The Life Of
The Grasshopper

J-H-Fabre

THE LIFE OF THE
GRASSHOPPER

BOOKS BY J. HENRI FABRE

THE LIFE OF THE SPIDER
THE LIFE OF THE FLY

THE MASON-BEES
BRAMBLE-BEES AND OTHERS

THE HUNTING WASPS
THE LIFE OF THE CATERPILLAR
THE LIFE OF THE GRASSHOPPER

THE LIFE OF THE
GRASSHOPPER

BY

J. HENRI FABRE

TRANSLATED BY

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS

FELLOW OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1917

COPYRIGHT, 1917
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.

Collage
Library

A.

CONTENTS

PAGE

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE . . . vii

CHAPTER

I THE FABLE OF THE CICADA AND

THE ANT .... I

II THE CICADA: LEAVING THE

BURROW . . . . 25

III THE CICADA : THE TRANSFORMA-

TION ..... 42

IV THE CICADA : HIS MUSIC . . 58

V THE CICADA : THE LAYING AND

THE HATCHING OF THE EGGS 82

VI THE MANTIS : HER HUNTING . 113

VII THE MANTIS : HER LOVE-MAKING 137

VIII THE MANTIS : HER NEST . -147

IX THE MANTIS : HER HATCHING . 170

X THE EMPUSA . . . 19 1

XI THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS :

HIS HABITS . . . .211

817GH5

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

XII THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS :
THE LAYING AND THE HATCH-
ING OF THE EGGS . . .231

XIII THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS:

THE INSTRUMENT OF SOUND . 246

XIV THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER . 275

XV THE CRICKET: THE BURROW;

THE EGG .... 300

XVI THE CRICKET: THE SONG; THE

PAIRING . . . .327

XVII THE LOCUSTS: THEIR FUNC-
TION ; THEIR ORGAN OF SOUND 354

XVIII THE LOCUSTS : THEIR EGGS . 378

XIX THE LOCUSTS : THE LAST MOULT 40 1

XX THE FOAMY CICADELLA . . 424

INDEX 447

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

I HAVE ventured in the present volume
to gather together, under the somewhat
loose and inaccurate title of The Life of the
Grasshopper, the essays scattered over the
Souvenirs entomologiques that treat of
Grasshoppers, Crickets, Locusts and such in-
sects as the Cicada, or Cigale, the Mantis
and the Cuckoo-spit, or, to adopt the author's
happier and more euphonious term, the
Foamy Cicadella. They exhaust the num-
ber of the orthopterous and homopterous
insects discussed by Henri Fabre.

Chapters I. to VIIL, XV., XVI. and XIX.
have already appeared, in certain cases under
different titles and partly in an abbreviated
form, in an interesting miscellany extracted
from the Souvenirs, translated by Mr. Ber-
nard Miall and published by the Century
Company. This volume, Social Life in the
Insect World, is illustrated with admirable
photographs of insects, taken from life, and
deserves a prominent place on the shelves of
every lover of Fabre's works,
vii

Translator's Note

At the moment of writing, the only one
of the following essays that has been pub-
lished before, in my translation, is the first
of the three describing the White-faced
Decticus, which appeared, in the summer of
last year, in the English Review.

Miss Frances Rodwell has again lent me
the most valuable assistance in preparing this
volume ; and I am indebted also to Mr.
Osman Edwards and Mr. Stephen McKenna
for their graceful rhymed versions of the oc-
casional lyrics that adorn it.

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS.

CHELSEA, 1917.

CHAPTER I

THE FABLE OF THE CICADA AND THE ANT

T^AME is built up mainly of legend; in the
*? animal world, as in the world of men,
the story takes precedence of history. In-
sects in particular, whether they attract our
attention in this way or in that, have their
fair share in a folk-lore which pays but little
regard to truth.

For instance, who does not know the
Cicada, at least by name? Where, in the
entomological world, can we find a renown
that equals hers? Her reputation as an
inveterate singer, who takes no thought for
the future, has formed a 'subject for our
earliest exercises in repetition. In verses
that are very easily learnt, she is shown to
us, when the bitter winds begin to blow,
quite destitute and hurrying to her neigh-
bour, the Ant, to announce her hunger.
The would-be borrower meets with a poor

The Life of the Grasshopper

welcome and with a reply which has re-
mained proverbial and is the chief cause
of the little creature's fame. Those two
short lines,

Vous chantiezf J'en suis bien en aise.
Eh bien, dansez maintenant^

with their petty malice, have done more for
the Cicada's celebrity than all her talent as
a musician. They enter the child's mind like
a wedge and never leave it.

To most of us, the Cicada's song is un-
known, for she dwells in the land of the
olive-trees; but we all, big and little, have
heard of the snub which she received from
the Ant. See how reputations are made ! A
story of very doubtful value, offending as
much against morality as against natural
history; a nursery-tale whose only merit lies
in its brevity: there we have the origin of
a renown which will tower over the ruins of
the centuries like Hop-o'-my-Thumb's boots
and Little Red-Riding-Hood's basket.

*You used to sing! I'm glad to know it.
Well, try dancing for a change!
2

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

The child is essentially conservative. Cus-
tom and traditions become indestructible
once they are confided to the archives of his
memory. We owe to him the celebrity of
the Cicada, whose woes he stammered in his
first attempts at recitation. He preserves
for us the glaring absurdities that are part
and parcel of the fable: the Cicada will
always be hungry when the cold comes,
though there are no Cicadae left in the
winter; she will always beg for the alms of
a few grains of wheat, a food quite out of
keeping with her delicate sucker; the sup-
plicant is supposed to hunt for Flies and
grubs, she who never eats!

Whom are we to hold responsible for
these curious blunders? La Fontaine,1 who
charms us in most of his fables with his
exquisite delicacy of observation, is very ill-
inspired in this case. He knows thoroughly
his common subjects, the Fox, the Wolf, the
Cat, the Goat, the Crow, the Rat, the
Weasel and many others, whose sayings and
doings he describes to us with delightful
precision of detail. They are local char-
acters, neighbours, housemates of his. Their

*Jean de La Fontaine (1621-1695), the author of the
world-famous Fables. — Translator's Note.

The Life of the Grasshopper

public and private life is spent under his eyes ;
but, where Jack Rabbit gambols, the Cicada
is an entire stranger: La Fontaine never
heard of her, never saw her. To him
the famous singer is undoubtedly a Grass-
hopper.

Grandville,1 whose drawings have the
same delicious spice of malice as the text
itself, falls into the same error. In his illus-
tration, we see the Ant arrayed like an
industrious housewife. Standing on her
threshold, beside great sacks of wheat, she
turns a contemptuous back on the borrower,
who is holding out her foot, I beg pardon,
her hand. The second figure wears a great
cartwheel hat, with a guitar under her arm
and her skirt plastered to her legs by the
wind, and is the perfect picture of a Grass-
hopper. Grandville no more than La Fon-
taine suspected the real appearance of the
Cicada; he reproduced magnificently the
general mistake.

For the rest, La Fontaine, in his poor

'Jean Ignace Isidore Gerard (1803-1847), better
known by his pseudonym of Grandville, a famous French
caricaturist and illustrator of La Fontaine's Fables,
Beranger's Chansons and the standard French editions
of Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver's Travels. — Trans-
lator's Note.

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

little story, only echoes another fabulist.
The legend of the Cicada's sorry welcome
by the Ant is as old as selfishness, that is to
say, as old as the world. The children of
Athens, going to school with their esparto-
grass baskets crammed with figs and olives,
were already mumbling it as a piece for
recitation :

" In winter," said they, " the Ants dry
their wet provisions in the sun. Up comes a
hungry Cicada begging. She asks for a few
grains. The greedy hoarders reply, * You
used to sing in summer; now dance in win-
ter.' " 1

This, although a little more baldly put, is
precisely La Fontaine's theme and is con-
trary to all sound knowledge.

1 Sir Roger L'Estrange attributes the fable to Anianus
and, as is usual in the English version, substitutes the
Grasshopper for the Cicada. It may be interesting to
quote his translation:

" As the Ants were airing their provisions one winter,
up comes a hungry Grasshopper to 'em and begs a
charity. They told him that he should have wrought in
summer, if he would not have wanted in winter.
1 Well,' says the Grasshopper, ' but I was not idle
neither ; for I sung out the whole season.' ' Nay then,'
said they, ' you shall e'en do well to make a merry year
on't and dance in winter to the tune that you sung in
summer.' " — Translator's Note.

5

The Life of the Grasshopper

Nevertheless the fable comes to us from
Greece, which is preeminently the land of
olive-trees and Cicadse. Was ^Esop really
the author, as tradition pretends? It is
doubtful. Nor does it matter, after all : the
narrator is a Greek and a fellow-countryman
of the Cicada, whom he must know well
enough. My village does not contain a
peasant so ignorant as to be unaware of the
absolute lack of Cicadae in winter; every
tiller of the soil is familiar with the insect's
primary state, the larva, which he turns over
with his spade as often as he has occasion to
bank up the olive-trees at the approach of
the cold weather; he knows, from seeing it
a thousand times along the paths, how this
grub leaves the ground through a round pit
of its own making, how it fastens on to some
twig, splits its back, divests itself of its skin,
now drier than shrivelled parchment, and
turns into the Cicada, pale grass-green at
first, soon to be succeeded by brown.

The Attic peasant was no fool either : he
had remarked that which cannot escape the
least observant eye; he also knew what my
rustic neighbours know so well. The poet,
whoever he may have been, who invented
the fable was writing under the best con-
6

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

ditions for knowing all about these things.
Then whence did the blunders in his story
arise ?

The Greek fabulist had less excuse than
La Fontaine for portraying the Cicada of
the books instead of going to the actual
Cicada, whose cymbals were echoing at his
side ; heedless of the real, he followed tradi-
tion. He himself was but echoing a more
ancient scribe ; he was repeating some legend
handed down from India, the venerable
mother of civilizations. Without knowing
exactly the story which the Hindu's reed had
put in writing to show the danger of a life
led without foresight, we are entitled to be-
lieve that the little dialogue set down was
nearer to the truth than the conversation
between the Cicada and the Ant. India, the
great lover of animals, was incapable of
committing such a mistake. Everything
seems to tell us that the leading figure in the
original fable was not our Cicada but rather
some other creature, an insect if you will,
whose habits corresponded fittingly with
the text adopted.

Imported into Greece, after serving for
centuries to make the wise reflect and to
amuse the children on the banks of the

The Life of the Grasshopper

Indus, the ancient story, perhaps as old as
the first piece of economical advice vouch-
safed by Paterfamilias and handed down
more or less faithfully from memory to
memory, must have undergone an alteration
in its details, as do all legends which the
course of the ages adapts to circumstances
of time and place.

The Greek, not possessing in his fields the
insect of which the Hindu spoke, dragged
in, as the nearest thing to it, the Cicada,
even as in Paris, the modern Athens, the
Cicada is replaced by the Grasshopper. The
mischief was done. Henceforth ineradica-
ble, since it has been confided to the memory
of childhood, the mistake will prevail against
an obvious truth.

Let us try to rehabilitate the singer slan-
dered by the fable. He is, I hasten to
admit, an importunate neighbour. Every
summer he comes and settles in his hundreds
outside my door, attracted by the greenery
of two tall plane-trees; and here, from sun-
rise to sunset, the rasping of his harsh
symphony goes through my head. Amid this
deafening concert, thought is impossible;
one's ideas reel and whirl, are incapable of
concentrating. When I have not profited by
8

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

the early hours of the morning, my day is
lost.

Oh, little demon, plague of my dwelling
which I should like to have so peaceful, they
say that the Athenians used to rear you in
a cage to enjoy your singing at their ease !
One we could do with, perhaps, during the
drowsy hour of digestion; but hundreds at
a time, all rattling and drumming in our ears
when we are trying to collect our thoughts,
that is sheer torture 1 You say that you were
here first, do you? Before I came, you were
in undisputed possession of the two plane-
trees; and it is I who am the intruder there.
I agree. Nevertheless, muffle your drums,
moderate your arpeggios, for the sake of
your biographer !

Truth will have none of the absurd rig-
marole which we find in the fable. That
there are sometimes relations between the
Cicada and the Ant is most certain ; only,
these relations are the converse of what
we are told. They are not made on the
initiative of the Cicada, who is never de-
pendent on the aid of others for his living;
they come from the Ant, a greedy spoiler,
who monopolizes every edible thing for her
granaries. At no time does the Cicada go

9

The Life of the Grasshopper

crying famine at the doors of the Ant-hills,
promising honestly to repay principal and
interest; on the contrary, it is the Ant who,
driven by hunger, begs and entreats the
singer. Entreats, do I say? Borrowing and
repaying form no part of the pillager's
habits. She despoils the Cicada, brazenly
robs him of his possessions. Let us describe
this theft, a curious point in natural history
and, as yet, unknown.

In July, during the stifling heat of the
afternoon, when the insect populace, parched
with thirst, vainly wanders around the limp
and withered flowers in search of refresh-
ment, the Cicada laughs at the general need.
With that delicate gimlet, his rostrum, he
broaches a cask in his inexhaustible cellar.
Sitting, always singing, on the branch of a
shrub, he bores through the firm, smooth
bark swollen with sap ripened by the sun.
Driving his sucker through the bung-hole, he
drinks luxuriously, motionless and rapt in
contemplation, absorbed in the charms of
syrup and song.

Watch him for a little while. We

shall perhaps witness unexpected tribulation.

There are many thirsty ones prowling

around, in fact; they discover the well be-

10

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

trayed by the sap that oozes from the
margin. They hasten up, at first with some
discretion, confining themselves to licking the
fluid as it exudes. I see gathering around
the mellifluous puncture Wasps, Flies, Ear-
wigs, Sphex-wasps,1 Pompili,2 Rose-chafers a
and, above all, Ants.

The smallest, in order to reach the well,
slip under the abdomen of the Cicada, who
good-naturedly raises himself on his legs
and leaves a free passage for the intruders;
the larger ones, unable to stand still for im-
patience, quickly snatch a sip, retreat, take a
walk on the neighbouring branches and then
return and show greater enterprise. The
coveting becomes more eager; the discreet
ones of a moment ago develop into turbulent
aggressors, ready to chase away from the
spring the well-sinker who caused it to gush
forth.

In this brigandage, the worst offenders

1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps, by J. Henri Fabre, trans
lated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chaps, iv. to x
— Translator's Note.

3 For the Pompilus-wasp, or Ringed Calicurgus, cf
The Life and Love of the Insect, by J. Henri Fabre
translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap, xii
— Translator's Note.

8 For the grub of the Rose-chafer, or Cetonia, cf. The
Life and Love of the Insect: chap. xi. — Translator's
Note.

II

The Life of the Grasshopper

are the Ants. I have seen them nibbling at
the ends of the Cicada's legs; I have caught
them tugging at the tips of his wings,
climbing on his back, tickling his antennas.
One, greatly daring, went to the length, be-
fore my eyes, of catching hold of his sucker
and trying to pull it out.

Thus worried by these pigmies and losing
all patience, the giant ends by abandoning
the well. He flees, spraying the robbers
with his urine as he goes. What cares the
Ant for this expression of supreme con-
tempt! Her object is attained. She is now
the mistress of the spring, which dries up
only too soon when the pump that made it
flow ceases to work. There is little of it,
but that little is exquisite. It is so much to
the good, enabling her to wait for another
draught, acquired in the same fashion, as
soon as the occasion presents itself.

You see, the actual facts entirely reverse
the parts assigned in the fable. The hard-
ened beggar, who does not shrink from
theft, is the Ant; the industrious artisan,
gladly sharing his possessions with the suf-
ferer, is the Cicada. I will mention one
more detail; and the reversal of characters
will stand out even more clearly. After five

12

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

or six weeks of wassail, which is a long space
of time, the singer, exhausted by the strain
of life, drops from the tree. The sun dries
up the body; the feet of the passers-by crush
it. The Ant, always a highway-robber in
search of spoil, comes upon it. She cuts up
the rich dish, dissects it, carves it and reduces
it to morsels which go to swell her hoard of
provisions. It is not unusual to see a dying
Cicada, with his wing still quivering in the
dust, drawn and quartered by a gang of
knackers. He is quite black with them.
After this cannibalistic proceeding, there is
no question as to the true relations between
the two insects.

The ancients held the Cicada in high
favour. Anacreon, the Greek Beranger,1 de-
voted an ode to singing his praises in curi-
ously exaggerated language :

" Thou art almost like unto the gods,"
says he.

The reasons which he gives for this
apotheosis are none of the best. They con-
sist of these three privileges : yrfyev^^ ana-
6r}S, draijuoffapnf; earthborn, insensible to
pain, bloodless. Let us not start reproaching

1 Pierre Jean de Beranger (1780-1857), the popular
French lyric poet. — Translator's Note.

13

The Life of the Grasshopper

the poet for these blunders, which were ge-
nerally believed at the time and perpetuated
for very long after, until the observer's
searching eyes were opened. Besides, it
does not do to look so closely at verses whose
chief merit lies in harmony and rhythm.

Even in our own days, the Provengal
poets, who are at least as familiar with the
Cicada as Anacreon was, are not so very
careful of the truth in celebrating the insect
which they take as an emblem. One of my
friends, a fervent observer and a scrupulous
realist, escapes this reproach. He has
authorized me to take from his unpublished
verse the following Provengal ballad, which
depicts the relations between the Cicada and
the Ant with strictly scientific accuracy. I
leave to him the responsibility for his poetic
images and his moral views, delicate flowers
outside my province as a naturalist; but I
can vouch for the truth of his story, which
tallies with what I see every summer on the
lilac-trees in my garden.

LA ClGALO E LA FOURNIGO

I

Jour de Dieu, queto caud! Beu terns per la

cigalo

Que, trefoulido, se regalo
D'uno raisso de fid; beu terns per la meissoun.

Dins Us erso d'or, lou segaire,
Ren plegat pltre au vent, rustico e canto

gaire :
Dins soun gousie, la set estranglo la cansoun.

Terns benesi per tu. Dounc, ardit! cigaleto,

Fai-lei brusi, ti chimbaleto,
E brandusso lou venire a creba ti mirau.

L'Ome enterin mando la daio,
Que vai balin-balan de longo e que dardaio
L'uiau de soun acie sus li rous espigau.

Plen d'aigo per la peiro e tampouna d'erbiho

Lou coupe sus I'anco pendiho.
Se la peiro es au fres dins soun estui de bos

E se de longo es abeurado,
L'Ome barbelo au fib d'aqueli souleiado
Que fan bouli de fes la mesoulo dis os.
15

The Life of the Grasshopper

Tu, Cigalo, as un biais per la set: dins la
rusco

Tendro e jutouso d'uno busco,
Uaguio de toun be cabusso e cavo un pous.

Lou siro monto per la draio.
T'amourres a la fon melicouso que raw,
E dou sourgent sucra beves lou teta-dous.

Mai pas ton jour en pas, oh! que nani: de

laire,

Fesin, vesino o barrulaire,
T'an vist cava lou pous. An set; venon,

doulent,

Te prene un degout per si tasso.
Mesfiso-te, ma bello: aqueli curo-biasso,
Umble d'abord, soun leu de gusas insoulent.

Quiston un chicouloun de ren; piei de ti res to
Soun plus countent, ausson la testo

E volon tout. L'auran. Sis arpioun en

rasteu
Te gatihoun lou bout de I'alo.

Sus ta larjo esquinasso es un mounto-davalo;

T'aganton per lou be, li bano, Us arteu;

Tiron d'eici, d'eila. L'impacienci te gagno.

Pstf pst! d'un giscle de pissagno
rAsperges I'assemblado e quites lou rameu.

T'en vas ben liuen de la racaio,
16

The Fable of th'e Cicada and the Ant

Que t'a rauba lou pous, e ris, e se gougaio,
E se lipo li brego enviscado de meu.

Or d'aqueli boumian abeura sens fatigo,

Lou mai tihous es la fournigo.
Mousco, cabrian, guespo e tavan embana,

Espeloufi de touto meno,
Costo-en-long qu'a toun pous lou souleias

ameno,
N'an pas soun testardige a te falre enana.

Per t'esquicha I'arteu, te coutiga lou mourre,

Te pessuga lou nas, per courre
A I'oumbro de toun centre, osco! degun la
vau.

Lou marrit-peu prend per escalo
Uno patto e te monto, ardido, sus Us alo,
E s'espasso, insoulento, e vai d'amont, d'avau.

II

Aro veici qu'es pas de creire.
Ancian terns, nous dison li reire,
Un jour d'iver, la fam te prengue. Lou

front bas

E d'escoundoun aneres veire,
Dins si grand magasin, la fournigo, eilabas.
17

The Life of the Grasshopper

L'endrudido au souleu secavo,
Avans de Us escoundre en cavot

Si blad qu'avie mousi I'eigagno de la nine.
Quand eron lest Us ensacavo.

Tu survenes alor, erne de plour is iue.

le discs: " Fai ben fre; I'aurasso
" D'un caire a I'autre me tirasso

" Avanido de fam. A toun riche mouloun
" Leisso-me prene per ma biasso.

" Te lou rendrai segur au beu terns dl
meloun.

" Presto-me un pan de gran." Mai, bouto,

Se creses que I'autro, t'escouto,
T'enganes. Di gros sa, ren de ren sara lieu.

" Fai-t'en plus liuen rascia de bouto;
" Crebo de fam I'iver, tu que cantes I'estieu."

Ansin charro la fablo antico

Per nous counseia la pratico
Di sarro-piastro, urous de nousa li courdoun

De si bourso. — Que la coulico
Rousigue la tripaio en aqueli coudoun!

Me fai susa, lou fabulisto,
Quand dis que I'iver vas en quisto
18

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

De mousco, verme, gran, tu que manges

jamai.

De bladf Que n'en faries, ma fisto!
As ta fon melicouso e demandes ren mat.

Que t'enchau I'iver! Ta famiho

A la sousto en terro soumiho,
E tu dormes la som que n'a ges de revet;

Toun cadabre toumbo en douliho.
Un jour, en tafurant, la fournigo lou vet.

De ta magro peu dessecado

La marriasso fal becado;
Te euro lou perus, te chapouto a mouceu,

T'encafourno per car-salado,
Requisto prouvisioun, I'iver, en terns de neu.

Ill

Faqui I'istori veritable
Ben liuen dou conte de la fablo.
Que n'en pensas, caneu de sort!
— O ramaissalre de dardeno,
Det croucu, boumbudo bedeno
Que gouvernas lou mounde erne lou coffre-
fort,

Fases courre lou bru, canalo,
Que I'artisto jamai travaio
19

The Life of the Grasshopper

E deu pati, lou bedlgas.
Teisas-vous dounc: quand di lambrusco
La Cigalo a cava la rusco,
Raubas soun beure, e piei, morto, la rousigas.

Thus speaks my friend, in his expressive
Provencal tongue, rehabilitating the Cicada,
who has been so grossly libelled by the
fabulist.

TRANSLATOR S NOTE

I am indebted for the following transla-
tion to the felicitous pen of my friend Mr.
Osman Edwards:

THE CICADA AND THE ANT
I

Ye gods, what heat ! Cicada thrills
With mad delight when fairy rills
Submerge the corn in waves of gold,
\Vhen, with bowed back and toil untold,
His blade the songless reaper plies,
For in dry throats song gasps and dies.

This hour is thine: then, loud and clear,
Thy cymbals clash, Cicada dear,

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

Let mirrors crack, let belly writhe !
Behold ! The man yet darts his scythe,
Whose glitter lifts and drops again
A lightning-flash on ruddy grain.

With grass and water well supplied,
His whetstone dangles at his side;
The whetstone in its case of wood
Has moisture for each thirsty mood ;
But he, poor fellow, pants and moans,
The marrow boiling in his bones.

Dost thirst, Cicada ? Never mind !
Deep in a young bough's tender rind
Thy sharp proboscis bores a well,
Whence, narrowly, sweet juices swell.
Ah, soon what honied joys are thine
To quaff a vintage so divine!

In peace ? Not always. . . . There's a band
Of roving thieves (or close at hand)
Who watched thee draw the nectar up
And beg one drop with doleful cup.
Beware, my love ! They humbly crave ;
Soon each will prove a saucy knave.

The merest sip? — 'Tis set aside.
What's left ? — They are not satisfied.
All must be theirs, who rudely fling
A rakish claw athwart thy wing;
Next on thy back swarm up and down,
From tip to toe, from tail to crown.
21

The Life of the Grasshopper

On every side they fuss and fret,

Provoking an impatient jet;

Thou leavest soon the sprinkled rind,

Its robber-rascals, far behind;

Thy well purloined, each grins and skips

And licks the honey from her lips.

No tireless, quenchless mendicant

Is so persistent as the Ant;

Wasps, Beetles, Hornets, Drones and Flies,

Sharpers of every sort and size,

Loafers, intent on ousting thee,

All are less obstinate than she.

To pinch thy toe, thy nose to tweak,
To tickle face and loins, to sneak
Beneath thy belly, who so bold?
Give her the tiniest foothold,
The slut will march from side to side
Across thy wings in shameless pride.

II

Now here's a story that is told,

Incredible, by men of old:

Once starving on a winter's day

By secret, miserable way

Thou soughtest out the Ant and found

Her spacious warehouse underground.

That rich possessor in the sun

Was busy drying, one by one,

Her treasures, moist with the night's dew,

Before she buried them from view

The Fable of the Cicada and the Ant

In corn-sacks of sufficient size ;

Then didst thou sue with tearful eyes,

Saying, "Alas! This deadly breeze
' Pursues me everywhere ; I freeze
1 With hunger; let me fill (no more!)
' My wallet from that copious store ;
' Next year, when melons are full-blown,
' Be sure I shall repay the loan !

" Lend me a little corn ! " — Absurd !
Of course she will not hear a word ;
Thou wilt not win, for all thy pain,
From bulging sacks a single grain.
" Be off and scrape the binns! " she cries:
" Who sang in June, in winter dies."

Thus doth the ancient tail impart

Fit moral for a miser's heart ;

Bids him all charity forget

And draw his purse-strings tighter yet.

May colic chase such scurvy knaves

With pangs internal to their graves!

A sorry fabulist, indeed,
Who fancied that the winter's need
Would drive thee to subsist, forlorn,
On Flies, on grubs, on grains of corn;
No need was ever thine of those,
For whom the honied fountain flows.

What matters winter ? All thy kin
Beneath the earth are gathered in;
23

The Life of the Grasshopper

Thou sleepest with unwaking heart,
While the frail body falls apart
In rags that unregarded lie,
Save by the Ant's rapacious eye.

She, groping greedily, one day

Makes of thy shrivelled corpse her prey;

Dissects the trunk, gnaws limb from limb,

Concocts, according to her whim,

A salad such grim housewives know,

A tit-bit saved for hours of snow.

Ill

That, gentlemen, is truly told,
Unlike the fairy-tale of old ;
But finds it favour in his sight,
Who grabs at farthings, day and night?
Pot-bellied, crooked-fingered, he
Would rule the world with L.S.D.

Such riff-raff spread the vulgar view
That " artists are a lazy crew,"
That " fools must suffer." Silent be!
When the Cicada taps the tree,
You steal his drink ; when life has fled,
You basely batten on the dead.

CHAPTER II

THE CICADA: LEAVING THE BURROW

TO come back to the Cicada after
Reaumur 1 has told the insect's story
would be waste of time, save that the di-
sciple enjoys an advantage unknown to the
master. The great naturalist received the
materials for his work from my part of
the world; his subjects came by barge after
being carefully preserved in spirits. I, on the
other hand, live in the Cicada's company.
When July comes, he takes possession of the
enclosure right up to the threshold of the
house. The hermitage is our joint pro-
perty. I remain master indoors; but out of
doors he is the sovereign lord and an ex-
tremely noisy and abusive one. Our near
neighbourhood and constant association

1 Rene Antoine Ferchault de Reaumur (1683-1757),
inventor of the Reaumur thermometer and author of
Memoir es pour servir a I'histoire naturelle des insectes.
— Translator's Note.

25

The Life of the Grasshopper

have enabled me to enter into certain details
of which Reaumur could not dream.

The first Cicadas appear at the time of
the summer solstice. Along the much-
trodden paths baked by the sun and hardened
by the frequent passage of feet there open,
level with the ground, round orifices about
the size of a man's thumb. These are the
exit-holes of the Cicada-larvae, who come up
from the depths to undergo their transforma-
tion on the surface. They are more or less
everywhere, except in soil turned over by the
plough. Their usual position is in the driest
spots, those most exposed to the sun, espe-
cially by the side of the roads. Equipped
with powerful tools to pass, if necessary,
through sandstone and dried clay, the larva,
on leaving the earth, has a fancy for the
hardest places.

One of the garden-paths, converted into a
little inferno by the glare from a wall facing
south, abounds in such exit-holes. I proceed,
in the last days of June, to examine these
recently abandoned pits. The soil is so hard
that I have to take my pickaxe to tackle it.

The orifices are round and nearly an inch
in diameter. There is absolutely no rubbish
around them, no mound of earth thrown up
26

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

outside. This is invariably the case: the
Cicada's hole is never surmounted with a
mole-hill, as are the burrows of the Geo-
trupes,1 or Dorbeetles, those other sturdy
excavators. The manner of working ac-
counts for this difference. The Dung-
beetle progresses from the outside inwards;
he commences his digging at the mouth of
the well, which allows him to ascend and
heap up on the surface the material which
he has extracted. The larva of the Cicada,
on the other hand, goes from the inside out-
wards ; the last thing that it does is to open
the exit-door, which, remaining closed until
the very end of the work, cannot be used for
getting rid of the rubbish. The former goes
in and makes a mound on the threshold of
the home; the latter comes out and cannot
heap up anything on a threshold that does
not yet exist.

The Cicada's tunnel runs to a depth of
between fifteen and sixteen inches. It is
cylindrical, winds slightly, according to the
exigencies of the soil, and is always nearly
perpendicular, for it is shorter to go that
way. The passage is quite open throughout

*Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect: chap, ix.—
Translator's Note.

27

I

The Life of the Grasshopper

its length. It is useless to search for the rub-
bish which this excavation ought, one would
think, to produce; we see none anywhere.
The tunnel ends in a blind alley, in a rather
wider chamber, with level walls and not the
least vestige of communication with any
gallery prolonging the well.

Reckoned by its length and its diameter,
the excavation represents a volume of about
twelve cubic inches. What has become of
the earth removed? Sunk in very dry and
very loose soil, the well and the chamber at
the bottom ought to have crumbly walls,
which would easily fall in, if nothing else
had taken place but the work of boring. My
surprise was great to find, on the contrary,
coated surfaces, washed with a paste of
clayey earth. They are not by a long way
what one could call smooth, but at any rate
their irregularities are covered with a layer
of plaster; and their slippery materials,
soaked with some agglutinant, are kept in
position.

The larva can move about and climb
nearly up to the surface and down again to
its refuge at the bottom without producing,
with its clawed legs, landslips which would
block the tube, making ascent difficult and
28

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

retreat impossible. The miner shores up his
galleries with pit-props and cross-beams; the
builder of underground railways strengthens
his tunnels with a casing of brickwork; the
Cicada's larva, which is quite as clever an
engineer, cements its shaft so as to keep it
open however long it may have to serve.

If I surprise the creature at the moment
when it emerges from the soil to make for
a neighbouring branch and there undergo its
transformation, I see it at once beat a
prudent retreat and, without the slightest
difficulty, run down again to the bottom of
its gallery, proving that, even when the dwell-
ing is on the point of being abandoned for
good, it does not become blocked with earth.

The ascending-shaft is not a piece of work
improvised in a hurry, in the insect's im-
patience to reach the sunlight; it is a regular
manor-house, an abode in which the grub is
meant to make a long stay. So the plastered
walls tell us. Any such precaution would be
superfluous in the case of a mere exit aban-
doned as soon as bored. There is not a
doubt but that we have here a sort of
meteorological station in which observations
are taken of the weather outside. Under-
ground, fifteen inches down, or more, the
29

The Life of the Grasshopper

larva ripe for its emergence is hardly able to
judge whether the climatic conditions be
favourable. Its subterranean weather is too
gradual in its changes to be able to supply
it with the precise indications necessary for
the most important action of its life, its es-
cape into the sunlight for the metamorphosis.

Patiently, for weeks, perhaps for months,
it digs, clears and strengthens a perpendi-
cular chimney, leaving at the surface, to keep
it sequestered from the world without, a
layer as thick as one's finger. At the bottom
it makes itself a recess more carefully built
than the remainder. This is its refuge, its
waiting-room, where it rests if its recon-
noitring lead it to defer its emigration. At
the least suspicion of fine weather, it scram-
bles up, tests the exterior through the thin
layer of earth forming a lid and enquires into
the temperature and the degree of humidity
of the air.

If things do not bode well, if a heavy
shower threaten or a blustering storm —
events of supreme importance when the de-
licate Cicada throws off her skin — the pru-
dent insect slips back to the bottom of the
tube and goes on waiting. If, on the other
hand, the atmospheric conditions be favour-
30

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

able, then the ceiling is smashed with a few
strokes of the claws and the larva emerges
from the well.

Everything seems to confirm that the
Cicada's gallery is a waiting-room, a me-
teorological station where the larva stays for
a long time, now hoisting itself near the sur-
face to discover the state of the weather,
now retreating to the depths for better
shelter. This explains the convenience of a
resting-place at the base and the need for a
strong cement on walls which, without it,
would certainly give way under continual
comings and goings.

What is not so easily explained is the com-
plete disappearance of the rubbish corre-
sponding with the space excavated. What
has become of the twelve cubic inches Of
earth yielded by an average well? There is
nothing outside to represent them, nor any-
thing inside either. And then how, in a soil
dry as cinders, is the plaster obtained with
which the walls are glazed?

Larvae that gnaw into wood, such as
those of the Capricorn and the Buprestes,1

1 The Capricorn, or Cerambyx-beetle, lives in oak-trees;
the Buprestis-beetles are found mostly in felled timber.
— Translator's Note.

31

The Life of the Grasshopper

for instance, ought to be able to answer the
first question. They make their way inside
a tree-trunk, boring galleries by eating the
materials of the road which they open. De-
tached in tiny fragments by the mandibles,
these materials are digested. They pass
through the pioneer's body from end to end,
yielding up their meagre nutritive elements
on the way, and accumulate behind, com-
pletely blocking the road which the grub will
never take again. The work of excessive
division and subdivision, done either by the
mandibles or the stomach, causes the digested
materials to take up less room than the un-
touched wood; and the result is a space in
front of the gallery, a chamber in which the
grub works, a chamber which is greatly re-
stricted in length, giving the prisoner just
enough room to move about.

Can it not be in a similar fashion that the
Cicada-grub bores its tunnel? Certainly the
waste material flung up as it digs its way
does not pass through its body; even if the
soil were of the softest and most yielding
character, earth plays no part whatever in
the larva's food. But, after all, cannot the
materials removed be simply shot back as
the work proceeds? The Cicada remains
32

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

four years in the ground. This long life is
not, of course, spent at the bottom of the
well which we have described: this is just a
place where the larva prepares for its
emergence. It comes from elsewhere, doubt-
less from some distance. It is a vagabond,
going from one root to another and driving
its sucker into each. When it moves, either
to escape from the upper layers, which are
too cold in winter, or to settle down at a
better drinking-bar, it clears a road by fling-
ing behind it the materials broken up by its
pickaxes. This is undoubtedly the method.

As with the larvae of the Capricorn and
the Buprestes, the traveller needs around
him only the small amount of free room
which his movements require. Damp, soft,
easily compressed earth is to this larva what
the digested pap is to the others. Such earth
is heaped up without difficulty; it condenses
and leaves a vacant space.

The difficulty is one of a different kind
with the exit-well bored in a very dry soil,
which offers a marked resistance to com-
pression so long as it retains its aridity. That
the larva, when beginning to dig its passage,
flung back part of the excavated materials
into an earlier gallery which has now disap-

33

The Life of the Grasshopper

peared is fairly probable, though there is
nothing in the condition of things to tell us
so; but, if we consider the capacity of the
well and the extreme difficulty of finding
room for so great a volume of rubbish, our
doubts return and we say to ourselves :

" This rubbish demanded a large empty
space, which itself was obtained by shifting
other refuse no less difficult to house. The
room required presupposes the existence of
another space into which the earth extracted
was shot."

And so we find ourselves in a vicious circle,
for the mere subsidence of materials flung
behind would not be enough to explain so
great a void. The Cicada must have a
special method of disposing of the super-
fluous earth. Let us try and surprise his
secret.

Examine a larva at the moment when it
emerges from the ground. It is nearly al-
ways more or less soiled with mud, some-
times wet, sometimes dry. The digging-
implements, the fore-feet, have the points of
their pickaxes stuck in a globule of slime ;
its other legs are cased in mud; its back is
spotted with clay. We are reminded of a
scavenger who has been stirring up sewage.

34

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

These stains are the more striking inasmuch
as the creature comes out of exceedingly dry
ground. We expected to see it covered with
dust and we find it covered with mud.

One more step in this direction and the
problem of the well is solved. I exhume a
larva which happens to be working at its
exit-gallery. Very occasionally, I get a piece
of luck like this, in the course of my digging;
it would be useless for me to try for it, as
there is nothing outside to guide my search.
My welcome prize is just beginning its
excavations. An inch of tunnel, free from
any rubbish, and the waiting-room at the
bottom represent all the work for the mo-
ment. In what condition is the worker ? We
shall see.

The grub is much paler in colour than
those which I catch as they emerge. Its big
eyes in particular are whitish, cloudy, squint-
ing and apparently of little use for seeing.
What good is sight underground? The
eyes of the larvae issuing from the earth
are, on the contrary, black and shining
and indicate ability to see. When it
makes its appearance in the sunshine, the
future Cicada has to seek, occasionally at
some distance from the exit-hole, the hanging

35

The Life of the Grasshopper

branch on which the metamorphosis will be
performed; and here sight will manifestly be
useful. This maturity of vision attained
during the preparation for the release is
enough to show us that the larva, far from
hastily improvising its ascending-shaft,
works at it for a long time.

Moreover, the pale and blind larva is
bulkier than it is in the state of maturity. It
is swollen with liquid and looks dropsical.
If you take it in your fingers, a limpid
humour oozes from the hinder part and
moistens the whole body. Is this fluid, ex-
pelled from the intestines, a urinary product?
Is it just the residue of a stomach fed solely
on sap? I will not decide the question and
will content myself with calling it urine,
merely for convenience.

Well, this fountain of urine is the key to
the mystery. The larva, as it goes on and
digs, sprinkles the dusty materials and makes
them into paste, which is forthwith applied
to the walls by abdominal pressure. The
original dryness is succeeded by plasticity.
The mud obtained penetrates the interstices
of a rough soil; the more liquid part of it
trickles in front; the remainder is com-
pressed and packed and occupies the empty
36

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

spaces in between. Thus is an unblocked
tunnel obtained, without any refuse, because
the dust and rubbish are used on the spot in
the form of a mortar which is more com-
pact and more homogeneous than the soil
traversed.

The larva therefore works in the midst of
clayey mire ; and this is the cause of the stains
that astonish us so much when we see it
issuing from excessively dry soil. The per-
fect insect, though relieved henceforth from
all mining labour, does not utterly abandon
the use of its bladder; a few drains
of urine are preserved as a weapon of de-
fence. When too closely observed, it dis-
charges a spray at the intruder and quickly
flies away. In either form, the Cicada, his
dry constitution notwithstanding, proves him-
self a skilled irrigator.

Dropsical though it be, the larva cannot
carry sufficient liquid to moisten and turn
into compressible mud the long column of
earth which has to be tunnelled. The reser-
voir becomes exhausted and the supply has
to be renewed. How is this done and when?
I think I see.

The few wells which I have laid bare
throughout their length, with the pains-

37

The Life of the Grasshopper

taking care which this sort of digging de-
mands, show me at the bottom, encrusted in
the wall of the terminal chamber, a live root,
sometimes as big as a lead-pencil, sometimes
no thicker than a straw. The visible part of
this root is quite small, barely a fraction of
an inch. The rest is contained in the sur-
rounding earth. Is the discovery of this sort
of sap fortuitous? Or is it the result of a
special search on the larva's part? The
presence of a rootlet is so frequent, at least
when my digging is skilfully conducted, that
I rather favour the latter alternative.

Yes, the Cicada-grub, when hollowing out
its cell, the starting-point of the future
chimney, seeks the immediate neighbourhood
of a small live root; it lays bare a certain
portion, which continues the side wall with-
out projecting. This live spot in the wall is,
I think, the fount from which the contents
of the urinary bladder are renewed as
the need arises. When its reserves are ex-
hausted by the conversion of dry dust into
mud, the miner goes down to his chamber,
drives in his sucker and takes a deep draught
from the cask built into the wall. With his
jug well filled, he goes up again. He re-
sumes his work, wetting the hard earth the

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

better to flatten it with his claws and reducing
the dusty rubbish to mud which can be heaped
up around him and leave a clear thorough-
fare. That is how things must happen. So
logic and the circumstances of the case tell
us, in the absence of direct observation, which
is not feasible here.

If this root-cask fail, if moreover the
reservoir of the intestine be exhausted, what
will happen then? We shall learn from the
following experiment. I catch a grub as it
is leaving the ground. I put it at the bottom
of a test-tube and cover it with a column of
dry earth, not too closely packed. The
column is nearly six inches high. The larva
has just quitted an excavation thrice as deep,
in soil of the same nature, but offering a
much greater resistance. Now that it is
buried under my short, sandy column, will
it be capable of climbing to the surface? If
it were a mere matter of strength, the issue
would be certain. What can an obstacle
without cohesion be to one that has just
bored a hole through the hard ground?

And yet I am assailed by doubts. To
break down the screen that still separated it
from the outer air, the larva has expended
its last reserves of fluid. The flask is dry;

39

The Life of the Grasshopper

and there is no way of replenishing it in
the absence of a live root. My suspicion of
failure is well-founded. For three days I
see the entombed one wasting itself in ef-
forts without succeeding in rising an inch
higher. The materials removed refuse to
stay in position for lack of anything to bind
them; they are no sooner pushed aside than
they slip down again under the insect's legs.
The labour has no perceptible result and
has always to be done all over again. On
the fourth day, the creature dies.

With the water-can full, the result is quite
different. I subject to the same experiment
an insect whose work of sel-f-deliverance is
just beginning. It is all swollen with
urinary humours which ooze out and moisten
its whole body. This one's task is easy.
The materials offer hardly any resistance.
A little moisture, supplied by the miner's
flask, converts them into mud, sticks them
together and keeps them out of the way.
The passage is opened, very irregular in
shape, it is true, and almost filled up at the
back as the ascent proceeds. It is as though
the larva, recognizing the impossibility of
renewing its store of fluid, were saving up
the little which it possesses and spending no
40

The Cicada: leaving the Burrow

more than is strictly necessary to enable it
to escape as quickly as possible from its un-
familiar surroundings. This economy is so
well arranged that the insect reaches the
surface at the end of ten days.

'4*

CHAPTER III

THE CICADA: THE TRANSFORMATION

THE exit-gate is passed and left wide
open, like a hole made with a large
gimlet. For some time the larva wanders
about the neighbourhood, looking for some
aerial support, a tiny bush, a tuft of thyme,
a blade of grass or the twig of a shrub. It
finds it, climbs up and, head upwards, clings
to it firmly with the claws of the fore-feet,
which close and do not let go again. The
other legs take part in sustaining it, if the
position of the branch make this possible;
if not, the two claws suffice. There follows
a moment of rest to allow the supporting
arms to stiffen into an immovable grip.

First, the mesothorax splits along the
middle of the back. The edges of the slit
separate slowly and reveal the pale-green
colour of the insect. Almost immediately
afterwards, the prothorax splits also. The
longitudinal fissure reaches the back of the
42

The Cicada: the Transformation

head above and the metathorax below, with-
out spreading farther. The wrapper of the
skull breaks crosswise, in front of the eyes;
and the red stemmata appear. The green
portion uncovered by these ruptures swells
and protrudes over the whole of the meso-
thorax. We see slow palpitations, alternate
contractions and distensions due to the ebb
and flow of the blood. This hernia, work-
ing at first out of sight, is the wedge that
made the cuirass split along two crossed
lines of least resistance.

The skinning-operation makes rapid pro-
gress. Soon the head is free. Then the
rostrum and the front legs gradually leave
their sheaths. The body is horizontal, with
the ventral surface turned upwards. Under
the wide-open carapace appear the hinder
legs, the last to be released. The wings are
distended with moisture. They are still
rumpled and look like stumps bent into a
bow. This first phase of the transformation
has taken but ten minutes.

There remains the second, which lasts
longer. The whole of the insect is free, ex-
cept the tip of the abdomen, which is still
contained in its scabbard. The cast skin
continues to grip the twig. Stiffening as the
43

The Life of the Grasshopper

result of quick desiccation, it preserves with-
out change the attitude which it had at the
start. It forms the pivot for what is about
to follow.

Fixed to his slough by the tip of the
abdomen, which is not yet extracted, the
Cicada turns over perpendicularly, head
downwards. He is pale-green, tinged with
yellow. The wings, until now compressed
into thick stumps, straighten out, unfurl,
spread under the rush of the liquid with
which they are gorged. When this slow
and delicate operation is ended, the Cicada,
with an almost imperceptible movement,
draws himself up by sheer strength of loin
and resumes a normal position, head up-
wards. The fore-legs hook on to the empty
skin; and at last the tip of the belly is drawn
from its sheath. The extraction is over.
The work has required half an hour alto-
gether.

Here is the whole insect, freed from its
mask, but how different from what it will be
presently! The wings are heavy, moist,
transparent, with their veins a light green.
The prothorax and mesothorax are barely
tinged with brown. All the rest of the body
is pale-green, whitish in places. It must
44

The Cicada: the Transformation

bathe in air and sunshine for a long time
before strength and colour can come to its
frail body. About two hours pass without
producing any noticeable change. Hanging
to his cast skin by his fore-claws only, the
Cicada sways at the least breath of air, still
feeble and still green. At last the brown
tinge appears, becomes more marked and is
soon general. Half an hour has effected
the change of colour. Slung from the sus-
pension-twig at nine o'clock in the morning,
the Cicada flies away, before my eyes, at
half-past twelve.

The cast skin remains, intact, save for its
fissure, and so firmly fastened that the rough
weather of autumn does not always succeed
in bringing it to the ground. For some
months yet, even during the winter, one
often meets old skins hanging in the bushes
in the exact position adopted by the larva
at the moment of its transformation. Their
horny nature, something like dry parchment,
ensures a long existence for these relics.

Let us hark back for a moment to the
gymnastic feat which enables the Cicada to
leave his scabbard. At first retained by the
tip of the abdomen, which is the last part
to remain in its case, the Cicada turns over

45

The Life of the Grasshopper

perpendicularly, head downwards. This
somersault allows him to free his wings and
legs, after the head and chest have already
made their appearance by cracking the
armour under the pressure of a hernia.
Now comes the time to free the end of the
abdomen, the pivot of this inverted attitude.
For this purpose, the insect, with a laborious
movement of its back, draws itself up, brings
its head to the top again and hooks itself
with its fore-claws to the cast skin. A fresh
support is thus obtained, enabling it to pull
the tip of its abdomen from its sheath.

There are therefore two means of sup-
port : first the end of the belly and then the
front claws; and there are two principal
movements: in the first place the downward
somersault, in the second place the return to
the normal position. These gymnastics de-
mand that the larva shall fix itself to a twig,
head upwards, and that it shall have a free
space beneath it. Suppose that these con-
ditions were lacking, thanks to my wiles:
what would happen? That remained to
be seen.

I tie a thread to the end of one of the
hind-legs and hang the larva up in the peace-
ful atmosphere of a test-tube. My thread
46

The Cicada: the Transformation

is a plumb-line which will remain vertical,
for there is nothing to interfere with it. In
this unwonted posture, which places its head
at the bottom at a time when the near ap-
proach of the transformation demands that
it should be at the top, the unfortunate crea-
ture for a long time kicks about and strug-
gles, striving to turn over and to seize with
its fore-claws either the thread by which it
hangs or one of its own hind-legs. Some of
them succeed in their efforts, draw them-
selves up as best they can, fasten themselves
as they wish, despite the difficulty of keeping
their balance, and effect their metamorphosis
without impediment.

Others wear themselves out in vain. They
do not catch hold of the thread, they do not
bring their heads upwards. Then the trans-
formation is not accomplished. Sometimes
the dorsal rupture takes place, leaving bare
the mesothorax swollen into a hernia, but the
shelling proceeds no farther and the insect
soon dies. More often still the larva per-
ishes intact, without the least fissure.

Another experiment. I place the larva in

a glass jar with a thin bed of sand, which

makes progress possible. The animal moves

along, but is not able to hoist itself up any-

47

The Life of the Grasshopper

where: the slippery sides of the glass
prevent this. Under these conditions, the
captive expires without trying to transform
itself. I have known exceptions to this mis-
erable ending; I have sometimes seen the
larva undergo a regular metamorphosis on
a layer of sand thanks to peculiarities of
equilibrium which were very difficult to dis-
tinguish. In the main, when the normal atti-
tude or something very near it is impossible,
metamorphosis does not take place and the
insect succumbs. That is the general rule.

This result seems to tell us that the larva
is capable of opposing the forces which are
at work in it when the transformation is at
hand. A cabbage-silique, a pea-pod invari-
ably burst to set free their seeds. The
Cicada-larva, a sort of pod containing, by
way of seed, the perfect insect, is able to
control its dehiscence, to defer it until a
more opportune moment and even to sup-
press it altogether in unfavourable circum-
stances. Convulsed by the profound revo-
lution that takes place in its body on the
point of transfiguration, but at the same time
warned by instinct that the conditions are
not good, the insect makes a desperate re-
sistance and dies rather than consent to open.
48

The Cicada: the Transformation

Apart from the trials to which my curi-
osity subjects it, I do not see that the Cicada-
larva is exposed to any danger of perishing
in this way. There is always a bit of brush-
wood of some kind near the exit-hole. The
newly-exhumed insect climbs on it; and a
few minutes are enough for the animal pod
to split down the back. This swift hatching
has often been a source of trouble to me in
my studies. A larva appears on the hills
not far from my house. I catch sight of it
just as it is fastening on the twig. It would
form an interesting subject of observation
indoors. I place it in a paper bag, together
with the stick that carries it, and hurry home.
This takes me a quarter of an hour, but it is
labour lost: by the time that I arrive, the
green Cicada is almost free. I shall not see
what I was bent on seeing. I had to
abandon this method of obtaining informa-
tion and be content with an occasional lucky
find within a few yards of my door.

" Everything is in everything," as Jacotot
the pedagogue 1 used to say. In connection

1 Joseph Jacotot (1770-1840), a famous French edu-
cator, whose methods aroused a great deal of discuss-
ion. He propounded other more or less paradoxical
maxims, such as, "All men have an equal intelligence,"
" A man can teach what he does not know," and so on.
— Translator's Note.

49

The Life of the Grasshopper

with that remarkably quick metamorphosis
a culinary question arises. According to
Aristotle, Cicadae were a highly-appreciated
dish among the Greeks. I am not acquainted
with the great naturalist's text: humble vil-
lager that I am, my library possesses no such
treasure. I happen, however, to have before
me a venerable tome which can tell me just
what I want to know. I refer to Matthiolus'
Commentaries on Dioscorides.1 As an emi-
nent scholar, who must have known his
Aristotle very well, Matthiolus inspires me
with complete confidence. Now he says :

" Mirum non est quod dixerit Aristoteles,
cicadas esse gustu suavissimas antequam
tettigometra rumpatur cortex."

