulator, they briskly pick themselves up, briskly
scramble up a leg and make their way to the top. It is
a splendidly nimble and spirited performance. Besides,
once seated, they have to keep a firm balance in the mass;
they have to stretch and stiffen their little limbs in order
to hang on to their neighbors. As a matter of fact there
is no absolute rest for them. Now physiology teaches
us that not a fiber works without some expenditure of
energy. The animal, which can be likened, in no small
measure, to our industrial machines, demands, on the one
hand, the renovation of its organism, which wears out
with movement, and, on the other, the maintenance of

the heat transformed into action. We can compare it

with the locomotive-engine. As the iron horse performs
its work, it gradually wears out its pistons, its rods, its
wheels, its boiler-tubes, all of which have to be made
good from time to time. The founder and the smith
repair it, supply it, so to speak, with “ plastic food,” the
food that becomes embodied with the whole and forms
part of it. But, though it has just come from the
engine-shop, it is still inert. To acquire the power of
movement it must receive from the stoker a supply of
“ energy-producing food”; in other words, he lights a
 166 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
few shovelfuls of coal in its inside. This heat will pro-
duce mechanical work.
Even so with the beast. As nothing is made from
nothing, the egg supplies first the materials of the new-
born animals; then the plastic food, the smith of living
creatures, increases the body, up to a certain limit, and
renews it as it wears away. The stoker works at the
same time, without stopping. Fuel, the source of energy,
makes but a short stay in the system, where it is con-
sumed and furnishes heat, whence movement is derived.
Life is a fire-box. Warmed by its food, the animal ma-
chine moves, walks, runs, jumps, swims, flies, sets its
locomotory apparatus going in a thousand manners.
To return to the young Lycose, they grow no larger
until the period of their emancipation. I find them at
the age of seven months the same as when I saw them
at their birth. The egg supplied the materials necessary
for their tiny frames; and, as the loss of waste substance
is, for the moment, excessively small, or even nil,
addi-
tional plastic food is not needed so long as the wee crea-
ture does not grow. In this respect, the prolonged
abstinence presents no difficulty. But there remains the
question of energy-producing food, which is indispensa-
ble, for the little Lycosa moves, when necessary, and very
actively at that. To what shall we attribute the heat
expended upon action, when the animal takes absolutely
no nourishment ?
An idea suggests itself. We say to ourselves that,
without being life, a machine is something more than
matter, for man has added a little of his mind to it.
 THE SPIDERS 167
Now the iron beast, consuming its ration of coal, is really
browsing the ancient foliage of arborescent ferns in
which solar energy has accumulated.
Beasts of flesh and blood act no otherwise. Whether
they mutually devour one another or levy tribute on the
plant, they invariably quicken themselves with the stimu-
lant of the sun’s heat, a heat stored in grass, fruit, seed
and those which feed on such. The sun, the soul of the
universe, is the supreme dispenser of energy.
Instead of being served up through the intermediary
of food and passing through the ignominious circuit of
gastric chemistry, could not this solar energy penetrate
the animal directly and charge it with activity, even as
the battery charges an accumulator with power? Why
not live on sun, seeing that, after all, we find naught but
sun in the fruits which we consume?
Chemical science, that bold revolutionary, promises to
provide us with synthetic foodstuffs. The laboratory
and the factory will take the place of the farm. Why
should not physical science step in as well? It would
leave the preparation of plastic food to the chemist’s re-
torts; it would reserve for itself that of energy-producing
food which, reduced to its exact terms, ceases to be mat-
ter. With the aid of some ingenious apparatus, it would
pump into us our daily ration of solar energy, to be later
expended in movement, whereby the machine would be
kept going without the often painful assistance of the
stomach and its adjuncts. What a delightful world,
where one could lunch off a ray of sunshine!
Is it a dream, or the anticipation of a remote reality?
 168 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
The problem is one of the most important that science
can set us. Let us first hear the evidence of the youn
Lycose regarding its possibilities.
For seven months, without any material nourishment,
they expend strength in moving. To wind up the mech-
anism of their muscles, they recruit themselves direct
with heat and light. During the time when she was
dragging the bag of eggs behind her, the mother, at the
best moments of the day, came and held up her pill to
the sun. With her two hind-legs she lifted it out of the
ground into the full light; slowly she turned it and
turned it, so that every side might receive its share of the
vivifying rays. Well, this bath of life, which awakened
the germs, is now prolonged to keep the tender babes
active.
Daily, if the sky be clear, the Lycosa, carrying her
young, comes up from the burrow, leans on the kerb
and spends long hours basking in the sun. Here,
on
their mother’s back, the youngsters stretch their limbs
de-
lightedly, saturate themselves with heat, take in
reserves
of motion-power, absorb energy.
They are motionless; but, if I only blow upon them,
they stampede as nimbly as though a hurricane
were pass-
ing. Hurriedly, they disperse; hurriedly, they reass
em-
ble: a proof that, without materia] nourishmen
t, the little
animal machine is always at full pressure, ready
to work.
When the shade comes, mother and sons go
down again,
surfeited with solar emanations. The feast of energy
at the Sun Tavern is finished for the day.
|
 CHAPTER X

THE BANDED EPEIRA

Building the Web

THE fowling-snare is one of man’s ingenious villainies.

With lines, pegs and poles, two large, earth-colored nets
are stretched upon the ground, one to the right, the other
to the left of a bare surface. A long cord, pulled at the
right moment by the fowler, who hides in a brushwood
hut, works them and brings them together suddenly, like
a pair of shutters.
Divided between the two nets are the cages of the
decoy-birds — Linnets and Chaffinches,Greenfinches and
Yellowhammers, Buntings and Ortolans — sharp-eared
creatures which, on perceiving the distant passage of a
flock of their own kind, forthwith utter a short calling
note. One of them, the Sambé, an irresistible tempter,
hops about and flaps his wings in apparent freedom. A
bit of twine fastens him to his convict’s stake. When,
worn with fatigue and driven desperate by his vain at-
tempts to get away, the sufferer lies down flat and refuses
to do his duty, the fowler is able to stimulate him with-
out stirring from his hut. A long string sets in motion
a little lever working on a pivot. Raised from the
ground by this diabolical contrivance, the bird flies, falls
down and flies up again at each jerk of the cord.
169
 170 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
The fowler waits, in the mild sunlight of the autumn
morning. Suddenly, great excitement in the cages.
The Chaffinches chirp their rallying cry:
“Pinck! ~Pinck!”
There is something happening in the sky. The Sambé,
quick! They are coming, the simpletons; they swoop
down upon the treacherous floor. With a rapid move-
ment, the man in ambush pulls his string. The nets
close and the whole flock is caught.
Man has wild beast’s blood in his veins. The fowler
hastens to the slaughter. With his thumb he stifles the
beating of the captives’ hearts, staves in their skulls.
The little birds, so many piteous heads of game, will go
to market, strung in dozens on a wire passed through
their nostrils.
For scoundrelly ingenuity, the Epeira’s net can bear
comparison with the fowler’s; it even surpasses it when,
on patient study, the main features of its supreme perfec-
tion stand revealed. What refinement of art for a mess
of Flies! Nowhere, in the whole animal kingdom, has
the need to eat inspired a more cunning industry. If the
reader will meditate upon the description that follows,
he will certainly share my admiration,
In bearing and coloring, Epeira fasciata is the hand-
somest of the Spiders of the South. On her fat belly,
a
mighty silk-warehouse nearly as large as a hazel-n
ut, are
alternate yellow, black and silver sashes, to which
she
owes her epithet of Banded. Around that portly
abdo-
men the eight long legs, with their dark- and pale-b
rown
rings, radiate like spokes.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 17
Any small prey suits her; and, as long as she can find
supports for her web, she settles wherever the Locust
hops, wherever the Fly hovers, wherever the Dragon-fly
dances or the Butterfly flits. As a rule, because of the
greater abundance of game, she spreads her toils across
some brooklet, from bank to bank among the rushes.
She also stretches them, but not so assiduously, in the
thickets of evergreen oak, on the slopes with the scrubby
greenswards, dear to the Grasshoppers.
Her hunting-weapon is a large upright web, whose
outer boundary, which varies according to the disposi-
tion of the ground, is fastened to the neighboring
branches by a number of moorings. Let us see, first of
all, how the ropes which form the framework of. the
building are obtained.
All day invisible, crouching amid the cypress-leaves,
the Spider, at about eight o’clock in the evening, solemnly
emerges from her retreat and makes for the top of a
branch. In this exalted position she sits for some time
laying her plans with due regard to the locality; she
consults the weather, ascertains if the night will be fine.
Then, suddenly, with her eight legs widespread, she lets
herself drop straight down, hanging to the line that issues
from her spinnerets. Just as the rope-maker obtains the
even output of his hemp by walking backwards, so does
the Epeira obtain the discharge of hers by falling. It
is extracted by the weight of her body.
The descent, however, has not the brute speed which
the force of gravity would give it, if uncontrolled. It is
t
governed by the action of the spinnerets, which contrac
 172 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
or expand their pores, or close them entirely, at the fall-
er’s pleasure. And so, with gentle moderation, she pays
out this living plumb-line, of which my lantern clearly
shows me the plumb, but not always the line. The great
squab seems at such times to be sprawling in space, with-
out the least support.
She comes to an abrupt stop two inches from the
ground; the silk-reel ceases working. The Spider turns
round, clutches the line which she has just obtained and
climbs up by this road, still spinning. But, this time,
as she is no longer assisted by the force of gravity, the
thread is extracted in another manner. The two hind-
legs, with a quick alternate action, draw it from the
wallet and let it go.
On returning to her starting-point, at a height of six
feet or more, the Spider is now in possession of a
double
line, bent into a loop and floating loosely in a
current of
air. She fixes her end where it suits her and
waits until
the other end, wafted by the wind, has fastened
its loop
to the adjacent twigs.
Feeling her thread fixed, the Epeira
runs along it
repeatedly, from end to end, adding a
fiber to it on each
journey. Whether I help or not, this
forms the “ sus-
pension-cable,”’ the main piece of
the framework. [I call
it a cable, in spite of its extreme
thinness, because of
its structure. It looks as though it
were single, but at
the two ends, it is seen to divide and
spread, tuft-wise,
into numerous constituent parts, which
are the product
of as many crossings. These diverging
fibers, with their
The Banded Epeira inscribing her flourish The Banded Epeira letting herself drop by the
after finishing her web end of her thread
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 176
several contact-points, increase the steadiness of the two
extremities.
The suspension-cable is incomparably stronger than
the rest of the work and lasts for an indefinite time.
The web is generally shattered after the night’s hunting
and is nearly always rewoven on the following evening.
After the removal of the wreckage, it is made all over
again, on the same site, cleared of everything except the
cable from which the new network is to hang.
Once the cable is laid, in this way or in that, the Spider
is in possession of a base that allows her to approach
or withdraw from the leafy piers at will. From the
height of the cable she lets herself slip to a slight depth,
varying the points of her fall. In this way she obtains,
to right and left, a few slanting cross-bars, connecting
the cable with the branches.
These cross-bars, in their turn, support others in ever-
changing directions. When there are enough of them,
the Epeira need no longer resort to falls in order to
extract her threads; she goes from one cord to the next,
always wire-drawing with her hind-legs. This results in
a combination of straight lines owning no order, save
that they are kept in one nearly perpendicular plane.
Thus is marked out a very irregular polygonal area,
wherein the web, itself a work of magnificent regularity,
shall presently be woven.
In the lower part of the web, starting from the center,
a wide opaque ribbon descends zigzag-wise across the
radii. This is the Epeira’s trade-mark, the flourish of
 174. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
an artist initialing his creation. “ Fecit So-and-so,” she
seems to say, when giving the last throw of
the shuttle
to her handiwork.
That the Spider feels satisfied when, after
passing and:
repassing from spoke to spoke, she finishes her spiral
, is
beyond a doubt: the work achieved ensures
her food for
a few days to come. But, in this particular case, the
vanity of the spinstress has naught to say
to the matter:
the strong silk zigzag is added to impart great
er firmness
to the web.

The Lime-snare
The spiral network of the Epeirze
possesses contriv-
ances of fearsome cunning. The thread
that forms it is
seen with the naked eye to differ from that
of the frame-
work and the spokes. It glitters
in the sun, looks as
though it were knotted and gives
the impression of a
chaplet of atoms. To examine it thro
ugh the lens on the
web itself is scarcely feasible, because
of the shaking of
the fabric, which trembles at the least
breath. By pass-
ing a sheet of glass under the web
and lifting it, I take
away a few pieces of thread to study,
pieces that remain
fixed to the glass in parallel lines
. Lens and microscope
can now play their part.
The sight is perfectly astoundin
g. Those threads, on
the borderland between the visi
ble and the invi sible, are
very closely twisted twine, simi
lar to the gold cord of our
officers’ sword-knots, Moreover, they are hollow.
infinitely slender is a tube, The
a channel full of a viscous
moisture resembling a str
ong solution of gum arab
ic.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 175
I can see a diaphanous trail of this moisture trickling
through the broken ends. Under the pressure of the
thin glass slide that covers them on the stage of the
microscope, the twists lengthen out, become crinkled rib-
bons, traversed from end to end, through the middle, by
a dark streak, which is the empty container.
The fluid contents must ooze slowly through the side
of those tubular threads, rolled into twisted strings, and
thus render the network sticky. It is sticky, in fact, and
in such a way as to provoke surprise. I bring a fine
straw flat down upon three or four rungs of a sector.
However gentle the contact, adhesion is at once estab-
lished. When I lift the straw, the threads come with it
and stretch to twice or three times their length, like a
thread of india-rubber. At last, when over-taut, they
loosen without breaking and resume their original form.
They lengthen by unrolling their twist, they shorten by
rolling it again; lastly, they become adhesive by taking
the glaze of the gummy moisture wherewith they are
filled.
In short, the spiral thread is a capillary tube finer than
any that our physics will ever know. It is rolled into a
twist so as to possess an elasticity that allows it, without
breaking, to yield to the tugs of the captured prey; it
holds a supply of sticky matter in reserve in its tube, so
as to renew the adhesive properties of the surface by
incessant exudation, as they become impaired by ex-
posure to the air. It is simply marvelous.
The Epeira hunts not with springs, but with lime-
snares, And such lime-snares! Everything is caught in
 176 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
them, down to the dandelion-plume that barely brushes
against them. Nevertheless, the Epeira, who is in con-
stant touch with her web, is not caught in them. Why ?
Because the Spider has contrived for herself, in
the mid-
dle of her trap, a floor in whose construction the
sticky
spiral thread plays no part. There is here, coveri
ng a
space which, in the larger webs, is about
equal to the
palm of one’s hand, a neutral fabric in which the
explor-
ing straw finds no adhesiveness anywhere.
Here, on this central resting-floor, and here only, the
Epeira takes her stand, waiting whole days for the ar-
rival of the game. However close, however prolonged
her contact with this portion of the web, she runs no
risk of sticking to it, because the gummy coating is
lacking, as is the twisted and tubular structure, through-
out the length of the spokes and throughout the extent of
the auxiliary spiral. These pieces, together with the rest
of the framework, are made of plain, straight, solid
thread.
But when a victim is caught, sometimes right at the
edge of the web, the Spider has to rush up quickl
y, to
bind it and overcome its attempts to free itself.
She is
walking then upon her network; and I do not
find that
she suffers the least inconvenience. The lime-threads
are not even lifted by the movements of
her legs.
In my boyhood, when a troop of
us would go, on
Thursdays,! to try and catch a Goldfinc
h in the hemp-
fields, we used, before covering the
twigs with glue, to
grease our fingers with a few drop
s of oil, let we should
1The weekly half-holiday in Fren
ch schools.— Translator’s Note.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 197
get them caught in the sticky matter. Does the Epeira
know the secret of fatty substances? Let us try.
I rub my exploring straw with slightly oiled paper.
When applied to the spiral thread of the web, it now no
longer sticks to it. The principle is discovered. 1 pull
out the leg of a live Epeira. Brought just as it is into
contact with the lime-threads, it does not stick to them
any more than to the neutral cords, whether spokes or
part of the framework. We were entitled to expect this,
judging by the Spider’s general immunity.
But here is something that wholly alters the result. I
put the leg to soak for a quarter of an hour in disulphide
of carbon, the best solvent of fatty matters. I wash it
carefully with a brush dipped in the same fluid. When
this washing is finished, the leg sticks to the snaring-
thread quite easily and adheres to it just as well as any-
thing else would, the unoiled straw, for instance.
Did I guess aright when I judged that it was a fatty
substance that preserved the Epeira from the snares of
her sticky Catherine-wheel? The action of the carbon-
disulphide seems to say yes. Besides, there is no reason
a
why a substance of this kind, which plays so frequent
part in animal economy, should not coat the Spider very
to
slightly by the mere act of perspiration. We used
rub our fingers with a little oil before handling the twigs
in which the Goldfinch was to be caught; even so the
Epeira varnishes herself with a special sweat, tc operate
on any part of her web without fear of the lime-threads.
However, an unduly protracted stay on the sticky
threads would have its drawbacks. In the long run,
 178 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
continual contact with those threads might produce a
certain adhesion and inconvenience to the Spider, who
must preserve all her agility in order to rush upon the
prey before it can release itself. For this reason, gummy
threads are never used in building the post of intermin-
able waiting.
It is only on her resting-floor that the Epeira sits, mo-
tionless and with her eight legs outspread, ready to mark
the least quiver in the net. It is here, again, that she
takes her meals, often long-drawn-out, when the joint is
a substantial one; it is hither that, after trussing and
nibbling it, she drags her prey at the end of a thread, to
consume it at her ease on a non-viscous mat. As a hunt-
ing-post and refectory, the Epeira has contrived a cen-
tral space, free from glue.
As for the glue itself, it is hardly possible to study its
chemical properties, because the quantity is so slight.
The microscope shows it trickling from the broken
threads in the form of a transparent and more or
less
granular streak. The following experiment will
tell us
more about it.
With a sheet of glass passed across the web, I
gather
a series of lime-threads which remain fixed
in parallel
lines. I cover this sheet with a bell-jar
standing in a
depth of water. Soon, in this atmosphere satur
ated with
humidity, the threads become enveloped
in a watery
sheath, which gradually increases and
begins to flow.
The twisted shape has by this time disappeare
d; and the
channel of the thread reveals a chaplet
of translucent
orbs, that is to say, a series of extremely fine
drops.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 179
In twenty-four hours the threads have lost their con-
tents and are reduced to almost invisible streaks. If I
then lay a drop of water on the glass, I get a sticky
solution similar to that which a particle of gum arabic
might yield. The conclusion is evident: the Epeira’s
glue is a substance that absorbs moisture freely. In an
atmosphere with a high degree of humidity, it becomes
saturated and percolates by sweating through the side of
the tubular threads.
These data explain certain facts relating to the work of
the net. The Epeirze weave at very early hours, long
before dawn. Should the air turn misty, they sometimes
leave that part of the task unfinished: they build the gen-
eral framework, they lay the spokes, they even draw the
auxiliary spiral, for all these parts are unaffected by ex-
cess of moisture; but they are very careful not to work
at the lime-threads, which, if soaked by the fog, would
dissolve into sticky shreds and lose their efficacy by being
wetted. The net that was started will be finished to-
morrow, if the atmosphere be favorable.
While the highly absorbent character of the snaring-
thread has its drawbacks, it also has compensating ad-
vantages. The Epeirz, when hunting by day, affect
those hot places, exposed to the fierce rays of the sun,
wherein the Crickets delight. In the torrid heats of the
dog-days, therefore, the lime-threads, but for special pro-
visions, would be liable to dry up, to shrivel into stiff and
lifeless filaments. But the very opposite happens. At
the most scorching times of the day they continue supple,
elastic and more and more adhesive.
 180 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
How is this brought about? By their very powers of
absorption. The moisture of which the air is never de-
prived penetrates them slowly; it dilutes the thick con-
tents of their tubes to the requisite degree and. causes it
to ooze through, as and when the earlier stickiness de-
creases. What bird-catcher could vie with the Garden
Spider in the art of laying lime-snares? And all this
industry and cunning for the capture of a Moth!
I should like an anatomist endowed with better imple-
ments than mine and with less tired eyesight to explain
to us the work of the marvelous rope-yard. How is the
silky matter molded into a capillary tube? How is this
tube filled with glue and tightly twisted? And how does
this same mill also turn out plain threads, wrought first
into a framework and then into muslin and satin? What
a number of products to come from that curious factory,
a Spider’s belly! I behold the results, but fail to under-
stand the working of the machine. I leave the problem
to the masters of the microtome and the scalpel.

The Hunt

The Epeiree are monuments of patience in their lime-

snare. With her head down and her eight legs wide-
spread, the Spider occupies the center of the web, the
receiving-point of the information sent along the spokes.
If anywhere, behind or before, a vibration occur, the
sign of a capture, the Epeira knows about it, even with-
out the aid of sight. She hastens up at once.
Until then, not a movement: one would think that
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 181
the animal was hypnotized by her watching. At most,
on the appearance of anything suspicious, she begins
shaking her nest. This is her way of inspiring the
intruder with awe. If I myself wish to provoke the
singular alarm, I have but to tease the Epeira with a
bit of straw. You cannot have a swing without an
impulse of some sort. The terror-stricken Spider, who
wishes to strike terror into others, has hit upon some-
thing much better. With nothing to push her, she
swings with the floor of ropes. There is no effort, no
visible exertion. Nota single part of the animal moves;
and yet everything trembles. Violent shaking proceeds
from apparent inertia. Rest causes commotion.
When calm is restored, she resumes her attitude, cease-
lessly pondering the harsh problem of life:
“ Shall I dine to-day, or not?”
Certain privileged beings, exempt from those anxieties,
have food in abundance and need not struggle to obtain
it. Such is the Gentle, who swims blissfully in the broth
of the putrefying Adder. Others— and, by a strange
irony of fate, these are generally the most gifted — only
manage to eat by dint of craft and patience.
You are of their company, O my industrious Epeire!
So that you may dine, you spend your treasures of
patience nightly; and often without result. I sym-
pathize with your woes, for I, who am as concerned as
you about my daily bread, I also doggedly spread my
net, the net for catching ideas, a more elusive and
less substantial prize than the Moth. Let us not lose
 182. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
heart. The best part of life is not in the present, still
less in the past; it lies in the future, the domain of. hope.
Let us wait.
All day long, the sky, of a uniform gray, has appeared
to be brewing a storm. In spite of the threatened down-
pour, my neighbor, who is a shrewd weather-prophet,
has come out of the cypress-tree and begun to renew
her web at the regular hour. Her forecast is correct: it
will be a fine night. See, the steaming-pan of the clouds
splits open; and, through the apertures, the moon peeps,
inquisitively. I too, lantern in hand, am peeping. A
gust of wind from the north clears the realms on high;
the sky becomes magnificent; perfect calm reigns below.
The Moths begin their nightly rounds. Good! One is
caught, a mighty fine one. The Spider will dine to-day.
What happens next, in an uncertain light, does
not
lend itself to accurate observation. Tt is
better to turn
to those Garden Spiders who never leave
their web and
‘who hunt mainly in the daytime. The
Banded and the
Silky Epeira, both of whom live
on the rosemaries in
the enclosure, shall show us in broad
daylight the inner-
most details of the tragedy.
|
I myself place on the lime-snare a vict
im of my select-
ing. Its six legs are caught without
more ado. Tf the
insect raises one of its tarsi and pulls
towards itself, the
treacherous thread follows, unwinds
slightly and, without
letting go or breaking, yields to the
captive’s desperate
jerks. Any limb released only tangles
the others still
more and is speedily recaptured by
the sticky matter.
There is no means of escape, except
by smashing the
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 183
trap with a sudden effort whereof even powerful insects
are not always capable.
Warned by the shaking of the net, the Epeira hastens
up; she turns round about the quarry; she inspects it at
a distance, so as to ascertain the extent of the danger
before attacking. The strength of the snareling will
decide the plan of campaign. Let us first suppose the
ustial case, that of an average head of game, a Moth or
Fly of some sort. Facing her prisoner, the Spider con-
tracts her abdomen slightly and touches the insect for a
moment with the end of her spinnerets; then, with her
front tarsi, she sets her victim spinning. The Squirrel,
in the moving cylinder of his cage, does not display a
more graceful or nimbler dexterity. -A cross-bar of the
sticky spiral serves as an axis for the tiny machine, which
turns, turns swiftly, like a spit. It is a treat to the eyes
to see it revolve.
What is the object of this circular motion? It is this:
the brief contact of the spinnerets has given a starting-
point for a thread, which the Spider must now draw from
her silk warehouse and gradually roll around the captive,
so as to swathe him in a winding-sheet which will over-
power any effort made. It is the exact process employed
in our wire-mills: a motor-driven spool revolves and, by
its action, draws the wire through the narrow eyelet of a
steel plate, making it of the fineness required, and, with
the same movement, winds it round and round its collar.
Even so with the Epeira’s work. The Spider’s front
tarsi are the motor; the revolving spool is the captured
insect; the steel eyelet is the aperture of the spinnerets.
 184 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
To bind the subject with precision and dispatch nothing
could be better than this inexpensive and highly effective
method. ;
Less frequently, a second process is employed. With
a quick movement, the Spider herself turns round about
the motionless insect, crossing the web first at the
top
and then at the bottom and gradually placing the
fastenings of her line. The great elasticity of the lime-
threads allows the Epeira to fling herself time after time
tight into the web and to pass through it without damag-
ing the net.
Let us now suppose the case of some dangerous game:
a Praying Mantis, for instance, brandishing her
lethal
limbs, each hooked and fitted with a double
saw; an
angry Hornet, darting her awful sting; a sturdy Beetle,
invincible under his horny armor. These are excep-
tional morsels, hardly ever known to the Epeire. Will
they be accepted, if supplied by my stratagems?
They are, but not without caution. The game is
seen
to be perilous of approach and the Spider turns
her
back upon it instead of facing it; she trains
her rope-
cannon upon it. Quickly the hind-legs draw
from the
spinnerets something much better than
single cords.
The whole silk-battery works at one
and the same time,
firing a regular volley of ribbons and
sheets, which a
wide movement of the legs spreads
fan-wise and flings
over the entangled prisoner. Guarding against sudden
starts, the Epeira casts her armfuls
of bands on the front-
and hind-parts, over the legs and over
the wings, here,
there and everywhere, extravagantly.
The most fiery
The Banded Epeira swathing her capture. The web has given
way in many places during the struggle
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 185
prey is promptly mastered under this avalanche. In vain
the Mantis tries to open her saw-toothed arm-guards; in
vain the Hornet makes play with her dagger; in vain the
Beetle stiffens his legs and arches his back: a fresh wave
of threads swoops down and paralyzes every effort.
The ancient retiarius, when pitted against a powerful
wild beast, appeared in the arena with a rope-net folded
over his left shoulder. The animal made its spring.
The man, with a sudden movement of his right arm,
cast the net after the manner of the fisherman; he
covered the beast and tangled it in the meshes. A thrust
of the trident gave the quietus to the vanquished foe.
The Epeira acts in like fashion, with this advantage,
that she is able to renew her armful of fetters. Should
the first not suffice, a second instantly follows and
another and yet another, until the reserves of silk become
exhausted.
When all movement ceases under the snowy winding-
sheet, the Spider goes up to her bound prisoner. She
has a better weapon than the bestiarius’ trident: she has
her poison-fangs. She gnaws at the Locust, without
undue persistence, and then withdraws, leaving the torpid
patient to pine away.
These lavished, far-flung ribbons threaten to exhaust
the factory; it would be much more economical to resort
to the method of the spool; but, to turn the machine,
the Spider would have to go up to it and work it with
her leg. This is too risky; and hence the continuous
spray of silk, at a safe distance. When all is used up,
there is more to come.
 186 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Still, the Epeira seems concerned at this excessive out-
lay. When circumstances permit, she gladly returns to
the mechanism of the revolving spool. I saw her prac-
tise this abrupt change of tactics on a big Beetle, with a
smooth, plump body, which lent itself admirably to the
rotary process. After depriving the beast of all power of
movement, she went up to it and turned her corpulent
victim as she would have done with a medium-sized
Moth.
But with the Praying Mantis, sticking out her long legs
and her spreading wings, rotation is no longer feasible.
Then, until the quarry is thoroughly subdued, the spray
of bandages goes on continuously, even to the point
of
drying up the silk glands. A capture of this kind
is
ruinous. It is true that, except when I interfered, I have
never seen the Spider tackle that formidable provend
er.
Be it feeble or strong, the game is now neatly
trussed,
by one of the two methods. The next move never
varies. The bound insect is bitten, without
persistency
and without any wound that shows. The Spider next
retires and allows the bite to act, which
it soon does.
She then returns.
If the victim be small, a Clothes-moth,
for instance, it
is consumed on the spot, at the place
where it was
captured. But, for a prize of some importance,
on
which she hopes to feast for many an hour, some-
times for many a day, the Spider needs
a sequestered
dining-room, where there is naught to
fear from the
stickiness of the net work. Before going
to it, she first
makes her prey turn in the converse direc
tion to that of
 THE BANDED EPEIRA ae
the original rotation. Her object is to free the nearest
spokes, which supplied pivots for the machinery. They
are essential factors which it behooves her to keep intact,
if need be by sacrificing a few cross-bars.
It is done; the twisted ends are put back into position.
The well-trussed game is at last removed from the web
and fastened on behind with a thread. The Spider then
marches in front and the load is trundled across the web
and hoisted to the resting-floor, whichis both an inspec-
tion-post and a dining-hall. When the Spider is of a
species that shuns the light and possesses a telegraph-line,
she mounts to her daytime hiding-place along this line,
with the game bumping against her heels.
While she is refreshing herself, let us enquire into the
effects of the little bite previously administered to the
silk-swathed captive. Does the Spider kill the patient
with a view to avoiding unseasonable jerks, protests so
disagreeable at dinner-time? Several reasons make me
doubt it. In the first place, the attack is so much veiled
as to have all the appearance of a mere kiss. Besides,
it is made anywhere, at the first spot that offers. The
expert slayers employ methods of the highest precision:
they give a stab in the neck, or under the throat; they
wound the cervical nerve-centers, the seat of energy.
The paralyzers, those accomplished anatomists, poison
the motor nerve-centers, of which they know the num-
ber and position. The Epeira possesses none of this
fearsome knowledge. She inserts her fangs at random,
as the Bee does her sting. She does not select one spot
rather than another; she bites indifferently at whatever
 188 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
comes within reach. This being so, her poison would
have to possess unparalleled virulence to produce a
corpse-like inertia no matter which the point attacked. I
can scarcely believe in instantaneous death resulting from
the bite, especially in the case of insects, with their highly
resistant organisms.
Besides, is it really a corpse that the Epeira wants, she
who feeds on blood much more than on flesh? It were
to her advantage to suck a live body, wherein the flow
of the liquids, set in movement by the pulsation of the
dorsal vessel, that rudimentary heart of insects, must act
more freely than in a lifeless body, with its stagnant
fluids. The game which the Spider means to suck dry
might very well not be dead. This is easily ascertained.
I place some Locusts of different species on the webs
in my menagerie, one on this, another on that. The
Spider comes rushing up, binds the prey, nibbles at it
gently and withdraws, waiting for the bite to take effect.
I then take the insect and carefully strip it of its silken
shroud. The Locust is not dead; far from it; one would
even think that he had suffered no harm. I examine the
released prisoner through the lens in vain; I can see no
trace of a wound.
Can he be unscathed, in spite of the sort of kiss which
I saw given to him just now? You would be ready to
say so, judging by the furious way in which he kicks in
my fingers. Nevertheless, when put on the ground, he
walks awkwardly, he seems reluctant to hop. Perhaps
it is a temporary trouble, caused by his terrible excite-
ment in the web. It looks as though it would soon pass.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 189

