MORE HUNTING WASPS

By J. Henri Fabre

Translated By Alexander Teixeira De Mattos, F. Z. S. 

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. 

The fourteen chapters contained in this volume complete the list ofessays in the "Souvenirs entomologiques" devoted to Wasps. The remainderwill be found in the two earlier volumes of this collected editionentitled "The Hunting Wasps" and the "Mason-wasps" respectively. 

Chapter 2 has appeared before in my version of "The Life and Love ofthe Insect, " an illustrated volume of extracts translated by myself andpublished by Messrs. Adam and Charles Black (in America by the MacmillanCo. ), and Chapter 10 in a similar miscellany translated by Mr. BernardMiall published by Messrs. T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. (in America by theCentury Co. ) under the title of "Social Life in the Insect World. " Thesetwo chapters are included in the present book by arrangement with theoriginal firms. 

I wish to place on record my thanks to Mr. Miall for the valuableassistance which he has given me in preparing this translation. 

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS. 

Ventnor, I. W. , 6 December, 1920. 

CONTENTS. 

 TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. 

 CHAPTER 1. THE POMPILI. 

 CHAPTER 2. THE SCOLIAE. 

 CHAPTER 3. A DANGEROUS DIET. 

 CHAPTER 4. THE CETONIA-LARVA. 

 CHAPTER 5. THE PROBLEM OF THE SCOLIAE. 

 CHAPTER 6. THE TACHYTES. 

 CHAPTER 7. CHANGE OF DIET. 

 CHAPTER 8. A DIG AT THE EVOLUTIONISTS. 

 CHAPTER 9. RATIONING ACCORDING TO SEX. 

 CHAPTER 10. THE BEE-EATING PHILANTHUS. 

 CHAPTER 11. THE METHOD OF THE AMMOPHILAE. 

 CHAPTER 12. THE METHOD OF THE SCOLIAE. 

 CHAPTER 13. THE METHOD OF THE CALICURGI. 

 CHAPTER 14. OBJECTIONS AND REJOINDERS. 

 INDEX. 

CHAPTER 1. THE POMPILI. 

(This essay should be read in conjunction with that on the Black-belliedTarantula. Cf. "The Life of the Spider, " by J. Henri Fabre, translatedby Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter 1. --Translator's Note. )

The Ammophila's caterpillar (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps, " by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapters 13 and 18 to 20;and Chapter 11 of the present volume. --Translator's Note. ), the Bembex(Cf. Idem: chapter 14. --Translator's Note. ), Gad-fly, the Cerceris (Cf. Idem: chapters 1 to 3. --Translator's Note. ), Buprestis (A Beetleusually remarkable for her brilliant colouring. Cf. Idem: chapter1. --Translator's Note. ) and Weevil, the Sphex (Cf. Idem: chapter 4 to10. --Translator's Note. ), Locust, Cricket and Ephippiger (Cf. "The Lifeof the Grasshopper, " by J. Henri Fabre, translated by AlexanderTeixeira de Mattos: chapters 13 and 14. --Translator's Note. ): allthese inoffensive peaceable victims are like the silly Sheep of ourslaughter-houses; they allow themselves to be operated upon by theparalyser, submitting stupidly, without offering much resistance. Themandibles gape, the legs kick and protest, the body wriggles and twists;and that is all. They have no weapons capable of contending with theassassin's dagger. I should like to see the huntress grappling withan imposing adversary, one as crafty as herself, an expert layer ofambushes and, like her, bearing a poisoned dirk. I should like to seethe bandit armed with her stiletto confronted by another bandit equallyfamiliar with the use of that weapon. Is such a duel possible? Yes, itis quite possible and even quite common. On the one hand we have thePompili, the protagonists who are always victorious; on the other handwe have the Spiders, the protagonists who are always overthrown. 

Who that has diverted himself, however little, with the study of insectsdoes not know the Pompili? Against old walls, at the foot of the banksbeside unfrequented footpaths, in the stubble after the harvest, in thetangles of dry grass, wherever the Spider spreads her nets, who has notseen them busily at work, now running hither and thither, at random, their wings raised and quivering above their backs, now moving fromplace to place in flights long or short? They are hunting for a quarrywhich might easily turn the tables and itself prey upon the trapperlying in wait for it. 

The Pompili feed their larvae solely on Spiders; and the Spiders feed onany insect, commensurate with their size, that is caught in their nets. While the first possess a sting, the second have two poisoned fangs. Often their strength is equally matched; indeed the advantage isnot seldom on the Spider's side. The Wasp has her ruses of war, hercunningly premeditated strokes: the Spider has her wiles and her settraps; the first has the advantage of great rapidity of movement, whilethe second is able to rely upon her perfidious web; the one has a stingwhich contrives to penetrate the exact point to cause paralysis, theother has fangs which bite the back of the neck and deal sudden death. We find the paralyser on the one hand and the slaughterer on the other. Which of the two will become the other's prey?

If we consider only the relative strength of the adversaries, the powerof their weapons, the virulence of their poisons and their differentmodes of action, the scale would very often be weighted in favour of theSpider. Since the Pompilus always emerges victorious from this contest, which appears to be full of peril for her, she must have a specialmethod, of which I would fain learn the secret. 

In our part of the country, the most powerful and courageousSpider-huntress is the Ringed Pompilus (Calicurgus annulatus, FAB. ), clad in black and yellow. She stands high on her legs; and her wingshave black tips, the rest being yellow, as though exposed to smoke, likea bloater. Her size is about that of the Hornet (Vespa crabro). She israre. I see three or four of her in the course of the year; and I neverfail to halt in the presence of the proud insect, rapidly stridingthrough the dust of the fields when the dog-days arrive. Its audaciousair, its uncouth gait, its war-like bearing long made me suspect thatto obtain its prey it had to make some impossible, terrible, unspeakablecapture. And my guess was correct. By dint of waiting and watchingI beheld that victim; I saw it in the huntress' mandibles. It is theBlack-bellied Tarantula, the terrible Spider who slays a Carpenter-beeor a Bumble-bee outright with one stroke of her weapon; the Spider whokills a Sparrow or a Mole; the formidable creature whose bite wouldperhaps not be without danger to ourselves. Yes, this is the bill offare which the proud Pompilus provides for her larva. 

This spectacle, one of the most striking with which the Hunting Waspshave ever provided me, has as yet been offered to my eyes but once; andthat was close beside my rural home, in the famous laboratory of theharmas. (The enclosed piece of waste land on which the author studiedhis insects in their native state. Cf. "The Life of the Fly, " byJ. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter1. --Translator's Note. ) I can still see the intrepid poacher dragging bythe leg, at the foot of a wall, the monstrous prize which she had justsecured, doubtless at no great distance. At the base of the wall was ahole, an accidental chink between some of the stones. The Wasp inspectedthe cavern, not for the first time: she had already reconnoitred itand the premises had satisfied her. The prey, deprived of the power ofmovement, was waiting somewhere, I know not where; and the huntress hadgone back to fetch it and store it away. It was at this moment thatI met her. The Pompilus gave a last glance at the cave, removed a fewsmall fragments of loose mortar; and with that her preparations werecompleted. The Lycosa (The Spider in question is known indifferentlyas the Black-bellied Tarantula and the Narbonne Lycosa. --Translator'sNote. ) was introduced, dragged along, belly upwards, by one leg. Idid not interfere. Presently the Wasp reappeared on the surface andcarelessly pushed in front of the hole the bits of mortar which she hadjust extracted from it. Then she flew away. It was all over. The egg waslaid; the insect had finished for better or for worse; and I was able toproceed with my examination of the burrow and its contents. 

The Pompilus has done no digging. It is really an accidental hole withspacious winding passages, the result of the mason's negligence and notof the Wasp's industry. The closing of the cavity is quite as rough andsummary. A few crumbs of mortar, heaped up before the doorway, form abarricade rather than a door. A mighty hunter makes a poor architect. The Tarantula's murderess does not know how to dig a cell for her larva;she does not know how to fill up the entrance by sweeping dust into it. The first hole encountered at the foot of a wall contents her, providedthat it be roomy enough; a little heap of rubbish will do for a door. Nothing could be more expeditious. 

I withdraw the game from the hole. The egg is stuck to the Spider, nearthe beginning of the belly. A clumsy movement on my part makes it falloff at the moment of extraction. It is all over: the thing will nothatch; I shall not be able to observe the development of the larva. TheTarantula lies motionless, flexible as in life, with not a trace of awound. In short, we have here life without movement. From time to timethe tips of the tarsi quiver a little; and that is all. Accustomed ofold to these deceptive corpses, I can see in my mind's eye what hashappened: the Spider has been stung in the region of the thorax, nodoubt once only, in view of the concentration of her nervous system. Iplace the victim in a box in which it retains all the pliancy and allthe freshness of life from the 2nd of August to the 20th of September, that is to say, for seven weeks. These miracles are familiar to us (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": passim. --Translator's Note. ); there is no need tolinger over them here. 

The most important matter has escaped me. What I wanted, what I stillwant to see is the Pompilus engaged in mortal combat with the Lycosa. What a duel, in which the cunning of the one has to overcome theterrible weapons of the other! Does the Wasp enter the burrow tosurprise the Tarantula at the bottom of her lair? Such temerity wouldbe fatal to her. Where the big Bumble-bee dies an instant death, theaudacious visitor would perish the moment she entered. Is not the otherthere, facing her, ready to snap at the back of her head, inflictinga wound which would result in sudden death? No, the Pompilus does notenter the Spider's parlour, that is obvious. Does she surprise theSpider outside her fortress? But the Lycosa is a stay-at-home animal; Ido not see her straying abroad during the summer. Later, in the autumn, when the Pompili have disappeared, She wanders about; turning gipsy, shetakes the open air with her numerous family, which she carries on herback. Apart from these maternal strolls, she does not appear to me toleave her castle; and the Pompilus, I should think, has no greatchance of meeting her outside. The problem, we perceive, is becomingcomplicated: the huntress cannot make her way into the burrow, whereshe would risk sudden death; and the Spider's sedentary habits make anencounter outside the burrow improbable. Here is a riddle which wouldbe interesting to decipher. Let us endeavour to do so by observing otherSpider-hunters; analogy will enable us to draw a conclusion. 

I have often watched Pompili of every species on theirhunting-expeditions, but I have never surprised them entering theSpider's lodging when the latter was at home. Whether this lodging be afunnel plunging its neck into a hole in some wall, an awning stretchedamid the stubble, a tent modelled upon the Arab's, a sheath formed of afew leaves bound together, or a net with a guard-room attached, wheneverthe owner is indoors the suspicious Pompilus holds aloof. When thedwelling is vacant, it is another matter: the Wasp moves with arrogantease over those webs, springes and cables in which so many other insectswould remain ensnared. The silken threads do not seem to have any holdupon her. What is she doing, exploring those empty webs? She is watchingto see what is happening on the adjacent webs where the Spider isambushed. The Pompilus therefore feels an insuperable reluctance to makestraight for the Spider when the latter is at home in the midst ofher snares. And she is right, a hundred times over. If the Tarantulaunderstands the practice of the dagger-thrust in the neck, which isimmediately fatal, the other cannot be unacquainted with it. Woe then tothe imprudent Wasp who presents herself upon the threshold of a Spiderof approximately equal strength!

Of the various instances which I have collected of this cautious reserveon the Spider-huntress' part I will confine myself to the following, which will be sufficient to prove my point. By joining, with silkenstrands, the three folioles which form the leaf of Virgil's cytisus, aSpider has built herself a green arbour, a horizontal sheath, open ateither end. A questing Pompilus comes upon the scene, finds the game toher liking and pops in her head at the entrance of the cell. The Spiderimmediately retreats to the other end. The huntress goes round theSpider's dwelling and reappears at the other door. Again the Spiderretreats, returning to the first entrance. The Wasp also returns to it, but always by the outside. Scarcely has she done so, when the Spiderrushes for the opposite opening; and so on for fully a quarter of anhour, both of them coming and going from one end of the cylinder to theother, the Spider inside and the Pompilus outside. 

The quarry was a valuable one, it seems, since the Wasp persisted for along time in her attempts, which were invariably defeated; however, thehuntress had to abandon them, baffled by this perpetual running to andfro. The Pompilus made off; and the Spider, once more on the watch, patiently awaited the heedless Midges. What should the Wasp have doneto capture this much-coveted game? She should have entered the verdantcylinder, the Spider's dwelling, and pursued the Spider direct, in herown house, instead of remaining outside, going from one door to theother. With such swiftness and dexterity as hers, it seemed to meimpossible that the stroke should fail: the quarry moved clumsily, alittle sideways, like a Crab. I judged it to be an easy matter; thePompilus thought it highly dangerous. To-day I am of her opinion: ifshe had entered the leafy tube, the mistress of the house would haveoperated on her neck and the huntress would have become the quarry. 

Years passed and the paralyser of the Spiders still refused to revealher secret; I was badly served by circumstances, could find no leisure, was absorbed in unrelenting preoccupations. At length, during my lastyear at Orange, the light dawned upon me. My garden was enclosed by anold wall, blackened and ruined by time, where, in the chinks between thestones, lived a population of Spiders, represented more particularly bySegestria perfidia. This is the common Black Spider, or Cellar Spider. She is deep black all over, excepting the mandibles, which are asplendid metallic green. Her two poisoned daggers look like a product ofthe metal-worker's art, like the finest bronze. In any mass of abandonedmasonry there is not a quiet corner, not a hole the size of one'sfinger, in which the Segestria does not set up house. Her web is awidely flaring funnel, whose open end, at most a span across, liesspread upon the surface of the wall, where it is held in place byradiating threads. This conical surface is continued by a tube whichruns into a hole in the wall. At the end is the dining-room to which theSpider retires to devour at her ease her captured prey. 

With her two hind-legs stuck into the tube to obtain a purchase and thesix others spread around the orifice, the better to perceive on everyside the quiver which gives the signal of a capture, the Segestriawaits motionless, at the entrance of her funnel, for an insect to becomeentangled in the snare. Large Flies, Drone-flies, dizzily grazing somethread of the snare with their wings, are her usual victims. At thefirst flutter of the netted Fly, the Spider runs or even leaps forward, but she is now secured by a cord which escapes from the spinnerets andwhich has its end fastened to the silken tube. This prevents her fromfalling as she darts along a vertical surface. Bitten at the back of thehead, the Drone-fly is dead in a moment; and the Segestria carries himinto her lair. 

Thanks to this method and these hunting-appliances--an ambush at thebottom of a silken whirlpool, radiating snares, a life-line which holdsher from behind and allows her to take a sudden rush without riskinga fall--the Segestria is able to catch game less inoffensive than theDrone-fly. A Common Wasp, they tell me, does not daunt her. Though Ihave not tested this, I readily believe it, for I well know the Spider'sboldness. 

This boldness is reinforced by the activity of the venom. It is enoughto have seen the Segestria capture some large Fly to be convinced of theoverwhelming effect of her fangs upon the insects bitten in theneck. The death of the Drone-fly, entangled in the silken funnel, is reproduced by the sudden death of the Bumble-bee on entering theTarantula's burrow. We know the effect of the poison on man, thanksto Antoine Duges' investigations. (Antoine Louis Duges (1797-1838), aFrench physician and physiologist, author of a "Traite dephysiologie comparee de l'homme et des animaux" and other scientificworks. --Translator's Note. ) Let us listen to the brave experimenter:

"The treacherous Segestria, or Great Cellar Spider, reputed poisonousin our part of the country, was chosen for the principal subject of ourexperiments. She was three-quarters of an inch long, measured from themandibles to the spinnerets. Taking her in my fingers from behind, bythe legs, which were folded and gathered together (this is the way tocatch hold of live Spiders, if you would avoid their bite and masterthem without mutilating them), I placed her on various objects and onmy clothes, without her manifesting the least desire to do any harm; buthardly was she laid on the bare skin of my fore-arm when she seized afold of the epidermis in her powerful mandibles, which are of a metallicgreen, and drove her fangs deep into it. For a few moments she remainedhanging, although left free; then she released herself, fell and fled, leaving two tiny wounds, a sixth of an inch apart, red, but hardlybleeding, with a slight extravasation round the edge and resembling thewounds produced by a large pin. 

"At the moment of the bite, the sensation was sharp enough to deservethe name of pain; and this continued for five or six minutes more, butnot so forcibly. I might compare it with the sensation produced by thestinging-nettle. A whitish tumefaction almost immediately surrounded thetwo pricks; and the circumference, within a radius of about an inch, wascoloured an erysipelas red, accompanied by a very slight swelling. In anhour and a half, it had all disappeared, except the mark of the pricks, which persisted for several days, as any other small wound wouldhave done. This was in September, in rather cool weather. Perhaps thesymptoms would have displayed somewhat greater severity at a warmerseason. "

Without being serious, the effect of the Segestria's poison is plainlymarked. A sting causing sharp pain and swelling, with the redness oferysipelas, is no trifling matter. While Duges' experiment reassures usin so far as we ourselves are concerned, it is none the less the factthat the Cellar Spider's poison is a terrible thing for insects, whetherbecause of the small size of the victim, or because it acts with specialefficacy upon an organization which differs widely from our own. OnePompilus, though greatly inferior to the Segestria in size andstrength, nevertheless makes war upon the Black Spider and succeeds inoverpowering this formidable quarry. This is Pompilus apicalis, VAN DERLIND, who is hardly larger than the Hive-bee, but very much slenderer. She is of a uniform black; her wings are a cloudy brown, withtransparent tips. Let us follow her in her expeditions to the old wallinhabited by the Segestria: we will track her for whole afternoonsduring the July heats; and we will arm ourselves with patience, for theperilous capture of the game must take the Wasp a long time. 

The Spider-huntress explores the wall minutely; she runs, leaps andflies; she comes and goes, flitting to and fro. The antennae quiver; thewings, raised above the back, continually beat one against the other. Ah, here she is, close to a Segestria's funnel! The Spider, who hashitherto remained invisible, instantly appears at the entrance tothe tube; she spreads her six fore-legs outside, ready to receive thehuntress. Far from fleeing before the terrible apparition, she watchesthe watcher, fully prepared to prey upon her enemy. Before this intrepiddemeanour the Pompilus draws back. She examines the coveted game, walksround it for a moment, then goes away without attempting anything. Whenshe has gone, the Segestria retires indoors, backwards. For the secondtime the Wasp passes near an inhabited funnel. The Spider on the lookoutat once shows herself on the threshold of her dwelling, half out of hertube, ready for defence and perhaps also for attack. The Pompilus movesaway and the Segestria reenters her tube. A fresh alarm: the Pompilusreturns; another threatening demonstration on the part of the Spider. Her neighbour, a little later, does better than this: while the huntressis prowling about in the neighbourhood of the funnel, she suddenly leapsout of the tube, with the lifeline which will save her from falling, should she miss her footing, attached to her spinnerets; she rushesforward and hurls herself in front of the Pompilus, at a distanceof some eight inches from her burrow. The Wasp, as though terrified, immediately decamps; and the Segestria no less suddenly retreatsindoors. 

Here, we must admit, is a strange quarry: it does not hide, but is eagerto show itself; it does not run away, but flings itself in front of thehunter. If our observations were to cease here, could we say which ofthe two is the hunter and which the hunted? Should we not feel sorry forthe imprudent Pompilus? Let a thread of the trap entangle her leg; andit is all up with her. The other will be there, stabbing her in thethroat. What then is the method which she employs against the Segestria, always on the alert, ready for defence, audacious to the point ofaggression? Shall I surprise the reader if I tell him that this problemfilled me with the most eager interest, that it held me for weeks incontemplation before that cheerless wall? Nevertheless, my tale will bea short one. 

On several occasions I see the Pompilus suddenly fling herself on one ofthe Spider's legs, seize it with her mandibles and endeavour to draw theanimal from its tube. It is a sudden rush, a surprise attack, tooquick to permit the Spider to parry it. Fortunately, the latter's twohind-legs are firmly hooked to the dwelling; and the Segestria escapeswith a jerk, for the other, having delivered her shock attack, hastensto release her hold; if she persisted, the affair might end badly forher. Having failed in this assault, the Wasp repeats the procedureat other funnels; she will even return to the first when the alarm issomewhat assuaged. Still hopping and fluttering, she prowls around themouth, whence the Segestria watches her, with her legs outspread. Shewaits for the propitious moment; she leaps forward, seizes a leg, tugsat it and springs out of reach. More often than not, the Spider holdsfast; sometimes she is dragged out of the tube, to a distance of a fewinches, but immediately returns, no doubt with the aid of her unbrokenlifeline. 

The Pompilus' intention is plain: she wants to eject the Spider from herfortress and fling her some distance away. So much perseverance leads tosuccess. This time all goes well: with a vigorous and well-timed tugthe Wasp has pulled the Segestria out and at once lets her drop tothe ground. Bewildered by her fall and even more demoralized by beingwrested from her ambush, the Spider is no longer the bold adversary thatshe was. She draws her legs together and cowers into a depression inthe soil. The huntress is there on the instant to operate on the evictedanimal. I have barely time to draw near to watch the tragedy when thevictim is paralysed by a thrust of the sting in the thorax. 

Here at last, in all its Machiavellian cunning, is the shrewd methodof the Pompilus. She would be risking her life if she attacked theSegestria in her home; the Wasp is so convinced of it that she takesgood care not to commit this imprudence; but she knows also that, oncedislodged from her dwelling, the Spider is as timid, as cowardly as shewas bold at the centre of her funnel. The whole point of her tactics, therefore, lies in dislodging the creature. This done, the rest isnothing. 

The Tarantula-huntress must behave in the same manner. Enlightenedby her kinswoman, Pompilus apicalis, my mind pictures her wanderingstealthily around the Lycosa's rampart. The Lycosa hurries up fromthe bottom of her burrow, believing that a victim is approaching; sheascends her vertical tube, spreading her fore-legs outside, ready toleap. But it is the Ringed Pompilus who leaps, seizes a leg, tugs andhurls the Lycosa from her burrow. The Spider is henceforth a cravenvictim, who will let herself be stabbed without dreaming of employingher venomous fangs. Here craft triumphs over strength; and this craft isnot inferior to mine, when, wishing to capture the Tarantula, I make herbite a spike of grass which I dip into the burrow, lead her gentlyto the surface and then with a sudden jerk throw her outside. For theentomologist as for the Pompilus, the essential thing is to make theSpider leave her stronghold. After this there is no difficulty incatching her, thanks to the utter bewilderment of the evicted animal. 

Two contrasting points impress me in the facts which I have just setforth: the shrewdness of the Pompilus and the folly of the Spider. Iwill admit that the Wasp may gradually have acquired, as being highlybeneficial to her posterity, the instinct by which she first of all sojudiciously drags the victim from its refuge, in order there to paralyseit without incurring danger, provided that you will explain why theSegestria, possessing an intellect no less gifted than that of thePompilus, does not yet know how to counteract the trick of which shehas so long been the victim. What would the Black Spider need to do toescape her exterminator? Practically nothing: it would be enough for herto withdraw into her tube, instead of coming up to post herself at theentrance, like a sentry, whenever the enemy is in the neighbourhood. Itis very brave of her, I agree, but also very risky. The Pompilus willpounce upon one of the legs spread outside the burrow for defenceand attack; and the besieged Spider will perish, betrayed by her ownboldness. This posture is excellent when waiting for prey. But the Waspis not a quarry; she is an enemy and one of the most dreaded of enemies. The Spider knows this. At the sight of the Wasp, instead of placingherself fearlessly but foolishly on her threshold, why does she notretreat into her fortress, where the other would not attack her? Theaccumulated experience of generations should have taught her thiselementary tactical device, which is of the greatest value to theprosperity of her race. If the Pompilus has perfected her method ofattack, why has not the Segestria perfected her method of defence? Is itpossible that centuries upon centuries should have modified the oneto its advantage without succeeding in modifying the other? Here I amutterly at a loss. And I say to myself, in all simplicity: since thePompili must have Spiders, the former have possessed their patientcunning and the other their foolish audacity from all time. This maybe puerile, if you like to think it so, and not in keeping with thetranscendental aims of our fashionable theorists; the argument containsneither the subjective nor the objective point of view, neitheradaptation nor differentiation, neither atavism nor evolutionism. Verywell, but at least I understand it. 

Let us return to the habits of Pompilus apicalis. Without expectingresults of any particular interest, for in captivity the respectivetalents of the huntress and the quarry seem to slumber, I placetogether, in a wide jar, a Wasp and a Segestria. The Spider and herenemy mutually avoid each other, both being equally timid. A judiciousshake or two brings them into contact. The Segestria, from time to time, catches hold of the Pompilus, who gathers herself up as best she can, without attempting to use her sting; the Spider rolls the insect betweenher legs and even between her mandibles, but appears to dislike doingit. Once I see her lie on her back and hold the Pompilus above her, as far away as possible, while turning her over in her fore-legsand munching at her with her mandibles. The Wasp, whether by her ownadroitness or owing to the Spider's dread of her, promptly escapesfrom the terrible fangs, moves to a short distance and does not seem totrouble unduly about the buffeting which she has received. She quietlypolishes her wings and curls her antennae by pulling them while standingon them with her fore-tarsi. The attack of the Segestria, stimulated bymy shakes, is repeated ten times over; and the Pompilus always escapesfrom the venomous fangs unscathed, as though she were invulnerable. 

Is she really invulnerable? By no means, as we shall soon have proved tous; if she retires safe and sound, it is because the Spider does not useher fangs. What we see is a sort of truce, a tacit convention forbiddingdeadly strokes, or rather the demoralization due to captivity; and thetwo adversaries are no longer in a sufficiently warlike mood to makeplay with their daggers. The tranquillity of the Pompilus, who keeps onjauntily curling her antennae in face of the Segestria, reassures meas to my prisoner's fate; for greater security, however, I throw her ascrap of paper, in the folds of which she will find a refuge duringthe night. She instals herself there, out of the Spider's reach. Nextmorning I find her dead. During the night the Segestria, whose habitsare nocturnal, has recovered her daring and stabbed her enemy. I hadmy suspicions that the parts played might be reversed! The butcher ofyesterday is the victim of to-day. 

I replace the Pompilus by a Hive-bee. The interview is not protracted. Two hours later, the Bee is dead, bitten by the Spider. A Drone-flysuffers the same fate. The Segestria, however, does not touch either ofthe two corpses, any more than she touched the corpse of the Pompilus. In these murders the captive seems to have no other object than to ridherself of a turbulent neighbour. When appetite awakes, perhaps thevictims will be turned to account. They were not; and the fault wasmine. I placed in the jar a Bumble-bee of average size. A day later theSpider was dead; the rude sharer of her captivity had done the deed. 

Let us say no more of these unequal duels in the glass prison andcomplete the story of the Pompilus whom we left at the foot of the wallwith the paralysed Segestria. She abandons her prey on the ground andreturns to the wall. She visits the Spider's funnels one by one, walkingon them as freely as on the stones; she inspects the silken tubes, dipping her antennae into them, sounding and exploring them; she enterswithout the least hesitation. Whence does she now derive the temeritythus to enter the Segestria's haunts? But a little while ago, shewas displaying extreme caution; at this moment, she seems heedlessof danger. The fact is that there is no danger really. The Wasp isinspecting uninhabited houses. When she dives down a silken tunnel, shevery well knows that there is no one in, for, had the Segestria beenthere, she would by this time have appeared on the threshold. The factthat the householder does not show herself at the first vibration of theneighbouring threads is a certain proof that the tube is vacant; and thePompilus enters in full security. I would recommend future observers notto take the present investigations for hunting-tactics. I have alreadyremarked and I repeat: the Pompilus never enters the silken ambush whilethe Spider is there. 

Among the funnels inspected one appears to suit her better thanthe others; she returns to it frequently in the course of herinvestigations, which last for nearly an hour. From time to time shehastens back to the Spider lying on the ground; she examines her, tugsat her, drags her a little closer to the wall, then leaves her thebetter to reconnoitre the tunnel which is the object of her preference. Lastly she returns to the Segestria and takes her by the tip of theabdomen. The quarry is so heavy that she has great difficulty in movingit along the level ground. Two inches divide it from the wall. She getsto the wall, not without effort; nevertheless, once the wall is reached, the job is quickly done. We learn that Antaeus, the son of Mother Earth, in his struggle with Hercules, received new strength as often as hisfeet touched the ground; the Pompilus, the daughter of the wall, seemsto increase her powers tenfold once she has set foot on the masonry. 

For here is the Wasp hoisting her prey backwards, her enormous prey, which dangles beneath her. She climbs now a vertical plane, now a slope, according to the uneven surface of the stones. She crosses gaps whereshe has to go belly uppermost, while the quarry swings to and fro in theair. Nothing stops her; she keeps on climbing, to a height of six feetor more, without selecting her path, without seeing her goal, since shegoes backwards. A lodge appears no doubt reconnoitred beforehand andreached, despite the difficulties of an ascent which did not allow herto see it. The Pompilus lays her prey on it. The silken tube which sheinspected so lovingly is only some eight inches distant. She goes to it, examines it rapidly and returns to the Spider, whom she at length lowersdown the tube. 

Shortly afterwards I see her come out again. She searches here andthere on the wall for a few scraps of mortar, two or three fairly largepieces, which she carries to the tube, to close it up. The task is done. She flies away. 

Next day I inspect this strange burrow. The Spider is at the bottom ofthe silken tube, isolated on every side, as though in a hammock. TheWasp's egg is glued not to the ventral surface of the victim but to theback, about the middle, near the beginning of the abdomen. It is white, cylindrical and about a twelfth of an inch long. The few bits of mortarwhich I saw carried have but very roughly blocked the silken chamber atthe end. Thus Pompilus apicalis lays her quarry and her eggs not in aburrow of her own making, but in the Spider's actual house. Perhaps thesilken tube belongs to this very victim, which in that event providesboth board and lodging. What a shelter for the larva of this Pompilus:the warm retreat and downy hammock of the Segestria!

Here then, already, we have two Spider-huntresses, the Ringed Pompilusand P. Apicalis, who, unversed in the miner's craft, establish theiroffspring inexpensively in accidental chinks in the walls, or even inthe lair of the Spider on whom the larva feeds. In these cells, acquiredwithout exertion, they build only an attempt at a wall with a fewfragments of mortar. But we must beware of generalizing about thisexpeditious method of establishment. Other Pompili are true diggers, valiantly sinking a burrow in the soil, to a depth of a couple ofinches. These include the Eight-spotted Pompilus (P. Octopunctatus, PANZ. ), with her black-and-yellow livery and her amber wings, a littledarker at the tips. For her game she chooses the Epeirae (E. Fasciata, E. Sericea) (For the Garden-spiders known as the Banded Epeira andthe Silky Epeira cf. "The Life of the Spider": chapters 11, 13, 14 etpassim. --Translator's Note. ), those fat Spiders, magnificently adorned, who lie in wait at the centre of their large, vertical webs. I am notsufficiently acquainted with her habits to describe them; above all, Iknow nothing of her hunting-tactics. But her dwelling is familiar tome: it is a burrow, which I have seen her begin, complete and closeaccording to the customary method of the Digger-wasps. 

CHAPTER 2. THE SCOLIAE. 

Were strength to take precedence over the other zoological attributes, the Scoliae would hold a predominant place in the front rank of theWasps. Some of them may be compared in size with the little bird fromthe north, the Golden-crested Wren, who comes to us at the time of thefirst autumn mists and visits the rotten buds. The largest and mostimposing of our sting-bearers, the Carpenter-bee, the Bumble-bee, theHornet, cut a poor figure beside certain of the Scoliae. Of this groupof giants my district possesses the Garden Scolia (S. Hortorum, VAN DERLIND), who is over an inch and a half in length and measures four inchesfrom tip to tip of her outspread wings, and the Hemorrhoidal Scolia (S. Haemorrhoidalis, VAN DER LIND), who rivals the Garden Scolia in point ofsize and is distinguished more particularly by the bundle of red hairsbristling at the tip of the abdomen. 

A black livery, with broad yellow patches; leathery wings, amber-coloured, like the skin of an onion, and watered with purplereflections; thick, knotted legs, covered with sharp hairs; a massiveframe; a powerful head, encased in a hard cranium; a stiff, clumsy gait;a low, short, silent flight: this gives you a concise description of thefemale, who is strongly equipped for her arduous task. The male, being amere philanderer, sports a more elegant pair of horns, is more daintilyclad and has a more graceful figure, without altogether losing thequality of robustness which is his consort's leading characteristic. 

It is not without a certain alarm that the insect-collector findshimself for the first time confronted by the Garden Scolia. How is he tocapture the imposing creature, how to avoid its sting? If its effectis in proportion to the Wasp's size, the sting of the Scolia must besomething terrible. The Hornet, though she unsheath her weapon butonce, causes the most exquisite pain. What would it be like if one werestabbed by this colossus? The prospect of a swelling as big as a man'sfist and as painful as the touch of a red-hot iron passes through ourmind at the moment when we are bringing down the net. And we refrain, we beat a retreat, we are greatly relieved not to have aroused thedangerous creature's attention. 

Yes, I confess to having run away from my first Scoliae, anxious thoughI was to enrich my budding collection with this magnificent insect. There were painful recollections of the Common Wasp and the Hornetconnected with this excess of prudence. I say excess, for to-day, instructed by long experience, I have quite recovered from my formerfears; and, when I see a Scolia resting on a thistle-head, I do notscruple to take her in my fingers, without any precaution whatever, however large she may be and however menacing her aspect. My courage isnot all that it seems to be; I am quite ready to tell the Wasp-huntingnovice this. The Scoliae are notably peaceable. Their sting is animplement of labour far more than a weapon of war; they use it toparalyse the prey destined for their offspring; and only in the lastextremity do they employ it in self-defence. Moreover, the lack ofagility in their movements nearly always enables us to avoid theirsting; and, even if we be stung, the pain is almost insignificant. This absence of any acute smarting as a result of the poison is almostconstant in the Hunting Wasps, whose weapon is a surgical lancet anddevised for the most delicate physiological operations. 

Among the other Scoliae of my district I will mention the Two-bandedScolia (S. Bifasciata, VAN DER LIND), whom I see every year, inSeptember, working at the heaps of leaf-mould which are placed forher benefit in a corner of my paddock; and the Interrupted Scolia (S. Interrupta, LATR. ), the inhabitant of the sandy soil at the foot of theneighbouring hills. Much smaller than the two preceding insects, butalso much commoner, a necessary condition of continuous observation, they will provide me with the principal data for this study of theScoliae. 

I open my old note book; and I see myself once more, on the 6th ofAugust, 1857, in the Bois des Issards, that famous copse near Avignonwhich I have celebrated in my essay on the Bembex-wasps. (Cf. "TheHunting Wasps": chapter 14. --Translator's Note. ) Once again, my headcrammed with entomological projects, I am at the beginning of myholidays which, for two months, will allow me to indulge in the insect'scompany. 

A fig for Mariotte's flask and Toricelli's tube! (Edme Mariotte(1620-1684), a French chemist who discovered, independently of RobertBoyle the Irishman (1627-1691), the law generally known as Boyle's law, which states that the product of the volume and the temperature of a gasis constant at constant temperature. His flask is an apparatus contrivedto illustrate atmospheric pressure and ensure a constant flow ofliquid. --Translator's Note. ) (Evangelista Toricelli (1608-1647), adisciple of Galileo and professor of philosophy and mathematics atFlorence. His "tube" is our mercury barometer. He was the first toobtain a vacuum by means of mercury; and he also improved the microscopeand the telescope. --Translator's Note. ) This is the thrice-blest periodwhen I cease to be a schoolmaster and become a schoolboy, the schoolboyin love with animals. Like a madder-cutter off for his day's work, Iset out carrying over my shoulder a solid digging-implement, the localluchet, and on my back my game-bag with boxes, bottles, trowel, glasstubes, tweezers, lenses and other impedimenta. A large umbrella saves mefrom sunstroke. It is the most scorching hour of the hottest day in theyear. Exhausted by the heat, the Cicadae are silent. The bronze-eyedGad-flies seek a refuge from the pitiless sun under the roof of mysilken shelter; other large Flies, the sobre-hued Pangoniae, dashthemselves recklessly against my face. 

The spot at which I have installed myself is a sandy clearing which Ihad recognized the year before as a site beloved of the Scoliae. Hereand there are scattered thickets of holm-oak, whose dense undergrowthshelters a bed of dead leaves and a thin layer of mould. My memory hasserved me well. Here, sure enough, as the heat grows a little less, appear, coming I know not from whence, some Two-banded Scoliae. Thenumber increases; and it is not long before I see very nearly a dozen ofthem about me, close enough for observation. By their smaller size andmore buoyant flight, they are easily known for males. Almost grazingthe ground, they fly softly, going to and fro, passing and repassing inevery direction. From time to time one of them alights on the ground, feels the sand with his antennae and seems to be enquiring into whatis happening in the depths of the soil; then he resumes his flight, alternately coming and going. 

What are they waiting for? What are they seeking in these evolutionsof theirs, which are repeated a hundred times over? Food? No, for closebeside them stand several eryngo-stems, whose sturdy clusters are theWasps' usual resource at this season of parched vegetation; and not oneof them settles upon the flowers, not one of them seems to care abouttheir sugary exudations. Their attention is engrossed elsewhere. Itis the ground, it is the stretch of sand which they are so assiduouslyexploring; what they are waiting for is the arrival of some female, whobursting the cocoon, may appear from one moment to the next, issuing alldusty from the ground. She will not be given time to brush herself or towash her eyes: three or four more of them will be there at once, eagerto dispute her possession. I am too familiar with the amorous contestsof the Hymenopteron clan to allow myself to be mistaken. It is the rulefor the males, who are the earlier of the two, to keep a close guardaround the natal spot and watch for the emergence of the females, whomthey pester with their pursuit the moment they reach the light of day. This is the motive of the interminable ballet of my Scoliae. Let us havepatience: perhaps we shall witness the nuptials. 

The hours go by; the Pangoniae and the Gad-flies desert my umbrella; theScoliae grow weary and gradually disappear. It is finished. I shall seenothing more to-day. I repeat my laborious expedition to the Bois desIssards over and over again; and each time I see the males as assiduousas ever in skimming over the ground. My perseverance deserved tosucceed. It did, though the success was very incomplete. Let me describeit, such as it was; the future will fill up the gaps. 

A female issues from the soil before my eyes. She flies away, followedby several males. With the luchet I dig at the point of emergence; and, as the excavation progresses, I sift between my fingers the rubbish ofsand mixed with mould. In the sweat of my brow, as I may justly say, Imust have removed nearly a cubic yard of material, when at last I makea find. This is a recently ruptured cocoon, to the side of which adheresan empty skin, the last remnant of the game on which the larva fed thatwrought the said cocoon. Considering the good condition of its silkenfabric, this cocoon may have belonged to the Scolia who has just quittedher underground dwelling before my eyes. As for the skin accompanyingit, this has been so much spoilt by the moisture of the soil and by thegrassy roots that I cannot determine its origin exactly. The cranium, however, which is better-preserved, the mandibles and certain details ofthe general configuration lead me to suspect the larva of a Lamellicorn. 

It is getting late. This is enough for to-day. I am worn out, but amplyrepaid for my exertions by a broken cocoon and the puzzling skin of awretched grub. Young people who make a hobby of natural history, wouldyou like to discover whether the sacred fire flows in your veins?Imagine yourselves returning from such an expedition. You are carryingon your shoulder the peasant's heavy spade; your loins are stiff withthe laborious digging which you have just finished in a crouchingposition; the heat of an August afternoon has set your brain simmering;your eyelids are tired by the itch of an inflammation resulting from theoverpowering light in which you have been working; you have a devouringthirst; and before you lies the dusty prospect of the miles thatdivide you from your well-earned rest. Yet something stings withinyou; forgetful of your present woes you are absolutely glad of yourexcursion. Why? Because you have in your possession a shred of rottenskin. If this is so, my young friends, you may go ahead, for you willdo something, though I warn you that this does not mean, by a long way, that you will get on in the world. 

I examined this shred of skin with all the care that it deserved. Myfirst suspicions were confirmed: a Lamellicorn, a Scarabaeid in thelarval state, is the first food of the Wasp whose cocoon I have justunearthed. But which of the Scarabaeidae? And does this cocoon, myprecious booty, really belong to the Scoliae? The problem is beginningto take shape. To attempt its solution we must go back to the Bois desIssards. 

I did go back and so often that my patience ended by being exhaustedbefore the problem of the Scoliae had received a satisfactory solution. The difficulties are great indeed, under the conditions. Where am Ito dig in the indefinite stretch of sandy soil to light upon a spotfrequented by the Scoliae? The luchet is driven into the ground atrandom; and almost invariably I find none of what I am seeking. To besure, the males, flying level with the ground, give me a hint, at theoutset, with their certainty of instinct, as to the spots where thefemales ought to be; but their hints are very vague, because they go sofar in every direction. If I wished to examine the soil which a singlemale explores in his flight, with its constantly changing course, Ishould have to turn over, to the depth of perhaps a yard, at least fourpoles of earth. This is too much for my strength and the time at mydisposal. Then, as the season advances, the males disappear, whereupon Iam suddenly deprived of their hints. To know more or less where I shouldthrust my luchet, I have only one resource left, which is to watch forthe females emerging from the ground or else entering it. With a greatexpenditure of time and patience I have at last had this windfall, veryrarely, I admit. 

The Scoliae do not dig a burrow which can be compared with that of theother Hunting Wasps; they have no fixed residence, with an unimpededgallery opening on the outer world and giving access to the cells, theabodes of the larvae. They have no entrance- and exit-doors, no corridorbuilt in advance. If they have to make their way underground, any pointnot hitherto turned over serves their purpose, provided that it benot too hard for their digging-tools, which, for that matter, arevery powerful; if they have to come out, the point of exit is no lessindifferent. The Scolia does not bore the soil through which she passes:she excavates and ploughs it with her legs and forehead; and the stuffshifted remains where it lies, behind her, forthwith blocking thepassage which she has followed. When she is about to emerge into theouter world, her advent is heralded by the fresh soil which heaps itselfinto a mound as though heaved up by the snout of some tiny Mole. Theinsect sallies forth; and the mound collapses, completely filling up theexit-hole. If the Wasp is entering the ground, the digging-operations, undertaken at an arbitrary point, quickly yield a cavity in which theScolia disappears, separated from the surface by the whole track ofshifted material. 

I can easily trace her passage through the thickness of the soil bycertain long, winding cylinders, formed of loose materials in themidst of compact and stable earth. These cylinders are numerous;they sometimes run to a depth of twenty inches; they extend in alldirections, fairly often crossing one another. Not one of them everexhibits so much as a suspicion of an open gallery. They are obviouslynot permanent ways of communication with the outer world, buthunting-trails which the insect has followed once, without going backto them. What was the Wasp seeking when she riddled the soil with thesetunnels which are now full of running sands? No doubt the food forher family, the larva of which I possess the empty skin, now anunrecognizable shred. 

I begin to see a little light: the Scoliae are underground workers. Ialready expected as much, having before now captured Scoliae soiled withlittle earthy encrustations on the joints of the legs. The Wasp, who isso careful to keep clean, taking advantage of the least leisure to brushand polish herself, could never display such blemishes unless she were adevoted earth-worker. I used to suspect their trade, now I know it. Theylive underground, where they burrow in search of Lamellicorn-grubs, just as the Mole burrows in search of the White Worm. (The larva of theCockchafer. This grub takes three years or more to arrive at maturityunderground. --Translator's Note. ) It is even possible that, afterreceiving the embraces of the males, they but very rarely return to thesurface, absorbed as they are by their maternal duties; and this, no doubt, is why my patience becomes exhausted in watching for theirentrance and their emergence. 

It is in the subsoil that they establish themselves and travel to andfro; with the help of their powerful mandibles, their hard cranium, their strong, prickly legs, they easily make themselves paths inthe loose earth. They are living ploughshares. By the end of August, therefore, the female population is for the most part underground, busily occupied in egg-laying and provisioning. Everything seems to tellme that I should watch in vain for the appearance of a few females inthe broad daylight; I must resign myself to excavating at random. 

The result was hardly commensurate with the labour which I expended ondigging. I found a few cocoons, nearly all broken, like the one which Ialready possessed, and, like it, bearing on their side the tattered skinof a larva of the same Scarabaeid. Two of these cocoons which are stillintact contained a dead adult Wasp. This was actually the Two-bandedScolia, a precious discovery which changed my suspicions into acertainty. 

I also unearthed some cocoons, slightly different in appearance, containing an adult inmate, likewise dead, in whom I recognized theInterrupted Scolia. The remnants of the provisions again consisted ofthe empty skin of a larva, also a Lamellicorn, but not the same as theone hunted by the first Scolia. And this was all. Now here, now there, I shifted a few cubic yards of soil, without managing to find freshprovisions with the egg or the young larva. And yet it was the rightseason, the egg-laying season, for the males, numerous at the outset, had grown rarer day by day until they disappeared entirely. My lack ofsuccess was due to the uncertainty of my excavations, in which I hadnothing to guide me over the indefinite area covered. 

If I could at least identify the Scarabaeidae whose larvae form theprey of the two Scoliae, the problem would be half solved. Let us try. I collect all that the luchet has turned up: larvae, nymphs and adultBeetles. My booty comprises two species of Lamellicorns: Anoxia villosaand Euchlora Julii, both of whom I find in the perfect state, usuallydead, but sometimes alive. I obtain a few of their nymphs, a great pieceof luck, for the larval skin which accompanies them will serve me as astandard of comparison. I come upon plenty of larvae, of all ages. When I compare them with the cast garment abandoned by the nymphs, Irecognize some as belonging to the Anoxia and the rest to the Euchlora. 

With these data, I perceive with absolute certainty that the empty skinadhering to the cocoon of the Interrupted Scolia belongs to the Anoxia. As for the Euchlora, she is not involved in the problem: the larvahunted by the Two-banded Scolia does not belong to her any more than itbelongs to the Anoxia. Then with which Scarabaeid does the empty skinwhich is still unknown to me correspond? The Lamellicorn whom I amseeking must exist in the ground which I have been exploring, becausethe Two-banded Scolia has established herself there. Later--oh, verylong afterwards!--I recognized where my search was at fault. In ordernot to find a network of roots beneath my luchet and to render the workof excavation lighter, I was digging the bare places, at some distancefrom the thickets of holm-oak; and it was just in those thickets, whichare rich in vegetable mould, that I should have sought. There, near theold stumps, in the soil consisting of dead leaves and rotting wood, Ishould certainly have come upon the larva so greatly desired, as will beproved by what I have still to say. 