Knowing that tettigometra, or mother of
the Cicada, is the expression used by the
ancients to denote the larva, we see that,
according to Aristotle, the Cicadae possess a
flavour most delicious to the taste before the
bark or outer covering of the matrix bursts.

1 Pietro Andrea Mattioli (1500-1577), known as
Matthiolus, a physician and naturalist who practised at
Siena and Rome. His Commentaries on Dioscorides
were published in Italian, at Venice, in 1544 and in Latin
in 1554. — Translator's Note.
50

The Cicada: the Transformation

This detail of the unbroken covering tells
us at what season the toothsome dainty
should be picked. It cannot be in winter,
when the earth is dug deep by the plough,
for at that time there is no danger of the
larva's hatching. People do not recommend
an utterly superflous precaution. It is there-
fore in summer, at the period of the emer-
gence from underground, when a good
search will discover the larvae, one by one,
on the surface of the soil. This is the real
moment to take care that the wrapper is
unbroken. It is the moment also to hasten
the gathering and the preparations for cook-
ing : in a very few minutes the wrapper will
burst.

Are the ancient culinary reputation and
that appetizing epithet, suavissimas gustu,
well-deserved? We have an excellent oppor-
tunity : let us profit by it and restore to
honour, if the occasion warrant it, the dish
extolled by Aristotle. Rondelet,1 Rabelais'
erudite friend, gloried in having redisco-

1 Guillaume Rondelet (1507-1566), a physician and
naturalist, author of various works on medicine and of
an Uni'versa piscium historia (Lyons, 1554) which earned
him the title of father of ichthyology. Rabelais intro-
duces hirrt into his Pantagruel by the name of Rondibilis.
— Translator's Note.

Si

The Life of the Grasshopper

vered garum, the famous sauce made from
the entrails of rotten fish. Would it not be
a meritorious work to give the epicures their
tettigometrte again?

On a morning in July, when the sun is up
and has invited the Cicadae to leave the
ground, the whole household, big and little,
go out searching. There are five of us en-
gaged in exploring the enclosure, especially
the edges of paths, which yield the best re-
sults. To prevent the skin from bursting, as
each larva is found I dip it into a glass of
water. Asphyxia will stay the work of
metamorphosis. After two hours of careful
seeking, when every forehead is streaming
with perspiration, I am the owner of four
larvae, no more. They are dead or dying
in their preserving bath; but this does not
matter, since they are destined for the
frying-pan.

The method of cooking is of the simplest,
so as to alter as little as possible the flavour
reputed to be so exquisite: a few drops of
oil, a pinch of salt, a little onion and that
is all. There is no conciser recipe in the
whole of La Cuisiniere bourgeoise. At din-
ner, the fry is divided fairly among all of us
hunters.

52

The Cicada: the Transformation

The stuff is unanimously admitted to be
eatable. True, we are people blessed with
good appetites and wholly unprejudiced
stomachs. There is even a slightly shrimpy
flavour which would be found in a still more
pronounced form in a brochette of Locusts.
It is, however, as tough as the devil and
anything but succulent; we really feel as if
we were chewing bits of parchment. I will
not recommend to anybody the dish extolled
by Aristotle.

Certainly, the renowned animal-historian
was remarkably well-informed as a rule.
His royal pupil sent on his behalf to India,
the land at that time so full of mystery, for
the curiosities most impressive to Mace-
donian eyes; he received by caravan the
Elephant, the Panther, the Tiger, the
Rhinoceros, the Peacock; and he described
them faithfully. But, in Macedonia itself,
he knew the insect only through the peasant,
that stubborn tiller of the soil, who found
the tettigometra under his spade and was
the first to know that a Cicada comes out of
it. Aristotle, therefore, in his immense un-
dertaking, was doing more or less what
Pliny was to do later, with a much greater
amount of artless credulity. He listened to
53

The Life of the Grasshopper

the chit-chat of the country-side and set it
down as veracious history.

Rustic waggery is world-famous. The
countryman is always ready to jeer at the
trifles which we call science; he laughs at
whoso stops to examine an insignificant in-
sect; he goes into fits of laughter if he sees
us picking up a pebble, looking at it and
putting it in our pocket. The Greek peasant
excelled in this sort of thing. He told the
townsman that the tettigometra was a dish
fit for the gods, of an incomparable flavour,
suavissima gustu. But, while making his
victim's mouth water with hyperbolical
praises, he put it out of his power to satisfy
his longings, by laying down the essential
condition that he must gather the delicious
morsel before the shell had burst.

I should like to see any one try to get
together the material for a sufficiently
copious dish by gathering a few handfuls of
tettigometra just coming out of the earth,
when my squad of five took two hours
to find four larvae on ground rich in
Cicadas. Above all, mind that the skin does
not break during your search, which will last
for days and days, whereas the bursting
takes place in a few minutes. My opinion
54

The Cicada: the Transformation

is that Aristotle never tasted a fry of tet-
tigometra; and my own culinary experience
is my witness. He is repeating some rustic
jest in all good faith. His heavenly dish is
too horrible for words.

Oh, what a fine collection of stories I too
could make about the Cicada, if I listened to
all that my neighbours the peasants tell me !
I will give one particular of his history and
one alone, as related in the country.

Have you any renal infirmity? Are you
dropsical at all? Do you need a powerful
depurative? The village pharmacopoeia is
unanimous in suggesting the Cicada as a
sovran remedy. The insects are collected in
summer, in their adult form. They are
strung together and dried in the sun and are
fondly preserved in a corner of the press.
A housewife would think herself lacking in
prudence if she allowed July to pass without
threading her store of them.

Do you suffer from irritation of the kid-
neys, or perhaps from stricture? Quick,
have some Cicada-tea! Nothing, they tell
me, is so efficacious. I am duly grateful to
the good soul who once, as I have since
heard, made me drink a concoction of the
sort, without my knowing it, for some
55

The Life of the Grasshopper

trouble or other; but I remain profoundly
incredulous. I am struck, however, by the
fact that the same specific was recommended
long ago by Dioscorides. The old Cilician
doctor tells us :

"Cicada, qua massata manduntur, ve-
sica doloribus prosunt." 1

Ever since the far-off days of this patri-
arch of materia medica, the Provengal peas-
ant has retained his faith in the remedy re-
vealed to him by the Greeks who brought
the olive, the fig-tree and the vine from
Phocaea. One thing alone is changed: Di-
oscorides advises us to eat our Cicadas
roasted; nowadays they are boiled and
taken as an infusion.

The explanation given of the insect's
diuretic properties is wonderfully ingenuous.
The Cicada, as all of us here know, shoots
a sudden spray of urine, as it flies away, in
the face of any one who tries to take hold
of it. He is therefore bound to hand on his
powers of evacuation to us. Thus must
Dioscorides and his contemporaries have

1 " Cicada; eaten roasted are good for pains in the
bladder."

56

The Cicada: the Transformation

argued; and thus does the peasant of Pro-
vence argue to this day.

O my worthy friends, what would you say
if you knew the virtues of the tettigometra,
which is capable of mixing mortar with its
urine to build a meteorological station
withal ! You would be driven to borrow the
hyperbole of Rabelais, who shows us Gar-
gantua seated on the towers of Notre-Dame
and drowning with the deluge from his
mighty bladder so many thousand Paris
loafers, not to mention the women and
children !

57

CHAPTER IV

THE CICADA: HIS MUSIC

T>Y his own confession, Reaumur never
•*-* heard the Cicada sing; he never saw the
insect alive. It reached him from the coun-
try round Avignon preserved in spirits and
a goodly supply of sugar. These conditions
were enough to enable the anatomist to give
an exact description of the organ of sound;
nor did the master fail to do so: his pene-
trating eye clearly discerned the construction
of the strange musical-box, so much so that
his treatise upon it has become the fountain-
head for any one who wants to say a few
words about the Cicada's song.

With him the harvest was gathered; it
but remains to glean a few ears which the
disciple hopes to make into a sheaf. I have
more than enough of what Reaumur lacked:
I hear rather more of these deafening
symphonists than I could wish ; and so I shall
perhaps obtain a little fresh light on a sub-
58

The Cicada: his Music

ject that seems exhausted. Let us therefore
go back to the question of the Cicada's song,
repeating only so much of the data acquired
as may be necessary to make my explanation
clear.

In my neighbourhood I can capture five
species of Cicadae, namely, Cicada plebeia,
LIN. ; C. orni, LIN. ; C. hematodes, LIN. ; C.
atra, OLIV. ; and C. pygmaa, OLIV. The first
two are extremely common ; the three others
are rarities, almost unknown to the country-
folk.

The Common Cicada is the biggest of the
five, the most popular and the one whose mu-
sical apparatus is usually described. Under
the male's chest, immediately behind the
hind-legs, are two large semicircular plates,
overlapping each other slightly, the right
plate being on the top of the left. These
are the shutters, the lids, the dampers, in
short the opercula of the organ of sound.
Lift them up. You then see opening, on
either side, a roomy cavity, known in Pro-
vence by the name of the chapel (H capello).
The two together form the church (la
gleiso}. They are bounded in front by a
soft, thin, creamy-yellow membrane; at the
back by a dry pellicle, iridescent as a soap-

59

The Life of the Grasshopper

bubble and called the mirror (mirau) in the
Provencal tongue.

The church, the mirrors and the lids are
commonly regarded as the sound-producing
organs. Of a singer short of breath it is
said that he has cracked his mirrors (a li
mirau creba). Picturesque language says
the same thing of an uninspired poet.
Acoustics give the lie to the popular belief.
You can break the mirrors, remove the lids
with a cut of the scissors, tear the yellow
front membrane and these mutilations will
not do away with the Cicada's song: they
simply modify it, weaken it slightly. The
chapels are resonators. They do not pro-
duce sound, they increase it by the vibrations
of their front and back membranes; they
change it as their shutters are opened more
or less wide.

The real organ of sound is seated else-
where and is not easy to find, for a novice.
On the other side of each chapel, at the ridge
joining the belly to the back, is a slit bounded
by horny walls and masked by the lowered
lid. Let us call it the window. This open-
ing leads to a cavity or sound-chamber deeper
than the adjacent chapel, but much less wide.
Immediately behind the attachment of the
60

The Cicada: his Music

rear wings is a slight, almost oval protu-
berance, which is distinguished by its dull-
black colour from the silvery down of the
surrounding skin. This protuberance is the
outer wall of the sound-chamber.

Let us make a large cut in it. We now
lay bare the sound-producing apparatus, the
cymbal. This is a little dry, white mem-
brane, oval-shaped, convex on the outside,
crossed from end to end of its longer
diameter by a bundle of three or four brown
nervures, which give it elasticity, and fixed
all round in a stiff frame. Imagine this
bulging scale to be pulled out of shape from
within, flattening slightly and then quickly
recovering its original convexity owing to
the spring of its nervures. The drawing
in and blowing out will produce a clicking
sound.

Twenty years ago, all Paris went mad
over a silly toy called the Cricket, or Cri-cri,
if I remember rightly. It consisted of a
short blade of steel, fastened at one end to
a metallic base. Alternately pressed out of
shape with the thumb and then released, the
said blade, though possessing no other merit,
gave out a very irritating click; and nothing
more was needed to make it popular. The
61

The Life of the Grasshopper

Cricket's vogue is over. Oblivion has done
justice to it so drastically that I doubt if I
shall be understood when I recall the once
famous apparatus.

The membranous cymbal and steel Cricket
are similar instruments. Both are made to
rattle by pushing an elastic blade out of
shape and restoring it to its original condi-
tion. The Cricket was bent out of shape with
the thumb. How is the convexity of the cym-
bals modified? Let us go back to the church
and break the yellow curtain that marks
the boundary of each chapel in front. Two
thick muscular columns come in sight, of a
pale orange colour, joined together in the
form of a V, with its point standing on the
insect's median line, on the lower surface.
Each of these fleshy columns ends abruptly
at the top, as though lopped off; and from
the truncated stump rises a short, slender
cord which is fastened to the side of the cor-
responding cymbal.

There you have the whole mechanism,
which is no less simple than that of the metal
Cricket. The two muscular columns con-
tract and relax, shorten and lengthen. By
means of the terminal thread each tugs at
its cymbal, pulling it down and forthwith let-
62

The Cicada: his Music

ting it spring back of itself. Thus are the
two sound-plates made to vibrate.

Would you convince yourself of the ef-
ficacy of this mechanism? Would you make
a dead but still fresh Cicada sing? Nothing
could be simpler. Seize one of the muscular
columns with the pincers and jerk it gently.
The dead Cri-cri comes to life again; each
jerk produces the clash of the cymbal. The
sound is very feeble, I admit, deprived of
the fulness which the living virtuoso obtains
with the aid of his sound-chambers; never-
theless the fundamental element of the song
is produced by this anatomical trick.

Would you on the other hand silence a
live Cicada, that obstinate melomaniac who,
when you hold him prisoner in your fingers,
bewails his sad lot as garrulously as, just
now, he sang his joys in the tree? It is no
use to break open his chapels, to crack his
mirrors: the shameful mutilation would not
check him. But insert a pin through the side
slit which we have called the window and
touch the cymbal at the bottom of the sound-
chamber. A tiny prick; and the perforated
cymbal is silent. A similar operation on the
other side renders the insect mute, though
it remains as vigorous as before, showing
63

The Life of the Grasshopper

no perceptible wound. Any one unacquainted
with the method of procedure stands amazed
at the result of my pin-prick, when the utter
destruction of the mirrors and the other ac-
cessories of the church does not produce
silence. A tiny and in no way serious stab
has an effect which is not caused even by
evisceration.

The lids, those firmly fitted plates, are
stationary. It is the abdomen itself which,
by rising and falling, causes the church to
open and shut. When the abdomen is low-
ered, the lids cover the chapels exactly, to-
gether with the windows of the sound-
chambers. The sound is then weakened,
muffled, stifled. When the abdomen rises,
the chapels open, the windows are unob-
structed and the sound acquires its full
strength. The rapid oscillations of the belly,
therefore, synchronizing with the contrac-
tions of the motor-muscles of the cymbals,
determine the varying volume of the sound,
which seems to come from hurried strokes of
a bow.

When the weather is calm and warm,
about the middle of the day, the Cicada's
song is divided into strophes of a few sec-
onds' duration, separated by short pauses.
64

The Cicada: his Music

The strophe begins abruptly. In a rapid
crescendo, the abdomen oscillating faster and
faster, it acquires its maximum volume; it
keeps up the same degree of strength for a
few seconds and then becomes gradually
weaker and degenerates into a tremolo which
decreases as the belly relapses into rest.
With the last pulsations of the abdomen
comes silence, which lasts for a longer or
shorter time according to the condition of the
atmosphere. Then suddenly we hear a new
strophe, a monotonous repetition of the first;
and so on indefinitely.

It often happens, especially during the
sultry evening hours, that the insect, drunk
with sunshine, shortens and even entirely
suppresses the pauses. The song is then con-
tinuous, but always with alternations of
crescendo and decrescendo. The first strokes
of the bow are given at about seven or eight
o'clock in the morning; and the orchestra
ceases only with the dying gleams of the
twilight, at about eight o'clock in the even-
ing. Altogether the concert lasts the whole
round of the clock. But, if the sky be over-
cast, if the wind blow cold, the Cicada is
dumb.

The second species is only half the size
65

The Life of the Grasshopper

of the Common Cicada and is known in the
district by the name of the Cacan, a fairly
accurate imitation of his peculiar rattle. This
is the Ash Cicada of the naturalists; and he
is far more alert and more suspicious than
the first. His harsh loud song consists of a
series of Can! Can! Can! Can! with not
a pause to divide the ode into strophes. Its
monotony and its harsh shrillness make it a
most unpleasant ditty, especially when the
orchestra is composed of some hundreds of
executants, as happens in my two plane-trees
during the dog-days. At such times it is as
though a heap of dry walnuts were being
shaken in a bag until the shells cracked.
This irritating concert, a veritable torment,
has only one slight advantage about it: the
Ash Cicada does not start quite so early in
the morning as the Common Cicada and does
not sit up so late at night.

Although constructed on the same funda-
mental principles, the vocal apparatus dis-
plays numerous peculiarities which give the
song its special character. The sound-
chamber is entirely lacking, which means that
there is no entrance-window either. The
cymbal is uncovered, just behind the insertion
of the hind-wing. It again is a dry, white
66

The Cicada: his Music

scale, convex on the outside and crossed by
a bundle of five red-brown nervures.

The first segment of the abdomen thrusts
forward a short, wide tongue, which is quite
rigid and of which the free end rests on the
cymbal. This tongue may be compared with
the blade of a rattle which, instead of fitting
into the teeth of a revolving wheel, touches
the nervures of the vibrating cymbal more or
less closely. The harsh, grating sound must,
I think, be partly due to this. It is hardly
possible to verify the fact when holding the
creature in our fingers: the startled Cacan
does anything at such times rather than emit
his normal song.

The lids do not overlap : on the contrary,
they are separated by a rather wide interval.
With the rigid tongues, those appendages of
the abdomen, they shelter one half of the
cymbals, the other half of which is quite
bare. The abdomen, when pressed with the
finger, does not open to any great extent
where it joins the thorax. For the rest, the
insect keeps still when it sings; it knows
nothing of the rapid quivering of the belly
that modulates the song of the Common
Cicada. The chapels are very small and al-
most negligible as sounding-boards. There
67

The Life of the Grasshopper

are mirrors, it is true, but insignificant ones,
measuring scarcely a twenty-fifth of an inch.
In short, the mechanism of sound, which is so
highly developed in the Common Cicada, is
very rudimentary here. How then does the
thin clash of the cymbals manage to gain in
volume until it becomes intolerable ?

The Ash Cicada is a ventriloquist. If we
examine the abdomen by holding it up to the
light, we see that the front two thirds are
translucent. Let us snip off the opaque third
part that retains, reduced to the strictly
indispensable, the organs essential to the
propagation of the species and the preserva-
tion of the individual. The rest of the belly
is wide open and presents a spacious cavity,
with nothing but its tegumentary walls, ex-
cept in the case of the dorsal surface, which
is lined with a thin layer of muscle and serves
as a support to the slender digestive tube,
which is little more than a thread. The
large receptacle, forming nearly half of the
insect's total bulk, is therefore empty, or
nearly so. At the back are seen the two
motor pillars of the cymbals, the two mus-
cular columns arranged in a V. To the
right and left of the point of this V gleam
the two tiny mirrors ; and the empty space is

The Cicada: his Music

continued between the two branches into the
depths of the thorax.

This hollow belly and its thoracic comple-
ment form an enormous resonator, unap-
proached by that of any other performer in
our district. If I close with my finger the
orifice in the abdomen which I have just
clipped, the sound becomes lower, in con-
formity with the laws affecting organ-pipes;
if I fit a cylinder, a screw of paper, to the
mouth of the open belly, the sound becomes
louder as well as deeper. With a paper
funnel properly adjusted, its wide end
thrust into the mouth of a test-tube acting
as a sounding-board, we have no longer the
shrilling of the Cicada but something very
near the bellowing of a Bull. My small chil-
dren, happening to be there at the moment
when I am making my acoustic experiments,
run away scared. The familiar insect in-
spires them with terror.

The harshness of the sound appears to be
due to the tongue of the rattle rasping the
nervures of the vibrating cymbals; its in-
tensity may no doubt be ascribed to the spa-
cious sounding-board of the belly. Assuredly
one must be passionately enamoured of song
thus to empty one's belly and chest in order
69

The Life of the Grasshopper

to make room for a musical-box. The essen-
tial vital organs are reduced to the minimum,
are confined to a tiny corner, so as to leave
a greater space for the sounding-cavity.
Song comes first; all the rest takes second
place.

It is a good thing that the Ash Cicada does
not follow the teaching of the evolutionists.
If, becoming more enthusiastic from genera-
tion to generation, he were able by pro-
gressive stages to acquire a ventral sounding-
board fit to compare with that which my
paper screws give him, my Provence, peopled
as it is with Cacans, would one day become
uninhabitable.

After the details which I have already
given concerning the Common Cicada, it
seems hardly necessary to say how the insup-
portable chatterbox of the Ash is rendered
dumb. The cymbals are clearly visible on
the outside. You prick them with the point
of a needle. Complete silence follows in-
stantly. Why are there not in my plane-
trees, among the dagger-wearing insects,
auxiliaries who, like myself, love quiet and
who would devote themselves to that task!
A mad wish ! A note would then be lacking
in the majestic harvest symphony.
70

The Cicada: his Music

The Red Cicada (C. hematodes) is a little
smaller than the Common Cicada. He owes
his name to the blood-red colour that takes
the place of the other's brown on the veins of
the wings and some other lineaments of the
body. He is rare. I come upon him occa-
sionally in the hawthorn-bushes. As regards
his musical apparatus, he stands half-way be-
tween the Common Cicada and the Ash
Cicada. He has the former's oscillation of
the belly, which increases or reduces the
strength of the sound by opening or closing
the church; he possesses the latter's exposed
cymbals, unaccompanied by any sound-
chamber or window.

The cymbals therefore are bare, immedi-
ately after the attachment of the hind-wings.
They are white, fairly regular in their con-
vexity and boast eight long, parallel nervures
of a ruddy brown and seven others which are
much shorter and which are inserted singly
in the intervals between the first. The lids
are small and scolloped at their inner edge
so as to cover only half of the corresponding
chapel. The opening left by the hollow in
the lid has as a shutter a little pallet fixed
to the base of the hind-leg, which, by folding
itself against the body or lifting slightly,
71

The Life of the Grasshopper

keeps the aperture either shut or open. The
other Cicadas have each a similar appendage,
but in their case it is narrower and more
pointed.

Moreover, as with the Common Cicada,
the belly moves freely up and down. This
heaving movement, combined with the play of
the femoral pallets, opens and closes the
chapels to varying extents.

The mirrors, though not so large as the
Common Cicada's, have the same appear-
ance. The membrane that faces them on the
thorax side is white, oval and very delicate
and is tight-stretched when the abdomen is
raised and flabby and wrinkled when the ab-
domen is lowered. In its tense state it seems
capable of vibration and of increasing the
sound.

The song, modulated and subdivided into
strophes, suggests that of the Common
Cicada, but is much less objectionable. Its
lack of shrillness may well be due to the
absence of any sound-chambers. Other
things being equal, cymbals vibrating unco-
vered cannot possess the same intensity of
sound as those vibrating at the far end of an
echoing vestibule. The noisy Ash Cicada
also, it is true, lacks that vestibule; but he
72

The Cicada: his Music

amply makes up for its absence by the
enormous resonator of his belly.

I have never seen the third Cicada,
sketched by Reaumur and described by
Olivier x under the name of C. tomentosa.
The species is known in Provence, so this and
that one tells me, by the name of the Cigalon,
or rather Cigaloun, the Little Cigale or
Cicada. This designation is unknown in my
neighbourhood.

I possess two other specimens which Re-
aumur probably confused with the one of
which he gives us a drawing. One is the
Black Cicada (C. atra, OLIV.), whom I came
across only once ; the other is the Pigmy Ci-
cada (C. pygmtsa, OLIV.), whom I have
picked up pretty often. I will say a few
words about this last one.

He is the smallest member of the genus
in my district, the size of an average Gad-fly,
and measures about three-quarters of an inch
in length. His cymbals are transparent, with
three opaque veins, are scarcely sheltered by

1 Guillaume Antoine Olivier (1756-1814), a distin-
guished French entomologist, author of an Histoire na-
turelle des coleopteres, in six volumes (1789-1808), and
part author of the nine volumes devoted to a Diction-
naire de I'histoire naturelle des insectes in the Ency-
clopedic methodique (1789-1819). — Translator's Note.

73

The Life of the Grasshopper

a fold in the skin and are in full view, with-
out any sort of entrance-lobby or sound-
chamber. I may remark, in terminating our
survey, that the entrance-lobby exists only in
the Common Cicada ; all the others are with-
out it.

The dampers are separated by a wide in-
terval and allow the chapels to open wide.
The mirrors are comparatively large. Their
shape suggests the outline of a kidney-bean.
The abdomen does not heave when the insect
sings; it remains stationary, like the Ash
Cicada's. Hence a lack of variety in the
melody of both.

The Pigmy Cicada's song is a monotonous
rattle, pitched in a shrill key, but faint and
hardly perceptible a few steps away in the
calm of our enervating July afternoons. If
ever a fancy seized him to forsake his sun-
scorched bushes and to come and settle down
in force in my cool plane-trees — and I wish
that he would, for I should much like to
study him more closely — this pretty little
Cicada would not disturb my solitude as the
frenzied Cacan does.

We have now ploughed our way through
the descriptive part; we know the instrument
of sound so far as its structure is concerned.
74

The Cicada: his Music

In conclusion, let us ask ourselves the object
of these musical orgies. What is the use of
all this noise ? One reply is bound to come :
it is the call of the males summoning their
mates ; it is the lovers' cantata.

I will allow myself to discuss this answer,
which is certainly a very natural one. For
fifteen years the Common Cicada and his
shrill associate, the Cacan, have thrust their
society upon me. Every summer for two
months I have them before my eyes, I have
them in my ears. Though I may not listen
to them gladly, I observe them with a cert-
ain zeal. I see them ranged in rows on
the smooth bark of the plane-trees, all with
their heads upwards, both sexes interspersed
with a few inches between them.

With their suckers driven into the tree,
they drink, motionless. As the sun turns
and moves the shadow, they also turn around
the branch with slow lateral steps and make
for the best-lighted and hottest surface.
Whether they be working their suckers or
moving their quarters, they never cease
singing.

Are we to take the endless cantilena for
a passionate call? I am not sure. In the
assembly the two sexes are side by side ; and
75

The Life of the Grasshopper

you do not spend months on end in calling
to some one who is at your elbow. Then
again, I never see a female come rushing
into the midst of the very noisiest orchestra.
Sight is enough as a prelude to marriage
here, for it is excellent; the wooer has no
use for an everlasting declaration : the wooed
is his next-door neighbour.

Could it be a means then of charming, of
touching the indifferent one? I still have
my doubts. I notice no signs of satisfaction
in the females; I do not see them give the
least flutter nor sway from side to side,
though the lovers clash their cymbals never
so loudly.

My neighbours the peasants say that, at
harvest-time, the Cicada sings, " Sego, sego,
sego! Reap, reap, reap!" to encourage
them to work. Whether harvesters of
wheat or harvesters of thought, we follow
the same occupation, one for the bread of
the stomach, the other for the bread of the
mind. I can understand their explanation,
therefore; and I accept it as an instance of
charming simplicity.

Science asks for something better ; but she
finds in the insect a world that is closed to us.
There is no possibility of divining or even
76

The Cicada: his Music

suspecting the impression produced by the
clash of the cymbals upon those who inspire
it. All that I can say is that their impassive
exterior seems to denote complete indiffer-
ence. Let us not insist too much : the private
feelings of animals are an unfathomable
mystery.

Another reason for doubt is this: those
who are sensitive to music always have deli-
cate hearing; and this hearing, a watchful
sentinel, should give warning of any danger
at the least sound. The birds, those skilled
songsters, have an exquisitely fine sense of
hearing. Should a leaf stir in the branches,
should two wayfarers exchange a word, they
will be suddenly silent, anxious, on their
guard. How far the Cicada is from such
sensibility !

He has very clear sight. His large faceted
eyes inform him of what happens on the
right and what happens on the left; his
three stemmata, like little ruby telescopes,
explore the expanse above his head. The
moment he sees us coming, he is silent and
flies away. But place yourself behind the
branch on which he is singing, arrange so
that you are not within reach of the five
visual organs; and then talk, whistle, clap
77

The Life of the Grasshopper

your hands, knock two stones together. For
much less than this, a bird, though it would
not see you, would interrupt its singing and
fly away terrified. The imperturbable
Cicada goes on rattling as though nothing
were afoot.

Of my experiments in this matter, I will
mention only one, the most memorable. I
borrow the municipal artillery, that is to
say, the mortars which are made to thunder
forth on the feast of the patron-saint. The
gunner is delighted to load them for the
benefit of the Cicadae and to come and fire
them off at my place. There are two of
them, crammed as though for the most sol-
emn rejoicings. No politician making the
circuit of his constituency in search of re-
election was ever honoured with so much
powder. We are careful to leave the wind-
ows open, to save the panes from break-
ing. The two thundering engines are set at
the foot of the plane-trees in front of my
door. No precautions are taken to mask
them: the Cicadae singing in the branches
overhead cannot see what is happening
below.

We are an audience of six. We wait for
a moment of comparative quiet. The num-
78

The Cicada: his Music

her of singers is checked by each of us, as
are the depth and rhythm of the song. We
are now ready, with ears pricked up to hear
what will happen in the aerial orchestra. The
mortar is let off, with a noise like a genuine
thunder-clap.

There is no excitement whatever up above.
The number of executants is the same, the
rhythm is the same, the volume of sound the
same. The six witnesses are unanimous:
the mighty explosion has in no way affected
the song of the Cicadae. And the second
mortar gives an exactly similar result.

What conclusion are we to draw from this
persistence of the orchestra, which is not at
all surprised or put out by the firing of a
gun ? Am I to infer from it that the Cicada
is deaf? I will certainly not venture so far
as that; but, if any one else, more daring
than I, were to make the assertion, I should
really not know what arguments to employ
in contradicting him. I should be obliged at
least to concede that the Cicada is extremely
hard of hearing and that we may apply to
him the familiar saying, to bawl like a deaf
man.

When the Blue-winged Locust takes his
luxurious fill of sunshine on a gravelly path
79

The Life of the Grasshopper

and with his great hind-shanks rubs the
rough edge of his wing-cases; when the
Green Tree-frog, suffering from as chronic
a cold as the Cacan, swells his throat among
the leaves and distends it into a resounding
bladder at the approach of a storm, are
they both calling to their absent mates ? By
no means. The bow-strokes of the first
produce hardly a perceptible stridulation;
the throaty exuberance of the second is no
more effective : the object of their desire does
not come.

Does the insect need these sonorous out-
bursts, these loquacious avowals, to declare
its flame? Consult the vast majority, whom
the meeting of the two sexes leaves silent.
I see in the Grasshopper's fiddle, the Tree-
frog's bagpipes and the cymbals of the
Cacan but so many methods of expressing
the joy of living, the universal joy which
every animal species celebrates after its
kind.

If any one were to tell me that the Cicadas
strum on their noisy instruments without giv-
ing a thought to the sound produced and for
the sheer pleasure of feeling themselves
alive, just as we rub our hands in a moment
of satisfaction, I should not be greatly

The Cicada: his Music

shocked. That there may be also a second-
ary object in their concert, an object in which
the dumb sex is interested, is quite possible,
quite natural, though this has not yet been
proved.

CHAPTER V

THE CICADA: THE LAYING AND THE
HATCHING OF THE EGGS

THE Common Cicada entrusts her eggs
to small dry branches. All those which
Reaumur examined and found to be thus
tenanted were derived from the mulberry-
tree : a proof that the person commissioned
to collect these eggs in the Avignon district
was very conservative in his methods of
search. In addition to the mulberry-tree, I,
on the other hand, find them on the peach,
the cherry, the willow, the Japanese privet
and other trees. But these are exceptions.
The Cicada really favours something dif-
ferent. She wants, as far as possible, tiny
stalks, which may be anything from the
thickness of a straw to that of a lead-pencil,
with a thin ring of wood and plenty of pith.
So long as these conditions are fulfilled, the
actual plant matters little. I should have to
draw up a list of all the semiligneous flora

The Cicada: the Eggs

of the district were I to try and catalogue
the different supports used by the Cicada
when laying her eggs. I shall content myself
with naming a few of them in a note, to show
the variety of sites of which she avails her-
self.1

The sprig occupied is never lying on the
ground; it is in a position more or less akin
to the perpendicular, most often in its na-
tural place, sometimes detached, but in that
case sticking upright by accident. Prefer-
ence is given to a good long stretch of
smooth, even stalk, capable of accommo-
dating the entire laying. My best harvests
are made on the sprigs of Spartium junceum,
which are like straws crammed with pith,
and especially on the tall stalks of
Asphodelus cerasiferus, which rise for
nearly three feet before spreading into
branches.

The rule is for the support, no matter
what it is, to be dead and quite dry. Never-
theless my notes record a few instances of

1 1 have gathered the Cicada's eggs on Spartium
junceum, or Spanish broom; on asphodel (Asphodelus
cerasiferus) ; on Toad-flax (Linaria strlata) ; on Cala-
mintha nepeta, or lesser calamint; on Hirschfeldia
adpressa; on Chondrilla juncea, or common gum-succory;
on garlic (A Ilium polyanthum) ; on Asteriscus spinosus
and other plants. — Author's Note.

83

The Life of the Grasshopper

eggs confided to stalks that are still alive,
with green leaves and flowers in bloom. It
is true that, in these highly exceptional
cases, the stalk itself is of a pretty dry
variety.1

The work performed by the Cicada con-
sists of a series of pricks such as might be
made with a pin if it were driven downwards
on a slant and made to tear the ligneous
fibres and force them up slightly. Any one
seeing these dots without knowing what pro-
duced them would think first of some cryp-
togamous vegetation, some Sphaeriacea
swelling and bursting its skin under the
growth of its half-emerging perithecia.

If the stalk be uneven, or if several Cicadae
have been working one after the other at
the same spot, the distribution of the punc-
tures becomes confused and the eye is apt to
wander among them, unable to perceive
either the order in which they were made
or the work of each individual. One char-
acteristic is never missing, that is the slanting
direction of the woody strip ploughed up,
which shows that the Cicada always works
in an upright position and drives her imple-

1 Calamintha nepeta, Hirschfeldia adpressa. — Author's
Note.

84

The Cicada: the Eggs

ment downwards into the twig, in a longi-
tudinal direction.

If the stalk be smooth and even and also
of a suitable length, the punctures are nearly
equidistant and are not far from being in
a straight line. Their number varies: it is
small when the mother is disturbed in her
operation and goes off to continue her laying
elsewhere; it amounts to thirty or forty
when the line of dots represents the total
amount of eggs laid. The actual length of
the row for the same number of thrusts like-
wise varies. A few examples will enlighten
us in this respect: a row of thirty measures
28 centimetres * on the toad-flax, 30 2 on the
gum-succory and only 1 2 a on the asphodel.

Do not imagine that these variations in
length have to do with the nature of the
support: there are plenty of instances that
prove the contrary; and the asphodel, which
in one case shows us the punctures that are
closest together, will in other cases show us
those which are farthest removed. The di-
stance between the dots depends on cir-
cumstances which cannot be explained, but

1 10.9 inches. — Translator's Note.

1 11.7 inches. — Translator's Note.

* 4.6 inches. — Translator's Note.

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The Life of the Grasshopper

especially on the caprice of the mother, who
concentrates her laying more at one spot and
less at another according to her fancy. I
have found the average measurement be-
tween one hole and the next to be 8 to 10
millimetres.1

Each of these abrasions is the entrance to
a slanting cell, usually bored in the pithy por-
tion of the stalk. This entrance is not closed,
save by the bunch of ligneous fibres which
are parted at the time of the laying but
which come together again when the double
saw of the ovipositor is withdrawn. At most,
in certain cases, but not always, you see
gleaming through the threads of this barri-
cade a tiny glistening speck, looking like a
glaze of dried albumen. This can be only
an insignificant trace of some albuminous se-
cretion which accompanies the eggs or else
facilitates the play of the double boring-file.

Just under the prick lies the cell, a very
narrow passage which occupies almost the
entire distance between its pin-hole and that
of the preceding cell. Sometimes even there
is no partition separating the two; the upper
floor runs into the lower; and the eggs,
though inserted through several entrances,

1 .31 to .39 inch. — Translator's Note.
86

The Cicada: the Eggs

are arranged in an uninterrupted row. Usu-
ally, however, the cells are distinct.

Their contents vary greatly. I count from
six to fifteen eggs in each. The average is
ten. As the number of cells of a complete
laying is between thirty and forty, we see
that the Cicada disposes of three to four
hundred eggs. Reaumur arrived at the same
figures from his examination of the ovaries.

A fine family truly, capable by sheer num-
bers of coping with very grave risks of de-
struction. Yet I do not see that the adult
Cicada is in greater danger than any other
insect: he has a vigilant eye, can get
started quickly, is a rapid flyer and inha-
bits heights at which the cut-throats of the
meadows are not to be feared. The Spar-
row, it is true, is very fond of him. From
time to time, after careful strategy, the ene-
my swoops upon the plane-trees from the
neighbouring roof and grabs the frenzied
fiddler. A few pecks distributed right and
left cut him up into quarters, which form
delicious morsels for the nestlings. But
how often does not the bird return with an
empty bag! The wary Cicada sees the attack
coming, empties his bladder into his assail-
ant's eyes and decamps.
87

The Life of the Grasshopper

No, it is not the Sparrow that makes it
necessary for the Cicada to give birth to so
numerous a progeny. The danger lies else-
where. We shall see how terrible it can be
at hatching- and also at laying-time.

Two or three weeks after the emergence
from the ground, that is to say, about the
middle of July, the Cicada busies herself
with her eggs. In order to witness the lay-
ing without trusting too much to luck, I had
taken certain precautions which seemed to
me to assure success. The insect's favourite
support is the dry asphodel: I had learnt
that from earlier observations. This plant is
also the one that lends itself best to my
plans, owing to its long, smooth stalk. Now,
during the first years of my residence here,
I replaced the thistles in my enclosure by
other native plants, of a less forbidding
character. The asphodel is among the new
occupants and is just what I want to-day. I
therefore leave last year's dry stalks where
they are; and, when the proper season comes,
I inspect them daily.

I have not long to wait. As early as the
1 5th of July, I find as many Cicadas as I
could wish installed on the asphodels, busily
laying. The mother is always alone. Each

The Cicada: the Eggs

has a stalk to herself, without fear of any
competition that might disturb the delicate
process of inoculation. When the first occu-
pant is gone, another may come, followed by
others yet. There is ample room for all;
but each in succession wishes to be alone.
For the rest, there is no quarrelling among
them; things happen most peacefully. If
some mother appears and finds the place al-
ready taken, she flies away so soon as she
discovers her mistake and looks around else-
where.

The Cicada, when laying, always carries
her head upwards, an attitude which, for that
matter, she adopts in other circumstances.
She lets you examine her quite closely, even
under the magnifying-glass, so greatly ab-
sorbed is she in her task. The ovipositor,
which is about two-fifths of an inch long, is
buried in the stalk, slantwise. So perfect is
the tool that the boring does not seem to call
for very laborious operations. I see the
mother give a jerk or two and dilate and
contract the tip of her abdomen with fre-
quent palpitations. That is all. The drill
with its double gimlets working alternately
digs and disappears into the wood, with a
gentle and almost imperceptible movement.
89

The Life of the Grasshopper

Nothing particular happens during the lay-
ing. The insect is motionless. Ten minutes
or so elapse between the first bite of the tool
and the complete filling of the cell.

The ovipositor is then withdrawn with
deliberate slowness, so as not to warp it.
The boring-hole closes of itself, as the lig-
neous fibres come together again, and the
insect climbs a little higher, about as far as
the length of its instrument, in a straight
line. Here we see a new punch of the gimlet
and a new chamber receiving its half-a-score
of eggs. In this fashion the laying works its
way up from bottom to top.

Once we know these facts, we are in a posi-
tion to understand the remarkable arrange-
ment controlling the work. The punctures,
the entrances to the cells, are almost equidi-
stant, because each time the Cicada ascends
about the same height, roughly the length
of her ovipositor. Very rapid in flight, she is
a very lazy walker. All that you ever see
her do on the live branch on which she drinks
is to move to a sunnier spot close by, with a
grave and almost solemn step. On the dead
branch where the eggs are laid she re-
tains her leisurely habits, even exagger-
ating them, in view of the importance of
90

The Cicada: the Eggs

the operation. She moves as little as need
be, shifting her place only just enough to
avoid letting two adjoining cells encroach
upon each other. The measure of the up-
ward movement is provided approximately
by the length of the bore.

Also the holes are arranged in a straight
line when their number is not great. Why
indeed should the laying mother veer to the
left or right on a stalk which has the same
qualities all over? Loving the sun, she has
selected the side of the stalk that is most
exposed to it. So long as she feels on her
back a douche of heat, her supreme joy, she
will take good care not to leave the situation
which she considers so delightful for another
upon which the sun's rays do not fall so
directly.

But the laying takes a long time when it is
all performed on the same support. Allow-
ing ten minutes to a cell, the series of forty
which 1 have sometimes seen represents a
period of six to seven hours. The sun there-
fore can alter its position considerably before
the Cicada has finished her work. In that
case the rectilinear direction becomes bent
into a spiral curve. The mother turns
around her stalk as the sun itself turns ; and

The Life of the Grasshopper

her row of pricks suggests the course of the
gnomon's shadow on a cylindrical sundial.

Very often, while the Cicada is absorbed
in her work of motherhood, an infinitesimal
Gnat, herself the bearer of a boring-tool,
labours to exterminate the eggs as fast as
they are placed. Reaumur knew her. In
nearly every bit of stick that he examined he
found her grub, which caused him to make
a mistake at the beginning of his researches.
But he did not see, he could not see the im-
pudent ravager at work. It is a Chalcidid
some four to five millimetres * in length, all
black, with knotty antennae, thickening a little
towards their tips. The unsheathed boring-
tool is planted in the under part of the ab-
domen, near the middle, and sticks out at
right angles to the body, as in the case of
the Leucospes,2 the scourge of certain mem-
bers of the Bee-tribe. Having neglected to
capture the insect, I do not know what name
the nomenclators have bestowed upon it, if
indeed the dwarf that exterminates Cicadas
has been catalogued at all.

What I do know something about is its

*.i56 to .195 inch. — Translator's Note.

* Cf. The Mason-bees, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by
Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xi. — Translator's
Note.

92

The Cicada: the Eggs

calm temerity, its brazen audacity in the im-
mediate presence of the colossus who could
crush it by simply stepping on it. I have seen
as many as three exploiting the unhappy
mother at the same time. They keep close
behind each other, either working their
probes or awaiting the propitious moment.

The Cicada has just stocked a cell and is
climbing a little higher to bore the next.
One of the brigands runs to the abandoned
spot; and here, almost under the claws of
the giantess, without the least fear, as though
she were at home and accomplishing a meri-
torious act, she unsheathes her probe and in-
serts it into the column of eggs, not through
the hole already made, which bristles with
broken fibres, but through some lateral
crevice. The tool works slowly, because of
the resistance of the wood, which is almost
intact. The Cicada has time to stock the next
floor above.

As soon as she has finished, a Gnat stand-
ing immediately behind her, waiting to per-
form her task, takes her place and comes and
introduces her own exterminating germ. By
the time that the mother has exhausted her
ovaries and flies away, most of her cells have,
in this fashion, received the alien egg which
93

The Life of the Grasshopper

will be the ruin of their contents. A small,
quick-hatching grub, one only to each
chamber, generously fed on a round dozen
raw eggs, will take the place of the Cicada's
family.

O deplorable mother, have centuries of
experience taught you nothing? Surely, with
those excellent eyes of yours, you cannot fail
to see the terrible sappers, when they flutter
around you, preparing their felon stroke!
You see them, you know that they are at
your heels; and you remain impassive and
let yourself be victimized. Turn round, you
easy-going colossus, and crush the pigmies!
But you will do nothing of the sort: you are
incapable of altering your instincts, even to
lighten your share of maternal sorrow.

The Common Cicada's eggs are of a
gleaming ivory-white. Elongated in shape
and conical at both ends, they might be com-
pared with miniature weavers'-shuttles.
They are two millimetres and a half long
by half a millimetre wide.1 They are ar-
ranged in a row, slightly overlapping. The
Ash Cicada's, which are a trifle smaller, are
packed in regular parcels mimicking mi-
croscopic bundles of cigars. We will devote

1 About iV * *fo inch.— Translator's Note.
94

The Cicada: the Eggs

our attention exclusively to the first; their
story will tell us that of the others.

September is not over before the gleaming
ivory-white gives place to straw-colour. In
the early days of October there appear, in
the front part, two little dark-brown spots,
round and clearly-defined, which are the
ocular specks of the tiny creature in course of
formation. These two shining eyes, which
almost look at you, combined with the cone-
shaped fore-end, give the eggs an appearance
of finless fishes, the very tiniest of fishes, for
which a walnut-shell would make a suitable
bowl.

About the same period, I often see on my
asphodels and those on the hills around indi-
cations of a recent hatching. These indica-
tions take the form of certain discarded
clothes, certain rags left on the threshold by
the new-born grubs moving their quarters and
eager to reach a new lodging. We shall
learn in an instant what these cast skins
mean.

Nevertheless, in spite of my visits, which
were assiduous enough to deserve a better
result, I have never succeeded in seeing the
young Cicadae come out of their cells. My
home breeding prospers no better. For two

95

The Life of the Grasshopper

years running, at the right time, I collect in
boxes, tubes and jars a hundred twigs of all
sorts colonized with Cicada-eggs ; not one of
them shows me what I am so anxious to see,
the emergence of the budding Cicadae.

Reaumur experienced the same disappoint-
ment. He tells us how all the eggs sent by
his friends proved failures, even when he
carried them in a glass tube in his fob to give
them a mild temperature. O my revered
master, neither the warm shelter of our
studies nor the niggardly heating-apparatus
of our breeches is enough in this case ! What
is needed is that supreme stimulant, the
kisses of the sun; what is needed, after the
morning coolness, which already is sharp
enough to make us shiver, is the sudden glow
of a glorious autumn day, summer's last
farewell.

It was in such circumstances as these,
when a bright sun supplied a violent con-
trast to a cold night, that I used to find signs
of hatching; but I always came too late: the
young Cicadas were gone. At most I some-
times happened to find one hanging by a
thread from his native stalk and struggling
in mid-air. I thought him caught in some
shred of cobweb.

96

The Cicada: the Eggs

At last, on the 2yth of October, despairing
of success, I gathered the asphodels in the
enclosure and, taking the armful of dry
stalks on which the Cicada had laid, carried
it up to my study. Before abandoning all
hope, I proposed once more to examine the
cells and their contents. It was a cold morn-
ing. The first fire of the season had been
lit. I put my little bundle on a chair in front
the hearth, without any intention of try-
ing the effect of the hot flames upon the
nests. The sticks which I meant to split
open one by one were within easier reach
of my hand there. That was the only con-
sideration which made me choose that par-
ticular spot.

Well, while I was passing my magnifying-
glass over a split stem, the hatching which I
no longer hoped to see suddenly took place
beside me. My bundle became alive; the
young larvae emerged from their cells by the
dozen. Their number was so great that my
professional instincts were amply satisfied.
The eggs were exactly ripe ; and the blaze on
the hearth, bright and penetrating, produced
the same effect as sunlight out of doors. I
lost no time in profiting by this unexpected
stroke of luck.

97

The Life of the Grasshopper

At the aperture of the egg-chamber,
among the torn fibres, a tiny cone-shaped
body appears, with two large black eye-spots.
To look at, it is absolutely the fore-part of
the egg, which, as I have said, resembles the
front of a very minute fish. One would think
that the egg had changed its position, climb-
ing from the bottom of the basin to the
orifice of the little passage. But an egg to
move! A germ to start walking! Such a
thing was impossible, had never been. known;
I must be suffering from an illusion. I split
open the stalk; and the mystery is revealed.
The real eggs, though a little disarranged,
have not changed their position. They
are empty, reduced to transparent bags,
torn considerably at their fore-ends. From
them has issued the very singular organ-
ism whose salient characteristics I will now
set forth.

In its general shape, the configuration of
the head and the large black eyes, the crea-
ture, even more than the egg, presents the
appearance of an extremely small fish. A
mock ventral fin accentuates the likeness.
This sort of oar comes from the fore-legs,
which, cased in a special sheath, lie back-
wards, stretched against each other in a
98

The Cicada: the Eggs

straight line. Its feeble power of move-
ment must help the grub to come out of the
egg-shell and — a more difficult matter — out
of the fibrous passage. Withdrawing a little
way from the body and then returning, this
lever provides a purchase for progression by
means of the terminal claws, which are al-
ready well-developed. The four other legs
are still wrapped in the common envelope
and are absolutely inert. This applies also
to the antennae, which can hardly be per-
ceived through the lens. Altogether, the
organism" newly issued from the egg is an
exceedingly small, boat-shaped body, with a
single oar pointing backwards on the ventral
surface and formed of the two fore-legs
joined together. The segmentation is very
clearly marked, especially on the abdomen.
Lastly, the whole thing is quite smooth, with
not a hair on it.

What name shall I give to this initial state
of the Cicada, a state so strange and unfore-
seen and hitherto unsuspected? Must I
knock Greek words together and fashion
some uncouth expression? I shall do nothing
of the sort, convinced as I am that barbarous
terms are only a cumbrous impediment to
science. I shall simply call it " the primary
99

The Life of the Grasshopper

larva," as I did in the case of the Oil-beetles,
the Leucospes and the Anthrax.1

The form of the primary larva in the
Cicadas is eminently well-suited for the emer-
gence. The passage in which the egg is
hatched is very narrow and leaves just room
for one to go out. Besides, the eggs are ar-
ranged in a row, not end to end, but partly
overlapping. The creature coming from the
farther ranks has to make its way through
the remains of the eggs already hatched in
front of it. To the narrowness of the cor-
ridor is added the block caused by the empty
shells.

In these conditions, the larva in the form
which it will have presently, when it has torn
its temporary scabbard, would not be able
to clear the difficult pass. Irksome antennae,
long legs spreading far from the axis of the
body, picks with curved and pointed ends that
catch on the road: all these are in the way
of a speedy deliverance. The eggs in one
cell hatch almost simultaneously. It is ne-
cessary that the new-born grubs in front
should move out as fast as they can and make

1 Cf. The Life of the Fly, by J. Henri Fabre, translated
by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chaps, ii, iii and v. —
Translator's Note.

100

The Cicada: the Eggs

room for those behind. This necessitates
the smooth, boatlike form, devoid of all pro-
jections, which makes its way insinuatingly,
like a wedge. The primary larva, with its
different appendages closely fixed to its body
inside a common sheath, with its boat shape
and its single oar possessing a certain power
of movement, has its part to play : its business
is to emerge into daylight through a difficult
passage.

Its task is soon done. Here comes one of
the emigrants, showing its head with the
great eyes and lifting the broken fibres of the
aperture. It works its way farther and far-
ther out, with a progressive movement so
slow that the lens does not easily perceive it.
In half an hour at soonest, the boat-shaped
object appears entirely; but it is still caught
by its hinder end in the exit-hole.

The emergence-jacket splits without fur-
ther delay; and the creature sheds its skin
from front to back. It is now the normal
larva, the only one that Reaumur knew. The
cast slough forms a suspensory thread, ex-
panding into a little cup at its free end. In
this cup is contained the tip of the abdomen
of the larva, which, before dropping to the
ground, treats itself to a sun-bath, hardens
101

The Life of the Grasshopper

itself, kicks about and tries its strength,
swinging indolently at the end of its life-
line.

This "little Flea," as Reaumur calls it,
first white, then amber, is at all points the
larva that will dig into the ground. The
antennae, of fair length, are free and wave
about; the legs work their joints; those in
front open and shut their claws, which are
the strongest part of them. I know hardly
any more curious sight than that of this
miniature gymnast hanging by its hinder-
part, swinging at the least breath of wind and
making ready in the air for its somersault
into the world. The period of suspension
varies. Some larvae let themselves drop in
half an hour or so ; others remain for hours
in their long-stemmed cup; and some even
wait until the next day.