I lodge my Locusts in cages, with a lettuce-leaf to

console them for their trials; but they will not be com-
forted. A day elapses, followed by a second. Not one
of them touches the leaf of salad; their appetite has
disappeared. Their movements become more uncertain,
the
as though hampered by irresistible torpor. On
second day they are dead, every one irrecoverably dead.
The Epeira, therefore, does not incontinently kill her
to
prey with her delicate bite; she poisons it so as
a gradual weakness, which gives the blood-
produce
the least
sucker ample time to drain her victim, without
re.
risk, before the rigor mortis stops the flow of moistu
the joint
The meal lasts quite twenty-four hours, if
insect
be large; and to the very end the butchered
tion for the
retains a remnant of life, a favorable condi
a skilful
exhausting of the juices. Once again, we see
the tactic s in
method of slaughter, very different from
s. Here there
use among the expert paralyzers or slayer
ed with
is no display of anatomical science. Unacquaint
at random. The
the patient’s structure, the Spider stabs
virulence of the poison does the rest.
in which the
There are, however, some very few cases
k of an Angular
bite is speedily mortal. My notes spea
on-fly in my
Epeira grappling with the largest Drag
lf had entangled
district (Zshna grandis, Lin.). I myse
h is not often
in the web this head of big game, whic
violently, seems
captured by the Epeire. The net shakes
Spider rushes from
bound to break its moorings. The
the giantess, flings a
her leafy villa, runs boldly up to
without further pre-
single bundle of ropes at her and,
 190 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
cautions, grips her with her legs, tries to subdue her and
then digs her fangs into the Dragon-fly’s back. The bite
is prolonged in such a way as to astonish me. This
is not the perfunctory kiss with which I am alread
y
familiar; it is a deep, determined wound. After strik-
ing her blow, the Spider retires to a certain distance
and
waits for her poison to take effect.
I at once remove the Dragon-fly. She is dead, really
and truly dead. Laid upon my table and
left alone
for twenty-four hours, she makes not the slightest
movement. A prick of which my lens cannot see
the
marks, so sharp-pointed are the Epeira’s
weapons, was
enough, with a little insistence, to kill the powerful
animal. Proportionately, the Rattlesnake,
the Horned
Viper, the Trigonocephalus and other
ill-famed serpents
produce less paralyzing effects upon their
victims.
And these Epeirz, so terrible to insec
ts, I am able to
handle without any fear. My skin
does not suit them.
If I persuaded them to bite me, what
would happen to
me? Hardly anything. We have
more cause to dread
the sting of a nettle than the dagg
er which is fatal to
Dragon-flies. The same virus acts diff
erently upon this
organism and that, is formidable here
and quite mild
there. What kills the insect may easil
y be harmless to
us. Let us not, however, generalize
too far. The Nar-
bonne Lycosa, that other enthusiastic insect-huntress,
would make us pay dearly if we attempte
d to take liberties
with her.
:
It is not uninteresting to watch the
Epeira at dinner,
I light upon one, the Banded Epei
ra, at the moment,
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 191
about three o’clock in the afternoon, when she has
captured a Locust.’ Planted in the center of the web,
on her resting-floor, she attacks the venison at the joint
of a haunch. There is no movement, not even of the
mouth-parts, so far as I am able to discover. The mouth
lingers, close-applied, at the point originally bitten.
There are no intermittent mouthfuls, with the mandibles
moving backwards and forwards. It is a sort of con-
tinuous kiss.
I visit my Epeira at intervals. The mouth does not
change its place. I visit her for the last time at nine
o’clock in the evening. Matters stand exactly as they
did: after six hours’ consumption, the mouth is still
sucking at the lower end of the right haunch. The fluid
contents of the victim are transferred to the ogress’
belly, I know not how. :
Next morning, the Spider is still at table. I take away
her dish. Naught remains of the Locust but his skin,
hardly altered in shape, but utterly drained and per-
forated in several places. The method, therefore, was
changed during the night. To extract the non-fluent
had to
residue, the viscera and muscles, the stiff cuticle
be tapped here, there and elsewhere, after which the
tattered husk, placed bodily in the press of the man-
dibles, would have been chewed, re-chewed and finally
reduced to a pill, which the sated Spider throws up.
This would have been the end of the victim, had I not
taken it away before the time.
Whether she wound or kill, the Epeira bites her
captive somewhere or other, no matter where. This is
 192 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
an excellent method on her part, because of the variety
of the game that comes her way. I see her accepting
with equal readiness whatever chance may send her:
Butterflies and Dragon-flies, Flies and Wasps, small
Dung-beetles and Locusts. If I offer her a Mantis,
a
Bumble-bee, an Anoxia — the equivalent of the common
Cockchafer— and other dishes probably unknown to her
race, she accepts all and any, large and small, thin-
skinned and horny-skinned, that which goes afoot and
that which takes winged flight. She is omnivorous,
she preys on everything, down to her own kind, should
the occasion offer.
Had she to operate according to individual structure,
she would need an anatomical dictionary; and instinct
is essentially unfamiliar with generalities: its knowledge
is always confined to limited points. The Cerceres
know their Weevils and their Buprestis-beetles abso-
lutely; the Sphex their Grasshoppers, their Crickets
and
their Locusts; the Scoliz! their Cetonia- and
Oryctes-
grubs. Even so the other paralyzers. Each has her
own
victim and knows nothing of any of the others.
The same exclusive tastes prevail among the
slayers.
Let us remember, in this connection, Phila
nthus apivorus
and, especially, the Thomisus, the comely
Spider who
cuts Bees’ throats. They understand the fatal blow,
either in the neck or under the chin, a
thing which
the Epeira does not understand; but,
just because of
1The Scolia is a Digger-wasp, like
the Cerceris and the Sphex,
and feeds her larve on the grubs
of the Cetonia, or Rose-chafer,
and the Oryctes, or Rhinoceros-beet
le.— Translator’s Note.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 193
this talent, they are specialists. Their province is the
Domestic Bee. |
Animals are a little like ourselves: they excel in an art
-only on condition of specializing in it. The Epeira,
who, being omnivorous, is obliged to generalize, aban-
dons scientific methods and makes up for this by dis-
tilling a poison capable of producing torpor and even
death; no matter what the point attacked.
Recognizing the large variety of game, we wonder
how the Epeira manages not to hesitate amid those many
diverse forms, how, for instance, she passes from the
Locust to the Butterfly, so different in appearance. To
attribute to her as a guide an extensive zoological knowl-
edge were wildly in excess of what we may reasonably
expect of her poor intelligence. The thing moves, there-
fore it is worth catching: this formula seems to sum up
the Spider’s wisdom.

The Telegraph-wire
Of the six Garden Spiders that form the object of my
observations, two only, the Banded and the Silky Epeira,
remain constantly in their webs, even under the blinding
rays of a fierce sun. The others, as a rule, do not show
themselves until nightfall, At some distance from the
net they have a rough-and-ready retreat in the brambles,
an ambush made of a few leaves held together by
stretched threads. It is here that, for the most part,
they remain in the daytime, motionless and sunk in
meditation.
But the shrill light that vexes them is the joy of the
 194 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
fields. At such times the Locust hops more nimbly than
ever, more gaily skims the Dragon-fly. Besides, the
limy web, despite the rents suffered during the night, is
still in serviceable condition. If some giddy-pate allow
himself to be caught, will the Spider, at the distance
whereto she has retired, be unable to take advantage of
the windfall? Never fear. She arrives in a flash.
How is she apprised? Let us explain the matter.
The alarm is given by the vibration of the web, much
more than by the sight of the captured object. A very
simple experiment will prove this. I lay upon a Banded
Epeira’s lime-threads a Locust that second asphyxiated
with carbon disulphide. The carcass is placed in front,
or behind, or at either side of the Spider, who sits move-
less in the center of the net. If the test is to be applied
to a species with a daytime hiding-place amid the foliage,
the dead Locust is laid on the web, more or less near the
center, no matter how.
In both cases, nothing happens at first. The Epeira
remains in her motionless attitude, even when the morsel
is at a short distance in front of her. She is indifferent
to the presence of the game, does not seem to perceive
it, so much so that she ends by wearing out my patience.
Then, with a long straw, which enables me to conceal
myself slightly, I set the dead insect trembling.
That is quite enough. The Banded Epeira and the
Silky Epeira hasten to the central floor; the others
come down from the branch; all go to
the Locust,
swathe him with tape, treat him, in short, as they
would
treat a live prey captured under normal conditions.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 195
It took the shaking of the web to decide them to attack.
Perhaps the gray color of the Locust is not sufh-
ciently conspicuous to attract attention by itself. Then
let us try red, the brightest color to our retina and
probably also to the Spiders’. None of the game hunted
by the Epeire being clad in scarlet, I make a small
bundle out of red wool, a bait of the size of a Locust.
I glue it to the web.
My stratagem succeeds. ‘As long as the parcel is sta-
tionary, the Spider is not roused; but, the moment it
trembles, stirred by my straw, she runs up eagerly.
There are silly ones who just touch the thing with
their legs and, without further enquiries, swathe it in
silk after the manner of the usual game. They even go
so far as to dig their fangs into the bait, following the
rule of the preliminary poisoning. Then and then only
the mistake is recognized and the tricked Spider retires
and does not come back, unless it be long afterwards,
when she flings the lumbersome object out of the web.
There are also clever ones. Like the others, these
hasten to the red-woolen lure, which my straw insidi-
ously keeps moving; they come from their tent among
the leaves as readily as from the center of the web; they
explore it with their palpi and their legs; but, soon
perceiving that the thing is valueless, they are careful
not to spend their silk on useless bonds. My quivering
bait does not deceive them. It is flung out after a brief
inspection.
Still, the clever ones, like the silly ones, run even from
a distance, from their leafy ambush. How do they
 196 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
know? Certainly not by sight. Before recognizing
their mistake, they have to hold the object between their
legs and even to nibble at it a little. They are extremely
short-sighted. Ata hand’s-breadth’s distance, the lifeless
prey, unable to shake the web, remains unperceived.
Besides, in many cases, the hunting takes place in the
dense darkness of the night, when sight, even if it were
good, would not avail.
If the eyes are insufficient guides, even close at hand,
how will it be when the prey has to be spied from afar?
In that case, an intelligence apparatus for long-distance
work becomes indispensable. We have no difficulty in
detecting the apparatus.
Let us look attentively behind the web of any Epeira
with a daytime hiding-place: we shall see a thread that
starts from the center of the network, ascends in a slant-
ing line outside the plane of the web and ends at the
ambush where the Spider lurks all day. Except at the
central point, there is no connection between this thread
and the rest of the work, no interweaving with the
scaffolding-threads. Free of impediment, the line runs
straight from the center of the net to the ambush-tent.
Its length averages twenty-two inches. The Angular
Epeira, settled high up in the trees, has shown me some
as long as eight or nine feet.
There is no doubt that this slanting line is a foot-
bridge which allows the Spider to repair hurriedly to the
web, when summoned by urgent business, and then,
when her round is finished, to return to her hut. In
fact, it is the road which I see her follow, in going and
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 197
coming. But is that all? No; for, if the Epeira had no
aim in view but a means of rapid transit between her
tent and the net, the foot-bridge would be fastened to
‘the upper edge of the web. The journey would be
shorter and the slope less steep.
Why, moreover, does this line always start in the
center of the sticky network and nowhere else? Because
that is the point where the spokes meet and, therefore,
the common center of vibration. Anything that moves
upon the web sets it shaking. All then that is needed
is a thread issuing from this central point to convey to
a distance the news of a prey struggling in some part
or other of the net. The slanting cord, extending out-
side the plane of the web, is more than a foot-bridge:
it is, above all, a signaling-apparatus, a telegraph-wire.
Let us try experiment. I place a Locust on the net-
work. Caught in the sticky toils, he plunges about.
Forthwith, the Spider issues impetuously from her hut,
comes down the foot-bridge, makes a rush for the
Locust, wraps him up and operates on him according
to rule. Soon after, she hoists him, fastened by a line
to her spinneret, and drags him to her hiding-place,
where a long banquet will be held. So far, nothing new:
things happen as usual.
I leave the Spider to mind her own affairs for some
days before I interfere with her. TI again propose to
give her a Locust; but this time I first cut the signaling-
thread with a touch of the scissors, without shaking any
part of the edifice. The game is then laid on the web.
Complete success: the entangled insect struggles, sets
 198 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
the net quivering; the Spider, on her side, does not stir,
as though heedless of events.
The idea might occur to one that, in this business, the
Epeira stays motionless in her cabin since she is pre-
vented from hurrying down, because the foot-bridge is
broken. Let us undeceive ourselves: for one road open
to her there are a hundred, all ready to bring her to the
place where her presence is now required. The network
is fastened to the branches by a host of lines, all of them
very easy to cross. Well, the Epeira embarks upon none
of them, but remains moveless and self-absorbed.
Why? Because her telegraph, being out of order, no
longer tells her of the shaking of the web. The captured
prey is too far off for her to see it; she is all unwitt
ing.
A. good hour passes, with the Locust still kicking,
the
Spider impassive, myself watching. Nevertheless, in
the
end, the Epeira wakes up: no longer feeling the
signal-
ing-thread, broken by my scissors, as taut as usual under
her legs, she comes to look into the state of things
. The
web is reached, without the least difficulty,
by one of the
lines of the framework, the first that offers.
The Locust
is then perceived and forthwith enswathed,
after which
the signaling-thread is remade, taking the
place of the
one which I have broken, Along this road
the Spider
goes home, dragging her prey behind her.
My neighbor, the mighty Angular Epeir
a, with her
telegraph-wire nine feet long, has even
better things in
store for me. One morning I find her
web, which is
now deserted, almost intact, a proof
that the night’s
hunting has not been good. The animal
must be hungry.
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 199
With a piece of game for a bait, I hope to bring her
down from her lofty retreat.
T entangle in the web a rare morsel, a Dragon-fly, who
struggles desperately and sets the whole net a-shaking.
The other, up above, leaves her lurking-place amid the
cypress-foliage, strides swiftly down along her telegraph-
wire, comes to the Dragon-fly, trusses her and at once
climbs home again by the same road, with her prize
dangling at her heels by a thread. The final sacrifice
will take place in the quiet of the leafy sanctuary.
A few days later I renew my experiment under the
same conditions, but, this time, I first cut the signaling-
thread. In vain I select a large Dragon-fly, a very rest-
less prisoner; in vain I exert my patience: the Spider
does not come down all day. Her telegraph being
broken, she receives no notice of what is happening
nine feet below. The entangled morsel remains where
it lies, not despised, but unknown. At nightfall the
Epeira leaves her cabin, passes over the ruins of her web,
finds the Dragon-fly and eats him on the spot, after
which the net is renewed.
The Epeire, who occupy a distant retreat by day,
cannot do without a private wire that keeps them in
permanent communication with the deserted web. All
of them have one, in point of fact, but only when age
comes, age prone to rest and to long slumbers. In their
youth, the Epeirze, who are then very wide awake, know
nothing of the art of telegraphy. Besides, their web, a
short-lived work whereof hardly a trace remains on the
morrow, does not allow of this kind of industry. It is
 200 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
no use going to the expense of a signaling-apparatus for
a ruined snare wherein nothing can now be caught.
Only the old Spiders, meditating or dozing in their green
tent, are warned from afar, by telegraph, of what takes
place on the web.
To save herself from keeping a close watch that would
degenerate into drudgery and to remain alive to events
even when resting, with her back turned on the net, the
ambushed Spider always has her foot upon the telegraph-
wire. Of my observations on this subject, let me relate
the following, which will be sufficient for our purpose.
An Angular Epeira, with a remarkably fine belly, has
spun her web between two laurustine-shrubs, covering
a
width of nearly a yard. The sun beats upon the snare-
which is abandoned long before dawn. The Spider
is
in her day manor, a resort easily discovered by follow
ing
the telegraph-wire. It is a vaulted chamber of dead
leaves, joined together with a few bits of silk. The
refuge is deep: the Spider disappears in it entirel
y, all
but her rounded hind-quarters, which bar
the entrance
to her donjon.
With her front half plunged into the back of
her
hut, the Epeira certainly cannot see her web.
Even if
she had good sight, instead of being purblind, her
posi-
tion could not possibly allow her to keep the
prey in
view. Does she give up hunting during this period of
bright sunlight? Not at all. Look again.
Wonderful! One of her hind-legs is stretched outsid
e
the leafy cabin: and the signaling-thread ends
just at
the tip of that leg. Whoso has not seen the Epeir
a in
 THE BANDED EPEIRA 201
aph-
this attitude, with her hand, so to speak, on the telegr
receiver, knows nothing of one of the most curious
appear
instances of animal cleverness. Let any game
the scene; and the slumberer, forthwith aroused
upon
s up.
by means of the leg receiving the vibrations, hasten
her
A Locust whom I myself lay on the web procures
this agreeable shock and what follows. If she is satisfied
with her bag, I am still more satisfied with what I have
learnt.
One word more. The web is often shaken by the
wind. The different parts of the framework, tossed and
teased by the eddying air-currents, cannot fail to transmit
their vibrations to the signaling-thread. Nevertheless,
the Spider does not quit her hut and remains indifferent
to the commotion prevailing in the net. Her line, there-
fore, is something better than a bell-rope that pulls and
communicates the impulse given: it is a telephone
capable, like our own, of transmitting infinitesimal waves
of sound. Clutching her telephone-wire with a toe, the
Spider listens with her leg; she perceives the innermost
vibrations: she distinguishes between the vibration pro-
ceeding from a prisoner and the mere shaking caused
by the wind.
 CHAPTER XI
THE EUMENES
A WASP-LIKE garb of motley blac
k and yellow; a
slender and graceful figure: wings not
spread out flat,
when resting, but folded lengthwi
se in two; the abdo-
men a sort of chemist’s retort, whic
h swells into a gourd
and is fastened to the thorax by
a long neck, first
distending into a pear, then shrinking
to a thread; a —

leisurely and _ silent flight; lonely habit

s. There we
have a summary sketch of the Eumenes.
My part of
the country possesses two species: the larger, Eumenes
Amedet, Lep., measures nearly an inch
in length; the
other, Eumenes pomiformis, Fabr.,!
is a reduction of the
first to the scale of one-half.
Similar in form and coloring, both
possess a like
talent for architecture: and this
talent is expressed in
a work of the highest perfection
which charms the most
untutored eye. Their dwelling
is a masterpiece. The
Eumenes follow the profession
of arms, which is
1T include three species Promiscu
ously under this one name, that
is to say, Eumenes bomiform
is, Fabr., E. bipunctis, Sauss
E., dubius, Sauss. As I did ., and
not distinguish between them
first investigations, which in my
date a very long time back,
Possible for me to ascribe it is not
to each of them its respective
their habits are the same, nest. But
for which reason this conf
injuriously affect the order usion does not
of ideas in the present chap
Author’s Note. ter.—