Here ends what my earlier investigations taught me. There is reason tobelieve that the Bois des Issards would never have furnished me with theprecise data, in the form in which I wanted them. The remoteness of thespot, the fatigue of the expeditions, which the heat rendered intenselyexhausting, the impossibility of knowing which points to attack wouldundoubtedly have discouraged me before the problem had advanced a stepfarther. Studies such as these call for home leisure and application, for residence in a country village. You are then familiar with everyspot in your own grounds and the surrounding country and you can go towork with certainty. 

Twenty-three years have passed; and here I am at Serignan, where Ihave become a peasant, working by turns on my writing-pad and mycabbage-patch. On the 14th of August, 1880, Favier (An ex-soldier whoacted as the author's gardener and factotum. --Translator's Note. )clears away a heap of mould consisting of vegetable refuse and of leavesstacked in a corner against the wall of the paddock. This clearance isconsidered necessary because Bull, when the lovers' moon arrives, usesthis hillock to climb to the top of the wall and thence to repair to thecanine wedding the news of which is brought to him by the effluvia borneupon the air. His pilgrimage fulfilled, he returns, with a discomfitedlook and a slit ear, but always ready, once he has had his feed, torepeat the escapade. To put an end to this licentious behaviour, whichhas cost him so many gaping wounds, we decided to remove the heap ofsoil which serves him as a ladder of escape. 

Favier calls me while in the midst of his labours with the spade andbarrow:

"Here's a find, sir, a great find! Come and look. "

I hasten to the spot. The find is a magnificent one indeed and of anature to fill me with delight, awakening all my old recollections ofthe Bois des Issards. Any number of females of the Two-banded Scolia, disturbed at their work, are emerging here and there from the depth ofthe soil. The cocoons also are plentiful, each lying next to the skinof the victim on which the larva has fed. They are all open but stillfresh: they date from the present generation; the Scoliae whom I unearthhave quitted them not long since. I learnt later, in fact, that thehatching took place in the course of July. 

In the same heap of mould is a swarming colony of Scarabaeidae in theform of larvae, nymphs and adult insects. It includes the largest ofour Beetles, the common Rhinoceros Beetle, or Oryctes nasicornis. I findsome who have been recently liberated, whose wing-cases, of a glossybrown, now see the sunlight for the first time; I find others enclosedin their earthen shell, almost as big as a Turkey's egg. More frequentis her powerful larva, with its heavy paunch, bent into a hook. I notethe presence of a second bearer of the nasal horn, Oryctes Silenus, who is much smaller than her kinswoman, and of Pentodon punctatus, aScarabaeid who ravages my lettuces. 

But the predominant population consists of Cetoniae, or Rosechafers, most of them enclosed in their egg-shaped shells, with earthen wallsencrusted with dung. There are three different species: C. Aurata, C. Morio and C. Floricola. Most of them belong to the first species. Theirlarvae, which are easily recognized by their singular talent for walkingon their backs with their legs in the air, are numbered by the hundred. Every age is represented, from the new born grub to the podgy larva onthe point of building its shell. 

This time the problem of the victuals is solved. When I compare thelarval slough sticking to the Scolia's cocoons with the Cetonia-larvaeor, better, with the skin cast by these larvae, under cover of thecocoon, at the moment of the nymphal transformation, I establish anabsolute identity. The Two-banded Scolia rations each of her eggs witha Cetonia-grub. Behold the riddle which my irksome searches in the Boisdes Issards had not enabled me to solve. To-day, at my threshold, thedifficult problem becomes child's play. I can investigate the questioneasily to the fullest possible extent; I need not put myself out at all;at any hour of the day, at any period that seems favourable, I havethe requisite elements before my eyes. Ah, dear village, so poor, socountrified, how happily inspired was I when I came to ask of youa hermit's retreat, where I could live in the company of my belovedinsects and, in so doing, set down not too unworthily a few chapters oftheir wonderful history!

According to the Italian observer Passerini, the Garden Scolia feedsher family on the larvae of Oryctes nasicornis, in the heaps of oldtan-waste removed from the hot-houses. I do not despair of seeingthis colossal Wasp coming to establish herself one day in my heaps ofleaf-mould, in which the same Scarabaeid is swarming. Her rarity inmy part of the country is probably the only cause that has hithertoprevented the realization of my wishes. 

I have just shown that the Two-banded Scolia feeds in infancy onCetonia-larvae and particularly on those of C. Aurata, C. Morio and C. Floricola. These three species dwell together in the rubbish-heap justexplored; their larvae differ so little that I should have to examinethem minutely to distinguish the one from the other; and even then Ishould not be certain of succeeding. It seems probable that the Scoliadoes not choose between them, that she uses all three indiscriminately. Perhaps she even assails other larvae, inhabitants, like the foregoing, of heaps of rotting vegetable-matter. I therefore set down the Cetoniagenus generally as forming the prey of the Two-banded Scolia. 

Lastly, round about Avignon, the Interrupted Scolia used to prey uponthe larva of the Shaggy Anoxia (A. Villosa). At Serignan, which issurrounded by the same kind of sandy soil, without other vegetation thana few sparse seed-bearing grasses, I find her rationing her young withthe Morning Anoxia (A. Matutinalis). Oryctes, Cetoniae and Anoxiaein the larval state: here then is the prey of the three Scoliae whosehabits we know. The three Beetles are Lamellicorns, Scarabaeidae. Weshall have occasion later to consider the reason of this very strikingcoincidence. 

For the moment, the business in hand is to move the heap of leaf-mouldto some other place, with the wheelbarrow. This is Favier's work, whileI myself collect the disturbed population in glass jars, in order to putthem back into the new rubbish-heap with all the consideration whichmy plans owe to them. The laying-time has not yet set in, for I findno eggs, no young Scolia-larvae. September apparently will be thepropitious month. But there are bound to be many injured in the courseof this upheaval; some of the Scoliae have flown away who will perhapshave a certain difficulty in finding the new site; I have disarrangedeverything in the overturned heap. To allow tranquility to be restoredand habit to resume its rounds, to give the population time to increaseand replace the fugitives and the injured, it would be best, I think, toleave the heap alone this year and not to resume my investigations untilthe next. After the thorough confusion due to the removal, I shouldjeopardize success by being too precipitate. Let us wait one year more. I decide accordingly, curb my impatience and resign myself. We willsimply confine ourselves to enlarging the heap, when the leaves begin tofall, by accumulating the refuse that strews the paddock, so that we mayhave a richer field of operations. 

In the following August, my visits to the mound of leaf-mould become adaily habit. By two o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun has clearedthe adjacent pine-trees and is shining on the heap, numbers of maleScoliae arrive from the neighbouring fields, where they have beenslaking their thirst on the eryngo-heads. Incessantly coming and goingwith an indolent flight, they circle round the heap. If some femalerise from the soil, those who have seen her dart forward. A not veryturbulent affray decides which of the suitors shall be the possessor;and the couple fly away over the wall. This is a repetition of what Iused to see in the Bois des Issards. By the time that August is over. The males have ceased to show themselves. The mothers do not appeareither: they are busy underground, establishing their families. 

On the 2nd of September, I decide upon a search with my son Emile, who handles the fork and the shovel, while I examine the clods dug up. Victory! A magnificent result, finer than any that my fondest ambitionwould have dared to contemplate! Here is a vast array of Cetonia-larvae, all flaccid, motionless, lying on their backs, with a Scolia's eggsticking to the centre of their abdomen; here are young Scolia-larvaedipping their heads into the entrails of their victims; here are othersfarther advanced, munching their last mouthfuls of a prey which isdrained dry and reduced to a skin; here are some laying the foundationof their cocoons with a reddish silk, which looks as if it had been dyedin Bullock's blood; here are some whose cocoons are finished. There isplenty of everything, from the egg to the larva whose period of activityis over. I mark the 2nd of September as a red-letter day; it has givenme the final key to a riddle which has kept me in suspense for nearlyhalf a century. 

I place my spoils religiously in shallow, wide-mouthed glass jarscontaining a layer of finely sifted mould. In this soft bed, which isidentical in character with the natal surroundings, I make some faintimpressions with my fingers, so many cavities, each of which receivesone of my subjects, one only. A pane of glass covers the mouth of thereceptacle. In this way I prevent a too rapid evaporation and keep mynurselings under my eyes without fear of disturbing them. Now that allthis is in order, let us proceed to record events. 

The Cetonia-larvae which I find with a Scolia's egg upon their ventralsurface are distributed in the mould at random, without specialcavities, without any sign of some sort of structure. They are smotheredin the mould, just as are the larvae which have not been injured by theWasp. As my excavations in the Bois des Issards told me, the Scolia doesnot prepare a lodging for her family; she knows nothing of the art ofcell-building. Her offspring occupies a fortuitous abode, on which themother expends no architectural pains. Whereas the other Hunting Waspsprepare a dwelling to which the provisions are carried, sometimes froma distance, the Scolia confines herself to digging her bed of leaf-moulduntil she comes upon a Cetonia-larva. When she finds a quarry, she stabsit on the spot, in order to immobilize it; and, again on the spot, shelays an egg on the ventral surface of the paralysed creature. That isall. The mother goes in quest of another prey without troubling furtherabout the egg which has just been laid. There is no effort of cartingor building. At the very spot where the Cetonia-grub is caught andparalysed, the Scolia-larva hatches, grows and weaves its cocoon. Theestablishment of the family is thus reduced to the simplest possibleexpression. 

CHAPTER 3. A DANGEROUS DIET. 

The Scolia's egg is in no way exceptional in shape. It is white, cylindrical, straight and about four millimetres long by one millimetrethick. (About. 156 x. 039 inch. --Translator's Note. ) It is fixed, by itsfore-end, upon the median line of the victim's abdomen, well to the rearof the legs, near the beginning of the brown patch formed by the mass offood under the skin. 

I watch the hatching. The grub, still wearing upon its hinder parts thedelicate pellicle which it has just shed, is fixed to the spot to whichthe egg itself adhered by its cephalic extremity. A striking spectacle, that of the feeble creature, only this moment hatched, boring, forits first mouthful, into the paunch of its enormous prey, whichlies stretched upon its back. The nascent tooth takes a day over thedifficult task. Next morning the skin has yielded; and I find thenew-born larva with its head plunged into a small, round, bleedingwound. 

In size the grub is the same as the egg, whose dimensions I havejust given. Now the Cetonia-larva, to meet the Scolia's requirements, averages thirty millimetres in length by nine in thickness (1. 17 x. 35inch. --Translator's Note. ), whence follows that its bulk is six or sevenhundred times as great as that of the newly-hatched grub of theScolia. Here certainly is a quarry which, were it active and capable ofwriggling and biting, would expose the nurseling to terrible attacks. The danger has been averted by the mother's stiletto; and the fragilegrub attacks the monster's paunch with as little hesitation as though itwere sucking the breast. 

Day by day the young Scolia's head penetrates farther into the Cetonia'sbelly. To pass through the narrow orifice made in the skin, thefore-part of the body contracts and lengthens out, as though drawnthrough a die-plate. The larva thus assumes a rather strange form. Itshinder half, which is constantly outside the victim's belly, has theshape and fulness usual in the larvae of the Digger-wasps, whereas thefront half, which, once it has dived under the skin of the exploitedvictim, does not come out again until the time arrives for spinning thecocoon, tapers off suddenly into a snake-like neck. This front part ismoulded, so to speak, by the narrow entrance-hole made in the skin andhenceforth retains its slender formation. As a matter of fact, asimilar configuration recurs, in varying degrees, in the larvae of theDigger-wasps whose ration consists of a bulky quarry which takes along time to consume. These include the Languedocian Sphex, with herEphippiger, and the Hairy Ammophila, with her Grey Worm. There is noneof this sudden constriction, dividing the creature into two disparatehalves, when the victuals consist of numerous and comparatively smallitems. The larva then retains its usual shape, being obliged to pass, atbrief intervals, from one joint in its larder to the next. 

From the first bite of the mandibles, until the whole head of game isconsumed, the Scolia-larva is never seen to withdraw its head and itslong neck from inside the creature which it is devouring. I suspect thereason of this persistence in attacking a single point; I even seemto perceive the need for a special art in the manner of eating. TheCetonia-larva is a square meal in itself, one large dish, which has toretain a suitable freshness until the end. The young Scolia, therefore, must attack with discretion, at the unvarying point chosen by the motheron the ventral surface, for the entrance-hole is at the exact pointwhere the egg was fixed. As the nurseling's neck lengthens and divesdeeper, the victim's entrails are nibbled gradually and methodically:first, the least essential; next, those whose removal leaves yet aremnant of life; lastly, those whose loss inevitably entails death, followed very soon by putrefaction. 

At the first bites we see the victim's blood oozing through the wound. It is a highly-elaborated fluid, easy of digestion, and forms a sort ofmilk-diet for the new-born grub. The little ogre's teat is the bleedingpaunch of the Cetonia-larva. The latter will not die of the wound, at least not for some time. The next thing to be tackled is the fattysubstance which wraps the internal organs in its delicate folds. Thisagain is a loss which the Cetonia can suffer without dying then andthere. Now comes the turn of the muscular layer which lines the skin;now, that of the essential organs; now, that of the nerve-centres andthe trachean network, whereupon the last gleam of light is extinguishedand the Cetonia reduced to a mere bag, empty but intact, save for theentrance-hole made in the middle of the belly. From now onwards, theseremains may rot if they will: the Scolia, by its methodical fashion ofconsuming its victuals, has succeeded in keeping them fresh to the verylast; and now you may see it, replete, shining with health, withdraw itslong neck from the bag of skin and prepare to weave the cocoon in whichits development will be completed. 

It is possible that I may not be quite accurate as to the precise orderin which the organs are consumed, for it is not easy to perceive whathappens inside the exploited larva's body. The ruling feature in thisscientific method of eating, which proceeds from the parts less to theparts more necessary to preserve a remnant of life, is none the lessobvious. If direct observation did not already to some degree confirmit, a mere examination of the half-eaten larva would do so in the mostpositive fashion. 

The Cetonia-larva is at first a plump grub. Drained by the Scolia'stooth, it gradually becomes limp and wrinkled. In a few days' time itresembles a shrivelled bit of bacon-fat and then a bag whose twosides have fallen in. Yet this bit of bacon and this bag have the samecharacteristic look of fresh meat as had the grub before it was bitteninto. Despite the persistent nibbling of the Scolia, life continues, holding at bay the inroads of putrefaction until the mandibles havegiven their last bites. Does not this remnant of tenacious vitality initself show that the organs of primary importance are the last to beattacked? Does it not prove that there is a progressive dismembermentpassing from the less essential to the indispensable?

Would you like to see what becomes of a Cetonia-larva when the organismis wounded in its vital centres at the very beginning? The experimentis an easy one; and I made a point of trying it. A sewing-needle, firstsoftened and flattened into a blade, then retempered and sharpened, gives me a most delicate scalpel. With this instrument I make a fineincision, through which I remove the mass of nerves whose remarkablestructure we shall soon have occasion to study. The thing is done: thewound, which does not look serious, has left the creature a corpse, areal corpse. I lay my victim on a bed of moist earth, in a jar with aglass lid; in fact, I establish it in the same conditions as those ofthe larvae on which the Scoliae feed. By the next day, without changingshape, it has turned a repulsive brown; presently it dissolves intonoisome putrescence. On the same bed of earth, under the same glasscover, in the same moist, warm atmosphere, the larvae three-quarterseaten by the Scoliae retain, on the contrary, the appearance of healthyflesh. 

If a single stroke of my dagger, fashioned from the point of a needle, results in immediate death and early putrefaction; if the repeated bitesof the Scolia gut the creature's body and reduce it almost to a skinwithout completely killing it, the striking contrast between these tworesults must be due to the relative importance of the organs injured. Idestroy the nerve-centres and inevitably kill my larva, which is putridby the following day; the Scolia attacks the reserves of fat, the blood, the muscles and does not kill its victim, which will provide it withwholesome food until the end. But it is clear that, if the Scolia wereto set to work as I did, there would be nothing left, after the firstfew bites, but an actual corpse, discharging fluids which would be fatalto it within twenty-four hours. The mother, it is true, in order toassure the immobility of her prey, has injected the poison of her stinginto the nerve-centres. Her operation cannot be compared with mine inany respect. She practises the method of the skilful physiologist whoinduces anaesthesia; I go to work like the butcher who chops, cuts anddisembowels. The sting leaves the nerve-centres intact. Deprivedof sensibility by the poison, they have lost the power of provokingmuscular contractions; but who can say that, numbed as they are, theyno longer serve to maintain a faint vitality? The flame is extinguished, but there is still a glowing speck upon the wick. I, a rough blunderer, do more than blow out the lamp: I throw away the wick and all is over. The grub would do the same if it bit straight into the mass of nerves. 

Everything confirms the fact: the Scolia and the other Hunting Waspswhose provisions consist of bulky heads of game are gifted with aspecial art of eating, an exquisitely delicate art which saves a remnantof life in the prey devoured, until it is all consumed. When the prey isa small one, this precaution is superfluous. Consider, for instance, theBembex-grubs in the midst of their heap of Flies. The prey seized uponis broached on the back, the belly, the head, the thorax, indifferently. The larva munches a given spot, which it leaves to munch a second, passing to a third and a fourth, at the bidding of its changing whims. It seems to taste and select, by repeated trials, the mouthfuls most toits liking. Thus bitton at several points, covered with wounds, the Flyis soon a shapeless mass which would putrefy very quickly if the meagredish were not devoured at a single meal. Allow the Scolia-grub the sameunlicensed gluttony: it would perish beside its corpulent victim, which should have kept fresh for a fortnight, but which almost from thebeginning would be no more than a filthy putrescence. 

This art of careful eating does not seem easy to practise: at least, thelarva, if ever so little diverted from its usual courses, is no longerable to apply its talent as a capable trencherman. This will be provedby experiment. I must begin by observing that, when I spoke of my larvawhich turned putrid within twenty-four hours, I adopted an extreme casefor the sake of greater clearness. The Scolia, taking its first bite, does not and cannot go to such lengths. Nevertheless it behooves us toenquire whether, in the consumption of the victuals, the initial pointof attack is a matter of indifference and whether the rummaging throughthe entrails of the victim entails a determined order, without whichsuccess is uncertain or even impossible. To these delicate questions noone, I think, can reply. Where science is silent, perhaps the grub willspeak. We will try. 

I move from its position a Scolia-grub which has attained a quarter or athird of its full growth. The long neck plunged into the victim's bellyis rather difficult to extract, because of the need of molesting thecreature as little as possible. I succeed, by means of a little patienceand repeated strokes with the tip of a paint-brush. I now turn theCetonia-larva over, back uppermost, at the bottom of the little hollowmade by pressing my finger in the layer of mould. Lastly, I place theScolia on its victim's back. Here is my grub under the same conditionsas just now, with this difference, that the back and not the belly ofits victim is presented to its mandibles. 

I watch it for a whole afternoon. It writhes about; it moves its littlehead now in this direction, now in that, frequently laying it on theCetonia, but without fixing it anywhere. The day draws to a close; andstill it has accomplished nothing. There are restless movements, nothingmore. Hunger, I tell myself, will eventually induce it to bite. I amwrong. Next morning I find it more anxious than the day before and stillgroping about, without resolving to fix its mandibles anywhere. Ileave it alone for half a day longer without obtaining any result. Yettwenty-four hours of abstinence must have awakened a good appetite, above all in a creature which, if left undisturbed, would not haveceased eating. 

Excessive hunger cannot induce it to nibble at an unlawful spot. Is thisdue to feebleness of the teeth? By no means: the Cetonia's skin is notougher on the back than on the belly; moreover, the grub is capable ofperforating the skin when it leaves the egg; a fortiori, it must be morecapable of doing so now that it has attained a sturdy growth. Thus wesee no lack of ability, but an obstinate refusal to nibble at a pointwhich ought to be respected. Who knows? On this side perhaps the grub'sdorsal vessel would be wounded, its heart, an organ indispensable tolife. The fact remains that my attempts to make the grub tackle itsvictim from the back have failed. Does this mean that it entertains theleast suspicion of the danger which it might incur were it to produceputrefaction by awkwardly carving its victuals from the back? It wouldbe absurd to give such an idea a moment's consideration. Its refusal isdictated by a preordained decree which it is bound to obey. 

My Scolia-grubs would die of starvation if I left them on their victim'sback. I therefore restore matters as they were, with the Cetonia-larvabelly uppermost and the young Scolia on top. I might utilise thesubjects of my previous experiments; but, as I have to take precautionsagainst the disturbance which may have been caused by the test alreadyundergone, I prefer to operate on new patients, a luxury in which therichness of my menagerie allows me to indulge. I move the Scolia fromits position, extract its head from the entrails of the Cetonia-larvaand leave it to its own resources on its victim's belly. Betraying everysymptom of uneasiness, the grub gropes, hesitates, casts about and doesnot insert its mandibles anywhere, though it is now the ventral surfacewhich it is exploring. It would not display greater hesitation if placedon the back of the larva. I repeat, who knows? On this side it mightperhaps injure the nervous plexus, which is even more essential than thedorsal vessel. The inexperienced grub must not drive in its mandibles atrandom; its future is jeopardized if it gives a single ill-judged bite. If it gnaws at the spot where I myself operated with my needle wroughtinto a scalpel, its victuals will very soon turn putrid. Once more, then, we witness an absolute refusal to perforate the skin of the victimelsewhere than at the very point where the egg was fixed. 

The mother selects this point, which is undoubtedly that most favourableto the future prosperity of the larva, though I am not able clearly todiscern the reasons for her choice; she fixes the egg to it; and theplace where the opening is to be made is henceforth determined. It ishere that the grub must bite: only here, never elsewhere. Its invinciblerefusal to tackle the Cetonia in any other part, even though it shoulddie of starvation, shews us how rigorous is the rule of conduct withwhich its instinct is inspired. 

As it gropes about, the grub laid on the victim's ventral surface sooneror later rediscovers the gaping wound from which I have removed it. Ifthis takes too long for my patience, I can myself guide its head to theplace with the point of a paint-brush. The grub then recognizes the holeof its own making, slips its neck into it and little by little divesinto the Cetonia's belly, so that the original state of affairs appearsto be exactly restored. And yet its successful rearing is henceforthhighly problematical. It is possible that the larva will prosper, complete its development and spin its cocoon; it is also possible--andthe case is not unusual--that the Cetonia-larva will soon turn brownand putrid. We then see the Scolia itself turn brown, distended as itis with putrescent foodstuffs, and then cease all movement, withoutattempting to withdraw from the sanies. It dies on the spot, poisoned byits excessively high game. 

What can be the meaning of this sudden corruption of the victuals, followed by the death of the Scolia, when everything appeared to havereturned to its normal condition? I see only one explanation. Disturbed in its activities and diverted from its usual courses bymy interference, the grub, when replaced on the wound from which Iextracted it, was unable to rediscover the lode at which it was workinga few minutes earlier; it thrust its way at random into the victim'sentrails; and a few untimely bites extinguished the last sparks ofvitality. Its confusion rendered it clumsy; and the mistake cost it itslife. It dies poisoned by the rich food which, if consumed according tothe rules, should have made it grow plump and lusty. 

I was anxious to observe the deadly effects of a disturbed meal inanother fashion. This time the victim itself shall disorder the grub'sactivities. The Cetonia-larva, as served up to the young Scolia by itsmother, is profoundly paralysed. Its inertia is complete and so strikingthat it constitutes one of the leading features of this narrative. Butwe will not anticipate. For the moment, the thing is to substitute forthis inert larva a similar larva, but one not paralysed, one very muchalive. To ensure that it shall not double up and crush the grub, Iconfine myself to reducing it to helplessness, leaving it otherwise justas I extracted it from its burrow. I must also be careful of its legsand mandibles, the least touch of which would rip open the nurseling. With a few turns of the finest wire I fix it to a little slab of cork, with its belly in the air. Next, to provide the grub with a ready-madehole, knowing that it will refuse to make one for itself, I contrive aslight incision in the skin, at the point where the Scolia lays her egg. I now place the grub upon the larva, with its head touching the bleedingwound, and lay the whole on a bed of mould in a transparent beakerprotected by a pane of glass. 

Unable to move, to wriggle, to scratch with its legs or snap withits mandibles, the Cetonia-larva, a new Prometheus bound, offersits defenceless flanks to the little Vulture destined to devour itsentrails. Without too much hesitation, the young Scolia settles downto the wound made by my scalpel, which to the grub represents the woundwhence I have just removed it. It thrusts its neck into the belly ofits prey; and for a couple of days all seems to go well. Then, lo andbehold, the Cetonia turns putrid and the Scolia dies, poisoned by theptomaines of the decomposing game! As before, I see it turn brown anddie on the spot, still half inside the toxic corpse. 

The fatal issue of my experiment is easily explained. The Cetonia-larvais alive in every sense. True, I have, by means of bonds, suppressed itsoutward movements, in order to provide the nurseling with a quiet meal, devoid of danger; but it was not in my power to subdue its internalmovements, the quivering of the viscera and muscles irritated by itsforced immobility and by the Scolia's bites. The victim is in possessionof its full power of sensation; and it expresses the pain experiencedas best it may, by contractions. Embarrassed by these tremors, thesetwitches of suffering flesh, incommoded at every mouthful, the grubchews away at random and kills the larva almost as soon as it hasstarted on it. In a victim paralysed by the regulation sting, theconditions would be very different. There are no external movements, nor any internal movements either, when the mandibles bite, because thevictim is insensible. The grub, undisturbed in any way, is then able, with an unfaltering tooth, to pursue its scientific method of eating. 

These marvellous results interested me too much not to inspire me withfresh devices when I pursued my investigations. Earlier enquiries hadtaught me that the larvae of the Digger-wasps are fairly indifferent tothe nature of the game, though the mother always supplies them with thesame diet. I had succeeded in rearing them on a great variety of prey, without paying regard to their normal fare. I shall return to thissubject later, when I hope to demonstrate its great philosophicalsignificance. Let us profit by these data and try to discover whathappens when we give the Scolia food which is not properly its own. 

I select from my heap of garden-mould, that inexhaustible mine, twolarvae of the Rhinoceros Beetle, Oryctes nasicornis, about one-thirdfull-grown, so that their size may not be out of proportion to theScolia's. It is in fact almost identical with the size of the Cetonia. I paralyse one of them by giving an injection of ammonia in thenerve-centres. I make a fine incision in its belly and I place theScolia on the opening. The dish pleases my charge; and it wouldbe strange indeed if this were not so, considering that anotherScolia-grub, the larva of the Garden Scolia, feeds on the Oryctes. The dish suits it, for before long it has burrowed half-way intothe succulent paunch. This time all goes well. Will the rearing besuccessful? Not a bit of it! On the third day, the Oryctes decomposesand the Scolia dies. Which shall we hold responsible for the failure, myself or the grub? Myself who, perhaps too unskilfully, administeredthe injection of ammonia, or the grub which, a novice at dissecting aprey differing from its own, did not know how to practise its craft upona changed victim and began to bite before the proper time?

In my uncertainty, I try again. This time I shall not interfere, so thatmy clumsiness cannot be to blame. As I described when speaking of theCetonia-larva, the Oryctes-larva now lies bound, quite alive, on a stripof cork. As usual, I make a small opening in the belly, to entice thegrub by means of a bleeding wound and facilitate its access. I obtainthe same negative result. In a little while, the Oryctes is a noisomemass on which the nurseling lies poisoned. The failure was foreseen: tothe difficulties presented by a prey unknown to my charge was added thecommotion caused by the wriggling of an unparalysed animal. 

We will try once more, this time with a victim paralysed not by me, anunskilled operator, but by an adept whose ability ranks so high that itis beyond discussion. Chance favours me to perfection: yesterday, in awarm sheltered corner, at the foot of a sandy bank, I discovered threecells of the Languedocian Sphex, each with its Ephippiger and therecently laid egg. This is the game I want, a corpulent prey, of asize suited to the Scolia and, what is more, in splendid condition, artistically paralysed according to rule by a master among masters. 

As usual, I install my three Ephippigers in a glass jar, on a bed ofmould; I remove the egg of the Sphex and on each victim, after slightlyincising the skin of the belly, I place a young Scolia-grub. For threeor four days my charges feed upon this game, so novel to them, withoutany sign of repugnance or hesitation. By the fluctuations of thedigestive canal I perceive that the work of nutrition is proceedingas it should; things are happening just as if the dish were aCetonia-larva. The change of diet, complete though it is, has in no wayaffected the appetite of the Scolia-grubs. But this prosperous conditiondoes not last long. About the fourth day, a little sooner in one case, a little later in another, the three Ephippigers become putrid and theScoliae die at the same time. 

This result is eloquent. Had I left the egg of the Sphex to hatch, thelarva coming out of it would have fed upon the Ephippiger; and for thehundredth time I should have witnessed an incomprehensible spectacle, that of an animal which, devoured piecemeal for nearly a fortnight, grows thin and empty, shrivels up and yet retains to the very end thefreshness peculiar to living flesh. Substitute for this Sphex-larva aScolia-larva of almost the same size; let the dish be the same thoughthe guest is different; and healthy live flesh is promptly replacedby pestilent rotten flesh. That which under the mandibles of the Sphexwould for a long while have remained wholesome food promptly becomes apoisonous liquescence under the mandibles of the Scolia. 

It is impossible to explain the preservation of the victuals untilfinally consumed by supposing that the venom injected by the Wasp whenshe delivers her paralysing stings possesses antiseptic properties. The three Ephippigers were operated on by the Sphex. Able to keep freshunder the mandibles of the Sphex-larvae, why did they promptly go badunder the mandibles of the Scolia-larvae? Any idea of an antiseptic mustneeds be rejected: a liquid preservative which would act in the firstcase could not fail to act in the second, as its virtues would notdepend on the teeth of the consumer. 

Those of you who are versed in the knowledge attaching to this problem, investigate, I beg you, search, sift, see if you can discover the reasonwhy the victuals keep fresh when consumed by a Sphex, whereas theypromptly become putrid when consumed by a Scolia. For me, I see only onereason; and I very much doubt whether any one can suggest another. 

Both larvae practise a special art of eating, which is determined by thenature of the game. The Sphex, when sitting down to an Ephippiger, thefood that has fallen to its lot, knows thoroughly how to consume it andhow to preserve, to the very end, the glimmer of life which keeps itfresh; but, if it has to browse upon a Cetonia-grub, whose differentstructure would confuse its talents as a dissector, it would soon havenothing before it but a heap of putrescence. The Scolia, in its turn, is familiar with the method of eating the Cetonia-grub, its invariableportion; but it does not understand the art of eating the Ephippiger, though the dish is to its taste. Unable to dissect this unknown speciesof game, its mandibles slash away at random, killing the creatureoutright as soon as they take their first bites of the deeper tissues ofthe victim. That is the whole secret. 

One more word, on which I shall enlarge in another chapter. I observethat the Scoliae to which I give Ephippigers paralysed by the Sphexkeep in excellent condition, despite the change of diet, so long asthe provisions retain their freshness. They languish when the game goeshigh; and they die when putridity supervenes. Their death, therefore, is due not to an unaccustomed diet, but to poisoning by one or otherof those terrible toxins which are engendered by animal corruptionand which chemistry calls by the name of ptomaines. Therefore, notwithstanding the fatal outcome of my three attempts, I remainpersuaded that the unfamiliar method of rearing would have beenperfectly successful had the Ephippigers not gone bad, that is, if theScoliae had known how to eat them according to the rules. 

What a delicate and dangerous thing is the art of eating in thesecarnivorous larvae supplied with a single victim, which they have tospend a fortnight in consuming, on the express condition of not killingit until the very end! Could our physiological science, of which, withgood reason, we are so proud, describe, without blundering, the methodto be followed in the successive mouthfuls? How has a miserable grublearnt what our knowledge cannot tell us? By habit, the Darwinians willreply, who see in instinct an acquired habit. 

Before deciding this serious matter, I will ask you to reflect that thefirst Wasp, of whatever kind, that thought of feeding her progeny ona Cetonia-grub or on any other large piece of game demanding longpreservation could necessarily have left no descendants unless the artof consuming food without causing putrescence had been practised, withall its scrupulous caution, from the first generation onwards. Having asyet learnt nothing by habit or by atavistic transmission, since it wasmaking a first beginning, the nurseling would bite into its provender atrandom. It would be starving, it would have no respect for its prey. It would carve its joint at random; and we have just seen the fatalconsequence of an ill-directed bite. It would perish--I have just provedthis in the most positive manner--it would perish, poisoned by itsvictim, already dead and putrid. 

To prosper, it would have, although a novice, to know what was permittedand what forbidden in ransacking the creature's entrails; nor wouldit be enough for the larva to be approximately in possession of thisdifficult secret: it would be indispensable that it should possess thesecret completely, for a single bite, if delivered before the rightmoment, would inevitably involve its own demise. The Scoliae of myexperiments are not novices, far from it: they are the descendants ofcarvers that have practised their art since Scoliae first came intothe world; nevertheless they all perish from the decomposition of therations supplied, when I try to feed them on Ephippigers paralysed bythe Sphex. Very expert in the method of attacking the Cetonia, they donot know how to set about the business of discreetly consuming a speciesof game new to them. All that escapes them is a few details, for thetrade of an ogre fed on live flesh is familiar to them in its generalfeatures; and these unheeded details are enough to turn their food intopoison. What, then, happened in the beginning, when the larva bitfor the first time into a luscious victim? The inexperienced creatureperished; of that there is not a shadow of doubt, unless we admit anabsurdity and imagine the larva of antiquity feeding upon those terribleptomaines which so swiftly kill its descendants to-day. 

Nothing will ever make me admit and no unprejudiced mind can admitthat what was once food has become a horrible poison. What the larva ofantiquity ate was live flesh and not putrescence. Nor can it be admittedthat the chances of fortune can have led at the first trial to successin a system of nourishment so full of pit-falls: fortuitous results arepreposterous amid so many complications. Either the feeding is strictlymethodical at the beginning, in conformity with the organic exigenciesof the prey devoured, and the Wasp established her race; or else it washesitating, without determined rules, and the Wasp left no successor. Inthe first case we behold innate instinct; in the second acquired habit. 

A strange acquisition, truly! An acquisition presumed to be made byan impossible creature; an acquisition supposed to develop in no lessimpossible successors! Though the snow-ball, slowly rolling, atlast becomes an enormous sphere, it is still necessary that thestarting-point shall not have been NIL. The big ball implies the littleball, as small as you please. Now, in harking back to the origin ofthese acquired habits, if I interrogate the possibilities I obtain zeroas the only answer. If the animal does not know its trade thoroughly, if it has to acquire something, all the more if it has to acquireeverything, it perishes: that is inevitable; without the littlesnow-ball the big snow-ball cannot be rolled. If it has nothing toacquire, if it knows all that it needs to know, it flourishes andleaves descendants behind it. But then it possesses innate instinct, theinstinct which learns nothing and forgets nothing, the instinct which issteadfast throughout time. 

The building up of theories has never appealed to me: I suspect them oneand all. To argue nebulously upon dubious premises likes me no better. Iobserve, I experiment and I let the facts speak for themselves. We havejust heard these facts. Let each now decide for himself whether instinctis an innate faculty or an acquired habit. 

CHAPTER 4. THE CETONIA-LARVA. 

The Scolia's feeding-period lasts, on the average, for a dozen days orso. By then the victuals are no more than a crumpled bag, a skin emptiedof the last scrap of nutriment. A little earlier, the russet-yellow tintannounces the extinction of the last spark of life in the creature thatis being devoured. The empty skin is pushed back to make space; thedining-room, a shapeless cavity with crumbling walls, is tidied up alittle; and the Scolia-grub sets to work on its cocoon without furtherdelay. 

The first courses form a general scaffolding, which finds a supporthere and there on the earthen walls, and consist of a rough, blood-redfabric. When the larva is merely laid, as required by my investigations, in a hollow made with the finger-tip in the bed of mould, it is not ableto spin its cocoon, for want of a ceiling to which to fasten the upperthreads of its network. To weave its cocoon, every spinning larvais compelled to isolate itself in a hammock slung in an open-workenclosure, which enables it to distribute its thread uniformly in alldirections. If there be no ceiling, the upper part of the cocoon cannotbe fashioned, because the worker lacks the necessary points of support. Under these conditions my Scolia-grubs contrive at most to upholstertheir little pit with a thick down of reddish silk. Discouraged byfutile endeavours, some of them die. It is as if they had been killed bythe silk which they omit to disgorge because they are unable to make theright use of it. This, if we were not watchful, would be a very frequentcause of failure in our attempts at artificial rearing. But, once thedanger has been perceived, the remedy is simple. I make a ceiling overthe cavity by laying a short strip of paper above it. If I want to seehow matters are progressing, I bend the strip into a semicircle, intoa half-cylinder with open ends. Those who wish to play the breeder forthemselves will be able to profit by these little practical details. 

In twenty-four hours the cocoon is finished; at least, it no longerallows us to see the grub, which is doubtless making the walls of itsdwelling still thicker. At first the cocoon is a vivid red; later itchanges to a light chestnut-brown. Its form is that of an ellipsoid, with a major axis 26 millimetres in length, while the minor axismeasures 11 millimetres. (1. 014 x. 429 inch. --Translator's Note. ) Thesedimensions, which incidentally are inclined to vary slightly, are thoseof the female cocoons. In the other sex they are smaller and may measureas little as 17 millimetres in length by 7 millimetres in width. (. 663x. 273 inch. --Translator's Note. )

The two ends of the ellipsoid have the same form, so much so that it isonly thanks to an individual peculiarity, independent of the shape, thatwe can tell the cephalic from the anal extremity. The cephalic pole isflexible and yields to the pressure of my tweezers; the anal pole ishard and unyielding. The wrapper is double, as in the cocoons ofthe Sphex. (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapters 4 to 10 etpassim. --Translator's Note. ) The outer envelope, consisting of puresilk, is thin, flexible and offers little resistance. It is closelysuperimposed upon the inner envelope and is easily separated from iteverywhere, except at the anal end, where it adheres to the secondenvelope. The adhesion of the two wrappers at one end and thenon-adhesion at the other are the cause of the differences which thetweezers reveal when pinching the two ends of the cocoon. 

The inner envelope is firm, elastic, rigid and, to a certain point, brittle. I do not hesitate to look upon it as consisting of a silkentissue which the larva, towards the end of its task, has steepedthoroughly in a sort of varnish prepared not by the silk-glands but bythe stomach. The cocoons of the Sphex have already shown us a similarvarnish. This product of the chylific ventricle is chestnut-brown. It isthis which, saturating the thickness of the tissue, effaces the brightred of the beginning and replaces it by a brown tint. It is this againwhich, disgorged more profusely at the lower end of the cocoon, gluesthe two wrappers together at that point. 

The perfect insect is hatched at the beginning of July. The emergencetakes place without any violent effraction, without any ragged rents. Aclean, circular fissure appears at some distance from the top; and thecephalic end is detached all of a piece, as a loose lid might be. It isas though the recluse had only to raise a cover by butting it with herhead, so exact is the line of division, at least as regards the innerenvelope, the stronger and more important of the two. As for the outerwrapper, its lack of resistance enables it to yield without difficultywhen the other gives way. 

I cannot quite make out by what knack the Wasp contrives to detach thecap of the inner shell with such accuracy. Is it the art practised bythe tailor when cutting his stuff, with mandibles taking the place ofscissors? I hardly venture to admit as much: the tissue is so tough andthe circle of division so precise. The mandibles are not sharp enough tocut without leaving a ragged edge; and then what geometrical certaintythey would need for an operation so perfect that it might well have beenperformed with the compasses!

I suspect therefore that the Scolia first fashions the outer sac inaccordance with the usual method, that is, by distributing the silkuniformly, without any special preparation of one part of the wall morethan of another, and that it afterwards changes its method of weaving inorder to attend to the main work, the inner shell. In this itapparently imitates the Bembex (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapters 14 to16. --Translator's Note. ), which weaves a sort of eel-trap, whose amplemesh allows it to gather grains of sand outside and encrust them oneby one in the silky network, and completes the performance with a capfitting the entrance to the trap. This provides a circular line of leastresistance, along which the casket breaks open afterwards. If the Scoliareally works in the same manner, everything is explained: the eel-trap, while still open, enables it to soak with varnish both the inside andthe outside of the inner shell, which has to acquire the consistencyof parchment; lastly, the cap which completes and closes the structureleaves for the future a circular line capable of splitting easily andneatly. 

This is enough on the subject of the Scolia-grub. Let us go back toits provender, of whose remarkable structure we as yet know nothing. Inorder that it may be consumed with the delicate anatomical discretionimposed by the necessity of having fresh food to the last, theCetonia-grub must be plunged into a state of absolute immobility: anytwitchings on its part--as the experiments which I have undertaken goto prove--would discourage our nibbling larva and impede the work ofcarving, which has to be effected with so much circumspection. It is notenough for the victim to be unable to move from place to place beneaththe soil: in addition to this, the contractible power in its sturdymuscular organism must be suppressed. 

In its normal state, this larva, at the very least disturbance, curlsitself up, almost as the Hedgehog does; and the two halves of theventral surface are laid one against the other. You are quite surprisedat the strength which the creature displays in keeping itself thuscontracted. If you try to unroll it, your fingers encounter a resistancefar greater than the size of the animal would have caused you tosuspect. To overcome the resistance of this sort of spring coiled uponitself, you have to force it, so much so that you are afraid, if youpersist, of seeing the indomitable spiral suddenly burst and shoot forthits entrails. 

A similar muscular energy is found in the larvae of the Oryctes (Alsoknown as the Rhinoceros Beetle. --Translator's Note. ), the Anoxia (ABeetle akin to the Cockchafer. --Translator's Note. ), the Cockchafer. Weighed down by a heavy belly and living underground, where they feedeither on leaf-mould or on roots, these larvae all possess the vigorousconstitution needed to drag their corpulence through a resisting medium. All of them also roll themselves into a hook which is not straightenedwithout an effort. 

Now what would become of the egg and the new-born grub of the Scoliae, fixed under the belly, at the centre of the Cetonia's spiral, or insidethe hook of the Oryctes or the Anoxia? They would be crushed between thejaws of the living vice. It is essential that the arc should slacken andthe hook unbend, without the least possibility of their returning toa state of tension. Indeed, the well-being of the Scoliae demandssomething more: those powerful bodies must not retain even the power toquiver, lest they derange a method of feeding which has to be conductedwith the greatest caution. 

The Cetonia-grub to which the Two-banded Scolia's egg is fastenedfulfils the required conditions admirably. It is lying on its back, inthe midst of the mould, with its belly fully extended. Long accustomedthough I be to this spectacle of victims paralysed by the sting ofthe Hunting Wasp, I cannot suppress my astonishment at the profoundimmobility of the prey before my eyes. In the other victims withflexible skins, Caterpillars, Crickets, Mantes, Ephippigers, I perceivedat least some pulsations of the abdomen, a few feeble contortions underthe stimulus of a needle. There is nothing of the sort here, nothing butabsolute inertia, except in the head, where I see, from time to time, the mouth-parts open and close, the palpi give a tremor, the shortantennae sway to and fro. A prick with the point of a needle causes nocontraction, no matter what the spot pricked. Though I stab it throughand through, the creature does not stir, be it ever so little. A corpseis not more inert. Never, since my remotest investigations, have Iwitnessed so profound a paralysis. I have seen many wonders due to thesurgical talent of the Wasp; but to-day's marvel surpasses them all. 

I am doubly surprised when I consider the unfavourable conditions underwhich the Scolia operates. The other paralysers work in the open air, inthe full light of day. There is nothing to hinder them. They enjoyfull liberty of action in seizing the prey, holding it in position andsacrificing it; they are able to see the victim and to parry its meansof defence, to avoid its spears, its pincers. The spot or spots to beattained are within their reach; they drive the dagger in without let orhindrance. 

What difficulties, on the other hand, await the Scolia! She huntsunderground, in the blackest darkness. Her movements are laboured anduncertain, owing to the mould, which is continually giving way allround her; she cannot keep her eyes on the terrible mandibles, whichare capable of cutting her body in two with a single bite. Moreover, the Cetonia-grub, perceiving that the enemy is approaching, assumesits defensive posture, rolls itself up and makes a shield for its onlyvulnerable part, the ventral surface, with its convex back. No, it cannot be an easy operation to subdue the powerful larva in itsunderground retreat and to stab with the precision which immediateparalysis requires. 

We wish that we might witness the struggle between the two adversariesand see at first hand what happens, but we cannot hope to succeed. It all takes place in the mysterious darkness of the soil; in broaddaylight, the attack would not be delivered, for the victim must remainwhere it is and then and there receive the egg, which is unable tothrive and develop except under the warm cover of vegetable mould. Ifdirect observation is impracticable, we can at least foresee the mainoutlines of the drama by allowing ourselves to be guided by the warlikemanoeuvres of other burrowers. 

I picture things thus: digging and rummaging through the heap of mould, guided perhaps by that singular sensibility of the antennae whichenables the Hairy Ammophila to discover the Grey Worm (The caterpillarof the Turnip Moth. Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapters 18 to20. --Translator's Note. ) underground, the Scolia ends by finding aCetonia-larva, a good plump one, in the pink of condition, havingreached its full growth, just what the grub which is to feed on itrequires. Forthwith, the assaulted victim, contracting desperately, rolls itself into a ball. The other seizes it by the skin of the neck. To unroll it is impossible to the insect, for I myself have some troublein doing so. One single point is accessible to the sting: the under partof the head, or rather of the first segments, which are placed outsidethe coil, so that the grub's hard cranium makes a rampart for the hinderextremity, which is less well defended. Here the Wasp's sting enters andhere only can it enter, within a narrowly circumscribed area. One stabonly of the lancet is given at this point, one only because there is noroom for more; and this is enough: the larva is absolutely paralysed. 

The nervous functions are abolished instantly; the muscular contractionscease; and the animal uncoils like a broken spring. Henceforthmotionless, it lies on its back, its ventral surface fully exposed fromend to end. On the median line of this surface, towards the rear, nearthe brown patch due to the alimentary broth contained in the intestine, the Scolia lays her egg and without more ado, leaves everything lying onthe actual spot where the murder was committed, in order to go in searchof another victim. 