Whether quick or slow, the creature's fall
leaves the cord, the slough of the primary
larva, swinging. When the whole brood has
disappeared, the orifice of the cell is thus
hung with a cluster of short, fine threads,
twisted and rumpled, like dried white of
egg. Each opens into a little cup at its free
end. They are very delicate and ephemeral
relics, which you cannot touch without de-

The Cicada: the Eggs

stroying them. The slightest wind soon
blows them away.

Let us return to the larva. Sooner or
later, without losing much time, it drops to
the ground, either by accident or of its own
accord. The infinitesimal creature, no
bigger than a Flea, has saved its tender, bud-
ding flesh from the rough earth by swinging
on its cord. It has hardened itself in the
air, that luxurious eiderdown. It now
plunges into the stern realities of life.

I see a thousand dangers ahead of it.
The merest breath of wind can blow the
atom here, on the impenetrable rock, or
there, on the ocean of a rut where a little
water stagnates, or elsewhere, on the sand,
the starvation region where nothing grows,
or again on a clay soil, too tough for dig-
ging. These fatal expanses are frequent;
and so are the gusts that blow one away in
this windy season which has already set in
unpleasantly by the end of October.

The feeble creature needs very soft soil,
easily entered, so as to obtain shelter im-
mediately. The cold days are drawing nigh ;
the frosts are coming. To wander about on
the surface of the ground for any length of
time would expose us to grave dangers. We
103

The Life of the Grasshopper

had better descend into the earth without
delay; and that to a good depth. This one
imperative condition of safety is in many
cases impossible to realize. What can little
Flea's-claws do against rock, flint or hard-
ened clay? The tiny creature must perish
unless it can find an underground refuge in
time.

The first establishment, which is exposed
to so many evil chances, is, so everything
shows us, a cause of great mortality in the
Cicada's family. Already the little black
parasite, the destroyer of the eggs, has told
us how expedient it is for the mothers to ac-
complish a long and fertile laying; the diffi-
culties attendant upon the initial installation
in their turn explain why the maintenance of
the race at its suitable strength requires
three or four hundred eggs to be laid by each
of them. Subject to excessive spoliation, the
Cicada is fertile to excess. She averts by the
richness of her ovaries the multitude of
dangers threatening her.

In the experiment which it remains for
me to make, I will at least spare the larva
the difficulties of the first installation. I se-
lect some very soft, very black heath-mould
and pass it through a fine sieve. Its dark
104

The Cicada: the Eggs

colour will enable me more easily to find the
little yellow creature when I want to see
what is happening; and its softness will suit
the feeble mattock. I heap it not too tightly
in a glass pot; I plant a little tuft of thyme
in it; I sow a few grains of wheat. There
is no hole at the bottom of the pot, though
there ought to be, if the thyme and the wheat
are to thrive; the captives, however, finding
the hole, would be certain to escape through
it. The plantation will suffer from this lack
of drainage; but at least I am certain of
finding my animals with the aid of my mag-
nifying-glass and plenty of patience. Be-
sides, I shall indulge in no excesses in the
matter of irrigation, supplying only enough
water to prevent the plants from dying.

When everything is ready and the corn is
beginning to put forth its first shoots, I place
six young Cicada-larvae on the surface of the
soil. The puny grubs run about and explore
the earthy bed pretty nimbly; some make
unsuccessful attempts to climb the side of the
pot. Not one seems inclined to bury itself,
so much so that I anxiously wonder what the
object can be of these active and prolonged
investigations. Two hours pass and the rest-
less roaming never ceases.
105

The Life of the Grasshopper

What is it that they want? Food? I offer
them some little bulbs with bundles of sprout-
ing roots, a few bits of leaves and some fresh
blades of grass. Nothing tempts them nor
induces them to stand still. They appear to
be selecting a favourable spot before de-
scending underground. These hesitating ex-
plorations are superfluous on the soil which
I have industriously prepared for them : the
whole surface, so it seems to me, lends it-
self capitally to the work which I expect to
see them accomplish. Apparently it is not
enough.

Under natural conditions, a preliminary
run round may well be indispensable. There,
sites as soft as my bed of heath-mould,
purged of all hard bodies and finely sifted,
are rare. There, on the other hand, coarse
soils, on which the microscopic mattock can
make no impression, are frequent. The grub
has to roam at random, to walk about for
some time before finding a suitable place.
No doubt many even die, exhausted by their
fruitless search. A journey of exploration,
in a country a few inches across, forms part,
therefore, of the young Cicada's curriculum.
In my glass jar, so sumptuously furnished,
the pilgrimage is uncalled for. No matter:
106

The Cicada: the Eggs

it has to be performed according to the time-
honoured rites.

My gadabouts at last grow calm. I see
them attack the earth with the hooked mat-
tocks of their fore-feet, digging into it and
making the sort of excavation which the
point of a thick needle would produce.
Armed with a magnifying-glass, I watch them
wielding their pick-axes, watch them raking
an atom of earth to the surface. In a few
minutes a well has been scooped out. The
little creature goes down it, buries itself and
is henceforth invisible.

Next day I turn out the contents of the
pot, without breaking the clod held together
by the roots of the thyme and the wheat. I
find all my larvae at the bottom, stopped
from going farther by the glass. In twenty-
four hours they have traversed the entire
thickness of the layer of earth, about four
inches. They would have gone even lower
but for the obstacle at the bottom.

On their way they probably came across
my thyme- and wheat-roots. Did they stop
to take a little nourishment by driving in
their suckers? It is hardly probable. A
few of these rootlets are trailing at the
bottom of the empty pot. Not one of my
107

The Life of the Grasshopper

six prisoners is installed on them. Perhaps
in overturning the glass I have shaken them
off.

It is clear that underground there can be
no other food for them than the juice of
the roots. Whether full-grown or in the
larval stage, the Cicada lives on vegetables.
As an adult, he drinks the sap of the
branches; as a larva, he sucks the sap of the
roots. But at what moment is the first sip
taken? This I do not yet know. What
goes before seems to tell us that the newly-
hatched grub is in a greater hurry to reach
the depths of the soil, sheltered from the
coming colds of winter, than to loiter at the
drinking-bars encountered on the way.

I put back the clod of heath-mould and
for the second time place the six exhumed
larvae on the surface of the soil. Wells are
dug without delay. The grubs disappear
down them. Finally I put the pot in my
study-window, where it will receive all the
influences of the outer air, good and bad
alike.

A month later, at the end of November, I

make a second inspection. The young

Cicadae are crouching, each by itself, at the

bottom of the clod of earth. They are not

108

The Cicada: the Eggs

clinging to the roots; they have not altered
in appearance or in size. I find them now
just as I saw them at the beginning of the
experiment, only a little less active. Does
not this absence of growth during the in-
terval of November, the mildest month of
winter, seem to show that no nourishment is
taken throughout the cold season?

The young Sitaris-beetles,1 those other
animated atoms, as soon as they issue from
the egg at the entrance to the Anthophora's 2
galleries, remain in motionless heaps and
spend the winter in complete abstinence.
The little Cicadae would appear to behave
in much the same manner. Once buried in
depths where there is no fear of frosts, they
sleep, solitary, in their winter-quarters and
await the return of spring before broaching
some root near by and taking their first re-
freshment.

I have tried, but without success, to con-
firm by actual observation the inferences to
be drawn from the above results. In the
spring, in April, for the third time I unpot
my plantation. I break up the clod and

1 Cf. The Life of the Fly: chap, iv.— -Translator's Note.

8 Cf. Bramble-bees and Others, by J. Henri Fabre,
translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: passim. —
Translator's Note.

109

The Life of the Grasshopper

scrutinize it under the magnifying-glass. I
feel as if I were looking for a needle in a
haystack. At last I find my little Cicadae.
They are dead, perhaps of cold, notwith-
standing the bell-glass with which I had cov-
ered the pot; perhaps of starvation, if the
thyme did not suit them. The problem is
too difficult to solve ; I give it up.

To succeed in this attempt at rearing one
would need a very wide and deep bed of
earth, providing a shelter from the rigours
of winter, and, because I do not know which
are the insect's favourite roots, there would
also have to be a varied vegetation, in which
the little larvae could choose according to
their tastes. These conditions are quite
practicable; but how is one afterwards to
find in that huge mass of earth, measuring a
cubic yard at least, the atom which I have
so much trouble in distinguishing in a handful
of black mould? And, besides, such consci-
entious digging would certainly detach the
tiny creature from the root that nourishes it.

The underground life of the early Cicada
remains a secret. That of the well-developed
larva is no better-known. When digging in
the fields, if you turn up the soil to any
depth, you are constantly finding the fierce

The Cicada: the Eggs

little burrower under your spade ; but to find
it fastened to the roots from whose sap it
undoubtedly derives its nourishment is quite
another matter. The upheaval occasioned by
the spade warns it of its danger. It releases
its sucker and retreats to some gallery; and,
when discovered, it is no longer drinking.

If agricultural digging, with its inevitable
disturbances, is unable to tell us anything of
the grub's underground habits, it does at least
inform us how long the larval stage lasts.
Some obliging husbandmen, breaking up
their land, in March, rather deeper than
usual, were so very good as to pick up for
me all the larvae, big and small, unearthed
by their labour. The harvest amounted to
several hundreds. Marked differences in bulk
divided the total into three classes : the large
ones, with rudiments of wings similar to
those possessed by the larvae leaving the
ground, the medium-sized and the small.
Each of these classes must correspond with
a different age. We will add to them the
larvse of the last hatching, microscopic crea-
tures that necessarily escaped the eyes of my
rustic collaborators; and we arrive at four
years as the probable duration of the
underground life of the Cicadae.

The Life of the Grasshopper

Their existence in the air is more easily
calculated. I hear the first Cicadas at the
approach of the summer solstice. The
orchestra attains its full strength a month
later. A few laggards, very few and very
far between, continue to execute their faint
solos until the middle of September. That
is the end of the concert. As they do not
all come out of the ground at the same
period, it is obvious that the singers of Sep-
tember are not contemporary with those of
June. If we strike an average between
these two extreme dates, we shall have about
five weeks.

Four years of hard work underground
and a month of revelry in the sun : this then
represents the Cicada's life. Let us no
longer blame the adult for his delirious tri-
umph. For four years, in the darkness, he
has worn a dirty parchment smock; for four
years he has dug the earth with his mattocks ;
and behold the mud-stained navvy suddenly
attired in exquisite raiment, possessed of
wings that rival the bird's, drunk with the
heat and inundated with light, the supreme
joy of this world ! What cymbals could ever
be loud enough to celebrate such felicity, so
richly earned and so ephemeral !

CHAPTER VI

THE MANTIS: HER HUNTING

A NOTHER creature of the south, at least
•^J^as interesting as the Cicada, but much
less famous, because it makes no noise. Had
Heaven granted it a pair of cymbals, the one
thing needed, its renown would eclipse the
great musician's, for it is most unusual in
both shape and habits. Folk hereabouts call
it lou Prego-Dleu, the animal that prays to
God. Its official name is the Praying Mantis
(M. religiosa, LIN.).

The language of science and the peasant's
artless vocabulary agree in this case and
represent the queer creature as a pythoness
delivering her oracles or an ascetic rapt in
pious ecstasy. The comparison dates a long
way back. Even in the time of the Greeks
the insect was called Mavti?, the divine, the
prophet. The tiller of the soil is not par-
ticular about analogies: where points of re-
semblance are not too clear, he will make
113

The Life of the Grasshopper

up for their deficiencies. He saw on the sun-
scorched herbage an insect of imposing ap-
pearance, drawn up majestically in a half-
erect posture. He noticed its gossamer
wings, broad and green, trailing like long
veils of finest lawn; he saw its fore-legs, its
arms so to speak, raised to the sky in a gest-
ure of invocation. That was enough; popu-
lar imagination did the rest; and behold
the bushes from ancient times stocked with
Delphic priestesses, with nuns in orison.

Good people, with your childish simplicity,
how great was your mistake ! Those sancti-
monious airs are a mask for Satanic habits;
those arms folded in prayer are cut-throat
weapons : they tell no beads, they slay what-
ever passes within range. Forming an ex-
ception which one would never have sus-
pected in the herbivorous order of the
Orthoptera, the Mantis feeds exclusively on
living prey. She is the tigress of the peace-
able entomological tribes, the ogress in am-
bush who levies a tribute of fresh meat.
Picture her with sufficient strength; and
her carnivorous appetites, combined with her
traps of horrible perfection, would make her
the terror of the country-side. The Prego-
Dieu would become a devilish vampire.
114

The Mantis: her Hunting

Apart from her lethal implement, the
Mantis has nothing to inspire dread. She is
not without a certain beauty, in fact, with
her slender figure, her elegant bust, her pale-
green colouring and her long gauze wings.
No ferocious mandibles, opening like shears ;
on the contrary, a dainty pointed muzzle
that seems made for billing and cooing.
Thanks to a flexible neck, quite independent
of the thorax, the head is able to move
freely, to turn to right or left, to bend, to
lift itself. Alone among insects, the Mantis
directs her gaze; she inspects and examines;
she almost has a physiognomy.

Great indeed is the contrast between the
body as a whole, with its very pacific aspect,
and the murderous mechanism of the fore-
legs, which are correctly described as rap-
torial. The haunch is uncommonly long and
powerful. Its function is to 'throw forward
the rat-trap, which does not await its victim
but goes in search of it. The snare is decked
out with some show of finery. The base of
the haunch is adorned on the inner surface
with a pretty, black mark, having a white
spot in the middle ; and a few rows of bead-
like dots complete the ornamentation.

The thigh, longer still, a sort of flat-
us

The Life of the Grasshopper

tened spindle, carries on the front half
of its lower surface two rows of sharp
spikes. In the inner row there are a
dozen, alternately black and green, the green
being shorter than the black. This alterna-
tion of unequal lengths increases the number
of cogs and improves the effectiveness of the
weapon. The outer row is simpler and has
only four teeth. Lastly, three spurs, the
longest of all, stand out behind the two rows.
In short, the thigh is a saw with two parallel
blades, separated by a groove in which the
leg lies when folded back.

The leg, which moves very easily on its
joint with the thigh, is likewise a double-
edged saw. The teeth are smaller, more
numerous and closer together than those on
the thigh. It ends in a strong hook whose
point vies with the finest needle for sharp-
ness, a hook fluted underneath and having a
double blade like a curved pruning-knife.

This hook, a most perfect instrument for
piercing and tearing, has left me many a pain-
ful memory. How often, when Mantis-
hunting, clawed by the insect which I had
just caught and not having both hands at
liberty, have I been obliged to ask somebody
else to release me from my tenacious cap-
1x6

The Mantis: her Hunting

tive ! To try to free yourself by force, with-
out first disengaging the claws implanted in
your flesh, would expose you to scratches
similar to those produced by the thorns of
a rose-tree. None of our insects is so
troublesome to handle. The Mantis claws
you with her pruning-hooks, pricks you with
her spikes, seizes you in her vice and makes
self-defence almost impossible if, wishing
to keep your prize alive, you refrain from
giving the pinch of the thumb that would
put an end to the struggle by crushing the
creature.

When at rest, the trap is folded and
pressed back against the chest and looks
quite harmless. There you have the insect
praying. But, should a victim pass, the atti-
tude of prayer is dropped abruptly. Sud-
denly unfolded, the three long sections of
the machine throw to a distance their term-
inal grapnel, which harpoons the prey and,
in returning, draws it back between the two
saws. The vice closes with a movement like
that of the fore-arm and the upper arm; and
all is over : Locusts, Grasshoppers and others
even more powerful, once caught in the
mechanism with its four rows of teeth, are
irretrievably lost. Neither their desperate
117

The Life of the Grasshopper

fluttering nor their kicking will make the ter-
rible engine release its hold.

An uninterrupted study of the Mantis'
habits is not practicable in the open fields;
we must rear her at home. There is no
difficulty about this : she does not mind being
interned under glass, on condition that she
be well fed. Offer her choice viands, served
up fresh daily, and she will hardly feel her
absence from the bushes.

As cages for my captives I have some ten
large wire-gauze dish-covers, the same that
are used to protect meat from the Flies.
Each stands in a pan filled with sand. A dry
tuft of thyme and a flat stone on which the
laying may be done later constitute all the
furniture. These huts are placed in a row
on the large table in my insect laboratory,
where the sun shines on them for the best
part of the day. I instal my captives in
them, some singly, some in groups.

It is in the second fortnight of August that
I begin to come upon the adult Mantis in the
withered grass and on the brambles by the
road-side. The females, already notably
corpulent, are more frequent from day to
day. Their slender companions, on the
other hand, are rather scarce; and I some-
1x8

The Mantis: her Hunting

times have a good deal of difficulty in making
up my couples, for there is an appalling con-
sumption of these dwarfs in the cages. Let
us keep these atrocities for later and speak
first of the females.

They are great eaters, whose maintenance,
when it has to last for some months, is none
too easy. The provisions, which are nibbled
at disdainfully and nearly all wasted, have
to be renewed almost every day. I trust that
the Mantis is more economical on her native
bushes. When game is not plentiful, no
doubt she devours every atom of her catch;
in my cages she is extravagant, often drop-
ping and abandoning the rich morsel after
a few mouthfuls, without deriving any fur-
ther benefit from it. This appears to be her
particular method of beguiling the tedium of
captivity.

To cope with these extravagant ways I
have to employ assistants. Two or three
small local idlers, bribed by the promise of
a slice of melon or bread-and-butter, go
morning and evening to the grass-plots in
the neighbourhood and fill their game-bags
— cases made of reed-stumps — with live Lo-
custs and Grasshoppers. I on my side, net
in hand, make a daily circuit of my enclosure,
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The Life of the Grasshopper

in the hope of obtaining some choice morsel
for my boarders.

These tit-bits are intended to show me to
what lengths the Mantis' strength and dar-
ing can go. They include the big Grey
Locust (Pachytylus cinerescens, FAB.), who
is larger than the insect that will consume'
him; the White-faced Decticus, armed with a
vigorous pair of mandibles whereof our fin-
gers would do well to fight shy; the quaint
Tryxalis, who wears a pyramid-shaped mitre
on her head; the Vine Ephippiger,1 who
clashes cymbals and sports a sword at the
bottom of her pot-belly. To this assortment
of game that is not any too easy to tackle, let
us add two monsters, two of the largest
Spiders of the district: the Silky Epeira,
whose flat, festooned abdomen is the size of
a franc piece ; and the Cross Spider, or Dia-
dem Epeira,2 who is hideously hairy and
obese.

I cannot doubt that the Mantis attacks
such adversaries in the open, when I see her,

1 The Decticus, Tryxalis and Ephippiger are all species
of Grasshoppers or Locusts. — Translator's Note.

2 Epeira sericea and E. diadema are two Garden
Spiders for whom cf. The Life of the Spider, by J. Henri
Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chaps.
ix to xiv. — Translator's Note.

The Mantis: her Hunting

under my covers, boldly giving battle to
whatever comes in sight. Lying in wait
among the bushes, she must profit by the fat
prizes offered by chance even as, in the wire
cage, she profits by the treasures due to my
generosity. Those big hunts, full of danger,
are no new thing; they form part of her
normal existence. Nevertheless they appear
to be rare, for want of opportunity, perhaps
to the Mantis' deep regret.

Locusts of all kinds, Butterflies, Dragon-
flies, large Flies, Bees and other moderate-
sized captures are what we usually find in
the lethal limbs. Still the fact remains that,
in my cages, the daring huntress recoils be-
fore nothing. Sooner or later, Grey Locust
and Decticus, Epeira and Tryxalis are har-
pooned, held tight between the saws and
crunched with gusto. The facts are worth
describing.

At the sight of the Grey Locust who has
heedlessly approached along the trelliswork
of the cover, the Mantis gives a convulsive
shiver and suddenly adopts a terrifying pos-
ture. An electric shock would not produce
a more rapid effect. The transition is so
abrupt, the attitude so threatening that the
observer beholding it for the first time at
121

The Life of the Grasshopper

once hesitates and draws back his fingers, ap-
prehensive of some unknown danger. Old
hand as I am, I cannot even now help being
startled, should I happen to be thinking of
something else.

.You see before you, most unexpectedly, a
sort of bogey-man or Jack-in-the-box. The
wing-covers open and are turned back on
either side, slantingly; the wings spread to
their full extent and stand erect like parallel
sails or like a huge heraldic crest towering
over the back; the tip of the abdomen curls
upwards like a crosier, rises and falls, relax-
ing with short jerks and a sort of sough, a
"Whoof! Whoof!" like that of a Turkey-
cock spreading his tail. It reminds one of the
puffing of a startled Adder.

Planted defiantly on its four hind-legs, the
insect holds its long bust almost upright.
The murderous legs, originally folded and
pressed together upon the chest, open wide,
forming a cross with the body and revealing
the arm-pits decorated with rows of beads
and a black spot with a white dot in the
centre. These two faint imitations of the
eyes in a Peacock's tail, together with the
dainty ivory beads, are warlike ornaments
kept hidden at ordinary times. They are
122

The Mantis: her Hunting

taken from the jewel-case only at the moment
when we have to make ourselves brave and
terrible for battle.

Motionless in her strange posture, the
Mantis watches the Locust, with her eyes
fixed in his direction and her head turning
as on a pivot whenever the other changes
his place. The object of this attitudinizing
is evident : the Mantis wants to strike terror
into her dangerous quarry, to paralyze it
with fright, for, unless demoralized by fear,
it would prove too formidable.

Does she succeed in this? Under the
shiny head of the Decticus, behind the long
face of the Locust, who can tell what passes ?
No sign of excitement betrays itself to our
eyes on those impassive masks. Neverthe-
less it is certain that the threatened one is
aware of the danger. He sees standing be-
fore him a spectre, with uplifted claws,
ready to fall upon him; he feels that he is
face to face with death; and he fails to escape
while there is yet time. He who excels in
leaping and could so easily hop out of
reach of those talons, he, the big-thighed
jumper, remains stupidly where he is, or even
draws nearer with a leisurely step.

They say that little birds, paralysed with
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The Life of the Grasshopper

terror before the open jaws of the Snake,
spell-bound by the reptile's gaze, lose their
power of flight and allow themselves to be
snapped up. The Locust often behaves in
much the same way. See him within reach
of the enchantress. The two grapnels fall,
the claws strike, the double saws close and
clutch. In vain the poor wretch protests:
he chews space with his mandibles and, kick-
ing desperately, strikes nothing but the air.
His fate is sealed. The Mantis furls her
wings, her battle-standard; she resumes her
normal posture ; and the meal begins.

In attacking the Tryxalis and the Ephip-
piger, less dangerous game than the Grey
Locust and the Decticus, the spectral attitude
is less imposing and of shorter duration.
Often the throw of the grapnels is sufficient.
This is likewise so in the case of the Epeira,
who is grasped round the body with not a
thought of her poison-fangs. With the
smaller Locusts, the usual fare in my cages as
in the open fields, the Mantis seldom em-
ploys her intimidation-methods and contents
herself with seizing the reckless one that
passes within her reach.

When the prey to be captured is able to
offer serious resistance, the Mantis has at
124

The Mantis: her Hunting

her service a pose that terrorizes and fas-
cinates her quarry and gives her claws a
means of hitting with certainty. Her rat-
traps close on a demoralized victim incapa-
ble of defence. She frightens her victim into
immobility by suddenly striking a spectral
attitude.

The wings play a great part in this fan-
tastic pose. They are very wide, green on
the outer edge, colourless and transparent
every elsewhere. They are crossed length-
wise by numerous veins, which spread in the
shape of a fan. Other veins, transversal and
finer, intersect the first at right angles and
with them form a multitude of meshes. In
the spectral attitude, the wings are displayed
and stand upright in two parallel planes that
almost touch each other, like the wings of
a Butterfly at rest. Between them the curled
tip of the abdomen moves with sudden starts.
The sort of breath which I have compared
with the puffing of an Adder in a posture of
defence comes from this rubbing of the ab-
domen against the nerves of the wings. To
imitate the strange sound, all that you need
do is to pass your nail quickly over the upper
surface of an unfurled wing.

Wings are essential to the male, a slender
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The Life of the Grasshopper

pigmy who has to wander from thicket to
thicket at mating-time. He has a well-
developed pair, more than sufficient for his
flight, the greatest range of which hardly
amounts to four or five of our paces. The
little fellow is exceedingly sober in his appe-
tites. On rare occasions, in my cages, I
catch him eating a lean Locust, an insig-
nificant, perfectly harmless creature. This
means that he knows nothing of the spectral
attitude, which is of no use to an unambi-
tious hunter of his kind.

On the other hand, the advantage of the
wings to the female is not very obvious, for
she is inordinately stout at the time when her
eggs ripen. She climbs, she runs; but,
weighed down by her corpulence, she never
flies. Then what is the object of wings, of
wings, too, which are seldom matched for
breadth?

The question becomes more significant if
we consider the Grey Mantis (Ameles de-
color}, who is closely akin to the Praying
Mantis. The male is winged and is even
pretty quick at flying. The female, who
drags a great belly full of eggs, reduces her
wings to stumps and, like the cheese-makers
of Auvergne and Savoy, wears a short-tailed
126

The Mantis: her Hunting

jacket. For one who is not meant to
leave the dry grass and the stones, this ab-
breviated costume is more suitable than
superfluous gauze furbelows. The Grey
Mantis is right to retain but a mere vestige
of the cumbrous sails.

Is the other wrong to keep her wings, to
exaggerate them, even though she never
flies? Not at all. The Praying Mantis
hunts big game. Sometimes a formidable
prey appears in her hiding-place. A direct
attack might be fatal. The thing to do is
first to intimidate the new-comer, to conquer
his resistance by terror. With this object
she suddenly unfurls her wings into a ghost's
winding-sheet. The huge sails incapable of
flight are hunting-implements. This strata-
gem is not needed by the little Grey Mantis,
who captures feeble prey, such as Gnats and
new-born Locusts. The two huntresses, who
have similar habits and, because of their
stoutness, are neither of them able to fly, are
dressed to suit the difficulties of the ambus-
cade. The first, an impetuous amazon, puffs
her wings into a threatening standard; the
second, a modest fowler, reduces them to a
pair of scanty coat-tails.

In a fit of hunger, after a fast of some
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The Life of the Grasshopper

days' duration, the Praying Mantis will gob-
ble up a Grey Locust whole, except for the
wings, which are too dry; and yet the victim
of her voracity is as big as herself, or even
bigger. Two hours are enough for con-
suming this monstrous head of game. An
orgy of the sort is rare. I have witnessed
it once or twice and have always wondered
how the gluttonous creature found room for
so much food and how it reversed in its
favour the axiom that the cask must be
greater than its contents. I can but admire
the lofty privileges of a stomach through
which matter merely passes, being at once
digested, dissolved and done away with.

The usual bill of fare in my cages con-
sists of Locusts of greatly varied species and
sizes. It is interesting to watch the Mantis
nibbling her Acridian, firmly held in the
grip of her two murderous fore-legs. Not-
withstanding the fine, pointed muzzle,
which seems scarcely made for this gorging,
the whole dish disappears, with the excep-
tion of the wings, of which only the slightly
fleshy base is consumed. The legs, the tough
skin, everything goes down. Sometimes the
Mantis seizes one of the big hinder thighs
by the knuckle-end, lifts it to her mouth,
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The Mantis: her Hunting

tastes it and crunches it with a little air of
satisfaction. The Locust's fat and juicy
thigh may well be a choice morsel for her,
even as a leg of mutton is for us.

The prey is first attacked in the neck.
While one of the two lethal legs holds the
victim transfixed through the middle of the
body, the other presses the head and makes
the neck open upwards. The Mantis' muzzle
roots and nibbles at this weak point in the
armour with some persistency. A large
wound appears in the head. The Locust
gradually ceases kicking and becomes a life-
less corpse; and, from this moment, freer
in its movements, the carnivorous insect
picks and chooses its morsel.

This preliminary gnawing of the neck is
too regular an occurrence to be purposeless.
Let us indulge in a digression which will tell
us more about it. In June I often find on
the lavender in the enclosure two small Crab
Spiders (Thomisus onustus, WALCK.,1 and
T. rotundatus, WALCK.). One is satin-
white and has pink and green rings round
her legs; the other is inky-black and has an
abdomen encircled with red with a foliaceous

1 Cf. The Life of the Spider: chap. viii. — Translator's
Note.

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The Life of the Grasshopper

central patch. They are pretty Spiders,
both of them, and they walk sideways, after
the manner of Crabs. They do not know
how to weave a hunting-net; the little silk
which they possess is reserved exclusively for
the downy satchel containing the eggs. Their
plan of campaign therefore is to lie in am-
bush on the flowers and to fling themselves
unexpectedly on the quarry when it arrives
on pilfering intent.

Their favourite prey is the Hive-bee. I
often come upon them with their prize, at
times grabbed by the neck and at others by
any part of the body, even the tip of a wing.
In each and every case the Bee is dead, with
her legs hanging limply and her tongue out.

The poison-fangs planted in the neck set
me thinking; I see in them a characteristic
remarkably like the practice of the Mantis
when starting on her Locust. And then
arises another question : how does the weak
Spider, who is vulnerable in every part of
her soft body, manage to get hold of a prey
like the Bee, stronger than herself, quicker in
movement and armed with a sting that can
inflict a mortal wound?

The difference in physical strength and
force of arms between assailant and assailed
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The Mantis: her Hunting

is so very great that a contest of this kind
seems impossible unless some netting inter-
vene, some silken toils that can shackle and
bind the formidable creature. The contrast
would be no more intense were the Sheep
to take it into her head to fly at the Wolf's
throat. And yet the daring attack takes
place and victory goes to the weaker, as is
proved by the numbers of dead Bees whom
I see sucked for hours by the Thomisi. The
relative weakness must be made good by
some special art; the Spider must possess a
strategy that enables her to surmount the
apparently insurmountable difficulty.

To watch events on the lavender-borders
would expose me to long, fruitless waits. It
is better myself to make the preparations for
the duel. I place a Thomisus under a cover
with a bunch of lavender sprinkled with a
few drops of honey. Some three or four live
Bees complete the establishment.

The Bees pay no heed to their redoubt-
able neighbour. They flutter around the
trellised enclosure ; from time to time they
go and take a sip from the honeyed flowers,
sometimes quite close to the Spider, not a
quarter of an inch away. They seem utterly
unaware of their danger. The experience of
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The Life of the Grasshopper

centuries has taught them nothing about the
terrible cut-throat. The Thomisus, on her
side, waits motionless on a spike of lavender,
near the honey. Her four front legs, which
are longer than the others, are spread out
and slightly raised, in readiness for attack.

A Bee comes to drink at the drop of honey.
This is the moment. The Spider springs
forward and with her fangs seizes the im-
prudent one by the tip of the wings, while
her legs hold the victim in a tight embrace.
A few seconds pass, during which the Bee
struggles as best she can against the ag-
gressor on her back, out of the reach of her
dagger. This fight at close quarters cannot
last long; the Bee would release herself from
the other's grip. And so the Spider lets go
the wing and suddenly bites her prey in the
back of the neck. Once the fangs drive
home, it is all over : death ensues. The Bee
is slain. Of her turbulent activity naught
lingers but some faint quivers of the tarsi,
final convulsions which are soon at an end.

Still holding her prey by the nape of the
neck, the Thomisus feasts not on the body,
which remains intact, but on the blood, which
is slowly sucked. When the neck is drained
dry, another spot is attacked, on the ab-
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The Mantis: her Hunting

domen, the thorax, anywhere. This ex-
plains why my observations in the open air
showed me the Thomisus with her fangs
fixed now in the neck, now in some other
part of the Bee. In the first case, the cap-
ture was a recent one and the murderess
still retained her original posture; in the
second case, it had been made some time
before ; and the Spider had forsaken the
wound in the head, now sucked dry, to bite
into some other juicy part, no matter which.

Thus shifting her fangs, a trifle this way
or that, as she drains her prey, the little
ogress gorges on her victim's blood with
voluptuous deliberation. I have seen the
meal last for seven consecutive hours; and
even then the prey was let go only because
of the shock given to its devourer by my
indiscreet examination. The abandoned
corpse, a carcass of no value to the Spider,
is not dismembered in any way. There is
not a trace of bitten flesh, not a wound that
shows. The Bee is drained of her blood;
and that is all.

My friend Bull, when he was alive, used

to catch an enemy whose teeth threatened

danger by the skin of the neck. His method

is in general use throughout the canine race,

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The Life of the Grasshopper

There, in front of you, is a growling pair
of jaws, open, white with foam, ready to
bite. The most elementary prudence ad-
vises you to keep them quiet by catching hold
of the back of the neck.

In her fight with the Bee, the Spider has
not the same object. What has she to fear
from her victim? The sting before all
things, the terrible dart whose least stab
would destroy her. And yet she does not
trouble about it. What she makes for is
the back of the neck, that alone and never
anything else, so long as the prey remains
alive. In so doing she does not aim at copy-
ing the tactics of the Dog and depriving the
head, which is not particularly dangerous, of
its power of movement. Her plan is far-
ther-reaching and is revealed to us by the
lightning death of the Bee. The neck is no
sooner gripped than the victim expires. The
cerebral centres therefore are injured, poi-
soned with a deadly virus; and life is straight-
way extinguished at its very seat. This
avoids a struggle which, if prolonged, would
certainly end in the aggressor's discomfiture.
The Bee has her strength and her sting on
her side; the delicate Thomisus has on hers
a profound knowledge of the art of murder.
i34

The Mantis: her Hunting

Let us return to the Mantis, who likewise
has mastered the first principles of speedy
and scientific killing, in which the little Bee-
slaughtering Spider excels. A sturdy Lo-
cust is captured; sometimes a powerful
Grasshopper. The Mantis naturally wants
to devour the victuals in peace, without be-
ing troubled by the plunges of a victim who
absolutely refuses to be devoured. A meal
liable to interruptions lacks savour. Now
the principal means of defence in this case
are the hind-legs, those vigorous levers
which can kick out so brutally and which
moreover are armed with toothed saws that
would rip open the Mantis' bulky paunch
if by ill-luck they happen to graze it.
What shall we do to reduce them to helpless-
ness, together with the others, which are
not dangerous but troublesome all the same,
with their desperate gesticulations?

Strictly speaking, it would be practicable
to cut them off one by one. But that is
a long process and attended with a certain
risk. The Mantis has hit upon something
better. She has an intimate knowledge of
the anatomy of the spine. By first attacking
her prize at the back of the half-opened neck
and munching the cervical ganglia, she de-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

stroys the muscular energy at its main seat;
and inertia supervenes, not suddenly and
completely, for the clumsily-constructed Lo-
cust has not the Bee's exquisite and frail
vitality, but still sufficiently, after the first
mouthfuls. Soon the kicking and the ges-
ticulating die down, all movement ceases and
the game, however big it be, is consumed in
perfect quiet.

Among the hunters, I have before now
drawn a distinction between those who
paralyse and those who kill.1 Both terrify
one with their anatomical knowledge. To-
day let us add to the killers the Thomisus,
that expert in stabbing in the neck, and the
Mantis, who, to devour a powerful prey at
her ease, deprives it of movement by first
gnawing its cervical ganglia.

1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps: passim.— Translator's Note.

136

CHAPTER VII

THE MANTIS : HER LOVE-MAKING

THE little that we have seen of the
Mantis' habits hardly tallies with what
we might have expected from her popular
name. To judge by the term Prego-Dieu,
we should look to see a placid insect, deep
in pious contemplation ; and we find ourselves
in the presence of a cannibal, of a ferocious
spectre munching the brain of a panic-
stricken victim. Nor is even this the most
tragic part. The Mantis has in store for
us, in her relations with her own kith and
kin, manners even more atrocious than those
prevailing among the Spiders, who have an
evil reputation in this respect.

To reduce the number of cages on my
big table and give myself a little more space
while still retaining a fair-sized menagerie,
I instal several females, sometimes as many
as a dozen, under one cover. So far as accom-
modation is concerned, no fault can be found
137

The Life of the Grasshopper

with the common lodging. There is room
and to spare for the evolutions of my cap-
tives, who naturally do not want to move
about much with their unwieldy bellies.
Hanging to the trelliswork of the dome,
motionless they digest their food or else
await an unwary passer-by. Even so do they
act when at liberty in the thickets.

Cohabitation has its dangers. I know
that even Donkeys, those peace-loving ani-
mals, quarrel when hay is scarce in the
manger. My boarders, who are less com-
plaisant, might well, in a moment of dearth,
become sour-tempered and fight among them-
selves. I guard against this by keeping the
cages well supplied with Locusts, renewed
twice a day. Should civil war break out,
famine cannot be pleaded as the excuse.

At first, things go pretty well. The com-
munity lives in peace, each Mantis grabbing
and eating whatever comes near her, with-
out seeking strife with her neighbours. But
this harmonious period does not last long.
The bellies swell, the eggs are ripening in
the ovaries, marriage and laying-time are at
hand. Then a sort of jealous fury bursts
out, though there is an entire absence of
males who might be held responsible for
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The Mantis: her Love-making

feminine rivalry. The working of the
ovaries seems to pervert the flock, inspiring
its members with a mania for devouring
one another. There are threats, personal
encounters, cannibal feasts. Once more the
spectral pose appears, the hissing of the
wings, the fearsome gesture of the grapnels
outstretched and uplifted in the air. No
hostile demonstration in front of a Grey
Locust or White-faced Decticus could be
more menacing.

For no reason that I can gather, two
neighbours suddenly assume their attitude of
war. They turn their heads to right and
left, provoking each other, exchanging in-
sulting glances. The "Puff! Puff!" of
the wings rubbed by the abdomen sounds
the charge. When the duel is to be limited
to the first scratch received, without more
serious consequences, the lethal fore-arms,
which are usually kept folded, open like the
leaves of a book and fall back sideways, en-
circling the long bust. It is a superb pose,
but less terrible than that adopted in a fight
to the death.

Then one of the grapnels, with a sudden
spring, shoots out to its full length and
strikes the rival; it is no less abruptly with-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

drawn and resumes the defensive. The ad-
versary hits back. The fencing is rather
like that of two Cats boxing each other's
ears. At the first blood drawn from her
flabby paunch, or even before receiving the
least wound, one of the duellists confesses
herself beaten and retires. The other furls
her battle-standard and goes off elsewhither
to meditate the capture of a Locust, keeping
apparently calm, but ever ready to repeat the
quarrel.

Very often, events take a more tragic
turn. At such times, the full posture of the
duels to the death is assumed. The mur-
derous fore-arms are unfolded and raised in
the air. Woe to the vanquished ! The other
seizes her in her vice and then and there pro-
ceeds to eat .her, beginning at the neck, of
course. The loathsome feast takes place as
calmly as though it were a matter of crunch-
ing up a Grasshopper. The diner enjoys her
sister as she would a lawful dish; and those
around do not protest, being quite willing to
do as much on the first occasion.

Oh, what savagery! Why, even Wolves

are said not to eat one another. The Mantis

has no such scruples; she banquets off her

fellows when there is plenty of her favourite

140

The Mantis: her Love-making

game, the Locust, around her. She prac-
tises the equivalent of cannibalism, that hide-
ous peculiarity of man.

These aberrations, these child-bed crav-
ings can reach an even more revolting stage.
Let us watch the pairing and, to avoid the
disorder of a crowd, let us isolate the couples
under different covers. Each pair shall have
its own home, where none will come to dis-
turb the wedding. And let us not forget
the provisions, with which we will keep them
well supplied, so that there may be no ex-
cuse of hunger.

It is near the end of August. The male,
that slender swain, thinks the moment pro-
pitious. He makes eyes at his strapping
companion; he turns his head in her direc-
tion; he bends his neck and throws out his
chest. His little pointed face wears an almost
impassioned expression. Motionless, in this
posture, for a long time he contemplates the
object of his desire. She does not stir, is as
though indifferent. The lover, however, has
caught a sign of acquiescence, a sign of which
I do not know the secret. He goes nearer;
suddenly he spreads his wings, which quiver
with a convulsive tremor. That is his
declaration. He rushes, small as he is, upon
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The Life of the Grasshopper

the back of his corpulent companion, clings
on as best he can, steadies his hold. As a
rule, the preliminaries last a long time. At
last, coupling takes place and is also long
drawn out, lasting sometimes for five or six
hours.

Nothing worthy of attention happens be-
tween the two motionless partners. They
end by separating, but only to unite again in
a more intimate fashion. If the poor fellow
is loved by his lady as the vivifier of her
ovaries, he is also loved as a piece of highly-
flavoured game. And, that same day, or at
latest on the morrow, he is seized by his
spouse, who first gnaws his neck, in accord-
ance with precedent, and then eats him de-
liberately, by little mouthfuls, leaving only
the wings. Here we have no longer a case
of jealousy in the harem, but simply a de-
praved appetite.

I was curious to know what sort of recep-
tion a second male might expect from a re-
cently fertilized female. The result of my
enquiry was shocking. The Mantis, in many
cases, is never sated with conjugal raptures
and banquets. After a rest that varies in
length, whether the eggs be laid or not, a
second male is accepted and then devoured
142

The Mantis: her Love-making

like the first. A third succeeds him, per-
forms his function in life, is eaten and dis-
appears. A fourth undergoes a like fate.
In the course of two weeks I thus see one
and the same Mantis use up seven males.
She takes them all to her bosom and makes
them all pay for the nuptial ecstasy with
their lives.

Orgies such as this are frequent, in vary-
ing degrees, though there are exceptions.
On very hot days, highly charged with elec-
tricity, they are almost the general rule. At
such times the Mantes are in a very irritable
mood. In the cages containing a large
colony, the females devour one another more
than ever; in the cages containing separate
pairs, the males, after coupling, are more
than ever treated as an ordinary prey.

I should like to be able to say, in mitiga-
tion of these conjugal atrocities, that the
Mantis does not behave like this in a state
of liberty; that the male, after doing his
duty, has time to get out of the way, to make
off, to escape from his terrible mistress, for
in my cages he is given a respite, lasting
sometimes until next day. What really oc-
curs in the thickets I do not know, chance,
a poor resource, having never instructed me
143

The Life of the Grasshopper

concerning the love-affairs of the Mantis
when at large. I can only go by what hap-
pens in the cages, where the captives, enjoy-
ing plenty of sunshine and food and spacious
quarters, do not seem to suffer from home-
sickness in any way. What they do here they
must also do under normal conditions.

Well, what happens there utterly refutes
the idea that the males are given time to
escape. I find, by themselves, a horrible
couple engaged as follows. The male,
absorbed in the performance of his vital
functions, holds the female in a tight em-
brace. But the wretch has no head; he
has no neck; he has hardly a body. The
other, with her muzzle turned over her
shoulder continues very placidly to gnaw what
remains of the gentle swain. And, all the
time, that masculine stump, holding on
firmly, goes on with the business !

Love is stronger than death, men say.
Taken literally, the aphorism has never re-
ceived a more brilliant confirmation. A
headless creature, an insect amputated down
to the middle of the chest, a very corpse per-
sists in endeavouring to give life. It will
not let go until the abdomen, the seat of the
procreative organs, is attacked.
144

The Mantis: her Love-making

Eating the lover after consummation of
marriage, making a meal of the exhausted
dwarf, henceforth good for nothing, can be
understood, to some extent, in the insect
world, which has no great scruples in mat-
ters of sentiment; but gobbling him up dur-
ing the act goes beyond the wildest dreams
of the most horrible imagination. I have
seen it done with my own eyes and have not
yet recovered from my astonishment.

Was this one able to escape and get out of
the way, caught as he was in the midst of his
duty? Certainly not Hence we must infer
that the loves of the Mantis are tragic,
quite as much as the Spider's and perhaps
even more so. I admit that the restricted
space inside the cages favours the slaughter
of the males; but the cause of these mas-
sacres lies elsewhere.

Perhaps it is a relic of the palaeozoic ages,
when, in the carboniferous period, the in-
sect came into being as the result of mon-
strous amours. The Orthoptera, to whom
the Mantes belong, are the first-born of the
entomological world. Rough-hewn, incom-
plete in their transformation, they roamed
among the arborescent ferns and were al-
ready flourishing when none of the insects
i45

The Life of the Grasshopper

with delicate metamorphoses, Butterflies,
Moths, Beetles, Flies and Bees, as yet ex-
isted. Manners were not gentle in those
days of passion eager to destroy in order
to produce ; and the Mantes, a faint memory
of the ghosts of old, might well continue the
amorous methods of a bygone age.

The habit of eating the males is customary
among other members of the Mantis family.
I am indeed prepared to admit that it is
general. The little Grey Mantis, who looks
so sweet and so peaceable in my cages, never
seeking a quarrel with her neighbours how-
ever crowded they may be, bites into her
male and feeds on him as fiercely as the
Praying Mantis herself. I wear myself out,
scouring the country to procure the indis-
pensable complement to my gynaeceum. No
sooner is my powerfully-winged and nimble
prize introduced than, most often, he is
clawed and eaten up by one of those who no
longer need his aid. Once the ovaries are
satisfied, the Mantes of both species abhor
the male, or rather look upon him as no-
thing better than a choice piece of venison.

146

CHAPTER VIII

THE MANTIS: HER NEST

T ET us show the insect of the tragic
-*— ' amours under a more attractive aspect.
Its nest is a marvel. In scientific language
it is called ootheca, the egg-case. I shall not
overwork this outlandish term. We do not
say, " the Chaffinch's egg-case," when we
mean, "the Chaffinch's nest:" why should
I be obliged to talk about a case when I
speak of the Mantis? It may sound more
learned; but that is not my business.

The nest of the Praying Mantis is found
more or less everywhere in sunny places, on
stones, wood, vine-stocks, twigs, dry ' grass
and even on products of human industry,
such as bits of brick, strips of coarse linen
or the hard, shrivelled leather of an old
boot. Any support serves, without distinc-
tion, so long as there is an uneven surface
to which the bottom of the nest can be fixed,
thus securing a solid foundation.
147

The Life of the Grasshopper

The usual dimensions are four centimetres
in length and two in width.1 The colour is
as golden as a grain of wheat. When set
alight, the material burns readily and ex-
hales a faint smell of singed silk. The sub-
stance is in fact akin to silk; only, instead
of being drawn into thread, it has curdled
into a frothy mass. When the nest is fixed
to, a branch, the base goes round the nearest
twigs, envelops them and assumes a shape
which varies in accordance with the support
encountered; when it is fixed to a flat sur-
face, the under side, which is always
moulded on the support, is itself flat. The
nest thereupon takes the form of a semi-
ellipsoid, more or less blunt at one end,
tapering at the other and often ending in a
short, curved tail.

Whatever the support, the upper surface
of the nest is systematically convex. We
can distinguish in it three well-marked longi-
tudinal zones. The middle one, which is
narrower than the others, is composed of
little plates or scales arranged in pairs and
overlapping like the tiles of a roof. The
edges of these plates are free, leaving two
parallel rows of slits or fissures through

1 1.56 in. X .78 in. — Translator's Note.
148

The Mantis: her Nest

which the young emerge at hatching-time.
In a recently-abandoned nest, this middle
zone is furry with gossamer skins, discarded
by the larvae. These cast skins flutter at the
least breath and soon vanish when exposed
to rough weather. I will call it the exit-
zone, because it is only along this median
belt that the liberation of the young takes
place, thanks to the outlets contrived before-
hand.

In every other part the cradle of the
numerous family presents an impenetrable
wall. The two side zones, in fact, which
occupy the greater part of the semiellipsoid,
have perfect continuity of surface. The
little Mantes, so feeble at the start, could
never make their way out through so tough
a substance. All that we see on it is a num-
ber of fine, transversal furrows, marking the
various layers of which the mass of eggs
consists.

Cut the nest across. It will now be per-
ceived that the eggs, taken together, form an
elongated kernel, very hard and firm and
coated on the sides with a thick, porous rind,
like solidified foam. Above are curved
plates, set very closely and almost inde-
pendent of one another; their edges end in
149

The Life of the Grasshopper

the exit-zone, where they form a double row
of small, imbricated scales.

The eggs are buried in a yellow matrix of
horny appearance. They are placed in
layers, shaped like segments of a circle, with
the ends containing the heads converging to-
wards the exit-zone. This arrangement tells
us how the deliverance is accomplished. The
new-born larvae will slip into the space left
between two adjoining plates, a prolongation
of the kernel, where they will find a narrow
passage, difficult to go through, but just suf-
ficient when we bear in mind the curious
provision of which we shall speak presently;
and by so doing they will reach the middle
belt. Here, under the imbricated scales, two
outlets open for each layer of eggs. Half
of the larvae undergoing their liberation will
emerge through the right door, half through
the left. And this is repeated for each layer
from end to end of the nest.

To sum up these structural details, which
are rather difficult to grasp for any one who
has not the thing in front of him : lying along
the axis of the nest and shaped like a date-
stone is the cluster of eggs, grouped in layers.
A protecting rind, a sort of solidified foam,
surrounds this cluster, except at the top along
150

The Mantis: her Nest

the median line, where the frothy rind is re-
placed by thin plates set side by side. The
free ends of these plates form the exit-zone
outside ; they are imbricated in two series of
scales and leave a couple of outlets, narrow
clefts, for each layer of eggs.

The most striking part of my researches
was being present at the construction of
the nest and seeing how the Mantis goes to
work to produce so complex a building. I
managed it with some difficulty, for the lay-
ing takes place without warning and nearly
always at night. After much useless waiting,
chance at last favoured me. On the 5th of
September, one of my boarders, who had
been fertilized on the 29th of August, de-
cided to lay her eggs before my eyes at
about four o'clock in the afternoon.

Before watching her labour, let us note
one thing: all the nests that I have obtained
in the cages — and there are a good many of
them — have as their support, with not a
single exception, the wire gauze of the
covers. I had taken care to place at the
Mantes' disposal a few rough bits of stone,
a few tufts of thyme, foundations very often
used in the open fields. My captives pre-
ferred the wire network, whose meshes fur-
151

The Life of the Grasshopper

nish a perfectly safe support as the soft ma-
terial of the building becomes encrusted
in them.

The nests, under natural conditions, enjoy
no shelter ; they have to endure the inclemen-
cies of winter, to withstand rain, wind, frost
and snow without coming loose. Therefore
the mother always chooses an uneven sup-
port for the nest, so that the foundations
can be wedged into it and a firm hold ob-
tained. But, when circumstances permit, the
better is preferred to the middling and the
best to the better; and this must be the reason
why the trelliswork of the cages is invariably
adopted.

The only Mantis that I have been allowed
to observe while engaged in laying does her
work upside down, hanging from the top of
the cage. My presence, my magnifying-
glass, my investigations do not disturb her at
all, so great is her absorption in her labour.
I can raise the trellised dome, tilt it, turn it
over, spin it this way and that, without the
insect's suspending its task for a moment.
I can take my forceps and lift the long wings
to see what is happening underneath. The
Mantis takes no notice. Up to this point,
all is well: the mother does not move and
152

The Mantis: her Nest

impassively endures all the indiscretions of
which I am guilty as an observer. And yet
things do not go quite as I could wish, for
the operation is too rapid and is too difficult
to follow.

The end of the abdomen is immersed the
whole time in a sea of foam, which prevents
us from grasping the details of the process
with any clearness. This foam is greyish-
white, a little sticky and almost like soapsuds.
When it first appears, it adheres slightly to
a straw which I dip into it, but, two minutes
afterwards, it is solidified and no longer
sticks to the straw. In a very short time,
its consistency is that which we find in an
old nest.

The frothy mass consists mainly of air
imprisoned in little bubbles. This air, which
gives the nest a volume much greater than
that of the Mantis' belly, obviously does not
come from the insect, though the foam
appears at the entrance of the genital or-
gans ; it is taken from the atmosphere. The
Mantis, therefore, builds above all with air,
which is eminently suited to protect the nest
against the weather. She discharges a sticky
substance, similar to the caterpillars' silk-
fluid ; and with this composition, which amal-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

gamates instantly with the outer air, she pro-
duces foam.