202
 THE EUMENES 203
unfavorable to artistic effort; they stab a prey with
their sting; they pillage and plunder. They are pre-
datory Hymenoptera, victualing their grubs with cater-
pillars. It will be interesting to compare their habits
with those of the operator on the Gray Worm.* Though
the quarry —caterpillars in either case—remain the
same, perhaps instinct, which is liable to vary with the
species, has fresh glimpses in store for us. Besides, the
edifice built by the Eumenes in itself deserves inspection.
The Hunting-Wasps whose story we have described
in former volumes are wonderfully well versed in the
art of wielding the lancet; they astound us with their
surgical methods, which they seem to have learnt from
some physiologist who allows nothing to escape him;
but those skilful slayers have no merit as builders of
dwelling-houses. What is their home, in point of fact?
An underground passage, with a cell at the end of it;
a gallery, an excavation, a shapeless cave. It is miner’s
work, navvy’s work: vigorous sometimes, artistic never.
They use the pick-ax for loosening, the crowbar for
shifting, the rake for extracting the materials, but never
the trowel for laying. Now in the Eumenes we see real
masons, who build their houses bit by bit with stone and
mortar and run them up in the open, either on the firm
rock or on the shaky support of a bough. Hunting
a
alternates with architecture; the insect is a Nimrod or
Vitruvius ? by turns.
the caterpillar
1 Ammophila hirsuta, who hunts the Gray Worm,
Moth.— Translat or’s Note.
of Noctua segetum, the Dart or Turnip
Vitruviu s Pollio, the Roman architect and engineer.—
2Marcus
Translators Note.
 204 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
And, first of all, what sites do these builders select for
their homes? Should you pass some little garden-
wall, facing south, in a sun-scorched corner, look at
the stones that are not covered with plaster, look at
them one by one, especially the largest; examine the
masses of boulders, at no great height from the ground,
where the fierce rays have heated them to the tem-
perature of a Turkish bath; and, perhaps, if you seek
long enough, you will light upon the structure of Eumenes
Amedei. The insect is scarce and lives apart; a meet-
ing is an event upon which we must not count with too
great confidence. It is an African species and loves the
heat that ripens the carob and the date. It haunts the
sunniest spots and selects rocks or firm stones as a
foundation for its nest. Sometimes also, but seldom, it
copies the Chalicodoma of the Walls! and builds upon
an ordinary pebble.
Eumenes pomiformis is much more common and is
comparatively indifferent to the nature of the foundation
whereon she erects her cells. She builds on walls, on
isolated stones, on the wood of the inner surfac
e of
half-closed shutters; or else she adopts an aerial
base,
the slender twig of a shrub, the withered sprig of a
plant of some sort. Any form of support serves her
purpose. Nor does she trouble about shelter, Less
chilly than her African cousin, she does not shun
the
unprotected spaces exposed to every wind that blows.
When erected on a horizontal surface, where nothing
interferes with it, the structure of Eumenes Amede
i is a
1Or Mason-bee.— Translator’s Note.
 THE EUMENES 205
symmetrical cupola, a spherical skull-cap, with, at the
top, a narrow passage just wide enough for the insect,
and surmounted by a neatly funneled neck. It suggests
the round hut of the Eskimo or of the ancient Gael,
with its central chimney. Two centimeters and a half,*
more or less, represent the diameter, and two centi-
meters 2 the height. When the support is a perpendicu-
lar plane, the building still retains the domed shape, but
the entrance- and exit-funnel opens at the side, upwards.
The floor of this apartment calls for no labor: it is sup-
plied direct by the bare stone.
Having chosen the site, the builder erects a circular
fence about three millimeters? thick. The materials
consist of mortar and small stones. The insect selects
its stone-quarry in some well-trodden path, on some
neighboring road, at the driest, hardest spots. With
its mandibles, it scrapes together a small quantity of
dust and saturates it with saliva until the whole becomes
a regular hydraulic mortar which soon sets and is no
longer susceptible to water. The Mason-bees have
shown us a similar exploitation of the beaten paths and
of the road-mender’s macadam. All these open-air
d to
builders, all these erectors of monuments expose
dry stone-du st ;
wind and weather require an exceedingly
water,
otherwise the material, already moistened with
that is to give it
would not properly absorb the liquid
soon be wrecked by
cohesion; and the edifice would
of
the rains. They possess the sense of discrimination
1.97 inch.— Translators Note.
2 78 inch.— Translators Note.
3.118 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 206 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
the plasterer, who rejects plaster injured by damp.
We shall see presently how the insects that build tnder
shelter avoid this laborious macadam-scraping and give
the preference to fresh earth already reduced to a paste
by its own dampness. When common lime answers our
purpose, we do not trouble about Roman cement. Now
Eumenes Amedei requires a first-class cement, even
better than that of the Chalicodoma of the Walls, for
the work, when finished, does not receive the thick
covering wherewith the Mason-bee protects her cluster
of cells. And therefore the cupola-builder, as often as
she can, uses the highway as her stone-pit.
With the mortar, flints are needed. These are bits
of gravel of an almost unvarying size — that of a pepper-
corn — but of a shape and kind differing greatly, accord-
ing to the places worked. Some are sharp-cornered,
with facets determined by chance fractures; some are
round, polished by friction under water. Some are of
limestone, others of silicic matter. The favorite stones,
when the neighborhood of the nest permits, are little
nodules of quartz, smooth and semitransparent. These
are selected with minute care. The insect weighs them,
so to say, measures them with the compass of
its
mandibles and does not accept them until
after recog-
nizing in them the requisite qualities of size
and hardness.
A circular fence, we were saying, is begun
on the bare
rock. Before the mortar sets, which does
not take long,
the mason sticks a few stones into
the soft mass, as
the work advances. She dabs them half-way into the
cement, so as to leave them jutting out
to a large extent,
 THE EUMENES 207
without penetrating to the inside, where the wall must
remain smooth for the sake of the larva’s comfort. If
necessary, a little plaster is added, to tone down the inner
protuberances. The solidly embedded stonework alter-
nates with the pure mortarwork, of which each fresh
course receives its facing of tiny encrusted pebbles. As
the edifice is raised, the builder slopes the construction
a little towards the center and fashions the curve which
will give the spherical shape. We employ arched cen-
terings to support the masonry of a dome while building:
the Eumenes, more daring than we, erects her cupola
without any scaffolding.
A round orifice is contrived at the summit; and, on
this orifice, rises a funneled mouthpiece built of pure
cement. It might be the graceful neck of some Etruscan
vase. When the cell is victualed and the egg laid,
this mouthpiece is closed with a cement plug; and in
this plug is set a little pebble, one alone, no more:
the ritual never varies. This work of rustic architecture
has naught to fear from the inclemency of the weather;
it does not yield to the pressure of the fingers; it resists
the knife that attempts to remove it without breaking
it. Its nipple shape and the bits of gravel wherewith
it bristles all over the outside remind one of certain
cromlechs of olden time, of certain tumuli whose domes
are strewn with Cyclopean stones.
Such is the appearance of the edifice when the cell
stands alone; but the Hymenopteron nearly always
fixes other domes against her first, to the number of
five, six, or more. This shortens the labor by allowing
 208 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
her to use the same partition for two adjoining rooms.
The original elegant symmetry is lost and the whole
now forms a cluster which, at first sight, appears to be
merely a clod of dry mud, sprinkled with tiny pebbles.
But let us examine the shapeless mass more closely and
we shall perceive the number of chambers composing
the habitation with the funneled mouths, each quite
distinct and each furnished with its gravel stopper set
in the cement.
The Chalicodoma of the Walls employs the same
building methods as Eumenes Amedei: in the courses
of cement she fixes, on the outside, small stones of
minor bulk. Her work begins by being a turret of
rustic art, not without a certain prettiness; then, when
the cells are placed side by side, the whole construction
degenerates into a lump governed apparently by no
architectural rule. Moreover, the Mason-bee covers
her mass of cells with a thick layer of cement, which
conceals the original rockwork edifice. The Eumenes
does not resort to this general coating: her building-
is too strong to need it; she leaves the pebbly facings
uncovered, as well as the entrances to the cells. The
two sorts of nests, although constructed of similar ma-
terials, are therefore easily distinguished.
The Eumenes’ cupola is the work of an artist: and
the artist would be sorry to cover his masterpiece with
whitewash. I crave forgiveness for a suggestion which
T advance with all the reserve befitting so delicate a
subject. Would it not be possible for the cromlech-
builder to take a pride in her work, to look upon
it
 THE EUMENES 209
with some affection and to feel gratified by this evidence
of her cleverness? Might there not be an insect science
of xsthetics? I seem at least to catch a glimpse, in
the Eumenes, of a propensity to beautify her work.
The nest must be, before all, a solid habitation, an
inviolable stronghold; but, should ornament intervene
without jeopardizing the power of resistance, will the
worker remain indifferent to it? Who could say?
Let us set forth the facts. The orifice at the top,
if left as a mere hole, would suit the purpose quite as
well as an elaborate door: the insect would lose nothing
in regard to facilities for coming and going and would
gain by shortening the labor. Yet we find, on the
contrary, the mouth of an amphora, gracefully curved,
worthy of a potter's wheel. A choice cement and
careful work are necessary for the confection of its
slender, funneled shaft. Why this nice finish, if the
builder be wholly absorbed in the solidity of her work?
Here is another detail: among the bits of gravel
employed for the outer covering of the cupola, grains
of quartz predominate. They are polished and trans-
lucent; they glitter slightly and please the eye. Why
are these little pebbles preferred to chips of lime-stone,
when both materials are found in equal abundance around
the nest?
A yet more remarkable feature: we find pretty often,
encrusted on the dome, a few tiny, empty snail-shells,
bleached by the sun. The species usually selected by
the Eumenes is one of the smaller Helices —Hehx«
strigata— frequent on our parched slopes. T have seen
 210 ‘THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
nests where this Helix took the place
of pebbles almost
entirely. They were like boxes made
of shells, the work
of a patient hand.
A comparison offers here. Certain
Australian birds,
notably the Bower-birds, build them
selves covered walks,
or playhouses, with interwoven twig
s, and decorate the
two entrances to the portico by
strewing the threshold
with anything that they can
find in the shape of
glittering, polished, or bright-color
ed objects. Every
door-sill is a cabinet of curiosities
where the collector
gathers smooth pebbles, variegated
shells, empty snail-
shell
s, parrot’s feathers, bones that have come
look to
like sticks of ivory. The odds and
ends mislaid by man
find a home in the bird’s museum
, where we see pipe-
stems, metal buttons, strips of cotton stuff and stone
ax-heads.
The collection at either entrance
to the boweris large
enough to fill half a bushel.
As these objects are of
no use to the bird, its onl
y motive for accumulating
them must be an art-love
r’s hobby. Our common
Magpie has similar tastes: any shiny
thing that he comes
upon he picks up, hides and
hoards.
Well, the Eumenes, who
shares this passion for bright
pebbles and empty snail-shells
, is the Bower-bird of
the insect world; but she js
a more practical collector,
knows how to combine the
useful and the ornamental
and employs her finds in
the construction of her nest
which is both a fortress ,
and a museum. Whe n she
finds nodule s of transl
ucent quartz, she rejects
thing else: the building will every-
be all the prettier for them,
 THE EUMENES 211
When she comes across a little white shell, she hastens
to beautify her dome. with it; should fortune smile
and empty snail-shells abound, she encrusts the whole
fabric with them, until it becomes the supreme expres-
sion of her artistic taste. Is this so? Or is it not so?
Who shall decide?
The nest of Eumenes pomiformis is the size of an
average cherry and constructed of pure mortar, without
the least outward pebblework. Its shape is exactly
similar to that which we have just described. When
built upon a horizontal base of sufficient extent, it is
a dome with a central neck, funneled like the mouth
of an urn. But when the foundation is reduced to a
mere point, as on the twig of a shrub, the nest becomes
a spherical capsule, always, of course, surmounted by
a neck. It is then a miniature specimen of exotic
pottery, a paunchy alcarraza. Its thickness is very
slight, less than that of a sheet of paper; it crushes
under the least effort of the fingers. The outside is
not quite even. It displays wrinkles and seams, due
to the different courses of mortar, or else knotty pro-
tuberances distributed almost concentrically.
Both Hymenoptera accumulate caterpillars in their
coffers, whether domes or jars. Let us give an abstract
of the bill of fare. These documents, for all their dry-
ness, possess a value; they will enable whoso cares
to interest himself in the Eumenes to perceive to what
extent instinct varies the diet, according to the place
and season. The food is plentiful, but lacks variety.
It consists of tiny caterpillars, by which I mean the
 212. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
grubs of small Butterflies. We learn this from the
structure, for we observe the prey selected by either
Hymenopteran the usual caterpillar organism. The
body is composed of twelve segments, not including
the head. The first three have true legs, the next two
are legless, then come two segments with prolegs, two
legless segments and, lastly, a terminal segment with
prolegs. It is exactly the same structure which we
saw
in the Ammophila’s Gray Worm.
My old notes give the following description of the
caterpillars found in the nest of Eumenes
Amedei:
“a pale green or, less often, a yellowish body,
covered
with short white hairs; a head wider than the front
segment, dead-black and also bristling
with hairs.
Length: 16 to 18 millimeters:! width:
about 3 milli-
meters.” ? A quarter of a century and more
has elapsed
since I jotted down this descriptive sketch;
and to-day,
at Sérignan, I find in the Eumenes’ larde
r the same
game which I noticed long ago at Carpe
ntras. Time
and distance have not altered the nature of
the provisions.
The number of morsels served for the
meal of each
larva interests us more than the quali
ty. In the cells
of Eumenes Amedei, I find sometime
s five caterpillars
and sometimes ten, which means a difference of a
hundred per cent. in the quantity of the
food, for the
morsels are of exactly the same size in both
cases. Why
this unequal supply, which gives a doub
le portion to
one larva and a single portion to anot
her? The diners
1.63 to .7 inch— Translator’s Note.
2.12 inch— Translator’s Note.
 THE EUMENES ar
have the same appetite: what one nursling demands a
second must demand, unless we have here a different
menu, according to the sexes. In the perfect stage
the males are smaller than the females, are hardly half
as much in weight or volume. The amount of victuals,
therefore, required to bring them to their final develop-
ment may be reduced by one-half. In that case, the
well-stocked cells belong to females; the others, more
meagerly supplied, belong to males.
But the egg is laid when the provisions are stored;
and this egg has a determined sex, though the most
minute examination is not able to discover the differences
which will decide the hatching of a female or a male.
We are therefore needs driven to this strange con-
clusion: the mother knows beforehand the sex of the
egg which she is about to lay; and this knowledge
allows her to fill the larder according to the appetite
of the future grub. What a strange world, so wholly
different from ours! We fall back upon a special sense
to explain the Ammophila’s hunting; what can we fall
back upon to account for this intuition of the future?
Can the theory of chances play a part in the hazy
problem? If nothing is logically arranged with a fore-
seen object, how is this clear vision of the invisible ac-
quired?
The capsules of Eumenes pomiformis are literally
crammed with game. It is true that the morsels are
very small. My notes speak of fourteen green cater-
pillars in one cell and sixteen in a second cell. I have
no other information about the integral diet of this Wasp,
 214 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
whom I have neglected somewhat, preferri
ng to study her
cousin, the builder of rockwork domes.
‘As the two sexes
differ in size, although to a lesser degree than
in the case
of Eumenes Amedei, I am inclined to think
that those two
well-filled cells belonged to females and that
the males’
cells must have a less sumptuous table. Not
having seen
for myself, I am content to set down this
mere suspicion.
What I have seen and often seen
js the pebbly
nest, with the larva inside and the
provisions partly
consumed. To continue the rearing
at home and follow
my charge’s progress from day to
day was a business
which I could not resist ; besides,
as far as I was able
to see, it was easily managed. I had
had some practice
in this foster-father’s trade ; My
association with the
Bembex, the Ammophila, the Sphex!
and many others
had turned me into a passable
insect-rearer. I was
no novice in the art of dividing an
old pen-box into
compartments in which I laid a bed of sand and,
on
this bed, the larva and her Provisions
delicately removed
from the maternal cell. Success was
almost certain at
each attempt: I used to watch the
larve at their meals,
T saw my nurslings grow up and
spin their cocoons.
Relying upon the experience thus
gained, I reckoned
upon success in raising my Eume
nes,
The results, however, in no way answered to my
expectations. All my endeavors failed; and the larva
allowed itself to die a piteous deat
h without touching
its provisions,
I ascribed my reverse to this, that and the other
1Three species of Digger-wasps.— Tran
slator’s Note.
 THE EUMENES 2g
cause: perhaps I had injured the frail grub when
demolishing the fortress; a splinter of masonry had
bruised it when I forced open the. hard dome with
my knife; a too sudden exposure to the sun had sur-
prised it when I withdrew it from the darkness of its
cell; the open air might have dried up its moisture.
I did the best I could to remedy all these probable
reasons of failure. I went to work with every possible
caution in breaking open the home; I cast the shadow
of my body over the nest, to save the grub from sun-
stroke ; I at once transferred larva and provisions into a
glass tube and placed this tube in a box which I carried
in my hand, to minimize the jolting on the journey.
Nothing was of avail: the larva, when taken from its
dwelling, always allowed itself to pine away.
For a long time I persisted in explaining my want of
success by the difficulties attending the removal.
Eumenes ‘Amedei’s cell is a strong casket which cannot
be forced without sustaining a shock; and the demoli-
tion of a work of this kind entails such varied accidents
that we are always liable to think that the worm has
been bruised by the wreckage. As for carrying home
the nest intact on its support, with a view to opening it
with greater care than is permitted by a rough-and-ready
operation in the fields, that is out of the question: the
nest nearly always stands on an immovable rock or on
some big stone forming part of a wall. If I failed in my
attempts at rearing, it was because the larva had suffered
when I was breaking up her house. The reason seemed
a good one; and [ let it go at that.
 216 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
In the end, another idea occurred to me and made
me doubt whether my rebuffs were always due to clums
y
accidents. The Eumenes’ cells are crammed with
game:
there are ten caterpillars in the cell of Eumenes
Amedei
and fifteen in that of Eumenes pomiformis.
These
caterpillars, stabbed no doubt, but in a manner
unknown
to me, are not entirely motionless. The mandibles
seize upon what is presented to them, the body buckles
and unbuckles, the hinder half lashes out briskly when
stirred with the point of a needle. At what spot is
the egg laid amid that swarming mass, where thirty
mandibles can make a hole in it, where
a hundred and
twenty pairs of legs can tear it? When the
victuals con-
sist of a single head of game, these perils
do not exist:
and the egg is laid on the victim not at
hazard, but upon
a judiciously chosen spot. Thus, for instan
ce, Ammo-
phila hirsuta fixes hers, by one end, cross-
wise, on the
Gray Worm, on the side of the first prolegged
segment.
The eggs hang over the caterpillar’s back,
away from
the legs, whose proximity might be
dangerous. The
worm, moreover, stung in the greater number of its
nerve-centers, lies on one side, motion
less and incapable
of bodily contortions or sudden jerks
of its hinder seg-
ments. If the mandibles try to snap, if
the legs give a
kick or two, they find nothing in front
of them: the
Ammophila’s egg is at the opposite side.
The tiny grub
is thus able, as soon as it hatches, to dig into
the giant’s
belly in full security.
|
How different are the conditions in the Eumenes’
cell.
The caterpillars are imperfectly paralyzed,
perhaps be-
 THE EUMENES 217
cause they have received but a single stab; they toss about
when touched with a pin; they are bound to wriggle
when bitten by the larva. If the egg is laid on one of
them, the first morsel will, I admit, be consumed without
danger, on condition that the point of attack be wisely
chosen; but there remain others which are not deprived of
every means of defence. Let a movement take place in
the mass; and the egg, shifted from the upper layer, will
tumble into a pitfall of legs and mandibles; and this least
thing has every chance of being brought about in the dis-
ordered heap of caterpillars. The egg, a tiny cylinder,
transparent as crystal, is extremely delicate: a touch
withers it, the least pressure crushes it.
No, its place is not in the mass of provisions, for the
caterpillars, I repeat, are not sufficiently harmless.
Their paralysis is incomplete, as is proved by their con-
tortions when I irritate them and shown, on the other
hand, by a very important fact. I have sometimes
taken from Eumenes Amedei’s cell a few heads of
game half transformed into chrysalids. It is evident
that the transformation was effected in the cell itself
and, therefore, after the operation which the Wasp
had performed upon them. Whereof does this operation
consist? I cannot say precisely, never having seen the
huntress at work. The sting most certainly has played
its part; but where? And how often? This is what
we do not know. What we are able to declare is that
the torpor is not very deep, inasmuch as the patient
sometimes retains enough vitality to shed its skin and
become a chrysalid. Everything thus tends to make us
 218 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
ask by what stratagem the egg is shielded from danger.
This stratagem I longed to discover; I would not be
put off by the scarcity of nests, by the irksomeness of
the searches, by the risk of sunstroke, by the time taken
up, by the vain breaking open of unsuitable cells Sit
meant to see and I saw.
Here is my method: with the point of a knife and a
pair of nippers, I make a side opening, a window, be-
neath the dome of Eumenes Amedei and Eumenes
pomiformis. I work with the greatest care, so as not
to injure the recluse. Formerly I attacked the cupola
from the top, now I attack it from the side. I stop when
the breach is large enough to allow me to see the state
of things within.
What is this state of things? I pause to give the
reader time to reflect and to think out for himself a
means of safety that will protect the egg and after-
wards the grub in the perilous conditions which I
have set forth. Seek, think and contrive, such of you
as have inventive minds. Have you guessed it? Do
you give it up? I may as well tell you.
The egg is not laid upon the provisions; it is hung
from the top of the cupola by a thread which vies with
that of a Spider’s web for slenderness. The dainty cylin-
der quivers and swings to and fro at the least breath; it
reminds me of the famous pendulum suspended from
the dome of the Panthéon to prove the rotation of
the
earth. The victuals are heaped up underneath.
Second act of this wondrous spectacle. In order to
witness it, we must open a window in cell upon cell
 THE EUMENES 219
until fortune deigns to smile upon us. The larva is
hatched and already fairly large. Like the egg, it hangs
perpendicularly, by the rear, from the ceiling; but the
suspensory cord has gained considerably in length and
consists of the original thread eked out by a sort of
ribbon. The grub is at dinner: head downwards, it is
digging into the limp belly of one of the caterpillars.
I touch up the game that is still intact with a straw.
The caterpillars grow restless. The grub forthwith
retires from the fray. And how? Marvel is added to
marvels: what I took for a flat cord, for a ribbon, at
the lower end of the suspensory thread, is a sheath, a
scabbard, a sort of ascending gallery wherein the larva
crawls backwards and makes its way up. The cast shell
of the egg, retaining its cylindrical form and perhaps
lengthened by a special operation on the part of the new-
born grub, forms this safety-channel. At the least sign
of danger in the heap of caterpillars, the larva retreats
into its sheath and climbs back to the ceiling, where the
swarming rabble cannot reach it. When peace is re-
stored, it slides down its case and returns to table, with
its head over the viands and its rear upturned and ready
to withdraw in case of need.
Third and last act. Strength has come; the larva is
brawny enough not to dread the movements of the cater-
pillars’ bodies. Besides, the caterpillars, mortified by
fasting and weakened by a prolonged torpor, become
more and more incapable of defense. The perils of the
tender babe are succeeded by the security of the lusty
stripling; and the grub, henceforth scorning its sheathed
220 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
lift, lets itself drop upon the game that remains. And
thus the banquet ends in normal fashion.
This is what I saw in the nests of both species of the
Eumenes and that is what I showed to friends who
were even more surprised than I by these ingenious
tactics. The egg hanging from the ceiling, at a distance
from the provisions, has naught to fear from the cater-
pillars, which flounder about below. The new-hatched
larva, whose suspensory cord is lengthened by the
sheath of the egg, reaches the game and takes a first
cautious bite at it. If there be danger, it climbs back
to the ceiling by retreating inside the scabbard. This
explains the failure of my earlier attempts. Not know-
ing of the safety-thread, so slender and so easily broken,
I gathered at one time the egg, at another the young
larva, after my inroads at the top had caused them to
fall into the middle of the live victuals. Neither of them
was able to thrive when brought into direct contact with
the dangerous game.
If any one of my readers, to whom I appealed just
now, has thought out something better than the
Eumenes’ invention, I beg that he will let me know:
there is a curious parallel to be drawn between the
in-
spirations of reason and the inspirations of instinct.
 CHAPTER XII