This is how the deed must be done: the results prove it emphatically. But then the Cetonia-grub must possess a very exceptional structure inits nervous organization. The larva's violent contraction leaves but asingle point of attack open to the sting, the under part of the neck, which is doubtless uncovered when the victim tries to defend itselfwith its mandibles; and yet a stab in this one point produces the mostthorough paralysis that I have ever seen. It is the general rule thatlarvae possess a centre of innervation for each segment. This is soin particular with the Grey Worm, the sacrificial victim of the HairyAmmophila. The Wasp is acquainted with this anatomical secret: she stabsthe caterpillar again and again, from end to end, segment by segment, ganglion by ganglion. With such an organization the Cetonia-grub, unconquerably coiled upon itself would defy the paralyser's surgicalskill. 

If the first ganglion were wounded, the others would remain uninjured;and the powerful body, actuated by these last, would lose none of itspowers of contraction. Woe then to the egg, to the young grub held fastin its embrace! And how insurmountable would be the difficulties if theScolia, working in the profound darkness amid the crumbling soil andconfronted by a terrible pair of mandibles, had to stab each segmentin turn with her sting, with the certainty of method displayed by theAmmophila! The delicate operation is possible in the open air, wherenothing stands in the way, in broad daylight, where the sight guides thescalpel, and with a patient which can always be released if it becomesdangerous. But in the dark, underground, amidst the ruins of a ceilingwhich crumbles in consequence of the conflict and at close quarters withan opponent greatly her superior in strength, how is the Scolia to guideher sting with the accuracy that is essential if the stabs are to berepeated?

So profound a paralysis; the difficulty of vivisection underground;the desperate coiling of the victim: all these things tell me that theCetonia-grub, as regards its nervous system, must possess a structurepeculiar to itself. The whole of the ganglia must be concentrated in alimited area in the first segments, almost under the neck. I see thisas clearly as though it had been revealed to me by a post-mortemdissection. 

Never was anatomical forecast more fully confirmed by directexamination. After forty-eight hours in benzine, which dissolves the fatand renders the nervous system more plainly visible, the Cetonia-grub issubjected to dissection. Those of my readers who are familiar with theseinvestigations will understand my delight. What a clever school is theScolia's! It is just as I thought! Admirable! The thoracic and abdominalganglia are gathered into a single nervous mass, situated within thequadrilateral bounded by the four hinder legs, which legs are very nearthe head. It is a tiny, dull-white cylinder, about three millimetreslong by half a millimetre wide. (. 117 x. 019 inch. --Translator's Note. )This is the organ which the Scolia's sting must attack in order tosecure the paralysis of the whole body, excepting the head, which isprovided with special ganglia. From it run numbers of filaments whichactuate the feet and the powerful muscular layer which is the creature'sessential motor organ. When examined merely through the pocket-lens, this cylinder appears to be slightly furrowed transversely, a proof ofits complex structure. Under the microscope, it is seen to be formed bythe close juxtaposition, the welding, end to end, of the ganglia, whichcan be distinguished one from the other by a slight intermediate groove. The bulkiest are the first, the fourth and the tenth, or last; these areall very nearly of equal size. The rest are barely half or even a thirdas large as those mentioned. 

The Interrupted Scolia experiences the same hunting and surgicaldifficulties when she attacks, in the crumbling, sandy soil, thelarvae of the Shaggy Anoxia or of the Morning Anoxia, according to thedistrict; and these difficulties, if they are to be overcome, demand inthe victim a concentrated nervous system, like the Cetonia's. Such is mylogical conviction before making my examination; such also is the resultof direct observation. When subjected to the scalpel, the larva of theMorning Anoxia shows me its centres of innervation for the thorax andthe abdomen, gathered into a short cylinder, which, placed very farforward, almost immediately after the head, does not run back beyond thelevel of the second pair of legs. The vulnerable point is thus easilyaccessible to the sting, despite the creature's posture of defence, inwhich it contracts and coils up. In this cylinder I recognize elevenganglia, one more than in the Cetonia. The first three, or thoracic, ganglia are plainly distinguishable from one another, although they areset very close together; the rest are all in contact. The largest arethe three thoracic ganglia and the eleventh. 

After ascertaining these facts, I remembered Swammerdam's investigationsinto the grub of the Monoceros, our Oryctes nasicornis. (Jan Swammerdam(1637-1680), the Dutch naturalist and anatomist. --Translator's Note. ) Ichanced to possess an abridgement of the "Biblia naturae, " the masterlywork of the father of insect anatomy. I consulted the venerable volume. It informed me that the learned Dutchman had been struck, long beforeI was, by an anatomical peculiarity similar to that which the larvaeof the Cetoniae and Anoxiae had shown me in their nerve-centres. Havingobserved in the Silk-worm a nervous system formed of ganglia distinctone from the other, he was quite surprised to find that, in the grubof the Oryctes, the same system was concentrated into a short chain ofganglia in juxtaposition. His was the surprise of the anatomist who, studying the organ qua organ, sees for the first time an unusualconformation. Mine was of a different nature: I was amazed to see theprecision with which the paralysis of the victim sacrificed by theScolia, a paralysis so profound in spite of the difficulties of anunderground operation, had guided my forecast as to structure when, anticipating the dissection, I declared in favour of an exceptionalconcentration of the nervous system. Physiology perceived what anatomyhad not yet revealed, at all events to my eyes, for since then, on dipping into my books, I have learnt that these anatomicalpeculiarities, which were then so new to me, are now within the domainof current science. We know that, in the Scarabaeidae, both the larvaand the perfect insect are endowed with a concentrated nervous system. 

The Garden Scolia attacks Oryctes nasicornis; the Two-banded Scoliathe Cetonia; the Interrupted Scolia the Anoxia. All three operate belowground, under the most unfavourable conditions; and all three have fortheir victim a larva of one of the Scarabaeidae, which, thanks to theexceptional arrangement of its nerve-centres, lends itself, alone of alllarvae, to the Wasp's successful enterprises. In the presence ofthis underground game, so greatly varied in size and shape and yetso judiciously selected to facilitate paralysis, I do not hesitate togeneralize and I accept, as the ration of the other Scoliae, larvae ofLamellicorns whose species will be determined by future observation. Perhaps one of them will be found to give chase to the terrible enemy ofmy crops, the voracious White Worm, the grub of the Cockchafer; perhapsthe Hemorrhoidal Scolia, rivalling in size the Garden Scolia and likeher, no doubt, requiring a copious diet, will be entered in the insects'"Who's Who" as the destroyer of the Pine-chafer, that magnificentBeetle, flecked with white upon a black or brown ground, who of anevening, during the summer solstice, browses on the foliage of thefir-trees. Though unable to speak with certainty or precision, I aminclined to look upon these devourers of Scarabaeus-grubs as valiantagricultural auxiliaries. 

The Cetonia-larva has figured hitherto only in its quality of aparalysed victim. We will now consider it in its normal state. With itsconvex back and its almost flat ventral surface, the creature is like asemi-cylinder in shape, fuller in the hinder portion. On the back, eachof the segments, except the last, or anal, segment, puckers into threethick pads, bristling with stiff, tawny hairs. The anal segment, muchwider than the rest, is rounded at the end and coloured a deep brown bythe contents of the intestine, which show through the translucent skin;it bristles with hairs like the other segments, but is level, withoutpads. On the ventral surface, the segments have no creases; and thehairs, though abundant, are rather less so than on the back. The legs, which are quite well-formed, are short and feeble in comparison withthe animal's size. The head has a strong, horny cap for a cranium. Themandibles are powerful, with bevelled tips and three or four teeth onthe edge of the bevel. 

Its mode of locomotion marks it as an idiosyncratic, exceptional, fantastic creature, having no fellow, that I know of, in the insectworld. Though endowed with legs--a trifle short, it is true, but afterall as good as those of a host of other larvae--it never uses them forwalking. It progresses on its back, always on its back, never otherwise. By means of wriggling movements and the purchase afforded by the dorsalbristles, it makes its way belly upwards, with its legs kicking theempty air. The spectator to whom these topsy-turvy gymnastics are anovelty thinks at first that the creature must have had a fright of somesort and that it is struggling as best it can in the face of danger. He puts it back on its belly; he lays it on its side. Nothing is of anyuse; it obstinately turns over and resumes its dorsal progress. That isits manner of travelling over a flat surface; it has no other. 

This reversal of the usual mode of walking is so peculiar to theCetonia-larva that it is enough in itself to reveal the grub's identityto the least expert eyes. Dig into the vegetable mould formed by thedecayed wood in the hollow trunks of old willow-trees, search at thefoot of rotten stumps or in heaps of compost; and, if you come upon aplumpish grub moving along on its back, there is no room for doubt: yourdiscovery is a Cetonia-larva. 

This topsy-turvy progress is fairly swift and is not less in speed tothat of an equally fat grub travelling on its legs. It would even begreater on a polished surface, where walking on foot is hampered byincessant slips, whereas the numerous hairs of the dorsal pads findthe necessary support by multiplying the points of contact. On polishedwood, on a sheet of paper and even on a strip of glass, I see my grubsmoving from point to point with the same ease as on a surface of gardenmould. In the space of one minute, on the wood of my table, they cover adistance of eight inches. The pace is no swifter on a horizontal bed ofsifted mould. A strip of glass reduces the distance covered by onehalf. The slippery surface only half paralyses this strange method oflocomotion. 

We will now place side by side with the Cetonia-grub the larva of theMorning Anoxia, the prey of the Interrupted Scolia. It is very like thelarva of the Common Cockchafer. It is a fat, pot-bellied grub, with athick, red cap on its head and armed with strong, black mandibles, whichare powerful implements for digging and cutting through roots. The legsare sturdy and end in a hooked nail. The creature has a long, heavy, brown paunch. When placed on the table, it lies on its side; itstruggles without being able to advance or even to remain on its bellyor back. In its usual posture it is curled up into a narrow hook. I havenever seen it straighten itself completely; the bulky abdomen preventsit. When placed on a surface of moist sand, the ventripotent creature isno better able to shift its position: curved into a fish-hook, it lieson its side. 

To dig into the earth and bury itself, it uses the fore-edge of itshead, a sort of weeding-hoe with the two mandibles for points. Thelegs take part in this work, but far less effectually. In this way itcontrives to dig itself a shallow pit. Then, bracing itself against thewall of the pit, with the aid of wriggling movements which are favouredby the short, stiff hairs bristling all over its body, the grub changesits position and plunges into the sand, but still with difficulty. 

Apart from a few details, which are of no importance here, we may repeatthis sketch of the Anoxia-grub and we shall have, if the size be atleast quadrupled, a picture of the larva of Oryctes nasicornis, themonstrous prey of the Garden Scolia. Its general appearance is the same:there is the same exaggeration of the belly; the same hook-like curve;the same incapacity for standing on its legs. And as much may be saidof the larva of Scarabaeus pentodon, a fellow-boarder of the Oryctes andthe Cetonia. 

CHAPTER 5. THE PROBLEM OF THE SCOLIAE. 

Now that all the facts have been set forth, it is time to collate them. We already know that the Beetle-hunters, the Cerceres (Cf. "The HuntingWasps": chapters 1 to 3. --Translator's Note. ), prey exclusively on theWeevils and the Buprestes, that is, on the families whose nervous systempresents a degree of concentration which may be compared with that ofthe Scolia's victims. Those predatory insects, working in the openair, are exempt from the difficulties which their emulators, workingunderground, have to overcome. Their movements are free and are directedby the sense of sight; but their surgery is confronted in anotherrespect with a most arduous problem. 

The victim, a Beetle, is covered at all points with a suit of armourwhich the sting is unable to penetrate. The joints alone will allow thepoisoned lancet to pass. Those of the legs do not in any way comply withthe conditions imposed: the result of stinging them would be merely apartial disorder which far from subduing the insect, would render itmore dangerous by irritating it yet further. A sting in the joint of theneck is not admissible: it would injure the cervical ganglia and leadto death, followed by putrefaction. There remains only the joint betweenthe corselet and the abdomen. 

The sting, in entering here, has to abolish all movement with a singlestab, for any movement would imperil the rearing of the larva. Thesuccess of the paralysis, therefore, demands that the motor ganglia, at least the three thoracic ganglia, shall be packed in close contactopposite this point. This determines the selection of Weevils andBuprestes, both of which are so strongly armoured. 

But where the prey has only a soft skin, incapable of stopping thesting, the concentrated nervous system is no longer necessary, forthe operator, versed in the anatomical secrets of her victim, knows toperfection where the centres of innervation lie; and she wounds themone after another, if need be from the first to the last. Thus do theAmmophilae go to work when dealing with their caterpillars and theSphex-wasps when dealing with their Locusts, Ephippigers and Crickets. 

With the Scoliae we come once again to a soft prey, with a skinpenetrable by the sting no matter where it be attacked. Will the tacticsof the caterpillar-hunters, who stab and stab again, be repeated here?No, for the difficulty of movement under ground prohibits so complicatedan operation. Only the tactics of the paralysers of armour-clad insectsare practicable now, for, since there is but one thrust of the dagger, the feat of surgery is reduced to its simplest terms, a necessaryconsequence of the difficulties of an underground operation. TheScoliae, then, whose destiny it is to hunt and paralyse under the soilthe victuals for their family, require a prey made highly vulnerableby the close assemblage of the nerve-centres, as are the Weevils andBuprestes of the Cerceres; and this is why it has fallen to their lot toshare among them the larvae of the Scarabaeidae. 

Before they obtained their allotted portion, so closely restricted andso judiciously selected; before they discovered the precise and almostmathematical point at which the sting must enter to produce a suddenand a lasting immobility; before they learnt how to consume, withoutincurring the risk of putrefaction, so corpulent a prey: in brief, before they combined these three conditions of success, what did theScoliae do?

The Darwinian school will reply that they were hesitating, essaying, experimenting. A long series of blind gropings eventually hit upon themost favourable combination, a combination henceforth to be perpetuatedby hereditary transmission. The skilful co-ordination between the endand the means was originally the result of an accident. 

Chance! A convenient refuge! I shrug my shoulders when I hear it invokedto explain the genesis of an instinct so complex as that of the Scoliae. In the beginning, you say, the creature gropes and feels its way; thereis nothing settled about its preferences. To feed its carnivorous larvaeit levies tribute on every species of game which is not too much forthe huntress' power or the nurseling's appetite; its descendants trynow this, now that, now something else, at random, until the accumulatedcenturies lead to the selection which best suits the race. Then habitgrows fixed and becomes instinct. 

Very well. Let us agree that the Scolia of antiquity sought a differentprey from that adopted by the modern huntress. If the family throve upona diet now discontinued, we fail to see that the descendants had anyreason to change it: animals have not the gastronomic fancies of anepicure whom satiety makes difficult to please. Because the race didwell upon this fare, it became habitual; and instinct became differentlyfixed from what it is to-day. If, on the other hand, the original foodwas unsuitable, the existence of the family was jeopardized; and anyattempt at future improvement became impossible, because an unhappilyinspired mother would leave no heirs. 

To escape falling into this twofold trap, the theorists will reply thatthe Scoliae are descended from a precursor, an indeterminate creature, of changeable habits and changing form, modifying itself in accordancewith its environment and with the regional and climatic conditions andbranching out into races each of which has become a species with theattributes which distinguish it to-day. The precursor is the deusex machina of evolution. When the difficulty becomes altogethertoo importunate, quick, a precursor, to fill up the gaps, quick, animaginary creature, the nebulous plaything of the mind! This is seekingto lighten the darkness with a still deeper obscurity; to illumine theday by piling cloud upon cloud. Precursors are easier to find than soundarguments. Nevertheless, let us put the precursor of the Scoliae to thetest. 

What did she do? Being capable of everything, she did a bit ofeverything. Among its descendants were innovators who developed a tastefor tunnelling in sand and vegetable mould. There they encountered thelarvae of the Cetonia, the Oryctes, the Anoxia, succulent morsels onwhich to rear their families. By degrees the indeterminate Wasp adoptedthe sturdy proportions demanded by underground labour. By degrees shelearnt to stab her plump neighbours in scientific fashion; by degreesshe acquired the difficult art of consuming her prey without killing it;at length, by degrees, aided by the richness of her diet, she became thepowerful Scolia with whom we are familiar. Having reached this point, the species assumes a permanent form, as does its instinct. 

Here we have a multiplicity of stages, all of the slowest, all of themost incredible nature, whereas the Wasp cannot found a race except onthe express condition of complete success from the first attempt. Wewill not insist further upon the insurmountable objection; we will admitthat, amid so many unfavourable chances, a few favoured individualssurvive, becoming more and more numerous from one generation to thenext, in proportion as the dangerous art of rearing the young isperfected. Slight variations in one and the same direction form adefinite whole; and at long last the ancient precursor has become theScolia of our own times. 

By the aid of a vague phraseology which juggles with the secret ofthe centuries and the unknown things of life, it is easy to build up atheory in which our mental sloth delights, after being discouraged bydifficult researches whose final result is doubt rather than positivestatement. But if, so far from being satisfied with hazy generalitiesand adopting as current coin the terms consecrated by fashion, we havethe perseverance to explore the truth as far as lies in our power, theaspect of things will undergo a great change and we shall discover thatthey are far less simple than our overprecipitate views declared themto be. Generalization is certainly a most valuable instrument: scienceindeed exists only by virtue of it. Let us none the less bewareof generalizations which are not based upon very firm and manifoldfoundations. 

When these foundations are lacking, the child is the great generalizer. For him, the feathered world consists merely of birds; the race ofreptiles merely of snakes, the only difference being that some are bigand some are little. Knowing nothing, he generalizes in the highestdegree; he simplifies, in his inability to perceive the complex. Laterhe will learn that the Sparrow is not the Bullfinch, that the Linnet isnot the Greenfinch; he will particularize and to a greater degree eachday, as his faculty of observation becomes more fully trained. In thebeginning he saw nothing but resemblances; he now sees differences, butstill not plainly enough to avoid incongruous comparisons. 

In his adult years he will almost to a certainty commit zoologicalblunders similar to those which my gardener retails to me. Favier, anold soldier, has never opened a book, for the best of reasons. He barelyknows how to cipher: arithmetic rather than reading is forced upon us bythe brutalities of life. Having followed the flag over three-quarters ofthe globe, he has an open mind and a memory crammed with reminiscences, which does not prevent him, when we chat about animals, from making themost crazy assertions. For him the Bat is a Rat that has grown wings;the Cuckoo is a Sparrow-hawk retired from business; the Slug is a Snailwho has lost his shell with the advance of years; the Nightjar (Knownalso as the Goatsucker, because of the mistaken belief thatthe bird sucks the milk of Goats, and, in America, as theWhippoorwill. --Translator's Note. ), the Chaoucho-grapaou, as he callsher, is an elderly Toad, who, becoming enamoured of milk-food, has grownfeathers, so that she may enter the byres and milk the Goats. It isimpossible to drive these fantastic ideas out of his head. Favierhimself, as will be seen, is an evolutionist after his own fashion, an evolutionist of a very daring type. In accounting for the origin ofanimals nothing gives him pause. He has a reply to everything: "this"comes from "that. " If you ask him why, he answers:

"Look at the resemblance!"

Shall we reproach him with these insanities, when we hear another, misled by the Monkey's build, acclaim the Pithecanthropus as man'sprecursor? Shall we reject the metamorphosis of the Chaoucho-grapaou, when people tell us in all seriousness that, in the present stage ofscientific knowledge, it is absolutely proved that man is descended fromsome rough-hewn Ape? Of the two transformations, Favier's strikes me asthe more credible. A painter of my acquaintance, a brother of the greatcomposer Felicien David (Felicien Cesar David (1810-1876). His chiefwork was the choral symphony "Le Desert":--Translator's Note. ), favouredme one day with his reflections on the human structure:

"Ve, moun bel ami, " he said. "Ve, l'home a lou dintre d'un por et loudefero d'uno mounino. " "See, my dear friend, see: man has the inside ofa pig and the outside of a monkey. "

I recommend the painter's aphorism to those who might like to discoverman's origin in the Hog when the Ape has gone out of fashion. Accordingto David, descent is proved by internal resemblances:

"L'home a lou dintre d'un por. "

The inventory of precursory types sees nothing but organic resemblancesand disdains the differences of aptitude. By consulting only the bones, the vertebrae, the hair, the nervures of the wings, the joints of theantennae, the imagination may build up any sort of genealogical treethat will fit with our theories of classification, for, when all issaid, the animal, in its widest generalization, is represented by adigestive tube. With this common factor, the way lies open to every kindof error. A machine is judged not by this or that train of wheels, butby the nature of the work accomplished. The monumental roasting-jack ofa waggoners' inn and a Breguet chronometer both have trains of cogwheelsgeared in almost a similar fashion. (Louis Breguet (1803-1883), a famousParisian watchmaker and physicist. --Translator's Note. ) Are we toclass the two mechanisms together? Shall we forget that the one turns ashoulder of mutton before the hearth, while the other divides time intoseconds?

In the same way, the organic scaffolding is dominated from on high bythe aptitudes of the animal, especially that superior characteristic, the psychical aptitudes. That the Chimpanzee and the hideous Gorillapossess close resemblances of structure to our own is obvious. Butlet us for a moment consider their aptitudes. What differences, what adividing gulf! Without exalting ourselves as high as the famous reed ofwhich Pascal speaks, that reed which, in its weakness, by the merefact that it knows itself to be crushed, is superior to the world thatcrushes it, we may at least ask to be shown, somewhere, an animal makingan implement, which will multiply its skill and its strength, ortaking possession of fire, the primordial element of progress. (BlaisePascal(1623-1662). The allusion is to a passage in the philosopher's"Pensees. " Pascal describes man as a reed, the weakest thing in nature, but "a thinking reed. "--Translator's Note. ) Master of implements andof fire! These two aptitudes, simple though they be, characterize manbetter than the number of his vertebrae and his molars. 

You tell us that man, at first a hairy brute, walking on all fours, has risen on his hind-legs and shed his fur; and you complacentlydemonstrate how the elimination of the hairy pelt was effected. Insteadof bolstering up a theory with a handful of fluff gained or lost, itwould perhaps be better to settle how the original brute became thepossessor of implements and fire. Aptitudes are more important thanhair; and you neglect them because it is there that the insurmountabledifficulty really resides. See how the great master of evolutionhesitates and stammers when he tries, by fair means or foul, to fitinstinct into the mould of his formulae. It is not so easy to handle asthe colour of the pelt, the length of the tail, the ear that droops orstands erect. Yes, our master well knows that this is where the shoepinches! Instinct escapes him and brings his theory crumbling to theground. 

Let us return to what the Scoliae teach us on this question, whichincidentally touches on our own origin. In conformity with the Darwinianideas, we have accepted an unknown precursor, who by dint of repeatedexperiment, adopted as the victuals to be hoarded the larvae of theScarabaeidae. This precursor, modified by varying circumstances, issupposed to have subdivided herself into ramifications, one of which, digging into vegetable mould and preferring the Cetonia to any othergame inhabiting the same heap, became the Two-banded Scolia; another, also addicted to exploring the soil, but selecting the Oryctes, left asits descendant the Garden Scolia; and a third, establishing itselfin sandy ground, where it found the Anoxia, was the ancestress of theInterrupted Scolia. To these three ramifications we must beyond a doubtadd others which complete the series of the Scolia. As their habits areknown to me only by analogy, I confine myself to mentioning them. 

The three species at least, therefore, with which I am familiar wouldappear to be derived from a common precursor. To traverse the distancefrom the starting-point to the goal, all three have had to contend withdifficulties, which are extremely grave if considered one by one and areaggravated even more by this circumstance, that the overcoming of onewould lead to nothing unless the others were surmounted as successfully. Success, then, is contingent upon a series of conditions, each one ofwhich offers almost no chance of victory, so that the fulfilment of themall becomes a mathematical absurdity if we are to invoke accident alone. 

And, in the first place, how was it that the Scolia of antiquity, havingto provide rations for her carnivorous family, adopted for her prey onlythose larvae which, owing to the concentration of their nervous systems, form so remarkable and so rare an exception in the insect order? Whatchance would hazard offer her of obtaining this prey, the most suitableof all because the most vulnerable? The chance represented by unitycompared with the indefinite number of entomological species. The oddsare as one to immensity. 

Let us continue. The larva of the Scarabaeid is snapped up underground, for the first time. The victim protests, defends itself after itsfashion, coils itself up and presents to the sting on every side asurface on which a wound entails no serious danger. And yet the Wasp, anabsolute novice, has to select, for the thrust of its poisoned weapon, one single point, narrowly restricted and hidden in the folds of thelarva's body. If she miscalculates, she may be killed: the larva, irritated by the smarting puncture, is strong enough to disembowel herwith the tusks of its mandibles. If she escapes the danger, she willnevertheless perish without leaving any offspring, since the necessaryprovisions will be lacking. Salvation for herself and her race dependson this: whether at the first thrust she is able to reach the littlenervous plexus which measures barely one-fiftieth of an inch in width. What chance has she of plunging her lancet into it, if there is nothingto guide her? The chance represented by unity compared with the numberof points composing the victim's body. The odds are as one againstimmensity. 

Let us proceed still further. The sting has reached the mark; the fatgrub is deprived of movement. At what spots should the egg now be laid?In front, behind, on the sides, the back or the belly? The choice isnot a matter of indifference. The young grub will pierce the skin ofits provender at the very spot on which the egg was fixed; and, once anopening is made, it will go ahead without hesitation. If this point ofattack is ill-chosen, the nurseling runs the risk of presently findingunder its mandibles some essential organ, which should have beenrespected until the end in order to keep the victuals fresh. Rememberhow difficult it is to complete the rearing when the tiny larva is movedfrom the place chosen by the mother. The game promptly becomes putridand the Scolia dies. 

It is impossible for me to state the precise motives which lead to theadoption of the spot on which the egg is laid; I can perceive generalreasons, but the details escape me, as I am not well enough versed inthe more delicate questions of anatomy and entomological physiology. What I do know with absolute certainty is that the same spot isinvariably chosen for laying the egg. With not a single exception, onall the victims extracted from the heap of garden mould--and they arenumerous--the egg is fixed behind the ventral surface, on the verge ofthe brown patch formed by the contents of the digestive system. 

If there be nothing to guide her, what chance has the mother of gluingher egg to this point, which is always the same because it is that mostfavourable to successful rearing? A very small point, represented bythe ratio of two or three square millimetres (About 1/100 squareinch. --Translator's Note. ) to the entire surface of the victim's body. 

Is this all? Not yet. The grub is hatched; it pierces the belly of theCetonia-larva at the requisite point; it plunges its long neck into theentrails, ransacking them and filling itself to repletion. If it bite atrandom, if it have no other guide in the selection of tit-bits than thepreference of the moment and the violence of an imperious appetite, itwill infallibly incur the danger of being poisoned by putrid food, forthe victim, if wounded in those organs which preserve a remnant of lifein it, will die for good and all at the first mouthfuls. 

The ample joint must be consumed with prudent skill: this part must beeaten before that and, after that, some other portion, always accordingto method, until the time approaches for the last bites. This marks theend of life for the Cetonia, but it also marks the end of the Scolia'sfeasting. If the grub be a novice in the art of eating, if no specialinstinct guide its mandibles in the belly of the prey, what chance hasit of completing its perilous meal? As much as a starving Wolfwould have of daintily dissecting his Sheep, when he tears at hergluttonously, rends her into shreds and gulps them down. 

These four conditions of success, with chance so near to zero in eachcase, must all be realized together, or the grub will never be reared. The Scolia may have captured a larva with close-packed nerve-centres, a Cetonia-grub, for instance; but this will go for nothing unless shedirect her sting towards the only vulnerable point. She may know thewhole secret of the art of stabbing her victim, but this means nothingif she does not know where to fasten her egg. The suitable spot may befound, but all the foregoing will be useless if the grub be not versedin the method to be followed in devouring its prey while keeping italive. It is all or nothing. 

Who would venture to calculate the final chance on which the future ofthe Scolia, or of her precursor, is based, that complex chance whosefactors are four infinitely improbable occurrences, one might almostsay four impossibilities? And such a conjunction is supposed to be afortuitous result, to which the present instinct is due! Come, come!

From another point of view again, the Darwinian theory is at variancewith the Scoliae and their prey. In the heap of garden mould which Iexploited in order to write this record, three kinds of larvae dwelltogether, belonging to the Scarabaeid group: the Cetonia, the Oryctesand Scarabeus pentodon. Their internal structure is very nearly similar;their food is the same, consisting of decomposing vegetable matter;their habits are identical: they live underground in tunnels whichare frequently renewed; they make a rough egg-shaped cocoon of earthymaterials. Environment, diet, industry and internal structure are allsimilar; and yet one of these three larvae, the Cetonia's, reveals amost singular dissimilarity from its fellow-trenchermen: alone amongthe Scarabaeidae and, more than that, alone in all the immense order ofinsects, it walks upon its back. 

If the differences were a matter of a few petty structural details, falling within the finical department of the classifier, we might passthem over without hesitation; but a creature that turns itself upsidedown in order to walk with its belly in the air and never adopts anyother method of locomotion, though it possesses legs and good legs atthat, assuredly deserves examination. How did the animal acquire itsfantastic mode of progress and why does it think fit to walk in afashion the exact contrary of that adopted by other beasts?

To these questions the science now in fashion always has a replyready: adaptation to environment. The Cetonia-larva lives in crumblinggalleries which it bores in the depths of the soil. Like the sweep whoobtains a purchase with his back, loins and knees to hoist himself upthe narrow passage of a chimney, it gathers itself up, applies the tipof its belly to one wall of its gallery and its sturdy back to another;and the combined effort of these two levers results in moving itforward. The legs, which are used very little, indeed hardly at all, waste away and tend to disappear, as does any organ which is leftunemployed; the back, on the other hand, the principal motive agent, grows stronger, is furrowed with powerful folds and bristles withgrappling-hooks or hairs; and gradually, by adaptation to itsenvironment, the creature loses the art of walking, which it does notpractise, and replaces it by that of crawling on its back, a form ofprogress better suited to underground corridors. 

So far so good. But now tell me, if you please, why the larvae of theOryctes and the Scarabaeus, living in vegetable mould, the larva of theAnoxia, dwelling in the sand, and the larva of the Cockchafer in ourcultivated fields have not also acquired the faculty of walking on theirbacks? In their galleries they follow the chimney-sweep's methods quiteas cleverly as the Cetonia-grub; to move forward they make valiant useof their backs without yet having come to ambling with their belliesin the air. Can they have neglected to accommodate themselves to thedemands of their environment? If evolution and environment cause thetopsy-turvy progress of the one, I have the right, if words haveany meaning whatever, to demand as much of the others, since theirorganization is so much alike and their mode of life identical. 

I have but little respect for theories which, when confronted with twosimilar cases, are unable to interpret the one without contradicting theother. They make me laugh when they become merely childish. Forexample: why has the tiger a coat streaked black and yellow? A matter ofenvironment, replies one of our evolutionary masters. Ambushed in bamboothickets where the golden radiance of the sun is intersected by stripesof shadow cast by the foliage, the animal, the better to conceal itself, assumed the colour of its environment. The rays of the sun produced thetawny yellow of the coat; the stripes of shadow added the black bars. 

And there you have it. Any one who refuses to accept the explanationmust be very hard to please. I am one of these difficult persons. If itwere a dinner-table jest, made over the walnuts and the wine, I wouldwillingly sing ditto; but alas and alack, it is uttered without asmile, in a solemn and magisterial manner, as the last word in science!Toussenel, in his day, asked the naturalists an insidious question. (Alphonse Toussenel (1803-1885), the author of a number of learned andcurious works on ornithology. --Translator's Note. ) Why, he enquired, have Ducks a little curly feather on the rump? No one, so far as I know, had an answer for the teasing cross-examiner: evolution had not beeninvented then. In our time the reason why would be forthcoming in amoment, as lucid and as well-founded as the reason why of the tiger'scoat. 

Enough of childish nonsense. The Cetonia-grub walks on its back becauseit has always done so. The environment does not make the animal; it isthe animal that is made for the environment. To this simple philosophy, which is quite antiquated nowadays, I will add another, which Socratesexpressed in these words:

"What I know best is that I know nothing. "

CHAPTER 6. THE TACHYTES. 

The family of Wasps whose name I inscribe at the head of this chapterhas not hitherto, so far as I know, made much noise in the world. Itsannals are limited to methodical classifications, which make very poorreading. The happy nations, men say, are those which have no history. I accept this, but I also admit that it is possible to have a historywithout ceasing to be happy. In the conviction that I shall not disturbits prosperity, I will try to substitute the living, moving insect forthe insect impaled in a cork-bottomed box. 

It has been adorned with a learned name, derived from the GreekTachytes, meaning rapidity, suddenness, speed. The creature's godfather, as we see, had a smattering of Greek; its denomination is none theless unfortunate: intended to instruct us by means of a characteristicfeature, the name leads us astray. Why is speed mentioned in thisconnection? Why a label which prepares the mind for an exceptionalvelocity and announces a race of peerless coursers? Nimble diggers ofburrows and eager hunters the Tachytes are, to be sure, but they are nobetter than a host of rivals. Not the Sphex, nor the Ammophila, nor theBembex, nor many another would admit herself beaten in either flyingor running. At the nesting-season, all this tiny world of huntresses isfilled with astounding activity. The quality of a speedy worker beingcommon to all, none can boast of it to the exclusion of the rest. 

Had I had a vote when the Tachytes was christened, I should havesuggested a short, harmonious, well-sounding name, meaning nothing elsethan the thing meant. What better, for example, than the term Sphex? Theear is satisfied and the mind is not corrupted by a prejudice, asource of error to the beginner. I have not nearly as much liking forAmmophila, which represents as a lover of the sands an animal whoseestablishments call for compact soil. In short, if I had been forced, atall costs, to concoct a barbarous appellation out of Latin or Greek inorder to recall the creature's leading characteristic, I should haveattempted to say, a passionate lover of the Locust. 

Love of the Locust, in the broader sense of the Orthopteron, anexclusive, intolerant love, handed down from mother to daughter witha fidelity which the centuries fail to impair, this, yes, this indeeddepicts the Tachytes with greater accuracy than a name smacking ofthe race-course. The Englishman has his roast-beef; the German hissauerkraut; the Russian his caviare; the Neapolitan his macaroni; thePiedmontese his polenta; the man of Carpentras his tian. The Tachyteshas her Locust. Her national dish is also that of the Sphex, with whom Iboldly associate her. The methodical classifier, who works in cemeteriesand seems to fly the living cities, keeps the two families far removedfrom each other because of considerations and attaching to the nervuresof the wings and the joints of the palpi. At the risk of passing for aheretic, I bring them together at the suggestion of the menu-card. 

To my own knowledge, my part of the country possesses five species, oneand all addicted to a diet of Orthoptera. Panzer's Tachytes (T. Panzeri, VAN DER LIND), girdled with red at the base of the abdomen, must bepretty rare. I surprise her from time to time working on the hardroadside banks and the trodden edges of the footpaths. There, to a depthof an inch at most, she digs her burrows, each isolated from therest. Her prey is an adult, medium-sized Acridian (Locust orGrasshopper. --Translator's Note. ), such as the White-banded Sphexpursues. The captive of the one would not be despised by the other. Gripped by the antennae, according to the ritual of the Sphex, thevictim is trailed along on foot and laid beside the nest, with the headpointing towards the opening. The pit, prepared in advance, is closedfor the time being with a tiny flagstone and some bits of gravel, inorder to avoid either the invasion of a passer-by or obstruction bylandslips during the huntress' absence. A like precaution is taken bythe White-banded Sphex. Both observe the same diet and the same customs. 

The Tachytes clears the entrance to the home and goes in alone. Shereturns, puts out her head and, seizing her prey by the antennae, warehouses it by dragging backwards. I have repeated, at her expense, the tricks which I used to play on the Sphex. (For the author'sexperiments with the Languedocian, the Yellow-winged and the White-edgedSphex, cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapter 11. --Translator's Note. ) Whilethe Tachytes is underground, I move the game away. The insect comes upagain and sees nothing at its door; it comes out and goes to fetch itsLocust, whom it places in position as before. This done, it goes inagain by itself. In its absence I once more pull back the prey. Freshemergence of the Wasp, who puts things to rights and persists in goingdown again, still by herself, however often I repeat the experiment. Yet it would be very easy for her to put an end to my teasing: she wouldonly have to descend straightway with her game, instead of leaving itfor a moment on her doorstep. But, faithful to the usages of her race, she behaves as her ancestors behaved before her, even though the ancientcustom happen to be unprofitable. Like the Yellow-winged Sphex, whom Ihave teased so often during her cellaring-operations, she is a narrowconservative, learning nothing and forgetting nothing. 

Let us leave her to do her work in peace. The Locust disappearsunderground and the egg is laid upon the breast of the paralysed insect. That is all: one carcase for each cell, no more. The entrance is stoppedat last, first with stones, which will prevent the trickling of theembankment into the chamber; next with sweepings of dust, under whichevery vestige of the subterranean house disappears. It is now done:the Tachytes will come here no more. Other burrows will occupy her, distributed at the whim of her vagabond humour. 

A cell provisioned before my eyes on the 22nd of August, in one of thewalls in the harmas, contained the finished cocoon a week later. (Theharmas was the piece of enclosed waste land in which the author used tostudy his insects in their natural state. Cf. "The Life of the Fly, "by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter1. --Translator's Note. ) I have not noted many examples of so rapid adevelopment. This cocoon recalls, in its shape and texture, that of theBembex-wasps. It is hard and mineralized, this is to say, the warp andwoof of silk are hidden by a thick encrustation of sand. This compositestructure seems to me characteristic of the family; at all events I findit in the three species whose cocoons I know. If the Tachytes are nearlyrelated to the Spheges in diet, they are far removed from them in theindustry of their larvae. The first are workers in mosaic, encrusting anetwork of silk and sand; the second weave pure silk. 

Of smaller size and clad in black with trimmings of silvery down on theedge of the abdominal segments, the Tarsal Tachytes frequents theledges of soft limestone in fairly populous colonies. (T. Tarsina, LEP. )(According to M. J. Perez, to whom I submitted the Wasp of which I amabout to speak, this Tachytes might well be a new species, if it is notLepelletier's T. Tarsina or its equivalent, Panzer's T. Unicolor. Anyone wishing to clear up this point will always recognize the quarrelsomeinsect by its behaviour. A minute description seems useless to me in thetype of investigation which I am pursuing. --Author's Note. ) August andSeptember are the season of her labours. Her burrows, very close toone another when an easily-worked vein presents itself, afford an ampleharvest of cocoons once the site is discovered. In a certain gravel-pitin the neighbourhood, with vertical walls visited by the sun, I havebeen able within a short space of time to collect enough to fill thehollow of my hand completely. They differ from the cocoons of thepreceding species only in their smaller size. The provisions consist ofyoung Acridians, varying from about a quarter to half an inch in length. The adult insect does not appear in the assorted bags of game, beingno doubt too tough for the feeble grub. All the carcases consist ofLocust-larvae, whose budding wings leave the back uncovered and put onein mind of the short skirts of a skimpy jacket. Small so that it may betender, the game is numerous so that it may suffice all needs. Icount from two to four carcases to a cell. When the time comes we willdiscover the reason for these differences in the rations served. 

The Mantis-killing Tachytes wears a red scarf, like her kinswoman, Panzer's Tachytes. (The Mantis-hunting Tachytes was submitted toexamination by M. J. Perez, who failed to recognize her. This speciesmay well be new to our fauna. I confine myself to calling her theMantis-killing Tachytes and leave to the specialists the task ofadorning her with a Latin name, if it be really the fact that the Waspis not yet catalogued. I will be brief in my delineation. To my thinkingthe best description is this: mantis-hunter. With this information itis impossible to mistake the insect, in my district of course. I may addthat it is black, with the first two abdominal segments, the legs andthe tarsi a rusty red. Clad in the same livery and much smaller than thefemale, the male is remarkable for his eyes, which are of a beautifullemon-yellow when he is alive. The length is nearly half an inch for thefemale and a little more than half this for the male. --Author's Note. )I do not think that she is very widely distributed. I made heracquaintance in the Serignan woods, where she inhabits, or rather usedto inhabit--for I fear that I have depopulated and even destroyed thecommunity by my repeated excavations--where she used to inhabit one ofthose little mounds of sand which the wind heaps up against the rosemaryclumps. Outside this small community, I never saw her again. Herhistory, rich in incident, will be given with all the detail whichit deserves. I will confine myself for the moment to mentioning herrations, which consist of Mantis-larvae, those of the Praying Mantispredominating. (Cf. "The Life of the Grasshopper": chapters 6 to9. --Translator's Note. ) My lists record from three to sixteen heads foreach cell. Once again we note a great inequality of rations, the reasonfor which we must try to discover. 

What shall I say of the Black Tachytes (T. Nigra, VAN DER LIND) that Ihave not already said in telling the story of the Yellow-winged Sphex?("The Hunting Wasps": chapters 4 to 6. --Translator's Note. ) I have theredescribed her contests with the Sphex, whose burrow she seems to meto have usurped; I show her dragging along the ruts in the roads aparalysed Cricket, seized by the hauling-ropes, his antennae; I speak ofher hesitations, which lead me to suspect her for a homeless vagabond, and finally on her surrender of her game, with which she seems at oncesatisfied and embarrassed. Save for the dispute with the Sphex, anunique event in my records as observer, I have seen all the rest manya time, but never anything more. The Black Tachytes, though the mostfrequent of all in my neighbourhood, remains a riddle to me. Iknow nothing of her dwelling, her larvae, her cocoons, herfamily-arrangements. All that I can affirm, judging by the invariablenature of the prey which one sees her dragging along, is that she mustfeed her larvae on the same non-adult Cricket that the Yellow-wingedSphex chooses for hers. 

Is she a poacher, a pillager of other's property, or a genuine huntress?My suspicions are persistent, though I know how chary a man should be ofsuspicions. At one time I had my doubts about Panzer's Tachytes, whomI grudged a prey to which the White-banded Sphex might have laid claim. To-day I have no such doubts: she is an honest worker and her game isreally the result of her hunting. While waiting for the truth to berevealed and my suspicions set aside, I will complete the little that Iknow of her by noting that the Black Tachytes passes the winter inthe adult form and away from her cell. She hibernates, like the HairyAmmophila. In warm, sheltered places, with low, perpendicular, barebanks, dear to the Wasps, I am certain of finding her at any time duringthe winter, however briefly I investigate the earthen surface, riddledwith galleries. I find the Tachytes cowering singly in the hot ovenformed by the end of a tunnel. If the temperature be mild and the skyclear, she emerges from her retreat in January and February and comes tothe surface of the bank to see whether spring is making progress. When the shadows fall and the heat decreases, she reenters herwinter-quarters. 

The Anathema Tachytes (T. Anathema, VAN DER LIND), the giant of herrace, almost as large as the Languedocian Sphex and, like her, decoratedwith a red scarf round the base of the abdomen, is rarer than any ofher congeners. I have come upon her only some four or five times, as anisolated individual and always in circumstances which will tell usof the nature of her game with a probability that comes very near tocertainty. She hunts underground, like the Scoliae. In September I seeher go down into the soil, which has been loosened by a recent lightshower; the movement of the earth turned over keeps me informed of hersubterranean progress. She is like the Mole, ploughing through a meadowin pursuit of his White Worm. She comes out farther on, nearly a yardfrom the spot at which she went in. This long journey underground hastaken her only a few minutes. 

Is this due to extraordinary powers of excavation on her part? By nomeans: the Anathema Tachytes is an energetic tunneller, no doubt, but, after all, is incapable of performing so great a labour in so shorta time. If the underground worker is so swift in her progress, it isbecause the track followed has already been covered by another. Thetrail is ready prepared. We will describe it, for it is clearly definedbefore the intervention of the Wasp. 

On the surface of the ground, for a length of two paces at most, runsa sinuous line, a beading of crumbled soil, roughly the width of myfinger. From this line of ramifications (others) shoot out to left andright, much shorter and irregularly distributed. One need not be a greatentomological scholar to recognize, at the first glance, in these padsof raised earth, the trail of a Mole-cricket, the Mole among insects. Itis the Mole-cricket who, seeking for a root to suit her, has excavatedthe winding tunnel, with investigation-galleries grafted to either sideof the main road. The passage is free therefore, or at most blocked by afew landslips, of which the Tachytes will easily dispose. This explainsher rapid journey underground. 

But what does she do there? For she is always there, in the fewobservations which chance affords me. A subterranean excursion would notattract the Wasp if it had no object. And its object is certainly thesearch for some sort of game for her larvae. The inference becomesinevitable: the Anathema Tachytes, who explores the Mole-cricket'sgalleries, gives her larvae this same Mole-cricket as their food. Veryprobably the specimen selected is a young one, for the adult insectwould be too big. Besides, to this consideration of quantity is addedthat of quality. Young and tender flesh is highly appreciated, aswitness the Tarsal Tachytes, the Black Tachytes and the Mantis-killingTachytes, who all three select game that is not yet made tough by age. It goes without saying that the moment the huntress emerged from theground I proceeded to dig up the track. The Mole-cricket was no longerthere. The Tachytes had come too late; and so had I. 

Well, how right was I to define the Tachytes as a Locust lover! Whatconstancy in the gastronomic rules of the race! And what tact in varyingthe game, while keeping within the order of the Orthoptera! What havethe Locust, the Cricket, the Praying Mantis and the Mole-cricket incommon, as regards their general appearance? Why, absolutely nothing!None of us, if he were unfamiliar with the delicate associationsdictated by anatomy, would think of classing them together. TheTachytes, on the other hand, makes no mistake. Guided by her instinct, which rivals the science of a Latreille, she groups them alltogether. (Pierre Andre Latreille (1762-1833), one of the founders ofentomological science, a professor at the Musee d'histoire naturelle andmember of the Academie des sciences. --Translator's Note. )

This instinctive taxonomy becomes more surprising still if we considerthe variety of the game stored in a single burrow. The Mantis-killingTachytes, for instance, preys indiscriminately upon all the Mantidesthat occur in her neighbourhood. I see her warehousing three of them, the only varieties, in fact, that I know in my district. They are thefollowing: the Praying Mantis (M. Religiosa, LIN. ), the Grey Mantis(Ameles decolor, CHARP. (Cf. "The Life of the Grasshopper": chapter10. --Translator's Note. )) and the Empusa (E. Pauperata, LATR. (Cf. Idem:chapter 9. --Translator's Note. )). The numerical predominance in theTachytes' cells belongs to the Praying Mantis; and the Grey Mantisoccupies second place. The Empusa, who is comparatively rare on thebrushwood in the neighbourhood, is also rare in the store-houses of theWasp; nevertheless her presence is repeated often enough to show thatthe huntress appreciates the value of this prey when she comes acrossit. The three sorts of game are in the larval state, with rudimentarywings. Their dimensions, which vary a good deal, fluctuate betweentwo-fifths and four-fifths of an inch in length. 