She whips her product just as we whip
white of egg to make it rise and froth. The
tip of the abdomen, opening with a long
cleft, forms two lateral ladles which meet
and separate with a constant, rapid move-
ment, beating the sticky fluid and turning it
into foam as it is discharged outside. In
addition, between the two flapping ladles,
we see the internal organs rising and falling,
appearing and disappearing, after the
manner of a piston-rod, without being able
to distinguish their precise action, drowned
as they are in the opaque stream of foam.

The end of the abdomen, ever throbbing,
quickly opening and closing its valves,
swings from right to left and left to right
like a pendulum. The result of each swing
is a layer of eggs inside and a transversal
furrow outside. As the abdomen advances
in the arc described, suddenly and at very
close intervals it dips deeper into the foam,
as though it were pushing something to the
bottom of the frothy mass. Each time, no
doubt, an egg is laid; but things happen so
fast and under conditions so unfavourable
to observation that I never once succeed in

The Mantis: her Nest

seeing the ovipositor at work. I can judge
of the arrival of the eggs only by the move-
ments of the tip of the abdomen, which sud-
denly drives down and immerses itself more
deeply.

At the same time, the viscous stuff is
poured forth in intermittent waves and
whipped and turned into foam by the two
terminal valves. The froth obtained spreads
over the sides of the layer of eggs and at
the base, where I see it, pressed back by the
abdomen, projecting through the meshes of
the gauze. Thus the spongy covering is
gradually brought into being as the ovaries
are emptied.

I imagine, without being able to rely on
direct observation, that for the central
kernel, where the eggs are contained in a
more homogeneous material than the rind,
the Mantis employs her product as it is, with-
out beating it up and making it foam. When
the eggs are deposited, the two valves would
produce foam to cover them. Once again,
however, all this is very difficult to follow
under the veil of the bubbling mass.

In a new nest, the exit-zone is coated with
a layer of fine porous matter, of a pure, dull,
almost chalky white, which contrasts with
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The Life of the Grasshopper

the dirty white of the remainder of the nest.
It is like the composition which confectioners
make out of whipped white of egg, sugar
and starch, with which to ornament their
cakes. This snowy covering is very easily
crumbled and removed. When it is gone, the
exit-zone is clearly defined, with its two rows
of plates with free edges. The weather, the
wind and the rain sooner or later remove it
in strips and flakes; and therefore the old
nests retain no traces of it.

At the first inspection, one might be
tempted to look upon this snowy matter as
a different substance from the remainder of
the nest. But can it be that the Mantis
really employs two different products? By
no means. Anatomy, to begin with, assures
us of the unity of the materials. The organ
that secretes the substance of the nest con-
sists of twisted cylindrical tubes, divided into
two sections of twenty each. All are filled
with a colourless, viscous fluid, exactly similar
in appearance wherever we look. There is
nowhere any sign of a product with a chalky
colouring.

The manner in which the snowy ribbon is
formed also makes us reject the theory of
different materials. We see the Mantis' two
156

The Mantis: her Nest

caudal threads sweeping the surface of the
foamy mass, skimming, so to speak, the top
of the froth, collecting it and retaining it
along the back of the nest to form a band
that looks like a ribbon of icing. What re-
mains after this sweeping, or what trickles
from the band before it sets, spreads over
the sides in a thin wash of bubbles so fine
that they cannot be seen without the magni-
fying-glass.

The surface of a muddy stream contain-
ing clay will be covered with coarse and
dirty foam, churned up by the rushing tor-
rent. On this foam, soiled with earthy
materials, we see here and there masses of
beautiful white froth, with smaller bubbles.
Selection is due to the difference in density;
and so the snow-white foam in places lies on
top of the dirty foam whence it proceeds.
Something similar happens when the Mantis
builds her nest. The twin ladles reduce
to foam the sticky spray from the glands.
The thinnest and lightest portion, made
whiter by its more delicate porousness,
rises to the surface, where the caudal threads
sweep it up and gather it into a snowy ribbon
along the back of the nest

Until now, with a little patience, observa-
iS7

The Life of the Grasshopper

tion has been practicable and has given satis-
factory results. It becomes impossible when
we come to the very complex structure of
that middle zone where exits are contrived
for the emergence of the larvae under the
shelter of a double row of imbricated plates.
The little that I am able to make out amounts
to this: the tip of the abdomen, split wide
from top to bottom, forms a sort of button-
hole whose upper end remains almost fixed
while the lower end, in swinging, produces
foam and immerses eggs in it. It is that
upper end which is undoubtedly responsible
for the work of the middle zone. I always
see it in the extension of that zone, in the
midst of the fine white foam collected by
the caudal filaments. These, one on the
right, the other on the left, mark the
boundaries of the band. They feel its edges;
they seem to be testing the work. I can
easily imagine them two long and exquisitely
delicate fingers controlling the difficult busi-
ness of construction.

But how are the two rows of scales ob-
tained and the fissures, the exit-doors, which
they shelter? I do not know. I cannot
even guess. I leave the rest of the problem
to others.

158

The Mantis: her Nest

What a wonderful mechanism is this
which emits so methodically and swiftly the
horny matrix of the central kernel, the pro-
tecting froth, the white foam of the median
ribbon, the eggs and the fertilizing fluid and
which at the same time is able to build over-
lapping plates, imbricated scales and alter-
nating open fissures! We are lost in ad-
miration. And yet how easily the work is
done ! The Mantis hangs motionless on the
wire gauze which is the foundation of her
nest. She gives not a glance at the edifice
that is rising behind her; her legs are not
called upon for assistance of any kind. The
thing works of itself. We have here not an
industrial task requiring the cunning of in-
stinct; it is a purely automatic process, regu-
lated by the insect's tools and organization.
The nest, with its highly complicated struc-
ture, proceeds solely from the play of the
organs, even as in our own industries we
manufacture by machinery a host of objects
whose perfection would outwit our manual
dexterity.

From another point of view, the Mantis'
nest is more remarkable still. We see in it
a superb application of one of the most beau-
tiful principles of physics, that of the con-
iS9

The Life of the Grasshopper

servation of heat. The Mantis anticipated
us in a knowledge of non-conducting bodies.

We owe to Rumford,1 the natural phi-
losopher, the following curious experiment,
which fittingly demonstrates the low con-
ductivity of the air. The illustrious scientist
dropped a frozen cheese into a mass of foam
supplied by well-beaten eggs. The whole
was subjected to the heat of an oven. The
result in a short time was an omelette
sou/flee hot enough to burn the tongue, with
the cheese in the middle as cold as at the
beginning. The air contained in the bubbles
of the surrounding froth explains the strange
phenomenon. As an exceedingly poor thermal
conductor, it had arrested the heat of
the oven and prevented it from reaching the
frozen substance in the centre.

Now what does the Mantis do? Pre-
cisely the same as Rumford: she whips her
white of egg into an omelette sou/flee, to
protect the eggs collected into a central
kernel. Her aim, it is true, is reversed : her
coagulated foam is intended to ward off the
cold, not the heat. But a protection against

1 Benjamin Thompson (1753-1814), an American loyal-
ist, created Count Rumford in Bavaria, where he became
minister for war. He discovered the convertibility of
mechanical energy into heat. — Translator's Note.
160

The Mantis: her Nest

one is a protection against the other; and
the ingenious physicist, had he wished, could
easily with the same frothy wrapper have
maintained the heat of a body in cold sur-
roundings.

Rumford knew the secrets of the stratum
of air thanks to the accumulated knowledge
of his ancestors, his own researches and his
own studies. How is it that for no one
knows how many centuries the Mantis has
beaten our natural philosophers in the matter
of this delicate problem of heat? How did
she come to think of wrapping a blanket of
foam around her mass of eggs, which, fixed
without any shelter to a twig or stone, has
to endure the rigours of winter with im-
punity?

The other Mantidae of my neighbourhood,
the only ones of whom I can speak with full
knowledge, use the non-conducting wrapper
of solidified foam or do without it, accord-
ing as the eggs are destined to live through
the winter or not. The little Grey Mantis,
who differs so greatly from the other owing
to the almost entire absence of wings in the
female, builds a nest not quite so big as a
cherry-stone and covers it very cleverly with
a rind of froth. Why this beaten-up en-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

velope? Because the nest of the Grey
Mantis, like that of the Praying Mantis, has
to last through the winter, exposed on its
bough or stone to all the dangers of the bad
weather.

On the other hand, in spite of her size,
which is equal to that of the Praying Mantis,
Empusa pauperata, who is the most curious
of our insects, builds a nest as small as that of
the Grey Mantis. It is a very modest edifice,
consisting of a small number of cells set side
by side in three or four rows joined together.
Here there is no frothy envelope at all,
though the nest, like those mentioned above,
is fixed in an exposed situation on some twig
or broken stone. This absence of a non-
conducting mattress points to a difference in
climatic conditions. The Empusa's eggs, in
fact, hatch soon after they are laid, during
the fine weather. Not having to undergo
the inclemencies of winter, they have no pro-
tection but the slender sheath of their cases.

Are these scrupulous and rational precau-
tions, which rival Rumford's omelette souf-
flee, a casual result, one of those numberless
combinations turned out by the wheel of for-
tune? If so, let us not shrink from any
absurdity, but recognize straightway that the
162

The Mantis: her Nest

blindness of chance is endowed with mar-
vellous foresight.

The blunt end of the nest is the first part
built by the Praying Mantis and the tapering
end the last. The latter is often prolonged
into a sort of spur made by drawing out
the final drop of albuminous fluid used.
To complete the whole thing demands about
two hours of concentrated work, free from
interruption.

As soon as the laying is finished, the
mother withdraws, callously. I expected to
see her return and display some tender feel-
ing for the cradle of her family. But there
is not the least sign of maternal joy. The
work is done and possesses no further interest
for her. Some Locusts have come up. One
even perches on the nest. The Mantis
pays no attention to the intruders. They are
peaceful, it is true. Would she drive them
away if they were dangerous and if they
looked like ripping open the egg-casket?
Her impassive behaviour answers no. What
is the nest to her henceforth? She knows it
no more.

I have spoken of the repeated coupling of
the Praying Mantis and of the tragic end of
the male, who is nearly always devoured like
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The Life of the Grasshopper

an ordinary piece of game. In the space of
a fortnight I have seen the same female
marry again as many as seven times over.
Each time the easily-consoled widow ate up
her mate. Such habits make one assume re-
peated layings; and these do, in fact, take
place, though they are not the general rule.
Among my mothers, some gave me only one
nest; others supplied me with two, both
equally large. The most fertile produced
three, of which the first two were of normal
size, while the third was reduced to half
the usual dimensions.

The last-mentioned insect shall tell us the
population which the Mantis' ovaries are
capable of producing. Reckoning by the
transversal furrows of the nest, we can easily
count the layers of eggs. These are more or
less rich according to their position at the
middle of the ellipsoid or at the ends. The
numbers of the eggs in the biggest and in
the smallest layer furnish an average from
which we can approximately deduce the total.
In this way I find that a good-sized nest con-
tains about four hundred eggs. The mother
with the three nests, the last of which was
only half the size of the others, therefore
left as her offspring no fewer than a thou-
164

The Mantis: her Nest

sand germs; those who laid twice left eight
hundred; and the less fertile mothers three
to four hundred. In every case, it is a fine
family, which would even become cumbrous,
if it were not subjected to drastic pruning.

The pretty little Grey Mantis is much less
lavish. In my cages she lays only once ; and
her nest contains some sixty eggs at most.
Although built on the same principles and
likewise fixed in the open, it differs remark-
ably from the work of the Praying Mantis,
first in its scanty dimensions and next in cer-
tain details of structure. It is shaped like a
shelving ridge. The two sides are curved
and the median line projects into a slightly
denticulated crest. It is grooved crosswise
by about a dozen furrows, corresponding
with the several layers of eggs. Here we
find no exit-zone, with short, imbricated
scales ; no snowy ribbon with alternating out-
lets. The whole surface, including the
foundation, is uniformly covered with a shiny
red-brown rind, in which the bubbles are very
small. One end is ogival in shape ; the other,
the end where the nest finishes, is abruptly
truncated and is prolonged above in a short
spur. The whole forms a kernel surrounded
by the foamy rind. Like the Praying
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The Life of the Grasshopper

Mantis, the Grey Mantis works at night, an
unfortunate circumstance for the observer.

Large in size, curious in build and more-
over plainly visible on its stone or its bit of
brushwood, the Praying Mantis' nest could
not fail to attract the attention of the Pro-
vengal peasant. It is, in fact, very well-
known in the country districts, where it bears
the name of tigno; it even enjoys a great
reputation. Yet nobody seems to be aware
of its origin. It is always a matter for sur-
prise to my rustic neighbours when I inform
them that the famous tigno is the nest of the
common Prego-Dieu. Their ignorance might
well be due to the Mantis' habit of laying
her eggs at night. The insect has never been
caught working at her nest in the mysterious
darkness; and the link between the worker
and the work is missing, though both are
known to every one in the village.

No matter: the singular object exists; it
attracts the eye, it captivates the attention.
It must therefore be good for something, it
must possess virtues. Thus, throughout the
ages, have the ingenuous argued, hoping to
find in the unfamiliar an alleviation of their
pains.

By general consent, the rural pharma-
166

The Mantis: her Nest

copoeia, in Provence, extols the tlgno as the
best remedy against chilblains. The way to
employ it is exceedingly simple. You cut the
thing in two, squeeze it and rub the afflicted
part with the streaming juice. The remedy,
they say, works like a charm. Every one
mad with the itching of blue and swollen
fingers hastens to have recourse to the tigno,
according to traditional custom. Does he
really obtain relief?

Notwithstanding the unanimous convic-
tion, I venture to doubt it, after the fruitless
experiments tried upon myself and other
members of my household during the winter
of 1895, when the long and severe frost pro-
duced any amount of epidermic discomfort.
Not one of us, when smeared with the cele-
brated ointment, saw the chilblains on his
fingers decrease nor felt the irritation re-
lieved in the slightest degree by the al-
buminous varnish of the crushed tigno. It
seems probable that others are no more suc-
cessful and that the popular reputation of
the specific nevertheless survives, probably
because of a mere identity of name between
the remedy and the disease: the Provengal
for chilblain is tigno. Once that the nest of
the Praying Mantis and the chilblain are
167

The Life of the Grasshopper

known by the same name, do not the virtues
of the former become obvious? That is
how reputations are created.

In my village and no doubt for some di-
stance around, the tigno — I am now speaking
of the Mantis' nest — is also highly praised
as a wonderful cure for toothache. As long
as you have it on you, you need never fear
that trouble. Our housewives gather it
under a favourable moon; they preserve it
religiously in a corner of the press ; they sew
it into their pocket, lest they should lose it
when taking out their handkerchief; and
neighbours borrow it when tortured by some
molar.

"Lend me your tigno: I am in agony,"
says the sufferer with the swollen face.

The other hastens to unstitch and to hand
over the precious object :

" Don't lose it, whatever you do," she
impresses on her friend. " It's the only one
I have ; and this isn't the right time of moon."

Let us not laugh at this eccentric
toothache-nostrum: many remedies that
sprawl triumphantly over the back pages
of the newspapers are no more effective.
Besides, this rural simplicity is surpassed
by some old books in which slumbers the
168

The Mantis: her Nest

science of by-gone days. An English natural-
ist of the sixteenth century, Thomas Moffett,
the physician,1 tells us that, if a child
lose his way in the country, he will ask
the Mantis to put him on his road. The
Mantis, adds the author, " will stretch out
one of her feet and shew him the right way
and seldome or never misse." These charm-
ing things are told with adorable simplicity:

" Tarn divina censetur bestiola, ut puero
interroganti de via, ex ten to digit o rectam
monstrat atque raro vel nunquam fallal."

Where did the credulous scholar get this
pretty story? Not in England, where the
Mantis cannot live; not in Provence, where
we find no trace of the boyish question. All
said, I prefer the spiflicating virtues of the
tigno to the old naturalist's imaginings.

1 Thomas Moffett, Moufet, or Muffet (1553-1604), au-
thor of a posthumous Insectorum si<ve Minimorum
Animalium Teatrum, published in Latin in 1634 and in
an English translation, by Edward Xopsell, in 1658. Al-
though giving credence to too many fabulous reports,
Moffett was acknowledged the prince of entomologists
prior to the advent of Jan Swammerdam (1637-1680). —
Translator's Note.

169

CHAPTER IX

THE MANTIS: HER HATCHING

THE eggs of the Praying Mantis usually
hatch in bright sunshine, at about ten
o'clock on a mid- June morning. The median
band or exit-zone is the only portion of the
nest that affords an outlet to the youngsters.
From under each scale of that zone we
see slowly appearing a blunt, transparent
protuberance, followed by two large black
specks, which are the eyes. Softly the new-
born grub slips under the thin plate and half-
releases itself. Is it the little Mantis in his
larval form, so nearly allied to that of the
adult? Not yet. It is a transition organism.
The head is opalescent, blunt, swollen, with
palpitations caused by the flow of the blood.
The rest is tinted reddish-yellow. It is quite
easy to distinguish, under a general overall,
the large black eyes clouded by the veil that
covers them, the mouth-parts flattened
against the chest, the legs plastered to the
170

The Mantis: her Hatching

body from front to back. Altogether, with
the exception of the very obvious legs, the
whole thing, with its big blunt head, its eyes,
its delicate abdominal segmentation and its
boatlike shape, reminds us somewhat of the
first state of the Cicadae on leaving the egg,
a state which is pictured exactly by a tiny,
finless fish.

Here then is a second instance of an or-
ganization of very brief duration having as
its function to bring into the light of day,
through narrow and difficult passes, a micro-
scopic creature whose limbs, if free, would,
because of their length, be an insurmountable
impediment. To enable him to emerge from
the exiguous tunnel of his twig, a tunnel
bristling with woody fibres and blocked with
shells already empty, the Cicada is born
swathed in bands and endowed with a boat
shape, which is eminently suited to slipping
easily through an awkward passage. The
young Mantis is exposed to similar difficult-
ies. He has to emerge from the depths of
the nest through narrow, winding ways, in
which full-spread, slender limbs would not be
able to find room. The high stilts, the mur-
derous harpoons, the delicate antennae, or-
gans which will be most useful presently, in
171

The Life of the Grasshopper

the brushwood, would now hinder the emer-
gence, would make it very laborious, impossi-
ble. The creature therefore comes into ex-
istence swaddled and furthermore takes the
shape of a boat.

The case of the Cicada and the Mantis
opens up a new vein to us in the inexhaustible
entomological mine. I extract from it a law
which other and similar facts, picked up
more or less everywhere, will certainly not
fail to confirm. The true larva is not always
the direct product of the egg. When the new-
born grub is likely to experience special dif-
ficulties in effecting its deliverance, an access-
ory organism, which I shall continue to call
the primary larva, precedes the genuine
larval state and has as its function to bring
to the light of day the tiny creature which is
incapable of releasing itself.

To go on with our story, the primary
larvae show themselves under the thin plates
of the exit-zone. A vigorous flow of hu-
mours occurs in the head, swelling it out and
converting it into a diaphanous and ever-
throbbing blister. In this way the splitting-
apparatus is prepared. At the same time,
the little creature, half-caught under its scale,
sways, pushes forward, draws back. Each
172

The Mantis: her Hatching

swaying is accompanied by an increase of
the swelling in the head. At last the pro-
thorax arches and the head is bent
low towards the chest. The tunic bursts
across the prothorax. The little animal tugs,
wriggles, sways, bends and straightens itself
again. The legs are drawn from their
sheaths; the antennae, two long parallel
threads, are likewise released. The creature
is now fastened to the nest only by a worn-
out cord. A few shakes complete the de-
liverance.

We here have the insect in its genuine
larval form. All that remains behind is a
sort of irregular cord, a shapeless clout
which the least breath blows about like a
flimsy bit of fluff. It is the exit-tunic vio-
lently shed and reduced to a mere rag.

For all my watchfulness, I missed the mo-
ment of hatching in the case of the Grey
Mantis. The little that I know is reduced to
this: at the end of the spur or promontory
with which the nest finishes in front is a small,
dull-white speck, formed of very powdery
foam. This round pore is only just plugged
with a frothy stopper and constitutes the sole
outlet from the nest, which is thoroughly
strengthened at every other part. It takes
173

The Life of the Grasshopper

the place of the long band of scales through
which the Praying Mantis is released. It is
here that the youngsters must emerge one by
one from their casket. Chance does not
favour me and I do not witness the exodus,
but, soon after the family has come forth,
I see dangling at the entrance to the libera-
ting pore a shapeless bunch of white cast-off
clothes, thin skins which a puff of wind
would disperse. These are the garments
flung aside by the young as they make their
appearance in the open air; and they testify
to the presence of a transition wrapper
which permits of movement inside the maze
of the nest. The Grey Mantis therefore also
has her primary larva, which packs itself up
in a narrow sheath, conducive to escape.
The period of this emergence is June.

To return to the Praying Mantis. The
hatching does not take place all over the
nest at one time, but rather in sections, in
successive swarms which may be separated
by intervals of two days or more. The
pointed end, containing the last eggs, usually
begins. This inversion of chronological or-
der, calling the last to the light of day before
the first, may well be due to the shape of
the nest. The thin end, which is more ac-
J74

The Mantis: her Hatching

cessible to the stimulus of a fine day, wakes
up before the blunt end, which is larger and
does not so soon acquire the necessary
amount of heat.

Sometimes, however, although still broken
up in swarms, the hatching embraces the
whole length of the exit-zone. A striking
sight indeed is the sudden exodus of a hun-
dred young Mantes. Hardly does the tiny
creature show its black eyes under a scale be-
fore others appear instantly, in their num-
bers. It is as though a certain shock were
being communicated from one to another, as
though an awakening signal were trans-
mitted, so swiftly does the hatching spread
all round. Almost in a moment the median
band is covered with young Mantes who run
about feverishly, stripping themselves of
their rent garments.

The nimble little creatures do not stay long
on the nest. They let themselves drop off
or else clamber into the nearest foliage. All
is over in less than twenty minutes. The
common cradle resumes its peaceful condi-
tion, prior to furnishing a new legion a few
days later; and so on until all the eggs are
finished.

I have witnessed this exodus as often as
175

The Life of the Grasshopper

I wished to, either out of doors, in my en-
closure, where I had deposited in sunny
places the nests gathered more or less every-
where during my winter leisure, or else in
the seclusion of a greenhouse, where I
thought, in my simplicity, that I should be
better able to protect the budding family. I
have witnessed the hatching twenty times if
I have once; and I have always beheld a
scene of unforgetable carnage. The round-
bellied Mantis may procreate germs by the
thousands : she will never have enough to
cope with the devourers who are destined to
decimate the breed from the moment that it
leaves the egg.

The Ants above all are zealous extermina-
tors. Daily I surprise their ill-omened
visits on my rows of nests. It is vain for me
to intervene, however seriously; their assi-
duity never slackens. They seldom succeed
in making a breach in the fortress: that is
too difficult; but, greedy of the dainty flesh
in course of formation inside, they await a
favourable opportunity, they lie in wait for
the exit.

Despite my daily watchfulness, they are
there the moment that the young Mantes ap-
pear. They grab them by the abdomen, pull
176

The Mantis: her Hatching

them out of their sheaths, cut them up. You
see a piteous fray between tender babes
gesticulating as their only means of defence
and ferocious brigands carrying their spolia
opima at the end of their mandibles. In less
than no time the massacre of the innocents is
consummated; and all that remains of the
flourishing family is a few scattered survivors
who have escaped by accident.

The future assassin, the scourge of the
insect race, the terror of the Locust on the
brushwood, the dread devourer of fresh
meat, is herself devoured, from her birth, by
one of the least of that race, the Ant. The
ogress, prolific to excess, sees her family
thinned by the dwarf. But the slaughter is
not long continued. So soon as she has ac-
quired a little firmness from the air and
strengthened her legs, the Mantis ceases to
be attacked. She trots about briskly among
the Ants, who fall back as she passes, no
longer daring to tackle her. With her
grappling-legs brought close to her chest, like
arms ready for self-defence, already she
strikes awe into them by her proud bearing.

A second connoisseur in tender meats pays
no heed to these threats. This is the little
Grey Lizard, the lover of sunny walls. Ap-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

prised I know not how of the quarry, here
he comes, picking up one by one, with the tip
of his slender tongue, the stray insects that
have escaped the Ants. They make a small
mouthful but an exquisite one, so it seems,
to judge by the blinking of the reptile's eye.
For each little wretch gulped down, its lid
half-closes, a sign of profound satisfaction.
I drive away the bold Lizard who ventures
to perpetrate his raid before my eyes. He
comes back again and, this time, pays dearly
for his rashness. If I let him have his way,
I should have nothing left.

Is this all? Not yet. Another ravager,
the smallest of all but not the least formida-
ble, has anticipated the Lizard and the Ant.
This is a very tiny Hymenopteron armed
with a probe, a Chalcis, who establishes her
eggs in the newly-built nest. The Mantis'
brood shares the fate of the Cicada's:
parasitic vermin attack the eggs and empty
the shells. Out of all that I have collected I
often obtain nothing or hardly anything.
The Chalcis has been that way.

Let us gather up what the various ex-
terminators, known or unknown, have left
me. When newly hatched, the larva is of a
pale hue, white faintly tinged with yellow.
178

The Mantis: her Hatching

The swelling of its head soon diminishes and
disappears. Its colour is not long in darken-
ing and turns light-brown within twenty-four
hours. The little Mantis very nimbly lifts
up her grappling-legs, opens and closes them;
she turns her head to right and left; she curls
her abdomen. The fully-developed larva
has no greater litheness and agility. For a
few minutes the family stops where it is,
swarming over the nest; then it scatters at
random on the ground and the plants hard
by. ;

I instal a few dozen emigrants under bell-
covers. On what shall I feed these future
huntresses ? On game, obviously. But what
game? To these miniature creatures I can
only offer atoms. I serve them up a rose-
branch covered with Green Fly. The plump
Aphis, a tender morsel suited to my feeble
guests, is utterly scorned. Not one of the
captives touches it.

I try them with Midges, the smallest that
chance flings into my net as it sweeps the
grass, and meet with the same obstinate re-
fusal. I offer them pieces of Fly, hung here
and there on the gauze of the cover. None
accepts my quarters of venison. Perhaps
the Locust will tempt them, the Locust on
J79

The Life of the Grasshopper

whom the adult Mantis dotes? A prolonged
and minute search places me in possession of
what I want. This time the bill of fare will
consist of a few recently hatched Acridians.
Young as they are, they have already reached
the size of my charges. Will the little
Mantes fancy these? They do not fancy
them : at the sight of their tiny prey they run
away dismayed.

Then what do you want? What other
game do you find on your native brushwood?
I can see nothing. Can you have some
special infants' food, vegetarian perhaps?
Let us even try the improbable. The very
tenderest bit of the heart of a lettuce is de-
clined. So are the different sorts of grass
which I tax my ingenuity in varying; so are
the drops of honey which I place on spikes
of lavender. All my endeavours come to
nothing; and my captives die of inanition.

My failure has its lessons. It seems to
point to a transition diet which I have not
been able to discover. Long ago, the larvae
of the Oil-beetles gave me a great deal of
trouble, before I knew that they want as their
first food the egg of the Bee whose store of
honey they will afterwards consume. Per-
haps the young Mantes also in the begin-
180

The Mantis: her Hatching

ning demand a special pap, something more
in keeping with their frailty. Despite its
resolute air, I do not quite see the feeble
little creature hunting. The game, what-
ever it be, kicks out, when attacked, frisks
about, defends itself; and the assailant is
not yet in a condition to ward off even the
flap of a Midge's wing. Then what does
it feed on? I should not be surprised if
there were interesting facts to be picked up
in this baby-food question.

These fastidious ones, so difficult to pro-
vide with nourishment, meet with even more
pitiful deaths than hunger. When only just
born, they fall a prey to the Ant, the Lizard
and other ravagers who lie in wait, patiently,
for the exquisite provender to hatch. The
egg itself is not respected. An infinitesimal
perforator inserts her own eggs in the nest
through the barrier of solidified foam, thus
settling her offspring, which, maturing ear-
lier, nips the Mantis' family in the bud. How
many are called and how few are chosen!
There were a thousand of them perhaps,
sprung from one mother who was capable
of giving birth to three broods. One couple
alone escapes extermination, one alone keeps
up the breed, seeing that the number re-
181

The Life of the Grasshopper

mains more or less the same from year to
year.

Here a serious question arises. Can the
Mantis have acquired her present fecundity
by degrees? Can she, as the ravages of the
Ant and others reduced her progeny, have
increased the output of her ovaries so as to
make up for excessive destruction by ex-
cessive production? Could the enormous
brood of to-day be due to the wastage of
former days? So think some, who are
ready, without convincing proofs, to see in
animals even more profound changes brought
about by circumstances.

In front of my window, on the sloping
margin of the pond, stands a magnificent
cherry-tree. It came there by accident, a
sturdy wilding, disregarded by my prede-
cessors and to-day respected far more for its
spreading branches than for its fruit, which
is of very indifferent quality. In April it
forms a splendid white-satin dome. Its
blossoms are as snow; their fallen petals car-
pet the ground. Soon the red cherries ap-
pear in profusion. O my beautiful tree, how
lavish you are and what a number of baskets
you will fill !

And for this reason what revelry up
182

The Mantis: her Hatching

above ! The Sparrow is the first to hear of
the ripe cherries and comes trooping, morn-
ing and evening, to pilfer and squall; he in-
forms his friends in the neighbourhood, the
Greenfinch and the Warbler, who hasten up
and banquet for weeks on end. Butterflies
flit from one nibbled cherry to another,
taking delicious sips at each. Rose-chafers
bite great mouthfuls out of the fruit, then
fall asleep sated. Wasps and Hornets burst
open the sweet caskets; and the Gnats follow
to get drunk in their wake. A plump mag-
got, settled in the very centre of the pulp,
blissfully feasts upon its juicy dwelling-house
and waxes big and fat. It will rise from
table to change into a comely Fly.

On the ground there are others at the
banquet. A host of footpads is battening
on the fallen cherries. At night, the Field-
mice come gathering the stones stripped
by the Wood-lice, Earwigs, Ants and Slugs;
they hoard them in their burrows. During
the long winter they will make holes in them
to extract and nibble the kernels. A num-
berless throng lives upon the generous cherry-
tree.

What would the tree require to provide
a successor one day and maintain its species
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The Life of the Grasshopper

in a state of harmonious and well-balanced
prosperity? A single seed would be enough;
and every year it gives forth bushels and
bushels. Tell me why, please.

Shall we say that the cherry-tree, at first
very economical with its fruit, became lavish
by degrees in order thus to escape its multi-
tudinous ravagers? Shall we say of the tree,
as we said of the Mantis, that excessive de-
struction gradually induced excessive produc-
tion? Who would dare to venture on such
rash statements? Is it not perfectly obvious
that the cherry-tree is one of those factories
in which elements are wrought into organic
matter, one of those laboratories in which
the dead thing is changed into the thing
fitted to live ? No doubt, cherries ripen that
they may be perpetuated; but these are the
minority, the very small minority. If all
seeds were to sprout and to develop fully,
there would long ago have been no room on
the earth for the cherry-tree alone. The
vast majority of its fruits fulfil another func-
tion. They serve as food for a crowd of
living creatures, who are not skilled as the
plant is in the transcendental chemistry
that turns the uneatable into the eatable.

Matter, in order to serve in the highest
184

The Mantis: her Hatching

manifestations of life, must undergo slow
and most delicate elaboration. That elabo-
ration begins in the workshop of the infinitely
small, of the microbe, for instance, one of
which, more powerful than the lightning's
might, combines oxygen and nitrogen and
produces nitrates, the primary food of
plants. It begins on the confines of nothing-
ness, is improved in the vegetal, is yet further
refined in the animal and step by step attains
the substance of the brain.

How many hidden labourers, how many
unknown manipulators worked perhaps for
centuries, first at getting the rough ore and
then at the refining of that grey matter which
becomes the brain, the most marvellous of
the implements of the mind, even if it were
capable only of making us say :

" Two and two are four! "

The rocket, when rising, reserves for the
culminating point of its ascent the dazzling
fountain of its many-coloured lights. Then
all is dark again. Its smoke, its gases, its
oxides will, in the long run, be able to recon-
stitute other explosives by vegetable pro-
cesses. Even so does matter act in its meta-
morphoses. From stage to stage, from one
delicate refinement to another yet more deli-
185

The Life of the Grasshopper

cate, it succeeds in attaining heights where
the splendours of the intellect shine forth
through its agency; then, shattered by the
effort, it relapses into the nameless thing
whence it started, into scattered molecules
which are the common origin of living things.

At the head of the assemblers of organic
matter stands the plant, the animal's senior.
Directly or indirectly, it is to-day, as it was
in the geological period, the chief purveyor
to beings more generously endowed with life.
In the laboratory of its cell the food of the
universe at least gets its first rough prepara-
tion. Comes the animal, which corrects the
preparation, improves it and transmits it to
others of a higher order. Cropped grass
becomes mutton ; and mutton becomes human
flesh or Wolf-flesh, according to the con-
sumer.

Among those elaborators of nourishing
atoms which do not create organic matter out
of any- and everything, starting with the
mineral, as the plant does, the most prolific
are the fishes, the first-born of vertebrate
animals. Ask the Cod what she does with
her millions of eggs. Her answer will be
that of the beech with its myriads of nuts,
or the oak with its myriads of acorns. She
186

The Mantis: her Hatching

is immensely fruitful in order to feed an im-
mense number of the hungry. She is con-
tinuing the work which her predecessors per-
formed in remote ages, when nature, not as
yet rich in organic matter, hastened to in-
crease her reserves of life by bestowing
prodigious exuberance upon her primeval
workers.

The Mantis, like the fish, dates back to
those distant epochs. Her strange shape
and her uncouth habits have told us so. The
richness of her ovaries confirms it. She re-
tains in her entrails a feeble relic of the pro-
creative fury that prevailed in olden times
under the dank shade of the arborescent
ferns; she contributes, in a very humble but
none the less real measure, to the sublime
alchemy of living things.

Let us look closely at her work. The
grass grows thick and green, drawing its
nourishment from the earth. The Locust
crops it. The Mantis makes a meal of the
Locust and swells out with eggs, which are
laid, in three batches, to the number of a
thousand. When they hatch, up comes the
Ant and levies an enormous tribute on the
brood. We appear to be retroceding. In
vastness of bulk, yes; in refinement of in-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

stinct, certainly not. In this respect how far
superior is the Ant to the Mantis ! Besides,
the cycle of possible happenings is not closed.

Young Ants still contained in their cocoon
— popularly known as Ants'-eggs — form the
food on which the Pheasant's brood is
reared. These are domestic poultry just as
much as the Pullet and the Capon, but their
keep makes greater demands on the owner's
care and purse. When it grows big, this
poultry is let loose in the woods; and people
calling themselves civilized take the greatest
pleasure in bringing down with their guns
the poor creatures which have lost the in-
stinct of self-preservation in the pheasantries,
or, to speak plainly, in the poultry-yard.
You cut the throat of the Chicken required
for roasting; you shoot, with all the parade
of sport, that other Chicken, the Pheasant.
I fail to understand those insensate mas-
sacres.

Tartarin of Tarascon, in the absence of
game, used to shoot at his cap. I prefer
that. And above all I prefer the hunting,
real hunting, of another fervent consumer
of Ants, the Wryneck, the Tiro-lengo of the
Provengaux, so-called because of his scien-
tific method of darting his immensely-long
188

The Mantis: her Hatching

and sticky tongue across a procession of Ants
and then suddenly withdrawing it all black
with the limed insects. With such mouthfuls
as these, the Wryneck becomes disgracefully
fat in autumn ; he plasters himself with butter
on his rump and sides and under his wings;
he hangs a string of it round his neck; he
pads his skull with it right down to the beak.

He is then delicious, roasted : small, I ad-
mit; no bigger than a Lark, at the outside;
but, small though he be, unlike anything else
and immeasurably superior to the Pheasant,
who must begin to go bad before developing
a flavour at all.

Let me for this once do justice to the merit
of the humblest ! When the table is cleared
after the evening meal and all is quiet and
my body relieved for the time being of its
physiological needs, sometimes I succeed in
picking up, here and there, a good idea or
two; and it may well be that the Mantis, the
Locust, the Ant and even lesser creatures
contribute to these sudden gleams of light
which flash unaccountably into one's mind.
By strange and devious paths, they have all
supplied, in their respective ways, the drop of
oil that feeds the lamp of thought. Their
energies, slowly developed, stored up and
189

The Life of the Grasshopper

handed down by predecessors, become in-
fused into our veins and sustain our weak-
ness. We live by their death.

To conclude. The Mantis, prolific to ex-
cess, in her turn makes organic matter,
bequeathing it to the Ant, who bequeaths it
to the Wryneck, who bequeaths it perhaps to
man. She procreates a thousand, partly to
perpetuate her species, but far more than she
may contribute, according to her means, to
the general picnic of the living. She brings
us back to the ancient symbol of the Serpent
biting its own tail. The world is an endless
circle : everything finishes so that everything
may begin again; everything dies so that
everything may live.

190

CHAPTER X

THE EMPUSA

THE sea, life's first foster-mother, still
preserves in her depths many of those
singular and incongruous shapes which were
the earliest attempts of the animal kingdom;
the land, less fruitful, but with more ca-
pacity for progress, has almost wholly lost
the strange forms of other days. The few
that remain belong especially to the series of
primitive insects, insects exceedingly limited
in their industrial powers and subject to very
summary metamorphoses, if to any at all.
In my district, in the front rank of those
entomological anomalies which remind us of
the denizens of the old coal-forests, stand
the Mantidae, including the Praying Mantis,
so curious in habits and structure. Here also
is the Empusa (E. pauperata, LATR.), the
subject of this chapter.

Her larva is certainly the strangest crea-
ture among the terrestrial fauna of Pro-
191

The Life of the Grasshopper

vence : a slim, swaying thing of so fantastic
an appearance that uninitiated fingers dare
not lay hold of it. The children of my
neighbourhood, impressed by its startling
shape, call it " the Devilkin." In their im-
aginations, the queer little creature savours
of witchcraft. One comes across it, though
always sparsely, in spring, up to May; in
autumn; and sometimes in winter, if the sun
be strong. The tough grasses of the waste-
lands, the stunted bushes which catch the sun
and are sheltered from the wind by a few
heaps of stones are the chilly Empusa's
favourite abode.

Let us give a rapid sketch of her. The
abdomen, which always curls up so as to join
the back, spreads paddlewise and twists into
a crook. Pointed scales, a sort of foliaceous
expansions arranged in three rows, cover the
lower surface, which becomes the upper sur-
face because of the crook aforesaid. The
scaly crook is propped on four long, thin
stilts, on four legs armed with knee-pieces,
that is to say, carrying at the end of the thigh,
where it joins the shin, a curved, projecting
blade not unlike that of a cleaver.

Above this base, this four-legged stool,
rises, at a sudden angle, the stiff corselet,
192

The Empusa

disproportionately long and almost perpen-
dicular. The end of this bust, round and
slender as a straw, carries the hunting-trap,
the grappling limbs, copied from those of the
Mantis. They consist of a terminal har-
poon, sharper than a needle, and a cruel
vice, with jaws toothed like a saw. The
jaw formed by the arm proper is hollowed
into a groove and carries on either side five
long spikes, with smaller indentations in be-
tween. The jaw formed by the fore-arm is
similarly furrowed, but its double saw, which
fits into the groove of the upper arm when
at rest, is formed of finer, closer and more
regular teeth. The magnifying-glass reveals
a score of equal points in each row. The
machine only lacks size to be a fearful im-
plement of torture.

The head is in keeping with this arsenal.
What a queer-shaped head it is ! A pointed
face, with walrus moustaches furnished by
the palpi; large goggle eyes; between them,
a dirk, a halberd blade; and, on the fore-
head, a mad, unheard-of thing: a sort of tall
mitre, an extravagant head-dress that juts
forward, spreading right and left into peaked
wings and cleft along the top. What does
the Devilkin want with that monstrous
193

The Life of the Grasshopper

pointed cap, than which no wise man of the
East, no astrologer of old ever wore a more
splendiferous ? This we shall learn when we
see her out hunting.

The dress is commonplace ; grey tints pre-
dominate. Towards the end of the larval
period, after a few moultings, it begins to
give a glimpse of the adult's richer livery
and becomes striped, still very faintly, with
pale-green, white and pink. Already the
two sexes are distinguished by their anten-
nae. Those of the future mothers are thread-
like; those of the future males are distended
into a spindle at the lower half, forming a
case or sheath whence graceful plumes will
spring at a later date.

Behold the creature, worthy of a Callot's 1
fantastic pencil. If you come across it in
the bramble-bushes, it sways upon its four
stilts, it wags its head, it looks at you with
a knowing air, it twists its mitre round and
peers over its shoulder. You seem to read
mischief in its pointed face. You try to take
hold of it. The imposing attitude ceases
forthwith, the raised corselet is lowered and

* Jacques Callot (1592-1635), the French engraver and
painter, famed for the grotesque nature of his subjects. —
Translator's Note.

194

The Empusa

the creature makes off with mighty strides,
helping itself along with its fighting-limbs,
which clutch the twigs. The flight need not
last long, if you have a practised eye. The
Empusa is captured, put into a screw of
paper, which will save her frail limbs from
sprains, and lastly penned in a wire-gauze
cage. In this way, in October, I obtain a
flock sufficient for my purpose.

How to feed them? My Devilkins are
very little; they are a month or two old at
most. I give them Locusts suited to their
size, the smallest that I can find. They
refuse them. Nay more, they are frightened
of them. Should a thoughtless Locust
meekly approach one of the Empusae, sus-
pended by her four hind-legs to the trellised
dome, the intruder meets with a bad recep-
tion. The pointed mitre is lowered; and an
angry thrust sends him rolling. We have it :
the wizard's cap is a defensive weapon, a
protective crest. The Ram charges with his
forehead, the Empusa butts with her mitre.

But this does not mean dinner. I serve
up the House-fly, alive. She is accepted,
without hesitation. The moment that the
Fly conies within reach, the watchful Devil-
kin turns her head, bends the stalk of her
195

The Life of the Grasshopper

corselet slantwise and, flinging out her fore-
limb, harpoons the Fly and grips her be-
tween her two saws. No Cat pouncing upon
a Mouse could be quicker.

The game, however small, is enough for a
meal. It is enough for the whole day, often
for several days. This is my. first surprise:
the extreme abstemiousness of these savagely-
armed insects. I was prepared for ogres:
I find ascetics satisfied with a meagre colla-
tion at rare intervals. A Fly fills their belly
for twenty-four hours at least.

Thus passes the late autumn: the Em-
pusas, more and more temperate from day
to day, hang motionless from the wire gauze.
Their natural abstinence is my best ally,
for Flies grow scarce; and a time comes
when I should be hard put to it to keep the
menageries supplied with provisions.

During the three winter months, nothing
stirs. From time to time, on fine days, I
expose the cage to the sun's rays, in the
window. Under the influence of this heat-
bath, the captives stretch their legs a little,
sway from side to side, make up their minds
to move about, but without displaying any
awakening appetite. The rare Midges that
fall to my assiduous efforts do not appear to
196

The Empusa

tempt them. It is a rule for them to spend
the cold season in a state of complete
abstinence.

My cages tell me what must happen out-
side, during the winter. Ensconced in the
crannies of the rockwork, in the sunniest
places, the young Empusae wait, in a state of
torpor, for the return of the hot weather.
Notwithstanding the shelter of a heap of
stones, there must be painful moments when
the frost is prolonged and the snow pene-
trates little by little into the best-protected
crevices. No matter : hardier than they
look, the refugees escape the dangers of the
winter season. Sometimes, when the sun is
strong, they venture out of their hiding-
place and come to see if spring be nigh.

Spring comes. We are in March. My
prisoners bestir themselves, change their
skin. They need victuals. My catering diffi-
culties recommence. The House-fly, so easy
to catch, is lacking in these days. I fall back
upon earlier Diptera: Eristales, or Drone-
flies. The Empusa refuses them. They
are too big for her and can offer too
strenuous a resistance. She wards off their
approach with blows of her mitre.

A few tender morsels, in the shape of very
197

The Life of the Grasshopper

young Grasshoppers, are readily accepted.
Unfortunately, such wind-falls do not often
find their way into my sweeping-net. Absti-
nence becomes obligatory until the arrival
of the first Butterflies. Henceforth, Pieris
brassier, the White Cabbage Butterfly, will
contribute the greater portion of the victuals.

Let loose in the wire cage, the Pieris
is regarded as excellent game. The Empusa
lies in wait for her, seizes her, but releases
her at once, lacking the strength to over-
power her. The Cabbage Butterfly's great
wings, beating the air, give her shock after
shock and compel her to let go. I come to
the weakling's assistance and cut the wings of
her prey with my scissors. The maimed
ones, still full of life, clamber up the trellis-
work and are forthwith grabbed by the Em-
pusae, who, in no way frightened by their
protests, crunch them up. The dish is to
their taste and, moreover, plentiful, so much
so that there are always some despised
remnants.

The head only and the upper portion of
the breast are devoured : the rest — the plump
abdomen, the best part of the thorax, the
legs and lastly, of course, the wing-stumps —
is flung aside untouched. Does this mean that
198

The Empusa

the tenderest and most succulent morsels are
chosen? No, for the belly is certainly more
juicy; and the Empusa refuses it, though she
eats up her House-fly to the last particle.
It is a strategy of war. I am again in the
presence of a neck-specialist as expert as the
Mantis herself in the art of swiftly slaying
a victim that struggles and, in struggling,
spoils the meal.

Once warned, I soon perceive that the
game, be it Fly, Locust, Grasshopper or
Butterfly, is invariably struck in the neck,
from behind. The first bite is aimed at the
point containing the cervical ganglia and
produces sudden death or immobility. Com-
plete inertia will leave the consumer in
peace, the essential condition of every satis-
factory repast.

The Devilkin, therefore, frail though she
be, possesses the secret of immediately de-
stroying the resistance of her prey. She
bites at the back of the neck first, in order
to give the finishing stroke. She goes on
nibbling around the original attacking-point.
In this way, the Butterfly's head and the
upper part of the breast are disposed of.
But, by that time, the huntress is surfeited:
she wants so little! The rest lies on the
199

The Life of the Grasshopper

ground, disdained, not for lack of flavour,
but because there is too much of it. A Cab-
bage Butterfly far exceeds the capacity of
the Empusa's stomach. The Ants will bene-
fit by what is left.

There is one other matter to be mentioned,
before observing the metamorphosis. The
position adopted by the young Empusse in
the wire-gauze cage is invariably the same
from start to finish. Gripping the trellis-
work by the claws of its four hind-legs, the
insect occupies the top of the dome and hangs
motionless, back downwards, with the whole
of its body supported by the four suspension-
points. If it wishes to move, the front har-
poons open, stretch out, grasp a mesh and
draw it to them. When the short walk is
over, the lethal arms are brought back
against the chest. One may say that it is
nearly always the four hind-shanks which
alone support the suspended insect.

And this reversed position, which seems
to us so trying, lasts for no short while : it
is prolonged, in my cages, for ten months
without a break. The Fly on the ceiling, it
is true, occupies the same attitude; but she
has her moments of rest: she flies, she walks
in a normal posture, she spreads herself flat

The Empusa

in the sun. Besides, her acrobatic feats do
not cover a long period. The Empusa,
on the other hand, maintains her curious
equilibrium for ten months on end, without
a break. Hanging from the trelliswork,
back downwards, she hunts, eats, digests,
dozes, casts her skin, undergoes her trans-
formation, mates, lays her eggs and dies.
She clambered up there when she was still
quite young; she falls down, full of days, a
corpse.

Things do not happen exactly like this
under natural conditions. The insect stands
on the bushes back upwards; it keeps its
balance in the regular attitude and turns over
only in circumstances that occur at long in-
tervals. The protracted suspension of my
captives is all the more remarkable inasmuch
as it is not at all an innate habit of their
race.

It reminds one of the Bats, who hang,
head downwards, by their hind-legs from the
roof of their caves. A special formation of
the toes enables birds to sleep on one leg,
which automatically and without fatigue
clutches the swaying bough. The Empusa
shows me nothing akin to their contrivance.
The extremity of her walking-legs has the

The Life of the Grasshopper

ordinary structure : a double claw at the tip,
a double steelyard-hook ; and that is all.

I could wish that anatomy would show me
the working of the muscles and nerves in
those tarsi, in those legs more slender than
threads, the action of the tendons that con-
trol the claws and keep them gripped for
ten months, unwearied in waking and sleep-
ing. If some dexterous scalpel should ever
investigate this problem, I can recommend
another, even more singular than that of the
Empusa, the Bat and the bird. I refer to
the attitude of certain Wasps and Bees
during the night's rest.

An Ammophila with red fore-legs (A.
holosericea)1 is plentiful in my enclosure to-
wards the end of August and selects a certain
lavender-border for her dormitory. At
dusk, especially after a stifling day, when a
storm is brewing, I am sure to find the
strange sleeper settled there. Never was
more eccentric attitude adopted for a night's
rest! The mandibles bite right into the
lavender-stem. Its square shape supplies a
firmer hold than a round stalk would do.
With this one and only prop, the animal's

1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chap. xiii. — Translator's
Not*.

202

The Empusa

body juts out stiffly, at full length, with legs
folded. It forms a right angle with the
supporting axis, so much so that the whole
weight of the insect, which has turned itself
into the arm of a lever, rests upon the
mandibles.

The Ammophila sleeps extended in space
by virtue of its mighty jaws. It takes an
animal to think of a thing like that, which
upsets all our preconceived ideas of repose.
Should the threatening storm burst, should
the stalk sway in the wind, the sleeper is not
troubled by her swinging hammock; at most,
she presses her fore-legs for a moment against
the tossed mast. As soon as equilibrium is
restored, the favourite posture, that of the
horizontal lever, is resumed. Perhaps the
mandibles, like the bird's toes, possess the
faculty of gripping tighter in proportion to
the rocking of the wind.

The Ammophila is not the only one to
sleep in this singular position, which is
copied by many others — Anthidia,1 Odyneri,2
Eucerae 3 — and mainly by the males. All

1 Cotton-bees. Cf. Bramble-bees and Others: chap. ix.
— Translator's Note.

2 A genus of Mason-wasps, the essay on whom has not
yet been translated into English. — Translator's Note.

8 A species of Burrowing Bees. — Translator's Note.
203

The Life of the Grasshopper

grip a stalk with their mandibles and sleep
with their bodies outstretched and their legs
folded back. Some, the stouter species,
allow themselves to rest the tip of their
arched abdomen against the pole.

This visit to the dormitory of certain
Wasps and Bees does not explain the problem
of the Empusa; it sets up another one, no
less difficult. It shows us how deficient we
are in insight, when it comes to differentiating
between fatigue and rest in the cogs of the
animal machine. The Ammophila, with the
static paradox afforded by her mandibles;
the Empusa, with her claws unwearied by
ten months' hanging, leave the physiologist
perplexed and make him wonder what really
constitutes rest. In absolute fact, there is
no rest, apart from that which puts an end
to life. 'The struggle never ceases; some
muscle is always toiling, some nerve strain-
ing. Sleep, which resembles a return to the
peace of non-existence, is, like waking, an
effort, here of the leg, of the curled tail;
there of the claw, of the jaws.