THE OSMLZ

Their Habits

Fepruary has its sunny days, heralding spring, to which

rude winter will reluctantly yield place. In snug corners,
among the rocks, the great spurge of our district, the
characias of the Greeks, the jusclo of the Provengals,
begins to lift its drooping inflorescence and discreetly
opens a few somber flowers. Here the first Midges of
the year will come to slake their thirst. By the time that
the tip of the stalks reaches the perpendicular, the worst
of the cold weather will be over.
Another eager one, the almond-tree, risking the loss
of its fruit, hastens to echo these preludes to the festival
of the sun, preludes which are too often treacherous.
A few days of soft skies and it becomes a glorious dome
of white flowers, each twinkling with a roseate eye. The
country, which still lacks green, seems dotted everywhere
with white-satin pavilions. °’T would be a callous heart
indeed that could resist the magic of this awakening.
The insect nation is represented at these rites by a
few of its more zealous members. There is first of all
the Honey-bee, the sworn enemy of strikes, who profits
by the least lull of winter to find out if some rosemary
221
 222 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
or other is not beginning to open somewhere near the
hive. The droning of the busy swarms fills the flowery
vault, while a snow of petals falls softly to the foot of
the tree.
Together with the population of harvesters there
mingles another, less numerous, of mere drinkers, whose
nesting-time has not yet begun. This is the colony of
the Osmiz, those exceedingly pretty solitary bees, with
their copper-colored skin and bright-red fleece. Two
species have come hurrying up to take part in the joys
of the almond-tree: first, the Horned Osmia, clad
in
black velvet on the head and breast, with red velvet on
the abdomen; and, a little later, the Three-horned Osmia,
whose livery must be red and red only. These are the
first delegates despatched by the pollen-gleaners to ascer-
tain the state of the season and attend the festival of the
early blooms.
Tis but a moment since they burst their cocoon, the
winter abode: they have left their retreats in the crevices
of the old walls; should the north wind blow and set
the
almond-tree shivering, they will hasten to return to them.
Hail to you, O my dear Osmiz, who yearly, from the
far end of the harmas, opposite snow-capped Ventoux,
bring me the first tidings of the awakening of the insect
world! I am one of your friends; let us talk about you
a little.
Most of the Osmiz of my region do not themselves
prepare the dwelling destined for the laying. They want
1A mountain in the Provencal Alps, near Carpentras
and Sérig-
nan, 6,271 ft— Translator’s Note.
 THE OSML#® 223
ready-made lodgings, such as the old cells and old
galleries of Anthophore and Chalicodome. If these
favorite haunts are lacking, then a hiding-place in the
wall, a round hole in some bit of wood, the tube of a
reed, the spiral of a dead Snail under a heap of stones
are adopted, according to the tastes of the several species.
The retreat selected is divided into chambers by parti-
tion-walls, after which the entrance to the dwelling re-
ceives a massive seal. That is the sum-total of the
building done.
For this plasterer’s rather than mason’s work, the
Horned and the Three-horned Osmia employ soft earth.
This material is a sort of dried mud, which turns to
pap on the addition of a drop of water. The two Osmize
limit themselves to gathering natural soaked earth, mud
in short, which they allow to dry without any special
preparation on their part; and so they need deep and
well-sheltered retreats, into which the rain cannot pene-
trate, or the work would fall to pieces.
Latreille’s Osmia uses different materials for her par-
titions and her doors. She chews the leaves of some
mucilaginous plant, some mallow perhaps, and then pre-
pares a sort of green putty with which she builds her
partitions and finally closes the entrance to the dwelling.
When she settles in the spacious cells of the Masked
Anthophora (Anthophora personata, Illig.), the entrance
to the gallery, which is wide enough to admit a man’s
finger, is closed with a voluminous plug of this vege-
table paste. On the earthy banks, hardened by the sun,
the home is then betrayed by the gaudy color of the lid.
 224 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
It is as though the authorities had closed the door and
affixed to it their great seals of green wax.
So far then as their building-materials are concerned,
the Osmiz whom I have been able to observe are divided
into two classes: one building compartments with mud,
the other with a green-tinted vegetable putty. To the
latter belongs Latreille’s Osmia. The first section in-
cludes the Horned Osmia and the Three-horned Osmia,
both so remarkable for the horny tubercles on their
faces.
The great reed of the south, Arundo donax, is often
used, in the country, for making rough garden-shelters
against the mistral or just for fences. These reeds, the
ends of which are chopped off to make them all the
same length, are planted perpendicularly in the earth.
I have often explored them in the hope of finding
Osmia-nests. My search has very seldom succeeded.
The failure is easily explained. The partitions and the
closing-plug of the Horned and of the Three-horned
Osmia are made, as we have seen, of a sort of mud
which water instantly reduces to pap. With the upright
_ position of the reeds, the stopper of the opening would
receive the rain and would become diluted; the ceilings
of the storeys would fall in and the family would perish
by drowning. Therefore the Osmia, who knew of these
drawbacks before I did, refuses the reeds when they are
placed perpendicularly.
The same reed is used for a second purpose. We
make canisses of it, that is to say, hurdles, which, in
spring, serve for the rearing of Silkworms and, in
 THE OSMIZ 225
autumn, for the drying of figs. At the end of April and
work,
during May, which is the time when the Osmiz
nurseries,
the canisses are indoors, in the Silkworm
in autumn,
where the Bee cannot take possession of them;
and peeled
they are outside, exposing their layers of figs
long
peaches to the sun; but by that time the Osmiz have
old,
disappeared. If, however, during the spring, an
posi-
disused hurdle is left out of doors, in a horizontal
sion of
tion, the Three-horned Osmia often takes posses
the reeds lie
it and makes use of the two ends, where
truncated and open.
ed
There are other quarters that suit the Three-horn
and will
Osmia, who is not particular, it seems to me,
have the
make shift with any hiding-place, so long as it
tion and
requisite conditions of diameter, solidity, sanita
kindly darkness. The most original dwellings that I
ally
know her to occupy are disused Snail-shells, especi
Snail (Helix aspersa). Let
the house of the Common
trees and
us go to the slope of the hills thick with olive-
of dry
inspect the little supporting-walls which are built
insectire
stones and face the south. In the crevices of this
shells,
masonry we shall reap a harvest of old Snail-
family
plugged with earth right up to the orifice. The
of those
of the Three-horned Osmia is settled in the spiral
par-
shells, which is subdivided into chambers by mud
titions.
and
The Three-pronged Osmia (O. Tridentata, Duf.
ng herself
Per.) alone creates a home of her own, diggi
a channel with her mandibles in dry bramble and some-
times in danewort.
 226 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
The Osmia loves mystery. She
wants a dark retreat,
hidden from the eye. I wou
ld like, nevertheless, to
watch her in the privacy of her
home and to witness her
work with the same facility as
if she were nest-building
in the open air. Perhaps
there are some interesting
characte ristics to be picked up in
the depths of her
retreats. It remains to be
seen whether my wish can
be realized.
When studying the insect’s
mental capacity, especially
its very retentive memory
for places, I was led to
myself whe ask
ther it would not be pos
sible to make a
suitably-chosen Bee build
in any place that I wished
even in my study. And I wanted,
,
for an experiment
of this sort, not an indivi
dual but a numerous col
My preference lent toward ony,
s the Three-horned Ost
who is very plentiful in ia,
my neighborhood, where,
gether with Latr to-
eille’s Osmia, she frequents
the monstrous nests of in particular
the Chalicodoma of the
I therefore thought out a sch Sheds.
eme for making the Three-
horned Osm ia accept my study
as her settlement and
build her nest in glass tube
s, through which I could
watch the progress. To easily
these crystal galleries,
might well inspire a cer which
tain distrust, were to
more natural ret be added
reats: reeds of every
ness and disused Chalic length and thick.
odoma-nests taken fro
the biggest and the sma m among
llest. A scheme like
mad. I admit it, whi this sounds
le mentioning that per
€ver suc ceeded so well with me. haps none
We shall see as much
presently,
My method is extremely 7
simple. All I ask is that the
 THE OSML 227
the
birth of my insects, that is to say, their first seeing
place
light, their emerging from the cocoon, should take
Here
on the spot where I propose to make them settle.
, but of a
there must be retreats of no matter what nature
The
shape similar to that in which the Osmia delights.
ived
first impressions of sight, which are the most long-l
of their
of any, shall bring back my insects to the place
the
birth. And not only will the Osmiz return, through
on the
always open windows, but they will also nidify
ary con-
natal spot, if they find something like the necess
ditions.
ons
And so, all through the winter, I collect Osmia-coco
the Sheds ;
picked up in the nests of the Mason-bee of
ful supply in
I go to Carpentras to glean a more plenti
the nests of the Anthophora. I spread out my stock in a
es a bright
large open box on a table which receiv
sun. The
diffused light but not the direct rays of the
g south and
table stands between two windows facin
of hatching
overlooking the garden. When the moment
will always remain open to
comes, those two windows
give the swarm entire liberty to go in and out as it
s are laid here
pleases. The glass tubes and reed-stump
heaps of cocoons
and there, in fine disorder, close to the
the Osmia will have
and all in a horizontal position, for
nothing to do with upright reeds. Although such a pre-
to place some
caution is not indispensable, I take care
ing of some of the
cocoons in each cylinder. The hatch
cover of the gal-
Osmiz will therefore take place under
later; and the site
leries destined to be the building-yard
on their memory.
will be all the more deeply impressed
 228 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
When I have made these comprehensive arrangements,
there is nothing more to be done; and I wait
patiently for
the building-season to open.
,
My Osmiz leave their cocoons in the seco
nd half of
April. Under the immediate rays of
the sun, in well-
sheltered nooks, the hatching would
occur a month
earlier, as we can see from the mixed popu
lation of the
snowy almond-tree. The constant shade in my study
has delayed the awakening, without,
however, making
any change in the nesting-period,
which synchronizes
with the flowering of the thyme.
We now have, around
my working-table, my books, my
jars and my various
appliances, a buzzing crowd that
goes in and out of the
windows at every moment.
I enjoin the household
henceforth not to touch a thing in
the insects’ laboratory,
to do no more sweeping, no more
dusting. They might
disturb a swarm and make it
think that my hospitality
Was not to be trusted. During
four or five weeks I wit-
ness the work of a number of Osmi
z which is much too
large to allow my watching
their individual operations.
I content myself with a few,
whom I mark with different-
colored spots to distinguish them
; and TI take no notice of
the others, whose finished work
will have my attention
later.
The first to appear are the male
s. If the sun is bright,
they flutter around the heap
of tubes as if to take carefu
note of the locality; blows l
are exchanged and the riva
Swains indulge in mild skirmishi l
ng on the floor, then
shake the dust off their
wings. They fly assiduously
from tube to tube, pla
cing their heads in the
orifices:to
 THE OSMI® 229
see if some female will at last make up her mind to
emerge.
_ One does, in point of fact. She is covered with dust
and has the disordered toilet that is inseparable from the
hard work of the deliverance. A lover has seen her, so
has a second, likewise a third. All crowd round her.
The lady responds to their advances by clashing her
mandibles, which open and shut rapidly, several times
in succession. The suitors forthwith fall back; and they
also, no doubt to keep up their dignity, execute savage
mandibular grimaces. Then the beauty retires into the
arbor and her wooers resume their places on the threshold.
A fresh appearance of the female, who repeats the play
with her jaws; a fresh retreat of the males, who do the
best they can to flourish their own pincers. The Osmiz
have a strange way of declaring their passion: with that
fearsome gnashing of their mandibles, the lovers look as
though they meant to devour each other. It suggests the
thumps affected by our yokels in their moments of gal-
lantry.
The ingenuous idyll is soon over. The females, who
grow more numerous from day to day, inspect the prem-
ises; they buzz outside the glass galleries and the reed
dwellings; they go in, stay for a while, come out, go in
again and then fly away briskly into the garden. They
return, first one, then another. They halt outside, in the
sun, or on the shutters fastened back against the wall;
they hover in the window-recess, come inside, go to the
reeds and give a glance at them, only to set off again and
to return soon after. Thus do they learn to know their
230 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
home, thus do they fix their birthplace in their memory.
The village of our childhood is always a cherished spot,
never to be effaced from our recollection. The Osmia’s
life endures for a month; and she acquires a lasting re-
membrance of her hamlet in a couple of days. ’T- was
there that she was born; ’t was there that she loved; ’t is
there that she will return. Dulces reminiscitur Argos.*
At last each has made her choice. The work of con-
struction begins; and my expectations are fulfilled far
beyond my wishes. The Osmiz build nests in all the re-
treats which I have placed at their disposal. And now,
O my Osmiz, I leave you a free field!
The work begins with a thorough spring-cleaning of
the home. Remnants of cocoons, dirt consisting of spoilt
honey, bits of plaster from broken partitions, remains of
dried Mollusc at the bottom of a shell: these and much
other insanitary refuse must first of all disappear. Vio-
lently the Osmia tugs at the offending object and tears it
out; and then off she goes in a desperate hurry, to dis-
pose of it far away from the study. They are all alike,
these ardent sweepers: in their excessive zeal, they fear
lest they should block up the place with a speck of dust
which they might drop in front of the new house. The
glass tubes, which I myself have rinsed under the tap, are
not exempt from a scrupulous cleaning. The Osmia
dusts them, brushes them thoroughly with her tarsi and
then sweeps them out backwards. What does she pick
up? Notathing. It makes no difference: as a consci-
1 Now falling by another’s wound, his eyes
He casts to heaven, on Argos thinks and dies.
— 4ineid, Book x, Dryden's translation.
 THE OSMLE 231
entious housewife, she gives the place a touch of the
broom nevertheless.
Now for the provisions and the partition-walls. Here
the order of the work changes according to the diameter
of the cylinder. My glass tubes vary greatly in dimen-
sions. The largest have an inner width of a dozen milli-
meters;* the narrowest measure six or seven.2 In the
latter, if the bottom suit her, the Osmia sets to work
bringing pollen and honey. If the bottom do not suit
her, if the sorghum-pith plug with which I have closed
the rear-end of the tube be too irregular and badly joined,
the Bee coats it with a little mortar. When this small
repair is made, the harvesting begins.
In the wider tubes, the work proceeds quite differently.
At the moment when the Osmia disgorges her honey and
especially at the moment when, with her hind-tarsi, she
rubs the pollen-dust from her ventral brush, she needs a
narrow aperture, just big enough to allow of her passage.
I imagine that in a straitened gallery the rubbing of her
whole body against the sides gives the harvester a sup-
port for her brushing-work. In a spacious cylinder this
support fails her; and the Osmia starts with creating one
for herself, which she does by narrowing the channel.
Whether it be to facilitate the storing of the victuals or
for any other reason, the fact remains that the Osmia
housed in a wide tube begins with the partitioning.
Her division is made by a dab of clay placed at right
angles to the axis of the cylinder, at a distance from the
1 Nearly half an inch.— Translator’s Note.
2 About a quarter of an inch— Translator’s Note.
232 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
bottom determined by the ordinary length of acell. The
wad is not a complete round; it is more crescent-shaped,
leaving a circular space between it and one side of the
tube. Fresh layers are swiftly added to the dab of clay;
and soon the tube is divided by a partition which has a
circular opening at the side of it, a sort of dog-hole
through which the Osmia will proceed to knead the Bee-
bread. When the victualing is finished and the egg laid
upon the heap, the whole is closed and the filled-up par-
tition becomes the bottom of the next cell. Then the
same method is repeated, that is to say, in front of the
just completed ceiling a second partition is built, again
with a side-passage, which is stouter, owing to its dis-
tance from the center, and better able to withstand the
numerous comings and goings of the housewife than a
central orifice, deprived of the direct support of the wall,
could hope to be. When this partition is ready, the pro-
visioning of the second cell is effected; and so on until
the wide cylinder is completely stocked.
The building of this preliminary party-wall, with a
narrow, round dog-hole, for a chamber to which the
victuals will not be brought until later is not restricted
to the Three-horned Osmia; it is also frequently found
in the case of the Horned Osmia and of Latreille’s Osmia.
Nothing could be prettier than the work of the last-
named, who goes to the plants for her material and fash-
ions a delicate sheet in which she cuts a graceful arch.
The Chinaman partitions his house with paper screens;
Latreille’s Osmia divides hers with disks of thin green
cardboard perforated with a serving-hatch which remains
 THE OSMLE 293

until the room is completely furnished. When we have

little
no glass houses at our disposal, we can see these
, if
architectural refinements in the reeds of the hurdles
we open them at the right season.
By splitting the bramble-stumps in the course of July,
notwith-
we perceive also that the Three-pronged Osmia,
standing her narrow gallery, follows the same practice
as Latreille’s Osmia, with a difference. She does not
er
build a party-wall, which the diameter of the cylind
f to puttin g up a
would not permit; she confines hersel
frail circular pad of green putty, as though to limit, be-
fore any attempt at harvesting, the space to be occupied
by the Bee-bread, whose depth could not be calculated
afterwards if the insect did not first mark out its confines.
If, in order to see the Osmia’s nest as a whole, we split
;
a reed lengthwise, taking care not to disturb its contents
or, better still, if we select for examination the string
of cells built in a glass tube, we are forthwith struck by
one detail, namely, the uneven distances between the
partitions, which are placed almost at right angles to the
axis of the cylinder. It is these distances which fix the
size of the chambers, which, with a similar base, have
different heights and consequently unequal holding-
capacities. The bottom partitions, the oldest, are farther
closer
apart; those of the front part, near the orifice, are
together. Moreover, the provisions are plentiful in the
loftier cells, whereas they are niggardly and reduced to
one-half or even one-third in the cells of lesser height.
the
Let me say at once that the large cells are destined for
females and the small ones for the males.
 234 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT

Distribution of the Sexes

Does the insect which stores
up Provisions proportion-
ate to the needs of the egg
which it is about to lay kno
beforehand the sex of tha w
t egg? Or is the truth
more paradoxical? What even
we have to do is to turn
Suspicion into a certainty this
demonstrated by experimen
And first let us find out t.
how the sexes are arrang
It is not possible to ascert ed.
ain the chronological ord
of a laying, except by goi er
ng to suitably chosen spe
Fortunately there are a few cie s.
species in which we do not
find this difficulty: these
are the Bees who keep to
gallery and build their cell one
s in stories, Among the
ber are the different num-
inhabitants of the bra
notably the Three-pronge mbl e-s tum ps,
d Osmiz, who form an
lent subject for observati excel-
on, partly because they
imposing size — bigger are of
than any other bramble-d
in my neighborhood — par wel ler s
tly because they are so
tiful. ple n-
Let us briefly recall the
Osmia’s habits. Amid
tangle of a hedge, a bra the
mble-stalk js selected,
ing, but a mere wit stil l stand-
hered stump. In this the insect digs

ily. Ata height of

some twelve millimete
is fixed. This gives rs,1 4 partition
a second story, whic
Teceives provisions an h in its turn
d an egg, the second
in order of
1 About half an inch.— Tra
nslator’s Note,
 THE OSMILE 235
story, until
primogeniture. And so it goes on, story by
of the same
the cylinder is full. Then the thick plug
ed closes
green material of which the partitions are form
the home and keeps out marauders.
of
In this common cradle, the chronological order
the famil y is
births is perfectly clear. The first-born of
at the top,
at the bottom of the series; the last-born is
bottom
near the closed door. The others follow from
in point
to top in the same order in which they followed
lly; each
of time. The laying is numbered automatica
which it
cocoon tells us its respective age by the place
occupies.
sents the
A number of eggs bordering on fifteen repre
vatio ns enable
entire family of an Osmia, and my obser
is not gov-
me to state that the distribution of the sexes
al is that
erned by any rule. All that I can say in gener
and nearly al-
the complete series begins with females
seri those
—es
ways ends with males. The incomplete
s — can teach
which the insect has laid in various place
only fragments
us nothing in this respect, for they are
impossible to tell
starting we know not whence, and it is
beginning, to the
whether they should be ascribed to the
laying. To sum
end, or to an intermediate period of the
Osmia, no order
up: in the laying of the Three-pronged
only, the series has
governs the succession of the sexes;
es and to finish
a marked tendency to begin with femal
with males.
start with the
The mother occupies herself at the
better-gifted, the
stronger sex, the more necessary, the
the first flush of her
female sex, to which she devotes
 236 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
laying and the fullness of her
vigor; later, when she is
perhaps already at the end of her
strength, she bestows
what remains of her maternal] soli
citude upon the weaker
sex, the less-gifted, almost negligib
le male sex. There
are, however, other species where
this law becomes abso-
lute, constant and regular.
In order to go more deeply into
this curious question
I installed some hives of a new
kind on the sunniest walls
of my enclosure. They cons
isted of stumps of the great
reed of the south, open at
one end, closed at the othe
by the r
natural knot and gathered into a sort of eno
pan-pipe, such as rmous
Polyphemus might have emp
The invitation was loyed.
accepted: Osmize came in fairly
numbers, to benefit large
by the queer installation,
Three Osmize especially (O.
tricornis, Latr., O cornuta,
Latr., O. Latreillii, Spin.) gave me
splendid results, with
reed-stumps arranged either
against the wall of my gar-
den, as I have just said
, or near their customary
the huge nests of the Mason- abode,
bee of the Sheds. One of
them, the Thr ee-horned Osmia, did bett
er stil
l: as I have
described, she built her nests
in my study, as plentifully
as I could wish.
We will consult this last,
who has furnished me wit
documents beyond my fondest hop h
es, and begin by ask-
ing her of how many eggs
her average laying consists
Of the whole heap of colonized .
tubes in my study, or else
out of doors, in the hurdle-reeds
and the pan-pipe appli-
ances, the best-filled contai
ns fifteen cells, with a free
space above the series, a
space showing that the lay
is ended, for, ing
if the mother had any mor
e eggs available,
1. Osmia-nests in a bramble twig
2, Osmia-nests inside a reed
author to study the Osmia’s
3. Artificial hive invented by the
laying. It consists of reed-stumps arranged Pan-pipe fashion
 THE OSMIA 237
she would have lodged them in the room which she leaves
unoccupied. This string of fifteen appears to be rare;
it was the only one that I found. My attempts at indoor
rearing, pursued during two years with glass tubes or
reeds, taught me that the Three-horned Osmia is not
much addicted to long series. As though to decrease the
difficulties of the coming deliverance, she prefers short
galleries, in which only a part of the laying is stacked.
We must then follow the same mother in her migration
from one dwelling to the next if we would obtain a com-
plete census of her family. A spot of color, dropped on
the Bee’s thorax with a paint-brush while she is absorbed
in closing up the mouth of the tunnel, enables us to rec-
ognize the Osmia in her various homes.
In this way, the swarm that resided in my study fur-
nished me, in the first year, with an average of twelve
cells. Next year, the summer appeared to be more fa-
vorable and the average became rather higher, reaching
fifteen. The most numerous laying performed under
my eyes, not in a tube, but in a succession of Snail-shells,
reached the figure of twenty-six. On the other hand,
layings of between eight and ten are not uncommon.
Lastly, taking all my records together, the result is that
the family of the Osmia fluctuates round about fifteen in
number.
I have already spoken of the great differences in size
apparent in the cells of one and the same series. The
partitions, at first widely spaced, draw gradually nearer
to one another as they come closer to the aperture, which
implies roomy cells at the back and narrow cells in front.
238 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
The contents of these compartments are no less uneven
between one portion and another of the string. With-
out any exception known to me, the large cells, those
with which the series starts, have more abundant provi-
sions than the straitened cells with which the series ends.
The heap of honey and pollen in the first is twice or even
thrice as large as that in the second. In the last cells,
the most recent in date, the victuals are but a pinch of
pollen, so niggardly in amount that we wonder what
will become of the larva with that meager ration.
One would think that the Osmia, when nearing the end
of the laying, attaches no importance to her last-born, to
whom she doles out space and food so sparingly. The
first-born receive the benefit of her early enthusiasm:
theirs is the well-spread table, theirs the spacious apart-
ments. The work has begun to pall by the time that the
last eggs are laid; and the last-comers have to put up with
a scurvy portion of food and a tiny corner.
The difference shows itself in another way after the
cocoons are spun. The large cells, those at the back,
receive the bulky cocoons; the small ones, those in front,
have cocoons only half or a third as big. Before open-
ing them and ascertaining the sex of the Osmia inside,
let us wait for the transformation into the perfect insect,
which will take place towards the end of summer. If
impatience get the better of us, we can open them at the
end of July or in August. The insect is then in the
nymphal stage; and it is easy, under this form, to dis-
tinguish the two sexes by the length of the antenne,
which are larger in the males, and by the glassy pro-
 THE OSMLE 239
tuberances on the forehead, the sign of the future armor
of the females. Well, the small cocoons, those in the
narrow front cells, with their scanty store of provisions,
ail belong to males; the big cocoons, those in the spacious
and well-stocked cells at the back, all belong to females.
The conclusion is definite: the laying of the Three-
horned Osmia consists of two distinct groups, first a
group of females and then a group of males.
With my pan-pipe apparatus displayed on the walls of
my enclosure and with old hurdle-reeds left lying flat out
of doors, I obtained the Horned Osmia in fair quantities.
I persuaded Latreille’s Osmia to build her nest in reeds,
which she did with a zeal which I was far from expect-
ing. All that I had to do was to lay some reed-stumps
horizontally within her reach, in the immediate neigh-
borhood of her usual haunts, namely, the nests of the
Mason-bee of the Sheds. Lastly, I succeeded without
difficulty in making her build her nests in the privacy of
my study, with glass tubes for a house. The result sur-
passed my hopes.
With both these Osmize, the division of the gallery is
the same as with the Three-horned Osmia. At the back
are large cells with plentiful provisions and widely
spaced partitions; in front, small cells, with scanty pro-
visions and partitions close together. Also, the larger
cells supplied me with big cocoons and females; the
smaller cells gave me little cocoons and males. Tie con-
clusion therefore is exactly the same in the case of all
three Osmiz.
These conclusions, as my notes show, apply likewise,
240 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
in every respect, to the various species of Mason-bees;
and one clear and simple rule stands out from this col-
lection of facts. Apart from the strange exception of
the Three-pronged Osmia, who mixes the sexes without
any order, the Bees whom I studied and probably a crowd
of others produce first a continuous series of females and
then a continuous series of males, the latter with less
provisions and smaller cells. This distribution of the
sexes agrees with what we have long known of the Hive-
bee, who begins her laying with a long sequence of work-
ers, or sterile females, and ends it with a long sequence of
males. The analogy continues down to the capacity of
the cells and the quantities of provisions. The real fe-
males, the Queen-bees, have wax cells incomparably more
spacious than the cells of the males and receive a much
larger amount of food. Everything therefore demon-
strates that we are here in the presence of a general rule.