The Praying Mantis is a bright green; she boasts an elongated prothoraxand an alert gait. The other Mantis is ash-grey. Her prothorax is shortand her movements heavy. The coloration therefore is no guide to thehuntress, any more than the gait. The green and the grey, the swiftand the slow are unable to baffle her perspicacity. To her, despite thegreat difference in appearance, the two victims are Mantes. And she isright. 

But what are we to say of the Empusa? The insect world, at all events inour parts, contains no more fantastic creature. The children here, whoare remarkable for finding names which really depict the animal, callthe larva "the Devilkin. " It is indeed a spectre, a diabolical phantomworthy of the pencil of a Callot. (Jacques Callot (1592-1635), theFrench engraver and painter, famous for the grotesque nature of hissubjects. --Translator's Note. ) There is nothing to beat it in theextravagant medley of figures in his "Temptation of Saint Anthony. " Itsflat abdomen, scalloped at the edges, rises into a twisted crook; itspeaked head carries on the top two large, divergent, tusk-shaped horns;its sharp, pointed face, which can turn and look to either side, would fit the wily purpose of some Mephistopheles; its long legs havecleaver-like appendages at the joints, similar to the arm-pieces whichthe knights of old used to bear upon their elbows. Perched high upon theshanks of its four hind-legs, with its abdomen curled, its thorax raisederect, its front-legs, the traps and implements of warfare, foldedagainst its chest, it sways limply from side to side, on the tip of thebough. 

Any one seeing it for the first time in its grotesque pose will givea start of surprise. The Tachytes knows no such alarm. If she catchessight of it, she seizes it by the neck and stabs it. It will be a treatfor her children. How does she manage to recognize in this spectre thenear relation of the Praying Mantis? When frequent hunting-expeditionshave familiarized her with the last-named and suddenly, in the midst ofthe chase, she encounters the Devilkin, how does she become aware thatthis strange find makes yet another excellent addition to her larder?This question, I fear, will never receive an adequate reply. Otherhuntresses have already set us the problem; others will set it to usagain. I shall return to it, not to solve it, but to show even moreplainly how obscure and profound it is. But we will first complete thestory of the Mantis-killing Tachytes. 

The colony which forms the subject of my investigations is establishedin a mound of fine sand which I myself cut into, a couple of years ago, in order to unearth a few Bembex larvae. The entrances to the Tachytes'dwelling open upon the little upright bank of the section. At thebeginning of July the work is in full swing. It must have been going onalready for a week or two, for I find very forward larvae, as well asrecent cocoons. There are here, digging into the sand or returning fromexpeditions with their booty, some hundred females, whose burrows, allvery close to one another, cover an area of barely a square yard. Thishamlet, small in extent, but nevertheless densely populated, shows usthe Mantis-slayer under a moral aspect which is not shared by the Locustslayer, Panzer's Tachytes, who resembles her so closely in costume. Though engaged in individual tasks, the first seeks the society of herkind, as do certain of the Sphex-wasps, while the second establishesherself in solitude, after the fashion of the Ammophila. Neither thepersonal form nor the nature of the occupation determines sociability. 

Crouching voluptuously in the sun, on the sand at the foot of the bank, the males lie waiting for the females, to plague them as they pass. Theyare ardent lovers, but cut a poor figure. Their linear dimensionsare barely half those of the other sex, which implies a volume onlyone-eighth as great. At a short distance they appear to wear on theirheads a sort of gaudy turban. At close quarters this headgear is seen toconsist of the eyes, which are very large and a bright lemon-yellow andwhich almost entirely surround the head. 

At ten o'clock in the morning, when the heat begins to grow intolerableto the observer, there is a continual coming and going between theburrows and the tufts of grass, everlasting, thyme and wormwood, whichconstitute the Tachytes' hunting-grounds within a moderate radius. Thejourney is so short that the Wasp brings her game home on the wing, usually in a single flight. She holds it by the fore-part, a veryjudicious precaution, which is favourable to rapid stowage in thewarehouse, for then the Mantis' legs stretch backwards, along the axisof the body, instead of folding and projecting sideways, when theirresistance would be difficult to overcome in a narrow gallery. The lankyprey dangles beneath the huntress, all limp, lifeless and paralysed. The Tachytes, still flying, alights on the threshold of the home andimmediately, contrary to the custom of Panzer's Tachytes, enters withher prey trailing behind her. It is not unusual for a male to come uponthe scene at the moment of the mother's arrival. He is promptly snubbed. This is the time for work, not for amusement. The rebuffed maleresumes his post as a watcher in the sun; and the housewife stows herprovisions. 

But she does not always do so without hindrance. Let me recount one ofthe misadventures of this work of storage. There is in the neighbourhoodof the burrows a plant which catches insects with glue. It is the Oportosilene (S. Portensis), a curious growth, a lover of the sea-side dunes, which, though of Portuguese origin, as its name would seem to indicate, ventures inland, even as far as my part of the country, where itrepresents perhaps a survivor of the coastal flora of what was once aPliocene sea. The sea has disappeared; a few plants of its shores haveremained behind. This Silene carries in most of its internodes, in thoseboth of the branches and of the main stalk, a viscous ring, two- tofour-fifths of an inch wide, sharply delimited above and below. Thecoating of glue is of a pale brown. Its stickiness is so great that theleast touch is enough to hold the object. I find Midges, Plant-lice andAnts caught in it, as well as tufted seeds which have blown from thecapitula of the Cichoriaceae. A Gad-fly, as big as a Blue bottle, fallsinto the trap before my eyes. She has barely alighted on the perilousperch when lo, she is held by the hinder tarsi! The Fly makes violentefforts to take wing; she shakes the slender plant from top to bottom. If she frees her hinder tarsi she remains snared by the front tarsiand has to begin all over again. I was doubting the possibility of herescape when, after a good quarter of an hour's struggle, she succeededin extricating herself. 

But, where the Gad-fly has got off, the Midge remains. The winged Aphisalso remains, the Ant, the Mosquito and many another of the smallerinsects. What does the plant do with its captures? Of what use arethese trophies of corpses hanging by a leg or a wing? Does thevegetable bird-limer, with its sticky rings, derive advantage from thesedeath-struggles? A Darwinian, remembering the carnivorous plants, wouldsay yes. As for me, I don't believe a word of it. The Oporto silene isringed with bands of gum. Why? I don't know. Insects are caught in thesesnares. Of what use are they to the plant? Why, none at all; and that'sall about it. I leave to others, bolder than myself, the fantastic ideaof taking these annular exudations for a digestive fluid which willreduce the captured Midges to soup and make them serve to feed theSilene. Only I warn them that the insects sticking to the plant do notdissolve into broth, but shrivel, quite uselessly, in the sun. 

Let us return to the Tachytes, who is also a victim of the vegetablesnare. With a sudden flight, a huntress arrives, carrying her droopingprey. She grazes the Silene's lime-twigs too closely. Behold the Mantiscaught by the abdomen. For twenty minutes at least the Wasp, still onthe wing, tugs at her, tugging again and again, to overcome the cause ofthe hitch and release the spoil. The hauling-method, a continuation ofthe flight, comes to nothing; and no other is attempted. At last theinsect wearies and leaves the Mantis hanging to the Silene. 

Now or never was the moment for the intervention of that tiny glimmerof reason which Darwin so generously grants to animals. Do not, if youplease, confound reason with intelligence, as people are too prone todo. I deny the one; and the other is incontestable, within very modestlimits. It was, I said, the moment to reason a little, to discover thecause of the hitch and to attack the difficulty at its source. For theTachytes the matter was of the simplest. She had but to grab the bodyby the skin of the abdomen immediately above the spot caught by the glueand to pull it towards her, instead of persevering in her flight withoutreleasing the neck. Simple though this mechanical problem was, theinsect was unable to solve it, because she was not able to trace theeffect back to the cause, because she did not even suspect that thestoppage had a cause. 

Ants doting on sugar and accustomed to cross a foot-bridge in orderto reach the warehouse are absolutely prevented from doing so when thebridge is interrupted by a slight gap. They would only need a few grainsof sand to fill the void and restore the causeway. They do not for amoment dream of it, plucky navvies though they be, capable of raisingminiature mountains of excavated soil. We can get them to give us anenormous cone of earth, an instinctive piece of work, but we shall neverobtain the juxtaposition of three grains of sand, a reasoned piece ofwork. The Ant does not reason, any more than the Tachytes. 

If you bring up a tame Fox and set his platter of food before him, thiscreature of a thousand tricks confines himself to tugging with all hismight at the leash which keeps him a step or two from his dinner. Hepulls as the Tachytes pulls, exhausts himself in futile efforts and thenlies down, with his little eyes leering fixedly at the dish. Why does henot turn round? This would increase his radius; and he could reach thenthe food with his hind-foot and pull it towards him. The idea neveroccurs to him. Yet another animal deprived of reason. 

Friend Bull, my Dog, is no better-endowed, despite his quality as acandidate for humanity. In our excursions through the woods, he happensto get caught by the paw in a wire snare set for rabbits. Like theTachytes, he tugs at it obstinately and only pulls the noose tighter. I have to release him when he does not himself succeed in snapping thewire by his hard pulling. When he tries to leave the room, if the twoleaves of the door are just ajar, he contents himself with pushing hismuzzle, like a wedge, into the too narrow aperture. He moves forward, pushing in the direction which he wishes to take. His simple, dog-likemethod has one unfailing result: the two leaves of the door, whenpushed, merely shut still closer. It would be easy for him to pull oneof them towards him with his paw, which would make the passage wider;but this would be a movement backward, contrary to his natural impulse;and so he does not think of it. Yet another creature that does notreason. 

The Tachytes, who stubbornly persists in tugging at her limed Mantisand refuses to acknowledge any other method of wresting her from theSilene's snare, shows us the Wasp in an unflattering light. What a verypoor intellect! The insect becomes only the more wonderful, therefore, when we consider its supreme talent as an anatomist. Many a time I haveinsisted upon the incomprehensible wisdom of instinct; I do so again atthe risk of repeating myself. An idea is like a nail: it is not to bedriven in save by repeated blows. By hitting it again and again, I hopeto make it enter the most rebellious brains. This time I shall attackthe problem from the other end, that is, I shall first allow humanknowledge to have its say and shall then interrogate the insect'sknowledge. 

The outward structure of the Praying Mantis would of itself be enough toteach us the arrangement of the nerve-centres which the Tachytes has toinjure in order to paralyse its victim, which is destined to be devouredalive but harmless. A narrow and very long prothorax divides the frontpair of legs from the two hinder pairs. There must therefore be anisolated ganglion in front and two ganglia, close to each other, about two-fifths of an inch back. Dissection confirms this forecastcompletely. It shows us three fairly bulky thoracic ganglia, arranged inthe same manner as the legs. The first which actuates the fore-legs, isplaced opposite their roots. It is the largest of the three. It is alsothe most important, for it presides over the insect's weapons, over thetwo powerful arms, toothed like saws and ending in harpoons. The othertwo, divided from the first by the whole length of the prothorax, eachface the origin of the corresponding legs; consequently they are verynear each other. Beyond them are the abdominal ganglia, which I passover in silence, as the operating insect does not have to trouble aboutthem. The movements of the belly are mere pulsations and are in no waydangerous. 

Now let us do a little reasoning on behalf of our non-reasoning insect. The sacrificer is weak; the victim is comparatively powerful. Threestrokes of the lancet must abolish all offensive movement. Where willthe first stroke be delivered? In front is a real engine of warfare, apair of powerful shears with toothed jaws. Let the fore-arm closeupon the upper arm; and the imprudent insect, crushed between the twosaw-blades, will be torn to pieces; wounded by the terminal hook, itwill be eviscerated. This ferocious mechanism is the great danger; it isthis that must be mastered at the outset, at the risk of life; the restis less urgent. The first blow of the stylet, cautiously directed, istherefore aimed at the lethal fore-legs, which imperil the vivisector'sown existence. Above all, there must be no hesitation. The blow must beaccurate then and there, or the sacrificer will be caught in thevice and perish. The two other pairs of legs present no danger to theoperator, who might neglect them if she had only her own security tothink of; but the surgeon is operating with a view to the egg, whichdemands complete immobility in the provisions. Their centres ofinnervation will therefore be stabbed as well, with the leisure whichthe Mantis, now put out of action, permits. These legs, as well as theirnervous centres, are situated very far behind the first point attacked. There is a long neutral interval, that of the prothorax, into which itis quite useless to drive the sting. This interval has to be crossed; bya backward movement conforming with the secrets of the victim's internalanatomy, the second ganglion must be reached and then its neighbour, thethird. In short, the surgical operation may be formulated thus: afirst stab of the lancet in front; a considerable movement to the rear, measuring about two-fifths of an inch; lastly, two lancet-thrusts attwo points very close together. Thus speaks the science of man; thuscounsels reason, guided by anatomical structure. Having said this muchlet us observe the insect's practice. 

There is no difficulty about seeing the Tachytes operate in ourpresence; we have only to resort to the method of substitution, whichhas already done me so much service, that is, to deprive the huntress ofher prey and at once to give her, in exchange, a living Mantis of aboutthe same size. This substitution is impracticable with the majorityof the Tachytes, who reach the threshold of their dwelling in a singleflight and at once vanish underground with their game. A few of them, from time to time, harassed perhaps by their burden, chance to alight ata short distance from their burrow, or even drop their prey. I profit bythese rare occasions to witness the tragedy. 

The dispossessed Wasp recognizes instantly, from the proud bearing ofthe substituted Mantis, that she is no longer embracing and carrying offan inoffensive carcase. Her hovering, hitherto silent, develops a buzz, perhaps to overawe the victim; her flight becomes an extremely rapidoscillation, always behind the quarry. It is as who should say the quickmovement of a pendulum swinging without a wire to hang from. The Mantis, however, lifts herself boldly upon her four hind-legs; she raises thefore-part of her body, opens, closes and again opens her shears andpresents them threateningly at the enemy; using a privilege which noother insect shares, she turns her head this way and that, as we do whenwe look over our shoulders; she faces her assailant, ready to strike areturn blow wheresoever the attack may come. It is the first time thatI have witnessed such defensive daring. What will be the outcome of itall?

The Wasp continues to oscillate behind the Mantis, in order to avoid theformidable grappling-engine; then, suddenly, when she judges that theother is baffled by the rapidity of her manoeuvres, she hurls herselfupon the insect's back, seizes its neck with her mandibles, winds herlegs round its thorax and hastily delivers a first thrust of the sting, to the front, at the root of the lethal legs. Complete success! Thedeadly shears fall powerless. The operator then lets herself slip as shemight slide down a pole, retreats along the Mantis' back and, going atrifle lower, less than a finger's breadth, she stops and paralyses, this time without hurrying herself, the two pairs of hind-legs. It isdone: the patient lies motionless; only the tarsi quiver, twitching intheir last convulsions. The sacrificer brushes her wings for a momentand polishes her antennae by passing them through her mouth, an habitualsign of tranquillity returning after the emotions of the conflict; sheseizes the game by the neck, takes it in her legs and flies away withit. 

What do you say to it all? Do not the scientist's theory and theinsect's practice agree most admirably? Has not the animal accomplishedto perfection what anatomy and physiology enabled us to foretell?Instinct, a gratuitous attribute, an unconscious inspiration, rivalsknowledge, that most costly acquisition. What strikes me most is thesudden recoil after the first thrust of the sting. The Hairy Ammophila, operating on her caterpillar, likewise recoils, but progressively, from one segment to the next. Her deliberate surgery might receive aquasi-explanation if we ascribe it to a certain uniformity. With theTachytes and the Mantis this paltry argument escapes us. Here areno lancet-pricks regularly distributed; on the contrary, theoperating-method betrays a lack of symmetry which would beinconceivable, if the organization of the patient did not serve as aguide. The Tachytes therefore knows where her prey's nerve-centres lie;or, to speak more correctly, she behaves as though she knew. 

This science which is unconscious of itself has not been acquired, byher and by her race, through experiments perfected from age to age andhabits transmitted from one generation to the next. It is impossible, I am prepared to declare a hundred times, a thousand times over, it isabsolutely impossible to experiment and to learn an art when you arelost if you do not succeed at the first attempt. Don't talk to me ofatavism, of small successes increasing by inheritance, when the novice, if he misdirected his weapon, would be crushed in the trap of the twosaws and fall a prey to the savage Mantis! The peaceable Locust, ifmissed, protests against the attack with a few kicks; the carnivorousMantis, who is in the habit of feasting on Wasps far more powerful thanthe Tachytes, would protest by eating the bungler; the game would devourthe hunter, an excellent catch. Mantis-paralysing is a most periloustrade and admits of no half-successes; you have to excel in it from thefirst, under pain of death. No, the surgical art of the Tachytes is notan acquired art. Whence then does it come, if not from the universalknowledge in which all things move and have their being!

What would happen if, in exchange for her Praying Mantis, I were to givethe Tachytes a young Grasshopper? In rearing insects at home, I havealready noted that the larvae put up very well with this diet; and Iam surprised that the mother does not follow the example of the TarsalTachytes and provide her family with a skewerful of Locusts insteadof the risky prey which she selects. The diet would be practically thesame; and the terrible shears would no longer be a danger. With such apatient would her operating-method remain the same; should we againsee a sudden recoil after the first stab under the neck; or would thevivisector modify her art in conformity with the unfamiliar nervousorganization?

This second alternative is highly improbable. It would be nonsense toexpect to see the paralyser vary the number and the distribution of thewounds according to the genus of the victim. Supremely skilled in thetask that has fallen to its lot, the insect knows nothing further. 

The first alternative seems to offer a certain chance and deserves atest. I offer the Tachytes, deprived of her Mantis, a small Grasshopper, whose hind-legs I amputate to prevent his leaping. The disabled Acridianjogs along the sand. The Wasp flies round him for a moment, casts acontemptuous glance upon the cripple and withdraws without attemptingaction. Let the prey offered be large or small, green or grey, shortor long, rather like the Mantis or quite different, all my effortsmiscarry. The Tachytes recognizes in an instant that this is nobusiness of hers; this is not her family game; she goes off without evenhonouring my Grasshoppers with a peck of her mandibles. 

This stubborn refusal is not due to gastronomical causes. I have statedthat the larvae reared by my own hands feed on young Grasshoppers asreadily as on young Mantes; they do not seem to perceive any differencebetween the two dishes; they thrive equally on the game chosen by meand that selected by the mother. If the mother sets no value on theGrasshopper, what then can be the reason of her refusal? I can see onlyone: this quarry, which is not hers, perhaps inspires her with fear, asany unknown thing might do; the ferocious Mantis does not alarm her, but the peaceable Grasshopper terrifies her. And then, if she were toovercome her apprehensions, she does not know how to master the Acridianand, above all, how to operate upon him. To every man his trade, toevery Wasp her own way of wielding her sting. Modify the conditions everso slightly; and these skilful paralysers are at an utter loss. 

To every insect also its own art of fashioning the cocoon, an art whichvaries greatly, an art in which the larva displays all the resourcesof its instincts. The Tachytes, the Bembeces, the Stizi, the Palari andother burrowers build composite cocoons, hard as fruit-stones, formed ofan encrustation of sand in a network of silk. We are already acquaintedwith the work of the Bembex. I will recall the fact that their larvafirst weaves a conical, horizontal bag of pure white silk, with widemeshes, held in place by interlaced threads which fix it to the wallsof the cell. I have compared this bag, because of its shape, with afishtrap. Without leaving this hammock, stretching its neck through theorifice, the worker gathers from without a little heap of sand, whichit stores inside its workshop. Then, selecting the grains one by one, it encrusts them all around itself in the fabric of the bag and cementsthem with the fluid from its spinnerets, which hardens at once. Whenthis task is finished, the house has still to be closed, for it has beenwide open all this time to permit of the renewal of the store of sandas the heap inside becomes exhausted. For this purpose a cap of silk iswoven across the opening and finally encrusted with the materials whichthe larva has retained at its disposal. 

The Tachytes builds in quite another fashion, although its work, oncefinished, does not differ from that of the Bembex. The larva surroundsitself, to begin with, about the middle of its body with a silken girdlewhich a number of threads, very irregularly distributed, hold in placeand connect with the walls of the cell. Sand is collected, within reachof the worker, on this general scaffolding. Then begins the work ofminor masonry, with grains of sand for rubble and the secretion of thespinnerets for cement. The first course is laid upon the fore-edge ofthe suspensory ring. When the circle is completed, a second course ofgrains of sand, stuck together by the fluid silk, is raised upon thehardened edge of what has just been done. Thus the work proceeds, by ring-shaped courses, laid edge to edge, until the cocoon, havingacquired half of its proper length, is rounded into a cap and finally isclosed. The building-methods of the Tachytes-larva remind me of a masonconstructing a round chimney, a narrow tower of which he occupies thecentre. Turning on his own axis and using the materials placed to hishand, he encloses himself little by little in his sheath of masonry. In the same way the worker encloses itself in its mosaic. To build thesecond half of the cocoon, the larva turns round and builds in the sameway on the other edge of the original ring. In about thirty-six hoursthe solid shell is completed. 

I am rather interested to see the Bembex and the Tachytes, two workersin the same guild, employ such different methods to achieve the sameresult. The first begins by weaving an eel-trap of pure silk and nextencrusts the grains of sand inside; the second, a bolder architect, iseconomical of the silk envelope, confines itself to a hanging girdle andbuilds course by course. The building-materials are the same: sand andsilk; the surroundings amid which the two artisans work are the same: acell in a soil of sandy gravel; yet each of the builders possesses itsindividual art, its own plan, its one method. 

The nature of the food has no more effect upon the larva's talents thanthe environment in which it lives or the materials employed. The proofof this is furnished by Stiza ruficornis, another builder of cocoons ingrains of sand cemented with silk. This sturdy Wasp digs her burrows insoft sandstone. Like the Mantis-killing Tachytes, she hunts the variousMantides of the countryside, consisting mainly of the Praying Mantis;only her large size requires them to be more fully developed, withouthowever having attained the form and the dimensions of the adult. Sheplaces three to five of them in each cell. 

In solidity and volume her cocoon rivals that of the largest Bembex;but it differs from it, at first sight, by a singular feature of whichI know no other example. From the side of the shell, which is uniformlysmoothed on every side, a rough knob protrudes, a little clod of sandstuck on to the rest. The work of Stizus ruficornis can at once berecognized, among all the other cocoons of a similar nature, by thisprotuberance. 

Its origin will be explained by the method which the larva follows inconstructing its strong-box. At the beginning, a conical bag is wovenof pure white silk; you might take it for the initial eel-trap of theBembeces, only this bag has two openings, a very wide one in front andanother, very narrow one at the side. Through the front opening theStizus provides itself with sand as and when it spends this material onencrusting the interior. This strengthens the cocoon; and the capwhich closes it is made next. So far it is exactly like the work of theBembex. We now have the worker enclosed, engaged in perfecting the innerwall. For these final touches a little more sand is needed. It obtainsit from outside by means of the aperture which it has taken theprecaution of contriving in the side of its building, a narrowdormer-window just large enough to allow its slender neck to pass. Whenthe store has been taken in, this accessory orifice, which is used onlyduring the last few moments, is closed with a mouthful of mortar, thrustoutward from within. This forms the irregular nipple which projects fromthe side of the shell. 

For the present I shall not expatiate further upon Stizus ruficornis, whose complete biography would be out of place in this chapter. I willlimit myself to mentioning its method of constructing strong-boxes inorder to compare it with that of the Bembex and above all with thatof the Tachytes, a consumer, like itself, of Praying Mantes. From thisparallel it seems to me to follow that the conditions of life inwhich men see to-day the origin of instincts--the type of food, thesurroundings amid which the larval life is passed, the materialsavailable for a defensive wrapper and other factors which theevolutionists are accustomed to invoke--have no actual influence uponthe larva's industry. My three architects in glued sand, even when allthe conditions, down to the nature of the provisions, are the same, adopt different means to execute an identical task. They are engineerswho have not graduated from the same school, who have not been educatedon the same principles, though the lesson of things is almost thesame for all of them. The workshop, the work, the provisions have notdetermined the instinct. The instinct comes first; it lays down lawsinstead of being subject to them. 

CHAPTER 7. CHANGE OF DIET. 

Brillat-Savarin, when pronouncing his famous maxim, "Tell me what youeat and I will tell you what you are, " certainly never suspected thesignal confirmation which the entomological world would bestow upon hissaying. Our gastrosopher was speaking only of the culinary caprices ofman rendered fastidious by the sweets of life; but he might, in a moreserious department of thought, have given his formula a wider and moregeneral bearing and applied it to the dishes which vary so greatlyaccording to latitude, climate and customs; he might above all havetaken into his reckoning the harsh realities suffered by the commonpeople, when perhaps his ideal of moral worth would have been found ina platter of chick-peas oftener than in a pot of pate de foie gras. Nomatter: his aphorism, the mere whimsical sally of an epicure, becomes animperious truth if we forget the luxury of the table and look into whatis eaten by the little world which swarms around us. 

To each its mess. The cabbage Pieris consumes the pungent leaves of theCruciferae as the food of her infancy; the Silkworm disdains any foliageother than that of the mulberry-tree. The Spurge Hawk-moth requires thecaustic milk-sap of the tithymals: the Corn-weevil the grain of wheat;the Pea-weevil, the seeds of the Leguminosae; the Balaninus (A genusof Beetles including the Acorn-weevil, the Nut-weevil andothers. --Translator's Note. ) the hazel-nut, the chestnut, the acorn;the Brachycera (A division of Flies including the Gad-flies andRobber-flies. --Translator's Note. ) the clove of garlic. Each has itsdiet, each its plant; and each plant has its customary guests. Theirrelations are so precise that in many cases one might determine theinsect by the vegetable which supports it, or the vegetable by theinsect. 

If you know the lily, you may name as a Crioceris the tiny scarletScarabaeid that inhabits it and peoples its leaves with larvaewhich keep themselves cool beneath an overcoat of ordure. (For theLily-beetle, or Crioceris merdigera, cf. "The Glow-worm and OtherBeetles, " by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos:chapters 16 and 17. --Translator's Note. ) If you know the Crioceris, youmay name as a lily the plant which she devastates. It will not perhapsbe the common or white lily, but some other representative of the samefamily--Turk's cap lily, orange lily, scarlet Martagon, lancifoliatelily, tiger-spotted lily, golden lily--hailing from the Alps or thePyrenees, or brought from China or Japan. Relying on the Crioceris, whois an expert judge of exotic as well as of native Liliaceae, you mayname as a lily the plant with which you are unacquainted and trustthe word of this singular botanical master. Whether the flower be red, yellow, ruddy-brown or sown with crimson spots, characteristics sounlike the immaculate whiteness of the familiar flower, do not hesitate, adopt the name dictated by the Beetle. Where man is liable to mistakethe insect is never mistaken. 

This insect botany, a cause of such grievous tribulations, has alwaysimpressed the worker in the fields, who for all that, is a veryindifferent observer. The man who was the first to see his cabbage-plotdevastated by caterpillars made the acquaintance of the Pieris. Sciencecompleted the process, in its desire to serve a useful purpose or merelyto seek truth for truth's sake; and to-day the relations between theinsect and the plant form a collection of records as important from thephilosophical as from the practical, agricultural point of view. Whatis much less familiar to us, because it touches us less nearly, is thezoology of the insect, that is to say, the selection which it makes, to feed its larva, of this or that animal species, to the exclusionof others. The subject is so vast that a volume were not sufficient toexhaust it; besides, data are lacking in the vast majority of cases. It is reserved for a still very distant future to raise this point ofbiology to the level already reached by the question of vegetable diet. It will be enough if I contribute a few observations scattered throughmy writings or my notes. 

What does the Wasp addicted to a predatory life eat, of course in thelarval state? Now, to begin with, we see natural sections which adopt astheir prey different species of one and the same order, in one andthe same group. Thus the Ammophilae hunt exclusively the larvae ofthe night-flying Moths. This taste is shared by the Eumenes, a verydifferent genus. (Cf. "The Mason-wasps" by J. Henri Fabre, translatedby Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter 1. --Translator's Note. ) TheSpheges and Tachytes are addicted to Orthoptera; the Cerceres, apartfrom a few exceptions, are faithful to the Weevil; both the Philanthiand the Palari capture only Hymenoptera; the Pompili specialize inhunting the Spider; the Astata revels in the flavour of Bugs; theBembeces want Flies and nothing else; the Scoliae enjoy the monopoly ofthe Lamellicorn-grubs; the Pelopaei favour the young Epeirae (OrGarden Spiders. Cf. "The Life of the Spider": chapters 9 to 14 andappendix. --Translator's Note. ), the Stizi vary in opinion: of the two inmy neighbourhood, one, S. Ruficornis, fills her larder with Mantes andthe other, S. Tridentatus, fills it with Cicadellae (Cf. "The Lifeof the Grasshopper": chapter 20. --Translator's Note. ); lastly, theCrabronidae (Any Flies akin to the House-fly. --Translator's Note. ). Levytribute upon the rabble of the Muscidae. (Hornets. --Translator's Note. )

Already you see what a magnificent classification of these game-huntersmight be made with a faithfully listed bill of fare. Natural groupsstand out, characterized merely by the identity of their victuals. Itrust that the methodical science of the future will take account ofthese gastronomic laws, to the great relief of the entomological novice, who is too often hampered by the snares of the mouth-parts, the antennaeand the nervures of the wings. I call for a classification in which theinsect's aptitudes, its diet, its industry and its habits shall takeprecedence of the shape of a joint in its antennae. It will come; butwhen?

If from generalities we descend to details, we shall see that the veryspecies may, in many instances, be determined from the nature of itsvictuals. The number of burrows of Philanthus apivorus which I haveinspected since I have been rummaging the hot roadside embankments, toenquire into their population, would seem hyperbolical were I able tostate the figures. (For the Bee-eating Philanthus cf. Chapter 10 of thepresent volume. --Translator's Note. ) They must amount, it seems to me, to thousands. Well, in this multitude of food-stores, whether recent orancient, uncovered for a purpose or encountered by chance, I have notonce, not as often as once, discovered other remains than those of theHive-bee: the imperishable wings, still connected in pairs, the craniumand thorax enveloped in a violet shroud, the winding-sheet which timethrows over these relics. To-day as when I was a beginner, ever so longago; in the north as in the south of the country which I explored;in mountainous regions as on the plains, the Philanthus follows anunvarying diet: she must have the Hive-bee, always the Bee and never anyother, however closely various other kinds of game resemble the Bee inquality. If, therefore, when exploring sunny banks, you find beneath thesoil a small parcel of mutilated Bees, that will be enough to point tothe existence of a local colony of Philanthus apivorus. She aloneknows the recipe for making potted Bee-meat. The Crioceris was but nowteaching us all about the lily family; and here the mildewed body of theBee tells us of the Philanthus and her lair. 

Similarly the female Ephippiger helps us to identify the LanguedocianSphex: her relics, the cymbals and the long sabre, are the unmistakablesign of the cocoon to which they adhere. The black Cricket, with hisred-braided thighs, is the infallible label of the Yellow-wingedSphex; the larva of Oryctes nasicornis tells us of the Garden Scoliaas certainly as the best description; the Cetonia-grub proclaims theTwo-banded Scolia and the larva of the Anoxia announces the InterruptedScolia. 

After these exclusive ones, who disdain to vary their meals, let usmention the eclectics, who, in a group which is generally well-defined, are able to select among different kinds of game appropriate to theirbulk. The Great Cerceris (Cerceris tuberculata. Cf. "The HuntingWasps": chapters 2 and 3. --Translator's Note. ) favours above all Cleonusophthalmicus, one of the largest of our Weevils; but at need she acceptsthe other Cleoni, as well as the kindred genera, provided that thecapture be of an imposing size. Cerceris arenaria (Cf. Idem: chapter1. --Translator's Note. ) extends her hunting-grounds farther afield:any Weevil of average dimensions is to her a welcome capture. TheBuprestis-hunting Cerceris adopts all the Buprestes indiscriminately, so long as they are not beyond her strength. The Crowned Philanthus (P. Coronatus, FAB. ) fills her underground warehouses with Halicti chosenamong the biggest. (Cf. "Bramble-bees and Others" by J. HenriFabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapters 12 to14. --Translator's Note. ) Much smaller than her kinswoman, Philanthusraptor, LEP. , stores away Halicti chosen among the less large species. Any adult Acridian approaching an inch in length suits the White-bandedSphex. The various tidae of the neighbourhood are admitted to the larderof Stizus ruficornis and of the Mantis-hunting Tachytes on the solecondition of being young and tender. The largest of our Bembeces (B. Rostrata, FAB. , and B. Bidentata, VAN DER LIND (For the RostrateBembex and the Two-pronged Bembex, cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapter14. --Translator's Note. )) are eager consumers of Gad-flies. With thesechief dishes they associate relishes levied indifferently from the restof the Fly clan. The Sandy Ammophila (A. Sabulosa, VAN DER LIND (Cf. Idem: chapter 13. --Translator's Note. )) and the Hairy Ammophila(A. Hirsuta, KIRB. ) cram into each burrow a single but corpulentcaterpillar, always of the Moth tribe and varying greatly in coloration, which denotes distinct species. The Silky Ammophila (A. Holosericea, VAN DER LIND. (Cf. Idem: chapter 14. --Translator's Note. )) has a betterassorted diet. She requires for each banqueter three or four items, which include the Measuring-worms, or Loopers, and the caterpillars ofordinary Moths, all of which are equally appreciated. The Brown-wingedSolenius (S. Fascipennis, LEP. ), who elects to dwell in the soft deadwood of old willow-trees, has a marked preference for Virgil's Bee, Eristalis tenax (Actually the Common Drone-fly and somewhat resemblinga Bee in appearance. Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapter 14. --Translator'sNote. ), willingly adding, sometimes as a side-dish, sometimes as theprincipal game, Helophilus pendulus, whose costume is very different. Onthe faith of indistinguishable remains, we must no doubt enter a numberof other Flies in her game-book. The Golden-mouthed Hornet (Crabrochrysostomus, LEP. ) another burrower in old willow-trees, prefers theSyrphi, without distinction of species. (The Syrphi, like the Eristales, resemble Bees through having the abdomen transversely banded withyellow. --Translator's Note. ) The Wandering Solenius (S. Vagus, LEP. (Forthis Fly-hunting insect cf. "Bramble-bees and Others": chapters 1 and3. --Translator's Note. )), an inmate of the dry bramble-stems and of thedwarf-elder, lays under contribution for her larder the genera Syritta, Sphaerophoria, Sarcophaga, Syrphus, Melanophora, Paragus and apparentlymany others. The species which recurs most frequently in my notes isSyritta pipiens. 

Without pursuing this tedious list any farther, we plainly perceive thegeneral result. Each huntress has her characteristic tastes, so muchso that, when we know the bill of fare, we can tell the genus and veryoften the species of the guest, thus proving the proud truth of themaxim, "Tell me what you eat and I will tell you what you are. "

There are some which always need the same prey. The offspring of theLanguedocian Sphex religiously consume the Ephippiger, that family dishso dear to their ancestors and no less dear to their descendants; noinnovation in the ancient usages can tempt them. Others are bettersuited by variety, for reasons connected with flavour or with facilityof supply; but then the selection of the game is kept within fixedlimits. A natural group, a genus, a family, more rarely almost a wholeorder: this is the hunting-ground beyond which poaching is strictlyforbidden. The law is absolute; and one and all scrupulously refrainfrom transgressing it. 

In the place of the Praying Mantis, offer the Mantis-hunting Tachytes anequivalent in the shape of a Locust. She will scorn the morsel, thoughit would seem to be of excellent flavour, seeing that Panzer's Tachytesprefers it to any other form of game. Offer her a young Empusa, whodiffers so widely from the Mantis in shape and colour: she will acceptwithout hesitation and operate before your eyes. Despite its fantasticappearance, the Devilkin is instantly recognized by the Tachytes as aMantid and therefore as game falling within her scope. 

In exchange for her Cleonus, give to the Great Cerceris a Buprestis, thedelight of one of her near kinsfolk. She will have nothing to say to thesumptuous dish. Accept that! She, a Weevil-eater! Never in this world!Present her with a Cleonus of a different species, or any other largeWeevil, of a sort which she has most probably never seen before, sinceit does not figure on the inventory of the provisions in her burrows. This time there is no show of disdain: the victim is seized and stabbedin the regulation manner and forthwith stored away. 

Try to persuade the Hairy Ammophila that Spiders have a nutty flavour, as Lalande asserts; and you will see how coldly your hints are received. (Joseph Jerome Le Francois de Lalande (1732-1807), the astronomer. Even after he had achieved his reputation, he sought means, outside thedomain of science, to make himself talked about and found these inthe display partly of odd tastes, such as that for eating Spiders andcaterpillars, and partly of atheistical opinions. --Translator's Note. )Try merely to convince her that the caterpillar of a Butterfly is asgood to eat as the caterpillar of a Moth. You will not succeed. But, ifyou substitute for her underground larva, which I suppose to be grey, another underground larva striped with black, yellow, rusty-red orany other tint, this change of coloration will not prevent her fromrecognizing, in the substituted dish, a victim to her liking, anequivalent of her Grey Worm. 

So with the rest, so far as I have been able to experiment with them. Each obstinately refuses what is alien to her hunting-preserves, each accepts whatever belongs to them, always provided that the gamesubstituted is much the same in size and development as that whereofthe owner has been deprived. Thus the Tarsal Tachytes, an appreciativeepicure of tender flesh, would not consent to replace her pinch of youngAcridian-grubs with the one big Locust that forms the food of Panzer'sTachytes; and the latter, in her turn, would never exchange her adultAcridian for the other's menu of small fry. The genus and the speciesare the same, but the age differs; and this is enough to decide thequestion of acceptance or refusal. 

When its depredations cover a somewhat extensive group, how doesthe insect manage to recognize the genera, the species composing herallotted portion and to distinguish them from the rest with an assuredvision which the inventory of her burrows proves never to be atfault? Is it the general appearance that guides her? No, for in someBembex-burrows we shall find Sphaerophoriae, those slender, thong-likecreatures, and Bombylii, looking like velvet pincushions; no again, for in the pits of the Silky Ammophila we shall see, side by side, thecaterpillar of the ordinary shape and the Measuring-worm, a living pairof compasses which progresses by alternately opening out and closing;no, once more, for in the storerooms of Stizus ruficornis and theMantis-hunting Tachytes we see stacked beside the Mantis the Empusa, herunrecognizable caricature. 

Is it the colouring? Not at all. There is no lack of instances. Whata variety of hues and metallic reflections, distributed in a host ofdifferent fashions, appear in the Buprestes that are hunted by theCerceris celebrated by Leon Dufour. (Jean Marie Leon Dufour (1780-1865)was an army surgeon who served with distinction in several campaignsand subsequently practised as a doctor in the Landes. He attained greateminence as a naturalist. Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapter 1; also"The Life of the Spider": chapter 1. --Translator's Note. ) A painter'spalette, containing crushed gold, bronze, ruby and amethyst, would findit difficult to rival these sumptuous colours. Nevertheless the Cercerismakes no mistake: all this nation of insects, so indifferently attired, represents to her, as to the entomologist, the nation of the Buprestes. The inventory of the Hornet's larder will include Diptera clad in greyor russet frieze; others are girdled with yellow, flecked with white, adorned with crimson lines; others are steel-blue, ebony black, orcoppery green; and underneath this variety of dissimilar costumes wefind the invariable Fly. 

Let us take a concrete example. Ferrero's Cerceris (C. Ferreri, VAN DERLIND) consumes Weevils. Her burrows are usually lined with Phynotomiand Sitones both an indeterminate grey, and Otiorhynchi, black ortan-coloured. Now I have sometimes happened to unearth from her cellsa collection of veritable jewels which, thanks to their bright metalliclustre, made a most striking contrast with the sombre Otiorhynchus. These were the Rhynchites (R. Betuleti), who roll the vine-leaves intocigars. Equally magnificent, some of them were azure blue, others coppergilt, for the cigar-roller has a twofold colouring. How did the Cercerismanage to recognize in these jewels the Weevil, the near relative ofthe vulgar Phynotomus? Any such encounters probably found her lackingin expert knowledge; her race cannot have handed down to her otherthan very indeterminate propensities, for she does not appear to makefrequent use of the Rhynchites, as is proved by my infrequent discoveryof them amid the mass of my numerous excavations. For the first time, perhaps, passing through a vineyard, she saw the rich Beetle gleaming ona leaf; it was not for her a dish in current consumption, consecrated bythe ancient usages of the family. It was something novel, exceptional, extraordinary. Well, this extraordinary creature is recognized withcertainty as a Weevil and stored away as such. The glittering cuirassof the Rhynchites goes to take its place beside the grey cloak of thePhynotomus. No, it is not the colour that guides the choice. 

Neither is it the shape. Cerceris arenaria hunts any medium-sizedWeevil. I should be putting the reader's patience to too great a test ifI attempted to give in this place a complete inventory of the specimensidentified in her larder. I will mention only two, which my latestsearches around my village have revealed. The Wasp goes hunting onthe holm-oaks of the neighbouring hills the Pubescent Brachyderes (B. Pubescens) and the Acorn-weevil (Balaninus glandium). What havethese two Beetles in common as regards shape? I mean by shape notthe structural details which the classifier examines through hismagnifying-glass, not the delicate features which a Latreille wouldquote when drawing up a technical description, but the general picture, the general outline that impresses itself upon the vision even of anuntrained eye and makes the man who knows nothing of science and aboveall the child, a most perspicacious observer, connect certain animalstogether. 

In this respect, what have the Brachyderes and the Balaninus in commonin the eyes of the townsman, the peasant, the child or the Cerceris?Absolutely nothing. The first has an almost cylindrical figure; thesecond, squat, short and thickset, is conical in front and elliptical, or rather shaped like the ace of hearts, behind. The first is black, strewn with cloudy, mouse-grey spots; the second is yellow ochre. Thehead of the first ends in a sort of snout; the head of the second tapersinto a curved beak, slender as a horse-hair and as long as the rest ofthe body. The Brachyderes has a massive proboscis, cut off short; theBalaninus seems to be smoking an insanely long cigarette-holder. 

Who would think of connecting two creatures so unlike, of calling themby the same name? Outside the professional classifiers, no one woulddare to. The Cerceris, more perspicacious, knows each of them for aWeevil, a quarry with a concentrated nervous system, lending itself tothe surgical feat of her single stroke of the lancet. After obtaining anabundant booty at the cost of the blunt-mouthed insect, with whichshe sometimes stuffs her cellars to the exclusion of any other fare, according to the hazards of the chase, she now suddenly sees before herthe creature with the extravagant proboscis. Accustomed to the first, will she fail to know the second? By no means: at the first glance sherecognizes it as her own; and the cell already furnished with a fewBrachyderes receives its complement of Balanini. If these two speciesare to seek, if the burrows are far from the holm-oaks, the Cerceriswill attack Weevils displaying the greatest variety of genus, species, form and coloration, levying tribute indifferently on Sitones, Cneorhini, Geonemi, Otiorhynchi, Strophosomi and many others. 

In vain do I rack my brains merely to guess at the signs upon whichthe huntress relies as a guide, without going outside one and thesame group, in the midst of such a variety of game; above all by whatcharacteristics she recognizes as a Weevil the strange Acorn Balaninus, the only one among her victims that wears a long pipe-stem. I leave toevolutionism, atavism and other transcendental "isms" the honour andalso the risk of explaining what I humbly recognize as being too farbeyond my grasp. Because the son of the bird-catcher who imitatesthe call of his victims has been fed on roast Robins, Linnets andChaffinches, shall we hastily conclude that this education through thestomach will enable him later, without other initiation than that ofthe spit, to know his way about the ornithological groups and to avoidconfusing them when his turn comes to set his limed twigs? Will thedigesting of a ragout of little birds, however often repeated by himor his ascendants, suffice to make him a finished bird-catcher?The Cerceris has eaten Weevil; her ancestors have all eaten Weevil, religiously. If you see in this the reason that makes the Wasp aWeevil-expert endowed with a perspicacity unrivalled save by that of aprofessional entomologist, why should you refuse to admit that the sameconsequences would follow in the bird-catcher's family?

I hasten to abandon these insoluble problems in order to attack thequestion of provisions from another point of view. Every Hunting Wasp isconfined to a certain genus of game, which is usually strictly limited. She pursues her appointed quarry and regards anything outside it withsuspicion and distaste. The tricks of the experimenter, who drags herprey from under her and flings her another in exchange, the emotions ofthe possessor deprived of her property and immediately recovering it, but under another form, are powerless to put her on the wrong scent. Obstinately she refuses whatever is alien to her portion; instantlyshe accepts whatever forms part of it. Whence arises this insuperablerepugnance for provisions to which the family is unaccustomed? Here wemay appeal to experiment. Let us do so: its dictum is the only one thatcan be trusted. 

The first idea that presents itself and the only one, I think, that canpresent itself is that the larva, the carnivorous nurseling, has itspreferences, or we had better say its exclusive tastes. This kind ofgame suits it; that does not; and the mother provides it with food inconformity with its appetites, which are unchangeable in each species. Here the family dish is the Gad-fly; elsewhere it is the Weevil;elsewhere again it is the Cricket, the Locust and the Praying Mantis. Good in themselves, in a general way, these several victuals may benoxious to a consumer who is not used to them. The larva which dotes onLocust may find caterpillar a detestable fare; and that which revelsin caterpillar may hold Locust in horror. It would be hard for us todiscover in what manner Cricket-flesh and Ephippiger-flesh differas juicy, nourishing foodstuffs; but it does not follow that the twoSphex-wasps addicted to this diet have not very decided opinions on thematter, or that each of them is not filled with the highest esteem forits traditional dish and a profound dislike for the other. There is nodiscussing tastes. 