The transformation is effected about the
middle of May and the adult Empusa makes
her appearance. She is even more remark-
able in figure and attire than the Praying
204

The Empusa

Mantis. Of her youthful eccentricities, she
retains the pointed mitre, the saw-like arm-
guards, the long bust, the knee-pieces, the
three rows of scales on the lower surface of
the belly; but the abdomen is now no longer
twisted into a crook and the animal is
comelier to look upon. Large pale-green
wings, pink at the shoulder and swift in
flight in both sexes, cover the belly, which is
striped white and green underneath. The
male, the dandy sex, adorns himself with
plumed antennae, like those of certain Moths,
the Bombyx tribe. In respect of size, he is
almost the equal of his mate.

Save for a few slight structural details,
the Empusa is the Praying Mantis. The
peasant confuses them. When, in spring, he
meets the mitred insect, he thinks he sees the
common Prego-Dieu, who is a daughter of
the autumn. Similar forms would seem to
indicate similarity of habits. In fact, led
away by the extraordinary armour, we
should be tempted to attribute to the Em-
pusa a mode of life even more atrocious
than that of the Mantis. I myself thought
so at first; and any one, relying upon false
analogies, would think the same. It is a
fresh error: for all her warlike aspect, the
205

The Life of the Grasshopper

Empusa is a peaceful creature that hardly
repays the trouble of rearing.

Installed under the gauze bell, whether in
assemblies of half-a-dozen or in separate
couples, she at no time loses her placidity.
Like the larva, she is very abstemious and
contents herself with a Fly or two as her
daily ration.

Big eaters are naturally quarrelsome.
The Mantis, bloated with Locusts, soon
becomes irritated and shows fight. The
Empusa, with her frugal meals, does not in-
dulge in hostile demonstrations. There is
no strife among neighbours nor any of those
sudden unfurlings of the wings so dear to
the Mantis when she assumes the spectral
attitude and puffs like a startled Adder;
never the least inclination for those cannibal
banquets whereat the sister who has been
worsted in the fight is devoured. Such
atrocities are here unknown.

Unknown also are tragic nuptials. The
male is enterprising and assiduous and is sub-
jected to a long trial before succeeding. For
days and days, he worries his mate, who ends
by yielding. Due decorum is preserved after
the wedding. The feathered groom retires,
respected by his bride, and does his little bit
ao6

The Empusa

of hunting, without danger of being appre-
hended and gobbled up.

The two sexes live together in peace and
mutual indifference until the middle of July.
Then the male, grown old and decrepit, takes
counsel with himself, hunts no more, becomes
shaky in his walk, creeps down from the
lofty heights of the trellised dome and at
last collapses on the ground. His end conies
by a natural death. And remember that the
other, the male of the Praying Mantis, ends
in the stomach of his gluttonous spouse.

The laying follows close upon the disap-
pearance of the males. The Empusa, when
about to build her nest, has not the round
belly of the Praying Mantis, rendered heavy
and inactive by her fertility. Her slender
figure, still capable of flight, announces a
scanty progeny. Her nest, fixed upon a
straw, a twig, a chip of stone, is quite as
small a structure as that of the dwarf Mantis
(Ameles decolor) and measures two-fifths of
an inch, at most, in length. The general
shape is that of a trapezoid, of which the
shorter sides are, respectively, sloping and
slightly convex. As a rule, the sloping side
is surmounted by a thread-like appendage,
similar to the final spur of the nests of the
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The Life of the Grasshopper

Mantis and the Ameles, but finer in appear-
ance. This is the last drop of viscous matter,
dried and drawn out. Builders, when their
work is finished, crown the edifice with a
green bough and coloured streamers. In
much the same way, the Mantis tribe set up
a mast on the completed nest.

A very thin grey-wash, formed of dried
foam, covers the Empusa's work, especially
on the upper surface. Under this delicate
glaze, which is easily rubbed off, the funda-
mental substance appears, homogeneous,
horny, pale-red. Six or seven hardly-per-
ceptible furrows divide the sides into curved
sections.

After the hatching, a dozen round orifices
open on the top of the building, in two
alternate rows. These are the exit-doors for
the young larvae. The slightly projecting
rim is continued from each aperture to the
next in a sort of ribbon with a double row
of alternating loops. It is obvious that the
windings of this ribbon are the result of an
oscillating movement of the ovipositor in
labour. Those exit-holes, so regular in
shape and arrangement, completed by the
lateral ribs of the nest, present the appear-
ance of two dainty mouth-organs placed in
208

The Empusa

juxtaposition. Each of them corresponds
with a cell containing two eggs. The eggs
in all, therefore, amount to about a couple
of dozen.

I have not seen the hatching. I do not
know whether, as in the Praying Mantis, it
is preceded by a transition-stage adapted to
facilitate the delivery. It may easily be that
there is nothing of the kind, since everything
is so well-prepared for the exit. Above the
cells is a very short exit-hall, free of any
obstacle. It is closed merely by a small
quantity of frothy, crumbly matter, which
will readily yield to the mandibles of the
new-born larva?. With this wide passage
leading to the outer air, long legs and slender
antennas cease to be embarrassing append-
ages; and the tiny creature might well have
the free use of them from the moment of
leaving the egg, without going through the
primary larval stage. Not having seen for
myself, I merely mention the probable course
of things.

One word more on comparative manners.
The Mantis goes in for battle and cannibal-
ism; the Empusa is peaceable and respects
her kind. To what cause are these profound
moral differences due, when the organic
209

The Life of the Grasshopper

structure is the same ? Perhaps to the differ-
ence of diet. Frugality, in fact, softens char-
acter, in animals as in men; gross feeding
brutalizes it. The gormandizer gorged with
meat and strong drink, a fruitful source of
savage outbursts, could not possess the gen-
tleness of the ascetic who dips his bread into
a cup of milk. The Mantis is that gorman-
dizer, the Empusa that ascetic.

Granted. But whence does the one derive
her voracious appetite, the other her tem-
perate ways, when it would seem as though
their almost identical structure ought to pro-
duce an identity of needs? These insects tell
us, in their fashion, what many have already
told us: that propensities and aptitudes do
not depend exclusively upon anatomy; high
above the physical laws that govern matter
rise other laws that govern instincts.

CHAPTER XI

THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS : HIS HABITS

THE White-faced Decticus (D. albifrons,
FABR.) stands at the head of the Grass-
hopper clan in my district, both as a singer
and as an insect of imposing presence. He
has a grey costume, a pair of powerful
mandibles and a broad ivory face. Without
being plentiful, he does not let himself be
sought in vain. In the height of summer we
find him hopping in the long grass, especially
at the foot of the sunny rocks where the
turpentine-tree takes root.

At the end of July I start a Decticus-
menagerie. As a vivarium I adopt a big
wire-gauze cover standing on a bed of sifted
earth. The population numbers a dozen;
and both sexes are equally represented.

The question of victuals perplexes me for
some time. It seems as though the regula-
tion diet ought to be a vegetable one, to
judge by the Locust, who consumes any

The Life of the Grasshopper

green thing. I therefore offer my captives
the tastiest and tenderest garden-stuff that my
enclosure holds: leaves of lettuce, chicory
and corn-salad. The Dectici scarcely touch
it with a contemptuous tooth. It is not the
food for them.

Perhaps something tough would suit their
strong mandibles better. I try various
Graminacece, including the glaucous panic-
grass, the miauco of the Provencal peasant,
the Setaria glauca of the botanists, a weed
that infests the fields after the harvest. The
panic-grass is accepted by the hungry ones,
but it is not the leaves that they devour : they
attack only the ears, of which they crunch
the still tender seeds with visible satisfaction.
The food is found, at least for the time
being. We shall see later.

In the morning, when the rays of the sun
visit the cage placed in the window of my
study, I serve out the day's ration, a sheaf
of green spikes of common grass picked
outside my door. The Dectici come running
up to the handful, gather round it and, very
peaceably, without quarrelling among them-
selves, dig with their mandibles between the
bristles of the spikes to extract and nibble
the unripe seeds. Their costume makes one

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

think of a flock of Guinea-fowl pecking the
grain scattered by the farmer's wife. When
the spikes are robbed of their tender seeds,
the rest is scorned, however urgent the claims
of hunger may be.

To break the monotony of the diet as much
as is possible in these dog-days, when every-
thing is burnt up, I gather a thick-leaved,
fleshy plant which is not too sensitive to the
summer heat. This is the common purslane,
another invader of our garden-beds. The
new green stuff meets with a good reception ;
and once again the Dectici dig their teeth not
into the leaves and the juicy stalks, but only
into the swollen capsules of half-formed
grains.

This taste for tender seeds surprises me :
SrjKTixoS, biting, fond of biting, the lexicon
tells us. A name that expresses nothing, a
mere identification-number, is able to satisfy
the nomenclator; in my opinion, if the name
possesses a characteristic meaning and at the
same time sounds well, it is all the better for
it. Such is the case here. The Decticus is
eminently an insect given to biting. Mind
your finger if the sturdy Grasshopper gets
hold of it: he will rip it till the blood comes.

And can this powerful jaw, of which I
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The Life of the Grasshopper

have to beware when I handle the creature,
possess no other function than to chew soft
grains? Can a mill like this have only to
grind little unripe seeds? Something has
escaped me. So well-armed with mandibular
pincers, so well-endowed with masticatory
muscles that swell out his cheeks, the Dec-
ticus must cut up some leathery prey.

This time I find the real diet, the funda-
mental if not the exclusive one. Some good-
sized Locusts are let into the cage. I put in
it the species mentioned in a note below,1
now one, now the other, as they happen to
get caught in my net. A few Grasshoppers 2
are also accepted, but not so readily. There
is every reason to think that, if I had had
the luck to capture them, the entire Locust
and Grasshopper family would have met the
same fate, provided that they were not too
insignificant in size.

Any fresh meat tasting of Locust or
Grasshopper suits my ogres. The most fre-
quent victim is the Blue-winged Locust.

1 (Edipoda ccerulescens, LiN.; (E. miniata, PALLAS;
Sphingonotus ccerulans, LiN. ; Caloptenus italicus, LIN.;
Pachytylus nigrojasdatus, DE GEER; Truxalis nasuta,
LIN. — Author's Note.

* Conocephalus mandibularis, CHARP. ; Platycleis inter-
media, SERV.; Ephippigea v\tium, SERV.— Author's Note.
214

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

There is a deplorably large consumption of
this species in the cage. This is how things
happen: as soon as the game is introduced,
an uproar ensues in the mess-room, especially
if the Dectici have been fasting for some
time. They stamp about and, hampered by
their long shanks, dart forward clumsily; the
Locusts make desperate bounds, rush to the
top of the cage and there hang on, out of
the reach of the Grasshopper, who is too
stout to climb so high. Some are seized at
once, as soon as they enter. The others, who
have taken refuge up in the dome, are only
postponing for a little while the fate that
awaits them. Their turn will come ; and that
soon. Either because they are tired or be-
cause they are tempted by the green stuff
below, they will come down ; and the Dectici
will be after them immediately.

Speared by the hunter's fore-legs, the
game is first wounded in the neck. It is al-
ways there, behind the head, that the Lo-
cust's shell cracks first of all; it is always
there that the Decticus probes persistently
before releasing his hold and taking his sub-
sequent meals off whatever joint he chooses.

It is a very judicious bite. The Locust is
hard to kill. Even when beheaded, he goes
215

The Life of the Grasshopper

on hopping. I have seen some who, though
half-eaten, kick out desperately and suc-
ceed, with a supreme effort, in releasing
themselves and jumping away. In the brush-
wood, that would be so much game lost.

The Decticus seems to know all about it.
To overcome his prey, so prompt to escape
by means of its two powerful levers, and to
render it helpless as quickly as possible, he
first munches and extirpates the cervical
ganglia, the main seat of innervation. Is
this an accident, in which the assassin's choice
plays no part? No, for I see the murder
performed invariably in the same way when
the prey is in possession of its full strength;
and again no, because, when the Locust is
offered in the form of a fresh corpse, or
when he is weak, dying, incapable of de-
fence, the attack is made anywhere, at the
first spot that presents itself to the assailant's
jaws. In such cases the Decticus begins
either with a haunch, the favourite morsel,
or with the belly, back or chest. The pre-
liminary bite in the neck is reserved for
difficult occasions.

This Grasshopper, therefore, despite his
dull intellect, possesses the art of killing
scientifically of which we have seen so many
216

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

instances elsewhere;1 but with him it is a
rude art, falling within the knacker's rather
than the anatomist's domain.

Two or three Blue-winged Locusts are
none too many for a Decticus' daily ration.
It all goes down, save the wings and wing-
cases, which are disdained as too tough. In
addition, there is a snack of tender millet-
grains stolen every now and again to make
a change from the banquet of game. They
are big eaters, are my boarders; they sur-
prise me with their gormandizing and even
more with their easy change from an animal
to a vegetable diet.

With their accommodating and anything
but particular stomachs, they could render
some slight service to agriculture, if there
were more of them. They destroy the Lo-
custs, many of whom, even in our fields, are
of ill fame ; and they nibble, amid the unripe
corn, the seeds of a number of plants which
are obnoxious to the husbandman.

But the Decticus' claim to the honours of
the vivarium rests upon something much
better than his feeble assistance in preserving
the fruits of the earth : in his song, his nup-

1 Cf. The Life of the Spider and The Hunting Wasps:
passim.— Translator's Note.

217

The Life of the Grasshopper

tials and his habits we have a memorial of
the remotest times.

How did the insect's ancestors live, in the
palaeozoic age? They had their crude and
uncouth side, banished from the better-
proportioned fauna of to-day; we catch a
vague glimpse of habits now almost out of
use. It is unfortunate for our curiosity that
the fossil remains are silent on this mag-
nificent subject.

Luckily we have one resource left, that of
consulting the successors of the prehistoric
insects. There is reason to believe that the
Locustids l of our own period have retained
an echo of the ancient customs and can tell
us something of the manners of olden time.
Let us begin by questioning the Decticus.

In the vivarium the sated herd are lying
on their bellies in the sun and blissfully
digesting their food, giving no other sign of
life than a gentle swaying of the antennae.
It is the hour of the after-dinner nap, the
hour of enervating heat. From time to time
a male gets up, strolls solemnly about, raises
his wing-cases slightly and utters an occa-

1 An orthopterous family which includes the Grass-
hoppers, but not the Locusts. The latter are Acridians.
— Translator's Note.

218

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

sional tick-tick. Then he becomes more
animated, hurries the pace of his tune and
ends by grinding out the finest piece in his
repertoire.

Is he celebrating his wedding? Is his song
an epithalamium? I will make no such state-
ment, for his success is poor if he is really
making an appeal to his fair neighbours.
Not one of his group of hearers gives a sign
of attention. Not a female stirs, not one
moves from her comfortable place in the sun.
Sometimes the solo becomes a concerted piece
sung by two or three in chorus. The multiple
invitation succeeds no better. True, their
impassive ivory faces give no indication of
their real feelings. If the suitors' ditty
indeed exercises any sort of seduction, no
outward sign betrays the fact.

According to all appearances, the clicking
is addressed to heedless ears. It rises in a
passionate crescendo until it becomes a con-
tinuous rattle. It ceases when the sun
vanishes behind a cloud and starts afresh
when the sun shows itself again ; but it leaves
the ladies indifferent.

She who was lying with her shanks out-
stretched on the blazing sand does not
change her position; her antennary threads
219

The Life of the Grasshopper

give not a quiver more and not a quiver less;
she who was gnawing the remains of a Lo-
cust does not let go the morsel, does not lose
a mouthful. To look at those heartless ones,
you would really say that the singer was
making a noise for the mere pleasure of
feeling himself alive.

It is a very different matter when, towards
the end of August, I witness the start of the
wedding. The couple finds itself standing
face to face quite casually, without any
lyrical prelude whatever. Motionless, as
though turned to stone, with their foreheads
almost touching, the two exchange caresses
with their long antennas, fine as hairs. The
male seems somewhat preoccupied. He
washes his tarsi ; with the tips of his mandi-
bles he tickles the soles of his feet. From
time to time he gives a stroke of the bow:
tick; no more.

Yet one would think that this was the very
moment at which to make the most of his
strong points. Why not declare his flame
in a fond couplet, instead of standing there,
scratching his feet? Not a bit of it. He
remains silent in front of the coveted bride,
herself impassive.

The interview, a mere exchange of greet-

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

ings between friends of different sexes, does
not last long. What do they say to each
other, forehead to forehead? Not much,
apparently, for soon they separate with
nothing further; and each goes his way where
he pleases.

Next day, the same two meet again. This
time, the song, though still very brief, is in
a louder key than on the day before, while
being still very far from the burst of sound
to which the Decticus will give utterance long
before the pairing. For the rest, it is a
repetition of what I saw yesterday: mutual
caresses with the antennae, which limply pat
the well-rounded sides.

The male does not seem greatly enrap-
tured. He again nibbles his foot and seems
to be reflecting. Alluring though the enter-
prise may be, it is perhaps not unattended
with danger. Can there be a nuptial tragedy
here, similar to that which the Praying
Mantis has shown us? Can the business be
exceptionally grave ? Have patience and you
shall see. For the moment, nothing more
happens.

A few days later, a little light is thrown
upon the subject. The male is underneath,
lying flat on the sand and towered over by

The Life of the Grasshopper

his powerful spouse, who, with her sabre
exposed, standing high on her hind-legs, over-
whelms him with her embrace. No, indeed:
in this posture the poor Decticus has nothing
of the victor about him! The other,
brutally, without respecting the musical-box,
is forcing open his wing-cases and nibbling
his flesh just where the belly begins.

Which of the two takes the initiative
here? Have not the parts been reversed?
She who is usually provoked is now the pro-
voker, employing rude caresses capable of
carrying off the morsel touched. She has not
yielded to him; she has thrust herself upon
him, disturbingly, imperiously. He, lying flat
on the ground, quivers and starts, seems try-
ing to resist. What outrageous thing is
about to happen? I shall not know to-day.
The floored male releases himself and runs
away.

But this time, at last, we have it. Master
Decticus is on the ground, tumbled over on
his back. Hoisted to the full height of her
shanks, the other, holding her sabre almost
perpendicular, covers her prostrate mate
from a distance. The two ventral extremities
curve into a hook, seek each other, meet; and
soon from the male's convulsive loins there

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

is seen to issue, in painful labour, something
monstrous and unheard-of, as though the
creature were expelling its entrails in a lump.

It is an opalescent bag, similar in size and
colour to a mistletoe-berry, a bag with four
pockets marked off by faint grooves, two
larger ones above and two smaller ones
below. In certain cases the number of cells
increases and the whole assumes the appear-
ance of a packet of eggs such as Helix
aspersa, the Common Snail, lays in the
ground.

The strange concern remains hanging
from the lower end of the sabre of the future
mother, who solemnly retires with the ex-
traordinary wallet, the spermatophore, as
the physiologists call it, the source of life for
the ovules, in other words the cruet which
will now in due course transmit to the proper
place the necessary complement for the evo-
lution of the germs.

A capsule of this kind is a rare, an in-
finitely rare thing in the world of to-day. So
far as I know, the Cephalopods 1 and the
Scolopendras 2 are, in our time, the only

1 The class of molluscs containing the Squids, Cuttle-
fish, Octopus, etc. — Translator's Note.

" A genus of Myriapods including the typical Centi-
pedes.— Translator's Note.

223

The Life of the Grasshopper

other animals that make use of the queer
apparatus. Now Octopuses and Millepedes
date back to the earliest ages. The Decticus,
another representative of the old world,
seems to tell us that what is a curious ex-
ception now might well have been a more or
less general rule originally, all the more so
as we shall come upon similar incidents in the
case of the other Grasshoppers.

When the male has recovered from his
shock, he shakes the dust off himself and
once more begins his merry click-clack. For
the present let us leave him to his joys and
follow the mother that is to be, pacing along
solemnly with her burden, which is fastened
with a plug of jelly as transparent as glass.

At intervals she draws herself up on her
shanks, curls into a ring and seizes her
opalescent load in her mandibles, nibbling it
calmly and squeezing it, but without tearing
the wrapper or shedding any of the contents.
Each time, she removes from the surface a
particle which she chews and then chews
again slowly, ending by swallowing it.

This process is continued for twenty

minutes or so. Then the capsule, now

drained, is torn off in a single piece, all but

the jelly plug at the end. The huge, sticky

224

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

mass is not let go for a moment, but is
munched, ground and kneaded by the insect's
mandibles and at last gulped down whole.

At first I looked upon the horrible banquet
as no more than an individual aberration, an
accident: the Decticus' behaviour was so ex-
traordinary; no other instance of it was
known to me. But I have had to yield to the
evidence of the facts. Four times in success-
ion I surprised my captives dragging their
wallet and four times I saw them soon tear
it, work at it solemnly with their mandibles
for hours on end and finally gulp it down.
It is therefore the rule: when its contents
have reached their destination, the fertilizing
capsule, possibly a powerful stimulant, an
unparalleled dainty, is chewed, enjoyed and
swallowed.

If this, as we are entitled to believe, is a
relic of ancient manners, we must admit that
the insect of old had singular customs.
Reaumur tells us of the startling operations
of the Dragon-flies when pairing. This
again is a nuptial eccentricity of primeval
times.

When the Decticus has finished her strange
feast, the end of the apparatus still remains
in its place, the end whose most visible
225

The Life of the Grasshopper

part consists of two crystalline nipples the
size of pepper-corns. To rid itself of this
plug, the insect assumes a curious attitude.
The ovipositor is driven half-way into the
earth, perpendicularly. That will be the
prop. The long hind-legs straighten out,
raise the creature as high as possible and
form a tripod with the sabre.

Then the insect again curves itself into a
complete circle and, with its mandibles,
crumbles to atoms the end of the apparatus,
consisting' of a plug of clearest jelly. All
these remnants are scrupulously swallowed.
Not a scrap must be lost. Lastly, the
ovipositor is washed, wiped, smoothed with
the tips of the palpi. Everything is put in
order again; nothing remains of the cum-
brous load. The normal pose is resumed
and the Decticus goes back to pilfering the
ears of millet.

To return to the male. Limp and ex-
hausted, as though shattered by his exploit,
he remains where he is, all shrivelled and
shrunk. He is so motionless that I believe
him dead. Not a bit of it! The gallant
fellow recovers his spirits, picks himself up,
polishes himself and goes off. A quarter of
an hour later, when he has taken a fewmouth-
226

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

fuls, behold him stridulating once more.
The tune is certainly lacking in spirit. It is
far from being as brilliant or prolonged as
it was before the wedding; but, after all, the
poor old crock is doing his best.

Can he have any further amorous pre-
tensions? It is hardly likely. Affairs of
that kind, calling for ruinous expenditure,
are not to be repeated : it would be too much
for the works of the organism. Neverthe-
less, next day and every day after, when a
diet of Locusts has duly renewed his strength,
the Decticus scrapes his bow as noisily as
ever. He might be a novice, instead of a
glutted veteran. His persistence surprises
me.

If he be really singing to attract the atten-
tion of his fair neighbours, what would he do
with a second wife, he who has just extracted
from his paunch a monstrous wallet in which
all life's savings were accumulated? He is
thoroughly used up. No, once more, in the
big Grasshopper these things are too costly
to be done all over again. To-day's song,
despite its gladness, is certainly no epi-
thalamium.

And, if you watch him closely, you will
see that the singer no longer responds to the
227

The Life of the Grasshopper

teasing of the passers' antennas. The ditties
become fainter from day to day and occur
less frequently. In a fortnight the insect is
dumb. The dulcimer no longer sounds, for
lack of vigour in the player.

At last the decrepit Decticus, who now
scarcely touches food, seeks a peaceful re-
treat, sinks to the ground exhausted,
stretches out his shanks in a last throe and
dies. As it happens, the widow passes that
way, sees the deceased and, breathing eternal
remembrance, gnaws off one of his thighs.

The Green Grasshopper behaves similarly.
A couple isolated in a cage are subjected to
a special watch. I am present at the end of
the pairing, when the future mother is carry-
ing, fixed to the point of her sword, the
pretty raspberry which will occupy our atten-
tion later.1 Debilitated by recent happen-
ings, the male at this moment is mute. Next
day, his strength returns; and you hear him
singing as ardently as ever. He stridulates
while the mother is scattering her eggs over
the ground; he goes on making a noise long
after the laying is done and when nothing
more is wanted to perpetuate the race.

1 Cf. Chapter XIV. of the present volume. — Translator's
Note.

228

The White-faced Decticus: his Habits

It is quite clear that this persistent singing
has not an amorous appeal for its object:
by this time, all of that is over, quite over.
Lastly, one day or another, life fails and the
instrument is dumb. The eager singer is no
more. The survivor gives him a funeral
copied from that of the Decticus : she de-
vours the best bits of him. She loved him
so much that she had to eat him up.

These cannibal habits recur in most of the
Grasshopper tribe, without however equal-
ling the atrocities of the Praying Mantis,
who treats her lovers as dead game while
they are still full of life. The Decticus
mother, the Green Grasshopper and the rest
at least wait until the poor wretches are dead.

I will except the Ephippiger, who is so meek
in appearance. In my cage, when laying-time
is at hand, she has no scruples about taking
a bite at her companions, without possessing
the excuse of hunger. Most of the males end
in this lamentable fashion, half-devoured.
The mutilated victim protests; he would
rather, he could indeed go on living. Having
no other means of defence, he produces with
his bow a few grating sounds which this time
decidedly are not a nuptial song. Dying
with a great hole in his belly, he utters his
229

The Life of the Grasshopper

plaint in a like manner as though he were
rejoicing in the sun. His instrument strikes
the same note whether it express sorrow or
gladness.

230

CHAPTER XII

THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS : THE LAYING
AND THE HATCHING OF THE EGGS

THE White-faced Decticus is an African
insect that in France hardly ventures
beyond the borders of Provence and Langue-
doc. She wants the sun that ripens the
olives. Can it be that a high temperature
acts as a stimulus to her matrimonial eccen-
tricities, or are we to look upon these as
family customs, independent of climate ? Do
things happen under frosty skies just as they
do under a burning sun?

I go for my information to another
Decticus, the Alpine Analota (A. alpina,
YERSIN), who inhabits the high ridges of
Mont Ventoux,1 which are covered with snow
for half the year. Many a time, during my
old botanical expeditions, I had noticed the

1 The highest mountain (6,270 feet) in the neighbour-
hood of Serignan. Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chap. xi. —
Translator's Note.

231

The Life of the Grasshopper

portly insect hopping among the stones from
one bit of turf to the next. This time, I do
not go in search of it: it reaches me by
post. Following my indications, an obliging
forester1 climbs up there twice in the first
fortnight of August and brings me back the
wherewithal to fill a cage comfortably.

In shape and colouring it is a curious
specimen of the Grasshopper family. Satin-
white underneath, it has the upper part
sometimes olive-black, sometimes bright-
green or pale-brown. The organs of flight
are reduced to mere vestiges. The female
has as wing-cases two short white scales,
some distance apart; the male shelters under
\the edge of his corselet two little concave
plates, also white, but laid one on top of the
other, the left on the right.

These two tiny cupolas, with bow and
sounding-board, rather suggest, on a smaller
scale, the musical instrument of the Ephip-
piger, whom the mountain insect resembles
to some extent in general appearance.

I do not know what sort of tune cymbals
so small as these can produce. I do not
remember ever hearing them in their native

*M. Bellot, forest-ranger of Beaumont (Vaucluse). —
Author's Note.

232.

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

haunts; and three months' home breeding
gives me no further information in this re-
spect. Though they lead a joyous life, my
captives are always dumb.

The exiles do not seem greatly to regret
their cold peaks, among the orange poppies
and saxifrages of arctic climes. What used
they to browse upon up there ? The Alpine
meadow-grass, Mont-Cenis violets, Alli-
oni's bell-flower? I do not know. In the
absence of Alpine grasses, I give them the
common endive from my garden. They
accept it without hesitation.

They also accept such Locusts as can offer
only a feeble resistance; and the diet alter-
nates between animal and vegetable fare.
They even practise cannibalism. If one of
my Alpine visitors limps and drags a leg, the
others eat him up. So far I have seen no-
thing striking: these are the usual Grass-
hopper manners.'

The interesting sight is the pairing, which
occurs suddenly,' without any prelude. The
meeting takes place sometimes on the ground,
sometimes on the wirework of the cage. In
the latter case, the sword-bearer, firmly
hooked to the trellis, supports the whole
weight of the couple. The other is back
233

The Life of the Grasshopper

downwards, his head pointing to his mate's
tail. With his long, fleshy-shanked hind-
legs, he gets a grip of her sides; with his
four front legs, often also with his mandibles,
he grasps and squeezes the sabre, which pro-
jects slantwise. Thus hanging to this sort
of greased pole, he operates in space.

When the meeting takes place on the
ground, the couple occupy the same position,
only the male is lying on his back in the sand.
In both cases the result is an opal grain
which, in the visible part of it, resembles in
shape and size the swollen end of a grape-pip.

As soon as this object is in position, the
male decamps at full speed. Can he be in
danger? Possibly, to judge from what I
have seen. I admit that I have seen it only
once.

The bride in this case was grappling with
two rivals. One of them, hanging to the
sabre, was at work in due form behind ; the
other, in front, tightly clawed and with his
belly ripped open, was waving his limbs in
vain protest against the harpy crunching him
impassively in small mouthfuls. I had before
my eyes, under even more atrocious condi-
tions, the horrors which the Praying Mantis
had shown me in the old days: unbridled
234

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

rut; carnage and voluptuousness in one; a
reminiscence perhaps of ancient savagery.

As a rule, the male, a dwarf by comparison
with the female, hastens to run away as soon
as his task is consummated. The deserted
one makes no movement. Then, after wait-
ing twenty minutes or so, she curves herself
into a ring and proceeds to enjoy the final
banquet. She pulls the sticky raisin-pip into
shreds which are chewed with grave appre-
ciation and then gulped down. It takes her
more than an hour to swallow the thing.
When not a crumb remains, she descends
from the wire gauze and mingles with the
herd. Her eggs will be laid in a day or
two.

The proof is established. The matri-
monial habits of the White-faced Decticus
are not an exception due to the heat of the
climate : the Grasshopper from the cold
peaks shares them and surpasses them.

We will return to the big Decticus with
the ivory face. The laying follows close
upon the strange events which we have de-
scribed. It is done piecemeal, as the ovaries
ripen. Firmly planted on her six legs, the
mother bends her abdomen into a semicircle
and drives her sabre perpendicularly into the
235

The Life of the Grasshopper

soil, which, consisting in my cages of sifted
earth, presents no serious resistance. The
ovipositor therefore descends without hesita-
tion and enters up to the hilt, that is to say,
to a depth of about an inch.

For nearly fifteen minutes, absolute im-
mobility. This is the time when the eggs
are being laid. At last the sabre comes up
a little way and the abdomen swings briskly
from side to side, communicating an alter-
nate transversal movement to the implement.
This tends to scrape out and widen the
sunken hole; it also has the effect of releasing
from the walls earthy materials which fill up
the bottom of the cavity. Thereupon the
ovipositor, which is half in and half out,
rams down this dust. It comes up a short
distance and then dips repeatedly, with a
sudden, jerky movement. We should work
in the same way with a stick to ram down
the earth in a perpendicular hole. Thus
alternating the transversal swing of the
sabre with the blows of the rammer, the
mother covers up the well pretty quickly.

The external traces of the work have still

to be done away with. The insect's legs,

which I expected to see brought into play,

remain inactive and keep the position

236

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

adopted for laying the eggs. The sabre
alone scratches, sweeps and smooths the
ground with its point, very clumsily, it must
be admitted.

Now all is in order. The abdomen and
the ovipositor are restored to their normal
positions. The mother allows herself a mo-
ment's rest and goes to take a turn in the
neighbourhood. Soon she comes back to the
site where she has already laid her eggs
and, very near the original spot, which she
recognizes clearly, she drives in her tool
afresh. The same proceedings as before are
repeated.

Follow another rest, another exploration
of the vicinity, another return to the place
already sown. For the third time the pointed
stake descends, only a very slight distance
away from the previous hole. During the
brief hour that I am watching her, I see her
resume her laying five times, after breaking
off to take a little stroll in the neighbour-
hood; and the points selected are always very
close together.

On the following days, at varying inter-
vals, the sowing is renewed for a certain
number of times which I am not able to state
exactly. In the case of each of these partial
237

The Life of the Grasshopper

layings, the site changes, now here, now
there, as this or that spot is deemed the more
propitious.

When everything is finished, I examine the
little pits in which the Decticus placed her
eggs. There are no packets in a foamy
sheath, such as the Locust supplies; no cells
either. The eggs lie singly, without any pro-
tection. I gather three score as the total
product of one mother. They are of a pale
lilac-grey and are drawn out shuttlewise, in
a narrow ellipsoid five or six millimetres
long.1

The same isolation marks those of the
Grey Decticus, which are black; those of the
Vine Ephippiger, which are ashen-grey; and
those of the Alpine Analota, which are pale-
lilac. The eggs of the Green Grasshopper,
which are a very dark olive -brown and, like
those of the White-faced Decticus, about
sixty in number, are sometimes arranged
singly and sometimes stuck together in little
clusters.

These different examples show us that the
Grasshoppers plant with a dibble. Instead
of packing their seeds in little casks of
hardened foam, like the Locusts, they put

1 .195 to .234 inch. — Translator's Note.
238

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

them into the earth one by one or in very
small clusters.

The hatching is worth examination ; I will
explain why presently. I therefore gather
plenty of eggs of the big Decticus at the end
of August and place them in a small glass
jar with a layer of sand. Without under-
going any apparent modification, they spend
eight months here under cover, sheltered
from the frosts, the showers and the over-
powering heat of the sun that would await
them under natural conditions.

When June comes, I often meet young
Dectici in the fields. Some are already half
their adult size, which is evidence of an early
appearance dating back to the first fine days
of the year. Nevertheless my jar shows no
signs of any imminent hatching. I find the
eggs just as I gathered them nine months
ago, neither wrinkled nor tarnished, wear-
ing, on the contrary, a most healthy look.
What causes this indefinitely prolonged de-
lay?

A suspicion occurs to me. The eggs of
the Grasshopper tribe are planted in the
earth like seeds. They are there exposed,
without any kind of protection, to the watery
influence of the snow and the rain. Those

239

The Life of the Grasshopper

in my jar have spent two-thirds of the year
in a state of comparative dryness. Perhaps,
in order to hatch, they lack what grain abso-
lutely needs in order to sprout. Animal
seeds as they are, they may yet require under
earth the moisture necessary to vegetable
seeds. Let us try.

I place at the bottom of some glass tubes,
to enable me to make certain observations
which I have in mind, a pinch of backward
eggs taken from my collection; and on
the top I heap lightly a layer of very fine,
damp sand. The receptacle is closed with a
plug of wet cotton, which will maintain a
constant moisture in the interior. The
column of sand measures about an inch, which
is very much the depth at which the ovi-
positor places the eggs. Any one seeing my
preparations and unacquainted with their ob-
ject would hardly suspect them of being in-
cubators; he would be more likely to think
them the apparatus of a botanist who was
experimenting with seeds.

My anticipation was correct. Favoured
by the high temperature of the summer
solstice, the Grasshopper seed does not take
long to sprout. The eggs swell; the front
end of each is spotted with two dark dots,
240

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

the rudiments of the eyes. It is quite evi-
dent that the bursting of the shell is near at
hand.

I spend a fortnight in keeping a tedious
watch at every hour of the day: I have to
surprise the young Decticus actually leaving
the egg, if I want to solve a question that
has long been vexing my mind. The quest-
ion is this : the Grasshopper's egg is buried
at a varying depth, according to the length
of the ovipositor or dibble. An inch is
about the most for the seeds of the best-
equipped insects in our parts. Now the new-
born Decticus, hopping awkwardly in the
grass at the approach of summer, is, like the
adult, endowed with a pair of very long
tentacles, vying with hairs for slenderness;
he carries behind him two extraordinary legs,
two enormous hinged levers, a pair of
jumping-stilts that would be very incon-
venient for ordinary walking. How does
the feeble little creature set to work, with
this cumbrous luggage, to emerge from the
earth? By what artifice does it manage
to clear a passage through the rough
soil? With its antennary plumes, which an
atom of sand can break, with its immense
shanks, which the least effort is enough to
241

The Life of the Grasshopper

disjoint, the mite is obviously incapable of
reaching the surface and freeing itself.

The miner going underground puts on a
protective dress. The little Grasshopper
also, making a hole in the earth in the oppo-
site direction, must don an overall for emer-
ging from the earth; he must possess a
simpler, more compact transition-form, which
enables him to come out through the sand,
a delivery-shape analogous to that which the
Cicada and the Praying Mantis use at the
moment of issuing, one from his twig, the
other from the labyrinth of his nest.

Reality and logic here agree. The Dec-
ticus, in point of fact, does not leave the egg
in the form in which I see him, the day after
his birth, hopping on the lawn; he possesses
a temporary structure better-suited to the dif-
ficulties of the emergence. Coloured a deli-
cate flesh-white, the tiny creature is cased in
a scabbard which keeps the six legs flattened
against the abdomen, stretching backwards,
inert. In order to slip more easily under the
ground, he has his shanks tied up beside his
body. The antennae, those other irksome
appendages, are motionless, pressed against
the parcel.

The head is very much bent against the

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

chest. With its big, black ocular specks and
its undecided and rather bloated mask, it
suggests a diver's helmet. The neck opens
wide at the back and, with a slow throbbing,
by turns swells and subsides. That is the
motor. The new-born insect moves along
with the aid of its occipital hernia. When
uninflated, the fore-part pushes back the
damp sand a little way and slips into it by
digging a tiny pit; then, blown out, it be-
comes a knob, which moulds itself and finds
a support in the depression obtained. Then
the rear-end contracts; and this gives a step
forward. Each thrust of the locomotive
blister means nearly a millimetre 1 traversed.

It is pitiful to see this budding flesh,
scarcely tinged with pink, knocking with its
dropsical neck and ramming the rough soil.
The animal glair, not yet quite hardened,
struggles painfully with stone; and its efforts
are so well directed that, in the space of a
morning, a gallery opens, either straight or
winding, an inch long and as wide as an
average straw. In this way the harassed
insect reaches the surface.

Half-caught in its exit-shaft, the disin-
terred one halts, waits for its strength to

1 .039 inch. — Translator's Note,
243

The Life of the Grasshopper

return and then for the last time swells its
occipital hernia as far as it will go and bursts
the sheath that has protected it so far. The
creature throws off its miner's overall.

Here at last is the Decticus in his youthful
shape, quite pale still, but darker the next
day and a regular blackamoor compared with
the adult. As a prelude to the ivory face of
a riper age, he sports a narrow white stripe
under his hinder thighs.

Little Decticus, hatched before my eyes,
life opens for you very harshly! Many of
your kindred must die of exhaustion before
attaining their freedom. In my tubes I see
numbers who, stopped by a grain of sand,
succumb half-way and become furred with a
sort of silky mildew. The mouldy part soon
absorbs their poor little remains. When per-
formed without my assistance, the coming to
the light of day must be attended with even
greater dangers. The usual soil is coarse
and baked by the sun. Without a fall of
rain, how do they manage, these immured
ones?

More fortunate in my tubes with their
sifted and wetted mould, here you are out-
side, you little white-striped nigger; you
bite at the lettuce-leaf which I have given
244

The White-faced Decticus: the Eggs

you ; you leap about gaily in the cage where
I have housed you. It would be easy to rear
you, I can see, but it would not give me much
fresh information. Let us then part com-
pany. I restore you to liberty. In return
for what you have taught me, I bestow upon
you the grass and the Locusts in the garden.
Thanks to you, I know that Grasshoppers,
in order to leave the ground in which the
eggs are laid, possess a provisional shape, a
primary larval stage, which keeps those
too cumbrous parts, the long legs and
antennae, swathed in a common sheath; I
know that this sort of mummy, fit only to
lengthen and shorten itself a little, has for an
organ of locomotion a hernia in the neck,
a throbbing blister, an original piece of
mechanism which I have never seen used
elsewhere as an aid to progression.1

1 This essay was written prior to that on the Grey
Flesh-flies, who employ a similar method. Cf. The Life
of the Fly: chap. x. — Translator's Note.

245

CHAPTER XIII

THE WHITE-FACED DECTICUS : THE INSTRU-
MENT OF SOUND

ART has three fields which it may culti-
•**-vate in the realm of natural objects:
form, colour and sound. The sculptor uses
form and imitates its perfection in so far as
the chisel is able to imitate life. The
draughtsman, likewise a copyist, seeks in
black and white to give the illusion of relief
on a flat surface. To the difficulties of draw-
ing the painter adds those of colour, which
are no less great.

An inexhaustible model sits to all three.
Rich though the painter's palette be, it will
always be inferior to that of reality. Nor
will the sculptor's chisel ever exhaust the
treasures of the plastic art in nature. Form
and colour, beauty of outline and play of
light : these are all taught by the contempla-
tion of actual things. They are imitated,
246

The Decticus: his Instrument

they are combined according to our tastes,
but they are not invented.

On the other hand, our music has no pro-
totype in the symphony of created things.
Certainly there is no lack of sounds, faint or
loud, sweet and solemn. The wind roaring
through the storm-tossed woods, the waves
curling and breaking on the beach, the
thunder growling in the echoing clouds stir
us with their majestic notes; the breeze
filtering through the tiny foliage of the pine-
trees, the Bees humming over the spring
flowers charm every ear endowed with any
delicacy; but these are monotonous noises,
with no connection. Nature has superb
sounds; she has no music.

Howling, braying, grunting, neighing, bel-
lowing, bleating, yelping: these exhaust the
phonetics of our near neighbours in organ-
ization. A musical score composed of such
elements would be called a hullabaloo. Man,
forming a striking exception at the top of
the scale of these makers of raucous noises,
took it into his head to sing. An attribute
which no other shares with him, the at-
tribute of coordinated sounds whence springs
the incomparable gift of speech, led him on
to scientific vocal exercises. In the absence
247

The Life of the Grasshopper

of a model, it must have been a laborious
apprenticeship.

When our prehistoric ancestor, to cele-
brate his return from hunting the Mammoth,
intoxicated himself with sour tipple brewed
from raspberries and sloes, what can have
issued from his hoarse larynx? An orthodox
melody? Certainly not; hoarse shouts,
rather, capable of shaking the roof of his
cave. The loudness of the cry constituted
its merit. The primitive song is found to
this day when men's throats are fired in
taverns instead of caverns.

And this tenor, with his crude vocal efforts,
was already an adept at guiding his pointed
flint to engrave on ivory the effigy of the
monstrous animal which he had captured;
he knew how to embellish his idol's cheeks
with red chalk; he knew how to paint his own
face with coloured grease. There were
plenty of models for form and colour but
none for rhythmic sounds.

With progress came the musical instru-
ment, as an adjunct to those first guttural at-
tempts. Men blew down tubes taken all in
one piece from the sappy branches; they pro-
duced sounds from the barley-stalks and
made whistles out of reeds. The shell of a
248

The Decticus: his Instrument

Snail, held between two fingers of the closed
fist, imitated the Partridge's call; a trumpet
formed of a wide strip of bark rolled into
a horn reproduced the bellowing of the Bull ;
a few gut-strings stretched across the empty
shell of a calabash grated out the first notes
of our stringed instruments; a Goat's blad-
der, fixed on a solid frame, was the original
drum; two flat pebbles struck together at
measured intervals led the way for the click
of the castagnettes. Such must have been
the primitive musical materials, materials
still preserved by the child, which, with its
simplicity in things artistic, is so strongly
reminiscent of the big child of yore.

Classical antiquity knew no others, as wit-
ness the shepherds of Theocritus and
Virgil.

Silvestrem tenui musam meditaris avena,
says Meliboeus to Tityrus.1

1 " Beneath the shade which beechen boughs diffuse,
You, Tityrus, entertain your sylvan muse.

These blessings friend, a deity bestowed:

He gave my kine to graze the flowery plain
And to my pipe renewed ttoe rural strain."

— Pastorals: book i. ; Dryden's translation.

249

The Life of the Grasshopper

What are we to make of this oat-straw,
this frail shepherd's pipe, as they used to
make us translate it in my young days? Did
the poet write avena tenui by way of a
rhetorical figure, or was he describing a
reality? I vote for the reality, having my-
self in the old days heard a concert of shep-
herd's pipes.

It was in Corsica, at Ajaccio. In gratitude
for a handful of sugar-plums, some small
boys of the neighbourhood came one day
and serenaded me. Quite unexpectedly, in
gusts of untutored harmony, strange sounds
of rare sweetness reached my ears. I ran
to the window. There stood the orchestra,
none taller than a jack-boot, gathered sol-
emnly in a ring, with the leader in the middle.
Most of them had at their lips a green onion-
stem, distended spindlewise ; others a stubble
straw, a bit of reed not yet hardened by
maturity.

They blew into these, or rather they sang
a vocero, to a grave measure, perhaps a
relic of the Greeks. Certainly, it was not
music as we understand it; still less was it a
meaningless noise; but it was a vague, un-
dulating melody, abounding in artless irregu-
larities, a medley of pretty sounds in which
250

The Decticus: his Instrument

the sibilations of the straw threw into relief
the bleating of the swollen stalks. I stood
amazed at the onion-stem symphony. Very
much so must the shepherds of the eclogue
have gone to work, avena tenui; very much
so must the bridal epithalamium have been
sung in the Reindeer period.

Yes, the simple melody of my Corsican
youngsters, a real humming of Bees on the
rosemaries, has left a lasting trace in my
memory. I can hear it now. It taught me
the value of the rustic pipes, once so con-
stantly celebrated in a literature that is now
old-fashioned. How far removed are we
from those simple joys! To charm the
populace in these days you need ophicleides,
saxhorns, trombones, cornets, every imagina-
ble sort of brass, with big drums and little
drums and, to beat time, a gun-shot. That's
what progress does.

Three-and-twenty centuries ago, Greece
assembled at Delphi for the festivals of the
sun, Phoebus with the golden locks. Thrilled
with religious emotion she listened to the
Hymn of Apollo, a melody of a few lines,
barely supported here and there by a scanty
chord on the flute and cithara. Hailed as a
masterpiece, the sacred song was engraved
251

The Life of the Grasshopper

on marble tablets which the archaeologists
have recently exhumed.

The venerable strains, the oldest in
musical records, have been heard in my time
in the ancient theatre at Orange, a ruin in
stone worthy of that ruin of sound. I was
not present at the performance, being kept
away by my habit of running to the west
whenever there are fireworks in the east.
One of my friends, a man gifted with a very
sensitive ear, went; and he said to me
afterwards:

" There were probably ten thousand
people forming the audience in the enormous
amphitheatre. I very much doubt whether
one of them understood that music of an-
other age. As for me, I felt as if I were
listening to a blind man's plaintive ditty and
I looked round involuntarily for the dog
holding the cup."

The barbarian, to turn the Greek master-
piece into a stupid wail ! Was it irreverence
on his part? No, but it was incapacity. His
ear, trained in accordance with other rules,
was unable to take pleasure in artless sounds
which had become strange and even disagree-
able owing to their great age. What my
friend lacked, what we all lack is the per-
252

The Decticus: his Instrument

ception of those primitive niceties which
have been stifled by the centuries. To enjoy
the Hymn to Apollo, we should have to go
back to the simplicity of soul which one day
made me think the buzzing of the onion-
stalks delightful. And that we shall never
do.

But, if our music need not draw its in-
spiration from the Delphic marbles, our
statuary and our architecture will always find
models of incomparable perfection in the
work of the Greeks. The art of sounds,
having no prototype imposed on it by na-
tural facts, is liable to change: with our
fickle tastes, that which is perfect in music
to-day becomes vulgar and commonplace to-
morrow. The art of forms, on the con-
trary, being based on the immutable founda-
tion of reality, always sees the beautiful
where previous centuries saw it.

There is no musical type anywhere, not
even in the song of the Nightingale, cele-
brated by Buffon 1 in grandiloquent terms.

1 Georges Louis Leclerc de Buffon (1707-1788), the
foremost French naturalist and one of the foremost
French writers, though his style, as Fabre rightly sug-
gests, was nothing less than pompous. He was the
originator, in the speech delivered at his reception into
the French academy, of the famous aphorism, " Le style
est I'homme meme." — Translator's Note.

253

The Life of the Grasshopper

I have no wish to shock anybody; but why
should I not give my opinion? Buffon's
style and the Nightingale's song both leave
me cold. The first has too much rhetoric
about it and not enough sincere emotion.
The second, a magnificent jewel-case of ill-
assorted pearls of sound, makes so slight an
appeal to the soul that a penny jug, filled
with water and furnished with a whistle,
will enable the lips of a child to reproduce
the celebrated songster's finest trills. A little
earthenware machine, warbling at the play-
er's will, rivals the Nightingale.

Above the bird, that glorious production
of a vibrating air-column, creatures roar and
bray and grunt, until we come to man, who
alone speaks and really sings. Below the
bird, they croak or are silent. The bellows
of the lungs have two efflorescences se-
parated by enormous empty spaces filled with
formless sounds. Lower down still is the
insect, which is much earlier in date. This
first-born of the dwellers on the earth is also
the first singer. Deprived of the breath
which could set the vocal cords vibrating,
it invents the bow and friction, of which man
is later to make such wonderful use.

Various Beetles produce a noise by sliding
254

The Decticus: his Instrument

one rugged surface over another. The
Capricorn moves his corseleted segment over
its junction with the rest of the thorax;
the Pine Cockchafer,1 with his great fan-
shaped antennas, rubs his last dorsal seg-
ment with the edge of his wing-cases; the
Copris2 and many more know no other
method. To tell the truth, these scrapers do
not produce a musical sound, but rather a
creaking like that of a weathercock on its
rusty pin, a thin, sharp sound with no
resonance in it.

Among these inexperienced scrapers, I will
select the Bolboceras (B. gallkus, MULS.),*
as deserving honourable mention. Round as
a ball, sporting a horn on his forehead, like
the Spanish Copris, whose stercoral tastes
he does not share, this pretty Beetle loves
the pine-woods in my neighbourhood and
digs himself a burrow in the sand, leaving it
in the evening twilight with the gentle chirp
of a well-fed nestling under its mother's

1 Cf. Social Life in the Insect World, by J. H. Fabre,
translated by Bernard Miall: chap. xxi. — Translator's
Note.

2 A Dung-beetle. Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect:
chap. v. — Translator's Note.

* Cf. The Life of the Caterpillar, by J. Henri Fabre,
translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xiii.
— Translator's Note.

255

The Life of the Grasshopper

wing. Though habitually silent, he makes a
noise at the least disturbance. A dozen of
him imprisoned in a box will provide you
with a delightful symphony, very faint, it is
true : you have to hold the box close to your
ear to hear it. Compared with him, the
Capricorn, Copris, Pine Cockchafer and the
rest are rustic fiddlers. In their case, after
all, it is not singing, but rather an expression
of fear, I might almost say, a cry of anguish,
a moan. The insect utters it only in a mo-
ment of danger and never, so far as I know,
at the time of its wedding.