Optional Determination of the Sexes

But does this rule express the whole truth? Is there
nothing beyond a laying in two series? Are the Osmiz,
the Chalicodomz and the rest of them fatally bound by
this distribution of the sexes into two distinct groups,
the male group following upon the female group, with-
out any mixing of the two? Is the mother absolutely
powerless to make a change in this arrangement, should
circumstances require it?
The Three-pronged Osmia already shows us that the
problem is far from being solved. In the same bramble-
stump, the two sexes occur very irregularly, as though
 THE OSMLE 241
at random. Why this mixture in the series of cocoons
of a Bee closely related to the Horned Osmia and the
Three-horned Osmia, who stack theirs methodically by
separate sexes in the hollow of a reed? What the Bee
of the brambles does cannot her kinswomen of the reeds
do too? Nothing, so far as I know, explains this fun-
damental difference in a physiological act of primary im-
portance. The three Bees belong to the same genus;
they resemble one another in general outline, internal
structure and habits: and, with this close similarity, we
suddenly find a strange dissimilarity.
There is just one thing that might possibly arouse a
suspicion of the cause of this irregularity in the Three-
pronged Osmia’s laying. If I open a bramble-stump in
the winter to examine the Osmia’s nest, I find it impos-
sible, in the vast majority of cases, to distinguish posi-
tively between a female and a male cocoon: the difference
in size is so small. The cells, moreover, have the same
capacity: the diameter of the cylinder is the same
throughout and the partitions are almost always the same
distance apart. If I open it in July, the victualing-
period, it is impossible for me to distinguish between the
provisions destined for the males and those destined for
the females. The measurement of the column of honey
gives practically the same depth in all the cells. We find
an equal quantity of space and food for both sexes.
This result makes us foresee what a direct examination
of the two sexes in the adult form tells us. The male
does not differ materially from the female in respect of
size. If he is a trifle smaller, it is scarcely noticeable,
 242 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
whereas, in the Horned Osmia and the Three-horn
ed
Osmia, the male is only half or a third the size
of the
female, as we have seen from the respective
bulk of their
cocoons. In the Mason-bee of the Walls there
is also a
difference in size, though less pronounced
.
The Three-pronged Osmia has not therefor
e to trouble
about adjusting the dimensions of the dwel
ling and the
quantity of the food to the sex of the egg
which she is
about to lay; the measure is the same
from one end of
the series to the other. It does not matt
er if the sexes
alternate without order: one and all
will find what they
need, whatever their position in the row.
The two other
Osmiz, with their great disparity in
size between the two
sexes, have to be careful about the
twofold consideration
of board and lodging.
The more I thought about this curi
ous question, the
more probable it appeared to me that
the irregular series
of the Three-pronged Osmia and
the regular series of
the other Osmiz and of the Bees
in general were all
traceable to a common law. It
seemed to me that the
arrangement in a succession first
of females and then of
males did not account for ever
ything. There must be
something more. And I was right: that arrangement in
series is only a tiny fraction
of the reality, which is re-
markable in a very different way. This is what I am
going to prove by experiment.
The succession first of females
and then of males is
hot, in fact, invariable. Thus,
the Chalicodoma, whose
nests serve for two or three gene
rations, always lays male
eggs in the old male cells, which can be
recognized by
 THE OSML 243
their lesser capacity, and female eggs in the old female
cells of more spacious dimensions.
This presence of both sexes at a time, even when
there are but two cells free, one spacious and the other
small, proves in the plainest fashion that the regular
distribution observed in the complete nests of recent pro-
duction is here replaced by an irregular distribution,
harmonizing with the number and holding-capacity of
the chambers to be stocked. The Mason-bee has before
her, let me suppose, only five vacant cells: two larger and
three smaller. The total space at her disposal would do
for about a third of the laying. Well, in the two large
cells, she puts females; in the three small cells she puts
males.
As we find the same sort of thing in all the old nests,
we must needs admit that the mother knows the sex of
the eggs which she is going to lay, because that egg is
placed in a cell of the proper capacity. We can go fur-
ther and admit that the mother alters the order of suc-
cession of the sexes at her pleasure, because her layings,
between one old nest and another, are broken up into
small groups of males and females according to the
exigencies of space in the actual nest which she happens
to be occupying.
Here then is the Chalicodoma, when mistress of an
old nest of which she has not the power to alter the ar-
rangement, breaking up her laying into sections compris-
ing both sexes just as required by the conditions imposed
upon her. She therefore decides the sex of the egg at
will, for, without this prerogative, she could not, in the
 244. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
chambers of the nest which she owes to chance, deposit
unerringly the sex for which those chambers were.orig-
inally built; and this happens however small the number
of chambers to be filled.
When the mother herself founds the dwelling, when
she lays the first rows of bricks, the females come first
and the males at the finish. But, when she is in the
presence of an old nest, of which she is quite unable to
alter the general arrangement, how is she to make use
of a few vacant rooms, the large and small alike, if the
sex of the egg be already irrevocably fixed? She can
only do so by abandoning the arrangement in two con-
secutive rows and accommodating her laying to the
varied exigencies of the home. Either she finds it im-
possible to make an economical use of the old nest, a
theory refuted by the evidence, or else she determines at
will the sex of the egg which she is about to lay.
The Osmiz themselves will furnish the most conclusive
evidence on the latter point. We have seen that these
Bees are not generally miners, who themselves dig out
the foundation of their cells. They make use of the old
structures of others, or else of natural retreats, such as
hollow stems, the spirals of empty shells and various hid-
ing-places in walls, clay or wood. Their work is con-
fined to repairs to the house, such as partitions and
covers. There are plenty of these retreats: and the
in-
sects would always find first-class ones if it thought
of
going any distance to look for them. But
the Osmia
is a stay-at-home: she returns to her birthplace and
 THE OSMLE 246
clings to it with a patience extremely difficult to exhaust.
It is here, in this little familiar corner, that she prefers
to settle her progeny. But then the apartments are few
in number and of all shapes and sizes. There are long
and short ones, spacious ones and narrow. Short of ex-
patriating herself, a Spartan course, she has to use them
all, from first to last, for she has no choice. Guided
by these considerations, I embarked on the experiments
which I will now describe.
I have said how my study became a populous hive, in
which the Three-horned Osmia built her nests in the
various appliances which I had prepared for her.
Among these appliances, tubes, either of glass or reed,
predominated. There were tubes of all lengths and
widths. In the long tubes, entire or almost entire lay-
ings, with a series of females followed by a series of
males, were deposited. As I have already referred to
this result, I will not discuss it again. The short tubes
were sufficiently varied in length to lodge one or other
portion of the total laying. Basing my calculations on
the respective lengths of the cocoons of the two sexes, on
the thickness of the partitions and the final lid, I short-
ened some of these to the exact dimensions required for
two cocoons only, of different sexes.
Well, these short tubes, whether of glass or reed, were
seized upon as eagerly as the long tubes. Moreover, they
yielded this splendid result: their contents, only a part
of the total laying, always began with female and ended
with male cocoons. This order was invariable; what
 246 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
varied was the number of cells in the long tubes and the
proportion between the two sorts of cocoons, sometimes
males predominating and sometimes females.
When confronted with tubes too small to receive all
her family, the Osmia is in the same plight as the Mason-
bee in the presence of an old nest. She thereupon acts
exactly as the Chalicodoma does. She breaks up her
laying, divides it into series as short as the room at her
disposal demands; and each series begins with females
and ends with males. This breaking up, on the one
hand, into sections in all of which both sexes are repre-
sented and the division, on the other hand, of the entire
laying into just two groups, one female, the other male,
when the length of the tube permits, surely provides us
with ample evidence of the insect’s power to regulate the
sex of the egg according to the exigencies of space.
And besides the exigencies of space one might perhaps
venture to add those connected with the earlier develop-
ment of the males. These burst their cocoons a couple
of weeks or more before the females; they are the first
who hasten to the sweets of the almond-tree. In order
to release themselves and emerge into the glad sunlight
without disturbing the string of cocoons wherein their
sisters are still sleeping, they must occupy the upper end
of the row; and this, no doubt, is the reason that
makes
the Osmia end each of her broken layings with males,
Being next to the door, these impatient ones
will leave
the home without upsetting the shells that are slower
in
hatching.
I had offered at the same time to the Osmix in
my
 THE OSMIAs 247
study some old nests of the Mason-bee of the Shrubs,
which are clay spheroids with cylindrical cavities in them.
These cavities are formed, as in the old nests of the
Mason-bee of the Pebbles, of the cell properly so-called
and of the exit-way which the perfect insect cut through
the outer coating at the time of its deliverance. The
diameter is about 7 millimeters; 1 their depth at the center
of the heap is 23 millimeters * and at the edge averages
14 millimeters.®
The deep central cells receive only the females of the
Osmia; sometimes even the two sexes together, with a
partition in the middle, the female occupying the lower
and the male the upper story. Lastly, the deeper cavi-
ties on the circumference are allotted to females and the
shallower to males.
We know that the Three-horned Osmia prefers to
haunt the habitations of the Bees who nidify in populous
colonies, stich as the Mason-bee of the Sheds and the
Hairy-footed Anthophora, in whose nests I have noted
similar facts.
Thus the sex of the egg is optional. The choice rests
with the mother, who is guided by considerations of
space and, according to the accommodation at her dis-
posal, which is frequently fortuitous and incapable of
modification, places a female in this cell and a male in
that, so that both may have a dwelling of a size suited
to their unequal development. This is the unimpeach-
able evidence of the numerous and varied facts which
1 273 inch— Translators Note.
2 897 inch— Translator’s Note.
3.546 inch.— Translators Note.
 248 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
T have set forth. People unfamiliar with insect anatomy
—the public for whom I write— would probably give
the following explanation of this marvelous prerogative
of the Bee: the mother has at her disposal a certain
number of eggs, some of which are irrevocably female
and the others irrevocably male: she is able to pick out
of either group the one which she wants at the actual
moment; and her choice is decided by the holding capac-
ity of the cell that has to be stocked. Everything would
then be limited to a judicious selection from the heap of
eggs. ;
Should this idea occur to him, the reader must hasten
to reject it. Nothing could be more false, as the most
casual reference to anatomy will show. The female re-
productive apparatus of the Hymenoptera consists gener-
ally of six ovarian tubes, something like glove-fingers,
divided into bunches of three and ending in a common
canal, the oviduct, which carries the eggs outside. Each
of these glove-fingers is fairly wide at the base, but tapers
sharply towards the tip, which is closed. It contains,
arranged in a row, one after the other, like beads on a
string, a certain number of eggs, five or six for instance,
of which the lower ones are more or less developed, the
middle ones half-way towards maturity, and the upper
ones very rudimentary. Every stage of evolution is here
represented, distributed regularly from bottom to top,
from the verge of maturity to the vague outlines of the
embryo. The sheath clasps its string of ovules so closely
that any inversion of the order is impossible. Besides,
an inversion would result in a gross absurdity: the re-
 THE OSMLE 249
placing of a riper egg by another in an earlier stage of
development.
Therefore, in each ovarian tube, in each glove-finger,
the emergence of the eggs occurs according to the order
governing their arrangement in the common sheath; and
any other sequence is absolutely impossible. Moreover,
at the nesting-period, the six ovarian sheaths, one by one
and each in its turn, have at their base an egg which in
a very short time swells enormously. Some hours or
even a day before the laying, that egg by itself repre-
sents or even exceeds in bulk the whole of the ovigerous
apparatus. This is the egg which is on the point of
being laid. It is about to descend into the oviduct, in
its proper order, at its proper time; and the mother has
no power to make another take its place. It is this egg,
necessarily this egg and no other, that will presently be
laid upon the provisions, whether these be a mess of
honey or a live prey; it alone is ripe, it alone lies at the
entrance to the oviduct; none of the others, since they
are farther back in the row and not at the right stage of
development, can be substituted at this crisis. Its birth
is inevitable.
What will it yield, a male or a female? No lodging
has been prepared, no food collected for it; and yet both
food and lodging have to be in keeping with the sex that
will proceed from it. And here is a much more puzzling
condition: the sex of that egg, wfiose advent is predes-
tined, has to correspond with the space which the mother
happens to have found for acell. There is therefore no
room for hesitation, strange though the statement may
 250 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
appear: the egg, as it descends from its ovarian tube, has
no determined sex. It is perhaps during the few hours
of its rapid development at the base of its ovarian sheath,
it is perhaps on its passage through the oviduct that it
receives, at the mother’s pleasure, the final impress that
will produce, to match the cradle which it has to fill,
either a female or a male.

Permutations of Sex
Thereupon the following question presents itself. Let
us admit that, when the normal conditions remain, a
laying would have yielded m females and u males. Then,
if my conclusions are correct, it must be in the mother’s
power, when the conditions are different, to take from
the m group and increase the m group to the same extent:
it must be possible for her laying to be represented as
m—I, m—2, m—3, etc. females and by n+ 1,
n-+ 2, n+ 3, etc. males, the sum of m -+- ” remaining
constant, but one of the sexes being partly permuted into
the other. The ultimate conclusion even cannot be dis-
regarded: we must admit a set of eggs represented by
m — m, or zero, females and of 2 + m males, one of the
sexes being completely replaced by the other. Con-
versely, it must be possible for the feminine series to
be
augmented from the masculine series to the extent
of
absorbing it entirely. It was to solve this question
and
some others connected with it that T undertook,
for the
second time, to rear the Tiree-horned Osmia in my
study.
The problem on this occasion is a more delicate one
;
 THE OSMLE 251
but I am also better-equipped. My apparatus consists
of two small closed packing-cases, with the front side
of each pierced with forty holes, in which I can insert
my glass tubes and keep them in a horizontal position.
I thus obtain for the Bees the darkness and mystery
which suit their work and for myself the power of with-
drawing from my hive, at any time, any tube that I wish,
with the Osmia inside, so as to carry it to the light and
follow, if need be with the aid of the lens, the operations
of the busy worker. My investigations, however fre-
quent and minute, in no way hinder the peaceable Bee,
who remains absorbed in her maternal duties.
I mark a plentiful number of my guests with a variety
of dots on the thorax, which enables me to follow any
one Osmia from the beginning to the end of her laying.
The tubes and their respective holes are numbered; a
list, always lying open on my desk, enables me to note
from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour, what
happens in each tube and particularly the actions of the
Osmize whose backs bear distinguishing marks. As soon
as one tube is filled, I replace it by another. Moreover,
I have scattered in front of either hive a few handfuls
of empty Snail-shells, specially chosen for the object
which I have in view. Reasons which I will explain later
led me to prefer the shells of Helix cespitum. Each of
the shells, as and when stocked, received the date of the
laying and the alphabetical sign corresponding with the
Osmia to whom it belonged. In this way, I spent five
or six weeks in continual observation. To succeed in an
inquiry, the first and foremost condition is patience.
 252 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
This condition I fulfilled; and it was rewarded with the
success which I was justified in expecting.
The tubes employed are of two kinds. The first,
which are cylindrical and of the same width throughout,
will be of use for confirming the facts observed in the
first year of my experiments in indoor rearing. The
others, the majority, consist of two cylinders which are
of very different diameters, set end to end. The front
cylinder, the one which projects a little way outside the
hive and forms the entrance-hole, varies in width
be-
tween 8 and 12 millimeters.1 The second, the back one,
contained entirely within my packing-case, is closed
at
its far end and is 5 to 6 millimeters 2 in diameter. Each
of the two parts of the double-galleried tunnel,
one nar-
row and one wide, measures at most a decimeter? in
length. I thought it advisable to have these
short tubes,
as the Osmia is thus compelled to select different
lodg-
ings, each of them being insufficient in itself
to accommo-
date the total laying. In this way I
shall obtain a
greater variety in the distribution of the
sexes. Lastly,
at the mouth of each tube, which projects
slightly outside
the case, there is a little paper tongue,
forming a sort
of perch on which the Osmia alights on
her arrival and
giving easy access to the house. With
these facilities,
the swarm colonized fifty-two double-ga
lleried tubes,
thirty-seven cylindrical tubes, seventy-eight Snail-shells
and a few old nests of the Mason-bee
of the Shrubs.
1 Between .312 and .468 inch.—
Translator’s Note.
*.195 to .234 inch— Translator’s
Note.
33.9 inches.— Translator’s Note.
 THE OSMLE pA)
From this rich mine of material I will take what I want
to prove my case.
Every series, even when incomplete, begins with fe-
males and ends with males. To this rule I have not yet
found an exception, at least in galleries of normal diame-
ter. In each new abode the mother busies herself first of
all with the more important sex. Bearing this point in
mind, would it be possible for me, by manceuvering, to
obtain an inversion of this order and make the laying
begin with males? I think so, from the results already
ascertained and the irresistible conclusions to be drawn
from them. The double-galleried tubes are installed in
order to nut my conjectures to the proof.
The back gallery, 5 or 6 millimeters* wide, is too
narrow to serve as a lodging for normally developed
females. If, therefore, the Osmia, who is very economi-
cal of her space, wishes to occupy them, she will be
obliged to establish males there. And her laying must
necessarily begin here, because this corner is the rear-
most part of the tube. The foremost gallery is wide,
with an entrance-door on the front of the hive. Here,
finding the conditions to which she is accustomed, the
mother will go on with her laying in the order which
she prefers. i
Let us now see what has happened. Of the fifty-two
double-galleried tubes, about a third did not have their
narrow passage colonized. The Osmia closed its aper-
ture communicating with the large passage; and the lat-
ter alone received the eggs. This waste of space was in-
1.195, to .234 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 254 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
-evitable. The female Osmie, though nearly always
larger than the males, present marked differences among
one another: some are bigger, some are smaller. I had
to adjust the width of the narrow galleries to Bees of
average dimensions. It may happen therefore that a
gallery is too small to admit the large-sized mothers to
whom chance allots it. When the Osmia is unable to
enter the tube, obviously she will not colonize it. She
then closes the entrance to this space which she cannot
use and does her laying beyond it, in the wide tube.
Had I tried to avoid these useless apparatus by choosing
tubes of larger caliber, I should have encountered an-
other drawback :the medium-sized mothers, finding them-
selves almost comfortable, would have decided to lodge
females there. I had to be prepared for it: as
each
mother selected her house at will and as I was unable
to
interfere in her choice, a narrow tube would
be colonized
or not, according as the Osmia who owned it was
or was
not able to make her way inside.
There remain some forty pairs of tubes with
both
galleries colonized. In these there are two thing
s to take
into consideration. The narrow rear tubes
of 5 or 5%
millimeters '— and these are the most numer
ous — con-
tain males and males only, but in short series
, between
one and five. The mother is here so much
hampered in
her work that they are rarely occupied from
end to end:
the Osmia seems in a hurry to leave them
and to go and
colonize the front tube, whose ample space
will leave her
the liberty of movement necessary for her
operations.
1,195 to .214 inch— Translator’s Note.
 THE OSMLE 255
The other rear tubes, the minority, whose diameter is
about 6 millimeters,’ contain sometimes only females and
sometimes females at the back and males towards the
opening. One can see that a tube a trifle wider and a
mother slightly smaller would account for this difference
in the results. Nevertheless, as the necessary space for
a female is barely provided in this case, we see that the
mother avoids as far as she can a two-sex arrangement
beginning with males and that she adopts it only in the
last extremity. Finally, whatever the contents of the
small tube may be, those of the large one, following upon
it, never vary and consist of females at the back and
males in front.
Though incomplete, because of circumstances very
difficult to control, the result of the experiment is none
the less very remarkable. Twenty-five apparatus contain
only males in their narrow gallery, in numbers varying
from a minimum of one to a maximum of five. After
these comes the colony of the large gallery, beginning
with females and ending with males. And the layings
in these apparatus do not always belong to late summer
or even to the intermediate period: a few small tubes
contain the earliest eggs of the entire swarm. A couple
of Osmiz, more forward than the others, set to work
on the 23rd of April. Both of them started their laying
by placing males in the narrow tubes. The meager sup-
ply of provisions was enough in itself to show the sex,
which proved later to be in accordance with my antici-
pations. We see then that, by my artifices, the whole
1.234 inch— Translator’s Note.
 256 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
swarm starts with the converse of the normal order.
This inversion is continued, at no matter what period,
from the beginning to the end of the operations. The
* series which, according to rule, would begin with females
now begins with males. Once the larger gallery is
reached, the laying is pursued in the usual order.
We have advanced one step and that no small one:
we have seen that the Osmia, when circumstances re-
quire it, is capable of reversing the sequence of the sexes.
Would it be possible, provided that the tube were long
enough, to obtain a complete inversion, in which the
entire series of the males should occupy the narrow gal-
lery at the back and the entire series of the females the
roomy gallery in front? I think not; and I will tell you
why.
Long and narrow cylinders are by no means to the
Osmia’s taste, not because of their narrowness but be-
cause of their length. Observe that for each load of
honey brought the worker is obliged to move backwards
twice. She enters, head first, to begin by disgorging the
honey-syrup from her crop. Unable to turn in a passage
which she blocks entirely, she goes out backwards, crawl-
ing rather than walking, a laborious performance on
the
polished surface of the glass and a performance which,
with any other surface, would still be very awkward,
as
the wings are bound to rub against the wall with their
free end and are liable to get rumpled or bent. She goes
out backwards, reaches the outside, turns round and goes
in again, but this time the opposite way, so as
to brush
off the load of pollen from her abdomen on
to the heap.
 THE OSMIZ Ate
If the gallery is at all long, this crawling backwards be-
comes troublesome after a time; and the Osmia soon
abandons a passage that is too small to allow of free
movement. I have said that the narrow tubes of my
apparatus are, for the most part, only very incompletely
colonized. The Bee, after lodging a small number of
males in them, hastens to leave them. In the wide front
gallery she can stay where she is and still be able to turn
round easily for her different manipulations; she will
avoid those two long journeys backwards, which are so
exhausting and so bad for her wings.
Another reason no doubt prompts her not to make too
great a use of the narrow passage, in which she would
establish males, followed by females in the part where
the gallery widens. The males have to leave their cells
a couple of weeks or more before the females. If they
occupy the back of the house they will die prisoners or
else they will overturn everything on their way out. This
risk is avoided by the order which the Osmia adopts.
In my. tubes, with their unusual arrangement, the
mother might well find the dilemma perplexing: there
is the narrowness of the space at her disposal and there
is the emergence later on. In the narrow tubes, the
width is insufficient for the females; on the other hand,
if she lodges males there, they are liable to perish, since
they will be prevented from issuing at the proper mo-
ment. This would perhaps explain the mothez’s hesi-
tation and her obstinacy in settling females in some of
my apparatus which looked as if they could suit none
but males.
 258 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
A suspicion occurs to me, a suspicion aroused
by my
attentive examination of the narrow tubes. All,
what-
ever the number of their inmates, are carefully
plugged
at the opening, just as separate tubes would be.
It might
therefore be the case that the narrow gallery
at the back
was looked upon by the Osmia not as the
prolongation
of the large front gallery, but as an indep
endent tube.
The facility with which the worker turns
as soon as she
reaches the wide tube, her liberty of action,
which is now
as great as in a doorway communicating with
the outer
air, might well be misleading and cause
the Osmia to
treat the narrow passage at the back as
though the wide
passage in front did not exist. This would
account for
the placing of the female in the large
tube above the
males in the small tube, an arrangement
contrary to her
custom.
I will not undertake to decide whether
the mother
really appreciates the danger of my
snares, or whether
she makes a mistake in considering only
the space at her
disposal and beginning with males, who
are liable to re-
main imprisoned. At any rate, I perc
eive a tendency to
deviate as little as possible from
the order which safe-
guards the emergence of both sexes
, This tendency is
demonstrated by her Fepugnance
to colonizing my narrow
tubes with long series of males
. However, so far as we
are concerned, it does not matt
er much what passes at
such times in the Osmia’s little
brain. Enough for us
to know that she dislikes narrow and long
tubes, not
be-
cause they are narrow, but
because they are at the same
time long.
 THE OSMLE 259
And, in fact, she does very well with a short tube of
the same diameter. Such are the cells in the old nests
of the Mason-bee of the Shrubs and the empty shells of
the Garden Snail. With the short tube the two disad-
vantages of the long tube are avoided. She has very lit-
tle of that crawling backwards to do when she has a
‘Snail-shell for the home of her eggs and scarcely any
when the home is the cell of the Mason-bee. Moreover,
as the stack of cocoons numbers two or three at most,
the deliverance will be exempt from the difficulties at-
tached to a long series. To persuade the Osmia to nidify
in a single tube long enough to receive the whole of her
laying and at the same time narrow enough to leave her
only just the possibility of admittance appears to me a
project without the slightest chance of success: the Bee
would stubbornly refuse such a dwelling or would con-
tent herself with entrusting only a very small portion of
her eggs to it. On the other hand, with narrow but
short cavities, success, without being easy, seems to me
at least quite possible. Guided by these considerations,
I embarked upon the most arduous part of my problem:
to obtain the complete or almost complete permutation
of one sex with the other; to produce a laying consisting
only of males by offering the mother a series of lodgings
suited only to males.
Let us in the first place consult the old nests of the
Mason-bee of the Shrubs. I have said that these mortar
spheroids, pierced all over with little cylindrical cavities,
are adopted pretty eagerly by the Three-horned Osmia,
who colonizes them before my eyes with females in the
 260 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
deep cells and males in the shallow cells. That is how
things go when the old nest remains in its natural state.
With a grater, however, I scrape the outside of another
nest so as to reduce the depth of the cavities to some ten
millimeters.t| This leaves in each cell just room for one
cocoon, surmounted by the closing stopper. Of the four-
teen cavities in the nests, I leave two intact, measuring
fifteen millimeters? in depth. Nothing could be more
striking than the result of this experiment, made in the
first year of my home rearing. The twelve cavities
whose depth had been reduced all received males: the
two cavities left untouched received females.
A year passes and I repeat the experiment with a nest
of fifteen cells; but this time all the cells are reduced to
the minimum depth with the grater. Well, the fifteen
cells, from first to last, are occupied by males. It must
be quite understood that, in each case, all the offspri
ng
belonged to one mother, marked with her distinguishing
dot and kept in sight as long as her laying lasted. He
would indeed be difficult to please who refused to bow
before the results of these two experiments. If,
how-
ever, he is not yet convinced, here is something to remove
his last doubts.
The Three-horned Osmia often settles her family
in
old shells, especially those of the Common Snail
(Helix
aspersa), who is so common under the stone-heap
s and
in the crevices of the little unmortared walls that
support
our terraces. In this species the spiral is wide Open, so
1 About two-fifths of an inch.— Translator’s Note.
2.585 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 OLD NESTS USED BY THE OSMIA IN LAYING HER EGGS
of the Osmia-grubs in empty shells of
Nest of the Mason-bee
shrubs the Garden Snail
Nests of the Mason-bee of the Sheds
 THE OSMLZ 261