Moreover, the question of health may well be involved. There is nothingto tell us that the Spider, that treat for the Pompilus, is not poison, or at least unwholesome food, to the Bembex, the lover of Gad-flies;that the Ammophila's succulent caterpillar is not repugnant to thestomach of the Sphex fed upon the dry Acridian. The mother's esteem forone kind of game and her distrust of another would in that case be dueto the likes and dislikes of her larvae; the victualler would regulatethe bill of fare by the gastronomic demands of the victualled. 

This exclusiveness of the carnivorous larva seems all the more probableinasmuch as the larva reared on vegetable food refuses in any wayto lend itself to a change of diet. However pressed by hunger, thecaterpillar of the Spurge Hawk-moth, which browses on the tithymals, will allow itself to starve in front of a cabbage leaf which makes apeerless meal for the Pieris. Its stomach, burned by pungent spices, will find the Crucifera insipid and uneatable, though its piquancy isenhanced by essence of sulphur. The Pieris, on its part, takes goodcare not to touch the tithymals: they would endanger its life. Thecaterpillar of the Death's-head Hawk-moth requires the solanaceousnarcotics, principally the potato, and will have nothing else. All thatis not seasoned with solanin it abhors. And it is not only larvae whosefood is strongly spiced with alkaloids and other poisonous substancesthat refuse any innovation in their food; the others, even those whosediet is least juicy, are invincibly uncompromising. Each has its plantor its group of plants, beyond which nothing is acceptable. 

I remember a late frost which had nipped the buds of the mulberry-treesduring the night, just when the first leaves were out. Next day therewas great excitement among my neighbours: the Silk-worms had hatchedand the food had suddenly failed. The farmers had to wait for the sunto repair the disaster; but how were they to keep the famishing new-borngrubs alive for a few days? They knew me for an expert in plants; bycollecting them as I walked through the fields I had earned the nameof a medical herbalist. With poppy-flowers I prepared an elixir whichcleared the sight; with borage I obtained a syrup which was a sovranremedy for whooping-cough; I distilled camomile; I extracted theessential oil from the wintergreen. In short, botany had won for me thereputation of a quack doctor. After all, that was something. 

The housewives came in search of me from every point of the compass andwith tears in their eyes explained the situation. What could they givetheir Silk-worms while waiting for the mulberry to sprout afresh? It wasa serious matter, well worthy of commiseration. One was counting on herbatch to buy a length of cloth for her daughter, who was on the point ofgetting married; another told me of her plans for a Pig to be fattenedagainst the coming winter; all deplored the handful of crown-pieceswhich, hoarded in the hiding-place in the cupboard, would have affordedhelp in difficult times. And, full of their troubles, they unfolded, before my eyes, a scrap of flannel on which the vermin were swarming:

"Regardas, moussu! Venoun d'espeli; et ren per lour douna! Ah, pecaire!""Look, sir! The frost has come and we've nothing to give them! Oh, whata misfortune!"

Poor people! What a harsh trade is yours: respectable above all others, but of all the most uncertain! You work yourselves to death; and, whenyou have almost reached your goal, a few hours of a cold night, whichcomes upon you suddenly, destroys your harvest. To help these afflictedones seemed to me a very difficult thing. I tried, however, takingbotany as my guide; it suggested to me, as substitutes for the mulberry, the members of closely-related families: the elm, the nettle-tree, thenettle, the pellitory. Their nascent leaves, chopped small, were offeredto the Silk-worms. Other and far less logical attempts were made, inaccordance with the inspiration of the individuals. Nothing came ofthem. To the last specimen, the new-born Silk-worms died of hunger. Myrenown as a quack must have suffered somewhat from this check. Was itreally my fault? No, it was the fault of the Silk-worm, which remainedfaithful to its mulberry leaf. 

It was therefore in nearly the certainty of non-fulfilment that I mademy first attempts at rearing carnivorous larvae with a quarry which didnot conform with the customary regimen. For conscience' sake, more orless perfunctorily, I endeavoured to achieve something that seemed tome bound to end in pitiful failure. Only the Bembex-wasps, which areplentiful in the sand of the neighbouring hills, might still afford me, without too prolonged a search, a few subjects on which to experiment. The Tarsal Bembex furnished me with what I wanted: larvae young enoughto have still before them a long period of feeding and yet sufficientlydeveloped to endure the trials of a removal. 

These larva are exhumed with all the consideration which their delicateskin demands; a number of head of game are likewise unearthed intact, having been recently brought by the mother. They consist of variousDiptera, including some Anthrax-flies. (Cf. "The Life of the Fly":chapters 2 and 4. --Translator's Note. ) An old sardine-box, containing alayer of sifted sand and divided into compartments by paper partitions, receives my charges, who are isolated one from another. These Fly-eatersI propose to turn into Grasshopper-eaters; for their Bembex-diet Iintend to substitute the diet of a Sphex or a Tachytes. To save myselftedious errands devoted to provisioning the refectory, I accept whatgood fortune offers me at the very threshold of my door. A greenLocustid, with a short sabre bent into a reaping-hook, Phaneropterafalcata, is ravaging the corollae of my petunias. Now is the time toindemnify myself for the damage which she has caused me. I pick heryoung, half to three-quarters of an inch in length; and I deprive her ofmovement, without more ado, by crushing her head. In this condition sheis served up to the Bembex-larvae in place of their Flies. 

If the reader has shared my convictions of failure, convictions basedon very logical motives, he will now share my profound surprise. Theimpossible becomes possible, the senseless becomes reasonable andthe expected becomes the opposite of the real. The dish served on theBembeces' table for the first time since Bembeces came into the worldis accepted without any repugnance and consumed with every mark ofsatisfaction. I will here set down the detailed diary of one of myguests; that of the others would only be a repetition, save for a fewvariations. 

2 AUGUST, 1883. --The larva of the Bembex, as I extract it from itsburrow, is about half-developed. Around it I find only somescanty relics of its meals, consisting chiefly of Anthrax-wings, half-diaphanous and half-clouded. The mother would appear to havecompleted the victualling by fresh contributions, added day by day. Igive the nurseling, which is an Anthrax-eater, a young Phaneroptera. The Locustid is attacked without hesitation. This profound change inthe character of its victuals does not seem in the least to disturb thelarva, which bites straight into the rich morsel with its mandibles anddoes not let go until it has exhausted it. Towards evening the drainedcarcase is replaced by another, quite fresh, of the same species butbulkier, measuring over three-quarters of an inch. 

3 AUGUST. --Next day I find the Phaneroptera devoured. Nothing remainsbut the dry integuments, which are not dismembered. The entire contentshave disappeared; the game has been emptied through a large opening madein the belly. A regular Grasshopper-eater could not have operated moreskilfully. I replace the worthless carcase by two small Locustidae. Atfirst the larva does not touch them, being amply sated with the copiousmeal of the day before. In the afternoon, however, one of the items isresolutely attacked. 

4 AUGUST. --I renew the victuals, although those of the day before arenot finished. For the rest, I do the same daily, so that my charge mayconstantly have fresh food at hand. High game might upset its stomach. My Locustidae are not victims at the same time living and inert, operated upon according to the delicate method of the insects thatparalyse their prey; they are corpses, procured by a brutal crushingof the head. With the temperature now prevailing, flesh soon becomestainted; and this compels me frequently to renew the provisions in mysardine-box refectory. Two specimens are served up. One is attacked soonafterwards; and the larva clings to it assiduously. 

5 AUGUST. --The ravenous appetite of the start is becoming assuaged. My supplies may well be too generous; and it might be prudent to try alittle dieting after this Gargantuan good cheer. The mother certainly ismore parsimonious. If all the family were to eat at the same rate asmy guest, she would never be able to keep pace with their demands. Therefore, for reasons of health, this is a day of fasting and vigil. 

6 AUGUST. --Supplies are renewed with two Phaneropterae. One is consumedentirely; the other is bitten into. 

7 August. --To-day's ration is tasted and then abandoned. The larva seemsuneasy. With its pointed mouth it explores the walls of its chamber. This sign denotes the approach of the time for making the cocoon. 

8 AUGUST. --During the night the larva has spun its silken eel-trap. Itis now encrusting it with grains of sand. Then follow, in due time, thenormal phases of the metamorphosis. Fed on Locustidae, a diet unknown toits race, the larva passes through its several stages without any moredifficulty than its brothers and sisters fed on Flies. 

I obtained the same success in offering young Mantes for food. Oneof the larvae thus served would even incline me to believe thatit preferred the new dish to the traditional diet of its race. TwoEristales, or Drone-flies, and a Praying Mantis an inch long composedits daily allowance. The Drone-flies are disdained from the firstmouthful; and the Mantis, already tasted and apparently found excellent, causes the Fly to be completely forgotten. Is this an epicure'spreference, due to the greater juiciness of the flesh? I am not in aposition to say. At all events, the Bembex is not so infatuated with Flyas to refuse to abandon it for other game. 

The failure which I foresaw has proved a magnificent success. It isfairly convincing, is it not? Without the evidence of experiment, whatcan we rely upon? Beneath the ruins of so many theories which appearedto be most solidly erected I should hesitate to admit that two and twomake four if the facts were not before me. My argument had the mosttempting probability on its side, but it had not the truth. As it isalways possible to find reasons after the event in support of an opinionwhich one would not at first admit, I should now argue as follows:

The plant is the great factory in which are elaborated, with mineralmaterials, the organic principles which are the materials of life. Certain products are common to the whole vegetable series, but others, far less numerous, are prepared in special laboratories. Each genus, each species has its trade-mark. Here essential oils are manufactured;here alkaloids; here starches, fatty substances, resins, sugars, acids. Hence result special energies, which do not suit every herbivorousanimal. It assuredly requires a stomach made expressly for the purposeto digest aconite, colchicum, hemlock or henbane; those who have notsuch a stomach could never endure a diet of that sort. Besides, theMithridates fed on poison resist only a single toxin. (Mithridates VI. King of Pontus (d. B. C. 63) is said to have secured immunity from poisonby taking increased doses of it. --Translator's Note. ) The caterpillar ofthe Death's-head Hawk-moth, which delights in the solanin of the potato, would be killed by the acrid principle of the tithymals that form thefood of the Spurge-caterpillar. The herbivorous larvae are thereforeperforce exclusive in their tastes, because different genera ofvegetables possess very different properties. 

With this variety in the products of the plant, the animal, a consumerfar more than a producer, contrasts the uniformity in its own products. The albumen in the egg of the Ostrich or the Chaffinch, the casein inthe milk of the Cow or the Ass, the muscular flesh of the Wolf or theSheep, the Screech-owl or the Field-mouse, the Frog or the Earth-worm:these remain albumen, casein or fibrin, edible if not eaten. Here areno excruciating condiments, no special acridities, no alkaloids fatalto any stomach other than that of the appointed consumer; so that animalfood is not confined to one and the same eater. What does not man eat, from that delicacy of the arctic regions, soup made of Seal's blood anda scrap of Whale-blubber wrapped in a willow-leaf for a vegetable, tothe Chinaman's fried Silk-worm or the Arab's dried Locust? What wouldhe not eat, if he had not to overcome the repugnance dictated by habitrather than by actual necessity? The prey being uniform in its nutritiveprinciples, the carnivorous larva ought to accommodate itself to anysort of game, above all if the new dish be not too great a departurefrom consecrated usage. Thus should I argue, with no less probability onmy side, had I to begin all over again. But, as all our arguments havenot the value of a single fact, I should be forced in the end to resortto experiment. 

I did so the next year, on a larger scale and with a greater variety ofsubjects. I shrink from a continuous narrative of my experiments andof my personal education in this new art, where the failure of oneday taught me the way to succeed on the morrow. It would be long andtedious. Enough if I briefly state my results and the conditions whichmust be fulfilled in order to run the delicate refectory as it should berun. 

And, first, we must not dream of detaching the egg from its natural preyto lay it on another. The egg adheres pretty firmly, by its cephalicpole, to the quarry. To remove it from its place would inevitablyjeopardize its future. I therefore let the larva hatch and acquiresufficient strength to bear the removal without peril. For that matter, my excavations most often provide me with my subjects in the form oflarvae. I adopt for rearing-purposes the larvae that are a quarter to ahalf developed. The others are too young and risky to handle, or too oldand limited to a short period of artificial feeding. 

Secondly, I avoid bulky heads of game, a single one of which wouldsuffice for the whole growing-stage. I have already said and I hererepeat how nice a matter it is to consume a victim which has to keepfresh for a couple of weeks and not to finish dying until it is almostentirely devoured. Death here leaves no corpse; when life is extinct, the body has disappeared, leaving only a shred of skin. Larvae with onlyone large prey have a special art of eating, a dangerous art, in which aclumsy bite would prove fatal. If bitten before the proper time atsuch a point, the victim becomes putrid, which promptly causes deathby poisoning in the consumer. When diverted from its plan of attack, deprived of its clue, the larva is not always able to rediscover thelawful morsels in good time and is killed by the decomposition of itsbadly dissected prey. What will happen if the experimenter gives it agame to which it is not accustomed? Not knowing how to eat it accordingto rule, the larva will kill it; and by next day the victuals will havebecome so much toxic putrescence. I have already told how I found itimpossible to rear the Two-banded Scolia on Oryctes-larvae, fasteneddown to deprive them of movement, or even on Ephippigers, paralysed bythe Languedocian Sphex. In both cases the new diet was accepted withouthesitation, a proof that it suited the nurseling; but in a day or twoputrescence supervened and the Scolia perished on the fetid morsel. Themethod of preserving the Ephippiger, so well known to the Sphex, wasunknown to my boarder; in this was enough to convert a delicious foodinto poison. 

Even so did my other attempts miscarry wretchedly, attempts at feedingwith the single dish consisting of one big head of game to replace thenormal ration. Only one success is recorded in my notebooks, but thatwas so difficult that I would not undertake to obtain it a second time. I succeeded in feeding the larva of the Hairy Ammophila with an adultblack Cricket, who was accepted as readily as the natural game, thecaterpillar. 

To avoid putrefaction of victuals which last overlong and are notconsumed according to the method indispensable to their preservation, Iemploy small game, each piece of which can be finished by the larva at asingle sitting, or at most in a single day. It matters little then thatthe victim is slashed and dismembered at random; decomposition has notime to seize upon its still quivering tissues. This is the procedureof those larvae which gulp down their food, snapping at random withoutdistinguishing one part from another, such as the Bembex-larvae, whichfinish the Fly into which they have bitten before beginning another inthe heap, or the Cerceris-larvae, which drain their Weevils methodicallyone after another. With the first strokes of the mandibles the victimbroached may be mortally wounded. This is no disadvantage: a brief spellsuffices to make use of the corpse, which is saved from putrefaction bybeing promptly consumed. Close beside it, the other victims, quite alivethough motionless, await their respective turns and supply reserves ofvictuals which are always fresh. 

I am too unskilful a butcher to imitate the Wasp and myself to resort toparalysis; moreover, the caustic liquid injected into the nerve-centres, ammonia in particular, would leave traces of smell or flavour whichmight put off my boarders. I am therefore compelled to deprive myinsects of the power of movement by killing them outright. This makesit impracticable to provide a sufficiency of provisions beforehand in asingle supply: while one item of the ration was being consumed therest would spoil. One expedient alone remains to me, one which entailsconstant attendance: it is to renew the provisions each day. When allthese conditions are fulfilled, the success of artificial feeding isstill not without its difficulties; nevertheless, with a little care andabove all plenty of patience, it is almost certain. 

It was thus that I reared the Tarsal Bembex, which eats Anthrax-fliesand other Diptera, on young Locustidae or Mantidae; the Silky Ammophila, whose diet consists chiefly of Measuring-worms, on small Spiders; thepot-making Pelopaeus, a Spider-eater, on tender Acridians; the SandCerceris, a passionate lover of Weevils, on Halicti; the Bee-eatingPhilanthus, which feeds exclusively on Hive-bees, on Eristales and otherFlies. Without succeeding in my final aim, for reasons which I have justexplained, I have seen the Two-banded Scolia feasting greedily on thegrub of the Oryctes, which was substituted for that of the Cetonia, andputting up with an Ephippiger taken from the burrow of the Sphex; I havebeen present at the repast of three Hairy Ammophilae accepting with anexcellent appetite the Cricket that replaced their caterpillar. Oneof them, as I have related, contrived to keep its ration fresh, whichenabled it to reach its full development and to spin its cocoon. 

These examples, the only ones to which my experiments have extendedhitherto, seem to me sufficiently convincing to allow me to concludethat the carnivorous larva does not have exclusive tastes. The rationsupplied to it by the mother, so monotonous, so limited in quality, might be replaced by others equally to its taste. Variety does notdisplease the larva; it does it as much good as uniformity; indeed, itwould be of greater benefit to the race, as we shall see presently. 

CHAPTER 8. A DIG AT THE EVOLUTIONISTS. 

To rear a caterpillar-eater on a skewerful of Spiders is a very innocentthing, unlikely to compromise the security of the State; it is also avery childish thing, as I hasten to confess, and worthy of the schoolboywho, in the mysteries of his desk, seeks as best he may some diversionfrom the fascinations of his exercise in composition. And I should nothave undertaken these investigations, still less should I have spokenthem, not without some satisfaction, if I had not discerned, inthe results obtained in my refectory, a certain philosophic import, involving, so it seemed to me, the evolutionary theory. 

It is assuredly a majestic enterprise, commensurate with man's immenseambitions, to seek to pour the universe into the mould of a formulaand submit every reality to the standard of reason. The geometricianproceeds in this manner: he defines the cone, an ideal conception; thenhe intersects it by a plane. The conic section is submitted to algebra, an obstetrical appliance which brings forth the equation; and behold, entreated now in one direction, now in another, the womb of the formulagives birth to the ellipse, the hyperbola, the parabola, their foci, their radius vectors, their tangents, their normals, their conjugateaxes, their asymptotes and the rest. It is magnificent, so much so thatyou are overcome by enthusiasm, even when you are twenty years old, anage hardly adapted to the austerities of mathematics. It is superb. Youfeel as if you were witnessing the creation of a world. 

As a matter of fact, you are merely observing the same idea fromdifferent points of view, which are illumined by the successive phasesof the transformed formula. All that algebra unfolds for our benefit wascontained in the definition of the cone, but it was contained as agerm, under latent forms which the magic of the calculus converts intoexplicit forms. The gross value which our mind confided to the equationit returns to us, without loss or gain, in coins stamped with every sortof effigy. And here precisely is that which constitutes the inflexiblerigour of the calculus, the luminous certainty before which everycultivated mind is forced to bow. Algebra is the oracle of the absolutetruth, because it reveals nothing but what the mind had hidden init under an amalgam of symbols. We put 2 and 2 into the machine; therollers work and show us 4. That is all. 

But to this calculus, all-powerful so long as it does not leave thedomain of the ideal, let us submit a very modest reality: the fall of agrain of sand, the pendular movement of a hanging body. The machine nolonger works, or does so only by suppressing almost everything that isreal. It must have an ideal material point, an ideal rigid thread, anideal point of suspension; and then the pendular movement is translatedby a formula. But the problem defies all the artifices of analysis ifthe oscillating body is a real body, endowed with volume and friction;if the suspensory thread is a real thread, endowed with weight andflexibility; if the point of support is a real point, endowed withresistance and capable of deflection. So with other problems, howeversimple. The exact reality escapes the formula. 

Yes, it would be a fine thing to put the world into an equation, to assume as the first principle a cell filled with albumen and bytransformation after transformation to discover life under its thousandaspects as the geometrician discovers the ellipse and the other curvesby examining his conic section. Yes, it would be magnificent and enoughto add a cubit to our stature. Alas, how greatly must we abate ourpretensions! The reality is beyond our reach when it is only a matter offollowing a grain of dust in its fall; and we would undertake to ascendthe river of life and trace it to its source! The problem is a morearduous one than that which algebra declines to solve. There areformidable unknown quantities here, more difficult to decipher than theresistances, the deflections and the frictions of the pendulum. Let useliminate them, that we may more easily propound the theory. 

Very well; but then my confidence in this natural history whichrepudiates nature and gives ideal conceptions precedence over realfacts is shaken. So, without seeking the opportunity, which is not mybusiness, I take it when it presents itself; I examine the theory ofevolution from every side; and, as that which I have been assured is themajestic dome of a monument capable of defying the ages appears to me tobe no more than a bladder, I irreverently dig my pin into it. 

Here is the latest dig. Adaptability to a varied diet is an element ofwell-being in the animal, a factor of prime importance for the extensionand predominance of its race in the bitter struggle for life. The mostunfortunate species would be that which depended for its existence on adiet so exclusive that no other could replace it. What would become ofthe Swallow if he required, in order to live, one particular Gnat, asingle Gnat, always the same? When once this Gnat had disappeared--andthe life of the Mosquito is not a long one--the bird would die ofstarvation. Fortunately for himself and for the happiness of our homes, the Swallow gulps them all down indiscriminately, together with a hostof other insects that perform aerial ballets. What would become of theLark were his gizzard able to digest only one seed, invariably the same?When the season for this seed was over--and the season is always a shortone--the haunter of the furrows would perish. 

Is not man's complaisant stomach, adapted to the largest variety ofnourishment, one of his great zoological privileges? He is thus renderedindependent of climates, seasons and latitudes. And the Dog: how isit that of all the domestic animals he alone is able to accompany useverywhere, even on the most arduous expeditions? The Dog again isomnivorous and therefore a cosmopolitan. 

The discovery of a new dish, said Brillat-Savarin, is of greaterimportance to humanity than the discovery of a new planet. The aphorismis nearer to the truth than it appears to be in its humorous form. Certainly the man who was the first to think of crushing wheat, kneadingflour and cooking the paste between two hot stones was more deservingthan the discoverer of the two-hundredth asteroid. The invention ofthe potato is certainly as valuable as that of Neptune, glorious as thelatter was. All that increases our alimentary resources is a discoveryof the first merit. And what is true of man cannot be other than trueof animals. The world belongs to the stomach which is independent ofspecialities. This truth is of the kind that has only to be stated to beproved. 

Let us now return to our insects. If I am to believe the evolutionists, the various game-hunting Wasps are descended from a small number oftypes, which are themselves derived, by an incalculable number ofconcatenations, from a few amoebae, a few monera and lastly from thefirst clot of protoplasm which was casually condensed. Let us not goback as far as that; let us not plunge into the fogs where illusion anderror too easily find a lurking-place. Let us consider a subject withexact limits to it; this is the only way to understand one another. 

The Sphegidae are descended from a single type, which itself was alreadya highly-developed descendant and, like its successors, fed its familyon prey. The close similarity in form, in colouring and, above all, inhabits seem to refer the Tachytes to the same origin. This is ample; letus be satisfied with it. And now please tell me, what did this prototypeof the Sphegidae hunt? Was its diet varied or uniform? If we cannotdecide, let us examine the two cases. 

The diet was varied. I heartily congratulate the first born of theSphex-wasps. She enjoyed the most favourable conditions for leavinga prosperous offspring. Accommodating herself to any kind of prey notdisproportionate to her strength, she avoided the dearth of a givenspecies of game at this or that time and in this or that place; shealways found the wherewithal to endow her family magnificently, they being, for that matter, fairly indifferent to the nature of thevictuals, provided that these consisted of fresh insect-flesh, as thetastes of their cousins many times removed prove to this day. Thismatriarch of the Sphex clan bore within herself the best chances ofassuring victory to her offspring in that pitiless fight for existencewhich eliminates the weakly and incapable and allows none but the strongand industrious to survive; she possessed an aptitude of great valuewhich atavism could not fail to hand down and which her descendants, whoare greatly interested in preserving this magnificent inheritance, musthave permanently adopted and even accentuated from one generation to thenext, from one branch, one offshoot, to another. 

Instead of this unscrupulously omnivorous race, levying booty upon everykind of game, to its very great advantage, what do we see to-day? EachSphex is stupidly limited to an unvarying diet; she hunts only one kindof prey, though her larva accepts them all. One will have nothing butthe Ephippiger and must have a female at that; another will have nothingbut the Cricket. This one hunts the Locust and nothing else; that onethe Mantis and the Empusa. Yet another is addicted to the Grey Worm andanother to the Looper. 

Fools! How great was your mistake in allowing the wise eclecticismof your ancestress, whose relics now repose in the hard mud of somelacustrian stratum, to become obsolete! How much better would thingsbe for you and yours! Abundance is assured; painful and often fruitlesssearches are avoided; the larder is crammed without being subject to theaccidents of time, place and climate. When Ephippigers run short, you fall back upon Crickets; when there are no Crickets, you captureGrasshoppers. But no, my beautiful Sphex-wasps, you were not such foolsas that. If in our days you are each confined to a standing family-dish, it is because your ancestress of the lacustrian schists never taught youvariety. 

Could she have taught you uniformity? Let us suppose that the Sphex ofantiquity, a novice in the gastronomic art, prepared her potted meatswith a single kind of game, no matter what. It was then her descendantswho, subdivided into groups and constituted into so many distinctspecies by the slow travail of the centuries, realized that in additionto the ancestral fare there existed a host of other foods. Traditionbeing abandoned, there was nothing to guide their choice. They thereforetried a bit of everything in the way of insect game, at hap-hazard;and each time the larva, whose tastes alone had to be consulted, wassatisfied with the food supplied, as it is to-day in the refectoryprovisioned by my care. 

Every attempt led to the invention of a new dish, an important event, according to the masters, an inestimable resource for the family, whowere thereby delivered from the menace of death and enabled to thriveover large areas whence the absence or rarity of a uniform game wouldhave excluded it. And, after making use of a host of different viandsin order to attain the culinary variety which is to-day adopted by thewhole of the Sphex nation, lo and behold, each species confines itselfto a single sort of game, outside which every specimen is obstinatelyrefused, not at table, of course, but in the hunting-field! By yourexperiments, from age to age, to have discovered variety in diet; tohave practised it, to the great advantage of your race, and to end upwith uniformity, the cause of decadence; to have known the excellent andto repudiate it for the middling: oh, my Sphex-wasps, it would be stupidif the theory of evolution were correct!

To avoid insulting you and also from respect for common sense, I prefertherefore to believe that, if in our days you confine your hunting toa single kind of game, it is because you have never known any other. Iprefer to believe that your common ancestress, your precursor, whetherher tastes were simple or complex, is a pure chimera, for, if theywere any relationship between you, having tested everything in order toarrive at the actual food of each species, having eaten everything andfound it grateful to the stomach, you would now, from first to last, beunprejudiced consumers, omnivorous progressives. I prefer to believe, inshort, that the theory of evolution is powerless to explain your diet. This is the conclusion drawn from the dining-room installed in my oldsardine-box. 

CHAPTER 9. RATIONING ACCORDING TO SEX. 

Considered in respect of quality, the food has just disclosed ourprofound ignorance of the origins of instinct. Success falls to theblusterers, to the imperturbable dogmatists, from whom anything isaccepted if only they make a little noise. Let us discard this bad habitand admit that really, if we go to the bottom of things, we know nothingabout anything. Scientifically speaking, nature is a riddle towhich human curiosity finds no definite solution. Hypothesis followshypothesis; the theoretical rubbish-heap grows bigger and bigger; andstill truth escapes us. To know how to know nothing might well be thelast word of wisdom. 

Considered in respect of quantity, the food sets us other problems, noless obscure. Those of us who devote ourselves assiduously to studyingthe customs of the game-hunting Wasps soon find our attention arrestedby a very remarkable fact, at the time when our mind, refusing to besatisfied with sweeping generalities, which our indolence too readilymakes shift with, seeks to enter as far as possible into the secret ofthe details, so curious and sometimes so important, as and when theybecome better-known to us. This fact, which has preoccupied me for manya long year, is the variable quantity of the provisions packed into theburrow as food for the larva. 

Each species is scrupulously faithful to the diet of its ancestors. Formore than a quarter of a century I have been exploring my district; andI have never known the diet to vary. To-day, as thirty years ago, eachhuntress must have the game which I first saw her pursuing. But, thoughthe nature of the victuals is constant, the quantity is not so. Inthis respect the difference is so great that he would need to be avery superficial observer who should fail to perceive it on his firstexamination of the burrows. In the beginning, this difference, involvingtwo, three, four times the quantity and more, perplexed me extremely andled me to the conclusions which I reject to-day. 

Here, among the instances most familiar to me, are some examples ofthese variations in the number of victims provided for the larva, victims, of course, very nearly identical in size. In the larder of theYellow-winged Sphex, after the victualling is completed and the houseshut up, two or three Crickets are sometimes found and sometimesfour. Stizus ruficornis (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapter 20; also"Bramble-bees and Others": chapter 9. --Translator's Note. ), establishedin some vein of soft sandstone, places three Praying Mantes in one celland five in another. Of the caskets fashioned by Amedeus' Eumenes (Cf. "The Mason-wasps": chapter 1. --Translator's Note. ) out of clay and bitsof stone, the more richly endowed contain ten small caterpillars, themore poorly furnished five. The Sand Cerceris (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps":chapter 2. --Translator's Note. ) will sometimes provide a ration of eightWeevils and sometimes one of twelve or even more. My notes abound inabstracts of this kind. It is unnecessary for the purpose in hand toquote them all. It will serve our object better if I give the detailedinventory of the Bee-eating Philanthus and of the Mantis-huntingTachytes, considered especially with regard to the quantity of thevictuals. 

The slayer of Hive-bees is frequently in my neighbourhood; and I canobtain from her with the least trouble the greatest number of data. InSeptember I see the bold filibuster flying from clump to clump of thepink heather pillaged by the Bee. The bandit suddenly arrives, hovers, makes her choice and swoops down. The trick is done: the poor worker, with her tongue lolling from her mouth in the death-struggle, is carriedthrough the air to the underground den, which is often a very long wayfrom the spot of the capture. The trickling of earthy refuse, onthe bare banks, or on the slopes of footpaths, instantly reveals thedwellings of the ravisher; and, as the Philanthus always works in fairlypopulous colonies, I am able, by noting the position of the communities, to make sure of fruitful excavations during the forced inactivity ofwinter. 

The sapping is a laborious task, for the galleries run to a great depth. Favier wields the pick and spade; I break the clods which he bringsdown and open the cells, whose contents--cocoons and remnants ofprovisions--I at once pour into a little screw of paper. Sometimes, whenthe larva is not developed, the stack of Bees is intact; more oftenthe victuals have been consumed; but it is always possible to tell thenumber of items provided. The heads, abdomens and thoraxes, emptied oftheir fleshy substance and reduced to the tough outer skin, are easilycounted. If the larva has chewed these overmuch, the wings at least areleft; these are sapless organs which the Philanthus absolutely scorns. They are likewise spared by moisture, putrefaction and time, so muchso that it is no more difficult to take an inventory of a cell severalyears old than one of a recent cell. The essential thing is not tooverlook any of these tiny relics while placing them in the paper bag, amid the thousand incidents of the excavation. The rest of the work willbe done in the study, with the aid of the lens, taking the remains heapby heap; the wings will be separated from the surrounding refuseand counted in sets of four. The result will give the amount of theprovisions. I do not recommend this task to any one who is not endowedwith a good stock of patience, nor above all to any one who does notstart with the conviction that results of great interest are compatiblewith very modest means. 

My inspection covers a total of one hundred and thirty-six cells, whichare divided as in the table below:

 2 cells each containing 1 Bee 52 cells each containing 2 Bees 36 cells each containing 3 Bees 36 cells each containing 4 Bees 9 cells each containing 5 Bees 1 cell containing 6 Bees --- 136

The Mantis-hunting Tachytes consumes its heap of Mantes, the hornyenvelope included, without leaving any remains but scanty crumbs, quiteinsufficient to establish the number of items provided. After themeal is completed, any inventory of the rations becomes impossible. Itherefore have recourse to the cells which still contain the egg or thevery young larva and, above all, to those whose provisions have beeninvaded by a tiny parasitic Gnat, a Tachina (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps":chapters 4 and 16. --Translator's Note. ), which drains the game withoutcutting it up and leaves the whole skin intact. Twenty-five larders, putto the count, give me the following result:

 8 cells each containing 3 items 5 cells each containing 4 items 4 cells each containing 6 items 3 cells each containing 7 items 2 cells each containing 8 items 1 cell containing 9 items 1 cell containing 12 items 1 cell containing 16 items --- 25

The predominant game is the Praying Mantis, green; next comes the GreyMantis, ash-coloured. A few Empusae make up the total. The specimensvary in dimensions within fairly elastic limits: I measure some whichare a third to a half inch long, averaging two-thirds to one inch long, and some which are two-fifths, averaging three quarters. I see prettyplainly that their number increases in proportion as their sizediminishes, as though the Tachytes were seeking to make up for thesmallness of the game by increasing the amount; none the less I find itquite impossible to detect the least equivalence by combining thetwo factors of number and size. If the huntress really estimates theprovisions, she does so very roughly; her household accounts are not atall well kept; each head of game, large or small, must always count asone in her eyes. 

Put on my guard, I look to see whether the honey-gathering Bees have adouble service, like the game-hunting Wasps'. I estimate the amount ofhoneyed paste; I gauge the cups intended to contain it. In many casesthe result resembles the first obtained: the abundance of provisionsvaries from one cell to another. Certain Osmiae (O. Cornuta and O. Tricornis (Cf. "Bramble-bees and Others": passim; and, in particular, chapters 3 to 5. --Translator's Note. )) feed their larvae on a heap ofpollen-dust moistened in the middle with a very little disgorged honey. One of these heaps may be three or four times the size of some otherin the same group of cells. If I detach from its pebble the nest of theMason-bee, the Chalicodoma of the Walls, I see cells of large capacity, sumptuously provisioned; close beside these I see others, of lesscapacity, with victuals parsimoniously allotted. The fact is general;and it is right that we should ask ourselves the reason for these markeddifferences in the relative quantity of foodstuffs and for these unequalrations. 

I at last began to suspect that this is first and foremost a question ofsex. In many Bees and Wasps, indeed, the male and the female differ notonly in certain details of internal or external structure--a point ofview which does not affect the present problem--but also in length andbulk, which depend in a high degree on the quantity of food. 

Let us consider in particular the Bee-eating Philanthus. Compared withthe female, the male is a mere abortion. I find that he is only a thirdto half the size of the other sex, as far as I can judge by sight alone. To obtain exactly the respective quantities of substance, I should needdelicate balances, capable of weighing down to a milligramme. Myclumsy villager's scales, on which potatoes may be weighed to within akilogramme or so, do not permit of this precision. I must therefore relyon the evidence of my sight alone, evidence, for that matter, which isamply sufficient in the present instance. Compared with his mate, theMantis-hunting Tachytes is likewise a pigmy. We are quite astonished tosee him pestering his giantess on the threshold of the burrows. 

We observe differences no less pronounced of size--and consequentlyof volume, mass and weight--in the two sexes of many Osmiae. Thedifferences are less emphatic, but are still on the same side, in theCerceres, the Stizi, the Spheges, the Chalicodomae and many more. It istherefore the rule that the male is smaller than the female. There areof course some exceptions, though not many; and I am far from denyingthem. I will mention certain Anthidia where the male is the larger ofthe two. Nevertheless, in the great majority of cases the female has theadvantage. 

And this is as it should be. It is the mother, the mother alone, wholaboriously digs underground galleries and chambers, kneads the plasterfor coating the cells, builds the dwelling-house of cement and bits ofgrit, bores the wood and divides the burrow into storeys, cuts the disksof leaf which will be joined together to form honey-pots, works upthe resin gathered in drops from the wounds in the pine-trees to buildceilings in the empty spiral of a Snail-shell, hunts the prey, paralysesit and drags it indoors, gathers the pollen-dust, prepares the honey inher crop, stores and mixes the paste. This severe labour, so imperiousand so active, in which the insect's whole life is spent, manifestlydemands a bodily strength which would be quite useless to the male, theamorous trifler. Thus, as a general rule, in the insects which carry onan industry the female is the stronger sex. 

Does this pre-eminence imply more abundant provisions during the larvalstage, when the insect is acquiring the physical growth which it willnot exceed in its future development? Simple reflection supplies theanswer: yes, the aggregate growth has its equivalent in the aggregateprovisions. Though so slight a creature as the male Philanthus finds aration of two Bees sufficient for his needs, the female, twice or thriceas bulky, will consume three to six at least. If the male Tachytesrequires three Mantes, his consort's meal will demand a batch ofsomething like ten. With her comparative corpulence, the female Osmiawill need a heap of paste twice or thrice as great as that of herbrother, the male. All this is obvious; the animal cannot make much outof little. 

Despite this evidence, I was anxious to enquire whether the realitycorresponded with the previsions of the most elementary logic. Instancesare not unknown in which the most sagacious deductions have been foundto disagree with the facts. During the last few years, therefore, I haveprofited by my winter leisure to collect, from spots noted as favourableduring the working-season, a few handfuls of cocoons of variousDigger-wasps, notably of the Bee-eating Philanthus, who has justfurnished us with an inventory of provisions. Surrounding these cocoonsand thrust against the wall of the cell were the remnants of thevictuals--wings, corselets, heads, wing-cases--a count of which enabledme to determine how many head of game had been provided for the larva, now enclosed in its silken abode. I thus obtained the correct listof provisions for each of the huntress' cocoons. On the other hand, Iestimated the quantities of honey, or rather I gauged the receptacles, the cells, whose capacity is proportionate to the mass of the provisionsstored. After making these preparations, registering the cells, cocoonsand rations and putting all my figures in order, I had only to wait forthe hatching-season to determine the sex. 

Well, I found that logic and experiment were in perfect agreement. ThePhilanthus-cocoons with two Bees gave me males, always males; those witha larger ration gave me females. From the Tachytes-cocoons with doubleor treble that ration I obtained females. When fed upon four or fiveNut-weevils, the Sand Cerceris was a male; when fed upon eight or ten, afemale. In short, abundant provisions and spacious cells yield females;scanty provisions and narrow cells yield males. This is a law upon whichI may henceforth rely. 

At the stage which we have now reached a question arises, a question ofmajor importance, touching the most nebulous aspect of embryogeny. How is it that the larva of the Philanthus, to take a particular case, receives three to five Bees from its mother when it is to become afemale and not more than two when it is to become a male? Here thevarious head of game are identical in size, in flavour, in nutritiveproperties. The food-value is precisely in proportion to the numberof items supplied, a helpful detail which eliminates the uncertaintieswherein we might be left by the provision of game of different speciesand varying sizes. How is it, then, that a host of Bees and Wasps, of honey-gatherers as well as huntresses, store a larger or smallerquantity of victuals in their cells according as the nurselings are tobecome females or males?

The provisions are stored before the eggs are laid; and these provisionsare measured by the needs of the sex of an egg still inside themother's body. If the egg-laying were to precede the rationing, whichoccasionally takes place, as with the Odyneri (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps":chapters 2 and 8. --Translator's Note. ), for example, we might imaginethat the gravid mother enquires into the sex of the egg, recognizes itand stacks victuals accordingly. But, whether destined to become a maleor a female, the egg is always the same; the differences--and I have nodoubt that there are differences--are in the domain of the infinitelysubtle, the mysterious, imperceptible even to the most practisedembryogenist. What can a poor insect see--in the absolute darkness ofits burrow, moreover--where science armed with optical instruments hasnot yet succeeded in seeing anything? And besides, even were itmore discerning than we are in these genetic obscurities, its visualdiscernment would have nothing whereupon to practice. As I have said, the egg is laid only when the corresponding provisions are stored. Themeal is prepared before the larva which is to eat it has come into theworld. The supply is generously calculated by the needs of the comingcreature; the dining-room is built large or small to contain a giant ora dwarf still germinating in the ovarian ducts. The mother, therefore, knows the sex of her egg beforehand. 

A strange conclusion, which plays havoc with our current notions! Thelogic of the facts leads us to it directly. And yet it seems so absurdthat, before accepting it, we seek to escape the predicament by anotherabsurdity. We wonder whether the quantity of food may not decide thefate of the egg, originally sexless. Given more food and more room, the egg would become a female; given less food and less room, it wouldbecome a male. The mother, obeying her instincts, would store more foodin this case and less in that; she would build now a large and nowa small cell; and the future of the egg would be determined by theconditions of food and shelter. 

Let us make every test, every experiment, down to the absurd: the crudeabsurdity of the moment has sometimes proved to be the truth of themorrow. Besides, the well-known story of the Hive-bee should make uswary of rejecting paradoxical suppositions. Is it not by increasing thesize of the cell, by modifying the quality and quantity of the food, that the population of a hive transforms a worker larva into a female orroyal larva? It is true that the sex remains the same, since the workersare only incompletely developed females. The change is none the lessmiraculous, so much so that it is almost lawful to enquire whether thetransformation may not go further, turning a male, that poor abortion, into a sturdy female by means of a plentiful diet. Let us thereforeresort to experiment. 

I have at hand some long bits of reed in the hollow of which an Osmia, the Three-horned Osmia, has stacked her cells, bounded by earthenpartitions. I have related elsewhere (Cf. "Bramble-bees and Others":chapters 2 to 5. --Translator's Note. ) how I obtain as many of thesenests as I could wish for. When the reed is split lengthwise, the cellscome into view, together with their provisions, the egg lying on thepaste, or even the budding larva. Observations multiplied ad nauseamhave taught me where to find the males and where the females in thisapiary. The males occupy the fore-part of the reed, the end next to theopening; the females are at the bottom, next to the knot which servesas a natural stopper to the channel. For the rest, the quantity of theprovisions in itself points to the sex: for the females it is twice orthrice as great as for the males. 

In the scantily-provided cells, I double or treble the ration with foodtaken from other cells; in the cells which are plentifully supplied, Ireduce the portion to a half or a third. Controls are left: that is tosay, some cells remain untouched, with their provisions as I found them, both in the part which is abundantly provided and in that which is moremeagrely rationed. The two halves of the reed are then restored to theiroriginal position and firmly bound with a few turns of wire. We shallsee, when the time comes, whether these changes increasing or decreasingthe victuals have determined the sex. 

Here is the result: the cells which at first were sparingly provided, but whose supplies were doubled or trebled by my artifice, containmales, as foretold by the original amount of victuals. The surplus whichI added has not completely disappeared, far from it: the larva has hadmore than it needed for its evolution as a male; and, being unable toconsume the whole of its copious provisions, it has spun its cocoon inthe midst of the remaining pollen-dust. These males, so richly supplied, are of handsome but not exaggerated proportions; you can see that theadditional food has profited them to some small extent. 

The cells with abundant provisions, reduced to a half or a third bymy intervention, contain cocoons as small as the male cocoons, pale, translucent and limp, whereas the normal cocoons are dark-brown, opaqueand firm to the touch. These, we perceive at once, are the work ofstarved, anaemic weavers, who, failing to satisfy their appetite andhaving eaten the last grain of pollen, have, before dying, done theirbest with their poor little drop of silk. Those cocoons which correspondwith the smallest allowance of food contain only a dead and shrivelledlarva; others, in whose case the provisions were less markedlydecreased, contain females in the adult form, but of very diminutivesize, comparable with that of the males, or even smaller. As for thecontrols which I was careful to leave, they confirm the fact that I hadmales in the part near the orifice of the reed and females in the partnear the knot closing the channel. 

Is this enough to dispose of the very improbable supposition that thedetermination of the sex depends on the quantity of food? Strictlyspeaking, there is still one door open to doubt. It may be said thatexperiment, with its artifices, does not succeed in realizing thedelicate natural conditions. To make short work of all objections, Icannot do better than have recourse to facts in which the experimenter'shand has not intervened. The parasites will supply us with these facts;they will show us how alien the quantity and even the quality of thefood are from either specific or sexual characters. The subjectof enquiry thus becomes double, instead of single as it was when Iplundered one cell in my split reeds to enrich another. Let us followthis double current for a little while. 

An Ammophila, the Silky Ammophila (Cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapter13. --Translator's Note. ), which feeds on Looper caterpillars (Known alsoas Measuring-worms, Inchworms, Spanworms and Surveyors: the caterpillarsof the Geometrid Moths. --Translator's Note. ), has just been reared inmy refectory on Spiders. Replete to the regulation point, it spins itscocoon. What will emerge from this? If the reader expects to see anymodifications, caused by a diet which the species, left to itself, hadnever effected, let him be undeceived and that quickly. The Ammophilafed on Spiders is precisely the same as the Ammophila fed oncaterpillars, just as man fed on rice is the same as man fed on wheat. In vain I pass my lens over the product of my art: I cannot distinguishit from the natural product; and I defy the most meticulous entomologistto perceive any difference between the two. It is the same with my otherboarders who have had their diet altered. 

I see the objection coming. The differences may be inappreciable, for myexperiments touch only a first rung of the ladder. What would happenif the ladder were prolonged, if the offspring of the Ammophila fedon Spiders were given the same food generation after generation? Thesedifferences, at first imperceptible, might become accentuated until theygrew into distinct specific characters; the habits and instincts mightalso change; and in the end the caterpillar-huntress might become aSpider-huntress, with a shape of her own. A species would be created, for, among the factors at work in the transformation of animals, themost important of all is incontestably the type of food, the natureof the thing wherewith the animal builds itself. All this is much moreimportant than the trivialities which Darwin relies upon. 

To create a species is magnificent in theory, so that we find ourselvesregretting that the experimenter is not able to continue the attempt. But, once the Ammophila has flown out of the laboratory to slake herthirst at the flowers in the neighbourhood, just to try to find heragain and induce her to entrust you with her eggs, which you would rearin the refectory, to increase the taste for Spiders from generationto generation! Merely to dream of it were madness. Shall we, in ourhelplessness, admit ourselves beaten by the evolutionary effects ofdiet? Not a bit of it! One experiment--and you could not wish for a moredecisive--is continually in progress, apart from all artifices, on anenormous scale. It is brought to our notice by the parasites. 

They must, we are told, have acquired the habit of living on othersin order to save themselves work and to lead an easier life. The poorwretches have made a sorry blunder. Their life is of the hardest. If afew establish themselves comfortably, dearth and dire famine await mostof the rest. There are some--look at certain of the Oil-beetles--exposedto so many chances of destruction that, to save one, they are obliged toprocreate a thousand. They seldom enjoy a free meal. Some stray intothe houses of hosts whose victuals do not suit them; others find onlya ration quite insufficient for their needs; others--and these are verynumerous--find nothing at all. What misadventures, what disappointmentsdo these needy creatures suffer, unaccustomed as they are to work! Letme relate some of their misfortunes, gleaned at random. 