The real musician, who expresses his glad-
ness by strokes of the bow and cymbals,
dates much farther back. He preceded the
insects endowed with a superior organiza-
tion, the Beetle, the Bee, the Fly, the But-
terfly, who prove their higher rank by com-
plete transformations; he is closely connected
with the rude beginnings of the geological
period. The singing insect, in fact, belongs
exclusively either to the order of the Hemip-
tera, including the Cicadas, or to that of the
Orthoptera, including the Grasshoppers and
Crickets. Its incomplete metamorphoses
link it with those primitive races whose
records are inscribed in our coal-seams. It
256

The Decticus: his Instrument

is one of the first that mingled the sounds of
life with the vague murmuring of inert
things. It was singing before the reptile had
learnt to breathe. *

This shows, from the mere point of view
of sound, the futility of those theories of
ours which try to explain the world by the
automatic evolution of progress nascent in
the primitive cell. All is yet dumb; and al-
ready the insect is stridulating as correctly
as it does to-day. Phonetics start with an
apparatus which the ages will hand down to
one another without changing any essential
part of it. Then, though the lungs have ap-
peared, we have silence, save for the heavy
breathing of the nostrils. But lo, one day,
the Frog croaks ; and soon, with no prepara-
tion, there are mingled with this hideous
concert the trills of the Quail, the whistled
stanzas of the Thrush and the Warbler's
musical strains. The larynx in its highest
form has come into existence. What will
the late-comers do with it? The Ass and
the Wild Boar give us our reply. We find
something worse than marking time, we find
an enormous retrogression, until one last
bound brings us to man's own larynx.

In this genesis of sounds it is impossible to
257

The Life of the Grasshopper

talk authoritatively of a steady progression
which makes the middling follow on the bad
and the excellent on the middling. We see
nothing but abrupt excursions, intermittences,
recoils, sudden expansions not foretold by
what has gone before nor continued by that
which follows; we find nothing but a riddle
whose solution does not lie in the virtues of
the cell alone, that easy pillow for whoso
has not the courage to -search deeper.

But let us leave the question of origins,
that inaccessible domain, and come down to
facts; let us cross-examine a few representa-
tives of those old races who were the earliest
exponents of the art of sounds and took it
into their heads to sing at a time when the
mud of the first continents was hardening;
let us ask them how their instrument is con-
structed and what is the object of their ditty.

The Grasshopper, so remarkable both for
the length and thickness of her hinder thighs
and for her ovipositor, the sabre or dibble
which plants her eggs, is one of the chief
performers in the entomological concert. In-
deed, if we except the Cicada, who is often
confused with her, she is responsible for the
greater part of the noise. Only one of
the Orthoptera surpasses her; and that is

The Decticus: his Instrument

the Cricket, her near neighbour. Let us first
listen to the White-faced Decticus.

The performance begins with a hard,
sharp, almost metallic sound, very like that
emitted by the Thrush keeping a sharp look-
out while he stuffs himself with olives. It
consists of a series of isolated notes, tick-
tick, with a longish pause between them.
Then, with a gradual crescendo, the song
develops into a rapid clicking in which the
fundamental tick-tick is accompanied by a
continuous droning bass. At the end the cre-
scendo becomes so loud that the metallic
note disappears and the sound is transformed
into a mere rustle, a frrrr-frrrr-frrrr of the
greatest rapidity.

The performer goes on like this for hours,
with alternating strophes and rests. In calm
weather, the song, at its height, can be heard
twenty steps away. That is no great di-
stance. The noise made by the Cicada and
the Cricket carries much farther.

How are the strains produced? The
books which I am able to consult leave me
perplexed. They tell me of the " mirror,"
a thin, quivering membrane which glistens
like a blade of mica; but how is this mem-
brane made to vibrate? That is what they
259

The Life of the Grasshopper

either do not tell us or else tell us very
vaguely and inaccurately, talking of a friction
of the wing-cases, mutual rubbing of the
nervures; and that is all.

I should like a more lucid explanation, for
a Grasshopper's musical-box, I feel certain
in advance, must have an exact mechanism
of its own. Let us therefore look into the
matter, even though we have to repeat ob-
servations already perhaps made by others,
but unknown to a recluse like myself, whose
whole library consists of a few old odd
volumes.

The Decticus' wing-cases widen at the
base and form on the insect's back a flat
sunken surface shaped like an elongated
triangle. This is the sounding-board. Here
the left wing-case folds over the right and,
when at rest, completely covers the latter's
musical apparatus. The most distinct and,
from time immemorial, the best-known part
of it is the mirror, thus called because of
the shininess of its thin oval membrane, set
in the frame of a nervure. It is very like
the skin of a drum, of an exquisitely delicate
tympanum, with this difference, that it sounds
without being tapped. Nothing touches the
mirror when the Decticus sings. Its vibra-
260

The Decticus: his Instrument

tions are imparted to it after starting else-
where. And how ? I will tell you.

Its edging is prolonged at the inner angle
of the base by a wide, blunt tooth, furnished
at the end with a more prominent and power-
ful fold than the other nervures distributed
here and there. I will call this fold the
friction-nervure. This is the starting-point
of the concussion that makes the mirror re-
sound. The evidence will appear when the
remainder of the apparatus is known.

This remainder, the motor mechanism, is
on the left wing-case, covering the other with
its flat edge. Outside, there is nothing re-
markable, unless it be — and even then one
has to be on the look-out for it — a sort of
slightly slanting, transversal pad, which
might very easily be taken for a thicker
nervure than the others.

But examine the lower surface through the
magnifying-glass. The pad is much more
than an ordinary nervure. It is an instru-
ment of the highest precision, a magnificent
indented bow, marvellously regular on its
diminutive scale. Never did human industry,
when cutting metal for the most delicate
clockwork mechanism, achieve such perfec-
tion. Its shape is that of a curved spindle.
261

The Life of the Grasshopper

From one end to the other there have been
cut across this bow about eighty triangular
teeth, which are very even and are of
some hard, durable material, dark-brown in
colour.

The use of this mechanical gem is obvious.
If we take a dead Decticus and lift the flat
rim of the two wing-cases slightly in order
to place them in the position which they oc-
cupy when sounding, we see the bow fitting
its indentations to the terminal nervure
which I have called the f riction-nervure ; we
follow the line of teeth which, from end to
end of the row, never swerve from the
points to be set in motion; and, if the opera-
tion be done at all dexterously, the dead insect
sings, that is to say, strikes a few of its
clicking notes.

The secret of the sounds produced by the
Decticus is out. The toothed bow of the left
wing-case is the motor; the friction-nervure
of the right wing-case is the point of con-
cussion; the stretched membrane of the
mirror is the resonator, to which vibration is
communicated by the shaking of the sur-
rounding frame. Our own music has many
vibrating membranes; but these are always
affected by direct percussion. Bolder than
262

The Decticus: his Instrument

our makers of musical instruments, the Dec-
ticus combines the bow with the drum.

The same combination is found in the
other Grasshoppers. The most famous of
these is the Green Grasshopper (Locusta
viridissima, LIN.), who to the qualities of a
handsome stature and a fine green colour
adds the honour of classical renown. In La
Fontaine she is the Cicada who comes alms-
begging of the Ant when the north wind
blows. Flies and Grubs being scarce, the
would-be borrower asks for a few grains to
live upon until next summer. The double
diet, animal and vegetable, is a very happy
inspiration on the fabulist's part.

The Grasshopper, in fact, has the same
tastes as the Decticus. In my cages, he feeds
on lettuce-leaves when there is nothing better
going; but his preference is all in favour of
the Locust, whom he crunches up without
leaving anything but the wing-cases and
wings. In a state of liberty, his preying on
that ravenous browser must largely make up
to us for the small toll which he levies on
our agricultural produce.

Except in a few details, his musical in-
strument is the same as that of the Decticus.
It occupies, at the base of the wing-cases, a
263

The Life of the7 Grasshopper

large sunken surface shaped like a curved
triangle and brownish in colour, with a dull-
yellow rim. It is a sort of escutcheon, em-
blazoned with heraldic devices. On the
under surface of the left wing-case, which is
folded over the right, two transversal,
parallel grooves are cut. The space between
them makes a ridge which constitutes the
bow. The latter, a brown spindle, has a set
of fine, very regular and very numerous
teeth. The mirror of the right wing-case is
almost circular, well framed and supplied
with a strong and prominent friction-nervure.

The insect stridulates in July and August,
in the evening twilight, until close upon ten
o'clock. It produces a quick, rattling noise,
accompanied by a faint metallic clicking
which barely passes the border of perceptible
sounds. The abdomen, considerably low-
ered, throbs and beats the measure. This
goes on for irregular periods and suddenly
ceases; in between these periods there are
false starts reduced to a few strokes of the
bow; there are pauses and then the stridula-
tion is once more in full swing.

All said, it is a very meagre performance,
greatly inferior in volume to that of the Dec-
ticus, not to be compared with the song of
264

The Decticus: his Instrument

the Cricket and even less with the harsh and
noisy efforts of the Cicada. In the quiet of
the evening, when only a few steps away, I
need little Paul's delicate ear to apprise me
of it.

It is poorer still in the two dwarf Dectici
of my neighbourhood, Platycleis intermedia,
SERV., and P. grisea, FAB., both of whom are
common in the long grass, where the ground
is stony and exposed to the sun, and quick to
disappear in the undergrowth when you try
to catch them. These two fat songsters have
each had the doubtful privilege of a place in
my cages.

Here, in a blazing sun beating straight
upon the window, are my little Dectici
crammed with green millet-seeds and also
with game. Most of them are lying in the
hottest places, on their bellies or sides, with
their hind-legs outstretched. For hours on
end they digest without moving and slumber
in their voluptuous attitude. Some of them
sing. Oh, what a feeble song !

The ditty of the Intermediary Decticus,
with its strophes and pauses alternating at
equal intervals, is a rapid fr-r-r-r similar to
the Coaltit's, while that of the Grey Decticus
consists of distinct strokes of the bow and
265

The Life of the Grasshopper

tends to copy the Cricket's melody, with a
note which is hoarser and, in particular,
much fainter. In both cases, the feebleness
of the sound hardly allows me to hear the
singer a couple of yards away.

And to produce this music, this insig-
nificant and only just perceptible refrain, the
two dwarfs have all that their big cousin
possesses: a toothed bow, a tambourine, a
friction-nervure. On the bow of the Grey
Decticus I count about forty teeth and
eighty on that of the Intermediary Decticus.
Moreover, in both, the right wing-case dis-
plays, around the mirror, a few diaphanous
spaces, intended no doubt to increase the
extent of the vibrating portion. It makes no
difference: though the instrument is mag-
nificent, the production of sound is very poor.

With this same mechanism of a drum and
file, which of them will achieve any progress?
Not one of the large -winged Locustidze suc-
ceeds in doing so. All, from the biggest, the
Grasshoppers, Dectici and Conocephali,
down to the smallest, the Platycleis, Xiphi-
dion and Phaneropteron, set in motion with
the teeth of a bow the frame of a vibrating-
mirror; all are, so to speak, left-handed, that
is to say, they carry the bow on the lower
266

The Decticus: his Instrument

surface of the left wing-case, overlapping
the right, which is furnished with the
tympanum; all, lastly, have a thin, faint trill
which is sometimes hardly perceptible.

One alcne, modifying the details of the
apparatus without introducing any innovation
into the general structure, achieves a certain
power of sound. This is the Vine Ephip-
piger, who does without wings and reduces
his wing-cases to two concave scales, ele-
gantly fluted and fitting one into the other.
These two disks are all that remains of the
organs of flight, which have become ex-
clusively organs of song. The insect aban-
dons flying to devote itself the better to
stridulation.

It shelters its instrument under a sort of
dome formed by the corselet, which is curved
saddlewise. As usual, the left scale occupies
the upper position and bears on its lower
surface a file in which we can distinguish with
the lens eighty transversal denticulations,
more powerful and more clearly cut than
those possessed by any other of the Grass-
hopper tribe. The right scale is underneath.
At the top of its slightly flattened dome, the
mirror gleams, framed in a strong nervure.

For elegance of structure, this instrument
267

The Life of the Grasshopper

is superior to the Cicada's, in which the con-
traction of two columns of muscles alternately
pulls in and lets out the convex surface of
two barren cymbals. It needs sound-
chambers, resonators, to become a noisy ap-
paratus. As things are, it emits a lingering
and plaintive tchi-i-i, tchi-i-i, tchi-i-i, in a
minor key, which is heard even farther
than the blithe bowing of the White-faced
Decticus.

When disturbed in their repose, the Dec-
ticus and the other Grasshoppers at once
become silent, struck dumb with fear. With
them, singing invariably expresses gladness.
The Ephippiger also dreads to be disturbed
and baffles with his sudden silence whoso
seeks to find him. But take him between
your fingers. Often he will resume his
stridulation with erratic strokes of the bow.
At such times the song denotes anything but
happiness, fear rather and all the anguish of
danger. The Cicada likewise rattles more
shrilly than ever when a ruthless child dis-
locates his abdomen and forces open his
chapels. In both cases, the gay refrain of
the mirthful insect turns into the lamentation
of a persecuted victim.

A second peculiarity of the Ephippiger's,
268

The Decticus: his Instrument

unknown to the other singing insects, is
worthy of remark. Both sexes are endowed
with the sound-producing apparatus. The
female, who, in the other Grasshoppers,
is always dumb, with not even a vestige of
bow or mirror, acquires in this instance
a musical instrument which is a close copy of
the male's.

The left scale covers the right. Its edges
are fluted with thick, pale nervures, forming
a fine-meshed network; the centre, on the
other hand, is smooth and swells into an
amber-coloured dome. Underneath, this
dome is supplied with two concurrent ner-
vures, the chief of which is slightly wrinkled
on its ridge. The right scale is similarly
constructed, but for one detail: the central
dome, which also is amber-coloured, is
traversed by a nervure which describes a sort
of sinuous line and which, under the mag-
nifying-glass, reveals very fine transversal
teeth throughout the greater part of its
length.

This feature betrays the bow, placed in
the inverse position to that which is known
to us. The male is left-handed and works
with his upper wing-case ; the female is right-
handed and scrapes with her lower wing-
269

The Life of the Grasshopper

case. Besides, with her, there is no such
thing as a mirror, that is to say, no shiny
membrane resembling a flake of mica. The
bow rubs across the rough vein of the oppo-
site scale and in this way produces simul-
taneous vibration in the two fitted spherical
domes.

The vibrating part is double, therefore,
but too stiff and clumsy to produce a sound
of any depth. The song, in any case rather
thin, is even more plaintive than the male's.
The insect is not lavish with it. If I do not
interfere, my captives never add their note
to the concert of their caged companions; on
the other hand, when seized and worried,
they utter a moan at once. It seems likely
that, in a state of liberty, things happen
otherwise. The dumb beauties in my bell-
jars are not for nothing endowed with a
double cymbal and a bow. The instrument
that moans with fright must also ring out
joyously on occasion.

What purpose is served by the Grasshop-
per's sound-apparatus? I will not go so far
as to refuse it a part in the pairing, or to
deny it a persuasive murmur, sweet to her
who hears it: that would be flying in the
face of the evidence. But this is not its prin-
270

The Decticus: his Instrument

cipal function. Before anything else, the
insect uses it to express its joy in living, to
sing the delights of existence with a belly
well filled and a back warmed by the sun,
as witness the big Decticus and the male
Grasshopper, who, after the wedding, ex-
hausted for good and all and taking no fur-
ther interest in pairing, continue to stridu-
late merrily as long as their strength holds
out.

The Grasshopper tribe has its bursts of
gladness; it has moreover the advantage of
being able to express them with a sound, the
simple satisfaction of the artist. The little
journeyman whom I see in the evening re-
turning from the workyard on his way home,
where his supper awaits him, whistles and
sings; for his own pleasure, with no intention
of making himself heard, nor any wish to
attract an audience. In his artless and
almost unconscious fashion, he tells the joys
of a hard day's work done and of his plate-
ful of steaming cabbage. Even so most
often does the singing insect stridulate : it is
celebrating life.

Some go farther. If existence has its
sweets, it also has its sorrows. The saddle-
bearing Grasshopper of the vines is able to
271

The Life of the Grasshopper

translate both of these into sound. In a
trailing melody, he sings to the bushes of his
happiness; in a like melody, hardly altered,
he pours forth his griefs and his fears. His
mate, herself an instrumentalist, shares this
privilege. She exults and laments with two
cymbals of another pattern.

When all is said, the cogged drum need
not be looked down upon. It enlivens the
lawns, murmurs the joys and tribulations of
existence, sends the lover's call echoing all
around, brightens the weary waiting of the
lonely ones, tells of the perfect blossoming
of insect life. Its stroke of the bow is almost
a voice.

And this magnificent gift, so full of
promise, is granted only to the inferior races,
coarse natures, near akin to the crude begin-
nings of the carboniferous period. If, as we
are told, the superior insect descends from
ancestors who have been gradually trans-
formed, why did it not preserve that fine in-
heritance of a voice which has sounded from
the earliest ages?

Can it be that the theory of progressive
acquirements is only a specious lure? Are
we to abandon the savage theory of the
crushing of the weak by the strong, of the

The Decticus: his Instrument

less well-endowed by their more highly-gifted
rivals? Is it permissible to doubt, when the
evolutionists talk to us of the survival of
the fittest? Yes, indeed it is !

We are told as much by a certain Libellu-
la of the carboniferous age (Meganeura
Monyi, BRONG.), measuring over two feet
across the wings. The giant Dragon-fly,
who terrified the small winged folk with her
sawlike mandibles, has disappeared, whereas
the puny Agrion, with her bronze or azure
abdomen, still hovers over the reeds of our
rivers.

So have her contemporaries disappeared,
the monstrous sauroid fishes, mailed in
enamel and armed to the teeth. Their
scarce successors are mere abortions. The
splendid series of Cephalopods with parti-
tioned shells, including certain Ammonites of
the diameter of a cartwheel, has no other
representative in our present seas than that
modest fireman's helmet, the Nautilus. The
Megalosaurus, a saurian twenty-five yards
long, was a more alarming figure in our
country-sides than the Grey Lizard of the
walls. One of man's contemporaries, that
monumental beast the Mammoth, is known
only by his remains; and his near kinsman
273

The Life of the Grasshopper

the Elephant, a mere Sheep beside him, goes
on prospering. What a shock to the law of
the survival of the strongest! The mighty
have gone under; and the weak fill their
place.

274

CHAPTER XIV

THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER

WE are in the middle of July. The
astronomical dog-days are just begin-
ning; but in reality the torrid season has
anticipated the calendar and for some weeks
past the heat has been overpowering.

This evening in the village they are cele-
brating the National Festival.1 While the
little boys and girls are hopping around a
bonfire whose gleams are reflected upon the
church-steeple, while the drum is pounded
to mark the ascent of each rocket, I am sit-
ting alone in a dark corner, in the compara-
tive coolness that prevails at nine o'clock,
harking to the concert of the festival of the
fields, the festival of the harvest, grander by
far than that which, at this moment, is being
celebrated in the village square with gun-
powder, lighted torches, Chinese lanterns

1 The i4th of July, the anniversary of the fall of the
Bastille. — Translator's Note.

275

The Life of the Grasshopper

and, above all, strong drink. It has the sim-
plicity of beauty and the repose of strength.

It is late; and the Cicadae are silent.
Glutted with light and heat, they have in-
dulged in symphonies all the livelong day.
The advent of the night means rest for them,
but a rest frequently disturbed. In the dense
branches of the plane-trees, a sudden sound
rings out like a cry of anguish, strident and
short. It is the desperate wail of the Cicada,
surprised in his quietude by the Green Grass-
hopper, that ardent nocturnal huntress, who
springs upon him, grips him in the side,
opens and ransacks his abdomen. An orgy
of music, followed by butchery.

I have never seen and never shall see that
supreme expression of our national revelry,
the military review at Longchamp; nor
do I much regret it. The newspapers tell
me as much about it as I want to know.
They give me a sketch of the site. I see,
installed here and there amid the trees, the
ominous Red Cross, with the legend, " Mili-
tary Ambulance; Civil Ambulance." There
will be bones broken, apparently; cases of
sunstroke; regrettable deaths, perhaps. It
is all provided for and all in the programme.

Even here, in my village, usually so peace-
276

The Green Grasshopper

able, the festival will not end, I am ready to
wager, without the exchange of a few blows,
that compulsory seasoning of a day of merry-
making. No pleasure, it appears, can be
fully relished without an added condiment of
pain.

Let us listen and meditate far from the
tumult. While the disembowelled Cicada
utters his protest, the festival up there in the
plane-trees is continued with a change of
orchestra. It is now the time of the noc-
turnal performers. Hard by the place of
slaughter, in the green bushes, a delicate ear
perceives the hum of the Grasshoppers. It
is the sort of noise that a spinning-wheel
makes, a very unobtrusive sound, a vague
rustle of dry membranes rubbed together.
Above this dull bass there rises, at intervals,
a hurried, very shrill, almost metallic click-
ing. There you have the air and the recita-
tive, intersected by pauses. The rest is the
accompaniment.

Despite the assistance of a bass, it is a
poor concert, very poor indeed, though there
are about ten executants in my immediate
vicinity. The tone lacks intensity. My old
tympanum is not always capable of perceiv-
ing these subtleties of sound. The little that

2/7

The Life of the Grasshopper

reaches me is extremely sweet and most ap-
propriate to the calm of twilight. Just a
little more breadth in your bow-stroke, my
dear Green Grasshopper, and your technique
would be better than the hoarse Cicada's,
whose name and reputation you have been
made to usurp in the countries of the north.

Still, you will never equal your neighbour,
the little bell-ringing Toad, who goes tinkling
all round, at the foot of the plane-trees, while
you click up above. He is the smallest of
my batrachian folk and the most venture-
some in his expeditions.

How often, at nightfall, by the last glim-
mers of daylight, have I not come upon him
as I wandered through my garden, hunting
for ideas! Something runs away, rolling
over and over in front of me. Is it a dead
leaf blown along by the wind? No, it is the
pretty little Toad disturbed in the midst of
his pilgrimage. He hurriedly takes shelter
under a stone, a clod of earth, a tuft of
grass, recovers from his excitement and
loses no time in picking up his liquid note.

On this evening of national rejoicing,

there are nearly a dozen of him tinkling

against one another around me. Most of

them are crouching among the rows of

278

The Green Grasshopper

flower-pots that form a sort of lobby outside
my house. Each has his own note, always
the same, lower in one case, higher in an-
other, a short, clear note, melodious and of
exquisite purity.

With their slow, rhythmical cadence, they
seem to be intoning litanies. Cluck, says
one ; click, responds another, on a finer note ;
clock, adds a third, the tenor of the band.
And this is repeated indefinitely, like the
bells of the village pealing on a holiday:
cluck, click, clock; cluck, click, clock!

The batrachian choristers remind me of
a certain harmonica which I used to covet
when my six-year-old ear began to awaken
to the magic of sounds. It consisted of a
series of strips of glass of unequal length,
hung on two stretched tapes. A cork fixed
to a wire served as a hammer. Imagine an
unskilled hand striking at random on this
key-board, with a sudden clash of octaves,
dissonances and topsy-turvy chords; and
you will have a pretty clear idea of the
Toads' litany.

As a song, this litany has neither head nor

tail to it; as a collection of pure sounds, it

is delicious. This is the case with all the

music in nature's concerts. Our ear dis-

279

The Life of the Grasshopper

covers superb notes in it and then becomes
refined and acquires, outside the realities of
sound, that sense of order which is the first
condition of beauty.

Now this sweet ringing of bells between
hiding-place and hiding-place is the matri-
monial oratorio, the discreet summons which
every Jack issues to his Jill. The sequel to
the concert may be guessed without further
enquiry; but what it would be impossible to
foresee is the strange finale of the wedding.
Behold the father, in this case a real pater-
familias, in the noblest sense of the word,
coming out of his retreat one day in an un-
recognizable state. He is carrying the
future, tight-packed around his hind-legs; he
is changing houses laden with a cluster of
eggs the size of pepper-corns. His calves
are girt, his thighs are sheathed with the
bulky burden; and it covers his back like a
beggar's wallet, completely deforming him.

Whither is he going, dragging himself
along, incapable of jumping, thanks to the
weight of his load? He is going, the fond
parent, where the mother refuses to go; he
is on his way to the nearest pond, whose
warm waters are indispensable to the tad-
poles' hatching and existence. When the

The Green Grasshopper

eggs are nicely ripened around his legs under
the humid shelter of a stone, he braves the
damp and the daylight, he the passionate
lover of dry land and darkness ; he advances
by short stages, his lungs congested with
fatigue. The pond is far away, perhaps;
no matter : the plucky pilgrim will find it.

He's there. Without delay, he dives,
despite his profound antipathy to bathing;
and the cluster of eggs is instantly removed
by the legs rubbing against each other. The
eggs are now in their element; and the rest
will be accomplished of itself. Having ful-
filled his obligation to go right under, the
father hastens to return to his well-sheltered
home. He is scarcely out of sight before
the little black tadpoles are hatched and
playing about. They were but waiting for
the contact of the water in order to burst
their shells.

Among the singers in the July gloaming,
one alone, were he able to vary his notes,
could vie with the Toad's harmonious bells.
This is the little Scops-owl, that comely noc-
turnal bird of prey, with the round gold eyes.
He sports on his forehead two small
feathered horns which have won for him in,
the district the name of Machoto banarudo,
281

The Life of the Grasshopper

the Horned Owl. His song, which is rich
enough to fill by itself the still night air, is
of a nerve-shattering monotony. With im-
perturbable and measured regularity, for
hours on end, kew, kewt the bird spits out
its cantata to the moon.

One of them has arrived at this moment,
driven from the plane-trees in the square by
the din of the rejoicings, to demand my hos-
pitality. I can hear him in the top of a
cypress near by. From up there, dominating
the lyrical assembly, at regular intervals he
cuts into the vague orchestration of the
Grasshoppers and the Toads.

His soft note is contrasted, intermittently,
with a sort of Cat's mew, coming from an-
other spot. This is the call of the Common
Owl, the meditative bird of Minerva. After
hiding all day in the seclusion of a hollow
olive-tree, he started on his wanderings when
the shades of evening began to fall. Swing-
ing along with a sinuous flight, he came from
somewhere in the neighbourhood to the
pines in my enclosure, whence he mingles his
harsh mewing, slightly softened by distance,
with the general concert.

The Green Grasshopper's clicking is too
faint to be clearly perceived amidst these

The Green Grasshopper

clamourers; all that reaches me is the least
ripple, just noticeable when there is a mo-
ment's silence. He possesses as his ap-
paratus of sound only a modest drum and
scraper, whereas they, more highly privi-
leged, have their bellows, the lungs, which
send forth a column of vibrating air. There
is no comparison possible. Let us return to
the insects.

One of these, though inferior in size and
no less sparingly equipped, greatly surpasses
the Grasshopper in nocturnal rhapsodies.
I speak of the pale and slender Italian
Cricket (CEcanthus pellucens, SCOP.), who
is so puny that you dare not take him up
for fear of crushing him. He makes music
everywhere among the rosemary-bushes,
while the Glow-worms light up their blue
lamps to complete the revels. The delicate
instrumentalist consists chiefly of a pair of
large wings, thin and gleaming as strips of
mica. Thanks to these dry sails, he fiddles
away with an intensity capable of drowning
the Toads' fugue. His performance sug-
gests, but with more brilliancy, more tremolo
in the execution, the song of the Common
Black Cricket. Indeed the mistake would
certainly be made by any one who did not
283

The Life of the Grasshopper

know that, by the time that the very hot
weather comes, the true Cricket, the chorister
of spring, has disappeared. His pleasant
violin has been succeeded by another more
pleasant still and worthy of special study.
We shall return to him at an opportune
moment.

These then, limiting ourselves to select
specimens, are the principal participants in
this musical evening: the Scops-owl, with his
languorous solos; the Toad, that tinkler of
sonatas; the Italian Cricket, who scrapes the
first string of a violin ; and the Green Grass-
hopper, who seems to beat a tiny steel
triangle.

We are celebrating to-day, with greater
uproar than conviction, the new era, dating
politically from the fall of the Bastille ; they,
with glorious indifference to human things,
are celebrating the festival of the sun,
singing the happiness of existence, sounding
the loud hosanna of the July heats.

What care they for man and his fickle
rejoicings! For whom or for what will our
squibs be spluttering a few years hence?
Far-seeing indeed would he be who could
answer the question. Fashions change and
bring us the unexpected. The time-serving
284

The Green Grasshopper

rocket spreads its sheaf of sparks for the
public enemy of yesterday, who has become
the idol of to-day. To-morrow it will go up
for somebody else.

In a century or two, will any one, outside
the historians, give a thought to the taking
of the Bastille? It is very doubtful. We
shall have other joys and also other cares.

Let us look a little farther ahead. A day
will come, so everything seems to tell us,
when, after making progress upon progress,
man will succumb, destroyed by the excess of
what he calls civilization. Too eager to
play the god, he cannot hope for the animal's
placid longevity; he will have disappeared
when the little Toad is still saying his litany,
in company with the Grasshopper, the Scops-
owl and the others. They were singing on
this planet before us; they will sing after us,
celebrating what can never change, the fiery
glory of the sun.

I will dwell no longer on this festival and
will become once more the naturalist, anxious
to obtain information concerning the private
life of the insect. The Green Grasshopper
(Locusta viridissima, LIN.) does not appear
to be common in my neighbourhood. Last
year, intending to make a study of this in-
285

The Life of the Grasshopper

sect and finding my efforts to hunt it fruit-
less, I was obliged to have recourse to the
good offices of a forest-ranger, who sent me
a pair of couples from the Lagarde plateau,
that bleak district where the beech-tree be-
gins its escalade of the Ventoux.

Now and then freakish fortune takes it
into her head to smile upon the persevering.
What was not to be found last year has be-
come almost common this summer. Without
leaving my narrow enclosure, I obtain as
many Grasshoppers as I could wish. I hear
them rustling at night in the green thickets.
Let us make the most of the windfall, which
perhaps will not occur again.

In the month of June, my treasures are
installed, in a sufficient number of couples,
under a wire cover standing on a bed of
sand in an earthen pan. It is indeed a mag-
nificent insect, pale-green all over, with two
whitish stripes running down its sides. Its
imposing size, its slim proportions and its
great gauze wings make it the most elegant
of our Locustida?. I am enraptured with
my captives. What will they teach me?
We shall see. For the moment, we must
feed them.

I have here the same difficulty that I had

The Green Grasshopper

with the Decticus. Influenced by the general
diet of the Orthoptera,1 those ruminants of
the greenswards, I offer the prisoners a leaf
of lettuce. They bite into it, certainly, but
very sparingly and with a scornful tooth. It
soon becomes plain that I am dealing with
half-hearted vegetarians. They want some-
thing else: they are beasts of prey, appar-
ently. But what manner of prey? A lucky
chance taught me.

At break of day I was pacing up and down
outside my door, when something fell from
the nearest plane-tree with a shrill grating
sound. I ran up and saw a Grasshopper
gutting the belly of an exhausted Cicada.
In vain the victim buzzed and waved his
limbs : the other did not let go, dipping her
head right into the entrails and rooting them
out by small mouthfuls.

I knew what I wanted to know : the attack
had taken place up above, early in the morn-
ing, while the Cicada was asleep; and the
plunging of the poor wretch, dissected alive,
had made assailant and assailed fall in a

1 The order of insects comprising the Grasshoppers,
Locusts, Crickets, Cockroaches, Mantes and Earwigs.
The Cicada, with whom the present volume opens, and
the Foamy Cicadella, with whom it closes, belong to the
order of Homoptera. — Translator's Note.
287

The Life of the Grasshopper

bundle to the ground. Since then I have
repeatedly had occasion to witness similar
carnage.

I have even seen the Grasshopper — the
height of audacity, this — dart in pursuit of a
Cicada in mad flight. Even so does the
Sparrow-hawk pursue the Swallow in the
sky. But the bird of prey here is inferior
to the insect. It attacks a weaker than
itself. The Grasshopper, on the other hand,
assaults a colossus, much larger than herself
and stronger; and nevertheless the result of
the unequal fight is not in doubt. The
Grasshopper rarely fails with the sharp
pliers of her powerful jaws to disembowel
her capture, which, being unprovided with
weapons, confines itself to crying out and
kicking.

The main thing is to retain one's hold of
the prize, which is not difficult in somnolent
darkness. Any Cicada encountered by the
fierce Locustid on her nocturnal rounds is
bound to die a lamentable death. This ex-
plains those sudden agonized notes which
grate through the woods at late, unseason-
able hours, when the cymbals have long been
silent. The murderess in her suit of apple-
green has pounced on some sleeping Cicada.

The Green Grasshopper

My boarders' menu is settled : I will feed
them on Cicadse. They take such a liking
to this fare that, in two or three weeks, the
floor of the cage is a knacker's yard strewn
with heads and empty thoraces, with torn-off
wings and disjointed legs. The belly alone
disappears almost entirely. This is the tit-
bit, not very substantial, but extremely tasty,
it would seem. Here, in fact, in the insect's
crop, the syrup is accumulated, the sugary
sap which the Cicada's gimlet taps from the
tender bark. Is it because of this dainty that
the prey's abdomen is preferred to any other
morsel ? It is quite possible.

I do, in fact, with a view to varying the
diet, decide to serve up some very sweet
fruits, slices of pear, grape-pips, bits of
melon. All this meets with delighted appre-
ciation. The Green Grasshopper resembles
the English: she dotes on underdone rump-
steak seasoned with jam.1 This perhaps is

1 The author was obviously thinking of the English-
man's saddle of mutton and red-currant jelly. The mis-
take has been repeated much nearer to these shores. I
have in mind the true story of an Irish king's counsel
singing the praises of another, still among us, who had
married an English wife and who, in the course of an
extensive practice in the House of Lords, spent much of
his time in England:

" Ah, is a real gentleman ! He speaks with

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The Life of the Grasshopper

why, on catching the Cicada, she first rips
up his paunch, which supplies a mixture of
flesh and preserves.

To eat Cicada? and sugar is not possible
in every part of the country. In the north,
where she abounds, the Green Grasshopper
would not find the dish which attracts her
so strongly here. She must have other re-
sources. To convince myself of this, I give
her Anoxias (A. pilosa, FAB.), the summer
equivalent of the spring Cockchafer. The
Beetle is accepted without hesitation. No-
thing is left of him but the wing-cases, head
and legs. The result is the same with the
magnificent plump Pine Cockchafer (Melo-
lontha fullo, LIN.), a sumptuous morsel
which I find next day eviscerated by my gang
of knackers.

These examples teach us enough. They
tell us that the Grasshopper is an inveterate
consumer of insects, especially of those
which are not protected by too hard a
cuirass; they are evidence of tastes which

an English accent, quotes Euripides in the original Latin
and takes jam with his meat."

I venture to think that Fabre, in the gentleness of his
heart, would have forgiven his translator for quoting
this flippant anecdote. I have no other excuse. — Trans-
lator's Note.

290

The Green Grasshopper

are highly carnivorous, but not exclusively
so, like those of the Praying Mantis, who
refuses everything except game. The
butcher of the Cicadse is able to modify an
excessively heating diet with vegetable fare.
After meat and blood, sugary fruit-pulp;
sometimes even, for lack of anything better,
a little green stuff.

Nevertheless, cannibalism is prevalent.
True, I never witness in my Grasshopper-
cages the savagery which is so common in
the Praying Mantis, who harpoons her
rivals and devours her lovers; but, if some
weakling succumb, the survivors hardly ever
fail to profit by his carcass as they would in
the case of any ordinary prey. With no
scarcity of provisions as an excuse, they feast
upon their defunct companion. For the rest,
all the sabre-bearing clan display, in varying
degrees, a propensity for filling their bellies
with their maimed comrades.

In other respects, the Grasshoppers live
together very peacefully in my cages. No
serious strife ever takes place among them,
nothing beyond a little rivalry in the matter
of food. I hand in a piece of pear. A
Grasshopper alights on it at once. Jealously
she kicks away any one trying to bite at the
291

The Life of the Grasshopper

delicious morsel. Selfishness reigns every-
where. When she has eaten her fill, she
makes way for another, who in her turn
becomes intolerant. One after the other, all
the inmates of the menagerie come and re-
fresh themselves. After cramming their
crops, they scratch the soles of their feet
a little with their mandibles, polish up their
forehead and eyes with a leg moistened with
spittle and then, hanging to the trelliswork
or lying on the sand in a posture of con-
templation, blissfully they digest and slum-
ber most of the day, especially during the
hottest part of it.

It is in the evening, after sunset, that the
troop becomes lively. By nine o'clock the
animation is at its height. With sudden
rushes they clamber to the top of the dome,
to descend as hurriedly and climb up once
more. They come and go tumultuously, run
and hop around the circular track and, with-
out stopping, nibble at the good things on
the way.

The males are stridulating by themselves,
here and there, teasing the passing fair with
their antennae. The future mothers stroll
about gravely, with their sabre half-raised.
The agitation and feverish excitement means

The Green Grasshopper

that the great business of pairing is at hand.
The fact will escape no practised eye.

It is also what I particularly wish to ob-
serve. My chief object in stocking my cages
was to discover how far the strange nuptial
manners revealed by the White-faced Dec-
ticus might be regarded as general. My wish
is satisfied, but not fully, for the late hours
at which events take place did not allow me
to witness the final act of the wedding. It
is late at night or early in the morning that
things happen.

The little that I see is confined to
interminable preludes. Standing face to
face, with foreheads almost touching, the
lovers feel and sound each other for a long
time with their limp antennae. They suggest
two fencers crossing and recrossing harmless
foils. From time to time, the male stridu-
lates a little, gives a few short strokes of the
bow and then falls silent, feeling perhaps
too much overcome to continue. Eleven
o'clock strikes ; and the declaration is not yet
over. Very regretfully, but conquered by
sleepiness, I quit the couple.

Next morning, early, the female carries,
hanging at the bottom of her ovipositor, the
queer bladderlike arrangement that surprised
293

The Life of the Grasshopper

us so much in the Decticus. It is an opaline
capsule, the size of a large pea and roughly
subdivided into a small number of egg-
shaped vesicles. When the Grasshopper
walks, the thing scrapes along the ground
and becomes dirty with sticky grains of sand.

The final banquet of the female Decticus
is seen again here in all its hideousness.
When, after a couple of hours, the fertilizing
capsule is Drained of its contents, the Grass-
hopper devours it bit by bit; for a long time
she chews and rechews the gummy morsel
and ends by swallowing it all down. In less
than half a day, the milky burden has dis-
appeared, consumed with zest down to the
last atom.

The inconceivable therefore, imported,
one would think, from another planet, so
far removed is it from earthly habits, reap-
pears with no noticeable variation in the
Grasshopper, following on the Decticus.
What singular folk are the Locustidae, one
of the oldest races in the animal kingdom
on dry land! It seems probable that these
eccentricities are the rule throughout the
order. Let us consult another sabre-bearer.

I select the Ephippiger (Ephippigera
vitium, SERV.), who is so easy to rear on

294

The Green Grasshopper

bits of pear and lettuce-leaves. It is in July
and August that things happen. A little
way off, the male is stridulating by himself.
His ardent bow-strokes set his whole body
quivering. Then he stops. Little by little,
with slow and almost ceremonious steps, the
caller and the called come closer together.
They stand face to face, both silent, both
stationary, their antennae gently swaying,
their fore-legs raised awkwardly and giving
a sort of handshake at intervals. The
peaceful interview lasts for hours. What
do they say to each other? What vows do
they exchange? What does their ogling
mean?

But the moment has not yet come. They
separate, they fall out and each goes his own
way. The coolness does not last long. Here
they are together again. The tender declara-
tions are resumed, with no more success than
before. At last, on the third day, I behold
the end of the preliminaries. The male slips
discreetly under his companion, backwards,
according to the immemorial laws and cus-
toms of the Crickets. Stretched out behind
and lying on his back, he clings to the ovi-
positor, his prop. The pairing is accom-
plished.

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The Life of the Grasshopper

The result is an enormous spermatophore,
a sort of opalescent raspberry with large
seeds. Its colour and shape remind one of
a cluster of Snail's-eggs. I remember seeing
the same effect once with a Decticus, but in
a less striking form; and I find it again in
the Green Grasshopper's spermatophore. A
thin median groove divides the whole into
two symmetrical bunches, each comprising
seven or eight spherules. The two nodes
situated right and left of the bottom of the
ovipositor are more transparent than the
others and contain a bright orange-red
kernel. The whole thing is attached by a
wide pedicle, a dab of sticky jelly.

As soon as the thing is placed in position,
the shrunken male flees and goes to recruit,
after his disastrous prowess, on a slice of
pear. The other, not at all troubled in spite
of her heavy load, wanders about on the
trelliswork of the cage, taking very short
steps as she slightly raises her raspberry, this
enormous burden, equal in bulk to half the
creature's abdomen.

Two or three hours pass in this way.
Then the Ephippiger curves herself into a
ring and with her mandibles picks off part-
icles of the nippled capsule, without burst-
296

The Green Grasshopper

ing it, of course, or allowing the contents to
flow forth. She strips its surface by remov-
ing tiny shreds, which she chews in a lei-
surely fashion and swallows. This fastidi-
ous consuming by atoms is continued for a
whole afternoon. Next day the raspberry
has disappeared; the whole of it has been
gulped down during the night.

At other times the end is less quick and,
above all, less repulsive. I have kept a note
of an Ephippiger who was dragging her
satchel along the ground and nibbling at it
from time to time. The soil is uneven and
rugged, having been recently turned over
with the blade of a knife. The raspberry-
like capsule picks up grains of sand and little
clods of earth, which increase the weight of
the load considerably, though the insect ap-
pears to pay no heed to it. Sometimes the
carting becomes laborious, because the load
sticks to some bit of earth that refuses to
move. In spite of the efforts made to re-
lease the thing, it does not become detached
from the point where it hangs under the
ovipositor, thus proving that it possesses no
small power of adhesion.

All through the evening, the Ephippiger
roams about aimlessly, now on the wire-
297

The Life of the Grasshopper

work, anon on the ground, wearing a preoc-
cupied air. Oftener still she stands without
moving. The capsule withers a little, but
does not decrease notably in volume. There
are no more of those mouthfuls which the
Ephippiger snatched at the beginning; and
the little that has already been removed
affects only the surface.

Next day, things are as they were. There
is nothing new, nor on the morrow either,
save that the capsule withers still more,
though its two red dots remain almost as
bright as at first. Finally, after sticking on
for forty-eight hours, the whole thing comes
off without the insect's intervention.

The capsule has yielded its contents. It
is a dried-up wreck, shrivelled beyond recog-
nition, left lying in the gutter and doomed
sooner or later to become the booty of the
Ants. Why is it thus abandoned when, in
other cases, I have seen the Ephippiger so
greedy for the morsel ? Perhaps because the
nuptial dish had become too gritty with
grains of sand, so unpleasant to the teeth.

Another Locustid, the Phaneroptera who
carries a short yataghan bent into a reaping-
hook (P. falcata, SCOP.), has made up to me
in part for my stud troubles. Repeatedly,
298

The Green Grasshopper

but always under conditions which did not
allow of completing my observation, I have
caught her carrying the fertilizing-concern
under the base of her sabre. It is a dia-
phanous, oval phial, measuring three or four
millimetres 1 and hanging from a crystal
thread, a neck almost as long as the dis-
tended part. The insect does not touch it,
but leaves the phial to dry up and shrivel
where it is.2

Let us be content with this. These five
examples, furnished by such different genera,
Decticus, Analota, Grasshopper, Ephippiger
and Phaneroptera, prove that the Locustid,
like the Scolopendra and the Cephalopod,
is a belated representative of the manners
of antiquity, a valuable specimen of the
genetic eccentricities of olden times.

1 .117 to .156 inch. — Translator's Note.

* Fuller details on this curious subject would be out of
place in a book in which anatomy and physiology cannot
always speak quite freely. They will be found in ray
essay on the Locustidae which appeared in the Annales
des sciences naturelles, 1896. — Author's Note.

299

CHAPTER XV

THE CRICKET: THE BURROW; THE EGG

ALMOST as famous as the Cicada, the
Field Cricket, the denizen of the
greenswards, figures among the limited but
glorious number of the classic insects. He
owes this honour to his song and his house.
One thing alone is lacking to complete his
renown. By a regrettable omission, the
master of the art of making animals talk
gives him hardly two lines.

In one of his fables he shows us the Hare
seized with terror at the sight of his ears,
which scandalmongers will not fail to de-
scribe as horns at a time when to be horned
is dangerous. The prudent animal packs up
his traps and makes off :

"Adieu, voisin Grillon" dit-il; " je pars

d'ici;

" Mes oreilles enfin seraient comes aussi"
300

The Cricket: the Burrow .
The Cricket answers :

" Comes celal Vous me prenez pour

cruche!
" Ce sont oreilles que Dieu fit."

The Hare insists:
" On les fera passer pour comes." *

And that is all. What a pity that La Fon-
taine did not make the insect hold forth at
greater length! The good-natured Cricket
is depicted for us in a couple of lines
which already show the master's touch. No,
indeed, he is no fool: his big head might
have found some capital things to say. And
yet the Hare was perhaps not wrong to take
his departure in a hurry. When slander is
at your heels, the best thing is to fly.

1 " Fare thee well, good neighbour Cricket; from thy

presence I must flee;
"Mine ears also will be taken for a pair of horns,"

said he.
" Horns, i' faith ! " the Cricket answered. " Is thy

servant mad or blind?
" Those are ears which thy Creator with His own

hand hath designed! "
" Yet the world will one day call them horns," his

fellow made reply,

" And ere that day dawn, my neighbour, I will bid
this place good-bye."
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The Life of the Grasshopper

Florian * was less concise in his story,
which is on another theme ; but what a long
way we are from the warmth and vigour of
old La Fontaine! In Florian's fable Le
Grillon, there are plenty of flowery mead-
ows and blue skies; Dame Nature and af-
fectation go hand in hand; in short, we have
the feeble artificialities of a lifeless rhetoric,
which loses sight of the thing described for
the sake of the description. It lacks the sim-
plicity of truth and also the saving salt of
humour.

Besides, what a preposterous idea, to
represent the Cricket as discontented, be-
wailing his condition in despair ! All who
have studied him know, on the contrary, that
he is very well pleased with his own talent
and his hole. This, moreover, is what the
fabulist makes him admit, after the Butter-
fly's discomfiture:

" Combien je vais aimer ma retraite pro-

fonde!
" Pour vivre heureux, vivons cache!" 2

'Jean Pierre Claris de Florian (1755-1794), Voltaire's
grand-nephew, the leading French fabulist, after La
Fontaine. — Translator's Note.
3 " My snug little home is a place of delight:
" If you want to live happy, live hidden from sight! "
302

The Cricket: the Burrow

I find more force and more truth in the
apologue by the nameless friend to whom I
owe the Provengal piece, La Cigalo e la
Fournigo. He will forgive me if for the
second time I expose him, without his con-
sent, to the dangerous honour of print.
Here it is :

LE GRILLON

L'histoire des betes rapporte
Qu'autrefois un pauvre grillon,
Prenant le soleil sur sa porte,
Fit passer un beau papillon.

Un papillon a longues queues,
Superbe, des mieux decores,
Avec rangs de lunules bleues,
Galons noirs et gros points dores.1

" Vole, vole," lui dit I'ermite,
" Sur les fieurs, du matin au soir;
" Ta rose, ni ta marguerite
Ne valent mon humble manoir."

II disait vraL Fient un orage
Et le papillon est noye

1 My friend, who is always accurate in his descriptions,
is here speaking, if I be not mistaken, of the Swallow-
tail.— Author's Note.

303

The Life of the Grasshopper

Dans un bourbier; la fange outrage
Le velours de son corps broye.

Mais la tourmente en rien n'e'tonne
Le grillon, qui, dans son abri,
Qu'il pleuve, qu'il vente, qu'il tonne,
Vit tranquille et chante cri-cri.

Ah! n'allons pas courir le monde
Par mi les plaisirs et les fteurs;
L'humble foyer, sa paix profonde
Nous epargneront bien des pleurs.

THE CRICKET

Among the beasts a tale is told

How a poor Cricket ventured nigh

His door to catch the sun's warm gold
And saw a radiant Butterfly.

She passed with tails thrown proudly back
And long gay rows of crescents blue,

Brave yellow stars and bands of black,
The lordliest fly that ever flew.

" Ah, fly away," the hermit said,

" Daylong among your flowers to roam ;

" Nor daisies white nor roses red
" Will compensate my lowly home."

True, all too true! There came a storm
And caught the other in its flood,
304

The Cricket: the Burrow

Staining her broken velvet form
And covering her wings with mud.

The Cricket, sheltered from the rain,

Chirped and looked on with tranquil eye;

For him the thunder pealed in vain,
The gale and torrent passed him by.

Then shun the world, nor take your fill

Of any of its joys or flowers;
A lowly fire-side, calm and still,

At least will grant you tearless hours ! 1

There I recognize my Cricket. I see him
curling his antennae on the threshold of his
burrow, keeping his belly cool and his back
to the sun. He is not jealous of the But-
terfly; on the contrary, he pities her, with
that air of mocking commiseration familiar
in the ratepayer who owns a house of his
own and sees passing before his door some
wearer of a gaudy costume with no place to
lay her head. Far from complaining, he is
very well satisfied with both his house and
his violin. A true philosopher, he knows the
vanity of things and appreciates the charm
of a modest retreat away from the riot of
pleasure-seekers.

1 For the translation of these and the other verses
in this chapter I am indebted to my friend Mr. Stephen
McKenna. — Translator's Note.

305

The Life of the Grasshopper

Yes, the description is about right, though
it remains very inadequate and does not
bear the stamp of immortality. The
Cricket is still waiting for the few lines
needed to perpetuate his merits; and, since
La Fontaine neglected him, he will have to
go on waiting a long time.

To me, as a naturalist, the outstanding
feature in the two fables — a feature which
I should find repeated elsewhere, beyond a
doubt, if my library were not reduced to a
small row of odd volumes on a deal shelf —
is the burrow on which the moral is founded.
Florian speaks of the snug retreat; the
other praises his lowly home. It is the
dwelling therefore that above all compels
attention, even that of the poet, who cares
little in general for realities.

In this respect, indeed, the Cricket is ex-
traordinary. Of all our insects, he alone, on
attaining maturity, possesses a fixed abode,
the monument of his industry. During the
bad season of the year, most of the others
burrow or skulk in some temporary refuge,
a refuge obtained free of cost and abandoned
without regret. Several create marvels, with
a view to settling their family: cotton
satchels, baskets made of leaves, towers of
306

The Cricket: the Burrow

cement. Some carnivorous larvae dwell in
permanent ambuscades, where they lie in wait
for their prey. The Tiger-beetle, among
others, digs itself a perpendicular hole,
which it closes with its flat, bronze head.
Whoever ventures on the insidious foot-
bridge vanishes down the gulf, whose trap-
door at once tips up and disappears beneath
the feet of the wayfarer. The Ant-lion
makes a funnel in the sand. The Ant slides
down its very loose slope and is bombarded
with projectiles hurled from the bottom of
the crater by the hunter, who turns his neck
into a catapult. But these are all temporary
refuges, nests or traps.

The laboriously constructed residence, in
which the insect settles down with no inten-
tion of moving, either in the happy spring or
the woful winter season; the real manor,
built for peace and comfort and not as a
hunting-box or a nursery: this is known
to the Cricket alone. On some sunny, grassy
slope he is the owner of a hermitage.
While all the others lead vagabond lives,
sleeping in the open air or under the casual
shelter of a dead leaf, a stone, or the peeling
bark of an old tree, he is a privileged person
with a permanent address.
307

The Life of the Grasshopper

A serious problem is that of the home.
It has been solved by the Cricket, by the
Rabbit and, lastly, by man. In my neigh-
bourhood, the Fox and the Badger have
holes the best part of which is supplied by
the irregularities of the rock. A few re-
pairs; and the dug-out is completed.
Cleverer than they, the Rabbit builds his
house by burrowing wheresoever he pleases,
when there is no natural passage that allows
him to settle down free of any trouble.