that the Osmia, penetrating as far down as the helical

passage permits, finds, immediately above the point which
is too narrow to pass, the space necessary for the cell
of a female. This cell is succeeded by others, wider
still, always for females, arranged in a line in the same
way as in a straight tube. In the last whorl of the
spiral, the diameter would be too great for a single row.
Then longitudinal partitions are added to the transverse
partitions, the whole resulting in cells of unequal dimen-
sions in which males predominate, mixed with a few
females in the lower stories. The sequence of the sexes
is therefore what it would be in a straight tube and espe-
cially in a tube with a wide bore, where the partitioning
is complicated by subdivisions on the same level. A
single Snail-shell contains room for six or eight cells.
A large, rough earthen stopper finishes the nest at the
entrance to the shell.
As a dwelling of this sort could show us nothing new,
I chose for my swarm the Garden Snail (Helix cespi-
tum), whose shell, shaped like a small swollen Ammonite,
widens by slow degrees, the diameter of the usable por-
tion, right up to the mouth, being hardly greater than
that required by a male Osmia-cocoon. Moreover, the
widest part, in which a female might find room, has to
receive a thick stopping-plug, below which there will
often be a free space. Under all these conditions, the
house will hardly suit any but males arranged one after
the other.
The collection of shells placed at the foot of each hive
includes specimens of different sizes. The smallest are
 262 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
18 millimeters’ in diameter and the largest 24 milli-
meters.” There is room for two cocoons, or three at
most, according to their dimensions.
Now these shells were used by my visitors without
any hesitation, perhaps even with more eagerness than
_the glass tubes, whose slippery sides might easily be a
little annoying to the Bee. Some of them were occupied
on the first few days of the laying; and the Osmia who
had started with a home of this sort would pass next to
a second Snail-shell, in the immediate neighborhood of
the first, to a third, a fourth and others still, always close
together, until her ovaries were emptied. The whole
family of one mother would thus be lodged in Snail-
shells which were duly marked with the date of the lay-
ing and a description of the worker. The faithful ad-
herents of the Snail-shell were in the minority. The
greater number left the tubes to come to the shells and
then went back from the shells to the tubes. All, after
filling the spiral staircase with two or three cells, closed
the house with a thick earthen stopper on a level with the
opening. It was a long and troublesome task, in which
the Osmia displayed all her patience as a mother and
all her talents as a plasterer.
When the pupze are sufficiently matured, I proceed to
examine these elegant abodes. The contents fill me with
joy: they fulfil my anticipations to the letter. The great,
the very great majority of the cocoons turn out
to be
males; here and there, in the bigger cells,
a few rare
1.7 inch.— Translator’s Note.
? .936 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 THE OSMLE 263
females appear. The smallness of the space has almost
done away with the stronger sex. This result is demon-
strated by the sixty-eight Snail-shells colonized. But, of
this total number, I must use only those series which re-
ceived an entire laying and were occupied by the same
Osmia from the beginning to the end of the egg-season.
Here are a few examples, taken from among the most
conclusive.
From the 6th of May, when she started operations,
to the 25th of May, the date at which her laying ceased,
one Osmia occupied seven Snail-shells in succession.
Her family consists of fourteen cocoons, a number very
near the average; and, of these fourteen cocoons, twelve
belong to males and only two to females.
Another, between the 9th and 27th of May, stocked
six Snail-shells with a family of thirteen, including ten
males and three females.
A third, between the 2nd and 29th of May colonized
eleven Snail-shells, a prodigious task. This industrious
one was also exceedingly prolific. She supplied me with
a family of twenty-six, the largest which I have ever ob-
tained from one Osmia. Well, this abnormal progeny
consisted of twenty-five males and one female.
There is no need to go on, after this magnificent exam-
ple, especially as the other series would all, without ex-
ception, give us the same result. Two facts are immedi-
ately obvious: the Osmia is able to reverse the order of
her laying and to start with a more or less long series of
males before producing any females. There is some-
thing better still; and this is the proposition which I was
 264 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
particularly anxious to prove: the female sex can be
permuted with the male sex and can be permuted to the
point of disappearing altogether. We see this especially
in the third case, where the presence of a solitary female
in a family of twenty-six is due to the somewhat larger
diameter of the corresponding Snail-shell.
There would still remain the inverse permutation: to
obtain only females and no males, or very few. The
first permutation makes the second seem very
probable,
although I cannot as yet conceive a means of
realizing
it. The only condition which I can regulate is the
dimen-
sions of the home. When the rooms are small,
the males
abound and the females tend to disappear. With gener-
ous quarters, the converse would not
take place. I
should obtain females and afterwards
an equal number of
males, confined in small cells which, in case of need,
would be bounded by numerous partitions.
The factor
of space does not enter into the questio
n here. What
artifice can we then employ to provoke
this second permu-
tation? So far, I can think of nothing that
is worth
attempting.
It is time to conclude. Leading a
retired life, in the
solitude of a village, having quit
e enough to do with
patiently and obscurely plowing
my humble furrow, I
know little about modern scientific
views. Tn my young
days I had a passionate longing
for books and found jt
difficult to procure them: to-day,
when I could almost
have them if I wanted, I am
ceasing to wish ‘for them.
It is what usually happens as
life goes on, TI do not
 THE OSMLE 265
therefore know what may have been done in the direc-
tion whither this study of the sexes has led me. Tf I
_am stating propositions that are really new or at least
more comprehensive than the propositions already known,
my words will perhaps sound heretical. No matter: as
a simple translator of facts, I do not hesitate to make
my statement, being fully persuaded that time will turn
my heresy into orthodoxy. I will therefore recapitulate
my conclusions.
Bees lay their eggs in series of first females and then
males, when the two sexes are of different sizes and de-
mand an unequal quantity of nourishment. When the
+wo sexes are alike in size, as in the case of Latreille’s
Osmia, the same sequence may occur, but less regularly.
This dual arrangement disappears when the place
chosen for the nest is not large enough to contain the
entire laying. We then see broken layings, beginning
with females and ending with males.
The egg, as it issues from the ovary, has not yet a
fixed sex. The final impress that produces the sex is
given at the moment of laying, or a little before.
So as to be able to give each larva the amount of space
and food that suits it according as it is male or female,
the mother can choose the sex of the egg which she is
about to lay. To meet the conditions of the building,
which is often the work of another or else a natural
retreat that admits of little or no alteration, she lays
either a male egg or a female egg as she pleases. The
distribution of the sexes depends upon herself. Should
 266 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
circumstances require it, the order of the layin
g can be
reversed and begin with males: lastly, the entire
: laying
can contain only one sex.
The same privilege is possessed
by the predatory
Hymenoptera, the Wasps, at least by
those in whom the
two sexes are of a different size and cons
equently require
an amount of nourishment that is
larger in the one case
than in the other. The mother must
know the sex of the
egg which she is going to lay; she must
be able to choose
the sex of that egg so that each larva
may obtain its
proper portion of food. 5
Generally speaking, when the sexes are
of different
sizes, every insect that collects food
and prepares or
selects a dwelling for its offspring must be able
to choose
the sex of the egg in order to satisfy with
out mistake the
conditions imposed upon it.
The question remains how this optional
assessment
of the sexes is effected. I know absolutely nothing about
it. If I should ever learn anything about this
delicate
point, T shall owe it to some happy chance
for which I
must wait, or rather watch, patiently.
Then what explanation shall T give of the
wonderful
facts which I have set forth? Why, none,
absolutely
none. I do not explain facts, I relate them.
Growing
daily more skeptical of the interpretations
suggested to
me and more hesitating as to those which
I myself may
have to suggest, the more I observe and
experiment, the
more clearly I see rising out of the black
mists of possi-
bility an enormous note of interrogation.
Dear insects, my study of you has sust
ained me and
 THE OSMLA 267
continues to stistain me in my heaviest trials. I must
take leave of you for to-day. The ranks are thinning
around me and the long hopes have fled. Shall I be
able to speak of you again? !
1This forms the closing paragraph of Vol. III of the Souvenirs
entomologiques, of which the author lived to publish seven more
volumes, containing over 2,500 pages and nearly 850,000 words.—
Translator’s Note.
 CHAPTER XIII
THE GLOW-WORM
Few insects in our climes vie in popular fame with the
Glow-worm, that curious little animal which, to celebra
te
the little joys of life, kindles a beacon at its tail-en
d.
Who does not know it, at least by name?
Who has not
seen it roam amid the grass, like a spark fallen from
the
moon at its full? The Greeks of old called it Adrovpis,
meaning, the bright-tailed. Science employs the
same
term: it calls it the lantern-bearer, Lampyris
noctiluca,
Lin. In this case the common name is inferio
r to the
scientific phrase, which, when translated, becomes both
expressive and accurate.
In fact, we might easily cavil at the word “ worm.
”
The Lampyris is not a worm at all, not even in gener
al
appearance. He has six short legs, which he well knows
how to use; he is a gad-about, a trot-about.
In the
adult state the male is correctly garbed in wing-cases
, like
the true Beetle that he is. The female is an ill-fa
vored
thing who knows naught of the delights of
flying: all
her life long she retains the larval shape, which
, for the
rest, is similar to that of the male, who himse
lf is imper-
fect so long as he has not achieved the
maturity that
comes with pairing-time. Even in this initial stage the
word “worm” is out of place. We
French have the
expression “ Naked as a worm” to
point to the lack of
268
 THE GLOW-WORM 269
any defensive covering. Now the Lampyris is clothed,
that is to say, he wears an epidermis of some consistency;
moreover, he is rather richly colored: his body is dark
brown all over, set off with pale pink on the thorax,
especially on the lower surface. Finally, each segment
is decked at the hinder edge with two spots of a fairly
bright red. A costume like this was never worn by
a worm. .
Let us leave this ill-chosen denomination and ask our-
selves what the Lampyris feeds upon. That master of
the art of gastronomy, Brillat-Savarin, said: “ Show
me what you eat and I will tell you what you are.”
A similar question should be addressed, by way of
a preliminary, to every insect whose habits we propose
to study, for, from the least to the greatest in the
zodlogical progression, the stomach sways the world;
the data supplied by food are the chief of all the docu-
ments of life. Well, in spite of his innocent appear-
ance, the Lampyris is an eater of flesh, a hunter of game;
and he follows his calling with rare villainy. His regu-
lar prey is the Snail.
This detail has long been known to entomologists.
What is not so well known, what is not known at all yet,
to judge by what I have read, is the curious method of
attack, of which I have seen no other instance anywhere.
Before he begins to feast, the Glow-worm administers
an anesthetic: he chloroforms his victim, rivaling in the
process the wonders of our modern surgery, which ren-
ders the patient insensible before operating on him. The
usual game is a small Snail hardly the size of a cherry,
 270 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
such as, for instance, Helix variabilis, Drap., who,
in
the hot weather, collects in clusters on the stiff stubbl
e
and other long, dry stalks by the road-side and there
remains motionless, in profound meditation, throu
ghout
the scorching summer days. It is in some such restin
g-
place as this that I have often been privileged to light
upon the Lampyris banqueting on the prey which he had
just paralyzed on its shaky support by his surgical
artifices.
But he is familiar with other preserves. He frequents
the edges of the irrigating ditches, with their cool
soil,
their varied vegetation, a favorite haunt of the
Mollusc.
Here, he treats the game on the ground; and, under
these
conditions, it is easy for me to rear him at home
and to
follow the operator’s performance down to the smalle
st
detail.
I will try to make the reader a witness of the stran
ge
sight. I place a little grass in a wide glass jar.
In this
I install a few Glow-worms and a provision of snails
of
a suitable size, neither too large nor too small,
chiefly
Helix variabilis. Ve must be patient and wait.
Above
all, we must keep an assiduous watch, for the desired
events come unexpectedly and do not
last long.
Here we are at last. The Glow-worm
for a moment
investigates the prey, which, according to its habit, is
wholly withdrawn in the shell, except the edge of the
mantle, which projects slightly. Then the hunter’s
weapon is drawn, a very simple weapon, but one that
cannot be plainly perceived without the aid of alens. It
consists of two mandibles bent back powerfully into a
 THE GLOW-WORM 271
hook, very sharp and as thin as a hair. The microscope
reveals the presence of a slender groove running through-
out the length. And that is all.
The insect repeatedly taps the Snail’s mantle with its
instrument. It all happens with such gentleness as to
suggest kisses rather than bites. As children, teasing
one another, we used to talk of “ tweaksies”’ to express
a slight squeeze of the finger-tips, something more like
ee
eT a tickling than a serious pinch. Let us use that word.
In conversing with animals, language loses nothing by
remaining juvenile. It is the right way for the simple
to understand one another.
The Lampyris doles out his tweaks. He distributes
them methodically, without hurrying, and takes a brief
rest after each of them, as though he wished to ascer-
anelena
eah

tain the effect produced. Their number is not great:

half a dozen, at most, to subdue the prey and deprive it
of all power of movement. That other pinches are ad-
ministered later, at the time of eating, seems very likely,
but I cannot say anything for certain, because the sequel
escapes me. The first few, howev—er there are never
many —are enough to impart inertia and loss of all
feeling to the Mollusc, thanks to the prompt, I might al-
PP
DEE

most say lightning, methods of the Lampyris, who, be-

yond a doubt, instils some poison or other by means of
his grooved hooks,
Here is the proof of the sudden efficacy of those
twitches, so mild in appearance: I take the Snail from
the Lampyris, who has operated on the edge of the man-
tle some four or five times. I prick him with a fine
 272 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
needle in the fore-part, which the animal, shrunk into its
shell, still leaves exposed. There is no quiver of the
wounded tissues, no reaction against the brutality of the
needle. A corpse itself could not give fewer signs of
life.
Here is something even more conclusive: chance occa-
sionally gives me Snails attacked by the Lampyris while
they are creeping along, the foot slowly crawling, the
tentacles swollen to their full extent. A few disorde
red
movements betray a brief excitement on the part of
the
Mollusc and then everything ceases: the foot no longer
slugs; the front part loses its graceful swan-neck
curve;
the tentacles become limp and give way under their
own
weight, dangling feebly like a broken stick.
This con-
dition persists. .
Is the Snail really dead? Not at all, for I can
resusci-
tate the seeming corpse at will. After two or three
days
of that singular condition which is no longe
r life and
yet not death, I isolate the patient and, thoug
h this is not
really essential to success, I give him a douch
e which will
represent the shower so dear to the able-bodie
d Mollusc.
In about a couple of days, my prisoner, but
lately injured
by the Glow-worm’s treachery, is resto
red to his normal
state. He revives, in a manner: he recov
ers movement
and sensibility. He is affected by the stimulus of a
needle; he shifts his place, crawls,
puts out his tentacles,
as though nothing unusual had occur
red. The general
torpor, a sort of deep drunkenness,
has vanished out-
right. The dead returns to life. What
name shall we
give to that form of existence which, for
a time, abolishes
 THE GLOW-WORM 273

the power of movement and the sense of pain? I can

see but one that is approximately suitable: anesthesia.
The exploits of a host of Wasps whose flesh-eating grubs -
are provided with meat that is motionless though not
dead have taught us the skilful art of the paralyzing
insect, which numbs the locomotory nerve-centers with
its venom. We have now a humble little animal that
first produces complete anesthesia in its patient. Hu-
man science did not in reality invent this art, which is
one of the wonders of latter-day surgery. Much earlier,
far back in the centuries, the Lampyris and, apparently,
others knew it as well. The animal’s knowledge had a
long start of ours; the method alone has changed. Our
operators proceed by making us inhale the fumes of
ether or chloroform; the insect proceeds by injecting a
special virus that comes from the mandibular fangs in
infinitesimal doses. Might we not one day be able to
benefit from this hint? What glorious discoveries the
the
future would have in store for us, if we understood
beastie’s secrets better!
rete
ae
a
What does the Lampyris want with anesthetical talent
against a harmless and moreover eminently peaceful
own
adversary, who would never begin the quarrel of his
accord? I think I see. We find in Algeria a beetle
,
known as Drilus maroccanus, who, though non-luminous
approaches our Glow-worm in his organization and espe-
cs.
cially in his habits. He, too, feeds on Land Mollus
shell,
His prey is a Cyclostome with a graceful spiral
the
tightly closed with a stony lid which is attached to
door
animal by a powerful muscle. The lid is a movable
 274. THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
which is quickly shut by the inmate’s mere withd
rawal
into his house and as easily opened when the hermit
goes
forth. With this system of closing, the abode becomes
inviolable; and the Drilus knows it.
Fixed to the surface of the shell by an adhesive
appa-
ratus whereof the Lampyris will presently show
us the
equivalent, he remains on the look-out, waiti
ng, if neces-
sary, for whole days at a time. At last the
need of air
and food obliges the besieged non-comb
atant to show
himself: at least, the door is set slightly
ajar. That is
enough. The Drilus is on the spot and strik
es his blow.
The door can no longer be closed; and
the assailant is
henceforth master of the fortress. Our
first impression
is that the muscle moving the lid has been
cut with a
quick-acting pair of shears. This idea
must be dis-
missed. The Drilus is not well enou
gh equipped with
jaws to gnaw through a fleshy mass so
promptly. The
Operation has to succeed at once, at
the first touch: if
not, the animal attacked would retre
at, still in full vigor,
and the siege must be recommenced,
as arduous as ever,
exposing the insect to fasts indefinite
ly prolonged. Al-
though I have never come acros
s the Drilus, who is a
stranger to my district, I conjecture
a method of attack
very similar to that of the Glow
-worm. Like our own
Snail-eater, the Algerian insec
t does not cut its victim
into small pieces: it renders it
inert, chloroforms it by
means of a few tweaks which
are easily distributed, if the
lid but half-opens for a second.
That will do. The be-
sieger thereupon enters and, in
perfect quiet, consumes a
 THE GLOW-WORM 275
prey incapable of the least muscular effort. That is how
I see things by the unaided light of logic.
Let us now return to the Glow-worm. When the
Snail is on the ground, creeping, or even shrunk into his
shell, the attack never presents any difficulty. The shell
possesses no lid and leaves the hermit’s fore-part to a
great extent exposed. Here, on the edges of the mantle,
contracted by the fear of danger, the Mollusc is vulner-
able and incapable of defense. But it also frequently
happens that the Snail occupies a raised position, cling-
ing to the tip of a grass-stalk or perhaps to the smooth
surface of a stone. This support serves him as a tem-
porary lid; it wards off the aggression of any churl who
might try to molest the inhabitant of the cabin, always
on the express condition that no slit show itself anywhere
on the protecting circumference. If, on the other hand,
in the frequent case when the shell does not fit its sup-
port quite closely, some point, however tiny, be left un-
covered, this is enough for the subtle tools of the Lam-
pyris, who just nibbles at the Mollusc and at once plunges
him into that profound immobility which favors the tran-
quil proceedings of the consumer.
These proceedings are marked by extreme prudence.
The assailant has to handle his victim gingerly, without
provoking contractions which would make the Snail let
go his support and, at the very least, precipitate him
from the tall stalk whereon he is blissfully slumbering.
Now any game falling to the ground would seem to be
so much sheer loss, for the Glow-worm has no great zeal
 276 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
for hunting-expeditions: he profits by the discoveries
which good luck sends him, without undertaking assidu-
ous searches. It is essential, therefore, that the equi-
librium of a prize perched on the top of a stalk and only
just held in position by a touch of glue should be dis-
turbed as little as possible during the onslaught; it is
necessary that the assailant should go to work with infi-
nite circumspection and without producing pain, lest
any
muscular reaction should provoke a fall and endang
er
the prize. As we see, sudden and profound
anesthesia
is an excellent means of enabling the Lampyris
to attain
his object, which is to consume his prey in perfect
quiet.
What is his manner of consuming it? Does he
really
eat, that is to say, does he divide his food
piecemeal,
does he carve it into minute particles, which
are after-
wards ground by a chewing-apparatus? I
think not.
I never see a trace of solid nourishment on
my captives’
mouths. The Glow-worm does not eat in the strict
sense of the word: he drinks his fill; he
feeds on a thin
gruel into which he transforms his prey
by a method
recalling that of the maggot. Like the flesh-eating grub
of the Fly, he too is able to digest
before consuming ;
he liquefies his prey before feeding on it.
This is how things happen: a Snail has been
rendered
insensible by the Glow-worm. The operator is nearly
always alone, even when the prize is
a large one, like
the common Snail, Helix aspersa. Soon a number of
guests hasten up — two, three, or
more
— and, without
any quarrel with the real proprietor
, all alike fall to.
Let us leave them to themselves
for a couple of days
 THE GLOW-WORM 277
and then turn the shell, with the opening downwards.
The contents flow out as easily as would soup from an
overturned saucepan. When the sated diners retire
from this gruel, only insignificant leavings remain.
The matter is obvious. By repeated tiny bites, similar
to the tweaks which we saw distributed at the outset,
the flesh of the Mollusc is converted into a gruel on
which the various banqueters nourish themselves without
distinction, each working at the broth by means of some
special pepsine and each taking his own mouthfuls of it.
In consequence of this method, which first converts the
food into a liquid, the Glow-worm’s mouth must be very
feebly armed apart from the two fangs which sting the
patient and inject the anesthetic poison and at the same
time, no doubt, the serum capable of turning the solid
flesh into fluid. Those two tiny implements, which can
just be examined through the lens, must, it seems, have
some other object. They are hollow, and in this re-
semble those of the Ant-lion, who sucks and drains her
capture without having to divide it; but there is this
great difference, that the Ant-lion leaves copious rem-
nants, which are afterwards flung outside the funnel-
shaped trap dug in the sand, whereas the Glow-worm,
that expert liquefier, leaves nothing, or next to nothing.
With similar tools, the one simply sucks the blood of his
prey and the other turns every morsel of his to account,
thanks to a preliminary liquefaction.
And this is done with exquisite precision, though the
equilibrium is sometimes anything but steady. My
rearing-glasses supply me with magnificent examples.
 278 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Crawling up the sides, the Snails imprisoned
in my
apparatus sometimes reach the top, which is
closed with
a glass pane, and fix themselves to it with
a speck of
glair. This is a mere temporary halt, in which
the Mol-
lusc is miserly with his adhesive product,
and the merest
shake is enough to loosen the shell and
send it to the
bottom of the jar.
Now it is not unusual for the Glow-w
orm to hoist
himself up there, with the help of a
certain climbing-
organ that makes up for his weak legs.
He selects his
quarry, makes a minute inspection of
it to find an en-
trance-slit, nibbles at it a little, rend
ers it insensible and,
without delay, proceeds to prepare the
gruel which he
will consume for days on end.
When he leaves the table, the shell
is found to be ab-
solutely empty; and yet this shell,
which was fixed to
the glass by a very faint stickiness,
has not come loose,
has not even shifted its position in
the smallest degree:
without any protest from the herm
it gradually converted
into broth, it has been drained on
the very spot at whic h
the first attack was delivered.
These small details tell
us how promptly the anesthetic
bite takes effect: they
teach us how dexterously the Glo
w-worm treats his Snail
without causing him to fall from
a very slippery, vertical
Support and without even shaking
him on his slight line
of adhesion.
Under these conditions of
equilibrium, the operator’s
short, clumsy legs are obviou
sly not enough; a special
accessory apparatus is needed
to defy the danger of slip-
ping and to seize the unseizable.
And this apparatus the
 THE GLOW-WORM 279
Lampyris possesses. At the hinder end of the animal
we see a white spot which the lens separates into some
dozen short, fleshy appendages, sometimes gathered into
a cluster, sometimes spread into a rosette. There is
your organ of adhesion and locomotion. If he would
fix himself somewhere, even on a very smooth surface,
such as a grass-stalk, the Glow-worm opens his rosette
and spreads it wide on the support, to which it adheres
by its own stickiness. The same organ, rising and fall-
ing, opening and closing, does much to assist the act of
progression. In short, the Glow-worm is a new sort of
self-propelled cripple, who decks his hind-quarters with
a dainty white rose, a kind of hand with twelve fingers,
not jointed, but moving in every direction: tubular fin-
gers which do not seize, but stick.
The same organ serves another purpose: that of a
toilet-sponge and brush. At a moment of rest, after a
meal, the Glow-worm passes and repasses the said brush
over his head, back, sides and hinder parts, a perform-
ance made possible by the flexibility of his spine. This
is done point by point, from one end of the body to the
other, with a scrupulous persistency that proves the great
interest which he takes in the operation. What is his
object in thus sponging himself, in dusting and polishing
himself so carefully? It is a question, apparently, of
removing a few atoms of dust or else some traces of
viscidity that remain from the evil contact with the Snail.
A wash and brush-up is not superfluous when one leaves
the tub in which the Mollusc has been treated.
If the Glow-worm possessed no other talent than that
 280 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
of chloroforming his prey by means of a few tweaks re-
sembling kisses, he would be unknown to the vulgar
herd; but he also knows how to light himself like a
beacon; he shines, which is an excellent manner of
achieving fame. Let us consider more particularly the
female, who, while retaining her larval shape, becomes
marriageable and glows at her best during the hottest
part of summer. The lighting-apparatus occupies the
last three segments of the abdomen. On each of the
first two it takes the form, on the ventral surface, of a
wide belt covering almost the whole of the arch: on the
third the luminous part is much less and consists simply
of two small crescent-shaped markings, or rather two
spots which shine through to the back and are visible
both above and below the animal. Belts and spots emit
a glorious white light, delicately tinged with blue. The
general lighting of the Glow-worm thus comprises two
groups: first, the wide belts of the two segments preced-
ing the last; secondly, the two spots of the final segments.
The two belts, the exclusive attribute of the marriage-
able female, are the parts richest in light: to glorify her
wedding, the future mother dons her brightest gauds;
she lights her two resplendent scarves. But, before that,
from the time of the hatching, she had only the
modest
rush-light of the stern. This efflorescence of light
is the
equivalent of the final metamorphosis, which is usually
represented by the gift of wings and flight. Its brilliance
heralds the pairing-time. Wings and flight there
will be
none: the female retains her humble larval form,
but she
kindles her blazing beacon.
 THE GLOW-WORM 281
The male, on his side, is fully transformed, changes
his shape, acquires wings and wing-cases; nevertheless,
like the female, he possesses, from the time when he is
hatched, the pale lamp of the end segment. This lumi-
nous aspect of the stern is characteristic of the entire
Glow-worm tribe, independently of sex and season. It
appears upon the budding grub and continues through-
out life unchanged. And we must not forget to add
that it is visible on the dorsal as well as on the ventral
surface, whereas the two large belts peculiar to the
female shine only under the abdomen.
My hand is not so steady nor my sight so good as
once they were; but, as far as they allow me, T consult
anatomy for the structure of the luminous organs. I
take a scrap of the epidermis and manage to separate
pretty nearly half of one of the shining belts. I place
my preparation under the microscope. On the skin a
sort of white-wash lies spread, formed of a very fine,
granular substance. This is certainly the light-producing
matter. To examine this white layer more closely is
beyond the power of my weary eyes. Just beside it is
a curious air-tube, whose short and remarkably wide
stem branches suddenly into a sort of bushy tuft of very
delicate ramifications. These creep over the luminous
sheet, or even dip into it. That is all.
The luminescence, therefore, is controlled by the
respiratory organs and the work produced is an oxidiza-
tion. The white sheet supplies the oxidizable matter
and the thick air-tube spreading into a tufty bush dis-
tributes the flow of air over it. There remains the ques-
 282 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
tion of the substance whereof this sheet is formed. The
first suggestion was phosphorus, in the chemist’s sense of
the word. The Glow-worm was calcined and treated
with the violent reagents that bring the simple substances
to light; but no one, so far as I know, has obtained
a sat-
isfactory answer along these lines. Phosphorus seems
to
play no part here, in spite of the name of phosphorescence
which is sometimes bestowed upon the Glow-worm’s
gleam. The answer lies elsewhere, no one knows where.
We are better-informed as regards another question.
Has the Glow-worm a free control of the light which
he emits? Can he turn it on or down or put it
out as
he pleases? Has he an opaque screen which is drawn
over the flame at will, or is that flame always
left ex-
posed? There is no need for any such mechanism: the
insect has something better for its revolving light.
The thick air-tube supplying the light-producing sheet
increases the flow of air and the light is intens
ified; the
same tube, swayed by the animal’s will, slackens
or even
suspends the passage of air and the light grows
fainter
or even goes out. It is, in short, the mecha
nism of a
lamp which is regulated by the access
of air to the wick.
Excitement can set the attendant air-d
uct in motion.
We must here distinguish between
two cases: that of
the gorgeous scarves, the exclusive
ornament of the fe-
male ripe for matrimony, and that
of the modest fairy-
lamp on the last segment, which
both sexes kindle at
any age. On the second case,
the extinction caused
by a flurry is sudden and complete
, or nearly so. In
my nocturnal hunts for young Glow
-worms, measuring
 THE GLOW-WORM 283
about 5 millimeters long,' I can plainly see the glimmer
on the blades of grass; but, should the least false step
disturb a neighboring twig, the light goes out at once
and the coveted insect becomes invisible. Upon the full-
grown females, lit up with their nuptial scarves, even
a violent start has but a slight effect and often none
at all.
I fire a gun beside a wire-gauze cage in which I am
rearing my menagerie of females in the open air. The
explosion produces no result. The illumination contin-
ues, as bright and placid as before. I take a spray and
rain down a slight shower of cold water upon the flock.
Not one of my animals puts out its light; at the very
most, there is a brief pause in the radiance; and then
only in some cases. I send a puff of smoke from my
pipe into the cage. This time the pause is more marked.
There are even some extinctions, but these do not last
long. Calm soon returns and the light is renewed as
brightly as ever. I take some of the captives in my
fingers, turn and return them, tease them a little. The
illumination continues and is not much diminished, if
I do not press too hard with my thumb. At this period,
with the pairing close at hand, the insect is in all the
fervor of its passionate splendor, and nothing short of
very serious reasons would make it put out its signals
altogether.
All things considered, there is not a doubt but that
the Glow-worm himself manages his lighting apparatus,
extinguishing and rekindling it at will; but there is one
1.195 inch— Translators Note,
 284 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
point at which the voluntary agency of the insect is
without effect. I detach a strip of the epidermis show-
ing one of the luminescent sheets and place it in a glass
tube, which I close with a plug of damp wadding, to avoid
an over-rapid evaporation. Well, this scrap of carcass
shines away merrily, although not quite as brilliantly as
on the living body.
Life’s aid is now superfluous. The oxidizable sub-
stance, the luminescent sheet, is in direct communication
with the surrounding atmosphere; the flow of oxygen
through an air-tube is not necessary; and the luminous
emission continues to take place, in the same way as
when it is produced by the contact of the air with the
real phosphorus of the chemists. Let us add that, in
aerated water, the luminousness continues as brilliant
as in the free air, but that it is extinguished in water
deprived of its air by boiling. No better proof could be
found of what I have already propounded, namely,
that
the Glow-worm’s light is the effect of a slow oxidatio
n.
The light is white, calm and soft to the eyes
and
suggests a spark dropped by the full moon.
Despite
its splendor, it is a very feeble illuminant. Tf
we move
a Glow-worm along a line of print, in perfect
darkness,
we can easily make out the letters, one by
one, and even
words, when these are not tdo long; but nothing
more is
visible beyond a narrow zone. A lantern of this kind
soon tires the reader’s patience.
Suppose a group of Glow-worms placed almos
t touch-
ing one another. Each of them sheds its glimm
er, which
ought, one would think, to light up
its neighbors by
 3SENaees<i8o
male;
b, female
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 THE GLOW-WORM 285
reflection and give us a clear view of each individual
specimen. But not at all: the luminous party is a chaos
e
in which our eyes are unable to distinguish any definit
form at a medium distance. The collective lights con-
fuse the light-bearers into one vague whole.
Photography gives us a striking proof of this. I have
or,
a score of females, all at the height of their splend
in a wire-gauze cage in the open air. A tuft of thyme
t.
forms a grove in the center of their establishmen
le
When night comes, my captives clamber to this pinnac
and strive to show off their luminous charms to the
best advantage at every point of the horizon, thus form-
I
ing along the twigs marvelous clusters from which
expected magnificent effects on the photographer’s plates
and paper. My hopes were disappointed. All that I
less
obtain is white, shapeless patches, denser here and
dense there according to the numbers forming the group.
; not
There is no picture of the Glow-worms themselves
a trace either of the tuft of thyme. For want of satis-
a
factory light, the glorious firework is represented by
blurred splash of white on a black ground.
evidently
The beacons of the female Glow-worms are
ve
nuptial signals, invitations to the pairing; but obser
en
that they are lighted on the lower surface of the abdom
males,
and face the ground, whereas the summoned
overhead,
whose flights are sudden and uncertain, travel
its normal
in the air, sometimes a great way up. In
from
position, therefore, the glittering lure is concealed
by the thick
the eyes of those concerned; it is covered
to gleam
bulk of the bride. The lantern ought really
 286 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
on the back and not under the belly; otherwise
the light
is hidden under a bushel.
,
The anomaly is corrected in a very ingeniou
s fashion, |
for every female has her little wiles of
coquetry. At
nightfall, every evening, my caged captives
make for the
tuft of thyme with which I have thoughtf
ully furnished
the prison and climb to the top of the
upper branches,
those most in sight. Here, instead of
keeping quiet, as
they did at the foot of the bush just now,
they indulge in
violent exercises, twist the tip of their
very flexible
abdomen, turn it to one side, turn it
to the other, jerk it
in every direction. In this way, the searchlight cannot
fail to gleam, at one moment or anoth
er, before the eyes
of every male who goes a-wooing
in the neighborhood,
whether on the ground or in the air.
It is very like the working of a revo
lving mirror used
in catching Larks, If stationary, the little contrivance
would leave the bird indifferent: turn
ing and breaking
up its light in rapid flashes,
it excites it.
While the female Glow-worm has
her tricks for sum-
moning her swains, the male,
on his side is provided
with an optical apparatus suited
to catch from afar the
least reflection of the calling
signal. His corselet ex-
pands into a shield and overlaps
his head considerably
in the form of a peaked cap
or a shade, the object of
which appears to be to limit
the field of vision and con-
centrate the view upon the lum
inous speck to be discerned.
Under this arch are the two
eyes, which are relatively
enormous, exceedingly convex,
shaped like a skull-cap
and contiguous to the extent of
leaving only a narrow
 THE GLOW-WORM 287
groove for the insertion of the antenne. This double
eye, occupying almost the whole face of the insect and
contained in the cavern formed by the spreading peak of
the corselet, is a regular Cyclops’ eye.
At the moment of the pairing the illumination becomes
much fainter, is almost extinguished; all that remains
alight is the humble fairy-lamp of the last segment.
This discreet night-light is enough for the wedding,
while, all around, the host of nocturnal insects, lingering
over their respective affairs, murmur the universal mar-
riage-hymn. The laying follows very soon. The round,
white eggs are laid, or rather strewn at random, without
the least care on the mother’s part, either on the more
or less cool earth or on a blade of grass. These brilliant
ones know nothing at all of family affection.
Here is a very singular thing: the Glow-worm’s eggs
are luminous even when still contained in the mother’s
womb. If I happen by accident to crush a female big
with germs that have reached maturity, a shiny streak
runs along my fingers, as though I had broken some
vessel filled with a phosphorescent fluid. The lens shows
me that I am wrong. The luminosity comes from the
cluster of eggs forced out of the ovary. Besides, as
laying-time approaches, the phosphorescence of the eggs
is already made manifest through this clumsy midwifery.
A soft opalescent light shines through the integument of
the belly.
The hatching follows soon after the laying. The
young of either sex have two little rush-lights on the
last segment. At the approach of the severe weather
 288 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
they go down into the ground, but not very far. In my
rearing-jars, which are supplied with fine and very loose
earth, they descend to a depth of three or four inches at
most. I dig up a few in mid-winter. I always find them
carrying their faint stern-light. About the month of
April they come up again to the surface, there to continue
and complete their evolution.
From start to finish the Glow-worm’s life is one great
orgy of light. The eggs are luminous; the grubs like-
wise. The full-grown females are magnificent light-
houses, the adult males retain the glimmer which the
grubs already possessed. We can understand the object
of the feminine beacon; but of what use is all the rest
of the pyrotechnic display? To my great regret, I
cannot tell. It is and will be, for many a day to come,
perhaps for all time, the secret of animal physics, which
is deeper than the physics of the books.
 CHAPTER XIV
THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR

THE cabbage of our modern kitchen-gardens is a semi-

artificial plant, the produce of our agricultural ingenuity
quite as much as of the niggardly gifts of nature. Spon-
taneous vegetation supplied us with the long-stalked,
scanty-leaved, ill-smelling wilding, as found, according
to the botanist, on the ocean cliffs. He had need of a
rare inspiration who first showed faith in this rustic
clown and proposed to improve it in his garden-patch.
Progressing by infinitesimal degrees, culture wrought
miracles. It began by persuading the wild cabbage to
and
discard its wretched leaves, beaten by the sea-winds,
to replace them by others, ample and fleshy and close-
fitting. The gentle cabbage submitted without protest.
It deprived itself of the joys of light by arranging its
leaves in a large compact head, white and tender. In
tiny hearts,
our day, among the successors of those first
bulk, have
are some that, by virtue of their massive
earned the glorious name of chou quintal, as who should
say a hundredweight of cabbage. They are real monu-
ments of green stuff.
Later, man thought of obtaining a generous dish with
a thousand little sprays of the inflorescence. The cab-
bage consented. Under the cover of the central leaves,
it gorged with food its sheaves of blossom, its flower-
289
 290 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
stalks, its branches and worked the lot into a fleshy
con-
glomeration. This is the cauliflower, the broccoli.
Differently entreated, the plant, economiz
ing in the
center of its shoot, set a whole family
of close-wrapped
cabbages ladder-wise on a tall stem. A
multitude of
dwarf leaf-buds took the place of the
colossal head.
This is the Brussels sprout.
Next comes the turn of the stump, an unpro
fitable,
almost wooden, thing, which seemed
never to have any
other purpose than to act as a suppo
rt for the plant.
But the tricks of gardeners are capable
of everything,
so much so that the stalk yields to the
grower’s sugges-
tions and becomes fleshy and swells into
an ellipse similar
to the turnip, of which it possesses
all the merits of
corpulence, flavor and delicacy ;only
the strange product
Serves as a base for a few sparse leave
s, the last protests
of a real stem that refuses to lose its
attributes entirely.
This is the cole-rape.
If the stem allows itself to be allu
red, why not the
root? It does, in fact, yield to the
blandishments of
agriculture; it dilates its pivot into
a flat turnip, which
half emerges from the ground.
This is the rutabaga, or
swede, the turnip-cabbage of our nort
hern districts.
Incomparably docile under our nurs
ing, the cabbage
has given its all for our nourishment and
that of our
cattle: its leaves, its flowers, its buds, its
stalk, its root;
all that it now wants is to combine the orna
mental with
the useful, to smarten itself, to adorn our
flowerbeds and
cut a good figure on a drawing-room
table. It has done
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 291
this to perfection, not with its flowers, which in their
modesty, continue intractable, but with its curly and
variegated leaves, which have the undulating grace of
Ostrich-feathers and the rich coloring of a mixed bouquet.
None who beholds it in this magnificence will recognize
the near relation of the vulgar “ greens” that form the
basis of our cabbage-soup.
The cabbage, first in order of date in our kitchen-
gardens, was held in high esteem by classic antiquity,
next after the bean and, later, the pea; but it goes much
farther back, so far indeed that no memories of its
acquisition remain. History pays but little attention to
these details; it celebrates the battle-fields whereon we
meet our death, but scorns to speak of the plowed fields
whereby we thrive; it knows the names of the king’s
bastards, but cannot tell us the origin of wheat. That
is the way of human folly.
This silence respecting the precious plants that serve
as food is most regrettable. The cabbage in particular,
the venerable cabbage, that denizen of the most ancient
garden-plots, would have had extremely interesting things
to teach us. It is a treasure in itself, but a treasure
twice exploited, first by man and next by the caterpillar
of the Pieris, the common Large White Butterfly whom
we all know (Pieris brassice, Lin.). This caterpillar
feeds indiscriminately on the leaves of all varieties of
cabbage, however dissimilar in appearance: he nibbles
curly
with the same appetite red cabbage and broccoli,
in short, all
greens and savoy, swedes and turnip-tops,
 292 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
that our ingenuity, lavish of time and patience, has been
able to obtain from the original plant since the most
distant ages.
But what did the caterpillar eat before our cabbages
supplied him with copious provender? Obviously the
Pieris did not wait for the advent of man and his horti-
cultural works in order to take part in the joys of life.
She lived without us and would have continued to live
without us. A Butterfly’s existence is not subject to
ours, but rightfully independent of our aid.
Before the white-heart, the cauliflower, the
savoy and
the others were invented, the Pieris’ caterpillar certai
nly
did not lack food: he browsed on the wild cabba
ge of
the cliffs, the parent of the latter-day
wealth; but, as
this plant is not widely distributed and
is, in any case,
limited to certain maritime regions, the
welfare of the
Butterfly, whether on plain or hill, demanded a more
luxuriant and more common plant for pastu
rage. This
plant was apparently one of the Cruciferee,
more or less
seasoned with sulphuretted essence, like the cabbages.
Let us experiment on these lines.
I rear the Pieris’ caterpillars from
the egg upwards
on the wall-rocket (Diplotaxis tenu
ifolia, Dec.), which
imbibes strong spices along the edge of
the paths and at.
the foot of the walls. Penned in
a large wire-gauze
bell-cage, they accept this provende
r without demur;
they nibble it with the same appetite
as if it were cabbage ;
and they end by producing chrysali
ds and Butterflies.
The change of fare causes not the least
trouble.
I'am equally successful with other
crucifers of a less
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 293
marked flavor: white mustard (Sinapis incana, Lin.),
dyer’s woad (Isatis tinctoria, Lin.), wild radish (Rapha-
nus raphanistrum, Lin.), whitlow pepperwort (Lepidium
draba, Lin.), hedge-mustard (Sisymbrium officinale,
Scop.). On the other hand, the leaves of the lettuce,
the bean, the pea, the corn-salad are obstinately refused.
Let us be content with what we have seen: the fare has
been sufficiently varied to show us that the Cabbage-
caterpillar feeds exclusively on a large number of cru-
cifers, perhaps even on all.
As these experiments are made in the enclosure of a
bell-cage, one might imagine that captivity impels the
flock to feed, in the absence of better things, on what
it would refuse were it free to hunt for itself. Having
naught else within their reach, the starvelings consume
any and all Cruciferz, without distinction of species.
Can things sometimes be the same in the open fields,
where I play none of my tricks? Can the family of
the White Butterfly be settled on other Crucifers than
the cabbage? I start a quest along the paths near the
gardens and end by finding on wild radish and white
mustard colonies as crowded and prosperous as those
established on cabbage.
Now, except when the metamorphosis is at uae the
caterpillar of the White Butterfly never travels: he does
all his growing on the identical plant whereon he saw
the light. The caterpillars observed on the wild radish,
as well as other households, are not, therefore, emigrants
who have come as a matter of fancy from some cabbage-
patch in the neighborhood: they have hatched on the
 294 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
very leaves where I find them. Hence I arrive at this
conclusion: the White Butterfly, who is fitful in her
flight, chooses cabbage first, to dab her eggs upon, and
different Crucifere next, varying greatly in appearance.
How does the Pieris manage to know her way about
her botanical domain? We have seen the Larini, ! those
explorers of fleshy receptacles with an artichoke flavor,
astonish us with their knowledge of the flora of the
thistle tribe; but their lore might, at a pinch, be explained
by the method followed at the moment of housing the
egg. With their rostrum, they prepare niches and dig
out basins in the receptacle exploited and consequently
they taste the thing a little before entrusting their eggs
to it. On the other hand, the Butterfly, a nectar-drinker,
makes not the least enquiry into the savory qualities of
the leafage ;at most dipping her proboscis into the flowers,
she abstracts a mouthful of syrup. This means of inves-
tigation, moreover, would be of no use to her, for the
plant selected for the establishing of her family is, for the
most part, not yet in flower. The mother flits for a
moment around the plant; and that swift examination
is enough: the emission of eggs takes place if the prov-
ender be found suitable.
The botanist, to recognize a crucifer, requires
the indi-
cation provided by the flower. Here the Pieris surpas
ses
us. She does not consult the seed-vessel, to see
if it be
long or short, not yet the petals, four in number
and
arranged in a cross, because the plant, as a rule,
is not
1A species of Weevils found on thistle-head
s.— Translator’s Note.
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 295
in flower; and still she recognizes off-hand what suits her
caterpillars, in spite of profound differences that would
embarrass any but a botanical expert.
Unless the Pieris has an innate power of discrimina-
tion to guide her, it is impossible to understand the great
extent of her vegetable realm. She needs for her family
Cruciferee, nothing but Cruciferee; and she knows this
group of plants to perfection. I have been an enthusi-
astic botanist for half a century and more. Nevertheless,
to discover if this or that plant, new to me, is or is not
one of the Cruciferz, in the absence of flowers and fruits
I should have more faith in the Butterfly’s statements
than in all the learned records of the books. Where
science is apt to make mistakes instinct is infallible.
The Pieris has two families a year: one in April and
May, the other in September. The cabbage-patches are
renewed in those same months. The Butterfly’s calendar
tallies with the gardener’s: the moment that provisions
are in sight, consumers are forthcoming for the feast.
The eggs are a bright orange-yellow and do not lack
prettiness when examined under the lens. They are
blunted cones, ranged side by side on their round base
and adorned with finely scored longitudinal ridges.
They are collected in slabs, sometimes on the upper
surface, when the leaf that serves as a support is spread
wide, sometimes on the lower surface when the leaf is
pressed to the next ones. Their number varies con-
siderably. Slabs of a couple of hundred are pretty fre-
quent; isolated eggs, or eggs collected in small groups,
 296 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
are, on the contrary, rare. The mother’s output is
affected by the degree of quietness at the moment of
laying.
The outer circumference of the group is irregularly
formed, but the inside presents a certain order. The
eggs are here arranged in straight rows backing against
one another in such a way that each egg finds a double
support in the preceding row. This alternation, without
being of an irreproachable precision, gives a fairly stable
equilibrium to the whole.
To see the mother at her laying is no easy matter:
when examined too closely, the Pieris decamps at once.
The structure of the work, however, reveals the order of
the operations pretty clearly. The ovipositor swings
slowly first in this direction, then in that, by turns; and
a new egg is lodged in each space between two adjoining
eggs in the previous row. The extent of the oscillation
determines the length of the row, which is longer or
shorter according to the layer’s fancy.
The hatching takes place in about a week. It is almost
simultaneous for the whole mass: as soon as one cater-
pillar comes out of its egg, the others come out also,
as though the natal impulse were communicated from
one to the other, In the same way, in the nest
of the
Praying Mantis, a warning seems to be spread
abroad
arousing every one of the population. It
is a wave
propagated in all directions from the point first
struck.
The egg does not open by means of a dehiscence
similar to that of the vegetable-pods whose seeds have
attained maturity; it is the new-born grub itself
that
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 207
contrives an exit-way by gnawing a hole in its enclosure.
In this manner, it obtains near the top of the cone a
symmetrical dormer-window, clean-edged, with no joins
nor unevenness of any kind, showing that this part of
the wall has been nibbled away and swallowed. But for
this. breach, which is just wide enough for the deliver-
ance, the egg remains intact, standing firmly on its base.
It is now that the lens is best able to take in its elegant
structure. What it sees is a bag made of ultra-fine gold-
beater’s-skin, translucent, stiff and white, retaining the
complete form of the original egg. A score of streaked
and knotted lines run from the top to the base. It is the
wizard’s pointed cap, the miter with the grooves carved
into jeweled chaplets. All said, the Cabbage-caterpillar’s
birth-casket is an exquisite work of art.
The hatching of the lot is finished in a couple of
hours and the swarming family musters on the layer
of swaddling-clothes, still in the same position. For a
long time, before descending to the fostering leaf, it
lingers on this kind of hot-bed, is even very busy there.
Busy with what? It is browsing a strange kind of grass,
the handsome miters that remain standing on end.
Slowly and methodically, from top to base, the new-
born grubs nibble the wallets whence they have just
emerged. By to-morrow, nothing is left of these but
a pattern of round dots, the bases of the vanished sacks.
At his first mouthfuls, therefore, the Cabbage-cater-
pillar eats the membranous wrapper of his egg. This
is a regulation diet, for I have never seen one of the
little grubs allow itself to be tempted by the adjacent
 298 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
green stuff before finishing the ritual repast whereat
skin bottles furnish forth the feast. It is the first, time
that I have seen a larva make a meal of the sack
in
which it was born. Of what use can this singular
fare
be to the budding caterpillar? I suspect
as follows:
the leaves of the cabbage are waxed and slipper
y surfaces
and nearly always slant considerably. To
graze on them
without risking a fall, which would be fatal
in earliest
childhood, is hardly possible unless with moorin
gs that
afford a steady support. What is needed is
bits of silk
stretched along the road as fast as progre
ss is made,
something for the legs to grip, something to
provide a
good anchorage even when the grub is upside
down.
The silk-tubes, where those moorings are
manufactured,
must be very scantily supplied in a tiny new-bo
rn animal ;
and it is expedient that they be filled without
delay with
the aid of a special form of nourishment.
Then what
shall the nature of the first food be? Vegeta
ble matter,
slow to elaborate and iggardly in
its yield, does not
fulfil the desired conditions at all well,
for time presses
and we must trust ourselves safely to
the slippery leaf.
An animal diet would be preferable: it
is easier to digest
and undergoes chemical changes in a shorter
time. The
wrapper of the egg is of a horny nature, as
silk itself
is. It will not take long to transform the
one into
the other. The grub therefore tackles the remain
s of
its egg and turns it into silk to carry with
it on its first
journeys,
3
If my surmise is well-founded,
there is reason to believe
that, with a view to speedily
filling the silk-glands to
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR — 299
which they look to stipply them with ropes, other cater-
pillars beginning their existence on smooth and steeply
slanting leaves also take as their first mouthful the mem-
branous sack which is all that remains of the egg.
The whole of the platform of birth-sacks which was
the first camping-ground of the White Butterfly’s family
is razed to the ground; naught remains but the round
marks of the individual pieces that composed it. The
structure of piles has disappeared; the prints left by the
piles remain. The little caterpillars are now on the
level of the leaf which shall henceforth feed them. They
are a pale orange-yellow, with a sprinkling of white
bristles. The head is a shiny black and remarkably
powerful; it already gives signs of the coming gluttony.
The little animal measures scarcely two millimeters * in
length.
The troop begins its steadying-work as soon as it comes
into contact with its pasturage, the green cabbage-leaf.
Here, there, in its immediate neighborhood, each grub
emits from its spinning glands short cables so slender
that it takes an attentive lens to catch a glimpse of them.
This is enough to ensure the equilibrium of the almost
imponderable atom.
The vegetarian meal now begins. The grub’s length
promptly increases from two millimeters to four. Soon,
a moult takes place which alters its costume: its skin
a
becomes speckled, on a pale-yellow ground, with
number of black dots intermingled with white bristle s.
e
Three or four days of rest are necessary after the fatigu
1,078 inch.— Translator’s Note.
 300 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
of breaking cover. When this is over, the hunger-fit
starts that will make a ruin of the cabbage within a few
weeks,
What an appetite! What a stomach, working con-
tinuously day and night! . It is a devouring laboratory,
through which the foodstuffs merely pass, transformed
at once. I serve up to my caged herd a bunch of
leaves
picked from among the biggest: two hours later, nothin
g
remains but the thick midribs ;and even these
are attacked
when there is any delay in renewing the victuals.
At this
rate a “ hundredweight-cabbage,” doled out
leaf by leaf,
would not last my menagerie a week,
The gluttonous animal, therefore, when
it swarms and
multiplies, is a scourge. How are we to protect our
gardens against it? In the days of
Pliny, the great
Latin naturalist, a stake was set up
in the middle of the
cabbage-bed to be preserved: and on
this stake was fixed
a Horse’s skull bleached in the sun:
a Mare’s skull was
considered even better. This sort
of bogey was supposed
to ward off the devouring brood.
My confidence in this preservative is
but an indifferent
one; my reason for mentioni
ng it is that it reminds
me of a custom still observed
in our own days, at least
in my part of the country. Nothing is so long-lived as
absurdity. Tradition has retained in a
simplified form,
the ancient defensive apparatus
of which Pliny speaks.
For the Horse’s skull our people
have substituted an egg-
shell on the top of a switch stuc
k among the cabbages,
It is easier to arrange; also
it is quite as useful, that is
to say, it has no effect what
ever,
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 301
Everything, even the nonsensical, is capable of explana-
tion with a little credulity. When I question the peas-
ants, our neighbors, they tell me that the effect of the
egg-shell is as simple as can be: the Butterflies, attracted
by the whiteness, come and lay their eggs upon it.
Broiled by the sun and lacking all nourishment on that
thankless support, the little caterpillars die; and that
makes so many fewer.
I insist; I ask them if they have ever seen slabs of eggs
or masses of young caterpillars on those white shells.
“ Never,” they reply, with one voice.
* Well, then? ”
“ It was done in the old days and so we go on doing it:
that ’s all we know; and that ’s enough for us.”
I leave it at that, persuaded that the memory of the
Horse’s skull, used once upon a time, is ineradicable, like
all the rustic absurdities implanted by the ages.
We have, when all is said, but one means of protection,
which is to watch and inspect the cabbage-leaves assid-
uously and crush the slabs of eggs between our finger
and thumb and the caterpillars with our feet. Nothing
is so effective as this method, which makes great demands
on one’s time and vigilance. What pains to obtain an
unspoilt cabbage! And what a debt do we not owe to
those humble scrapers of the soil, those ragged heroes,
who provide us with the wherewithal to live!
To eat and digest, to accumulate reserves whence the
Butterfly will issue: that is the caterpillar’s one and only
business. The Cabbage-caterpillar performs it with
insatiable gluttony. Incessantly it browses, incessantly
 302, THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
digests: the supreme felicity of an animal which
is little
more than an intestine. There is never
a distraction,
unless it be certain see-saw movements which
are par-
ticularly curious when several caterpillars
are grazing
side by side, abreast. Then, at intervals, all the heads
in the row are briskly lifted and as briskly lower
ed, time
after time, with an automatic precision
worthy of a
Prussian drill-ground. Can it be their method of intim-
idating an always possible aggressor?
Can it be a man-
ifestation of gaiety, when the wanton sun warm
s their
full paunches? Whether sign of fear or sign of bliss,
this is the only exercise that the gluttons allow
themselves
until the proper degree of plumpness is attain
ed.
After a month’s grazing, the voracious appet
ite of
my caged herd is assuaged. The caterpillars
climb the
trelliswork in every direction, walk about
anyhow, with
their forepart raised and searching space.
Here and
there, as they pass, the swaying herd put
forth a thread.
They wander restlessly, anxiously to travel
afar. The
exodus now prevented by the trellised enclo
sure I once
saw under excellent conditions. At the
advent of the
cold weather, I had placed a few cabbage stalks
, covered
with caterpillars, in a small greenhouse
. Those who
saw the common kitchen vegetable sumptuously lodged
under glass, in the company of the pelar
gonium and the
Chinese primrose, were astonished at
my curious fancy.
I let them smile. I had my plans: I
wanted to find out
how the family of the Large White Butte
rfly. behaves
when the cold weather sets in, Things
happened just
as I wished. At the end of November, the caterp
illars,
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 303
having grown to the desired extent, left the cabbages,
one by one, and began to roam about the walls. None
of them fixed himself there or made preparations for the
transformation. I suspected that they wanted the choice
of a spot in the open air, exposed to all the rigors of
winter. I therefore left the door of the hothouse open.
Soon the whole crowd had disappeared.
I found them dispersed all over the neighboring walls,
some thirty yards off. The thrust of a ledge, the eaves
formed by a projecting bit of mortar served them as a
shelter where the chrysalid moult took place and where
the winter was passed. The Cabbage-caterpillar pos-
sesses a robust constitution, unsusceptible to torrid heat
or icy cold. All that he needs for his metamorphosis is
an airy lodging, free from permanent damp.
The inmates of my fold, therefore, move about for a
few days on the trelliswork, anxious to travel afar in
search of a wall. Finding none and realizing that time
presses, they resign themselves. Each one, supporting
himself on the trellis, first weaves around himself a thin
carpet of white silk, which will form the sustaining
layer at the time of the laborious and delicate work of
the nymphosis. He fixes his rear-end to this base by a
silk pad and his fore-part by a strap that passes under
his shoulders and is fixed on either side to the carpet.
Thus slung from his three fastenings, he strips himself
of his larval apparel and turns into a chrysalis in the
open air, with no protection save that of the wall, which
the caterpillar would certainly have found had I not
interfered,
 304 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Of a surety, he would be short-sighted indeed that
pictured a world of good things prepared exclusively for
our advantage. The earth, the great foster-mother, has
a generous breast. At the very moment when nourishing
matter is created, even though it be with our own zealous
aid, she summons to the feast host upon host of con-
sumers, who are all the more numerous and enterprising
in proportion as the table is more amply spread. The
cherry of our orchards is excellent eating: a maggot
contends with us for its possession. In vain do we weigh
suns and planets: our supremacy, which fathoms the
universe, cannot prevent a wretched worm from levying
its toll on the delicious fruit. We make ourselves at
home in a cabbage bed: the sons of the Pieris
make
themselves at home there too. Preferring
broccoli to
wild radish, they profit where we have
profited; and we
have no remedy against their competition
save caterpillar-
raids and egg-crushing, a thankless, tedious,
and none too
efficacious work.
Every creature has its claims on life.
The Cabbage-
caterpillar eagerly puts forth his own,
so much so that
the cultivation of the precious plant
would be endangered
if others concerned did not take part
in its defense.
These others are the auxiliaries,’
our helpers from
necessity and not from sympathy.
The words friend
and foe, auxiliaries and Tavagers are
here the mere con-
ventions of a language not always
adapted to render the
*The author employs this word
to denote the insects that are
helpful, while describing as “ravagers”
the insects that are hurtful
to the farmer’s crops.— Translator
’s Note.
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR — 305
exact truth. He is our foe who eats or attacks our crops;
our friend is he who feeds upon our foes. Everything
is reduced to a frenzied contest of appetites.
In the name of the might that is mine, of trickery, of
highway robbery, clear out of that, you, and make room
for me: give me your seat at the banquet! That is the
inexorable law of the world of animals and more or less,
alas, in our own world as well!
Now, among our entomological auxiliaries, the smallest
in size are the best at their work. One of them is
charged with watching over the cabbages. She is so
small, she works so discreetly that the gardener does not
know her, has not even heard of her. Were he to see
her by accident, flitting around the plant which she pro-
tects, he would take no notice of her, would not suspect
the service rendered. I propose to set forth the tiny
midget’s deserts.
Scientists call her Microgaster glomeratus. What
exactly was in the mind of the author of the name
Microgaster, which means little belly? Did he intend to
allude to the insignificance of the abdomen? Not so.
However slight the belly may be, the insect nevertheless
possesses one, correctly proportioned to the rest of the
body, so that the classic denomination, far from giving
us any information, might mislead us, were we to trust
it wholly. Nomenclature, which changes from day to
day and becomes more and more cacophonous, is an