The Girdled Dioxys (D. Cincta) loves the ample honey-stores of theChalicodoma of the Pebbles. There she finds abundant food, so abundantthat she cannot eat it all. I have already passed censure on this waste. (Cf. "The Mason-bees": chapter 10. --Translator's Note. ) Now a littleOsmia (O. Cyanoxantha, Perez) makes her nest in the Mason's desertedcells; and this Bee, a victim of her ill-omened dwelling, also harboursthe Dioxys. This is a manifest error on the parasite's part. The nest ofthe Chalicodoma, the hemisphere of mortar on its pebble, is what she islooking for, to confide her eggs to it. But the nest is now occupiedby a stranger, by the Osmia, a circumstance unknown to the Dioxys, whocomes stealing up to lay her egg in the mother's absence. The domeis familiar to her. She could not know it better if she had built itherself. Here she was born; here is what her family wants. Moreover, there is nothing to arouse her suspicions: the outside of the home hasnot changed its appearance in any respect; the stopper of gravel andgreen putty, which later will form a violent contrast with its whitefront, is not yet constructed. She goes in and sees a heap of honey. To her thinking this can be nothing but the Chalicodoma's portion. Weourselves would be beguiled, in the Osmia's absence. She lays her eggsin this deceptive cell. 

Her mistake, which is easy to understand, does not in any way detractfrom her great talents as a parasite, but it is a serious matter forthe future larva. The Osmia, in fact, in view of her small dimensions, collects but a very scanty store of food: a little loaf of pollen andhoney, hardly the size of an average pea. Such a ration is insufficientfor the Dioxys. I have described her as a waster of food when her larvais established, according to custom, in the cell of the Mason-bee. Thisdescription no longer applies; not in the very least. Inadvertentlystraying to the Osmia's table, the larva has no excuse for turning upits nose; it does not leave part of the food to go bad; it eats up thelot without having had enough. 

This famine-stricken refectory can give us nothing but an abortion. Asa matter of fact, the Dioxys subjected to this niggardly test does notdie, for the parasite must have a tough constitution to enable it toface the disastrous hazards which lie in wait for it; but it attainsbarely half its ordinary dimensions, which means one-eighth of itsnormal bulk. To see it thus diminished, we are surprised at itstenacious vitality, which enables it to reach the adult form in spiteof the extreme deficiency of food. Meanwhile, this adult is stillthe Dioxys; there is no change of any kind in her shape or colouring. Moreover, the two sexes are represented; this family of pigmies has itsmales and females. Dearth and the farinaceous mess in the Osmia's cellhas had no more influence over species or sex than abundance and flowinghoney in the Chalicodoma's home. 

The same may be said of the Spotted Sapyga (S. Punctata (A parasiticWasp. Cf. "The Mason-bees": chapters 9 and 10. --Translator's Note. )), which, a parasite of the Three-pronged Osmia, a denizen of the bramble, and of the Golden Osmia, an occupant of empty Snail-shells, strays intothe house of the Tiny Osmia (O. Parvula (This bee makes her home inthe brambles. Cf. "Bramble-dwellers and Others": chapters 2 and3. --Translator's Note. )), where, for lack of sufficient food, it doesnot attain half its normal size. 

A Leucopsis (Cf. "The Mason-bees": chapter 11. --Translator's Note. )inserts her eggs through the cement wall of our three Chalicodomae. Iknow her under two names. When she comes from the Chalicodoma of thePebbles or Walls, whose opulent larva saturates her with food, shedeserves by her large size the name of Leucopsis gigas, which Fabriciusbestows upon her; when she comes from the Chalicodoma of the Sheds, shedeserves no more than the name of L. Grandis, which is all thatKlug grants her. With a smaller ration "the giant" is to some degreediminished and becomes no more than "the large. " When she comes fromthe Chalicodoma of the Shrubs, she is smaller still; and, if somenomenclator were to seek to describe her, she would no longer deserveto be called more than middling. From dimension 2 she has descended todimension 1 without ceasing to be the same insect, despite the changeof diet; and at the same time both sexes are present in the threenurselings, despite the variation in the quantity of victuals. 

I obtain Anthrax sinuata ("The Mason-bees": chapters 8, 10 and11. --Translator's Note. ) from various bees' nests. When she issues fromthe cocoons of the Three-horned Osmia, especially the female cocoons, she attains the greatest development that I know of. When she issuesfrom the cocoons of the Blue Osmia (O. Cyanea, KIRB. ), she is sometimeshardly one-third the length which the other Osmia gives her. Andwe still have the two sexes--that goes without saying--and stillidentically the same species. 

Two Anthidia, working in resin, A. Septemdentatum, LATR. , and A. Bellicosum, LEP. (For these Resin-bees, cf. "Bramble-bees and Others":chapter 10. --Translator's Note. ), establish their domicile in oldSnail-shells. The second harbours the Burnt Zonitis (Z. Proeusta (Cf. "The Glow-worm and Other Beetles": chapter 6. --Translator's Note. )). Amply nourished this Meloe then acquires her normal size, the size inwhich she usually figures in the collections. A like prosperity awaitsher when she usurps the provisions of Megachile sericans. (For thisBee, the Silky Leaf-cutter, cf. "Bramble-bees and Others": chapter8. --Translator's Note. ) But the imprudent creature sometimes allowsitself to be carried away to the meagre table of the smallest ofour Anthidia (A. Scapulare, LATR. (A Cotton-bee, cf. Idem: chapter9. --Translator's Note. )), who makes her nests in dry bramble-stems. Thescanty fare makes a wretched dwarf of the offspring belonging to eithersex, without depriving them of any of their racial features. We stillsee the Burnt Zonitis, with the distinctive sign of the species: thesinged patch at the tip of the wing-cases. 

And the other Meloidae--Cantharides, Cerocomae, Mylabres (For theseBlister-beetles or Oil-beetles, cf. "The Glow-worm and Other Beetles":chapter 6. --Translator's Note. )--to what inequalities of size arethey not subject, irrespective of sex! There are some--and they arenumerous--whose dimensions fall to a half, a third, a quarter of theregular dimensions. Among these dwarfs, these misbegotten ones, thesevictims of atrophy, there are females as well as males; and theirsmallness by no means cools their amorous ardour. These needy creatures, I repeat, have a hard life of it. Whence do they come, these diminutiveBeetles, if not from dining-rooms insufficiently supplied for theirneeds? Their parasitical habits expose them to harsh vicissitudes. Nomatter: in dearth as well as in abundance the two sexes appear and thespecific features remain unchanged. 

It is unnecessary to linger longer over this subject. The demonstrationis completed. The parasites tell us that changes in the quantity andquality of food do not lead to any transformation of species. Fedupon the larva of the Three-horned Osmia or of the Blue Osmia, Anthraxsinuata, whether of handsome proportions or a dwarf, is stillAnthrax sinuata; fed upon the allowance of the Anthidium of the emptySnail-shells, the Anthidium of the brambles, the Megachile or doubtlessmany others, the Burnt Zonitis is still the Burnt Zonitis. Yet variationof diet ought to be a very potential factor in the problem of progresstowards another form. Is not the world of living creatures ruled by thestomach? And the value of this factor is unity, changing nothing in theproduct. 

The same parasites tell us--and this is the chief object of mydigression--that excess or deficiency of nutriment does not determinethe sex. So we are once more confronted with the strange proposition, which is now more positive than ever, that the insect which amassesprovisions in proportion to the needs of the egg about to be laid knowsbeforehand what the sex of this egg will be. Perhaps the reality is evenmore paradoxical still. I shall return to the subject after discussingthe Osmiae, who are very weighty witnesses in this grave affair. (Cf. "Bramble-bees and Others": chapters 3 to 5. The student is recommendedto read these three chapters in conjunction with the present chapter, to which they form a sequel, with that on the Osmiae (chapter 2 of theabove volume) intervening. --Translator's Note. )

CHAPTER 10. THE BEE-EATING PHILANTHUS. 

To meet among the Wasps, those eager lovers of flowers, a species thatgoes hunting more or less on its own account is certainly a notableevent. That the larder of the grub should be provided with prey isnatural enough; but that the provider, whose diet is honey, shouldherself make use of the captives is anything but easy to understand. Weare quite astonished to see a nectar-drinker become a blood-drinker. Butour astonishment ceases if we consider things more closely. The doublemethod of feeding is more apparent than real: the crop which fillsitself with sugary liquid does not gorge itself with game. The Odynerus, when digging into the body of her prey, does not touch the flesh, a fareabsolutely scorned as contrary to her tastes; she satisfies herself withlapping up the defensive drop which the grub (The Larva of Chrysomelapopuli, the Poplar Leaf-beetle. --Translator's Note. ) distils at theend of its intestine. This fluid no doubt represents to her somehighly-flavoured beverage with which she seasons from time to timethe staple diet fetched from the drinking-bar of the flowers, someappetizing condiment or perhaps--who knows?--some substitute for honey. Though the qualities of the delicacy escape me, I at least perceive thatthe Odynerus does not covet anything else. Once its jar is emptied, the larva is flung aside as worthless offal, a certain sign of anon-carnivorous appetite. Under these conditions, the persecutor of theChrysomela ceases to surprise us by indulging in the crying abuse of adouble diet. 

We even begin to wonder whether other species may not be inclined toderive a direct advantage from the hunting imposed upon them for themaintenance of the family. The Odynerus' method of work, the splittingopen of the anal still-room, is too far removed from the obviousprocedure to have many imitators; it is a secondary detail andimpracticable with a different kind of game. But there is sure to be acertain variety in the direct means of utilizing the capture. Why, forinstance, when the victim paralysed by the sting contains a deliciousbroth in some part of its stomach, should the huntress scruple toviolate her dying prey and force it to disgorge without injuringthe quality of the provisions? There must be those who rob the dead, attracted not by the flesh but by the exquisite contents of the crop. 

In point of fact, there are; and they are even numerous. We maymention in the first rank the Wasp that hunts Hive-bees, the Bee-eatingPhilanthus (P. Apivorus, LATR. ). I long suspected her of perpetratingthese acts of brigandage on her own behalf, having often surprised hergluttonously licking the Bee's honey-smeared mouth; I had an inklingthat she did not always hunt solely for the benefit of her larvae. Thesuspicion deserved to be confirmed by experiment. Also, I was engagedin another investigation, which might easily be conducted simultaneouslywith the one suggested: I wanted to study, with all the leisure of workdone at home, the operating-methods employed by the different HuntingWasps. I therefore made use, for the Philanthus, of the process ofexperimenting under glass which I roughly outlined when speaking of theOdynerus. It was even the Bee-huntress who gave me my first data in thisdirection. She responded to my wishes with such zeal that I believedmyself to possess an unequalled means of observing again and again, evento excess, what is so difficult to achieve on the actual spot. Alas, the first-fruits of my acquaintance with the Philanthus promised me morethan the future held in store for me! But we will not anticipate; andwe will place the huntress and her game together under the bell-glass. I recommend this experiment to whoever would wish to see with whatperfection in the art of attack and defence a Hunting Wasp wields thestiletto. There is no uncertainty here as to the result, there is nolong wait: the moment when she catches sight of the prey in an attitudefavourable to her designs, the bandit rushes forward and kills. I willdescribe how things happen. 

I place under the bell-glass a Philanthus and two or three Hive-bees. The prisoners climb the glass wall, towards the light; they go up, comedown again and try to get out; the vertical polished surface is to thema practicable floor. They soon quiet down; and the spoiler begins tonotice her surroundings. The antennae are pointed forwards, enquiringly;the hind-legs are drawn up with a little quiver of greed in the tarsi;the head turns to right and left and follows the evolutions of the Beesagainst the glass. The miscreant's posture now becomes a striking pieceof acting: you can read in it the fierce longings of the creature lyingin ambush, the crafty waiting for the moment to commit the crime. Thechoice is made: the Philanthus pounces on her prey. 

Turn by turn tumbling over and tumbled, the two insects roll upon theground. The tumult soon abates; and the murderess prepares to strangleher capture. I see her adopt two methods. In the first, which is moreusual than the other, the Bee is lying on her back; and the Philanthus, belly to belly with her, grips her with her six legs while snappingat her neck with her mandibles. The abdomen is now curved forward frombehind, along the prostrate victim, feels with its tip, gropes abouta little and ends by reaching the under part of the neck. The stingenters, lingers for a moment in the wound; and all is over. Withoutreleasing her prey, which is still tightly clasped, the murderessrestores her abdomen to its normal position and keeps it pressed againstthe Bee's. 

In the second method, the Philanthus operates standing. Resting on herhind-legs and on the tips of her unfurled wings, she proudly occupiesan erect attitude, with the Bee held facing her between her fourfront legs. To give the poor thing a position suited to receive thedagger-stroke, she turns her round and back again with the roughclumsiness of a child handling its doll. Her pose is magnificent to lookat. Solidly planted on her sustaining tripod, the two hinder tarsi andthe tips of the wings, she at last crooks her abdomen upwards andagain stings the Bee under the chin. The originality of the Philanthus'posture at the moment of the murder surpasses the anything that I havehitherto seen. 

The desire for knowledge in natural history has its cruel side. To learnprecisely the point attacked by the sting and to make myselfthoroughly acquainted with the horrible talent of the murderess, Ihave investigated more assassinations under glass than I would dare toconfess. Without a single exception, I have always seen the Bee stungin the throat. In the preparations for the final blow, the tip of theabdomen may well come to rest on this or that point of the thoraxor abdomen; but it does not stop at any of these, nor is the stingunsheathed, as can readily be ascertained. Indeed, once the contest isopened, the Philanthus becomes so entirely absorbed in her operationthat I can remove the cover and follow every vicissitude of the tragedywith my pocket-lens. 

After recognizing the invariable position of the wound, I bend back andopen the articulation of the head. I see under the Bee's chin a whitespot, measuring hardly a twenty-fifth of an inch square, where the hornyinteguments are lacking and the delicate skin is shown uncovered. Itis here, always here, in this tiny defect in the armour, that the stingenters. Why is this spot stabbed rather than another? Can it be the onlyvulnerable point, which would necessarily determine the thrust of thelancet? Should any one entertain so petty a thought, I advise him toopen the articulation of the corselet, behind the first pair of legs. He will there see what I see: the bare skin, quite as fine as under theneck, but covering a much larger surface. The horny breast-plate offersno wider breach. If the Philanthus were guided in her operation solelyby the question of vulnerability, it is here certainly that she ought tostrike, instead of persistently seeking the narrow slit in the neck. Theweapon would not need to hesitate and grope; it would obtain admissioninto the tissues off-hand. No, the stroke of the lancet is not forcedupon it mechanically: the assassin scorns the large defect in thecorselet and prefers the place under the chin, for eminently logicalreasons which we will now attempt to unravel. 

Immediately after the operation I take the Bee from the Philanthus. Whatstrikes me is the sudden inertia of the antennae and the mouth-parts, organs which in the victims of most of the Hunting Wasps continue tomove for so long a time. There are here not any of the signs of life towhich I have been accustomed in my old studies of insect paralysis: theantennary threads waving slowly to and fro, the palpi quivering, themandibles opening and closing for days, weeks and months on end. Atmost, the tarsi tremble for a minute or two; that constitutes the wholedeath-struggle. Complete immobility ensues. The inference drawn fromthis sudden inertia is inevitable: the Wasp has stabbed the cervicalganglia. Hence the immediate cessation of movement in all the organs ofthe head; hence the real instead of the apparent death of the Bee. ThePhilanthus is a butcher and not a paralyser. 

This is one step gained. The murderess chooses the under part ofthe chin as the point attacked in order to strike the principalnerve-centres, the cephalic ganglia, and thus to do away with lifeat one blow. When this vital seat is poisoned by the toxin, deathis instantaneous. Had the Philanthus' object been simply to effectparalysis, the suppression of locomotor movements, she would have drivenher weapon into the flaw in the corselet, as the Cerceres do with theWeevils, who are much more powerfully armoured than the Bee. But herintention is to kill outright, as we shall see presently; she wants acorpse, not a paralytic patient. This being so, we must agree that heroperating-method is supremely well-inspired: our human murderers couldachieve nothing more thorough or immediate. 

We must also agree that her attitude when attacking, an attitudevery different from that of the paralysers, is infallible in itsdeath-dealing efficacy. Whether she deliver her thrust lying on theground or standing erect, she holds the Bee in front of her, breast tobreast, head to head. In this posture all that she need do is to curveher abdomen in order to reach the gap in the neck and plunge the stingwith an upward slant into her captive's head. Suppose the two insectsto be gripping each other in the reverse attitude, imagine the dirkto slant slightly in the opposite direction; the results would beabsolutely different and the sting, driven downwards, would piercethe first thoracic ganglion and produce merely partial paralysis. Whatskill, to sacrifice a wretched Bee! In what fencing-school was theslayer taught her terrible upward blow under the chin?

If she learnt it, how is it that her victim, such a past mistress inarchitecture, such an adept in socialistic polity, has so far learnt nocorresponding trick to serve in her own defence? She is as powerfulas her executioner; like the other, she carries a rapier, an even moreformidable one and more painful, at least to my fingers. For centuriesand centuries the Philanthus has been storing her away in her cellars;and the poor innocent meekly submits, without being taught by the annualextermination of her race how to deliver herself from the aggressor by awell-aimed thrust. I despair of ever understanding how the assailant hasacquired her talent for inflicting sudden death, when the assailed, who is better-armed and quite as strong, wields her dagger anyhow andtherefore ineffectively. If the one has learnt by prolonged practicein attack, the other should also have learnt by prolonged practice indefence, for attack and defence possess a like merit in the fight forlife. Among the theorists of the day, is there one clear-sighted enoughto solve the riddle for us?

If so, I will take the opportunity of putting to him a second problemthat puzzles me: the carelessness, nay, more, the stupidity of the Beein the presence of the Philanthus. You would be inclined to think thatthe victim of persecution, learning gradually from the misfortunessuffered by her family, would show distress at the ravisher's approachand at least attempt to escape. In my cages I see nothing of the sort. Once the first excitement due to incarceration under the bell-glass orthe wire-gauze cover has passed, the Bee seems hardly to trouble abouther formidable neighbour. I see one side by side with the Philanthus onthe same honeyed thistle-head: assassin and future victim are drinkingfrom the same flask. I see some one who comes heedlessly to enquire whothat stranger can be, crouching in wait on the table. When the spoilermakes her rush, it is usually at a Bee who meets her half-way, and, soto speak, flings herself into her clutches, either thoughtlessly or outof curiosity. There is no wild terror, no sign of anxiety, no tendencyto make off. How comes it that the experience of the ages, thatexperience which, we are told, teaches the animal so many things, hasnot taught the Bee the first element of apiarian wisdom: a deep-seatedhorror of the Philanthus? Can the poor wretch take comfort by relying onher trusty dagger? But she yields to none in her ignorance of fencing;she stabs without method, at random. However, let us watch her at thesupreme moment of the killing. 

When the ravisher makes play with her sting, the Bee does the same withhers and furiously. I see the needle now moving this way or that wayin space, now slipping, violently curved, along the murderess' convexsurface. These sword-thrusts have no serious results. The mannerin which the two combatants are at grips has this effect, that thePhilanthus' abdomen is inside and the Bee's outside. The latter's stingtherefore finds under its point only the dorsal surface of the foe, a convex, slippery surface and so well armoured as to be almostinvulnerable. There is here no breach into which the weapon can slipby accident; and so the operation is conducted with absolute surgicalsafety, notwithstanding the indignant protests of the patient. 

After the fatal stroke has been administered, the murderess remains fora long time belly to belly with the dead, for reasons which we shallshortly perceive. There may now be some danger for the Philanthus. Theattitude of attack and defence is abandoned; and the ventral surface, more vulnerable than the other, is within reach of the sting. Now thedeceased still retains the reflex use of her weapon for a few minutes, as I learnt to my cost. Having taken the Bee too early from thebandit and handling her without suspecting any risk, I received a mostdownright sting. Then how does the Philanthus, in her long contact withthe butchered Bee, manage to protect herself against that lancet, whichis bent upon avenging the murder? Is there any chance of a commutationof the death-penalty? Can an accident ever happen in the Bee's favour?Perhaps. 

One incident strengthens my faith in this perhaps. I had placed fourBees and as many Eristales under the bell-glass at the same time, withthe object of estimating the Philanthus' entomological knowledge in thematter of the distinction of species. Reciprocal quarrels break outin the mixed colony. Suddenly, in the midst of the fray, the killer iskilled. She tumbles over on her back, she waves her legs; she is dead. Who struck the blow? It was certainly not the excitable but pacificDrone-fly; it was one of the Bees, who struck home by accident duringthe thick of the fight. Where and how? I cannot tell. The incidentoccurs only once in my notes, but it throws a light upon the question. The Bee is capable of withstanding her adversary; she can then and thereslay her would-be slayer with a thrust of the sting. That she doesnot defend herself to better purpose, when she falls into her enemy'sclutches, is due to her ignorance of fencing and not to the weaknessof her weapon. And here again arises, more insistently than before, thequestion which I asked above: how is it that the Philanthus has learntfor offensive what the Bee has not learnt for defensive purposes? I seebut one answer to the difficulty: the one knows without having learnt;the other does not know because she is incapable of learning. 

Let us now consider the motives that induce the Philanthus to kill herBee instead of paralysing her. When the crime has been perpetrated, she manipulates her dead victim without letting go of it for amoment, holding its belly pressed against her own six legs. I seeher recklessly, very recklessly, rooting with her mandibles in thearticulation of the neck, sometimes also in the larger articulation ofthe corselet, behind the first pair of legs, an articulation of whosedelicate membrane she is perfectly well aware, even though, when usingher sting, she did not take advantage of this point, which is the mostreadily accessible of all. I see her rough-handling the Bee's belly, squeezing it against her own abdomen, crushing it in the press. Therecklessness of the treatment is striking; it shows that there is noneed for keeping up precautions. The Bee is a corpse; and a littlehustling here and there will not deteriorate its quality, provided therebe no effusion of blood. In point of fact, however rough the handling, Ifail to discover the slightest wound. 

These various manipulations, especially the squeezing of the neck, atonce bring about the desired results: the honey in the crop mountsto the Bee's throat. I see the tiny drops spurt out, lapped up by theglutton as soon as they appear. The bandit greedily, over and overagain, takes the dead insect's lolling, sugared tongue into her mouth;then she once more digs into the neck and thorax, subjecting thehoney-bag to the renewed pressure of her abdomen. The syrup comes and isinstantly lapped up and lapped up again. In this way the contents ofthe crop are exhausted in small mouthfuls, yielded one at a time. Thisodious meal at the expense of a corpse's stomach is taken in a sybariticattitude; the Philanthus lies on her side with the Bee between her legs. The atrocious banquet sometimes lasts for half an hour or longer. Atlast the drained Bee is discarded, not without regret, it seems, forfrom time to time I see the manipulation renewed. After taking a turnround the top of the bell-jar, the robber of the dead returns to herprey and squeezes it, licking its mouth until the last trace of honeyhas disappeared. 

This frenzied passion of the Philanthus for the Bee's syrup is declaredin yet another fashion. When the first victim has been sucked dry, Islip under the glass a second victim, which is promptly stabbed underthe chin and then subjected to pressure to extract the honey. A thirdfollows and undergoes the same fate without satisfying the bandit. Ioffer a fourth and a fifth. They are all accepted. My notes mention onePhilanthus who in front of my eyes sacrificed six Bees in succession andsqueezed out their crops in the regulation manner. The slaughter came toan end not because the glutton was sated but because my functions as apurveyor were becoming rather difficult: the dry month of August causesthe insects to avoid my harmas, which at this season is denuded offlowers. Six crops emptied of their honey: what an orgy! And even thenthe ravenous creature would very likely not have scorned a copiousadditional course, had I possessed the means of supplying it!

There is no reason to regret this break in the service; the little thatI have said is more than enough to prove the singular characteristics ofthe Bee-slayer. I am far from denying that the Philanthus has an honestmeans of earning her livelihood; I find her working on the flowers asassiduously as the other Wasps, peacefully drawing her honeyedbeakers. The males even, possessing no lancet, know no other manner ofrefreshment. The mothers, without neglecting the table d'hote of theflowers, support themselves by brigandage as well. We are told of theSkua, that pirate of the seas, that he swoops down upon the fishingbirds, at the moment when they rise from the water with a capture. Witha blow of the beak delivered in the pit of the stomach he makes themgive up their prey, which is caught by the robber in mid-air. Thedespoiled bird at least gets off with nothing worse than a contusionat the base of the throat. The Philanthus, a less scrupulous pirate, pounces on the Bee, stabs her to death and makes her disgorge in orderto feed upon her honey. 

I say feed and I do not withdraw the word. To support my statement Ihave better reasons than those set forth above. In the cages in whichvarious Hunting Wasps, whose stratagems of war I am engaged in studying, are waiting till I have procured the desired prey--not always an easything--I have planted a few flower-spikes, a thistle-head or two, onwhich are placed drops of honey renewed at need. Here my captives cometo take their meals. With the Philanthus, the provision of honeyedflowers, though favourably received, is not indispensable. I have onlyto let a few live Bees into her cage from time to time. Half a dozena day is about the proper allowance. With no other food than the syrupextracted from the slain, I keep my insects going for a fortnight orthree weeks. 

It is as plain as a pikestaff: outside my cages, when the opportunityoffers, the Philanthus must also kill the Bee on her own account. TheOdynerus asks nothing from the Chrysomela but a mere condiment, thearomatic juice of the rump; the other extracts from her victim an amplesupplement to her victuals, the crop full of honey. What a hecatombof Bees must not a colony of these freebooters make for their personalconsumption, not to mention the stored provisions! I recommend thePhilanthus to the signal vengeance of our Bee-masters. 

Let us go no deeper into the first causes of the crime. Let us acceptthings as we know them for the moment, with their apparent or realatrocity. To feed herself, the Philanthus levies tribute on the Bee'scrop. Having made sure of this, let us consider the bandit's methodmore closely. She does not paralyse her capture according to the ritescustomary among the Hunting Wasps; she kills it. Why kill it? If theeyes of our understanding be not closed, the need for sudden death isclear as daylight. The Philanthus proposes to obtain the honeyed brothwithout ripping up the Bee, a proceeding which would damage the gamewhen it is hunted on behalf of the larvae, without resorting to themurderous extirpation of the crop. She must, by able handling, byskilful pressure, make the Bee disgorge, she must milk her, in a mannerof speaking. Suppose the Bee stung behind the corselet and paralysed. That deprives her of her power of locomotion, but not of her vitality. The digestive organs in particular retain or very nearly retain theirnormal energy, as is proved by the frequent excretions that take placein the paralysed prey, so long as the intestine is not empty, as isproved above all by the victims of the Languedocian Sphex (Cf. "TheHunting Wasp": chapters 8 to 10. --Translator's Note. ), those helplesscreatures which I used to keep alive for forty days on end with a soupconsisting of sugar and water. It is absurd to hope, without therapeuticmeans, without a special emetic, to coax a sound stomach into emptyingits contents. The stomach of the Bee, who is jealous of her treasure, would lend itself to the process even less readily than another. Whenparalysed, the insect is inert; but there are always internal energiesand organic forces which will not yield to the manipulator's pressure. The Philanthus will nibble at the throat and squeeze the sides in vain:the honey will not rise to the mouth so long as a vestige of life keepsthe crop closed. 

Things are different with a corpse. The tension is relaxed, the musclesbecome slack, the resistance of the stomach ceases and the bag of honeyis emptied by the robber's vigorous pressure. You see, therefore, thatthe Philanthus is expressly obliged to inflict a sudden death, whichwill do away at once with the elasticity of the organs. Where is thelightning stroke to be delivered? The slayer knows better than we do, when she sticks the Bee under the chin. The cerebral ganglia are reachedthrough the little hole in the neck and death ensues immediately. 

The relation of these acts of brigandage cannot satisfy my distressinghabit of following each reply obtained with a fresh question, until thegranite wall of the unknowable rises before me. If the Philanthus isan expert in killing Bees and emptying crops swollen with honey, thiscannot be merely an alimentary resource, especially when, in common withthe others, she has the banqueting-hall of the flowers. I cannot accepther atrocious talent as inspired merely by the craving for a feastobtained at the expense of an empty stomach. Something certainly escapesus: the why and wherefore of that crop drained dry. A creditable motivemay lie hidden behind the horrors which I have related. What is it?

Any one can understand the vagueness of the observer's mind when hefirst asks himself this question. The reader is entitled to be treatedwith consideration. I will spare him the recital of my suspicions, mygropings and my failures and will come straight to the results of mylong investigation. Everything has its harmonious reason for existence. I am too fully persuaded of this to believe that the Philanthus pursuesher habit of profaning corpses solely to satisfy her greed. What doesthe emptied crop portend? May it not be that. . . ? Why, yes. . . . After all, who knows?. . . Let us try along these lines. 

The mother's first care is the welfare of the family. So far, we haveseen the Philanthus hunting only for her stomach's sake; let us watchher hunting as a mother. Nothing is easier than to distinguish the twoperformances. When the Wasp wants a few good mouthfuls and nothing more, she scornfully abandons the Bee after picking her crop. The Bee isto her a worthless remnant, which will shrivel where it lies and bedissected by the Ants. If, on the other hand, she wants to stow awaythe Bee as a provision for her larvae, she clasps her in her twointermediate legs and, walking on the other four, goes round and roundthe edge of the bell-glass, seeking for an outlet through which to flyoff with her prey. When she recognizes the circular track as impossible, she climbs up the sides, this time holding the Bee by the antennae withher mandibles and clinging to the polished and perpendicular surfacewith her six feet. She reaches the top of the glass, stays for a littlewhile in the hollow of the knob at the top, returns to the ground, resumes her circling and her climbing and does not decide to relinquishher Bee until she has stubbornly attempted every means of escape. Thispersistence on her part to retain her hold on the cumbrous burden tellsus pretty plainly that the game would go straight to the cells if thePhilanthus had her liberty. 

Well, these Bees intended for the larvae are stung under the chin likethe others; they are real corpses; they are manipulated, squeezed, drained of their honey exactly as the others are. In all these respects, there is no difference between the hunt conducted to provide foodfor the larvae and the hunt conducted merely to gratify the mother'sappetite. 

As the worries of captivity might well be the cause of a few anomaliesin the insect's actions, I felt that I ought to enquire how thingshappen in the open. I lay in wait near some colonies of Philanthi, for longer perhaps than the question deserved, as it had already beensettled by what had happened under glass. My tedious watches wererewarded from time to time. Most of the huntresses returned homeimmediately, with the Bee under their abdomen; some halted on thebrambles hard by; and here I saw them squeezing the dead Bee and makingher disgorge the honey, which was greedily lapped up. After thesepreliminaries the corpse was stored. Every doubt is therefore removed:the provisions of the larva are first carefully drained of their honey. 

Since we are on the spot, let us prolong our stay and enquire into thecustoms of the Philanthus in a state of liberty. Serving dead prey, which goes bad in a few days, the Bee-huntress cannot adopt the methodof certain insects which paralyse a number of separate heads of game andfill the cell with provisions, completing the ration before layingthe egg. She needs the method of the Bembex, whose larva receivesthe necessary nourishment at intervals, as it grows larger. The factsconfirm this deduction. Just now I described as tedious my watches nearthe colonies of the Philanthi. They were tedious in fact, even more soperhaps than those which the Bembeces used to inflict upon me in the olddays. Outside the burrows of the Great Cerceris and other Weevil-lovers, outside those of the Yellow-winged Sphex, the Cricket-slayer, there isplenty of distraction, thanks to the bustling movement of the hamlet. The mother has hardly come back home before she goes out again, soonreturning laden with a new prey and once more setting out upon thechase. The going and coming is repeated at close intervals until thewarehouse is full. 

The burrow of the Philanthus is far from showing any such animation, even in a populous colony. In vain were my watches prolonged for wholemornings or afternoons; it was but very rarely that the mother whom Ihad seen go in with a Bee came out again for a second expedition. Twocaptures at most by the same huntress was all that I was able tosee during my long vigils. Feeding from day to day involves thisdeliberation. Once the family is supplied with a sufficient ration forthe moment, the mother suspends her hunting-trips until further needarises and occupies herself with mining-work in her underground house. Cells are dug; I see the rubbish gradually pushed up to the surface. Beyond this there is not a sign of activity; it is as though the burrowwere deserted. 

The inspection of the site is no easy matter. The shaft descends toa depth of nearly three feet in a compact soil, either vertically orhorizontally. The spade and pick, wielded by stronger but less experthands than mine, are indispensable, for which reason the process ofexcavation is far from satisfying me fully. At the end of this longtunnel, which the straw which I use for sounding despairs of everreaching, the cells are at last encountered, oval cavities with ahorizontal major axis. Their number and general arrangement escape me. 

Some of them already contain the cocoon, which is slender andsemitransparent, like those of the Cerceris, and, like them, suggeststhe shape of certain homoeopathic phials, with oval bellies surmountedby a tapering neck. The cocoon is fastened to the end of the cell bythe tip of this neck, which is darkened and hardened by the larva'sexcrement; it has no other support. It looks like a short club fixed bythe end of the handle along the horizontal axis of the nest. Other cellscontain the larva in a more or less advanced stage. The grub is munchingthe last morsel served to it, with the scraps of the victuals alreadyconsumed lying around it. Others lastly show me a Bee, one only, stilluntouched and bearing an egg laid on her breast. This is the firstpartial ration; the others will come as and when the grub grows larger. My anticipations are thus confirmed: following the example of theBembeces, the Fly-killers, the Philanthus, the Bee-killer, lays her eggon the first piece warehoused and at intervals adds to her nurselings'repast. 

The problem of the dead game is solved. There remains this otherproblem, one of incomparable interest: why are the Bees robbed of theirhoney before being served to the larvae? I have said and I say againthat the killing and squeezing cannot be explained and excused simply byreference to the Philanthus' love of gormandizing. Robbing the workerof her booty is nothing out of the way: we see it daily; but cutting herthroat in order to empty her stomach is going beyond a joke. And, asthe Bees packed away in the cellar are squeezed dry just as much as theothers, the thought occurs to my mind that a rumpsteak with jam is notto everybody's liking and that the game stuffed with honey might well bea distasteful or even unwholesome dish for the Philanthus' larvae. Whatwill the grub do when, sated with blood and meat, it finds the Bee'shoney-bag under its mandibles and especially when, nibbling at random, it rips open the crop and spoils its venison with syrup? Will it thriveon the mixture? Will the little ogre pass without repugnance from thegamy flavour of a carcase to the scent of flowers? A blunt statement ordenial would serve no purpose. We must see. Let us see. 

I rear some young Philanthus-grubs, already waxing large; but, insteadof supplying them with the prey taken from the burrows, I give them gameof my own catching, game replete with nectar from the rosemaries. MyBees, whom I kill by crushing their heads, are readily accepted; andI at first see nothing that corresponds with my suspicions. Then mynurselings languish, disdain their food, give a careless bite here andthere and end by perishing, from the first to the last, beside theirunfinished victuals. All my attempts miscarry: I do not once succeed inrearing my larvae to the stage of spinning the cocoon. And yet I am nonovice in the functions of a foster-father. How many pupils have notpassed through my hands and reached maturity in my old sardine-boxes ascomfortably as in their natural burrows!

I will not draw rash conclusions from this check; I am conscientiousenough to ascribe it to another cause. It may be that the atmosphereof my study and the dryness of the sand serving as a bed have had abad effect on my charges, whose tender skins are accustomed to the warmmoisture of the subsoil. Let us therefore try another expedient. 

It is hardly feasible to decide positively by the methods which I havebeen following whether the honey is or is not repugnant to the grubs ofthe Philanthus. The first mouthfuls consist of meat; and then nothingparticular occurs: it is the natural diet. The honey is met with later, when the morsel has been largely bitten into. If hesitation and lack ofappetite are displayed at this stage, they come too late in the dayto be conclusive: the larva's discomfort may be due to other, known orunknown, causes. The thing to do would be to offer the grub honey fromthe first, before artificial rearing has affected its appetite. It isuseless, of course, to make the attempt with pure honey: no carnivorouscreature would touch it, though it were starving. The jam-sandwich isthe only device favourable to my plans, a meagre jam-sandwich, that isto say, the dead Bee lightly smeared or varnished with honey by means ofa camel's-hair pencil. 

Under these conditions, the problem is solved with the first fewmouthfuls. The grub that has bitten into the honeyed prey draws back indisgust, hesitates a long time and then, urged by hunger, begins again, tries this side and that and ends by refusing to touch the dish. For afew days it pines away on top of its almost intact provisions; then itdies. All that are subjected to this regimen succumb. Do they merelyperish of inanition in the presence of an unaccustomed food, whichrevolts their appetite, or are they poisoned by the small quantity ofhoney absorbed with the early mouthfuls? I cannot tell. The fact remainsthat, whether poisonous or repugnant, the Bee in the state of bread andjam is death to them; and this result explains, more clearly than theunfavourable circumstance of my former experiment, my failures with theBee that had not been made to disgorge. 

This refusal to touch the unwholesome or distasteful honey is connectedwith principles of nutrition which are too general to constitute agastronomic peculiarity of the Philanthus. The other carnivorous larvae, at least in the order of the Hymenoptera, are bound to share it. Let ustry. We will go to work as before. I unearth the larvae when they haveattained a medium size, to avoid the weakness of infancy; I take awaythe natural provisions, smear the carcases separately with honey and, when this is done, restore its victuals to each of the grubs. I had tomake a choice: not every subject was equally suited to my experiments. Imust reject the larvae which are fed on one fat joint, such as thoseof the Scolia. The grub in fact attacks its prey at a determined point, dips its head and neck into the insect's body, rooting skilfully in theentrails to keep the game fresh until the end of the meal, and doesnot withdraw from the breach until the whole skin is emptied of itscontents. 

To make it let go with the object of coating the inside of the venisonwith honey had two drawbacks: I should be compromising the lingeringvitality which saves the insect that is being devoured from going badand, at the same time, I should be disturbing the delicate art of thedevouring insect, which, if removed from the lode which it was working, would no longer be able to recover it or to distinguish between thelawful and the unlawful morsels. The larva of the Scolia, consuming itsCetonia-grub, has taught us all that we want to know on this subject inmy earlier volume. (Chapters 2 to 5 of the present volume contain thewhole of the matter referred to above. --Translator's Note. ) The onlyacceptable larvae are those supplied with a heap of small insects, whichare attacked without any special art, dismembered at random and eaten upquickly. Among these I have tested such as chance threw in my way: thoseof various Bembeces, all fed on Flies, those of the Palarus, whose billof fare consists of a very large assortment of Hymenoptera; those of theTarsal Tachytes, supplied with young Locusts; those of the Nest-buildingOdynerus, furnished with Chrysomela-grubs; those of the Sand Cerceris, endowed with a pinch of Weevils. A goodly variety, as you see, ofconsumers and consumed. Well, to all of these the seasoning with honeyproved fatal. Whether poisoned or disgusted, they all died in a fewdays. 

A strange result indeed! Honey, the nectar of the flowers, the sole dietof the Bee-tribe in both its forms and the sole resource of the Waspin her a adult form, is to the larvae of the latter an objectof insurmountable repugnance and probably a toxic dish. Even thetransformation of the nymphosis surprises me less than this inversionof the appetite. What happens in the insect's stomach to make the adultseek passionately what the youngster refused lest it should die? This isnot a question of organic debility unable to endure a too substantial, too hard, too highly spiced dish. The grub that gnaws the Cetonia-larva, that generous piece of butcher's meat; the glutton that crunches itsbatch of tough Locusts; the one that battens on nitrobenzine-flavouredgame: they certainly own unfastidious gullets and accommodatingstomachs. And these robust eaters allow themselves to die of hungeror digestive troubles because of a drop of syrup, the lightest foodimaginable, suited to the weakness of extreme youth and a feast for theadult besides! What a gulf of obscurity in the stomach of a wretchedgrub!

These gastronomical researches called for a counterexperiment. Thecarnivorous larva is killed by honey. Conversely, is the mellivorouslarva killed by animal food? Reservations are needful here, as in theprevious tests. We should be courting a flat refusal if we offereda pinch of Locusts to the larvae of the Anthophora or the Osmia, forinstance. (For both these Wild Bees cf. "Bramble-bees and Others":passim. --Translator's Note. ) The honey-fed insect would not biteinto it. There would be no use whatever in trying. We must find theequivalent of the jam-sandwich aforesaid; in other words, we must givethe larva its natural fare with a mixture of animal food. The additionmade by my artifices shall be albumen, as found in the egg of the Hen, albumen the isomer of fibrin, which is the essential factor in any formof prey. 

On the other hand, the Three-horned Osmia lends herself most admirablyto my plans, because of her dry honey, consisting for the greater partof floury pollen. I therefore knead this honey with albumen, graduatingthe dose until its weight largely exceeds that of the flour. In this wayI obtain pastes of different degrees of consistency, but all firm enoughto bear the larva without danger of immersion. With too fluid amixture there would be a risk of death by drowning. Lastly I install amoderately-developed larva on each of my albuminous cakes. 

The dish of my inventing does not incite dislike: far from it. The grubsattack it without hesitation and consume it with every appearance ofthe usual appetite. Things could not go better if the food had not beenaltered by my culinary recipes. Everything goes down, including themorsels in which I feared that I had overdone the addition of albumen. And--an even more important point--the Osmia-larvae fed in this mannerattain their normal dimensions and spin their cocoons, from which adultinsects issue in the following year. Notwithstanding the albuminousregimen, the cycle of the evolution is achieved without impediment. 

What are we to conclude from all this? I feel greatly embarrassed. Omnevivum ex ovo, the physiologists tell us. Every animal is carnivorous, inits first beginnings: it is formed and nourished at the cost of its egg, in which albumen predominates. The highest, the mammal, adheres to thisdiet for a long time: it has its mother's milk, rich in casein, anotherisomer of albumen. The gramnivorous nestling is first fed on grubs, which are better adapted to the niceties of its stomach; many of theminutest new-born creatures, being at once left to their own devices, take to animal food. In this way the original method of nourishment iscontinued for all alike: the method which allows flesh to be made fromflesh and blood from blood, with no chemical process beyond the simplestmodification. At maturity, when the stomach has acquired its fullstrength, vegetable food is adopted, involving a more complicatedchemistry but easier to obtain. Milk is followed by fodder, worms byseeds, the prey in the burrow by the nectar of the flowers. 

This supplies a partial explanation of the twofold diet of theHymenoptera with carnivorous larvae: meat first, honey next. But thenthe note of interrogation is shifted. It stood elsewhere; it now standshere. Why is the Osmia, who as a larva fares so well on albumen, fed onhoney at the start? Why do the Bee-tribe receive a vegetable diet whenthe other members of the order receive an animal diet?

If I were a believer in evolution, I should say yes, by the fact of itsgerm, every animal is originally carnivorous. The insect in particularstarts with albuminoid materials. Many larvae adhere to the egg-food, many adult insects do likewise. But the struggle to fill the belly, which after all is the struggle for life, demands something better thanthe precarious hazards of the chase. Man, at first a ravenous hunterafter game, brought the flock into existence and turned shepherd toavoid a time of dearth. An even greater progress inspired him to scrapethe earth and to sow seed, which assures him of a living. The evolutionfrom scarcity to moderation and from moderation to plenty has led to theresources of husbandry. 

The animals forestalled us this path of progress. The ancestors of thePhilanthus, in the remote ages of the lacustrian tertiary formations, lived by prey in both the larval and the adult forms: they hunted forthemselves as well as for the family. They did not confine themselvesto emptying the Bee's crop, as their descendants do to this day: theydevoured the deceased. From the beginning to the end they remainedflesh-eaters. Later, fortunate innovators, whose race supplanted thelaggards, discovered an inexhaustible nourishment, obtained withoutdangerous conflicts or laborious search: the sugary secretions of theflowers. The costly habit of living on prey, which does not favour largepopulations, was maintained for the feeble larvae; but the vigorousadult broke herself of it to lead an easier and more prosperous life. Thus, gradually, was formed the Philanthus of our day; thus was acquiredthe twofold diet of the various predatory insects our contemporaries. 

The Bee has done better still: from the moment of leaving the egg shedelivered herself completely from food-stuffs the acquisition of whichdepended on chance. She discovered honey, the grubs' food. Renouncingthe chase for ever and becoming an agriculturalist pure and simple, the insect attains a degree of physical and moral prosperity which thepredatory species are far from sharing. Hence the flourishing coloniesof the Anthophorae, the Osmiae, the Eucerae (A genus of long-hornedBurrowing Bees. --Translator's Note. ), the Halicti and otherhoney-manufacturers, whereas the predatory insects work in isolation;hence the societies in which the Bee displays her wonderful tendencies, the supreme expression of instinct. 

This is what I should say if I belonged to that school. It all forms achain of very logical deductions and proffers itself with a certain airof likelihood which we should be glad to find in a host of evolutionistarguments put forward as irrefutable. Well, I will make a present of mydeductive views, without regret, to whoever cares to have them: I don'tbelieve one word of them; and I confess my profound ignorance of theorigin of the twofold diet. 

What I do understand more clearly, after all these investigations, isthe tactics of the Philanthus. When witnessing her ferocious feasting, the real reason of which was unknown to me, I heaped the mostill-sounding epithets upon her, calling her a murderess, a bandit, apirate, a robber of the dead. Ignorance is always evil-tongued; theman who does not know indulges in rude assertions and mischievousinterpretations. Now that my eyes have been opened to the facts, Ihasten to apologize and to restore the Philanthus to her place in myesteem. In draining the crops of her Bees the mother is performing themost praiseworthy of all actions: she is protecting her family againstpoison. If she happens to kill on her own account and to abandon thecorpse after making it disgorge, I dare not reckon this against her as acrime. When the habit has been formed of emptying the Bee's crop witha good motive, there is a great temptation to do it again with no otherexcuse than hunger. Besides, who knows? Perhaps there is always at theback of her hunting some thought of game which might be useful for thelarvae. Although not carried into effect, the intention excuses thedeed. 