The Cricket surpasses all of them. Scorn-
ing chance refuges, he always chooses the
site of his abode, in well-drained ground,
with a pleasant sunny aspect. He refuses to
make use of fortuitous cavities, which are
incommodious and rough; he digs every bit
of his villa, from the entrance-hall to the
back-room.

I see no one above him, in the art of
house-building, except man; and even man,
before mixing mortar to hold stones to-
gether, before kneading clay to coat his hut
of branches, fought with wild beasts for the
possession of a refuge in the rocks or an
underground cavern.

Then how are the privileges of instinct
distributed? Here is one of the humblest,
308

The Cricket: the Burrow

able to lodge himself to perfection. He has
a home, an advantage unknown to many
civilized beings; he has a peaceful retreat,
the first condition of comfort; and nobody
around him is capable of settling down. He
has no rivals until you come to ourselves.

Whence does he derive this gift? Is he
favoured with special tools? No, the
Cricket is not an incomparable excavator;
in fact, one is rather surprised at the result
when one considers the feebleness of his re-
sources.

Can it be made necessary by the demands
of an exceptionally delicate skin? No,
among his near kinsmen, other skins, no less
sensitive than his, do not dread the open air
at all.

Can it be a propensity inherent in the
anatomical structure, a talent prescribed by
the secret promptings of the organism? No,
my neighbourhood boasts three other
Crickets (Gryllus bimaculatus, DE GEER; G.
desertus, PALLAS.; G. burdigalensis ; LATR.) ,
who are so like the Field Cricket in appear-
ance, colour and structure that, at the first
glance, one would take them for him. The
first is as large as he is, or even larger. The
second represents him reduced to about half
309

The Life of the Grasshopper

his size. The third is smaller still. Well, of
these faithful copies, these doubles of the
Field Cricket, not one knows how to dig him-
self a burrow. The Double-spotted Cricket
inhabits those heaps of grass left to
rot in damp places; the Solitary Cricket
roams about the crevices in the dry clods
turned up by the gardener's spade ; the Bor-
deaux Cricket is not afraid to make his way
into our houses, where he sings discreetly,
during August and September, in some dark,
cool spot.

There is no object in continuing our quest-
ions: each would meet with no for an an-
swer. Instinct, which stands revealed here
and disappears there despite organisms alike
in all respects, will never tell us its causes.
It depends so little on an insect's stock of
tools that no anatomical detail can explain
it to us and still less make us foresee it.
The four almost identical Crickets, of whom
one alone understands the art of burrowing,
add their evidence to the manifold proofs
already supplied; they confirm in a striking
fashion our profound ignorance of the origin
of instinct.

Who does not know the Cricket's
abode ! Who has not, as a child playing in
310

The Cricket: the Burrow

the fields, stopped in front of the hermit's
cabin ! However light your footfall, he has
heard you coming and has abruptly with-
drawn to the very bottom of his hiding-
place. When you arrive, the threshold of
the house is deserted.

Everybody knows the way to bring the
skulker out. You insert a straw and move
it gently about the burrow. Surprised at
what is happening above, tickled and teased,
the Cricket ascends from his secret apart-
ment; he stops in the passage, hesitates and
enquires into things by waving his delicate
antennae; he comes to the light and, once
outside, he is easy to catch, so greatly have
events puzzled his poor head. Should he be
missed at the first attempt, he may become
more suspicious and obstinately resist the
titillation of the straw. In that case, we
can flood him out with a glass of water.

O those adorable times when we used to
cage our Crickets and feed them on a leaf
of lettuce, those childish hunting-trips along
the grassy paths ! They all come back to me
to-day, as I explore the burrows in search of
subjects for my studies; they appear to me
almost in their pristine freshness when my
companion, little Paul, already an expert in

3"

The Life of the Grasshopper

the tactical use of the straw, springs up sud-
denly, after a long trial of skill and pa-
tience with the recalcitrant, and, brandishing
his closed hand in the air, cries, excitedly:

" I've got him, I've got him! "

Quick, here's a bag; in you go, my little
Cricket ! You shall be petted and pampered ;
but mind you teach us something and, first
of all, show us your house.

It is a slanting gallery, situated in the
grass, on some sunny bank which soon dries
after a shower. It is nine inches long at
most, hardly as thick as one's finger and
straight or bent according to the exigencies
of the ground. As a rule, a tuft of grass,
which is respected by the Cricket when he
goes out to browse upon the surrounding
turf, half-conceals the home, serving as a
porch and throwing a discreet shade over the
entrance. The gently-sloping threshold,
scrupulously raked and swept, is carried for
some distance. This is the belvedere on
which, when everything is peaceful round
about, the Cricket sits and scrapes his fiddle.

The inside of the house is devoid of

luxury, with bare and yet not coarse walls.

Ample leisure allows the inhabitant to do

away with any unpleasant roughness. At the

312

The Cricket: the Eggs

end of the passage is the bedroom, the
terminal alcove, a little more carefully
smoothed than the rest and slightly wider.
All said, it is a very simple abode, exceed-
ingly clean, free from damp and conforming
with the requirements of a well-considered
system of hygiene. On the other hand, it
is an enormous undertaking, a regular Cy-
clopean tunnel, when we consider the modest
means of excavation. Let us try to be pre-
sent at the work. Let us also enquire at what
period the enterprise begins. This obliges
us to go back to the egg.

Any one wishing to see the Cricket lay
her eggs can do so without making great
preparations: all that he wants is a little
patience, which, according to Buffon, is
genius, but which I, more modestly, will
describe as the observer's chief virtue. In
April, or at latest in May, we establish iso-
lated couples of the insect in flower-pots con-
taining a layer of heaped-up earth. Their
provisions consist of a lettuce-leaf renewed
from time to time. A square of glass covers
the retreat and prevents escape.

Some extremely interesting facts can be
obtained with this simple installation, supple-
mented, if need be, with a wire-gauze cover,
313

The Life of the Grasshopper

the best of all cages. We shall return to
this matter. For the moment, let us watch
the laying and make sure that the propitious
hour does not evade our vigilance.

It is in the first week in June that my as-
siduous visits begin to show satisfactory
results. I surprise the mother standing mo-
tionless, with her ovipositor planted per-
pendicularly in the soil. For a long time she
remains stationed at the same point, heedless
of her indiscreet caller. At last she with-
draws her dibble, removes, more or less per-
functorily, the traces of the boring-hole,
takes a moment's rest, walks away and starts
again somewhere else, now here, now there,
all over the area at her disposal. Her be-
haviour, though her movements are slower,
is a repetition of what the Decticus has
shown us. Her egg-laying appears to me to
be ended within the twenty-four hours. For
greater certainty, I wait a couple of days
longer.

I then dig up the earth in the pot. The
straw-coloured eggs are cylinders rounded at
both ends and measuring about one-ninth of
an inch in length. They are placed singly
in the soil, arranged vertically and grouped
in more or less numerous patches, which cor-
314

The Cricket: the Eggs

respond with the successive layings. I find
them all over the pot, at a depth of three-
quarters of an inch. There are difficulties in
examining a mass of earth through a mag-
nifying-glass ; but, allowing for these difficult-
ies, I estimate the eggs laid by one mother at
five or six hundred. So large a family is
sure to undergo a drastic purging before
long.

The Cricket's egg is a little marvel of
mechanism. After hatching, it appears as
an opaque white sheath, with a round and
very regular aperture at the top ; to the edge
of this a cap adheres, forming a lid. In-
stead of bursting anyhow under the thrusts
or cuts of the new-born larva, it opens of its
own accord along a specially prepared line
of least resistance.

It became important to observe the curious
hatching. About a fortnight after the egg is
laid, two large, round, rusty-black eye-dots
darken the front end. A little way above
these two dots, right at the apex of the
cylinder, you see the outline of a thin cir-
cular swelling. This is the line of rupture
which is preparing. Soon the translucency
of the egg enables the observer to perceive
the delicate segmentation of the tiny creature
315

The Life of the Grasshopper

within. Now is the time to redouble our
vigilance and multiply our visits, especially
in the morning.

Fortune, which loves the persevering, re-
wards me for my assiduity. All round this
swelling where, by a process of infinite deli-
cacy, the line of least resistance has been
prepared, the end of the egg, pushed back
by the inmate's forehead, becomes detached,
rises and falls to one side like the top of a
miniature scent-bottle. The Cricket pops out
like a Jack-in-the-box.

When he is gone, the shell remains dis-
tended, smooth, intact, pure white, with the
cap or lid hanging from the opening. A
bird's egg breaks clumsily under the blows
of a wart that grows for the purpose at the
end of the chick's beak; the Cricket's egg,
endowed with a superior mechanism, opens
like an ivory case. The thrust of the in-
mate's head is enough to work the hinge.

The hatching of the eggs is hastened by
the glorious weather; and the observer's pa-
tience is not much tried, the rapidity rivalling
that of the Dung-beetles. The summer
solstice has not yet arrived when the ten
couples interned under glass for the benefit
of my studies are surrounded by their
316

The Cricket: the Eggs

numerous progeny. The egg-stage, there-
fore, lasts just about ten days.

I said above that, when the lid of the ivory
case is lifted, a young Cricket pops out.
This is not quite accurate. What appears
at the opening is the swaddled grub, as yet
unrecognizable in a tight-fitting sheath. I
expected to see this wrapper, this first set of
baby-clothes, for the same reasons that made
me anticipate it in the case of the Decticus :

" The Cricket," said I to myself, " is born
underground. He also sports two very long
antennae and a pair of overgrown hind-legs,
all of which are cumbrous appendages at the
time of the emergence. He must therefore
possess a tunic in which to make his exit."

My forecast, correct enough in principle,
was only partly confirmed. The new-born
Cricket does in fact possess a temporary
structure; but, so far from employing it for
the purpose of hoisting himself outside, he
throws off his clothes as he passes out of the

egg-

To what circumstances are we to attribute
this departure from the usual practice ? Per-
haps to this: the Cricket's egg stays in the
ground for only a few days before hatching;
the egg of the Decticus remains there for
317

The Life of the Grasshopper

eight months. The former, save for rare
exceptions in a season of drought, lies under
a thin layer of dry, loose, unresisting earth;
the latter, on the contrary, finds itself in soil
which has been caked together by the per-
sistent rains of autumn and winter and which
therefore presents serious difficulties. More-
over, the Cricket is shorter and stouter, less
long-shanked than the Decticus. These
would appear to be the reasons for the dif-
ference between the two insects in respect of
their methods of emerging. The Decticus,
born lower down, under a close-packed
layer, needs a climbing-costume with which
the Cricket is able to dispense, being less
hampered and nearer to the surface and hav-
ing only a powdery layer of earth to pass
through.

Then what is the object of the tights
which the Cricket flings aside as soon as he
is out of the egg? I will answer this quest-
ion with another: what is the object of the
two white stumps, the two pale-coloured
embryo wings carried by the Cricket under
his wing-cases, which are turned into a great
mechanism of sound? They are so insig-
nificant, so feeble that the insect certainly
makes no use of them, any more than the
318

The Cricket: the Eggs

Dog utilizes the thumb that hangs limp and
lifeless at the back of his paw.

Sometimes, for reasons of symmetry, the
walls of a house are painted with imitation
windows to balance the other windows, which
are real. This is done out of respect for
order, the supreme condition of the beau-
tiful. In the same way, life has its sym-
metries, its repetitions of a general proto-
type. When abolishing an organ that has
ceased to be employed, it leaves vestiges of
it to maintain the primitive arrangement.

The Dog's rudimentary thumb predicates
the five-fingered hand that characterizes the
higher animals; the Cricket's wing-stumps
are evidence that the insect would normally
be capable of flight; the moult undergone on
the threshold of the egg is reminiscent of the
tight-fitting wrapper needed for the laborious
exit of the Locustidae born underground.
They are so many symmetrical superfluities,
so many remains of a law that has fallen
into disuse but never been abrogated.

As soon as he is deprived of his delicate
tunic, the young Cricket, pale all over, al-
most white, begins to battle with the soil
overhead. He hits out with his mandibles;
he sweeps aside and kicks behind him the
319

The Life of the Grasshopper

powdery obstruction, which offers no resist-
ance. Behold him on the surface, amidst
the joys of the sunlight and the perils of
conflict with the living, poor, feeble creature
that he is, hardly larger than a Flea. In
twenty-four hours he colours and turns into
a magnificent blackamoor, whose ebon hue
vies with that of the adult insect. All that
remains of nis original pallor is a white sash
that girds his chest and reminds us of a baby's
leading-string. Very nimble and alert, he
sounds the surrounding space with his long,
quivering antennae, runs about and jumps
with an impetuosity in which his future
obesity will forbid him to indulge.

This is also the age when the stomach is
still delicate. What sort of food does he
need? I do not know. I offer him the
adult's treat, tender lettuce-leaves. He
scorns to touch them, or perhaps he takes
mouthfuls so exceedingly small that they
escape me.

In a few days, with my ten households,
I find myself overwhelmed with family
cares. What am I to do with my five
or six thousand Crickets, a pretty flock,
no doubt, but impossible to rear in my
ignorance of the treatment required? I will
320

The Cricket: the Eggs

set you at liberty, my little dears; I will
entrust you to nature, the sovran nurse.

Thus it comes to pass. I release my
legions in the enclosure, here, there and
everywhere, in the best places. What a con-
cert I shall have outside my door next year,
if they all turn out well ! But no, the sym-
phony will probably be one of silence, for the
savage pruning due to the mother's fertility
is bound to come. All that I can hope for is
that a few couples may survive extermina-
tion.

As in the case of the young Praying
Mantes, the first that hasten to this manna
and the most eager for the slaughter are
the little Grey Lizard and the Ant. The
latter, loathsome freebooter that she is, will,
I fear, not leave me a single Cricket in the
garden. She snaps up the poor little crea-
tures, eviscerates them and gobbles them
down at frantic speed.

Oh, the execrable wretch! And to think
that we place the Ant in the front rank of
insects! Books are written in her honour
and the stream of eulogy never ceases; the
naturalists hold her in the greatest esteem
and add daily to her reputation, so true is it,
among animals as among men, that of the
321

The Life of the Grasshopper

various ways of making history, the surest
way is to do harm to others.1

Nobody asks after the Dung-beetle and
the Necrophorus,2 invaluable scavengers
both, whereas everybody knows the Gnat,
that drinker of men's blood; the Wasp, that
hot-tempered swashbuckler, with her poi-
soned dagger; and the Ant, that notorious
evil-doer, who, in our southern villages, saps
and imperils the rafters of a dwelling with
the same zest with which she devours a fig.
I need not trouble to say more : every one
will discover in the records of mankind
similar instances of usefulness ignored and
frightfulness exalted.

The massacre instituted by the Ants and
other exterminators is so great that my erst-
while populous colonies in the enclosure be-
come too small to enable me to continue my
observations; and I am driven to have re-
course to information outside. In August,
among the fallen leaves, in those little oases
where the grass has not been wholly scorched
by the sun, I find the young Cricket already
rather big, black all over like the adult,

1 For the author's only essay on Ants, cf. The Mason-
bees: chap. vi. — Translator's Note.

'Or Burying-beetle. — Translator's Note.
322

The Cricket: the Burrow

with not a vestige of the white girdle of his
early days. He has no domicile. The
shelter of a dead leaf, the cover of a flat
stone are enough for him; they represent
the tents of a nomad who cares not where
he lays his head.

This vagabond life continues until the
middle of autumn. It is then that the
Yellow-winged Sphex 1 hunts down the wan-
derers, an easy prey, and stores her bag of
Crickets underground. She decimates those
who have survived the Ants' devastating
raids. A settled dwelling, dug a few weeks
before the usual time, would save them from
the spoilers. The sorely-tried victims do
not think of it. The bitter experience of the
centuries has taught them nothing. Though
already strong enough to dig a protecting
burrow, they remain invincibly faithful to
their ancient customs and would go on roam-
ing though the Sphex stabbed the last of
their race.

It is at the close of October, when the
first cold weather threatens, that the burrow
is taken in hand. The work is very simple,
judging by the little that my observation of

1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chaps, iv to vii.— Trans-
lator's Note.

323

The Life of the Grasshopper

the caged insect has shown me. The dig-
ging is never done at a bare point in the
pan, but always under the shelter of a with-
ered lettuce-leaf, some remnant of the food
provided. This takes the place of the grass
screen that seems indispensable to the secrecy
of the establishment.

The miner scrapes with his fore-legs and
uses the pincers of his mandibles to extract
the larger bits of gravel. I see him stamp-
ing with his powerful hind-legs, furnished
with a double row of spikes; I see him
raking the rubbish, sweeping it backwards
and spreading it slantwise. There you have
the method in its entirety.

The work proceeds pretty quickly at first.
In the yielding soil of my cages, the digger
disappears underground after a spell that
lasts a couple of hours. He returns to the
entrance at intervals, always backwards and
always sweeping. Should he be overcome
with fatigue, he takes a rest on the threshold
of his half-finished home, with his head out-
side and his antennae waving feebly. He
goes in again and resumes work with pincers
and rakes. Soon the periods of repose be-
come longer and wear out my patience.

The most urgent part of the work is done.
324

The Cricket: the Burrow

Once the hole is a couple of inches deep, it
suffices for the needs of the moment. The
rest will be a long-winded business, resumed
in a leisurely fashion, a little one day and
a little the next; the hole will be made deeper
and wider as demanded by the inclemencies
of the weather and the growth of the insect.
Even in winter, if the temperature be mild
and the sun playing over the entrance to the
dwelling, it is not unusual to see the Cricket
shooting out rubbish, a sign of repairs and
fresh excavations. Amidst the joys of
spring, the upkeep of the building still con-
tinues. It is constantly undergoing improve-
ments and repairs until the owner's decease.
April comes to an end and the Cricket's
song begins, at first in rare and shy solos,
soon developing into a general symphony in
which each clod of turf boasts its performer.
I am more than inclined to place the Cricket
at the head of the spring choristers. In our
waste lands, when the thyme and the lavender
are gaily flowering, he has as his partner
the Crested Lark, who rises like a lyrical
rocket, his throat swelling with notes, and
from the sky, invisible in the clouds, sheds his
sweet music upon the fallows. Down below
the Crickets chant the responses. Their
325

The Life of the Grasshopper

song is monotonous and artless, but so well-
suited, in its very crudity, to the rustic glad-
ness of renascent life ! It is the hosanna of
the awakening, the sacred alleluia under-
stood by swelling seed and sprouting blade.
Who deserves the palm in this duet? I
should award it to the Cricket. He sur-
passes them all, thanks to his numbers and
his unceasing note. Were the Lark to fall
silent, the fields blue-grey with lavender,
swinging its fragrant censers before the sun,
would still receive from this humble chorister
a solemn celebration.

326

CHAPTER XVI

THE CRICKET : THE SONG ; THE PAIRING

IN steps anatomy and says to the Cricket,
bluntly :

" Show us your musical-box."

Like all things of real value, it is very
simple; it is based on the same principle as
that of the Grasshoppers: a bow with a
hook to it and a vibrating membrane. The
right wing-case overlaps the left and covers
it almost completely, except where it folds
back sharply and encases the insect's side.
It is the converse of what we see in the
Green Grasshopper, the Decticus, the Ephip-
piger and their kinsmen. The Cricket is
right-handed, the others left-handed.

The two wing-cases have exactly the same
structure. To know one is to know the
other. Let us describe the one on the right.
It is almost flat on the back and slants sud-
denly at the side in a right-angled fold,
encircling the abdomen with a pinion which
327

The Life of the Grasshopper

has delicate, parallel veins running in an
oblique direction. The dorsal surface has
stronger and more prominent nervures, of a
deep-black colour, which, taken together,
form a strange, complicated design, bearing
some resemblance to the hieroglyphics of
an Arabic manuscript.

By holding it up to the light, one can see
that it is a very pale red, save for two large
adjoining spaces, a larger, triangular one
in front and a smaller, oval one at the back.
Each is framed in a prominent nervure and
scored with faint wrinkles. The first, more-
over, is strengthened with four or five
chevrons; the second with only one, which is
bow-shaped. These two areas represent the
Grasshoppers' mirror; they constitute the
sounding-areas. The skin is finer here than
elsewhere and transparent, though of a
somewhat smoky tint.

The front part, which is smooth and
slightly red in hue, is bounded at the back
by two curved, parallel veins, having between
them a cavity containing a row of five or
six little black wrinkles that look like the
rungs of a tiny ladder. The left wing-case
presents an exact duplicate of the right.
The wrinkles constitute the friction-nerv-
328

The Cricket: the Song

ures which intensify the vibration by increas-
ing the number of the points that are touched
by the bow.

On the lower surface, one of the two veins
that surround the cavity with the rungs be-
comes a rib cut into the shape of a hook.
This is the bow. I count in it about a hun-
dred and fifty triangular teeth or prisms of
exquisite geometrical perfection.

It is a fine instrument indeed, far superior
to that of the Decticus. The hundred and
fifty prisms of the bow, biting into the rungs
of the opposite wing-case, set the four drums
in motion at one and the same time, the
lower pair by direct friction, the upper pair
by the shaking of the friction-apparatus.
What a rush of sound! The Decticus, en-
dowed with a single paltry mirror, can be
heard just a few steps away; the Cricket,
possessing four vibratory areas, throws his
ditty to a distance of some hundreds of
yards.

He vies with the Cicada in shrillness,
without having the latter's disagreeable
harshness. Better still: this favoured one
knows how to modulate his song. The
wing-cases, as we said, extend over either
side in a wide fold. These are the dampers
329

The Life of the Grasshopper

which, lowered to a greater or lesser depth,
alter the intensity of the sound and, accord-
ing to the extent of their contact with the
soft abdomen, allow the insect to sing mezza
voce at one time and fortissimo at another.

The exact similarity of the two wing-
cases is worthy of attention. I can see
clearly the function of the upper bow and
the four sounding-areas which it sets in mo-
tion; but what is the good of the lower one,
the bow on the left wing? Not resting on
anything, it has nothing to strike with its
hook, which is as carefully toothed as the
other. It is absolutely useless, unless the
apparatus can invert the order of its two
parts and place that above which was below.
After such an inversion, the perfect sym-
metry of the instrument would cause the
necessary mechanism to be reproduced in
every respect and the insect would be able
to stridulate with the hook which is at pre-
sent unemployed. It would scrape away as
usual with its lower fiddlestick, now become
the upper; and the tune would remain the
same.

Is this permutation within its power?
Can the insect use both pot-hooks, changing
from one to the other when it grows tired,
330

The Cricket: the Song

which would mean that it could keep up its
music all the longer? Or are there at least
some Crickets who are permanently left-
handed? I expected to find this the case,
because of the absolute symmetry of the
wing-cases. Observation convinced me of
the contrary. I have never come across a
Cricket that failed to conform with the ge-
neral rule. All those whom I have examined
— and they are many — without a single ex-
ception carried the right wing-case above the
left.

Let us try to interfere and to bring about
by artifice what natural conditions refuse to
show us. Using my forceps, very gently, of
course, and without straining the wing-cases,
I make these overlap the opposite way. This
result is easily obtained with a little dex-
terity and patience. The thing is done.
Everything is in order. There is no disloca-
tion at the shoulders; the membranes are
without a crease. Things could not be better-
arranged under normal conditions.

Was the Cricket going to sing, with his
inverted instrument? I was almost expect-
ing it, appearances were so much in its
favour; but I was soon undeceived. The
insect submits for a few moments ; then, find-
33i

The Life of the Grasshopper

ing the inversion uncomfortable, it makes
an effort and restores the instrument to its
regular position. In vain I repeat the opera-
tion: the Cricket's obstinacy triumphs over
mine. The displaced wing-cases always re-
sume their normal arrangement. There is
nothing to be done in this direction.

Shall I be more successful if I make my
attempt while the wing-cases are still im-
mature? At the actual moment, they are
stiff membranes, resisting any changes. The
fold is already there; it is at the outset that
the material should be manipulated. What
shall we learn from organs that are quite
new and still plastic, if we invert them as
soon as they appear? The thing is worth
trying.

For this purpose, I go to the larva and
watch for the moment of its metamorphosis,
a sort of second birth. The future wings
and wing-cases form four tiny flaps which,
by their shape and their scantiness, as well
as by the way in which they stick out in dif-
ferent directions, remind me of the short
jackets worn by the Auvergne cheese-makers.
I am most assiduous in my attendance, lest
I should miss the propitious moment, and
at last have a chance to witness the moult-
332

The Cricket: the Song

ing. In the early part of May, at about
eleven in the morning, a larva casts off its
rustic garments before my eyes. The trans-
formed Cricket is now a reddish brown, all
but the wings and wing-cases, which are
beautifully white.

Both wings and wing-cases, which only
issued from their sheaths quite recently, are
no more than short, crinkly stumps. The
former remain in this rudimentary state, or
nearly so. The latter gradually develop bit
by bit and open out; their inner edges, with
a movement too slow to be perceived, meet
one another, on the same plane and at the
same level. There is no sign to tell us which
of the two wing-cases will overlap the other.
The two edges are now touching. A few
moments longer and the right will be above
the left. This is the time to intervene.

With a straw I gently change the position,
bringing the left edge over the right. The
insect protests a little and disturbs my
manoeuvring. I insist, while taking every
possible care not to endanger these tender
organs, which look as though they were cut
out of wet tissue-paper. And I am quite suc-
cessful: the left Wing-case pushes forward
above the right, but only very little, barely

333

The Life of the Grasshopper

a twenty-fifth of an inch. We will leave it
alone : things will now go of themselves.

They go as well as one could wish, in
fact. Continuing to spread, the left wing-
case ends by entirely covering the other. At
three o'clock in the afternoon, the Cricket
has changed from a reddish hue to black, but
the wing-cases are still white. Two hours
more and they also will possess the normal
colouring.

It is over. The wing-cases have come to
maturity under the artificial arrangement;
they have opened out and moulded them-
selves according to my plans; they have
taken breadth and consistency and have been
born, so to speak, in an inverted position.
As things now are, the Cricket is left-handed.
Will he definitely remain so? It seems to
me that he will; and my hopes rise higher
on the morrow and the day after, for the
wing-cases continue, without any trouble, in
their unusual arrangement. I expect soon to
see the artist wield that particular fiddle-
stick which the members of his family never
employ. I redouble my watchfulness, so as
to witness his first attempt at playing the
violin.

On the third day, the novice makes a

334

The Cricket: the Song

start. A few brief grating sounds are heard,
the noise of a machine out of gear shifting
its parts back into their proper order. Then
the song begins, with its accustomed tone
and rhythm.

Veil your face, O foolish experimenter,
overconfident in your mischievous straw !
You thought that you had created a new
type of instrumentalist; and you have ob-
tained nothing at all. The Cricket has
thwarted your schemes : he is scraping with
his right fiddlestick and always will. With
a painful effort, he has dislocated his shoul-
ders, which were made to mature and harden
the wrong way; and, in spite of a set that
seemed definite, he has put back on top that
which ought to be on top and underneath
that which ought to be underneath. Your
sorry science tried to make a left-handed
player of him. He laughs at your devices
and settles down to be right-handed for the
rest of his life.

Franklin left an eloquent plea on behalf
of the left hand, which, he considered, de-
served as careful training as its fellow.
What an immense advantage it would be
thus to have two servants each as capable
as the other! Yes, certainly; but, except for
335

The Life of the Grasshopper

a few rare instances, is this equality of
strength and skill in the two hands possible ?

The Cricket answers no: there is an ori-
ginal weakness in the left side, a want of
balance, which habit and training can to a
certain extent correct, but which they can
never cause wholly to disappear. Though
shaped by a training which takes it at its
birth and moulds and solidifies it on the top
of the other, the left wing-case none the less
resumes the lower position when the insect
tries to sing. As to the cause of this original
inferiority, that is a problem which belongs
to embryogenesis.

My failure confirms the fact that the left
wing-case is unable to make use of its bow,
even when supplemented by the aid of art.
Then what is the object of that hook whose
exquisite precision yields in no respect to that
of the other? We might appeal to reasons
of symmetry and talk about the repetition
of an archetypal design, as I, for want of
a better argument, did just now in the matter
of the cast raiment which the young Cricket
leaves on the threshold of his ovular sheath;
but I prefer to confess that this would be
but the semblance of an explanation, wrapped
up in specious language. For the Decticus,
336

The Cricket: the Song

the Grasshopper and the other Locustidae
would come and show us their wing-cases,
one with the bow only, the other with the
mirror, and say:

" Why should the Cricket, our near kins-
man, be symmetrical, whereas all of us
Locustidas, without exception, are asym-
metrical?"

There is no valid answer to their objec-
tion. Let us confess our ignorance and
humbly say:

" I do not know."

It wants but a Midge's wing to confound
our proudest theories.

Enough of the instrument; let us listen to
the music. The Cricket sings on the thresh-
old of his house, in the cheerful sunshine,
never indoors. The wing-cases, lifted in a
double inclined plane and now only partly
covering each other, utter their stridulant
cri'cri in a soft tremolo. It is full, sonorous,
nicely cadenced and lasts indefinitely. Thus
are the leisures of solitude beguiled all
through the spring. The anchorite at first
sings for his own pleasure. Glad to be alive,
he chants the praises of the sun that shines
upon him, the grass that feeds him, the
peaceful retreat that harbours him. The
337

The Life of the Grasshopper

first object of his bow is to hymn the bless-
ings of life.

The hermit also sings for the benefit of
his fair neighbours. The Cricket's nuptials
would, I warrant, present a curious scene, if
it were possible to follow their details far
from the commotions of captivity. To seek
an opportunity would be labour lost, for the
insect is very shy. I must await one. Shall
I ever find it? I do not despair, in spite of
the extraordinary difficulty. For the mo-
ment, let us be satisfied with what we can
learn from probability and the vivarium.

The two sexes dwell apart. Both are ex-
tremely domestic in their habits. Whose
business is it to make a move? Does the
caller go in search of the called? Does the
serenaded one come to the serenader? If,
at pairing-time, sound were the sole guide
where homes are far apart, it would be
necessary for the silent partner to go to the
noisy one's trysting-place. But I imagine
that, in order to save appearances — and this
accords with what I learn from my prisoners
— the Cricket has special faculties that guide
him towards his mute lady-love.

When and how is the meeting effected? I
suspect that things take place in the friendly
338

The Cricket: the Pairing

gloaming and upon the very threshold of the
bride's home, upon that sanded esplanade,
that state courtyard, which lies just outside
the entrance.

A nocturnal journey like this, at some
twenty paces' distance, is a serious under-
taking for the Cricket. When he has ac-
complished his pilgrimage, how will he, the
stay-at-home, with his imperfect knowledge
of topography, find his own house again?
To return to his Penates must be impossible.
He roams, I fear, at random, with no place
to lay his head. He has neither the time
nor the heart to dig himself the new burrow
which would be his salvation; and he dies
a wretched death, forming a savoury mouth-
ful for the Toad on his night rounds. His
visit to the lady Cricket has cost him his
home and his life. What does he care ! He
has done his duty as a Cricket.

This is how I picture events when I com-
bine the probabilities of the open country
with the realities of the vivarium. I have
several couples in one cage. As a rule, my
captives refrain from digging themselves a
dwelling. The hour has passed for any long
waiting or long wooing. They wander about
the enclosed space, without troubling about
339

The Life of the Grasshopper

a fixed home, or else lie low under the shelter
of a lettuce-leaf.

Peace reigns in the household until the
quarrelsome instincts of pairing-time break
out. Then affrays between suitors are fre-
quent and lively, though not serious. The
two rivals stand face to face, bite each other
in the head, that solid, fang-proof helmet,
roll each other over, pick themselves up and
separate. The vanquished Cricket makes off
as fast as he can; the victor insults him with
a boastful ditty; then, moderating his tone,
he veers and tacks around the object of his
desires.

He makes himself look smart and, at the
same time, submissive. Gripping one of his
antennae with a claw, he takes it in his mandi-
bles to curl it and grease it with saliva. With
his long spurred and red-striped hind-legs,
he stamps the ground impatiently and kicks
out at nothing. His emotion renders him
dumb. His wing-cases, it is true, quiver rap-
idly, but they give forth no sound, or at
most an agitated rustling.

A vain declaration! The female Cricket
runs and hides herself in a curly bit of let-
tuce. She lifts the curtain a little, however,
and looks out and wishes to be seen.
340

The Cricket: the Pairing
Et fugit ad salices ; et se cupit ante videri,1

said the delightful eclogue, two thousand
years ago. Thrice-consecrated strategy of
love, thou art everywhere the same 1

The song is resumed, intersected by si-
lences and murmuring quavers. Touched by
so much passion, Galatea, I mean Dame
Cricket, issues from her hiding-place. The
other goes up to her, suddenly spins round,
turns his back to her and flattens his ab-
domen against the ground. Crawling back-
wards, he makes repeated efforts to slip un-
derneath. The curious backward manoeuvre
at last succeeds. Gently, my little one,
gently! Discreetly flattened out, you man-
age to slide under. That's done it! We
have our couple. A spermatophore, a
granule smaller than a pin's head, hangs
where it ought to. The meadows will have
their Crickets next year.

The laying of the eggs follows soon after.
Then this cohabitation in couples in a cage
often brings about domestic quarrels. The
father is knocked about and crippled; his

1 " Then tripping to the woods the wanton hies

And wishes to be seen before she flies."
— VIRGIL, Pastorals: book i.; Dryden's translation.

The Life of the Grasshopper

violin is smashed to bits. Outside my cells,
in the open fields, the hen-pecked husband
is able to take to flight; and that indeed is
what he appears to do, not without good
reason.

This ferocious aversion of the mother for
the father, even among the most peaceable,
gives food for thought. The sweetheart of
but now, if he come within reach of the
lady's teeth, is eaten more or less; he does
not escape from the final interviews without
leaving a leg or two and some shreds
of wing-cases behind him. Locusts and
Crickets, those lingering representatives of
a bygone world, tell us that the male, a mere
secondary wheel in life's original mechan-
ism, has to disappear at short notice and
make room for the real propagator, the real
worker, the mother.

Later, in the higher order of creation,
sometimes even among insects, he is awarded
a task as a collaborator; and nothing better
could be desired : the family must needs gain
by it. But the Cricket, faithful to the old
traditions, has not yet got so far. There-
fore the object of yesterday's longing be-
comes to-day an object of hatred, ill-treated,
disembowelled and eaten up.
342

The Cricket: the Pairing

Even when free to escape from his
pugnacious mate, the superannuated Cricket
soon perishes, a victim to life. In June,
all my captives succumb, some dying a
natural, others a violent death. The mothers
survive for some time in the midst of their
newly-hatched family. But things happen
differently when the males have the advan-
tage of remaining bachelors : they then enjoy
a remarkable longevity. Let me relate the
facts.

We are told that the music-loving Greeks
used to keep Cicadae in cages, the better to
enjoy their singing. I venture to disbelieve
the whole story. In the first place, the harsh
clicking of the Cicadae, when long continued
at close quarters, is a torture to ears that
are at all delicate. The Greeks' sense of
hearing was too well-disciplined to take
pleasure in such raucous sounds away from
the general concert of the fields, which is
heard at a distance.

In the second place, it is absolutely im-
possible to bring up Cicadse in captivity, un-
less we cover over an olive-tree or a plane-
tree, which would supply us with a vivarium
very difficult to instal on a window-sill. A
single day spent in a cramped enclosure
343

The Life of the Grasshopper

would make the high-flying insect die of
boredom.

Is it not possible that people have con-
fused the Cricket with the Cicada, as they
also do the Green Grasshopper? With the
Cricket they would be quite right. He is
one who bears captivity gaily: his stay-at-
home ways predispose him to it. He lives
happily and whirrs without ceasing in a cage
no larger than a man's fist, provided that
we serve him with his lettuce-leaf every day.
Was it not he whom the small boys of Athens
reared in little wire cages hanging on a
window-frame ?

Their successors in Provence and all over
the south have the same tastes. In the towns,
a Cricket becomes the child's treasured pos-
session. The insect, petted and pampered,
tells him in its ditty of the simple joys
of the country. Its death throws the whole
household into a sort of mourning.

Well, these recluses, these compulsory
celibates, live to be patriarchs. They keep
fit and well long after their cronies in the
fields have succumbed; and they go on sing-
ing till September. Those additional three
months, a long space of time, double their
existence in the adult form.
344

The Cricket: the Pairing

The cause of this longevity is obvious.
Nothing wears one out so quickly as life.
The wild Crickets have gaily spent their re-
serves of energy on the ladies; the more
fervent their ardour, the speedier their dis-
solution. The others, their incarcerated
kinsmen, leading a very quiet life, have ac-
quired a further period of existence by
reason of their forced abstinence from too
costly joys. Having neglected to perform
the superlative duty of a Cricket, they ob-
stinately refuse to die until the very last
moment.

A brief study of the three other Crickets
of my neighbourhood has taught me nothing
of any interest. Possessing no fixed abode,
no burrow, they wander about from one tem-
porary shelter to another, under the dry
grass or in the cracks of the clods. They all
carry the same musical instrument as the
Field Cricket, with slight variations of de-
tail. Their song is much alike in all cases,
allowing for differences of size. The small-
est of the family, the Bordeaux Cricket,
stridulates outside my door, under the cover
of the box borders. He even ventures into
the dark corners of the kitchen, but his song
is so faint that it takes a very attentive ear
345

The Life of the Grasshopper

to hear it and to discover at last where the
insect lies hidden.

In our part of the world, we do not have
the House Cricket, that denizen of bakers'
shops and rural fireplaces. But, though the
crevices under the hearthstones in my village
are silent, the summer nights make amends
by filling the country-side with a charming
symphony unknown in the north. Spring,
during its sunniest hours, has the Field
Cricket as its musician; the calm summer
nights have the Italian Cricket (CEcanthus
pellucens, SCOP.). One diurnal, the other
nocturnal, they share the fine weather be-
tween them. By the time that the first has
ceased to sing, it is not long before the other
begins his serenade.

The Italian Cricket has not the black
dress and the clumsy shape characteristic of
the family. He is, on the contrary, a slender,
fragile insect, quite pale, almost white, as
beseems his nocturnal habits. You are afraid
of crushing him, if you merely take him in
your fingers. He leads an aerial existence
on shrubs of every kind, or on the taller
grasses; and he rarely descends to earth.
His song, the sweet music of the still, hot
evenings from July to October, begins at
346

The Cricket: the Song

sunset and continues for the best part of the
night.

This song is known to everybody here, for
the smallest clump of bushes has its orches-
tra. It is heard even in the granaries, into
which the insect sometimes strays, attracted
by the fodder. But the pale Cricket's ways
are so mysterious that nobody knows exactly
the source of the serenade, which is very
erroneously ascribed to the Common Black
Cricket, who at this period is quite young
and silent.

The song is a soft, slow gri-i-i, gri-i-it
which is rendered more expressive by a slight
tremolo. On hearing it, we divine both the
extreme delicacy and the size of the vibrating
membranes. If nothing happen to disturb
the insect, settled in the lower leaves, the
sound remains unaltered; but, at the least
noise, the executant becomes a ventriloquist.
You heard him here, quite close, in front of
you ; and now, all of a sudden, you hear him
over there, fifteen yards away, continuing
his ditty softened by distance.

You move across. Nothing. The sound

comes from the original place. No, it

doesn't, after all. This time, it is coming

from over there, on the left, or rather from

347

The Life of the Grasshopper

the right; or is it from behind? We are
absolutely at a loss, quite unable to guide
ourselves by the ear towards the spot where
the insect is chirping.

It needs a fine stock of patience and the
most minute precautions to capture the singer
by the light of a lantern. The few speci-
mens caught under these conditions and
caged have supplied me with the little that I
know about the musician who is so clever at
baffling our ears.

The wing-cases are both formed of a
broad, dry, diaphanous membrane, fine as a
white onion-skin and capable of vibrating
throughout its whole area. They are shaped
like a segment of a circle thinning towards
the upper end. This segment folds back at
right angles along a prominent longitudinal
vein and forms a flap which encloses the
insect's side when at rest.

The right wing-case lies above the left.
Its inner edge bears underneath, near the
root, a knob which is the starting-point of
five radiating veins, of which two run up-
wards, two downwards and the fifth almost
transversely. The last-named, which is
slightly reddish, is the main part, in short
the bow, as is shown by the fine notches cut
348

The Cricket: the Song

across it. The rest of the wing-case presents
a few other veins of minor importance,
which keep the membrane taut without form-
ing part of the friction-apparatus.

The left or lower wing-case is similarly
constructed, with this difference that the bow,
the knob and the veins radiating from it now
occupy the upper surface. We find, more-
over, that the two bows, the right and the
left, cross each other obliquely.

When the song has its full volume, the
wing-cases, raised high up and resembling a
pair of large gauze sails, touch only at their
inner edges. Then the two bows fit into
each other slantwise and their mutual fric-
tion produces the sonorous vibration of the
two stretched membranes.

The sound appears to be modified accord-
ing as the strokes of each bow bear upon
the knob, which is itself wrinkled, on the op-
posite wing-case, or upon one of the four
smooth radiating veins. This would go
some way towards explaining the illusions
produced by music which seems to come from
here, there and everywhere when the timid
insect becomes distrustful.

The illusion of loud or soft, open or muf-
fled sounds and consequently of distance,

349

The Life of the Grasshopper

which forms the chief resource of the ven-
triloquist's art, has another, easily discovered
source. For the open sounds, the wing-
cases are raised to their full height; for the
muffled sounds, they are lowered more or
less. In the latter position, their outer edges
press to a varying extent upon the insect's
yielding sides, thus more or less decreasing
the vibratory surface and reducing the
volume of sound.

A gentle touch with one's finger stifles the
sound of a ringing wine-glass and changes it
into a veiled, indefinite note that seems to
come from afar. The pale Cricket knows
this acoustic secret. He misleads those who
are hunting for him by pressing the edges of
his vibrating flaps against his soft abdomen.
Our musical instruments have their dampers,
their sourdines; that of CEcanthus pellucens
vies with and surpasses them in the simpli-
city of its method and the perfection of its
results.

The Field Cricket and his kinsmen also
employ the sourdine by clasping their ab-
domen higher or lower with the edge of their
wing-cases; but none of them obtains from
this procedure such deceptive effects as those
of the Italian Cricket.
3So

The Cricket: the Song

In addition to this illusion of distance,
which, at the faintest sound of footsteps, is
constantly taking us by surprise, we have the
purity of the note, with its soft tremolo. I
know no prettier or more limpid insect song,
heard in the deep stillness of an August
evening. How often, per arnica silentia
lunaf have I lain down on the ground,
screened by the rosemary-bushes, to listen to
the delicious concert of the harmas! z

The nocturnal Cricket swarms in the en-
closure. Every tuft of red-flowering rock-
rose has its chorister; so has every clump of
lavender. The bushy arbutus-shrubs, the
turpentine-trees, all become orchestras. And,
with its clear and charming voice, the whole
of this little world is sending questions and
responses from shrub to shrub, or rather,
indifferent to the hymns of others, chanting
its gladness for itself alone.

High up, immediately above my head,
the Swan stretches its great cross along

1 " Safe under covert of the silent night

And guided by the imperial galley's light."
— VIRGIL, Mneid: book ii. ; Dryden's translation.
2 The enclosed piece of waste land, adjoining his house
at Serignan, in which the author used to study his in-
sects in their natural state. Cf. The Life of the Fly:
chap. i. — Translator's Note.

351

The Life of the Grasshopper

the Milky Way; below, all around me, the
insects' symphony rises and falls. The in-
finitesimal telling its joys makes me forget
the pageant of the stars. We know nothing
of those celestial eyes which look down upon
us, placid and cold, with scintillations that
are like blinking eyelids. Science tells us of
their distance, their speed, their mass, their
volume; it overwhelms us with enormous
figures, stupefies us with immensities ; but
it does not succeed in stirring a fibre within
us. Why? Because it lacks the great
secret, that of life. What is there up
there? What do those suns warm? Worlds
like ours, reason declares; planets whereon
life revolves in infinite variety. It is a superb
conception of the universe, but, when all is
said, only a conception, not supported by
obvious facts, those supreme proofs within
the reach of all. The probable, the ex-
tremely probable, is not the manifest, which
forces itself upon us irresistibly and leaves
no room for doubt.

In your company, on the contrary, O my
Crickets, I feel the throbbing of life, which
is the soul of our lump of clay; and that is
why, under my rosemary-hedge, I give but an
absent glance at the constellation of the
352

The Cricket: the Song

Swan and devote all my attention to your
serenade ! A dab of animated glair, capable
of pleasure and of pain, surpasses in interest
the immensity of brute matter.

353

CHAPTER XVII

THE LOCUSTS: THEIR FUNCTION; THEIR
ORGAN OF SOUND

°u are reactyj children, to-
morrow morning, before the sun gets
too hot: we are going Locust-hunting."

This announcement throws the household
into great excitement at bed-time. What do
my little helpmates see in their dreams?
Blue wings, red wings, suddenly flung out
f anwise ; long, saw-toothed legs, pale-blue or
pink, which kick out when we hold their
owners in our fingers; great shanks acting as
springs that make the insect leap forward
like a projectile shot from some dwarf
catapult hidden in the grass.

What they behold in sleep's sweet magic
lantern I also happen to see. Life lulls us
with the same simple things in its first stages
and its last.

If there be one peaceful and safe form of
hunting, one that comes within the powers of
354

The Locusts: their Function

old age and childhood alike, it is Locust-
hunting. Oh, what delicious mornings we
owe to it ! What happy moments when the
mulberries are black and allow my assistants
to go pilfering here and there in the bushes 1
What memorable excursions on the slopes
covered with sparse grass, tough and burnt
yellow by the sun ! I retain a vivid recollec-
tion of all this ; and my children will do the
same.

Little Paul has nimble legs, a ready hand
and a piercing eye. He inspects the clumps
of everlastings where the Tryxalis solemnly
nods his sugar-loaf head; he scrutinizes the
bushes out of which the big Grey Locust
suddenly flies like a little bird surprised by
the hunter. Great disappointment on the
part of the latter, who, after first rushing off
at full speed, stops and gazes in wonder at
this mock Swallow flying far away. He will
have better luck another time. We shall not
go home without a few of those magnificent
prizes.

Younger than her brother, Marie Pauline
patiently watches for the Italian Locust, with
his pink wings and carmine hind-legs; but
she really prefers another jumper, the most
elegantly attired of all. Her favourite wears
355

The Life of the Grasshopper

a St. Andrew's cross on the small of his back,
which is marked by four white, slanting
stripes. His livery has patches of verdigris,
the exact colour of the patina on old bronze
medals. With her hand raised in the air,
ready to swoop down, she approaches very
softly, stooping low. Whoosh ! That's done
it! Quick, a screw of paper to receive
the treasure, which, thrust head first into the
opening, plunges with one bound to the
bottom of the funnel.

Thus are our bags distended one by one;
thus are our boxes filled. Before the heat
becomes too great to bear, we are in possess-
ion of a number of varied specimens which,
raised in captivity, will perhaps teach us
something, if we know how to question them.
Thereupon we go home again. The Lo-
cust has made three people happy at a small
cost.

The first question that I put to my board-
ers is this :

" What function do you perform in the
fields?"

You have a bad reputation, I know; the

text-books describe you as noxious. Do you

deserve this reproach? I take the liberty of

doubting it, except, of course, in the case of

356

The Locusts: their Function

the terrible ravagers who form the scourge
of Africa and the east.

The ill repute of those voracious eaters
has left its mark on you all, though I look
upon you as much more useful than injuri-
ous. Never, so far as I know, have our
peasants complained of you. What damage
could they lay to your charge ?

You nibble the tops of the tough grasses
which the Sheep refuses to touch; you prefer
the lean swards to the fat pastures; you
browse on sterile land where none but you
would find the wherewithal to feed himself;
you live upon what could never be used
without the aid of your healthy stomach.

Besides, by the time that you frequent the
fields, the only thing that might tempt you,
the green wheat, has long since yielded its
grain and disappeared. If you happen to
get into the kitchen-gardens and levy toll on
them to some slight extent, it is not a rank
offence. A man can console himself for a
piece bitten out of a leaf or two of salad.

To measure the importance of things by
the foot-rule of one's own turnip-patch is a
horrible method, which makes us forget the
essential for the sake of a trivial detail. The
short-sighted man would upset the order of
357

The Life of the Grasshopper

the universe rather than sacrifice a dozen
plums. If he thinks of the insect at all, it
is only to speak of its extermination.

Fortunately, this is not and never will be
in his power. Look at the consequences,
for instance, of the disappearance of the Lo-
cust, who is accused of stealing a few crumbs
from earth's rich table. In September and
October, the Turkeys are driven into the
stubble-fields, under the charge of a child
armed with two long reeds. The expanse
over which the gobbling flock slowly spreads
is bare, dry and burnt by the sun. At the
most, a few ragged thistles raise their be-
lated heads. What do the birds do in a
desert like this, simply reeking with famine ?
They cram themselves, in order to do honour
to the Christmas table; they wax fat; their
flesh becomes firm and appetizing. With
what, pray? With Locusts, whom they snap
up here and there, a delicious stuffing for
their greedy crops. This autumnal manna,
which costs nothing and is richly flavoured,
contributes to the elaboration and the im-
provement of the succulent roast that will be
so largely eaten on the festive evening.

When the Guinea-fowl, that domesticated
game-bird, roams around the farm, uttering
358

The Locusts: their Function

her rasping note, what is it that she seeks?
Seeds, no doubt, but, above all things, Lo-
custs, who puff her out under the wings with
a pad of fat and give greater flavour to her
flesh.

The Hen, much to our advantage, is just
as fond of them. She well knows the virtues
of that dainty dish, which acts as a tonic and
increases her laying-capacity. When left at
liberty, she hardly ever fails to lead her
family to the stubble-fields, so that they may
learn how to snap up the exquisite mouthful
deftly. In fact, all the denizens of the
poultry-yard, when free to wander about at
will, owe to the Locust a valuable addition
to their diet.

It becomes a much more important matter
outside our domestic fowls. If you are a
sportsman, if you are able to appreciate the
value of the Red-legged Partridge, the glory
of our southern hills, open the crop of the
bird which you have just brought down.
You will see that it contains a splendid cer-
tificate to the services rendered by the much-
maligned insect. You will find it, nine times
out of ten, more or less crammed with Lo-
custs. The Partridge dotes on them, pre-
fers them to seed as long as he is able to

359

The Life of the Grasshopper

catch them. This highly-flavoured, substan-
tial, stimulating fare would almost make him
forget the existence of seeds, if it were only
there all the year round.

Let us now consult the illustrious black-
footed tribe, so warmly celebrated by Tous-
serel.1 The head of the family is the Wheat-
ear, the Cul-blanc,2 as the Provencal calls
him, who grows disgracefully fat in Septem-
ber and supplies delicious material for the
skewer. At the time when I used to indulge
in ornithological expeditions, I made a
practice of jotting down the contents of
the birds' crops and gizzards, so as to be-
come acquainted with their diet. Here is
the Wheatear's bill of fare : Locusts, first of
all; next, many various kinds of Beetles, such
as Weevils, Opatra, Chrysomelas, or Golden-
apple-beetles, Cassidae, or Tortoise-beetles,
and Harpali; in the third place, Spiders,
luli,3 Woodlice and small Snails; lastly and

* Alphonse Tousserel (1803-1885), author of a number
of interesting and valuable works on ornithology. —
Translator's Note.

* Also known as the Stone-chat, Fallow-chat, Whin-
chat, Fallow-finch and White-tail, which last corresponds
with the Cul-blanc of the Provengal dialect. The
French name for this Saxicola is the Motteux, or Clod-
hopper.— Translator's Note.