unsafe guide. Instead of asking the animal what its
name is, let us begin by asking:
“What can you do? What is your business?”
 306 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
Well, the Microgaster’s business is to exploit the
Cabbage-caterpillar, a clearly defined business admitting
of no possible confusion. Would we behold her works?
In the spring, let us inspect the neighborhood of the
kitchen-garden. Be our eye never so unobservant, we
shall notice against the walls or on the withered grasses
at the foot of the hedges some very small yellow cocoons,
heaped into masses the size of a hazel-nut.
Beside each group lies a Cabbage-caterpillar, some-
times dying, sometimes dead, and always presenting a
most tattered appearance. These cocoons are the work
of the Microgaster’s family, hatched or on the point of
hatching into the perfect stage; the caterpillar is the dish
whereon that family has fed during its larval state. The
epithet glomeratus, which accompanies the name of
Microgaster, suggests this conglomeration of cocoons.
Let us collect the clusters as they are, without seeking
to separate them, an operation which would demand both
patience and dexterity, for the cocoons are closely
united
by the inextricable tangle of their surface-threads.
In
May a swarm of pigmies will sally forth, ready
to get to
business in the cabbages,
Colloquial language uses the terms Midge and
Gnat
to describe the tiny insects which we often
see dancing
in a ray of sunlight. There is something of every
thing
in those aerial ballets. It is possible that the
persecutrix
of the Cabbage-caterpillar is there, along
with many an-
other; but the name of Midge cannot prope
rly be applied
to her. He who says Midge says Fly,
Dipteron, two-
winged insect; and our friend has
four wings, one and
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 307
all adapted for flying. By virtue of this characteristic
and others no less important, she belongs to the order of
Hymenoptera.! No matter: as our language possesses
no more precise term outside the scientific vocabulary, let
us use the expression Midge, which pretty well conveys
the general idea. Our Midge, the Microgaster, is the
size of an average Gnat. She measures 3 or 4 milli-
meters.?2_ The two sexes are equally numerous and wear
the same costume, a black uniform, all but the legs, which
are pale red. In spite of this likeness, they are easily
distinguished. The male has an abdomen which is
slightly flattened and, moreover, curved at the tip; the
female, before the laying, has hers full and perceptibly
distended by its ovular contents. This rapid sketch of
the insect should be enough for our purpose.
If we wish to know the grub and especially to inform
ourselves of its manner of living, it is advisable to rear
in a cage a numerous herd of Cabbage-caterpillars.
Whereas a direct search on the cabbages in our garden
would give us but a difficult and uncertain harvest, by
this means we shall daily have as many as we wish before
our eyes.
In the course of June, which is the time when the
caterpillars quit their pastures and go far afield to settle
on some wall or other, those in my fold, finding nothing
better, climb to the dome of the cage to make their
preparations and to spin a supporting network for the
1This order includes the Ichneumon-flies, of whom the Micro-
gaster is one— Translator’s Note.
2.117 to .156 inch— Translator’s Note.
 308 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
chrysalid’s needs. Among these spinners we see some
weaklings working listlessly at their carpet. Their ap-
pearance makes us deem them in the grip of a mortal
disease. I take a few of them and open their bellies,
using a needle by way of a scalpel. What comes out
is
a bunch of green entrails, soaked in a bright yellow fluid,
which is really the creature’s blood. These tangled
intestines swarm with little lazy grubs, varying greatly
in number, from ten or twenty at least to sometimes
half
ahundred. They are the offspring of the Microgaster.
What do they feed on? The lens makes conscie
ntious
enquiries ;nowhere does it manage to show
me the vermin
attacking solid nourishment, fatty tissues, muscles or
other parts ;nowhere do I see them bite,
gnaw, or dissect.
The following experiment will tell us more
fully: I pour
into a watch-glass the crowds extracted
from the hos-
pitable paunches. I flood them with
caterpillar’s blood
obtained by simple pricks: I place the
preparation under
a glass bell-jar, in a moist atmosphere,
to prevent evap-
oration; I repeat the nourishing bath
by means of fresh
bleedings and give them the stimulant
which they would
have gained from the living caterpillar.
Thanks to these
precautions, my charges have all the
appearance of excel-
lent health; they drink and thrive.
But this state of
things cannot last long. Soon
ripe for the transforma-
tion, my grubs leave the dining-room
of the watch-glass
as they would have left the caterpil
lar’s belly; they come
to the ground to try and weave
their tiny cocoons, They
fail in the attempt and perish.
They have missed a suit-
able support, that is to say, the
silky carpet provided by
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 309
the dying caterpillar. No matter: I have seen enough
to convince me. The larve of the Microgaster do not
eat in the strict sense of the word; they live on soup; and
- that soup is the caterpillar’s blood.
Examine the parasites closely and you shall see that
their diet is bound to be a liquid one. They are little
white grubs, neatly segmented, with a pointed fore-part
splashed with tiny black marks, as though the atom had
been slaking its thirst in a drop of ink. It moves its
hind-quarters slowly, without shifting its position. I
place it under the microscope. The mouth is a pore,
devoid of any apparatus for disintegration-work: it has
no fangs, no horny nippers, no mandibles; its attack is
just a kiss. It does not chew, it sucks, it takes discreet
sips at the moisture all around it.
The fact that it refrains entirely from biting is con-
firmed by my autopsy of the stricken caterpillars. In
the patient’s belly, notwithstanding the number of
nurslings who hardly leave room for the nurse’s entrails,
everything is in perfect order; nowhere do we see a trace
of mutilation. Nor does aught on the outside betray
any havoc within. The exploited caterpillars graze and
move about peacefully, giving no sign of pain. It is
impossible for me to distinguish them from the unscathed
ones in respect of appetite and untroubled digestion.
When the time approaches to weave the carpet for
the support of the chrysalis, an appearance of emacia-
tion at last points to the evil that is at their vitals. They
spin nevertheless. They are stoics who do not forget
their duty in the hour of death. At last they expire,
 310 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
quite softly, not of any wounds, but of anemia, even as a
lamp goes out when the oil comes to an end. And it
has to be. The living caterpillar, capable of feeding
himself and forming blood, is a necessity for the welfare
of the grubs; he has to last about a month, until the
Microgaster’s offspring have achieved their full growth
,
The two calendars synchronize in a remarkable way.
When the caterpillar leaves off eating and makes his
preparations for the metamorphosis, the parasites
are
ripe for the exodus. The bottle dries up when
the
drinkers cease to need it; but until that moment
it must
remain more or less well-filled, although becoming
limper
daily. It is important, therefore, that the caterpil
lar’s
existence be not endangered by wounds which,
even
though very tiny, would stop the working of
the blood-
fountains. With this intent, the drainers
of the bottle
are, in a manner of speaking, muzzled ; they
have by way
of a mouth a pore that sucks without bruising.
The dying caterpillar continues to lay the
silk of his
carpet with a slow oscillation of the head.
The moment
now comes for the parasites to emerge.
This happens
in June and generally at nightfall.
A breach is made
on the ventral surface or else in the
sides, never on the
back: one breach only, contrived at
a point of minor
resistance, at the junction of two
segments; for it is
bound to be a toilsome business,
in the absence of a set
of filing-tools. Perhaps the grubs
take one another’s
places at the point attacked and come
by turns to work
at it with a kiss.
In one short spell, the whole trib
e issues through this
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 311
single opening and is soon wriggling about, perched on
the surface of the caterpillar. The lens cannot perceive
the hole, which closes on the instant. There is not even
-a hemorrhage: the bottle has been drained too thor-
oughly. You must press it between your fingers to
squeeze out a few drops of moisture and thus discover
the place of exit.
Around the caterpillar, who is not always quite dead
and who sometimes even goes on weaving his carpet
a moment longer, the vermin at once begin work at
their cocoons. The straw-colored thread, drawn from
the silk-glands by a backward jerk of the head, is first
fixed to the white network of the caterpillar and then
produces adjacent warp-beams, so that, by mutual en-
tanglements, the individual works are welded together
and form an agglomeration in which each of the grubs
has its own cabin. For the moment, what is woven is
not the real cocoon, but a general scaffolding which will
facilitate the construction of the separate shells. All
these frames rest upon those adjoining and, mixing up
their threads, become a common edifice wherein each
grub contrives a shelter for itself. Here at last the
real cocoon is spun, a pretty little piece of closely woven
work.
In my rearing-jars I obtain as many groups of these
tiny shells as my future experiments can wish for.
Three-fourths of the caterpillars have supplied me with
them, so ruthless has been the toll of the spring births.
I lodge these groups, one by one, in separate glass tubes,
thus forming a collection on which I can draw at will,
 312 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
while, in view of my experiments, I keep under observa-
tion the whole swarm produced by one caterpillar.
The adult Microgaster’ appears a fortnight later, in
the middle of June. There are fifty in the first tube
examined. The riotous multitude is in the full enjoy-
ment of the pairing-season, for the two sexes always fig-
ure among the guests of any one caterpillar. What ani-
mation! What an orgy of love! The carnival of these
pigmies bewilders the observer and makes his head
swim.
Most of the females, wishful of liberty, plunge down
to the waist between the glass of the tube and the
plug of cotton-wool that closes the end turned to the
light; but the lower halves remain free and form a
circular gallery in front of which the males hustle one
another, take one another’s places and hastily operate.
Each bides his turn, each attends to his little matters for
a few moments and then makes way for his rivals and
goes off to start again elsewhere. The turbulent wedding
lasts all the morning and begins afresh next day, a mighty
throng of couples embracing, separating and embracing
once more.
There is every reason to believe that, in gardens,
the
mated ones, finding themselves in isolated couples, would
keep quieter. Here, in the tube, things degenerate
into
a riot because the assembly is too numerous for the
narrow space.
What is lacking to complete its happiness? Appar-
ently a little food, a few sugary mouthfuls extracted
from
the flowers. I serve up some provisions in the tubes
:
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 312
not drops of honey, in which the puny creatures would
get stuck, but little strips of paper spread with that
dainty. They come to them, take their’ stand on them
and refresh themselves. The fare appears to agree with
them. With this diet, renewed as the strips dry up, I
can keep them in very good condition until the end of
my inquisition.
There is another arrangement to be made. The col-
onists in my spare tubes are restless and quick of flight;
they will have to be transferred presently to sundry
vessels without my risking the loss of a good number,
or even the whole lot, a loss which my hands, my forceps
and other means of coercion would be unable to prevent
by checking the nimble movements of the tiny prisoners.
The irresistible attraction of the sunlight comes to my
aid. If I lay one of my tubes horizontally on the table,
turning one end towards the full light of a sunny win-
dow, the captives at once make for the brighter end
and play about there for a long while, without seeking
to retreat. If I turn the tube in the opposite direction,
the crowd immediately shifts its quarters and collects
at the other end. The brilliant sunlight is its great joy.
With this bait, I can send it whithersoever I please.
We will therefore place the new receptacle, jar or
test-tube, on the table, pointing the closed end towards
the window. At its mouth, we open one of the full
tubes. No other precaution is needed: even though the
mouth leaves a large interval free, the swarm hastens
into the lighted chamber. All that remains to be done
is to close the apparatus before moving it. The observer
 314 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
is now in control of the multitude, without appreciable
losses and is able to question it at will.
We will begin by asking:
“ How do you manage to lodge your germs insid
e the
caterpillar? ”
This question and others of the same categ
ory, which
ought to take precedence of everything else,
are generally
neglected by the impaler of insects, who
cares more for
the niceties of nomenclature than for
glorious realities.
He classifies his subjects, dividing them
into regiments
with barbarous labels, a work which seems to him the
highest expression of entomological
science. Names,
nothing but names: the rest hardly
counts. The perse-
cutor of the Pieris used to be called
Microgaster, that
is to say, little belly: to-day she is calle
d Apanteles, that
is to say, the incomplete. What
a fine step forward!
We now know all about it!
Can our friend at least tel! us how
“ the Little Belly ”
or “the Incomplete ” gets into
the caterpillar? Not
a bit of it! A book which, judg
ing by its recent date,
should be the faithful echo of
our actual knowledge,
informs us that the Microgaster
inserts her eggs direct
into the caterpillar’s body. It
goes on to say that the
parasitic vermin inhabit the chrysali
s, whence they make
their way out by perforating
the stout horny wrapper.
Flundreds of times have T witn
essed the exodus of the
grubs ripe for Weaving their
cocoons: and the exit has
always been made through the
skin of the caterpillar, and
never through the armor of the
chrysalis. The fact that
its mouth is a mere clinging pore
, deprived of any offen-
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 315
sive weapon, would even lead me to believe that the grub
is incapable of perforating the chrysalid’s covering.
This proved error makes me doubt the other propo-
sition, though logical, after all, and agreeing with the
methods followed by a host of parasites. No matter:
my faith in what I read in print is of the slightest; I
prefer to go straight to facts. Before making a state-
ment of any kind, I want to see, what I call seeing. It
is a slower and more laborious process; but it is certainly
much safer.
I will not undertake to lie in wait for what takes
place on the cabbages in the garden; that method is
too uncertain and besides does not lend itself to precise
observation. As I have in hand the necessary materials,
to wit, my collection of tubes swarming with the parasites
newly hatched into the adult form, I will operate on
the little table in my animals’ laboratory. A jar with
a capacity of about a liter in placed on the table, with
the bottom turned towards the window in the sun. I
put into it a cabbage leaf covered with caterpillars, some-
times fully developed, sometimes half-way, sometimes
just out of the egg. A strip of honeyed paper will serve
the Microgaster as a dining room, if the experiment is
destined to take some time. Lastly, by the method of
of
transfer which I described above, I send the inmates
one of my tubes into the apparatus. Once the jar is
take
closed, there is nothing left to do but to let things
watch, for days
their course and to keep an assiduous
Note.
1 About 134 pints, or .22 gallon Translator’s
 316 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
and weeks, if need be. Nothing worth remarking can
escape me.
The caterpillars graze placidly, heedless of their terrible
attendants. If some giddy-pates in the turbulent swarm
pass over the caterpillars’ spines, these draw up their
fore-part with a jerk and as suddenly lower it
again;
and that is all: the intruders forthwith decamp.
Nor
do the latter seem to contemplate any harm:
they re-
fresh themselves on the honey-smeared strip, they
come
and go tumultuously. Their short flights may land
them, now in one place, now in another, on the browsing
herd, but they pay no attention to it. What we
see is
casual meetings, not deliberate encounters.
In vain I change the flock of caterpillars
and vary
their age; in vain I change the squad of paras
ites; in vain
I follow events in the jar for long hours,
morning and
evening, both in a dim light and in the full
glare of the
sun: I succeed in seeing nothing, absolutely
nothing, on
the parasite’s side, that resembles an attack
. No matter
what the ill-informed authors say— ill-i
nformed because
they had not the patience to see for
themselves — the
conclusion at which I arrive is posit
ive: to inject the
germs, the Microgaster never attac
ks the caterpillars.
The invasion, therefore, is necessarily
effected through
the Butterfly’s eggs themselves, as
experiment will prove.
My broad jar would tell against
the inspection of the
troop, kept at too great a distance
by the glass enclosure,
and I therefore select a tube an
inch wide. I place in
this a shred of cabbage-leaf, bear
ing a slab of eggs,
as laid by the Butterfly. I next intr
oduce the inmates
 THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR eel,
of one of my spare vessels. A strip of paper smeared
with honey accompanies the new arrivals.
This happens early in July. Soon, the females are
there, fussing about, sometimes to the extent of blacken-
ing the whole slab of yellow eggs. They inspect the
treasure, flutter their wings and brush their hind-legs
against each other, a sign of keen satisfaction. They
sound the heap, probe the interstices with their antenne
and tap the individual eggs with their palpi; then, this
one here, that one there, they quickly apply the tip of
their abdomen to the egg selected. Each time, we see
a slender, horny prickle darting from the ventral
surface, close to the end. This is the instrument that
deposits the germ under the film of the egg; it is the
inoculation-needle. The operation is performed calmly
and methodically, even when several mothers are
working at one and the same time. Where one has been,
a second goes, followed by a third, a fourth and others
yet, nor am I able definitely to see the end of the visits
paid to the same egg. Each time, the needle enters and
inserts a germ.
It is impossible, in such a crowd, for the eye to follow
the successive mothers who hasten to lay in each; but
there is one quite practicable method by which we can
estimate the number of germs introduced into a single
egg, which is, later, to open the ravaged caterpillars and
count the grubs which they contain. A less repugnant
meanis is to number the little cocoons heaped up around
each dead caterpillar. The total will tell us how many
germs were injected, some by the same mother returning
 318 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT
several times to the egg already treated, others by differ-
ent mothers. Well, the number of these cocoons varies
greatly. Generally, it fluctuates in the neighborhood of
twenty, but I have come across as many as sixty-five;
and nothing tells me that this is the extreme limit. What
hideous industry for the extermination of a Butterfly’s
progeny!
I am fortunate at this moment in having a highly
cultured visitor, versed in the profundities of philosophic
thought. I make way for him before the apparatus
wherein the Microgaster is at work. For an hour and
more, standing lens in hand, he, in his turn, looks and
sees what I have just seen; he watches the layers who go
from one egg to the other, make their choice, draw their
slender lancet and prick what the stream of passers-by,
one after the other, have already pricked. Thoughtful
and a little uneasy, he puts down his lens at last. Never
had he been vouchsafed so clear a glimpse as here, in my
finger-wide tube, of the masterly brigandage that runs
through all life down to that of the very smallest.
 INDEX
Ammophila, 3, 11, 38-0, 66 periments, (76-100) ; test con-
Andrena, 9 ditions imposed, 77-82; con-
Anoxia, 26 ditions of burial, 84-5; nets of
Ant-lion, 277 cordage cut through, 85-6;
Anthidium, 8, 9 ligatures severed, 91-2; limi-
Anthophora personata, 223 tations of instinct, 95-96, 98-
Anthrax, 53 100
Apantales, see Microgaster glo-
meratus Cabbage, ancestry of, 289; off-
Arundo donax, the great reed, spring, 289-91
224. Cabbage Butterfly, her selection
Audubon, on trapping Turkeys, of suitable Crucifere; 294-5;
98-9 eggs of, 295-6; hatching of the
eggs, 296-7
Bats, 37 Cabbage-caterpillar, (289-317);
Bell-ringing Toad, 18-20 eats egg-cases on emergence,
Bembex, II, 14 297; employment of silk by,
Bird-catchers, 169-170 298; growth and moults, 2099;
Blackbirds, Corsican, 109 its voracity, 299-300; an old
Bluebottle, (1or-18) ; the laying charm against, 300-1; the only
of the eggs, 109-13; hatching, true charm, 301; movements
Tit; sa test; 112-113); paper a of the caterpillar, 301-3; its
protection against, 116-17; the chrysalis, 303; its deadly
grubs, 112-13; sand a protec- enemy, 305-17
tion against, 117-18 Calliphora vomitaria, see Blue-
Bower-bird, 210 bottle
Brussels Sprouts, ancestry of, Capricorn Beetle, (43-58); the
290 grub, 44-56; its cell, 54; the
Buprestis, 45-6 barricade, 54; the pupa, 58;
Burying-beetles: method of metamorphosis and emer-
burial, 59-75; appearance of gence, 56-7
the insect, 61; manipulation of Cauliflower, 289-90
the corpse, 70-1; codperation Centauries, 7-8
of individuals, 71-2; larve of, Cerambyx miles, 44-58
72-3; attacked by vermin, 73- Cerceris, 4, 66, 192
4; the dismal end of, 75; ex- Cetonia, or Rose-chafer, 12
319
 320 INDEX
Chalicodoma, 9, 208, 242-3 Epeira, Silky, 182, 193, 194
Chat, Black-eared, 10 Ephippigera, 11
Cicada, 5, 16-7; the BESS Eucera, 9
per’s victim, 25-6 Eumenes, 13, (206-20); cells of
Cicadella, 11 different species, 208-10; nest
Clairville on the Burying-beetle, of E. pomiformis, 211; prey
62, 81 found in nest of E. Amedei,
Clothes-moth, the, 116, 186 212; sex of eggs known to
Cockchafers, 26 insect, 213; prey in nest of E.
Cole-rape, 290 pomiformis, 213-14; experi-
Condillac, philosophy of, 43 ments on larve, 214-15; posi-
Couch-grass, 7 tion of the egg, 216-19; sus-
Cricket, Italian, 22; Common pension of the larve, 219; the
Black, 22 Protective sheath, 220.
Crucifere, the diet of Pieris
brassice, 292-3 Flesh-fly, Gray, ror; viviparous,
Dasypoda, 9 112; maggots of, 113; a test,
Dermestes, 59-61 114; her attacks on meat-
Digger wasps, 11 safes, 115; baffled by sand,
Dragon-fly, 189-90, 104 117-118
Drilus maroccanus, 274-5 Fly,59
Dung-beetles, 10, 81 Frog, burial of a, 62, 88
Froghopper, 11
Empusa (30-42); larva of, 30;
fore-limbs, 31; strange head- Geotrupes, 96
dress, 32-3; food of, 33-53 Gledditsch on Burying-beetles,
how killed, 35-6; metamor- 62, 94
Phosis of, 39-40; curious posi- Glow-worm, (268-88); diet of
tion assumed in captivity, 36- snails, 269; anesthetises its
7; pacific nature of, 41-2 prey, 269-76; digestive juice
Epeira, Angular, telegraph wire secreted by, 276-77: adhesive
of, 200-1 climbing appendage of, 278-79;
Epeira fasciator, (170-201) ; ap- luminous apparatus of, 280-1;
pearance of, 170; its web, 171-
regulation of light, 282-4;
4; nature of the thread, 174-5; light displayed by females,
her station on the web, 176;
286-87 ; eyes of the male, 287;
fatty unguent of, 177-78; na- pairing, 287; eggs, 287; lumin-
ture of the adhesive glue, 179- osity of eggs, 287-8; of larvee,
80; hunting methods, 180-2;
288 ;
treatment of prey, 182-6; bite Grasshopper, Green, RAT iS
of, 187-92; the alarm, 104-06 ; 20); the note of the, 18-19;
the telegraph wire, 196-201 stridulating apparatus, 19;
 INDEX eal

habitat, 24-5; food, 26-27; Massagetee, customs of the, 75

eggs, 28 ; Megachiles, 9, 44
mating habits, 28;
seminal capsule, 29 Melolontho fullo, 27
Greenfinch, 12 Michelet, 142
Microgaster glomeratus, (305-
18); the exterminator of the
Halictus, 10
Cabbage Caterpillar, 306 ;
Harmas (3-18); description of,
6, 222 method of feeding, 308; emer-
Harmonica, 19 gence from the host, 310; co-
Horn-beetle, 59, 61 coons, 310-11; the adult, 312;
Hornet, 184-5 pairing, 312; food, 312; the
Hunting-wasp, II, 12 eggs laid in the Butterfly’s
egg, 317-18
Mole, burial of a, 59; a supply
Laboratory, the outdoor, 3, 4
on the Burying- of corpses obtained, 64-5
Lacordaire
beetle, 62 Mouse, burial of a, 62, 76-81
Lammellicornis, 12
National festival, the, 16
Larim, 294
Natterjack, 12
Linnet, dead, preserved from Burying-bee-
Necrophorus, seé
flies by paper, 104-108
tles
Lizard, Eyed, 10
Locust, 150; the prey of the
rt
Se
Epeira, 185-92 Osmia, 9, 44, (221-67); cells of
different species, 222-5; glass
Lycosa, Narbonne, II, (142-68) ;
nests of Three-horned Osmia,
its eyes, 143; its burrow, 144-
225-33; distribution of sexes,
5; the rampart, 145-49; use of
234-40; optional determination
the same, 150; methods of
of sex, 240-07
catching prey, 150-51; method
Orcytes, 12
of laying eggs, 151-52; the Owl, 21; Com-
1533 experiments Owl, 12; Horned
egg-sac,
the hatching mon Owl, 21
with, 154-5 7;
157-58; the young, Oyster-plant, 7, 8
process,
159-60; experiments with, 161-
Pelopus, 13, 56
62; a problem of energy, 162-
Pérez, Prof, 10
68
Philanthus apivorus, 192
Phylloxera, 144
Macrocera, 9
40-42, Pieris brassic@, 29%
Mantis, Praying, 27, 30, (119-41) :
Pine Processionary,
184-86, 296
by silken road of, 119-20; nest,
Mason-bees, 10; cells used
t21; use of road, 121-24;
Osmiz, 259-60 y
senses, 125; the processionar
Mason-wasps, 13
 322 INDEX
march, 124-5; experiments, Snail-shell, Osmia’s use of, 225
126-8; on a circular track, 129- Sphex, 3, 11, 56, 66, 192
39 Sphex, White, Banded, 13
Pliny, on the Cabbage-Caterpil- Spiders, 142-201; apprised of
lar, 300 prey by vibration, 193-201
Pompilus, 11, 66 Staphylinus, 59
Stizus, 11
Rose-chafer, 12 Swede, 290

Sacred Beetle, 81, 83 Tadpoles, 20

Saprini, 60 Tarantula, Black-Bellied, see
Sarcophaga carnaria, see Flesh- Lycosa
fly Thistles, 7, 8
Scarabzus, 10 Thomisus, 192
Scolia, 12, 56, 192 Toad, Bell-ringing, 18-20
Scops, 12, 21 Tree-frogs, 13
Serin-finch, 12 Tree Wasps, 14
Sex, distribution, determination Turkeys, how trapped, 98-9
and permutations of, in the
Osmia, 240-67 Ventoux, Mount, 14, 222
Silpha, 59-61
Sitaris, 56 Wasp, Common, 13
Snail, the prey of the Glow-
Woodpecker, 53
worm, 270-78
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