I therefore withdraw my epithets in order to admire the insect'smaternal logic and to hold it up to the admiration of others. The honeywould be pernicious to the health of the larvae. How does the motherknow that the syrup, a treat for her, is unwholesome for her young?To this question our science offers no reply. The honey, I say, wouldimperil the grubs' lives, The Bee must therefore first be made todisgorge. The disgorging must be effected without lacerating the victim, which the nurseling must receive in the fresh state; and the operationis impracticable on a paralysed insect because of the resistance ofthe stomach. The Bee must therefore be killed outright instead of beingparalysed, or the honey will not be voided. Instantaneous death can beinflicted only by wounding the primordial centre of life. The sting musttherefore aim at the cervical ganglia, the seat of innervation on whichthe rest of the organism depends. To reach them there is only one way, through the little gap in the throat. It is here therefore that thesting must be inserted; and it is here in fact that it is inserted, ina spot hardly as large as the twenty-fifth of an inch square. Suppressa single link of this compact chain, and the Bee-fed Philanthus becomesimpossible. 

That honey is fatal to carnivorous larvae is a fact which teems withconsequences. Several Hunting Wasps feed their families upon Bees. Theseinclude, to my knowledge, the Crowned Philanthus (P. Coronatus, FAB. ), who lines her burrows with big Halicti; the Robber Philanthus (P. Raptor, LEP. ), who chases all the smaller-sized Halicti, suited to herown dimensions, indifferently; the Ornate Cerceris (C. Ornata, FAB. ), another passionate lover of Halicti; and the Palarus (P. Flavipes, FAB. ), who, with a curious eclecticism, stacks in her cells the greaterpart of the Hymenopteron clan that does not exceed her powers. What dothese four huntresses and the others of similar habits do with theirvictims whose crops are more or less swollen with honey? They mustfollow the example of the Bee-eating Philanthus and make them disgorge, lest their family perish of a honeyed diet; they must manipulate thedead Bee, squeeze her and drain her dry. Everything goes to show it. Ileave it to the future to display these dazzling proofs of my doctrinein their proper light. 

CHAPTER 11. THE METHOD OF THE AMMOPHILAE. 

(For these Sand-wasps, cf. "The Hunting Wasps": chapters 13 and 18 to20. --Translator's Note. )

My readers may differ in appraising the comparative value of thetrifling discoveries which entomology owes to my labours. The geologist, the recorder of forms, will prefer the hypermetamorphosis of theOil-beetles (The chapter treating of this subject has not yet beentranslated into English and will appear in a later volume. --Translator'sNote. ), the development of the Anthrax (Cf. "The Life of the Fly":chapter 2. --Translator's Note. ) or larval dimorphism; the embryogenist, searching into the mysteries of the egg, will have some esteem for myenquiries into the egg-laying habits of the Osmia (Cf. "Bramble-bees andOthers": chapter 4. --Translator's Note. ); the philosopher, racking hisbrain over the nature of instinct, will award the palm to the operationsof the Hunting Wasps. I agree with the philosopher. Without hesitation, I would abandon all the rest of my entomological baggage for thisdiscovery, which happens to be the earliest in date and that of whichI have the fondest memories. Nowhere do I find a more brilliant, morelucid, more eloquent proof of the intuitive wisdom of instinct; nowheredoes the theory of evolution suffer a more obstinate check. 

Darwin, a true judge, made no mistake about it. (Charles Robert Darwin, born the 12th of February, 1809, at Shrewsbury, died at Down, in Kent, on the 19th of April, 1882. For an account of certain experimentswhich the author conducted on his behalf, cf. "The Mason-bees": chapter4. --Translator's Note. ) He greatly dreaded the problem of the instincts. My first results in particular left him very anxious. If he had knownthe tactics of the Hairy Ammophila, the Mantis-hunting Tachytes, theBee-eating Philanthus, the Calicurgi and other marauders, his anxiety, I believe, would have ended in a frank admission that he was unable tosqueeze instinct into the mould of his formula. Alas, the philosopher ofDown quitted this world when the discussion, with experiments to supportit, had barely begun: a method superior to any argument! The littlethat I had published at that time left him with still some hope of anexplanation. In his eyes, instinct was always an acquired habit. Thepredatory Wasps killed their prey at first by stabbing it at random, here and there, in the softest parts. By degrees they found the spotwhere the sting was most effectual; and the habit once formed became atrue instinct. Transitions from one method of operation to the other, intermediary changes, sufficed to bolster up these sweeping assertions. In a letter of the 16th of April, 1881, he asks G. J. Romanes to considerthe problem:

"I do not know, " he says "whether you will discuss in your book on themind of animals any of the more complex and wonderful instincts. It isunsatisfactory work, as there can be no fossilised instincts, and thesole guide is their state in other members of the same order, and merePROBABILITY. 

"But if you do discuss any (and it will perhaps be expected of you), Ishould think that you could not select a better case than that ofthe sand-wasps which paralyse their prey as described by Fabre in hiswonderful paper in the 'Anales des sciences naturelles, ' and sinceamplified in his admirable 'Souvenirs. . . '"

I thank you, O illustrious master, for your eulogistic expressions, proving the keen interest which you took in my studies of instinct, noungrateful task--far from it--when we tackle it as it should be tackled:from the front, with the aid of facts, and not from the flank, withthe aid of arguments. Arguments are here out of place, if we wish tomaintain our position in the light. Besides, where would they lead us?To evoking the instincts of bygone ages, which have not been preservedby fossilization? Any such appeal to the dim and distant past is quiteunnecessary, if we wish for variations of instinct, leading by degrees, according to you, from one instinct to another; the present world offersus plenty. 

Each operator has her particular method, her particular kind of game, her particular points of attack and tricks of fence; but in the midstof this variety of talents we observe, immutable and predominant, theperfect accordance of the surgery with the victim's organization and thelarva's needs. The art of one will not explain the art of another, no less exact in the delicacy of its rules. Each operator has her owntactics, which tolerate no apprenticeship. The Ammophila, the Scolia, the Philanthus and the others all tell us the same thing: none canleave descendants if she be not from the outset the skilful paralyser orslayer that she is to-day. The "almost" is impracticable when the futureof the race is at stake. What would have become of the first-born mammalbut for its perfect instinct of suckling?

And then, to suppose the impossible: a Wasp discovers by chance theoperative method which will be the saving attribute of her race. How arewe to admit that this fortuitous act, to which the mother has vouchsafedno more attention than to her other less fortunate attempts, could leavea profound trace behind it and be faithfully transmitted by heredity? Isit not going beyond reason, going beyond the little that is known tous as certain, if we grant to atavism this strange power, of which ourpresent world knows no instance? There is a good deal to be said forthis point of view, my revered master! But, once more, arguments arehere out of place; there is room only for facts, of which I will resumethe recital. 

Hitherto I had but one means of studying the operative methods of thespoilers: to surprise the Wasp in possession of her capture, to rob herof her prey and immediately to give her in exchange a similar prey, buta living one. This method of substitution is an excellent expedient. Itsonly defect--a very grave one--is that it subjects observation tovery uncertain chances. There is little prospect of meeting the insectdragging its victim along; and, in the second place, should good fortunesuddenly smile upon you, preoccupied as you are with other mattersyou have not the substitute at hand. If we provide ourselves with thenecessary head of game in advance, the huntress is not there. Weavoid one reef to founder on another. Moreover, these unlooked forobservations, made sometimes on the public highway, the worst oflaboratories, are only half-satisfactory. In the case of swiftly-enactedscenes, which it is not in our power to renew again and again untilperfect conviction is reached, we always fear lest we may not have seenaccurately, may not have seen everything. 

A method which could be controlled at will would offer the bestguarantees, above all if employed at home, under comfortable conditions, favourable to precision. I wished, therefore, to see my insects at workon the actual table at which I am writing their history. Here very fewof their secrets would escape me. This wish of mine was an old one. Asa beginner, I made some experiments under glass with the Great Cerceris(C. Tuberculata) and the Yellow-winged Sphex. Neither of them respondedto my desires. The refusal of each to attack respectively her Cleonus orher Cricket discouraged further progress in this direction. I was wrongto abandon my attempts so soon. Now, very long afterwards, the ideaoccurs to me to place under glass the Bee-eating Philanthus, whom Isometimes surprise in the open engaged in forcing a bee to disgorge herhoney. The captive massacres her bees in such a spirited fashion thatthe old hope revives stronger than ever. I contemplate reviewing all thewielders of the stiletto and forcing each to reveal her tactics. 

I was obliged to abate these ambitions considerably. I had somesuccesses and many more failures. I will tell you of the former. Myinsect-cage is a spacious dome of wire-gauze resting on a bed of sand. Here I keep in reserve the captives of my hunting-expeditions. I feedthem on honey, placed in little drops on spikes of lavender, on headsof thistle, or field eryngo, or globe-thistle, according to the season. Most of my prisoners do well on this diet and seem scarcely affected bytheir internment; others pine away and die in two or three days. These victims of despair nearly always throw me back, because of thedifficulty of obtaining the necessary prey at short notice. 

Indeed it entails no small trouble to secure in the nick of time thegame demanded by the huntress who has recently fallen a captive to mynet. As assistant-purveyors I have a few small schoolboys, who, releasedfrom the tedium of their declensions and conjugations, set out, onleaving the classroom, to inspect the greenswards and beat the bushesin the neighbourhood on my behalf. The gros sou, the penny-piece, if youplease, stimulates their zeal; but with misadventurous results! What Ineed to-day is Crickets. The band sallies forth and returns with not asingle Cricket, but numbers of Ephippigers, for which I asked the daybefore yesterday and which I no longer need, my Languedocian Sphexbeing dead. General surprise at this sudden change of market. My youngscatterbrains find it hard to understand that the beast which was soprecious two days ago is now of no value whatever. When, owing to thechances of my net, a renewed demand for the Ephippiger sets in, thenthey will bring me the Cricket, the despised Cricket. 

Such a trade could never hold out if now and again my speculators werenot encouraged by some success. At the moment when urgent necessity issending up prices, one of them brings me a magnificent Gad-fly intendedfor the Bembex. For two hours, when the sun was at its height, he keptwatch on the threshing-floor hard by, waiting for the blood-sucker, inorder to catch him on the buttocks of the Mules which trot round andround trampling the corn. This gallant fellow shall have his gros souand a slice of bread and jam as well. A second, no less fortunate, hasfound a fat Spider, the Epeira, for whom my Pompili are waiting. To thetwo sous of this fortunate youth I add a little picture for his missal. Thus are my purveyors kept going; and, after all, their help would bevery inadequate if I did not take upon myself the main burden of thesewearisome quests. 

Once in possession of the requisite prey, I transfer the huntress frommy warehouse, the wire-gauze cage, to a bell-glass varying in capacityfrom one to three or four litres (1 3/4 to 5 or 7 pints. --Translator'sNote. ), according to the size and habits of the combatants; I place thevictim in the arena; I expose the bell-glass to the direct rays ofthe sun, without which condition the executioner as a rule declines tooperate; I arm myself with patience and await events. 

We will begin with the Hairy Ammophila, my neighbour. Year after year, when April comes, I see her in considerable numbers, very busy on thepaths in my enclosure. Until June I see her digging her burrows andsearching for the Grey Worm, to be placed in the meat-cellar. Hertactics are the most complex that I know and more than any otherdeserves to be thoroughly studied. To capture the cunning vivisector, torelease her and catch her again I find an easy matter for the best partof a month; she works outside my door. 

I have still to obtain the Grey Worm. This means a repetition of thedisappointments which I had before, when, to find a caterpillar, I wasobliged to watch the Ammophila while hunting and to be guided by herhints, as the truffle-hunter is guided by the scent of his Dog. Apatient exploration of the harmas, one tuft of thyme after another, doesnot give me a single worm. My rivals in this search are finding theirgame at every moment; I cannot find it even once. Yet one more reasonfor bowing to the superiority of the insect in the management of heraffairs. My band of schoolboys get to work in the surrounding fields. Nothing, always nothing! I in my turn explore the outer world; and forten days the pursuit of a caterpillar torments me till I lose my powerof sleep. Then, at last, victory! At the foot of a sunny wall, under thebudding rosettes of the panicled centaury, I find a fair supply of theprecious Grey Worm or its equivalent. 

Behold the worm and the Ammophila face to face beneath the bell-glass. Usually the attack is prompt enough. The caterpillar is grabbed by theneck with the mandibles, wide, curved pincers capable of embracing thegreater part of the living cylinder. The creature thus seized twistsand turns and sometimes, with a blow of its tail, sends the assailantrolling to a distance. The latter is unconcerned and thrusts her stingthrice in rapid succession into the thorax, beginning with the thirdsegment and ending with the first, where the weapon is driven home withgreater determination than elsewhere. 

The caterpillar is then released. The Ammophila stamps on the ground;with her quivering tarsi she taps the cardboard on which the bell-glassstands; she lies down flat, drags herself along, gets up again, flattensherself once more. The wings jerk convulsively. From time to time theinsect places its mandibles and forehead on the ground, then rears highupon its hind-legs as though to turn head over heels. In all this Isee a manifestation of delight. We rub our hands when rejoicing at asuccess; the Ammophila is celebrating her triumph over the monster inher own fashion. During this fit of delirious joy, what is the woundedcaterpillar doing? It can no longer walk; but all the part behind thethorax struggles violently, curling and uncurling when the Ammophilasets a foot upon it. The mandibles open and shut menacingly. 

SECOND ACT. --When the operation is resumed, the caterpillar is seizedby the back. From front to rear, in order, all the segments are stung onthe ventral surface, except the three operated on. All serious danger isaverted by the stabs of the first act; therefore, the Wasp is now ableto work upon her patient without the haste displayed at the outset. Deliberately and methodically she drives in her lancet, withdraws it, selects the spot, stabs it and begins again, passing from segment tosegment, taking care, each time, to lay hold of the back a little moreto the rear, in order to bring the segment to be paralysed within reachof the needle. For the second time, the caterpillar is released. Itis absolutely inert, except the mandibles, which are still capable ofbiting. 

THIRD ACT. --The Ammophila clasps the paralysed victim between her legs;with the hooks of her mandibles she seizes the back of its neck, at thebase of the first thoracic segment. For nearly ten minutes she munchesthis weak spot, which lies close to the cerebral nerve-centres. Thepincers squeeze suddenly but at intervals and methodically, as thoughthe manipulator wished each time to judge of the effect produced; thesqueezes are repeated until I am tired of trying to count them. Whenthey cease, the caterpillar's mandibles are motionless. Then comes thetransportation of the carcase, a detail which is not relevant in thisplace. 

I have set forth the complete tragedy, as it is fairly often enacted, but not always. The insect is not a machine, unvarying in the effectof its mechanism; it is allowed a certain latitude, enabling it tocope with the eventualities of the moment. Any one expecting to seethe incidents of the struggle unfolding themselves exactly as I havedescribed will risk disappointment. Special instances occur--they areeven numerous--which are more or less at variance with the general rule. It will be well to mention the more important, in order to put futureobservers on their guard. 

Not infrequently the first act, that of paralysing the thorax, isrestricted to two thrusts of the sting instead of three, or even to one, which is then delivered in the foremost segment. This, it would seem, from the persistency with which the Ammophila inflicts it, is the mostimportant prick of all. Is it unreasonable to suppose that the operator, when she begins by pricking the thorax, intends to subdue her captureand to make it incapable of injuring her, or even of disturbing her whenthe moment comes for the delicate and protracted surgery of the secondact? This idea seems to me highly admissible; and then, instead of threedagger-thrusts, why not two only, why not merely one, if this wouldsuffice for the time being? The amount of vigour displayed by thecaterpillar must be taken into consideration. Be this as it may, thesegments spared in the first act are stabbed in the second. I havesometimes even seen the three thoracic segments stung twice over: atthe beginning of the attack and again when the Wasp returned to hervanquished prey. 

The Ammophila's triumphant transports beside her wounded and writhingvictim are also subject to exceptions. Sometimes, without releasingits prey for a moment, the insect proceeds from the thorax to the nextsegments and completes its operation in a single spell. The joyousentr'acte does not take place; the convulsive movements of the wings andthe acrobatic postures are suppressed. 

The rule is paralysis of all the segments, however many, in regularorder from front to back, including even the anal segment if this boastof legs. By a fairly frequent exception the last two or three segmentsare spared. Another exception, but a very rare one, of which I haveobserved only a single instance, consists in the inversion of thedagger-thrusts of the second act, the thrusts being delivered from backto front. The caterpillar is then seized by its hinder extremity; andthe Ammophila, progressing towards the head, stings in reverse order, passing from the succeeding to the preceding segment, including thethorax already stabbed. This reversal of the usual tactics I am inclinedto attribute to negligence on the insect's part. Negligence or not, the inverted method has the same final result as the direct method: theparalysis of all the segments. 

Lastly, the compression of the neck by the mandibulary pincers, themunching of the weak spot between the base of the skull and the firstsegment of the thorax, is sometimes practised and sometimes neglected. If the caterpillar's jaws open and threaten, the Ammophila stills themby biting the neck; if they are already growing quiescent, she refrains. Without being indispensable, this operation is useful at the moment ofcarting the prey. The caterpillar, too heavy to be carried on the wing, is dragged, head first, between the Ammophila's legs. If the mandiblesare working, the least clumsiness may render them dangerous to thecarrier, who is exposed to their bite without any means of defence. 

Moreover, once on the way, thickets of grass are traversed in whichthe Grey Worm can seize a blade and offer a desperate resistance tothe traction. Nor is this all. The Ammophila does not as a rule troubleabout her burrow, or at least does not complete it, until she hascaught her caterpillar. During the mining-operations, the game is laidsomewhere high up, out of reach of the Ants, on some tuft of grass, orthe twigs of a shrub, whither the huntress, from time to time, stoppingher well-sinking, hastens to see if her quarry is still there. For herthis is a means of refreshing her memory of the spot where she has laidit, often at some distance from the burrow, and of preventing attemptsat robbery. When the moment comes for removing the game from itshiding-place, the difficulty would be insurmountable were the worm, gripping the shrub with all the might of its jaws, to anchor itselfthere. Hence inertia of the powerful hooks, which are the paralysedcreature's sole means of resistance, becomes essential during thecarting. The Ammophila obtains it by compressing the cerebral ganglia, by munching the neck. The inertia is temporary; it wears off sooneror later; but by this time the carcase is in the cell and the egg, prudently laid at a distance on the ventral surface of the worm, hasnothing to fear from the caterpillar's grapnels. No comparison ispermissible between the methodical squeezes of the Ammophila benumbingthe cephalic nerve-centres and the brutal manipulations of thePhilanthus emptying the crop of her Bee. The huntress of Grey Wormsinduces a temporary torpor of the mandibles; the ravisher of Bees makesthem eject their honey. No one gifted with the least perspicacity willconfound the two operations. 

For the moment we will not dwell any longer on the method of theHairy Ammophila; we will see instead how her kinswomen behave. Afterprotracted refusals the Sandy Ammophila (A. Sabulosa, FAB. ), on whomI experimented in September, ended by accepting the proffered prey, apowerful caterpillar as thick as a lead-pencil. The surgical method didnot differ from that employed by the Hairy Ammophila when operating onher Grey Worm in one spell. All the segments, excepting the last three, were stung from front to back, beginning with the prothorax. This singlesuccess with a simplified method left me in ignorance of the accessorymanoeuvres, which I do not doubt must more or less closely recall thoseof the preceding species. 

I am all the more inclined to accept these secondary manoeuvres, notas yet recorded--the transports of triumph and the compressions of theneck--inasmuch as I see them practised upon the Looper caterpillars, which differ so greatly from the others in external structure, exactlyas I have described them in the case of the Grey Worm, which is of theordinary form. Two species, the Silky Ammophila (A. Holoserica, FAB. ) and Jules' Ammophila (See in the first volume of the "Souvenirsentomologiques" what I mean by this denomination. --Author's Note. ), affect this curious prey, which moves with the stride of a pair ofcompasses. The first, often renewed under glass during the greater partof August, has always refused my offers; the second, her contemporary, has, on the contrary, promptly accepted them. 

I present Jules' Ammophila with a slender, brownish Looper which Icaught on the jasmine. The attack is not slow in coming. The caterpillaris grabbed by the neck: lively contortions of the victim, which rollsthe aggressor over and drags her along, now uppermost, now undermost inthe struggle. First the thorax is stung, in its three rings, fromback to front. The sting lingers longest near the throat, in the firstsegment. This done, the Ammophila releases her victim and proceedsto stamp her tarsi, to polish her wings, to stretch herself. Again Iobserve the acrobatic postures, the forehead touching the ground, thehinder part of the body raised. This mimic triumph is the same as thatof the huntress of the Grey Worm. Then the Looper is once more seized. Despite its contortions, which are not in the least abated by the threewounds in the thorax, it is stung from front to back in each segmentstill unwounded, no matter how many, whether supplied with legs or not. I expected to see the sting refrain more or less in the long intervalwhich separates the true legs in front from the pro-legs at the back(Fleshy legs found on the abdominal segments of caterpillars and certainother larvae. --Translator's Note. ): segments devoid of organs of defenceor locomotion did not seem to me to deserve conscientious surgery. I wasmistaken: not a segment of the Looper is spared, not even the last ones. It is true that these, being eminently capable of catching hold withtheir false legs, would be dangerous later were the Wasp to neglectthem. 

I observe, however, that the lancet works more rapidly in the secondpart of the operation than in the first, either because the caterpillar, half subjugated by the triple wound at the outset, is easier to reachwith the sting, or because the segments more remote from the head arerendered harmless with a smaller injection of poison. Nowhere do we seerepeated the care expended upon paralysing the thorax, still less theinsistent attention to the first segment. On returning to her Looperafter the entr'acte devoted to the joys of success, the Ammophila stabsso swiftly that, on one occasion, I saw her obliged to begin all overagain. Lightly stung along its whole length, the victim still struggles. Without hesitation, the operator unsheathes her scalpel for the secondtime and operates on the Looper afresh, with the exception of thethorax, which was already sufficiently anaesthetized. This done, all isin order; there is no more movement. 

After the stiletto the hooks of the mandibles rarely fail to intervene. Long and curved, they nibble at the paralysed victim's neck, sometimesfrom above, sometimes from below. It is a repetition of what the HairyAmmophila showed us: the same sudden squeezes of the pincers, withrather long intervals between. These intervals, these measured bites andthe insect's watchful attitude have every appearance of telling us thatthe operator is noting the effect produced before giving a fresh pinchof the nippers. 

It will be seen how valuable is the evidence of Jules' Ammophila:it tells us that the immolaters of Looper caterpillars and those ofordinary caterpillars follow precisely the same method; that victimsdisplaying very dissimilar external structure do not entail anymodification of the operative tactics so long as the internalorganization remains the same. The number, arrangement and degree ofmutual independence of the nerve-centres guide the sting; the anatomy ofthe game, rather than its form, controls the huntress' tactics. 

Let me mention, before I dismiss the subject, a superb example of thismarvellous anatomical discrimination. I once took from between the legsof a Hairy Ammophila, which had just paralysed it, a caterpillar ofDicranura vinula. What a strange capture compared with the ordinarycaterpillar! Bridling in thick folds beneath its pink neckerchief, its fore-part raised in a sphinx-like attitude, its hinder-part slowlywaving two long caudal threads, the curious animal is no caterpillarto the schoolboy who brings it to me, nor to the man who comes uponit while cutting his bundle of osiers; but it is a caterpillar to theAmmophila, who treats it accordingly. I explore the queer creature'ssegments with the point of a needle. All are insensitive; all thereforehave been stung. 

CHAPTER 12. THE METHOD OF THE SCOLIAE. 

After the Ammophilae, the paralysers who multiply their lancet-thruststo destroy the influence of the various nerve-centres, excepting thoseof the head, it seemed advisable to interrogate other insects which alsoare accustomed to a naked prey, vulnerable at all points save thehead, but which deliver only a single thrust of the sting. Of these twoconditions the Scoliae fulfilled one, with their regular quarry, thetender Cetonia-, Oryctes-or Anoxia-larva, according to the Scolia'sspecies. Did they fulfil the second? I was convinced beforehand thatthey did. From the anatomy of the victims, with their concentratednervous system, I foresaw, when compiling my history of the Scoliae, that the sting would be unsheathed once only; I even mentioned the exactspot into which the weapon would be plunged. 

These were assertions dictated by the anatomist's scalpel, without theslightest direct proof derived from observed facts. Manoeuvres executedunderground escaped the eye, as it seemed to me that they must alwaysdo. How indeed could I hope that a creature whose art is practised inthe darkness of a heap of mould would decide to work in broad daylight?I did not reckon upon it all. Nevertheless, to salve my conscience, I tried bringing the Scolia into contact with her prey under thebell-glass. I was well-advised to do so, for my success was in inverseratio to my hopes. Next to the Philanthus, none of the Hunting Waspsdisplayed such ardour in attacking under artificial conditions. All theinsects experimented upon, some sooner, some later, rewarded me for mypatience. Let us watch the Two-banded Scolia (S. Bifasciata, VAN DERLIND) operating on her Cetonia grub. 

The incarcerated larva strives to escape its terrible neighbour. Lyingon its back, it fiercely wends its way round and round the glass circus. Presently the Scolia's attention awakens and is betrayed by a continuedtapping with the tips of the antennae upon the table, which nowrepresents the accustomed soil. The Wasp attacks the game, deliveringher assault upon the monster's hinder end. She climbs upon theCetonia-grub, obtaining a purchase with the tip of her abdomen. Thequarry merely travels the more quickly on its back, without coilingitself into a defensive posture. The Scolia reaches the fore-part, with tumbles and other accidents which vary greatly with the amountof tolerance displayed by the larva, her improvised steed. With hermandibles she nips a point of the thorax, on the upper surface; sheplaces herself athwart the beast, arches herself and makes every effortto reach with the end of her abdomen the region into which the stingis to be driven. The arch is a little too narrow to embrace almost thewhole circumference of her corpulent prey; and she renews herattempts and efforts for a long time. The tip of the belly tries everyconceivable expedient, touching here, there and everywhere, but as yetstopping nowhere. This persistent search in itself demonstrates theimportance which the paralyser attaches to the point at which her lancetis to penetrate the flesh. 

Meanwhile, the larva continues to move along on its back. Suddenly itcurls up; with a stroke of its head it hurls the enemy to a distance. Undiscouraged by all her set-backs, the Wasp picks herself up, brushesher wings and resumes her attack upon the colossus, almost always bymounting the larva's hinder end. At last after all these fruitlessattempts, the Scolia succeeds in achieving the correct position. Sheis seated athwart the Cetonia-grub; the mandibles grip a point on thedorsal surface of the thorax; the body, bent into a bow, passes underthe larva and with the tip of the belly reaches the region of the neck. The Cetonia-grub, placed in serious peril, writhes, coils and uncoilsitself, spinning round upon its axis. The Scolia does not interfere. Holding the victim tightly gripped, she turns with it, allows herself tobe dragged upwards, downwards, sidewards, following its contortions. Herobstinacy is such that I can now remove the bell-glass and follow thedetails of the drama in the open. 

Briefly, in spite of the turmoil, the tip of the abdomen feels that theright spot has been found. Then and only then the sting is unsheathed. It plunges in. The thing is done. The larva, at first plump and active, suddenly becomes flaccid and inert. It is paralysed. Henceforth thereare no movements save of the antennae and the mouthparts, which will fora long time yet bear witness to a remnant of life. The point woundedhas never varied in the series of combats under glass: it occupiesthe middle of the line of demarcation between the prothorax and themesothorax, on the ventral surface. Note that the Cerceres, operating onWeevils, whose nervous system is as compact as the Cetonia-grub's, drive in the needle at the same spot. Similarity of nervous organizationoccasions similarity of method. Note also that the Scolia's stingremains in the wound for some time and roots about with markedpersistence. Judging by the movements of the tip of the abdomen, onewould certainly say that the weapon is exploring and selecting. Free toshift in one direction or the other, within narrow limits, its point ismost probably seeking for the little mass of nerve-tissue which mustbe pricked, or at least sprinkled with poison, to obtain overwhelmingparalysis. 

I will not close this report of the duel without relating a few furtherfacts, of minor importance. The Two-banded Scolia is a fierce persecutorof the Cetonia. In one sitting the same mother stabs three larvae, oneafter the other, in front of my eyes. She refuses the fourth, perhapsowing to fatigue or to exhaustion of the poison-bag. Her refusal is onlytemporary. Next day, she begins again and paralyses two grubs; the dayafter that, she does the same, but with a zeal that decreases from dayto day. 

The other Hunting Wasps that pursue the chase far afield grip, drag, carry their prey, after depriving it of movement, each in her ownfashion and, laden with their burden, make prolonged attempts to escapefrom the bell-glass and to gain the burrow. Discouraged by these futileendeavours, they abandon them at last. The Scolia does not remove herquarry, which lies on its back for an indefinite time on the actual spotof the sacrifice. When she has withdrawn her dagger from the wound, sheleaves her victim where it lies and, without taking further noticeof it, begins to flutter against the side of the glass. The paralysedcarcase is not transported elsewhere, into a special cellar; there wherethe struggle has occurred it receives, upon its extended abdomen, theegg whence the consumer of the succulent tit-bit will emerge, thussaving the expense of setting up house. It goes without saying thatunder the bell-glass the laying does not take place: the mother is toocautious to abandon her egg to the perils of the open air. 

Why then, recognizing the absence of her underground burrow, does theScolia uselessly pursue the Cetonia with the frantic ardour of thePhilanthus flinging herself upon the Bee? The action of the Philanthusis explained by her passion for honey; hence the murders committed inexcess of the needs of her family. The Scolia leaves us perplexed: shetakes nothing from the Cetonia-grub, which is left without an egg; shestabs, though well aware of the uselessness of her action: the heap ofmould is lacking and it is not her custom to transport her prey. Theother prisoners, once the blow is struck, at least seek to escape withtheir capture between their legs; the Scolia attempts nothing. 

After due reflection, I lump together in my suspicions all thesesurgeons and ask myself whether they possess the slightest foresight, where the egg is concerned. When, exhausted by their burden, theyrecognize the impossibility of escape, the more expert among them oughtnot to begin all over again; yet they do so begin a few minutes later. These wonderful anatomists know absolutely nothing about anything, theydo not even know what their victims are good for. Admirable artistsin killing and paralysis, they kill or paralyse at every favourableopportunity, no matter what the final result as regards the egg. Their talent, which leaves our science speechless, has not a shadow ofconsciousness of the task accomplished. 

A second detail strikes me: the desperate persistence of the Scolia. Ihave seen the struggle continue for more than a quarter of an hour, withfrequent alternations of good luck and bad, before the Wasp achieved therequired position and reached with the end of her abdomen the spot wherethe sting should penetrate. During these assaults, which were resumed assoon as they were repulsed, the aggressor repeatedly applied the tip ofher belly to the larva, but without unsheathing, as I could see by theabsence of the start which the larva gives when it feels the pain of thesting. The Scolia therefore does not prick the Cetonia anywhere untilthe weapon covers the requisite spot. If no wounds are inflictedelsewhere, this is not in any way due to the structure of the larva, which is soft and vulnerable all over, except in the head. The pointsought by the sting is no more unprotected than any other part of theskin. 

In the scuffle, the Scolia, curved into a bow, is sometimes seized bythe vice-like grip of the Cetonia-grub, which is violently coiling anduncoiling. Heedless of the powerful grip, the Wasp does not let go fora moment, either with her mandibles or with the tip of her abdomen. Atsuch times the two creatures, locked in a mutual embrace, turn over andover in a mad whirl, each of them now on top, now underneath. When itcontrives to rid itself of its enemy, the larva uncoils again, stretchesitself out and proceeds to make off upon its back with all possiblespeed. Its defensive ruses are exhausted. Formerly, before I had seenthings for myself, taking probability as my guide I willingly granted tothe larva the trick of the Hedgehog, who rolls himself into a ball andsets the Dog at defiance. Coiled upon itself, with an energy which myfingers have some difficulty in overcoming, the larva, I thought, woulddefy the Scolia, powerless to unroll it and disdaining any point butthe one selected. I hoped and believed that it possessed this means ofdefence, a means both efficacious and extremely simple. I had presumedtoo much upon its ingenuity. Instead of imitating the Hedgehog andremaining contracted, it flees, belly in air; it foolishly adopts thevery posture which allows the Scolia to mount to the assault and toreach the spot for the fatal stroke. The silly beast reminds me ofthe giddy Bee who comes and flings herself into the clutches of thePhilanthus. Yet another who has learnt no lesson from the struggle forlife. 

Let us proceed to further examples. I have just captured an InterruptedScolia (Colpa interrupta, LATR. ), exploring the sand, doubtless insearch of game. It is a matter of making the earliest possible use ofher, before her spirit is chilled by the tedium of captivity. I know herprey, the larva of Anoxia australis (The Anoxia are a genus of Beetlesakin to the Cockchafers. --Translator's Note. ); I know, from my pastexcavations, the points favoured by the grub: the mounds of sandheaped up by the wind at the foot of the rosemaries on the neighbouringhill-sides. It will be a hard job to find it, for nothing is rarer thanthe common if one wants it then and there. I appeal for assistance to myfather, an old man of ninety, still straight as a capital I. Under a sunhot enough to broil an egg, we set off, shouldering a navvy's shoveland a three-pronged luchet. (The local pitchfork of southernFrance. --Translator's Note. ) Employing our feeble energies in turns, wedig a trench in the sand where I hope to find the Anoxia. My hopes arenot disappointed. After having by the sweat of our brow--never was theexpression more justified--removed and sifted two cubic yards at leastof sandy soil with our fingers, we find ourselves in possession of twolarvae. If I had not wanted any, I should have turned them up by thehandful. But my poor and costly harvest is sufficient for the moment. To-morrow I will send more vigorous arms to continue the work ofexcavation. 

And now let us reward ourselves for our trouble by studying the tragedyin the bell-glass. Clumsy, awkward in her movements, the Scolia slowlygoes the round of the circus. At the sight of the game, her attentionis aroused. The struggle is announced by the same preparations as thosedisplayed by the Two-banded Scolia: the Wasp polishes her wings and tapsthe table with the tips of her antennae. And view, halloo! The attackbegins. Unable to move on a flat surface, because of its short andfeeble legs, deprived moreover of the Cetonia-larva's eccentric meansof travelling on its back, the portly grub has no thought of fleeing; itcoils itself up. The Scolia, with her powerful pincers, grips its skinnow here, now elsewhere. Curved into a circle with the two ends almosttouching, she strives to thrust the tip of her abdomen into the narrowopening in the coil formed by the larva. The contest is conductedcalmly, without violent bouts at each varying accident. It is thedetermined attempt of a living split ring trying to slip one of its endsinto another living split ring, which with equal determinationrefuses to open. The Scolia holds the victim subdued with her legsand mandibles; she tries one side, then the other, without managing tounroll the circle, which contracts still more as it feels its dangerincreasing. The actual circumstances make the operation more difficult:the prey slips and rolls about the table when the insect handles it tooviolently; there are no points of purchase and the sting cannot reachthe desired spot; the fruitless efforts are continued for more than anhour, interrupted by periods of rest, during which the two adversariesrepresent two narrow, interlocked rings. 

What ought the powerful Cetonia-grub to do to defy the Two-bandedScolia, who is far less vigorous than her victim? It should imitatethe Anoxia-larva and remain rolled up like a Hedgehog until the enemyretires. It tries to escape, unrolls itself and is lost. The other doesnot stir from its posture of defence and resists successfully. Is thisdue to acquired caution? No, but to the impossibility of doing otherwiseon the slippery surface of a table. Clumsy, obese, weak in the legs, curved into a hook like the common White Worm (The larva of theCockchafer. --Translator's Note. ), the Anoxia-larva is unable to movealong a smooth surface; it writhes laboriously, lying on its side. Itneeds the shifting soil in which, using its mandibles as a plough-share, it digs into the ground and buries itself. 

Let us try if sand will shorten the struggle, for I see no end to ityet, after more than an hour of waiting. I lightly powder the arena. The attack is resumed with a vengeance. The larva, feeling the sand, itsnative element, tries to escape. Imprudent creature! Did I not say thatits obstinacy in remaining rolled up was due to no acquired prudence butto the necessity of the moment? The sad experience of past adversitieshas not yet taught it the precious advantage which it might derive fromkeeping its coils closed so long as danger remains. For that matter, on the unyielding support of my table, they are not one and all socautious. The larger seem even to have forgotten what they knew so wellin their youth: the defensive art of coiling themselves up. 

I continue my story with a fine-sized specimen, less likely to slipunder the Scolia's onslaught. When attacked, the larva does not curl up, does not shrink into a ring as did the last, which was younger and onlyhalf as large. It struggles awkwardly, lying on its side, half-open. For all defence it twists about; it opens, closes and reopens the greathooks of its mandibles. The Scolia grabs it at random, clasps it inher shaggy legs and for nearly a quarter of an hour battles with theluscious tit-bit. At last, after a not very tumultuous struggle, whenthe favourable position is attained and the propitious moment has come, the sting is implanted in the creature's thorax, in a central point, below the throat, level with the fore-legs. The effect is instantaneous:total inertia, except of the appendages of the head, the antennae andmouth-parts. I achieved the same results, the same prick at a definite, invariable point, with my several operators, renewed from time to timeby some lucky cast of the net. 

Let us mention, in conclusion, that the attack of the Interrupted Scoliais far less fierce than that of the Two-banded Scolia. The Wasp, arough sand-digger, has a clumsy gait; her movements are stiff and almostautomatic. She does not find it easy to repeat her dagger-thrust. Mostof the specimens with which I experimented refused a second victim onthe first two days after their exploits. As though somnolent, they didnot stir unless excited by my teasing them with a bit of straw. Althoughmore active and more ardent in the chase, the Two-banded Scolia likewisedoes not draw her weapon every time that I invite her. For all thesehuntresses there are moments of inaction which the presence of a freshprey is powerless to disturb. 

The Scoliae have taught me nothing further, in the absence of subjectsbelonging to other species. No matter: the results obtained represent nosmall triumph for my ideas. Before seeing the Scoliae operate, I said, guided solely by the anatomy of the victims, that the Cetonia-, Anoxia-and Oryctes-larvae must be paralysed by a single thrust of the lancet;I even named the point where the sting must strike, a central point, in the immediate vicinity of the fore-legs. Of the three genera ofparalysers, two have allowed me to witness their surgical methods, whichthe third, I feel certain, will confirm. In both cases, a single thrustof the lancet; in both cases, injection of the venom at a predeterminedpoint. A calculator in an observatory could not compute the position ofhis planet with greater accuracy. An idea may be taken as proved whenit attains to this mathematical forecast of the future, this certainknowledge of the unknown. When will the acclaimers of chance achieve alike success? Order appeals to order; and chance knows no laws. 

CHAPTER 13. THE METHOD OF THE CALICURGI. 

The non-armoured victims, vulnerable by the sting over almost theirwhole body, ordinary caterpillars and Looper caterpillars, Cetonia- andAnoxia-larvae, whose only means of defence, apart from their mandibles, consists of rollings and contortions, called for the testimony ofanother victim, the Spider, almost as ill-protected, but armed withformidable poison-fangs. How, in particular, will the Ringed Calicurgusset to work in operating on the Black-bellied Tarantula, the terribleLycosa, who with a single bite kills the Mole or the Sparrow andendangers the life of man? How does the bold Pompilus overcome anadversary more powerful than herself, better-equipped with virulentpoison and capable of making a meal of her assailant? Of all the HuntingWasps, none risks such unequal conflicts, in which appearances wouldproclaim the aggressor to be the victim and the victim the aggressor. 

The problem was one deserving patient study. True, I foresaw, from theSpider's organization, a single sting in the centre of the thorax; butthat did not explain the victory of the Wasp, emerging safe and soundfrom her tussle with such a quarry. I had to see what occurred. Thechief difficulty was the scarcity of the Calicurgus. It is easy for meto obtain the Tarantula at the desired moment: the part of the plateauin my neighbourhood left untilled by the vine-growers provides me withas many as are necessary. To capture the Pompilus is another matter. Ihave so little hope of finding her that special quests are regarded asuseless. To search for her would perhaps be just the way not to findher. Let us rely on the uncertainties of chance. Shall I get her orshall I not?

I've got her. I catch her unexpectedly on the flowers. Next day I supplymyself with half a dozen Tarantulae. Perhaps I shall be able toemploy them one after the other in repeated duels. As I return from myLycosa-hunt, luck smiles upon me again and crowns my desires. Asecond Calicurgus offers herself to my net; she is dragging her heavy, paralysed Spider by one leg, in the dust of the highway. I attach greatvalue to my find: the laying of the egg has become a pressing matter;and the mother, I believe, will accept a substitute for her victimwithout much hesitation. Here then are my two captives, each under herbell-glass with her Tarantula. 

I am all eyes. What a tragedy there will be in a moment! I wait, anxiously. . . But. . . But. . . What is this? Which of the two is theassailed? Which is the assailant? The characters seem to be inverted. The Calicurgus, unable to climb up the smooth glass wall, strides roundthe ring of the circus. With a proud and rapid gait, her wings andantennae vibrating, she goes and returns. The Lycosa is soon seen. TheCalicurgus approaches her without the least sign of fear, walks roundher and appears to have the intention of seizing one of her legs. But atthat moment the Tarantula rises almost vertically on her four hinderlegs, with her four front legs lifted and outspread, ready for thecounterstroke. The poison-fangs gape widely; a drop of venom moistenstheir tips. The very sight of them makes my flesh creep. In thisterrible attitude, presenting her powerful thorax and the black velvetof her belly to the enemy, the Spider overawes the Pompilus, whosuddenly turns tail and moves away. The Lycosa then closes her bundle ofpoisoned daggers and resumes her natural pose, standing on her eightlegs; but, at the slightest attempt at aggression on the Wasp's part, she resumes her threatening position. 

She does more: suddenly she leaps and flings herself upon theCalicurgus; swiftly she clasps her and nibbles at her with her fangs. Without wielding her sting in self-defence, the other disengagesherself and merges unscathed from the angry encounter. Several times insuccession I witness the attack; and nothing serious ever befalls theWasp, who swiftly withdraws from the fray and appears to have receivedno hurt. She resumes her marching and countermarching no less boldly andswiftly than before. 

Is this Wasp invulnerable, that she thus escapes from the terriblefangs? Evidently not. A real bite would be fatal to her. Big, sturdilybuilt Acridians succumb (Locusts and Grasshoppers. --Translator's Note. );how is it that she, with her delicate organism, does not! The Spider'sdaggers, therefore, make no more than an idle feint; their points do notenter the flesh of the tight-clasped Wasp. If the strokes were real, Ishould see bleeding wounds, I should see the fangs close for a moment onthe part seized; and with all my attention I cannot detect anything ofthe kind. Then are the fangs powerless to pierce the Wasp's integuments?Not so. I have seen them penetrate, with a crackling of broken armour, the corselet of the Acridians, which offers a far greater resistance. Once again, whence comes this strange immunity of the Calicurgus heldbetween the legs and assailed by the daggers of the Tarantula? I do notknow. Though in mortal peril from the enemy confronting her, the Lycosathreatens her with her fangs and cannot decide to bite, owing to arepugnance which I do not undertake to explain. 

Obtaining nothing more than alarums and excursions of no greatseriousness, I think of modifying the gladiatorial arena andapproximating it to natural conditions. The soil is very imperfectlyrepresented by my work-table; and the Spider has not her fortress, herburrow, which plays a part of some importance both in attack and indefence. A short length of reed is planted perpendicularly in a largeearthenware pan filled with sand. This will be the Lycosa's burrow. Inthe middle I stick some heads of globe-thistle garnished with honey asa refectory for the Pompilus; a couple of Locusts, renewed as andwhen consumed, will sustain the Tarantula. These comfortable quarters, exposed to the sun, receive the two captives under a wire-gauze dome, which provides adequate ventilation for a prolonged residence. 

My artifices come to nothing; the session closes without result. Aday passes, two days, three; still nothing happens. The Pompilus isassiduous in her visits to the honeyed flower-clusters; when she haseaten her fill, she clambers up the dome and makes interminable circuitsof the netting; the Tarantula quietly munches her Locust. If the otherpasses within reach, she swiftly raises herself and waves her off. Theartificial burrow, the reed-stump, fulfills its purpose excellently. TheLycosa and the Pompilus resort to it in turns, but without quarrelling. And that is all. The drama whose prologue was so full of promise appearsto be indefinitely postponed. 

I have a last resource, on which I base great hopes: it is to remove mytwo Calicurgi to the very site of their investigations and to installthem at the door of the Spider's lodging, at the top of the naturalburrow. I take the field with an equipment which I am carrying acrossthe country for the first time: a glass bell-jar, a wire-gauze cover andthe various implements needed for handling and transferring my irascibleand dangerous subjects. My search for burrows among the pebbles and thetufts of thyme and lavender is soon successful. 

Here is a splendid one. I learn by inserting a straw that it isinhabited by a Tarantula of a size suited to my plans. The soil aroundthe aperture is cleared and flattened to receive the wire-gauze, underwhich I place a Pompilus. This is the time to light a pipe and wait, lying on the pebbles. . . Yet another disappointment. Half an hour goes by;and the Wasp confines herself to travelling round and round the nettingas she did in my study. She gives no sign of greed when confronted withthe burrow, though I can see the Tarantula's diamond eyes glittering atthe bottom. 

The trellised wall is replaced by the glass wall, which, since it doesnot allow her to scale its heights, will oblige the Wasp to remain onthe ground and at last to take cognizance of the shaft, which she seemsto ignore. This time we have done the trick!

After a few circuits of her cage, the Calicurgus notices the pit yawningat her feet. She goes down it. This daring confounds me. I should neverhave ventured to anticipate as much. That she should suddenly flingherself upon the Tarantula when the latter is outside her stronghold, well and good; but to rush into the lair, when the terrible monster iswaiting for you below with those two poisoned daggers of hers! What willcome of such temerity? A buzzing of wings ascends from the depths. Runto earth in her private apartments, the Lycosa is no doubt at grips withthe intruder. That hum of wings is the Calicurgus' paean of triumph, until it be her death-song. The slayer may well be the slain. Which ofthe two will come up alive?

It is the Lycosa, who hurriedly scampers out and posts herself just overthe orifice of the burrow, in her posture of defence, her fangs open, her four front legs uplifted. Can the other have been stabbed? Not atall, for she emerges in her turn, not without receiving on the way acuff from the Spider, who immediately regains her lair. Dislodged fromher basement a second and yet a third time, the Tarantula alwayscomes up unwounded; she always awaits her adversary on her threshold, administers punishment and reenters her dwelling. In vain do I trymy two Pompili alternately and change the burrow; I do not succeedin observing anything else. Certain conditions not realized by mystratagems are lacking to complete the tragedy. 

Discouraged by the repetition of my futile attempts, I throw up thegame, the richer however by one fact of some value: the Calicurgus, without the least fear, descends into the Tarantula's den and dislodgesher. I imagine that things happen in the same fashion outside my cages. When expelled from her dwelling, the Spider is more timid and morevulnerable to attack. Moreover, while hampered by a narrow shaft, theoperator would not wield her lancet with the precision called for by herdesigns. The bold irruption shows us once again, more plainly than thetussles on my table, the Lycosa's reluctance to sink her fangs into herenemy's body. When the two are face to face at the bottom of the lair, then or never is the moment to have it out with the foe. The Tarantulais in her own house, with all its conveniences; every nook and corner ofthe bastion is familiar to her. The intruder's movements are hampered byher ignorance of the premises. Quick, my poor Lycosa, quick, a bite; andit's all up with your persecutor! But you refrain, I know not why, andyour reluctance is the saving of the rash invader. The silly Sheep doesnot reply to the butcher's knife by charging with lowered horns. Can itbe that you are the Pompilus' Sheep?

My two subjects are reinstalled in my study under their wire-gauzecovers, with bed of sand, reed-stump burrow and fresh honey, complete. Here they find again their first Lycosae, fed upon Locusts. Cohabitationcontinues for three weeks without other incidents than scuffles andthreats which become less frequent day by day. No serious hostility isdisplayed on either side. At last the Calicurgi die: their day is over. A pitiful end after such an enthusiastic beginning. 

Shall I abandon the problem? Why, not a bit of it! I have encounteredgreater difficulties, but they have never deterred me from awarmly-cherished project. Fortune favours the persevering. She provesas much by offering me, in September, a fortnight after the death of myTarantula-huntresses, another Calicurgus, captured for the first time. This is the Harlequin Calicurgus (C. Scurra, LEP. ), who sports the samegaudy costume as the first and is almost of the same size. 

Now what does this newcomer, of whom I know nothing, want? A Spider, that is certain; but which? A huntress like this will need a corpulentquarry: perhaps the Silky Epeira (E. Serica), perhaps the BandedEpeira (E. Fasciata), the largest Spiders in the district, next to theTarantula. The first of these spreads her large upright net, in whichLocusts are caught, from one clump of brushwood to another. I findher in the copses on the neighbouring hills. The second stretcheshers across the ditches and the little streams frequented by theDragon-flies. I find her near the Aygues, beside the irrigation-canalsfed by the torrent. A couple of trips procures me the two Epeirae, whomI offer to my captive next day, both at the same time. It is for her tochoose according to her taste. 

The choice is soon made: the Banded Epeira is the one preferred. But shedoes not yield without protest. On the approach of the Wasp, she risesand assumes a defensive attitude, just like that of the Lycosa. TheCalicurgus pays no attention to threats: under her harlequin's coat, sheis violent in attack and quick on her legs. There is a rapid exchange offisticuffs; and the Epeira lies overturned on her back. The Pompilus ison top of her, belly to belly, head to head; with her legs she mastersthe Spider's legs; with her mandibles she grips the cephalothorax. Shecurves her abdomen, bringing the tip of it beneath her; she draws hersting and. . . 

One moment, reader, if you please. Where is the sting about to strike?From what we have learnt from the other paralysers, it will be driveninto the breast, to suppress the movement of the legs. That is youropinion; it was also mine. Well, without blushing too deeply at ourcommon and very excusable error, let us confess that the insect knowsbetter than we do. It knows how to assure success by a preparatorymanoeuvre of which you and I had never dreamt. Ah, what a school is thatof the animals! Is it not true that, before striking the adversary, youshould take care not to get wounded yourself? The Harlequin Pompilusdoes not disregard this counsel of prudence. The Epeira carries beneathher throat two sharp daggers, with a drop of poison at their points;the Calicurgus is lost if the Spider bites her. Nevertheless, heranaesthetizing demands perfect steadiness of the lancet. What is tobe done in the face of this danger which might disconcert the mostpractised surgeon? The patient must first be disarmed and then operatedon. 

And in fact the Calicurgus' sting, aimed from back to front, is driveninto the Epeira's mouth, with minute precautions and marked persistency. On the instant, the poison-fangs close lifelessly and the formidablequarry is powerless to harm. The Wasp's abdomen then extends its arc anddrives the needle behind the fourth pair of legs, on the median line, almost at the junction of the belly and the cephalothorax. At thispoint the skin is finer and more easily penetrable than elsewhere. Theremainder of the thoracic surface is covered with a tough breast-platewhich the sting would perhaps fail to perforate. The nerve-centres, thesource of the leg-movements, are situated a little above the woundedpoint, but the back-to-front direction of the sting makes it possibleto reach them. This last wound results in the paralysis of all the eightlegs at once. 

To enlarge upon it further would detract from the eloquence of thisperformance. First of all, to safeguard the operator, a stab in themouth, that point so terribly armed, the most formidable of all; then, to safeguard the larva, a second stab in the nerve-centres of thethorax, to suppress the power of movement. I certainly suspected thatthe slayers of robust Spiders were endowed with special talents; butI was far from expecting their bold logic, which disarms beforeit paralyses. So the Tarantula-huntress must behave, who, under mybell-glasses, refused to surrender her secret. I now know what hermethod is; it has been divulged by a colleague. She throws the terribleLycosa upon her back, pricks her prickers by stinging her in the mouthand then, in comfort, with a single thrust of the lancet, obtainsparalysis of the legs. 

I examine the Epeira immediately after the operation and the Tarantulawhen the Calicurgus is dragging her by one leg to her burrow, at thefoot of some wall. For a little while longer, a minute at most, theEpeira convulsively moves her legs. So long as these throes continue, the Pompilus does not release her prey. She seems to watch the progressof the paralysis. With the tips of her mandibles she explores theSpider's mouth several times over, as though to ascertain if thepoison-fangs are really innocuous. When all movement subsides, thePompilus makes ready to drag her prey elsewhere. It is then I takecharge of it. 

What strikes me more than anything else is the absolute inertia of thefangs, which I tickle with a straw without succeeding in rousingthem from their torpor. The palpi, on the other hand, their immediateneighbours, wave at the least touch. The Epeira is placed in safety, ina flask, and undergoes a fresh examination a week later. Irritabilityhas in part returned. Under the stimulus of a straw, I see her legs movea little, especially the lower joints, the tibiae and tarsi. The palpiare even more irritable and mobile. These different movements, however, are lacking in vigour and coordination; and the Spider cannot employthem to turn over, much less to escape. As for the poison-fangs, Istimulate them in vain: I cannot get them to open or even to stir. Theyare therefore profoundly paralysed and in a special manner. The peculiarinsistence of the sting when the mouth was stabbed told me as much inthe beginning. 

At the end of September, almost a month after the operation, the Epeirais in the same condition, neither dead nor alive: the palpi still quiverwhen touched with a straw, but nothing else moves. At length, aftersix or seven weeks' lethargy, real death supervenes, together with itscomrade, putrefaction. 

The Tarantula of the Ringed Calicurgus, as I take her from the ownerat the moment of transportation, presents the same peculiarities. Thepoison-fangs are no longer irritable when tickled with my straw: a freshproof, added to those of analogy, to show that the Lycosa, like theEpeira, has been stung in the mouth. The palpi, on the other hand, areand will be for weeks highly irritable and mobile. I wish to emphasisethis point, the importance of which will be recognized presently. 

I found it impossible to provoke a second attack from my HarlequinCalicurgus: the tedium of captivity did not favour the exercise of hertalents. Moreover, the Epeira sometimes had something to do with herrefusals; a certain ruse de guerre which was twice employed before myeyes may well have baffled the aggressor. Let me describe the incident, if only to increase our respect a little for these foolish Spiders, whoare provided with perfected weapons and do not dare to make use of themagainst the weaker but bolder assailant. 

The Epeira occupies the wall of the wire-gauze cage, with her eight legswide-spread upon the trelliswork; the Calicurgus is wheeling roundthe top of the dome. Seized with panic at the sight of the approachingenemy, the Spider drops to the ground, with her belly upwards and herlegs gathered together. The other dashes forward, clasps her round thebody, explores her and prepares to sting her in the mouth. But she doesnot bare her weapon. I see her bending attentively over the poisonedfangs, as though to investigate their terrible mechanism; she then goesaway. The Spider is still motionless, so much so that I really believeher dead, paralysed unknown to me, at a moment when I was not looking. I take her from the cage to examine her comfortably. No sooner is sheplaced on the table than behold, she comes to life again and promptlyscampers off! The cunning creature was shamming death beneath the Wasp'sstiletto, so artfully that I was taken in. She deceived an enemy morecunning than myself, the Pompilus, who inspected her very closelyand took her for a corpse unworthy of her dagger. Perhaps the simplecreature, like the Bear in the fable of old, already noticed the smellof high meat. 

This ruse, if ruse it be, appears to me more often than not to turn tothe disadvantage of the Spider, whether Tarantula, Epeira or another. The Calicurgus who has just put the Spider on her back after a briskfight knows quite well that her prostrate foe is not dead. The latter, thinking to protect itself, simulates the inertia of a corpse; theassailant profits by this to deliver her most perilous blow, the stab inthe mouth. Were the fangs, each tipped with its drop of poison, to openthen; were they to snap, to give a desperate bite, the Pompilus wouldnot dare to expose the tip of her abdomen to their deadly scratch. Theshamming of death is exactly what enables the huntress to succeed in herdangerous operation. They say, O guileless Epeirae, that the strugglefor life has taught you to adopt this inert attitude for purposes ofdefence. Well, the struggle for life was a very bad counsellor. Trustrather to common sense and learn, by degrees, at your own cost, that tohit back, above all if you can do so promptly, is still the best way tointimidate the enemy. (Fabre does not believe in the actual shammingof death by animals. Cf. "The Glow-worm and Other Beetles, " by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapters 8 to15. --Translator's Note. )

The remainder of my observations on these insects under glass is littlemore than a long series of failures. Of two operators on Weevils, one, the Sandy Cerceris (C. Arenaria), persistently scorned the victimsoffered; the other, Ferrero's Cerceris (C. Ferreri), allowed herself tobe empted after two days' captivity. Her tactical method, as I expected, is precisely that of the Cleonus-huntress, the Great Cerceris, with whommy investigations commenced. When confronted with the Acorn-weevil, sheseizes the insect by the snout, which is immensely long and shapedlike a pipe-stem, and plants her sting in its body to the rear of theprothorax, between the first and second pair of legs. It is needless toinsist: the spoiler of the Cleoni has taught us enough about this modeof operation and its results. 

None of the Bembex-wasps, whether chosen among the huntresses ofthe Gadfly or among the lovers of the House-fly rabble, satisfied myaspirations. Their method is as unknown to me now as at the distantperiod when I used to watch it in the Bois des Issards. (Cf. "TheHunting Wasps": chapters 14 to 18. --Translator's Note. ) Their impetuousflight, their love of long journeys are incompatible with captivity. Stunned by colliding with the walls of their glass or wire-gauze prison, they all perish within twenty-four hours. Swifter in their movementsand apparently satisfied with their honeyed thistle-heads, the Spheges, huntresses of Crickets or Ephippigers, die as quickly of nostalgia. AllI offer them leaves them indifferent. 

Nor can I get anything out of the Eumenes, notably the biggest of them, the builder of gravel cupolas, Amedeus' Eumenes. All the Pompili, exceptthe Harlequin Calicurgus, refuse my Spiders. The Palarus, who preys uponan indefinite number of the Hymenopteron clan, refuses to tell me if shedrinks the honey of the Bees, as does the Philanthus, or if she lets theothers go without manipulating them to make them disgorge. The Tachytesdo not vouchsafe their Locusts a glance; Stizus ruficornis promptlygives up the ghost, disdaining the Praying Mantis which I provide forher. 

What is the use of continuing this list of checks? The rule maybe gathered from these few examples: occasional successes and manyfailures. What can be the reason? With the exception of the Philanthus, tempted from time to time by a bumper of honey, the predatory Wasps donot hunt on their own account; they have their victualling-time, whenthe egg-laying is imminent, when the family calls for food. Outsidethese periods, the finest heads of game might well leave thesenectar-bibbers indifferent. I am careful therefore, as far as possible, to capture my subjects at the proper season; I give preference tomothers caught upon the threshold of the burrow with their prey betweentheir legs. This diligence of mine by no means always succeeds. Thereare demoralized insects which, once under glass, even after a briefdelay, no longer care about the equivalent of their prize. 

All the species do not perhaps pursue their game with the same ardour;mood and temperament are more variable even than conformation. To thesefactors, which are of the nicest order, we may add that of the hour, which is often unfavourable when the subject is caught at haphazard onthe flowers, and we shall have more than enough to explain the frequencyof the failures. After all, I must beware of representing my failuresas the rule: what does not succeed one day may very well succeed anotherday, under different conditions. With perseverance and a little skill, any one who cares to continue these interesting studies will, I am sure, fill up many gaps. The problem is difficult but not impossible. 

I will not quit my bell-jars without saying a word on the entomologicaltact of the captives when they decide to attack. One of the pluckiestof my subjects, the Hairy Ammophila, was not always provided withthe hereditary dish of her family, the Grey Worm. I offered herindiscriminately any bare-skinned caterpillars that I chanced to find. Some were yellow, some green, some brown with white edges. All wereaccepted without hesitation, provided that they were of suitable size. Tasty game was recognized wonderfully under very dissimilar liveries. But a young Zeuzera-caterpillar, dug out of the branches of alilac-tree, and a silkworm of small dimensions were definitely refused. The over-fed products of our silkworm-nurseries and the mystery-lovingcaterpillar which gnaws the inner wood of the lilac inspired her withsuspicion and disgust, despite their bare skin, which favoured thesting, and their shape, which was similar to that of the victimsaccepted. 

Another ardent huntress, the Interrupted Scolia, refused theCetonia-grub, which is of like habits with the Anoxia-larva; theTwo-banded Scolia also refused the Anoxia. The Philanthus, the headlongmurderess of Bees, saw through my trickery when I confronted her withthe Virgilian Bee, the Eristalis (E. Tenax). She, a Philanthus, takethis Fly for a Bee! What next! The popular idea is mistaken; antiquitytoo is mistaken, as witness the "Georgics, " which make the putridremains of a sacrificed Bull give birth to a swarm; but the Wasp makesno mistake. In her eyes, which see farther than ours, the Eristalis isan odious Dipteron, a lover of corruption, and nothing more. 

CHAPTER 14. OBJECTIONS AND REJOINDERS. 

No idea of any scope can begin its soaring flight but straightway thecurmudgeons are after it, eager to break its wings and to stamp thewounded thing under foot. My discovery of the surgical methods that givethe Hunting Wasps their preserved foodstuffs has undergone the commonrule. Let theories be discussed, by all means: the realm of theimagination is an untilled domain, in which every one is free to planthis own conceptions. But realities are not open to discussion. It is abad policy to deny facts with no more authority than one's wish to findthem untrue. No one that I know of has impugned by contrary observationswhat I have so long been saying about the anatomical instinct of theWasps that hunt their prey; instead, I am met with arguments. Mercy onus! First use your eyes and then you shall have leave to argue! And, topersuade people to use their eyes, I mean to reply, since we have timeto spare, to the objections which have been or may be raised. Of course, I pass over in silence those in which childish disparagement shows itsnose too plainly. 

The sting, I am told, is directed at one point rather than anotherbecause that is the only vulnerable point. The insect cannot choose whatwound it will inflict; it stings where it must. Its wonderful operativemethod is the necessary result of the victim's structure. Let us first, if we attach any importance to lucidity, come to an understanding aboutthe word "vulnerable. " Do you mean by this that the point or ratherpoints wounded by the sting are the only points at which a lesion willsuddenly cause either death or paralysis? If so, I share your opinion;not only do I share it, but I was the first to proclaim it. My wholethesis is contained in that. Yes, a hundred times yes, the pointswounded are the only vulnerable points; they are even very vulnerable;they are the only points which lend themselves to the infliction ofsudden death or else paralysis, according to the operator's intention. 

But this is not how you understand the matter: you mean accessible tothe sting, in a word, penetrable. Here we part company. I have againstme, I admit, the Weevils and the Buprestes of the Cerceres. These mailedones hardly give the sting a chance, save behind the prothorax, thepoint at which the lancet is actually directed. If I were one to standon trifles, I might observe that in front of the prothorax, under thethroat, is an accessible spot and that the Cerceres will have nothing todo with it. But let us proceed; I give up the horn-clad Beetle. 

What are we to say of the Grey Worm and other caterpillars beloved ofthe Ammophilae? Here are victims accessible to the sting underneath, onthe back, on the sides, fore and aft, everywhere with the same facility, excepting the top of the head. And of this infinity of points, which areequally penetrable, the Wasp selects ten, always the same, differingin no way from the rest, unless it be by the close proximity of thenerve-centres. What are we to say of the Cetonia- and Anoxia-larvae, which are always attacked in the first thoracic segment, after longand painful struggles, when the assailant can sting the grub freelyat whatever point she chooses, since it is quite naked and offers nogreater resistance to the lancet at one point than at another?

What are we to think of the Sphex' Crickets and Ephippigers, stabbedthree times on the side of the thorax, which is fairly well defended, whereas the abdomen, soft and bulky, into which the sting would sinklike a needle into a pat of butter, is neglected? Do not let us forgetthe Philanthus, who takes no account either of the fissures beneath theabdominal plates or of the wide hiatus behind the corselet, but plungesher weapon, at the base of the throat, through a gap of a fraction ofa millimetre. Let us just mention the Mantis-hunting Tachytes. Does shemake for the most undefended point when she stabs, first of all, at itsbase, the Mantis' dreadful engine--the arm-pieces each fitted with adouble saw--at the risk of being seized, transfixed and crunched on thespot if she misses her blow? Why does she not strike at the creature'slong abdomen? That would be quite easy and free from danger. 

And the Calicurgi, if you please. Are they also unskilled duelists, plunging the dirk into the only easily accessible point, when their veryfirst move is to paralyse the poison-fangs? If there is one point aboutthe Tarantula and the Epeira that is dangerous and difficult to attack, it is certainly the mouth which bites with its two poisoned harpoons. And these desperadoes dare to brave that deadly trap! Why do they notfollow your judicious advice? They should sting the plump belly, whichis wholly unprotected. They do not; and they have their reasons, as havethe others. 

All, from the first to the last, show us, clear as water from the rock, that the outer structure of the victims operated on counts for nothingin the method of operating. This is determined by the inner anatomy. Thepoints wounded are not stung because they are the only points penetrableby the lancet; they are stung because they fulfil an importantcondition, without which penetrability loses its value. This conditionis none other than the immediate proximity of the nerve-centres whoseinfluence has to be suppressed. When at close quarters with her prey, whether soft or armour-clad, the huntress behaves as if she understoodthe nervous system better than any of us. The thoughtless objectionabout the only penetrable points is, I hope, swept aside forever. 

I am also told:

"It is possible, if it comes to that, for the sting to be delivered inthe neighbourhood of the nerve-centres; in a victim at most three orfour centimetres long, distances are very small. But a casual there orthereabouts is a very different thing from the precision of which youspeak. "

Oh, they are "thereabouts, " are they? We shall see! You want figures, millimetres, fractions? You shall have them!

First I call to witness the Interrupted Scolia. If the reader no longerhas her method of operating in mind, I will beg him to refresh hismemory. The two adversaries, in the preliminary conflict, may be fairlywell represented by two rings interlocked not in the same plane but atright angles. The Scolia grips a point of the Anoxia-grub's thorax; shecurves her body underneath it and, while encircling the grub, gropeswith the tip of her abdomen along the median line of the larva's neck. Owing to her transversal position, the assailant is now free to aim herweapon in a slightly slanting direction, whether towards the head ortowards the thorax, at the same point of entry in the larva's throat. Between the two opposite slants of the sting, which is itselfvery short, what can the distance be? Two millimetres (. 078inch. --Translator's Note. ), perhaps less. That is very little. Nomatter: let the operator make a mistake of this length--negligible, youmay tell me--let the sting slant towards the head instead of slantingtowards the thorax; and the result of the operation will be entirelydifferent. With a slant towards the head, the cerebral ganglia arewounded and their lesion causes sudden death. This is the stroke ofthe Philanthus, who kills her Bee by stinging her from below, under thechin. The Scolia needed a motionless but not dead victim, one that wouldsupply fresh victuals; she will now have only a corpse, which will soongo bad and poison the larva. 

With a slant towards the thorax, the sting wounds the little mass ofnerve-cells in the thorax. This is the regulation stroke, the one whichwill induce paralysis and leave the small amount of life needed to keepthe provisions fresh. A millimetre higher kills; a millimetre lowerparalyses. On this tiny deviation the salvation of the Scolia racedepends. You need not fear that the operator will make any mistake inthis micrometrical performance: her sting always slants towards thethorax, although the opposite inclination is just as practicable andeasy. What would be the outcome of a there or thereabouts under theseconditions? Very often a corpse, a form of food fatal to the grub. 

The Two-banded Scolia stings a little lower down, on the line ofdemarcation between the first two thoracic segments. Her position islikewise transversal in relation to the Cetonia-grub; but the distanceof the cervical ganglia from the point where the sting enters wouldpossibly not allow the weapon turned towards the head to inflict alesion followed by sudden death as in the above instance. I am callingthis witness with another object. It is extremely unusual for theoperator, no matter what her prey or her method, to make a slightmistake and sting merely somewhere near the requisite point. I see themall groping with the tip of the abdomen, sometimes seeking persistently, before unsheathing. They thrust only when the point beneath the stingis precisely that at which the wound will produce its full effect. TheTwo-banded Scolia in particular will struggle with the Cetonia-grub forhalf an hour at a time to enable herself to drive in the stiletto at theright spot. 

Wearied by an endless scuffle, one of my captives committed before myeyes a slight blunder, an unprecedented thing. Her weapon entered alittle to one side, not quite a millimetre from the central point andstill, of course, on the line of demarcation between the first twothoracic segments. I at once laid hold of the precious specimen, whichwas to teach me curious matters about the effects of an ill-deliveredstroke. If I myself had made the insect sting at this or that point, there would have been no particular interest in it: the Scolia, heldbetween the finger-tips, would wound at random, like a Bee defendingherself; her undirected sting would inject the poison at haphazard. But here everything happened by rule, except for the little error ofposition. 

Well, the victim of this clumsy operation has its legs paralysed only onthe left side, the side towards which the weapon was deflected; it isa case of hemiplegia. The legs on the right side move. If the operationhad been performed in the normal fashion the result would have beensudden inertia of all six legs. The hemiplegia, it is true does not lastlong. The torpor of the left half rapidly gains the right half of thebody and the creature lies motionless, incapable of burying itself inthe mould, without, however, realizing the conditions indispensable tothe safety of the egg or the young grub. If I seize one of its legs ora point of the skin with the tweezers, it suddenly shrivels and curlsup and swells out again, as it does when in complete possession of itsenergies. What would become of an egg laid on such victuals? At thefirst closing of this ruthless vice, at the first contraction, it wouldbe crushed, or at least detached from its place; and any egg removedfrom the point where the mother has fastened it is bound to perish. Itneeds, on the Cetonia's abdomen, a yielding support which the bites ofthe new-born larva will not set aquiver. The slightly eccentric stinggives none of this soft mass of fat, always outstretched and quiescent. Only on the following day, after the torpor has made progress, does thelarva become suitably inert and limp. But it is too late; and in themeantime the egg would be in serious danger on this half-paralysedvictim. The sting, by straying less than a millimetre, would leave theScolia without progeny. 

I promised fractions. Here they are. Let us consider the Tarantula andthe Epeira on whom the Calicurgi have just operated. The first thrustof the sting is delivered in the mouth. In both victims the poison-fangsare absolutely lifeless: tickling with a bit of straw never oncesucceeds in making them open. On the other hand, the palpi, their verynear neighbours, their adjuncts as it were, possess their customarymobility. Without any previous touches, they keep on moving for weeks. In entering the mouth the sting did not reach the cervical ganglia, or sudden death would have ensued and we should have before our eyescorpses which would go bad in a few days, instead of fresh carcasesin which traces of life remain manifest for a long time. The cephalicnerve-centres have been spared. 

What is wounded then, to procure this profound inertia of thepoison-fangs? I regret that my anatomical knowledge leaves me undecidedon this point. Are the fangs actuated by a special ganglion? Are theyactuated by fibres issuing from centres exercising further functions? Ileave to anatomists equipped with more delicate instruments than I thetask of elucidating this obscure question. The second conjecture appearsto me the more probable, because of the palpi, whose nerves, it seems tome, must have the same origin as those of the fangs. Basing our argumenton this latter hypothesis, we see that the Calicurgus has only one meansof suppressing the movement of the poisoned pincers without affectingthe mobility of the palpi, above all without injuring the cephaliccentres and thus producing death, namely, to reach with her sting thetwo fibres actuating the fangs, fibres as fine as a hair. 

I insist upon this point. Despite their extreme delicacy, these twofilaments must be injured directly; for, if it were enough for the stingto inject its poison "there or thereabouts, " the nerves of the palpi, soclose to the first, would undergo the same intoxication as the adjacentregion and would leave those appendages motionless. The palpi move;they retain their mobility for a considerable period; the action of thepoison, therefore, is evidently situated in the nerves of the fangs. There are two of these nerve-filaments, very fine, very difficult todiscover, even by the professional anatomist. The Calicurgus hasto reach them one after the other, to moisten them with her poison, possibly to transfix them, in any case to operate upon them in a veryrestricted manner; so that the diffusion of the virus may not involvethe adjoining parts. The extreme delicacy of this surgery explainswhy the weapon remains in the mouth so long; the point of the sting isseeking and eventually finds the tiny fraction of a millimetre where thepoison is to act. This is what we learn from the movements of the palpiclose to the motionless fangs; they tell us that the Calicurgi arevivisectors of alarming accuracy. 

If we accept the hypothesis of a special nerve-centre for the mandibles, the difficulty would be a little less, without detracting from theoperator's talent. The sting would then have to reach a barely visiblespeck, an atom in which we should hardly find room for the point of aneedle. This is the difficulty which the various paralysers solve inordinary practice. Do they actually wound with their dirks the ganglionwhose influence is to be done away with? It is possible, but I havetried no test to make sure, the infinitely tiny wound appearing to betoo difficult to detect with the optical instruments at my disposal. Dothey confine themselves to lodging their drop of poison on the ganglion, or at all events in its immediate neighbourhood? I do not say no. 

I declare moreover, that, to provoke lightning paralysis, the poison, ifit is not deposited inside the mass of nervous substance, must actfrom somewhere very near. This assertion is merely echoing what theTwo-banded Scolia has just shown us: her Cetonia-grub, stung less thana millimetre from the regular spot, did not become motionless until nextday. There is no doubt, judging by this instance, that the effect of thevirus spreads in all directions within a radius of some extent; butthis diffusion is not enough for the operator, who requires for her egg, which is soon to be laid, absolute safety from the very first. 

On the other hand, the actions of the paralysers argue a precise searchfor the ganglia, at all events for the first thoracic ganglion, themost important of all. The Hairy Ammophila, among others, affords us anexcellent example of this method. Her three thrusts in the caterpillar'sthorax and especially the last, between the first and second pair oflegs, are more prolonged than the stabs distributed among the abdominalganglia. Everything justifies us in believing that, for these decisiveinoculations, the sting seeks out the corresponding ganglion and actsonly when it finds it under its point. On the abdomen this peculiarinsistence ceases; the sting passes swiftly from one segment to another. For these segments, which are less dangerous, the Ammophila perhapsrelies on the diffusion of her venom; in any case, the injections, though hastily administered, do not diverge from a close vicinity of theganglia, for their field of action is very limited, as is proved by thenumber of inoculations necessary to induce complete torpor, or, moresimply, by the following example. 

A Grey Worm which had just received its first sting on the thirdthoracic segment repulses the Ammophila and with a jerk hurls her to adistance. I profit by the occasion and take hold of the grub. The legsof this third segment only are paralysed; the others retain their usualmobility. However helpless in the two injured legs, the animal can walkvery well; it buries itself in the earth, returning to the surface atnight to gnaw the stump of lettuce with which I have served it. For afortnight my paralytic retains perfect liberty of action, except in thesegment operated on; then it dies, not of its wound but accidentally. All this time the effect of the poison has not spread beyond theinoculated segment. 

At any point where the sting enters, anatomy informs us of the presenceof a nervous nucleus. Is this centre directly smitten by the weapon?Or is it poisoned with virus, from a very small distance, by theprogressive impregnation of the neighbouring tissues? This is thedoubtful point, though it does not in any way invalidate the precisionof the abdominal injections, which are comparatively neglected. As forthose in the caterpillar's thorax, their precision is beyond dispute. After the Ammophilae, the Scoliae and, above all, the Calicurgi, is itreally necessary to bring into court yet other witnesses, who would allswear that, with modifications of detail, the movement of their lancetis strictly regulated by the nervous system of the prey? This oughtto be enough. The proof is established for those who have ears to hearwith. 

Others delight in objections whose oddity surprises me. They see in thepoison of the Hunting Wasps an antiseptic liquid and in victuals storedin their burrows preserved meats which are kept fresh not by a remnantof life but by the virus and its microbes. Come, my learned masters, letus just talk the matter over, between ourselves. Have you ever seen thelarder of a skilled Hunting Wasp, a Sphex for instance, a Scolia, anAmmophila? You haven't, have you? I thought as much. Yet it would bebetter to begin by doing so, before bringing the preservative microbeon the scene. The slightest examination would have shown you that thevictuals cannot be compared exactly with smoked hams. The thing moves, therefore it is not dead. There you have the whole matter, in itsartless simplicity. The palpi move, the mandibles open and shut, thetarsi quiver, the antennae and the abdominal filaments wave to andfro, the abdomen throbs, the intestine rejects its contents, the animalreacts to the stimulus of a needle, all of which signs are hardlycompatible with the idea of pickled meat. 

Have you had the curiosity to look through the pages in which I setforth the detailed results of my observations? You haven't, haveyou? Again, I thought as much. It is a pity. You would there find, inparticular, the history of certain Ephippigers who, after being stungby the Sphex according to rule, were reared by myself by hand. You mustagree that these are queer preserves to be produced by the use of anantiseptic fluid. They accept the mouthfuls which I offer them on thetip of a straw; they feed, they sit up and take nourishment. I shallnever live to see tinned sardines doing as much. 

I will avoid tedious repetition and content myself with adding to myold sheaf of proofs a few facts which have not yet been related. TheNest-building Odynerus showed us in her cells a few Chrysomela-larvaefixed by the hinder part to the side of the reed. The grub fastensitself in this way to the poplar-leaf to obtain a purchase when themoment has come for leaving the larval slough. Do not these preparationsfor the nymphosis tell us plainly that the creature is not dead?

The Hairy Ammophila affords us an even better example. A number ofcaterpillars operated on before my eyes attained, some sooner, somelater, the chrysalis stage. My notes are explicit on the subject of someof them, taken on Verbascum sinuatum. Sacrificed on the 14th of April, they were still irritable when tickled with a straw a fortnight after. A little later, the pale-green colouring of the early stages is replacedby a reddish brown, except on two or three segments of the medianventral surface. The skin wrinkles and splits, but does not comedetached of its own accord. I can easily remove it in shreds. Underthis slough appears the firm, chestnut-brown horn integument of thechrysalis. The development of the nymphosis is so correct that for amoment the crazy hope occurs to me that I may see a Turnip-moth come outof this mummy, the victim of a dozen dagger-thrusts. For the rest, thereis no attempt at spinning a cocoon, no jet of silky threads flung outby the caterpillar before turning into a chrysalis. Perhaps under normalconditions metamorphosis takes place without this protection. However, the moth whom I expected to see was beyond the limits of the possible. In the middle of May, a month after the operation on the caterpillars, my three chrysalids, still incomplete underneath, in the three or fourmiddle segments, withered and at last went mouldy. Is the evidenceconclusive this time? Who can conceive such a silly idea as that a preyreally dead, a corpse preserved from putrefaction by an antiseptic, could contain what is perhaps the most delicate work of life, thedevelopment of the grub into the perfect insect?

The truth must be driven into recalcitrant brains with great blows ofthe sledge-hammer. Let us once more employ this method. In SeptemberI unearth from a heap of mould five Cetonia-grubs, paralysed by theTwo-banded Scolia and bearing on the abdomen the as yet unhatched egg ofthe Wasp. I remove the eggs and install the helpless creatures on a bedof leaf-mould with a glass cover. I propose to see how long I can keepthem fresh, able to move their mandibles and palpi. Already the victimsof various Hunting Wasps had instructed me on a similar matter; I knewthat traces of life linger for two, three, four weeks and longer. Forinstance, I had seen the Ephippigers of the Languedocian Sphex continuethe waving of their antennae and their paralytic shudders for forty daysof artificial feeding by hand; and I used to wonder whether the more orless early death of the other victims was not due to lack of nourishmentquite as much as to the operation which they had undergone. However, the insect in its adult form usually has a very brief existence. It soondies, killed by the mere fact of living, without any other accident. A larva is preferable for these investigations. Its constitution islivelier, better able to support protracted abstinence, above all duringthe winter torpor. The Cetonia-grub, a regular lump of bacon, nourishedby its own fat during the winter season, fulfils the needful conditionsto perfection. What will become of it, lying belly upwards on its bed ofleaf-mould? Will it survive the winter?

At the end of a month, three of my grubs turn brown and lapse intorottenness. The other two keep perfectly fresh and move their antennaeand palpi at the touch of a straw. The cold weather comes and ticklingno longer elicits these signs of life. The inertia is complete;nevertheless their appearance remains excellent, without a trace of thebrownish tinge, the sign of deterioration. At the return of the warmweather, in the middle of May, there is a sort of resurrection. Ifind my two larvae turned over, belly downwards; much more: they arehalf-buried in the mould. When teased, they coil up lazily; they movetheir legs as well as their mouth-parts, but slowly and without vigour. Then their strength seems to revive. The convalescent, resuscitatedgrubs dig with clumsy efforts into their bed of mould; they dive intoit and disappear to a depth of about two inches. Recovery seems to beimminent. 

I am mistaken. In June I unearth the invalids. This time, the larvaeare dead; their brown colour tells me as much. I expected better things. Never mind: this is no trifling success. For nine months, nine longmonths, the grubs stabbed by the Scolia kept fresh and alive. Towardsthe end, torpor was dispelled, strength and movement returned, sufficiently to enable them to leave the surface where I had placed themand to regain the depths by boring a passage through the soil. Ireally think that after this resurrection there will be no more talk ofantiseptics, unless and until tinned Herrings begin to frolic in theirbrine. (The subject of this and the preceding chapters is continued inan essay entitled "The Poison of the Bee" for which cf. "Bramble-beesand Others": chapter 11. --Translator's Note. )

INDEX. 

Acorn-weevil. 

Amedeus' Eumenes. 

Ameles decolor (see Grey Mantis). 

Ammophila (see also the varieties below). 

Ammophila hursuta (see Hairy Ammophila). 

Ammophila holoserica (see Silky Ammophila). 

Ammophila Julii (see Jules' Ammophila). 

Ammophila sabulosa (see Sandy Ammophila). 

Anathema Tachytes. 

Anoxia (see also the varieties below). 

Anoxia australis. 

Anoxia matutinalis (see Morning Anoxia). 

Anoxia villosa (see Shaggy Anoxia). 

Ant. 

Anthidium (see also the varieties below). 

Anthidium bellicosum. 

Anthidium scapulare. 

Anthidium septemdentatum. 

Anthophora. 

Anthrax (see also Anthrax sinuata). 

Anthrax sinuata. 

Ape. 

Aphis (see Plant-louse). 

Ass. 

Astata. 

Balaninus (see also Balaninus glandum). 

Balaninus glandum (see Acorn-weevil). 

Banded Epeira. 

Bat. 

Bee (see also Bumble-bee, Hive-bee, Mason-bee). 

Bee-eating Philanthus. 

Beetle. 

Bembex (see also the varieties below). 

Bembex bidentata (see Two-pronged Bembex). 

Bembex rostrata (see Rostrate Bembex). 

Black, Adam and Charles. 

Black-bellied Tarantula. 

Black Spider (see Cellar Spider). 

Black Tachytes. 

Blister-beetle (see Oil-beetle). 

Bluebottle. 

Blue Osmia. 

Bombylius. 

Boyle, Robert. 

Brachycera. 

Brachyderes pubescens (see Pubescent Brachyderes). 

Breguet, Louis. 

Brillat-Savarin, Anthelme. 

Brown-winged Solenius. 

Bug. 

Bull. 

Bull, the author's Dog. 

Bullock. 

Bumble-bee. 

Buprestis. 

Buprestis-hunting Cerceris. 

Burnt Zonitis. 

Butterfly. 

Cabbage Pieris. 

Calicurgus (see Pompilus and the varieties below). 

Calicurgus annulatus (see Ringed Calicurgus). 

Calicurgus scurra (see Harlequin Calicurgus). 

Callot, Jacques. 

Cantharides. 

Carpenter-bee. 

Cellar Spider. 

Century co. 

Cerceris (see also Buprestis-hunting Cerceris and the varieties below). 

Cerceris arenaria (see Sand Cerceris). 

Cerceris Ferreri (see Ferrero's Cerceris). 

Cerceris ornata (see Ornate Cerceris). 

Cerceris tuberculata (see Great Cerceris). 

Cerocoma. 

Cetonia (see also the varieties below). 

Cetonia aurata (see Golden Cetonia). 

Cetonia morio. 

Chaffinch. 

Chalicodoma (see Mason-bee). 

Chaoucho-grapaou (see Nightjar). 

Chimpanzee. 

Chrysomela populi (see Poplar Leaf-beetle). 

Cicada. 

Cicadella. 

Cleonus (see also Cleonus ophthalmicus). 

Cleonus ophthalmicus. 

Cneorhinus. 

Cockchafer. 

Colpa interrupta (see Interrupted Scolia). 

Common Cockchafer (see Cockchafer). 

Common Wasp. 

Cotton-bee (see Anthidium scapulare). 

Cow. 

Crab. 

Crabro (see Hornet). 

Crabro chrysostomus (see Golden-mouthed Hornet). 

Cricket. 

Crowned Philanthus. 

Cuckoo. 

Darwin, Charles Robert. 

David the painter. 

David, Felicien Cesar. 

Death's-head Hawk-moth. 

Devilkin (see Empusa). 

Dicranura vinula. 

Dioxys cincta (see Girdled Dioxys). 

Dog (see also Bull). 

Drone-fly. 

Dufour, Jean Marie Leon. 

Duges, Louis Antoine. 

Earth-worm. 

Eight-spotted Pompilus. 

Empusa. 

Epeira (see also the varieties below). 

Epeira fasciata (see Banded Epeira). 

Epeira serica (see Silky Epeira). 

Ephippiger. 

Eristalis E. Tenax (see Drone-fly). 

Eucera. 

Euchlora Julii. 

Eumenes (see also Amedeus Eumenes). 

Fabricius, Johan Christian. 

Favier, the author's factotum. 

Ferrero's Cerceris. 

Field-mouse. 

Fly (see also Gad-fly, House-fly). 

Fox. 

Frog. 

Gad-fly. 

Galileo. 

Garden Scolia. 

Garden Spider (see Epeira). 

Geonomus. 

Girdled Dioxys. 

Gnat. 

Goat. 

Goatsucker (see Nightjar). 

Golden Cetonia. 

Golden-crested Wren. 

Golden-mouthed Hornet. 

Golden Osmia. 

Gorilla. 

Grasshopper. 

Great Cellar Spider (see Cellar Spider). 

Great Cerceris. 

Grey Mantis. 

Grey Worm. 

Hairy Ammophila. 

Halictus. 

Harlequin Calicurgus. 

Hedgehog. 

Helophilus pendulus. 

Hemorrhoidal Scolia. 

Hen. 

Herring. 

Hive-bee. 

Hog. 

Hornet (see also Golden-mouthed Hornet). 

House-fly. 

Interrupted Scolia. 

Jules, Ammophila. 

Klug. 

Lalande, Joseph Jerome Le Francais de. 

Lamellicorn. 

Languedocian Sphex. 

Lark. 

Latreille, Pierre Andre. 

Leucopsis gigas, L. Grandis. 

Lily-beetle. 

Linnet. 

Locust. 

Looper. 

Lycosa (see Black-bellied Tarantula). 

Macmillan Co. 

Mantis (see also Grey Mantis, Praying Mantis). 

Mantis-hunting Tachytes (see Mantis-killing Tachytes). 

Mantis-killing Tachytes. 

Mariotte, Edme. 

Mason-bee (see also the Anthophora and the varieties below). 

Mason-bee of the Pebbles (see Mason-bee of the Walls). 

Mason-bee of the Sheds. 

Mason-bee of the Shrubs. 

Mason-bee of the Walls. 

Measuring-worm (see Looper). 

Megachile sericans. 

Melanophora. 

Meloe (see Oil-beetle). 

Miall, Bernard. 

Midge. 

Mithradates VI. 

Mole. 

Mole-cricket. 

Monkey. 

Monoceros (see Oryctes nasicornis). 

Morning Anoxia. 

Mosquito. 

Moth. 

Mule. 

Muscid (see House-fly). 

Mylabris. 

Narbonne Lycosa (see Black-bellied Tarantula). 

Nest-building Odynerus. 

Nightjar. 

Nut-weevil. 

Odynerus (see also Nest-building Odynerus). 

Oil-beetle. 

Ornate Cerceris. 

Oryctes nasicornis. 

Oryctes Silenus. 

Osmia (see also the varieties below). 

Osmia cyanea (see Blue Osmia). 

Osmia cyanoxantha. 

Osmia Latreillii (see Latreille's Osmia). 

Osmia parvula (see Tiny Osmia). 

Osmia tricornis (see Three-horned Osmia). 

Ostrich. 

Otiorhynchus. 

Palarus (see also Palarus flavipes). 

Palarus flavipes. 

Pangonia. 

Panzer's Tachytes. 

Paragus. 

Pascal, Blaise. 

Passerini. 

Pea-weevil. 

Pelopaeus. 

Pentodon punctatus. 

Perez, J. 

Phaneropteron falcata. 

Philanthus (see also the varieties below). 

Philanthus apivorus (see Bee-eating Philanthus). 

Philanthus coronatus (see Crowned Philanthus). 

Philanthus raptor (see Robber Philanthus). 

Phynotomus. 

Pieris (see Cabbage Pieris). 

Pig. 

Pine-chafer. 

Pithecanthropus. 

Plant-louse. 

Pompilus (see also the varieties below). 

Pompilus annulatus (see Ringed Calicurgus). 

Pompilus apicalis. 

Pompilus octopunctatus (see Eight-spotted Pompilus). 

Poplar Leaf-Beetle. 

Praying Mantis. 

Pubescent Brachyderes. 

Rat. 

Resin-bee (see Anthidium bellicosum, Anthidium septemdentatum). 

Rhinoceros Beetle (see Oryctes nasicornis). 

Rhynchites betuleti. 

Ringed Calicurgus. 

Ringed Pompilus (see Ringed Calicurgus). 

Robber Philanthus. 

Robber-fly. 

Robin. 

Romanes, George John. 

Rose-chafer (see Cetonia, Golden Cetonia). 

Rostrate Bembex. 

Sand Cerceris. 

Sandy Ammophila. 

Sapyga punctata (see Spotted Sapyga). 

Sarcophaga. 

Scarabaeid. 

Scarabaeus pentodon. 

Scolia (see also the varieties below). 

Scolia bifasciata (see Two-banded Scolia). 

Scolia haemorrhoidalis (see Hemorrhoidal Scolia). 

Scolia hortorum (see Garden Scolia). 

Scolia interrupta (see Interrupted Scolia). 

Screech-owl. 

Seal. 

Segestria perfidia (see Cellar Spider). 

Shaggy Anoxia. 

Sheep. 

Silkworm. 

Silky Ammophila. 

Silky Epeira. 

Silky Leaf-cutter (see Megachile sericans). 

Sitones. 

Skua. 

Slug. 

Snail. 

Socrates. 

Solenius fascipennis (see Brown-winged Solenius). 

Solenius vagus (see Wandering Solenius). 

Sparrow. 

Sparrow-hawk. 

Sphaerophoria. 

Sphex (see also Languedocian Sphex, White-banded Sphex, Yellow-wingedSphex. )

Spider (see also Black-bellied Tarantula, Cellar Spider, Epeira. 

Spotted Sapyga. 

Spurge Hawk-moth. 

Stizus (see also the varieties below). 

Stizus ruficornis. 

Stizus tridentatus. 

Strophosomus. 

Swallow. 

Swammerdam, Jan. 

Syritta perpens. 

Syrphus. 

Tachytes (see also Mantis-killing Tachytes and the varieties below). 

Tachytes anathema (see Anathema Tachytes). 

Tachytes nigra (see Black Tachytes). 

Tachytes Panzeri (see Panzer's Tachytes). 

Tachytes tarsina (see Tarsal Tachytes). 

Tachytes unicolor. 

Tarantula (see Black-bellied Tarantula). 

Tarsal Bembex. 

Tarsal Tachytes. 

Teixeira de Mattos, Alexander. 

Three-horned Osmia. 

Tiny Osmia. 

Toad. 

Toricelli, Evangelista. 

Toussenel, Alphonse. 

Turkey. 

Turnip Moth. 

Two-banded Scolia. 

Two-pronged Bembex. 

Unwin, T. Fisher, Ltd. 

Vespa crabro (see Hornet). 

Virgilian Bee, Virgil's Bee (see Drone-fly). 

Wandering Solenius. 

Wasp (see Common Wasp). 

Weevil (see also Acorn-weevil, Nut-weevil, Pea-weevil). 

Whale. 

Whippoorwill (see Nightjar). 

White-banded Sphex. 

White Worm. 

Wolf. 

Yellow-winged Sphex. 

Zeuzera. 

Zonitis praeusta (see Burnt Zonitis).