* Wormlike Millepedes. — Translator's Note.

360

The Locusts: their Function

rarely, bramble-berries and the berries of
the Cornelian cherry.

As you see, there is a little of all kinds of
small game, just as it comes. The insect-
eater does not turn his attention to berries
except in the last resort, at seasons of dearth.
Out of forty-eight cases mentioned in my
notes, vegetable food appears only three
times, in trifling proportions. The predomi-
nant item, both as regards frequency and
quantity, is the Locust, the smaller specimens
being chosen, in order not to tax the bird's
swallowing-powers.

Even so with the other little birds of pass-
age which, when autumn comes, call a halt
in Provence and prepare for the great pil-
grimage by accumulating on their rumps a
travelling-allowance of fat. All of them
feast on the Locust, that rich fare; all, in
the waste lands and fallows, gather as best
they can the hopping tit-bit, that source of
vigour for flying. Locusts are the manna of
little birds on their autumnal journey.

Nor does man himself scorn them. An
Arab author quoted by General Daumas x in
his book, Le Grand desert, tells us :

1 General Eugene Daumas (1803-1871), the author of
several works on Algeria. — Translator's Note.
361

The Life of the Grasshopper

" Grasshoppers * are of good nourishment
for men and Camels. Their claws, wings
and head are taken away and they are
eaten fresh or dried, either roast or boiled
and served with flesh, flour and herbs.

" When dried in the sun, they are ground
to powder and mixed with milk or kneaded
with flour; and they are then cooked with
fat or with butter and salt.

" Camels eat them greedily and are given
them dried or roast, heaped in a hollow be-
tween two layers of charcoal. Thus also do
the Nubians eat them.

"When Miriam2 prayed God that she
might eat flesh unpolluted by blood, God
sent her Grasshoppers.

" When the wives of the Prophet were
sent Grasshoppers as a gift, they placed some
of these in baskets and sent them to other
women.

" Once, when the Caliph Omar was asked
if it were lawful to eat Grasshoppers, he
made answer :

" * Would that I had a basket of them to
eat!'

1 More correctly the Locust, not to be confused with
the true Grasshopper, who carries a sabre. — Author's
Note.

2 The Blessed Virgin Mary. — Author's Note.

362

The Locusts: their Function

" Wherefore, from this testimony, it is
very sure that, by the grace of God, Grass-
hoppers were given to man for his nourish-
ment."

Without going so far as the Arab natural-
ist, which would presuppose a power of
digestion not bestowed on every man, I feel
entitled to say that the Locust is a gift of
God to a multitude of birds, as witness the
long array of gizzards which I consulted.

Many others, notably the reptile, hold
him in esteem. I have found him in the belly
of the Rassado, that terror of the small girls
of Provence, I mean the Eyed Lizard, who
loves rocky shelters turned into a furnace by
a torrid sun. And I have often caught the
little Grey Lizard of the walls in the act
of carrying off, in his tapering snout, the
spolia opima of some long-awaited Acridian.

Even fish revel in him, when good fortune
brings him to them. The Locust's leap has
no definite goal. A projectile discharged
blindly, the insect comes down wherever the
unpremeditated release of its springs shoots
it. If the place where it falls happen to be
the water, a fish is there at once to gobble
up the dripping victim. It is sometimes a
363

The Life of the Grasshopper

fatal dainty, for anglers use the Locust when
they wish to bait their hook with a particu-
larly attractive morsel.

Without expatiating further on the
devourers of this small game, I can clearly
see the great usefulness of the Acridian who
by successive leaps transmits to man, that
most wasteful of eaters, the lean grass now
converted into exquisite fare. Gladly there-
fore would I say, with the Arab writer :

" Wherefore, from this testimony, it is
very sure that, by the grace of God, Grass-
hoppers were given to man for his nourish-
ment."

One thing alone makes me hesitate : the
direct consumption of the Locust. As re-
gards indirect consumption, under the form
of Partridge, young Turkey and others, none
will think of denying him his praises. Is
direct consumption then so unpleasant?
That was not the opinion of Omar,1 the
mighty caliph, the destroyer of the library
of Alexandria. His stomach was as rude
as his intellect; and, by his own account, he

1 Omar, the second caliph and the first to assume the
title of Commander of the Faithful, reigned from 634
to his death in 644. The Alexandrian library was burnt
in 640. — Translator's Note.

364

The Locusts: their Function

would have relished a basket of Grass-
hoppers.

Long before him, others were content to
eat them, though in this case it was a wise
frugality. Clad in his Camel's-hair garment,
St. John the Baptist, the bringer of good
tidings and the great stirrer of the populace
in the days of Herod, lived in the desert on
Grasshoppers and wild honey :

" And his meat was locusts and wild
honey," says the Gospel according to St.
Matthew.

Wild honey I know, if only from the pots
of the Chalicodoma.1 It is a very agreeable
food. There remains the Grasshopper of
the desert, otherwise the Locust. In my
youth, like every small boy, I appreciated
a Grasshopper's leg, which I used to eat
raw. It is not without flavour. To-day let
us rise a peg higher and try the fare of Omar
and St. John the Baptist.

I capture some fat Locusts and have them
cooked in a very rough and ready fashion,
fried with butter and salt, as the Arab
author prescribes. We all of us, big and
little, partake of the queer dish at dinner.

1 Cf. The Mason-bees: passim. — Translator's Note.
365

The Life of the Grasshopper

We pronounce favourably upon the caliph's
delicacy. It is far superior to the Cicadae
extolled by Aristotle. It has a certain
shrimpy flavour, a taste that reminds one of
grilled Crab ; and, were it not that the shell
is very tough for such slight edible contents,
I would go to the length of saying that it is
good, without, however, feeling any desire
for more.

My curiosity as a naturalist has now twice
allowed itself to be tempted by the dishes of
antiquity: Cicadas first; Locusts next.
Neither the one nor the other roused my
enthusiasm. We must leave these things to
the powerful jaws of the negroes and the
huge appetite of which the famous caliph
gave proof.

The queasiness of our stomachs, however,
in no way decreases the Locusts' merits.
Those little browsers of the burnt grass play
a great part in the workshop where our food
is prepared. They swarm in vast legions
which roam over the barren wastes, pecking
here and there, turning what could not
otherwise be used into a foodstuff which is
passed on to a host of consumers, including,
first and foremost, the bird that often falls
to man's share.

366

The Locusts: their Function

Pricked relentlessly by the needs of the
stomach, the world knows no more impera-
tive duty than the acquisition of food. To
secure a seat in the refectory, each animal
expends its sum total of activity, industry,
toil, trickery and strife ; and the general ban-
quet, which should be a joy, is to many a
torment. Man is far from escaping the
miseries of the struggle for food. On the
contrary, only too often he tastes them in all
their bitterness.

Ingenious as he is, will he succeed in free-
ing himself from them? Science says yes.
Chemistry promises, in the near future, a
solution of the problem of subsistence. The
sister science, physics, is preparing the way.
Already it is contemplating how to get more
and better work done by the sun, that great
sluggard who thinks that he has done his
duty by us when he sweetens our grapes and
ripens our corn. It will bottle his heat,
garner his rays, in order to control them and
employ them where we think fit.

With these supplies of energy, the hearths
will blaze, the wheels will turn, the pestles
pound, the graters grate, the rollers grind;
and the work of agriculture, so wasteful at
present, thwarted as it is by the inclemency
367

The Life of the Grasshopper

of the seasons, will become factory-work,
yielding economical and safe returns.

Then chemistry will step in, with its legion
of cunning reagents. It will turn every-
thing into nutritious matter, in a highly con-
centrated form, capable of being assimilated
in its entirety and leaving hardly any foul
residue. A loaf of bread will be a pill; a
rumpsteak a drop of jelly. Of agricultural
labour, the inferno of barbarian times, no-
thing will remain but a memory, of interest
only to the historians. The last Sheep and
the last Ox will figure, neatly stuffed, as curi-
osities in our museums, together with the
Mammoth dug up from the Siberian ice-
fields.

All that old lumber — herds and flocks,
seeds, fruits and vegetables — is doomed to
disappear some day. Progress demands it,
we are told; and the chemist's retort, which,
in its presumptuous fashion, recognizes no-
thing as impossible, repeats the assertion.

This golden age of foodstuffs leaves me
very incredulous. When it is a question of
obtaining some new toxin, science displays
alarming ingenuity. Our laboratory collec-
tions are veritable arsenals of poisons.
When the object is to invent a still in which
368

The Locusts: their Organ of Sound

potatoes shall be made to yield torrents of
alcohol capable of turning us into a nation
of sots, the resources of industry know no
limits. But to procure by artificial means a
single mouthful of really nourishing matter is
a very different business. Never has any such
product simmered in our retorts. The fu-
ture, beyond a doubt, will do no better. Or-
ganized matter, the only true food, escapes
the formulas of the laboratory. Its chemist
is life.

We shall do well therefore to preserve
agriculture and our herds. Let us leave our
nourishment to be prepared by the patient
work of plants and animals, let us mistrust
the brutal factory and keep our confidence
for more delicate methods and, in particu-
lar, for the Locust's stomach, which assists
in the making of the Christmas Turkey.
That stomach has culinary receipts which the
chemist's retort will always envy without
succeeding in imitating them.

This picker-up of nutritive trifles, des-
tined to support a crowd of paupers, pos-
sesses musical powers wherewith to express
his joys. Consider a Locust at rest, bliss-
fully digesting his meal and enjoying the
sunshine. With sharp strokes of the bow,
369

The Life of the Grasshopper

three or four times repeated and spaced with
pauses, he sings his ditty. He scrapes his
sides with his great hind-legs, using now one,
now the other, anon both at a time.

The result is very poor, so slight indeed
that I am obliged to have recourse to little
Paul's ear in order to make sure that there
is a sound at all. Such as it is, it resembles
the creaking of the point of a needle pushed
across a sheet of paper. There you have the
whole song, so near akin to silence.

There is nothing more to be expected from
so rudimentary an instrument. We have no-
thing here similar to what the Grasshopper
clan have shown us : no toothed bow, no
vibrating membrane stretched into a drum.
Let us, for instance, take a look at the
Italian Locust (Caloptenus itallcus, LIN.),
whose apparatus of sound is repeated in the
other stridulating Acridians. His hinder
thighs are keel-shaped above and below.
Each surface, moreover, has two powerful
longitudinal nervures. Between these main
parts there is, in either case, a graduated
row of smaller, chevron-shaped nervures;
and the whole thing is as prominent and as
plainly marked on this outer side as on the
inner one. And what surprises me even

370

Trie Locusts: their Organ of Sound

more than this similarity between the two
surfaces is that all these nervures are smooth.
Lastly, the lower edge of the wing-cases, the
edge rubbed by the thighs which serve as a
bow, also has nothing particular about it.
We see, as indeed we do all over the wing-
cases, nervures that are powerful but de-
void of any rasping roughness or the least
denticulation.

What can this artless attempt at a musical
instrument produce ? Just as much as a dry
membrane will emit when you rub it. And
for the sake of this trifle the insect lifts and
lowers its thighs, in sharp jerks, and is satis-
fied with the result. It rubs its sides very
much as we rub our hands together in sign
of contentment, with no intention of making
a sound. That is its own particular way of
expressing its joy in life.

Examine it when the sky is partly ob-
scured and the sun shines intermittently.
There comes a rift in the clouds. Forthwith
the thighs begin to scrape, increasing their
activity as the sun grows hotter. The strains
are very brief, but they are renewed so long
as the sunshine continues. The sky becomes
overcast. Then and there the song ceases,
to be resumed with the next gleam of sun-

The Life of the Grasshopper

light, always in brief spasms. There is no
mistaking it: here, in these fond lovers of
the light, we have a mere expression of hap-
piness. The Locust has his moments of
gaiety when his crop is full and the sun
benign.

Not all the Acridians indulge in this joy-
ous rubbing. The Tryxalis ( Truxalis nasuta,
LIN.), who sports a pair of immensely elon-
gated hind-legs, maintains a gloomy silence
even under the most vigorous caresses of the
sun. I have never seen him move his shanks
like a bow; he seems unable to use them —
so long are they — for anything but hopping.

Dumb likewise, apparently as a conse-
quence of the excessive length of his hind-
legs, the big Grey Locust (Pachytilus
cinerescens, FABR.) has a peculiar way of
diverting himself. The giant often visits me
in the enclosure, even in the depth of winter.
In calm weather, when the sun is hot, I sur-
prise him in the rosemaries, with his wings
unfurled and fluttering rapidly for a quarter
of an hour at a time, as though for flight.
His twirling is so gentle, in spite of its ex-
treme speed, as to create hardly a percepti-
ble rustle.

Others still are much less well-endowed.
372

The Locusts: their Organ of Sound

One such is the Pedestrian Locust (Pezo-
tettix pedestris, LIN.), the companion of the
Alpine Analota on the ridges of the Ven-
toux. This foot-passenger strolling amid
the paronychias (P. serpyllifola) which lie
spread in silvery expanses over the Alpine
region; this short-jacketed hopper, the
guest of the androsaces (A. villosa), whose
tiny flowers, white as the neighbouring snows,
smile from out of their rosy eyes, has the
same fresh colouring as the plants around
him. The sunlight, less veiled in mists in
the loftier regions, has made him a costume
combining beauty and simplicity: a pale-
brown satin back; a yellow abdomen; big
thighs coral-red below; hind-legs a glori-
ous azure-blue, with an ivory anklet in
front. But, being incapable of going beyond
the larval form, this dandy remains short-
coated.

He has for wing-cases two wrinkled slips,
distant one from the other and hardly cover-
ing the first segment of the abdomen, and
for wings two stumps that are even more
abbreviated. All this hardly covers his na-
kedness down to the waist. Any one seeing
him for the first time takes him for a larva
and is wrong. It is indeed the adult insect,
373

The Life of the Grasshopper

ripe for mating; and the insect will remain
in this undress to the end.

Is it necessary to add that, with this
skimpy jacket, stridulation is impossible?
The big hind-thighs are there, it is true ; but
what is lacking, for them to rub upon, is the
grating surface, the edge of the wing-cases.
Whereas the other Locusts are not to be de-
scribed as noisy, this one is absolutely
dumb. In vain have the most delicate ears
around me listened with might and main :
there has never been the least sound during
the three months' home breeding. This si-
lent one must have other means of ex-
pressing his joys and summoning his partner
to the wedding. What are they? I do not
know.

Nor do I know why the insect deprives
itself of wings and remains a plodding way-
farer, when its near kinsmen, on the same
Alpine swards, are excellently equipped for
flight. It possesses the germs of wing and
wing-case, gifts which the egg gives to the
larva; and it does not think of using these
germs by developing them. It persists in
hopping, with no further ambition ; it is satis-
fied to go on foot, to remain a Pedestrian
Locust, as the nomenclators call it, when it
374

The Locusts: their Organ of Sound

might, one would think, acquire wings, that
higher mechanism of locomotion.

Rapid flitting from crest to crest, over the
valleys deep in snow; easy flight from a
shorn pasture to one not yet exploited : can
these be negligible advantages to the Pedes-
trian Locust? Obviously not. The other
Acridians and in particular his fellow-
dwellers on the mountain-tops possess wings
and are all the better for them. What is
his reason for not doing as they do? It
would be very profitable to extract from
their sheaths the sails which he keeps packed
away in useless stumps; and he does not do
it. Why?

" Arrested development," says some one.

Very well. Life is arrested half-way
through its work; the insect does not attain
the ultimate form of which it bears the em-
blem. For all its scientific turn of phrase,
the reply is not really a reply at all. The
question returns under another guise : what
causes that arrested development?

The larva is born with the hope of flying
at maturity. As a pledge of that fair future,
it carries on its back four sheaths in which
the precious germs lie slumbering. Every-
thing is arranged according to the rules of
375

The Life of the Grasshopper

normal evolution. Thereupon, suddenly,
the organism does not fulfil its promises; it
is false to its engagements; it leaves the
adult insect without sails, leaves it with only
useless rags.

Are we to lay this nudity to the charge
of the harsh conditions of Alpine life? Not
at all, for the other hoppers, living on the
same grassy slopes, manage very well to
achieve the wings foretold by the larva's
rudiments.

Men tell us that, from one attempt to an-
other, from progress to progress, under the
stimulus of necessity, animals end by ac-
quiring this or that organ. No other crea-
tive intervention is accepted than that of
need. This, for instance, is the way in
which the Locusts went to work, in particu-
lar those whom I see fluttering over the
ridges of the Ventoux. From their nig-
gardly larval flaps they are supposed to have
extracted wings and wing-cases, by virtue
of secret and mysterious labours rendered
fruitful by the centuries.

Very well, O my illustrious masters ! And
now tell me, if you please, what reasons per-
suaded the Pedestrian Locust not to go be-
yond his rude outline of a flying-apparatus.
376

The Locusts: their Organ of Sound

He also, surely, must have felt the prick of
necessity for ages and ages; during his la-
borious tumbles amid the broken stones, he
must have felt the advantage that it would
be for him to be relieved of his weight by
means of wing-power; and all the endeavours
of his organism, striving to achieve a better
lot, have not yet succeeded in spreading
bladewise his incipient wings.

If we accept your theories, under the same
conditions of urgent necessity, diet, climate
and habits, some are successful and manage
to fly, others fail and remain clumsy pedes-
trians. Short of resting satisfied with words
and passing off chalk for cheese, I abandon
the explanations offered. Sheer ignorance
is far preferable, for it prejudges nothing.

But let us leave this backward one who
is a stage behind his kinsmen, no one knows
why. Anatomy has its throwbacks, its halts,
its sudden leaps, all of which defy our curi-
osity. In the presence of the unfathomable
problem of origins, the best thing is to bow
in all humility and pass on.

377,

CHAPTER XVIII

THE LOCUSTS: THEIR EGGS

"\T7HAT can our Locusts do ? Not much
* ^ in the way of manufactures. Their
business in the world is that of alchemists
who in their gourdlike stomach elaborate
and refine material destined for higher ob-
jects. As I sit by my fireside, in the evening
hours of meditation, scribbling these notes
upon the part which Locusts play in life, I
am not prepared to say that they have not
contributed from time to time to the awaken-
ing of thought, that magic mirror of things.
They are on the earth to thrive as best they
can and to multiply, the latter being the
highest law of animals charged with the
manufacture' of foodstuffs.

From the former point of view, if we ex-
cept the all-devouring tribes which at times
imperil the very existence of Africa, the Lo-
custs hardly attract our attention. They are
poor trenchermen; and I can surfeit a whole
378

The Locusts: their Eggs

barrack-room in my cages with a leaf of let-
tuce. As for the way in which they multiply,
that is another matter and one well worth a
moment's attention.

At the same time we must not look for
the nuptial eccentricities of the Grasshoppers.
Despite close similarity of structure, we are
here in a new world as regards habits and
character. In the peaceful Locust clan, all
that has to do with pairing is correct, free
from impropriety and conducted in accord-
ance with the customary rites of the ento-
mological world. Any one keeping it under
observation at the time of the procreative
frenzy will realize that the Locust came
later than the Grasshopper, after the primi-
tive Orthopteron had sown his monstrous
wild oats. There is nothing striking to be
said therefore on this always delicate sub-
ject; and I am very glad of it. Let us pass
on and come to the eggs.

At the end of August, a little before noon-
day, let us keep a close watch on the Italian
Locust (Caloptenus italicus, LIN.), the bold-
est hopper of my neighbourhood. He is a
sturdy fellow, very free with his kicks; and
he is clad in short wing-cases that hardly
reach the tip of his abdomen. His costume
379

The Life of the Grasshopper

is usually russet, with brown patches. A
few more elegant ones edge the corselet
with a whitish hem which is prolonged over
the head and wing-cases. The wings are
colourless except at the base, where they are
pink; the hinder shins are claret-coloured.

The mother selects a suitable spot for her
eggs on the side where the sun is hottest and
always at the edge of the cage, whose wire-
work supplies her with a support in case of
need. Slowly and laboriously she drives her
clumsy drill perpendicularly into the sand,
this drill being her abdomen, which disap-
pears entirely. In the absence of proper
boring-tools, the descent underground is
painful and hesitating, but is at last accom-
plished thanks to perseverance, that powerful
lever of the weak.

The mother is now installed, half-buried
in the soil. She gives slight starts, which
follow one another at regular intervals and
seem to correspond with the efforts of the
oviduct as it expels the eggs. The neck
gives throbs that lift and lower the head
with slight jerks. Apart from these pulsa-
tions of the head, the body, in its only visible
half, the fore-part, is absolutely stationary,
so intense is the creature's absorption in her

The Locusts: their Eggs

laying. It is not unusual for a male, by com-
parison a dwarf, to come near and for a
long time to gaze curiously at the travailing
mother. Sometimes also a few females
stand around, with their big faces turned to-
wards their friend in labour. They seem to
take an interest in what is happening, per-
haps saying to themselves that it will be their
turn soon.

After some forty minutes of immobility,
the mother suddenly releases herself and
bounds far away. She gives not a look at
the eggs nor a touch of the broom to conceal
the aperture of the well. The hole closes of
its own accord, as best it can, by the natural
falling-in of the sand. It is an extremely
summary performance, marked by an utter
absence of maternal solicitude. The Locust
mother is not a model of affection.

Others do not forsake their eggs so reck-
lessly. I can name the ordinary Locust with
the blue wings striped with black (CEdipoda
ccerulescens, LIN. ) ; also Pachytylus nigro-
fasclatus, DE GEER, whose cognomen lacks
point, for it ought to suggest either the
malachite-green patches of the costume or
the white cross of the corselet.

Both, when laying their eggs, adopt the
381

The Life of the Grasshopper

same attitude as the Italian Locust. The
abdomen is driven perpendicularly into the
soil; the rest of the body partly disappears
under the sliding sand. We again see a long
period of immobility, exceeding half an hour,
together with little jerks of the head, a sign
of the underground efforts.

The two mothers at last release them-
selves. With their hind-legs, lifted on high,
they sweep a little sand over the orifice of
the pit and press it down by stamping rap-
idly. It is a pretty sight to watch the pre-
cipitous action of their slender legs, blue or
pink, giving alternate kicks to the opening
which is waiting to be plugged. In this
manner, with a lively trampling, the entrance
to the house is closed and hidden away. The
hole in which the eggs were laid disappears
from sight, so well obliterated that no evil-
intentioned creature could hope to discover
it by means of vision alone.

Nor is this all. The driving-power of the
two rammers is the hinder thighs, which, in
rising and falling, scrape lightly against the
edge of the wing-cases. This bow-play pro-
duces a faint stridulation, similar to that with
which the insect placidly lulls itself to sleep
in the sun.

The Locusts: their Eggs

The Hen salutes the egg which she has
just laid with a song of gladness; she an-
nounces her maternal joys, to the whole
neighbourhood. Even so does the Locust
do in many cases. With her thin scraper,
she celebrates the advent of her family. She
says:

" Non omnis moriar; I have buried under-
ground the treasure of the future; I have
entrusted to the incubation of the great
hatcher a keg of germs which will take my
place."

Everything on the site of the nest is put
right in one brief spell of work. The mother
then leaves the spot, refreshes herself after
her exertions with a few mouthfuls of green
stuff and prepares to begin again.

The largest of the Acridians in our part
of the country, the Grey Locust (Pachytylus
cinerescens, FABR.), rivals the African Lo-
custs in size, without possessing their calami-
tous habits. He is peace-loving and tem-
perate and above reproach where the fruits
of the earth are concerned. From him we
obtain a little information which is easily
verified by observing the insect in captivity.

The eggs are laid about the end of April,
a few days after the pairing, which lasts

The Life of th'e Grassfiopper

some little while. The female is armed at
the tip of the abdomen — as, in varying de-
grees, are the other Locust mothers — with
four short excavators, arranged in pairs and
shaped like a hooked finger-nail. In the
upper pair, which are larger, these hooks are
turned upwards; in the lower and smaller
pair, they are turned downwards. They
form a sort of claw and are hard and black
at the point; also they are scooped out
slightly, like a spoon, on their concave sur-
face. These are the pick-axes, the trepans,
the boring-tools.

The mother bends her long abdomen per-
pendicularly to the line of the body. With
her four trepans she bites into the soil, lift-
ing the dry earth a little; then, with a very
slow movement, she pushes down her ab-
domen, making no apparent effort, display-
ing no excitement that would reveal the dif-
ficulty of the task.

The insect is motionless and contemplative.
The boring-implement could not work more
quietly if it were sinking into soft mould. It
might all be happening in butter; and yet
what the bore traverses is caked, unyielding
earth.

It would be interesting, if it were only pos-
384

The Locusts: their Eggs

sible, to see the perforating-tool, the four
gimlets, at work. Unfortunately, things
happen in the mysteries of the earth. No
rubbish rises to the surface; nothing de-
notes the underground labour. Little by
little the abdomen sinks softly in, as our
finger would sink into a lump of soft clay.
The four trepans must open the passage,
crumbling the earth into dust which is thrust
back sideways by the abdomen and packed
as with a gardener's dibble.

The best site for laying the eggs is not
always found at the first endeavour. I have
seen the mother drive her abdomen right in
and make five wells one after the other be-
fore finding a suitable place. The pits
recognized as defective are abandoned as
soon as bored. They are vertical, cylindrical
holes, of the diameter of a thick lead-pencil
and astonishingly neat. No wimble would
produce cleaner work. Their length is that
of the insect's abdomen, distended as far
as the extension of the segments allows.

At the sixth attempt, the spot is recognized
as propitious. The laying thereupon takes
place, but nothing outside betrays the fact,
so motionless does the mother seem, with
her abdomen immersed up to the hilt, which
385

The Life of the Grasshopper

causes the long wings lying on the ground to
rumple and open out. The operation lasts
for a good hour.

At last the abdomen rises, little by little.
It is now near the surface, in a favourable
position for observation. The valves are
in continual movement, whipping a mucus
which sets in milk-white foam. It is very
similar to the work done by the Mantis when
enveloping her eggs in froth.

The foamy matter forms a nipple at the
entrance to the well, a knob which stands
well up and attracts the eye by the white-
ness of its colour against the grey back-
ground of the soil. It is soft and sticky, but
hardens pretty soon. When this closing
button is finished, the mother moves away
and troubles no more about her eggs, of
which she lays a fresh batch elsewhere after
a few days have intervened.

At other times, the terminal foamy paste
does not reach the surface; it stops some
way down and, before long, is covered with
the sand that slips from the margin. There
is then nothing outside to mark the place
where the eggs were laid.

Even when they concealed the mouth of
the well under a layer of swept sand, my
386

The Locusts: their Eggs

various captives, large and small, were too
assiduously watched by me to foil my curi-
osity. I know in every case the exact spot
where the barrel of eggs lies. The time has
come to inspect it.

The thing is easily discovered, an inch or
an inch and a half down, with the point of
a knife. Its shape varies a good deal in the
different species, but the fundamental struc-
ture remains the same. It is always a
sheath made of solidified foam, a similar
foam to that of the nests of the Praying
Mantis. Grains of sand stuck together give
it a rough outer covering.

The mother has not actually made this
coarse cover, which constitutes a defensive
wall. The mineral wrapper results from the
simple infiltration of the product, at first
semifluid and viscous, that accompanies the
emission of the eggs. The wall of the
pocket absorbs it and, swiftly hardening, be-
comes a cemented scabbard, without the
agency of any special labour on the insect's
part.

Inside, there is no foreign matter, nothing
but foam and eggs. The latter occupy only
the lower portion, where they are immersed
in a frothy matrix and packed one on top

The Life of the Grasshopper

of the other, slantwise. The upper portion,
which is larger in some cases than in others,
consists solely of soft, yielding foam. Be-
cause of the part which it plays when the
young larvae come into existence, I shall call
it the ascending-shaft. A final point worthy
of observation is that all the sheaths are
planted more or less vertically in the soil
and end at the top almost level with the
ground.

We will now describe specifically the lay-
ings which we find in the cages. That of
Pachytylus cinerescens is a cylinder six centi-
metres long and eight millimetres wide.1
The upper end, when it emerges above the
ground, swells into a nipple. All the rest
is of uniform thickness. The yellow-grey
eggs are fusiform. Immersed in the froth
and arranged slantwise, they occupy only
about a sixth part of the total length. The
rest of the structure is a fine, white, very
powdery foam, soiled on the outside by
grains of earth. The eggs are not many in
number, about thirty; but the mother lays
several batches.

That of P. nigrofasciatus is shaped like a
slightly curved cylinder, rounded off at the

1 2.34 by .312 inches. — Translator's Note.
388

The Locusts: their Eggs

lower end and cut square at the upper end.
Its dimensions are an inch to an inch and a
half in length by a fifth of an inch in width.
The eggs, about twenty in number, are
orange-red, adorned with a pretty pattern
of tiny spots. The frothy matrix in which
they are contained is small in quantity; but
above them there is a long column of very
fine, transparent and porous foam.

The Blue-winged Locust (CEdipoda caeru-
lescens} arranges her eggs in a sort of fat
inverted comma. The lower portion con-
tains the eggs in its gourd-shaped pocket.
They also are few in number, some thirty
at most, of a fairly bright orange-red, but
unspotted. This receptable is crowned with
a curved, conical cap of foam.

The lover of the mountain-tops, the Pedes-
trian Locust, adopts the same method as the
Blue-winged Locust, the denizen of the
plains. Her sheath too is shaped like a
comma with the point turned upwards. The
eggs, numbering about two dozen, are dark-
russet and are strikingly ornamented with a
delicate lacework of inwrought spots. You
are quite surprised when you pass the mag-
nifying-glass over this unexpected elegance.
Beauty leaves its impress everywhere, even
389

The Life of the Grasshopper

in the humble covering of an unsightly
Acridian incapable of flight.

The Italian Locust begins by enclosing her
eggs in a keg and then, when on the point
of sealing her receptacle, thinks better of it:
something essential, the ascending-shaft, is
lacking. At the upper end, at the point
where it seems as if the barrel ought to finish
and close, a sudden compression changes the
course of the work, which is prolonged by
the regulation foamy appendage. In this
way, two storeys are obtained, clearly de-
fined on the outside by a deep groove. The
lower, which is oval in shape, contains the
packet of eggs; the upper, tapering into the
tail of a comma, consists of nothing but
foam. The two communicate by an opening
that remains more or less free.

The Locust's art is not confined to these
specimens of architecture. She knows how
to construct other strong-boxes for her eggs;
she can protect them with all kinds of edifices,
some simple, others more ingenious, but all
worthy of our attention. Those with which
we are familiar are very few compared with
those of which we are ignorant. No matter :
what the cages reveal to us is sufficient to
enlighten us as to the general form. It re-

The Locusts: their Eggs

mains for us to learn how the building — an
egg-warehouse below, a foamy turret above
• — is constructed.

Direct observation is impracticable here.
If we took it into our heads to dig and to
uncover the abdomen at work, the mother,
worried by our importunity, would leap away
without telling us anything. Fortunately,
one Locust, the strangest of my district, re-
veals the secret to us. I speak of the
Tryxalis, the largest member of the family,
after the Grey Locust.

Though inferior to the last-named in size,
how far she exceeds her in slenderness of
figure and, above all, in originality of shape !
On our sun-scorched swards, none has a
leaping-apparatus to compare with hers.
What hind-legs, what extravagant thighs,
what shanks! They are longer than the
creature's whole body.

The result obtained hardly corresponds
with this extraordinary length of limb. The
insect shuffles awkwardly along the edges of
the vines, on the sand sparsely covered with
grass; it seems embarrassed by its shanks,
which are slow to work. With this equip-
ment, weakened by its excessive length, the
leap is awkward, describing but a short
39i

The Life of the Grasshopper

parabola. The flight alone, once taken, is
of a certain range, thanks to an excellent pair
of wings.

And then what a strange head! It is an
elongated cone, a sugar-loaf, whose point,
turned up in the air, has earned for the
insect the quaint epithet of nasuta, long-
nosed. At the top of this cranial promon-
tory are two large, gleaming, oval eyes and
two antennas, flat and pointed, like dagger-
blades. These rapiers are organs of in-
formation. The Tryxalis lowers them, with
a sudden swoop, to explore with their points
the object in which she is interested, the bit
which she intends to nibble.

To this abnormal shape we must add an-
other characteristic that makes this long-
shanks an exception among Acridians. The
ordinary Locusts, a peaceful tribe, live
among themselves without strife, even when
driven by hunger. The Tryxalis, on the
other hand, is somewhat addicted to the can-
nibalism of the Grasshoppers. In my cages,
in the midst of plenty, she varies her diet
and passes easily from salad to game. When
tired of green stuff, she does not scruple to
exercise her jaws on her weaker companions.

This is the creature capable of giving us
392

The Locusts: their Eggs

information about methods of laying. In
my cages, as the result of an aberration due
no doubt to the boredom of captivity, it has
never laid its eggs in the ground. I have
always seen it operating in the open air and
even perched on high.1 In the early days of
October, the insect clings to the trelliswork
of the cage and very slowly discharges its
batch of eggs, which we see gushing forth
in a fine, foamy stream, soon stiffening into
a thick cylindrical cord, knotty and queerly
curved. It takes nearly an hour to complete
the emission. Then the thing falls to the
ground, no matter where, unheeded by the
mother, who never troubles about it again.

The shapeless object, which varies greatly
in different layings, is at first straw-coloured,
then darkens and turns rusty-brown on the
morrow. The fore-part, which is the first
ejected, usually consists only of foam; the
hinder part alone is fertile and contains the
eggs, buried in a frothy matrix. They are
amber-yellow, about a score in number and
shaped like blunt spindles, eight to nine
millimetres in length.2

1 The big Grey Locust is sometimes subject to the
same aberration. — Author's Note.
a .312 to .351 inch. — Translator's Note.

393

The Life of the Grasshopper

The sterile end, which is at least as big
as the other, tells us that the apparatus which
produces the foam is in operation before the
oviduct and afterwards goes on while the
latter is working.

By what mechanism does the Tryxalis
froth up her viscous product into a porous
column first and a mattress for the eggs after-
wards ? She must certainly know the method
of the Praying Mantis, who, with the aid of
spoon-shaped valves, whips and beats her
glair and converts it into an omelette souf-
flee; but in the Acridian's case the frothing
is done within and there is nothing outside
to betray its existence. The glue is foamy
from the moment of its appearing in the
open air.

In the Mantis' building, that complex work
of art, it is not a case of any special talent,
which the mother can exercise at will. The
wonderful egg-casket comes from the ordi-
nary action of the mechanism, is merely the
outcome of the organization. A fortiori, the
Tryxalis, in discharging her clumsy sausage,
is purely a machine. The thing happens of
itself.

The same applies to the Locusts. They
have no industry of their own specially de-

394

The Locusts: their Eggs

vised for laying eggs in strata in a keg of
froth and extending this keg into an ascend-
ing-shaft. The mother, with her abdomen
plunged into the sand, expels at the same
time eggs and foamy glair. The whole be-
comes coordinated of its own accord simply
by the mechanism of the organs : on the out-
side, the frothy material, which coagulates
and becomes encrusted with a bulwark of
earth; in the centre and at the bottom, the
eggs arranged in regular strata ; at the upper
end, a column of yielding foam.

The Tryxalis and the Grey Locust are
early hatchers. The latter's family are al-
ready hopping on the yellow patches of grass
in August; before October is out, we are fre-
quently coming across young larvae with
pointed skulls. But in most of the other
Acridians the ovigerous sheaths last through
the winter and do not open until the fine
weather returns. They are buried at no
great depth in a soil which is at first loose
and dusty and which would not be likely to
interfere with the emergence of the young
larvse if it remained as it is; but the winter
rains cake it together and turn it into a hard
ceiling. Suppose that the hatching takes
place only a couple of inches down: how is
395

The Life of the Grasshopper

this crust to be broken, how is the larva to
come up from below ? The mother's uncon-
scious art has provided for that.

The Locust at his birth finds above him,
not rough sand and hardened earth, but a
perpendicular tunnel whose solid walls keep
all difficulties at a distance, a road protected
by a little easily-penetrated foam, an ascend-
ing-shaft, in short, which brings the new-born
larva quite close to the surface. Here a
finger's-breadth of serious obstacle remains
to be overcome.

The greater part of the emergence there-
fore is accomplished without effort, thanks
to the terminal appendage of the egg-barrel.
If, in my desire to follow the underground
work of the exodus, I experiment in glass
tubes, almost all the new-born larvae die, ex-
hausted with fatigue, under an inch of earth,
when I do away with the liberating append-
age to the shells. They duly come to light
if I leave the nest in its integral condition,
with the ascending-shaft pointing upwards.
Though a mechanical product of the organ-
ism, created without any effort of the crea-
ture's intelligence, the Locust's edifice, we
must confess, is singularly well thought
out.

396

The Locusts: their Eggs

Having come quite close to the surface
with the aid of his ascending-shaft, what does
the young Locust do to complete his deliver-
ance? He has still to pass through a layer
of earth about a finger' s-breadth in thick-
ness; and that is very hard work for budding
flesh.

If we keep the egg-cases in glass tubes
during the favourable period, the end of
spring, we shall receive a reply to our quest-
ion, provided that we have the requisite pa-
tience. The Blue-winged Locusts lend them-
selves best to my investigations. I find some
of them busied with the work of liberation
at the end of June.

The little Locust, on leaving his shell,
is a whitish colour, clouded with light red.
His progress is made by wormlike move-
ments; and, so that it may be impeded as
little as possible, he is hatched in the condi-
tion of a mummy, that is to say, clad, like
the young Grasshoppers, in a temporary
jacket, which keeps his antennae, palpi and
legs closely fixed to his breast and belly. The
head itself is very much bent. The large
hind-thighs are arranged side by side with
the folded shanks, shapeless as yet, short
and as it were crooked. On the way, the
397

The Life of the Grasshopper

legs are slightly released; the hind-legs are
straightened out and afford a fulcrum for the
sapping-work.

The boring-tool, a repetition of the
Grasshoppers', is at the neck. There is here
a tumour that swells, subsides, throbs and
strikes the obstacle with pistonlike regularity.
A tiny and most tender cervical bladder en-
gages in a struggle with quartz. At the
sight of this capsule of glair striving to over-
come the hardness of the mineral, I am
seized with pity. I come to the unhappy
creature's assistance by slightly damping the
layer to be passed through.

Despite my intervention, the task is so
arduous that, in an hour, I see the indefati-
gable one make a progress of hardly a
twenty-fifth of an inch. How you must la-
bour, you poor little thing, how you must
persevere with your throbbing head and
writhing loins, before you can clear a pass-
age for yourself through the thin layer
which my kindly drop of water has softened
for you!

The ineffectual efforts of the tiny mite
tell us plainly that the emergence into the
light of day is an enormous undertaking, in
which, but for the aid of the exit-tunnel, the

The Locusts: their Eggs

mother's work, the greater number would
succumb.

It is true that the Grasshoppers, similarly
equipped, find it even more difficult to make
their way out of the earth. Their eggs are
laid naked in the ground; no outward pass-
age is prepared for them beforehand. We
may assume, therefore, that the mortality
must be very high among these improvident
ones ; legions are bound to perish at the time
of the exodus.

This is confirmed by the comparative
scarcity of Grasshoppers and the extreme
abundance of Locusts. And yet the number
of eggs laid is about the same in both cases.
The Locust does not, in fact, limit herself
to a single casket containing a score of eggs :
she puts into the ground two, three and
more, which gives a total population ap-
proaching that of the Decticus and other
Grasshoppers. If, to the greater delight of
the consumers of small game, she thrives so
well, whereas the Grasshopper, who is quite
as fertile but less ingenious, dwindles, does
she not owe it to that superb invention, her
exit-turret?

One last word upon the tiny insect which,
for days on end, fights away with its cervical

399

The Life of the Grasshopper

rammer. It is outside at last and rests for
a moment, to recover from all that fatigue.
Then, suddenly, under the thrust of the
throbbing blister, the temporary jacket splits.
The rags are pushed back by the hind-legs,
which are the last to strip. The thing is
done : the creature is free, pale in colouring
as yet, but possessing the final larval form.
Then and there, the hind-legs, hitherto
stretched in a straight line, adopt the regula-
tion position; the legs fold under the great
thighs ; and the spring is ready to work. It
works. Little Locust makes his entrance into
the world and hops for the first time. I offer
him a bit of lettuce the size of my finger-
nail. He refuses. Before taking nourish-
ment, he must first mature and develop for
a while in the sun.

400

CHAPTER XIX

THE LOCUSTS: THE LAST MOULT

T HAVE just beheld a stirring sight: the
••• last moult of a Locust, the extraction of
the adult from his larval wrapper. It is
magnificent. The object of my enthusiasm is
the Grey Locust, the giant among our
Acridians, who is common on the vines at
vintage-time, in September. On account of
his size — he is as long as my finger — he is
a better subject for observation than any
other of his tribe.

The fat, ungraceful larva, a rough draft
of the perfect insect, is usually pale-green;
but some also are bluish-green, dirty-yellow,
red-brown or even ashen-grey, like the grey
of the adult. The corselet is strongly keeled
and notched, with a sprinkling of fine white
worm-holes. The hind-legs, powerful as
those of mature age, have a great haunch
striped with red and a long shank shaped
like a two-edged saw.
401

The Life of the Grasshopper

The wing-cases, which in a few days will
project well beyond the tip of the abdomen,
are in their present state two skimpy, tri-
angular pinions, touching back to back along
their upper edges and continuing the keel of
the corselet. Their free ends stand up like
a pointed gable. These two coat-tails, of
which the material seems to have been
clipped short with ridiculous meanness, just
cover the creature's nakedness at the small
of the back. They shelter two lean strips,
the germs of the wings, which are even more
exiguous. In brief, the sumptuous, slender
sails of the near future are at present sheer
rags, of such meagre dimensions as to be
grotesque. What will come out of these
miserable envelopes? A marvel of stately
elegance.

Let us observe the proceedings in detail.
Feeling itself ripe for transformation, the
creature clutches the trelliswork of the cage
with its hinder and intermediary legs. The
fore-legs are folded and crossed over the
breast and are not employed in supporting
the insect, which hangs in a reversed posi-
tion, back downwards. The triangular pin-
ions, the sheaths of the wing-cases, open their
peaked roof and separate sideways; the two
402

The Locusts: the last Moult

narrow strips, the germs of the wings, stand
in the centre of the uncovered space and
diverge slightly. The position for the moult
has now been taken with the necessary
stability.

The first thing to be done is to burst the
old tunic. Behind the corselet, under the
pointed roof of the prothorax, pulsations
are produced by alternate inflation and de-
flation. A similar operation is performed in
front of the neck and probably also under
the entire covering of the shell that is to be
split. The delicacy of the membranes at the
joints enables us to perceive what is going
on at these bare points, but the harness of
the corselet hides it from us in the central
portion.

It is there that the insect's reserves of
blood flow in waves. The rising tide ex-
presses itself in blows of an hydraulic bat-
tering-ram. Distended by this rush of hu-
mours, by this injection wherein the organism
concentrates its energies, the skin at last
splits along a line of least resistance pre-
pared by life's subtle previsions. The fissure
yawns all along the corselet, opening pre-
cisely over the keel, as though the two sym-
metrical halves had been soldered. Un-
403

The Life of the Grasshopper

breakable any elsewhere, the wrapper yields
at this median point which is kept weaker
than the rest. The split is continued some
little way back and runs between the fasten-
ings of the wings; it goes up the head as far
as the base of the antennae, where it sends
a short ramification to the right and left.

Through this break the back is seen, quite
soft, pale, hardly tinged with grey. Slowly
it swells into a larger and larger hunch. At
last it is wholly released. The head follows,
extracted from its mask, which remains in
its place, intact in the smallest particular,
but looking strange with its great glassy eyes
that do not see. The sheaths of the an-
tennas, with not a wrinkle, with nothing out
of order and with their normal position un-
changed, hang over this dead face, which is
now translucent.

Therefore, in emerging from their narrow
sheaths, which enclosed them with such abso-
lute precision, the antennary threads encoun-
tered no resistance capable of turning their
scabbards inside out, or disturbing their
shape, or even wrinkling them. Without in-
juring the twisted containers, the contents,
equal in size and themselves twisted, have
managed to slip out as easily as a smooth,
404

The Locusts: the last Moult

straight object would do, if sliding in a
loose sheath. The extraction-mechanism will
be still more remarkable in the case of the
hind-legs.

Meanwhile it is the turn of the fore-legs
and then of the intermediary legs to shed
armlets and gauntlets, always without the
least rent, however small, without a crease
of rumpled material, without a trace of any
change in the natural position. The insect
is now fixed to the top of the cage only by
the claws of the long hind-legs. It hangs
perpendicularly, head downwards, swinging
like a pendulum, if I touch the wire-gauze.
Four tiny hooks are what it hangs by. If
they gave way, if they became unfastened,
the insect would be lost, for it is incapable of
unfurling its enormous wings anywhere ex-
cept in space. But they will hold: life, be-
fore withdrawing from them, left them stiff
and solid, so as to be able firmly to support
the struggles that are to follow.

The wing-cases and wings now emerge.
These are four narrow strips, faintly
grooved and looking like bits of paper rib-
bon. At this stage, they are scarcely a
quarter of their final length. So limp are
they that they bend under their own weight
405

The Life of the Grasshopper

and sprawl along the insect's sides in the
opposite direction to the normal. Their free
end, which should be turned backwards, now
points towards the head of the Locust, who
is hanging upside down. Imagine four
blades of thick grass, bent and battered by
a rainstorm, and you will have a fair pic-
ture of the pitiable bunch formed by the
future organs of flight.

It must be no light task to bring things to
the requisite stage of perfection. The
deeper-seated changes are already well-
started, solidifying liquid mucilages, bringing
order out of chaos; but so far nothing out-
side betrays what is happening in that mys-
terious laboratory where everything seems
lifeless.

Meanwhile, the hind-legs become released.
The great thighs appear in view, tinted on
their inner surface with a pale pink, which
will soon turn into a streak of bright crimson.
The emergence is easy, the bulky haunch
clearing the way for the tapering knuckle.

It is different with the shank. This, in
the adult insect, bristles throughout its
length with a double row of hard, pointed
spikes. Moreover, the lower extremity ends
in four large spurs. It is a genuine saw, but
406

The Locusts: the last Moult

with two parallel sets of teeth and so power-
ful that, if we dismiss the size from our
minds, it might be compared with the rough
saw wielded by a quarryman.

The larva's shin is similarly constructed,
so that the object to be extracted is con-
tained in a sheath as awkwardly shaped as
itself. Each spur is enclosed in a similar
spur, each tooth fits into the hollow of a
similar tooth; and the moulding is so exact
that we should obtain no more intimate con-
tact if, instead of the envelope waiting to
be shed, we coated the limb with a layer of
varnish distributed uniformly with a fine
brush.

Nevertheless the sawlike tibia slips out of
its long, narrow case without catching in it
at any point whatever. If I had not seen
this happen over and over again, I could
never have believed it : the discarded legging
is quite intact all the way down. Neither the
terminal spurs nor the two rows of spikes
have caught in the delicate mould. The saw
has respected the dainty scabbard which a
puff of my breath is enough to tear; the
formidable rake has slipped through without
leaving the least scratch behind it.

I was far from expecting such a result as
407

The Life of the Grasshopper

this. Because of the spiked armour, I im-
agined that the leg would strip in scales
which came loose of themselves or yielded
to rubbing, like dead cuticle. How greatly
did the reality exceed my expectations !

From the spurs and spikes of the infinitely
thin matrix there emerge spurs and spikes
that make the leg capable of cutting soft
wood. This is done without violence or the
least inconvenience; and the discarded gar-
ment remains where it is, hanging by the
claws to the top of the cage, uncreased and
untorn. The magnifying-glass shows not a
trace of rough usage. As "the thing was
before the excoriation, so it remains after-
wards. The legging of dead skin continues,
down to the pettiest details, an exact replica
of the live leg.

If any one suggested that we should ex-
tract a saw from some sort of goldbeater's-
skin sheath which had been exactly moulded
on the steel and that we should perform the
operation without producing the least tear,
we should burst out laughing: the thing
is so flagrantly impossible. Life makes light
of these impossibilities; it has methods of
realizing the absurd, in case of need. And
the Locust's leg tells us so.
408

The Locusts: the last Moult

If the saw of the shin were as hard as
it is once it leaves its sheath, it would abso-
lutely refuse to come out without tearing to
pieces the tight-fitting scabbard. The dif-
ficulty therefore is evaded, for it is essential
that the leggings, which form the only sus-
pension-cords, should remain intact in order
to furnish a firm support until the deliver-
ance is completed.

The leg in process of liberation is not a
limb fit for walking; it has not the rigidity
which it will presently possess. It is soft
and highly flexible. In the portion which
the progress of the moult exposes to view, I
see it bending and curving as I wish, under
the mere influence of its own weight, when
I lift the cage. It is as supple as elastic
cord. And yet consolidation follows very
rapidly, for the proper stiffness will be ac-
quired in a few minutes.

Farther on, in the part hidden from me
by the sheath, the leg is certainly softer and
in a state of exquisite plasticity — I was al-
most saying fluidity — which allows it to
overcome difficult passages almost as a liquid
would flow.

The teeth of the saw are there, but have
none of their future sharpness. I am able
409

The Life of the Grasshopper

to strip a leg partially with the point of a
knife and to extract the spines from their
horny mould. They are germs of spikes,
flexible buds which bend under the slightest
pressure and resume their upright position
as soon as the pressure is removed.

These spikes lie backwards when the leg
is about to be drawn out; they stand up
again and solidify while it emerges. I am
witnessing not the mere stripping of gaiters
from limbs completely enclosed, but rather
a sort of birth and growth which disconcert
us by their rapidity.

Much in the same way, but with far less
delicate precision, do the claws of the Cray-
fish, at moulting-time, withdraw the soft
flesh of their two fingers from the old stony
sheath.

The shanks are free at last. They are
folded limply in the groove of the thigh,
there to mature without moving. The ab-
domen is next stripped. Its fine tunic wrin-
kles, rumples and pushes back towards the
extremity, which alone fcr some time longer
remains clad in the moulting skin. Except
at this point, the whole of the Locust is now
bare.

It is hanging perpendicularly, head down,
410

The Locusts: the last Moult

supported by the claws of the now empty
leggings. Throughout this long and finikin
work, the four talons have never yielded,
thanks to the delicacy and care with which
the extraction has been conducted.

The insect, fixed by the stern to its cast
skin, does not move. Its abdomen is im-
mensely swollen, apparently distended by
the reserve of organizable humours which
the expansion of the wings and wing-cases
will soon set in motion. The Locust is rest-
ing; he is recovering from his exertions.
Twenty minutes are spent in waiting.

Then, by an effort of its back, the hanging
insect raises itself and with its front tarsi
grabs hold of the cast skin fastened above
it. Never did acrobat, swinging by his feet
from the bar of a trapeze, display greater
strength of loin in lifting himself. When
this feat is accomplished, what remains to
be done is nothing. With the support which
he has now gripped, the Locust climbs a
little higher and reaches the wire gauze of
the cage. This takes the place of the brush-
wood which the free insect would utilize for
the transformation. He fixes himself to it
with his four front feet. Then the tip of
the abdomen succeeds in releasing itself,
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The Life of the Grasshopper

whereupon, loosened with one last shake,
the empty husk drops to the ground.

The fact of its falling interests me, for
I remember the stubborn persistency with
which the Cicada's cast skin defies the winter
winds without being detached from its sup-
porting twig. The Locust's transfiguration
is conducted in much the same way as the
Cicada's. Then how is it that the Acridian
gives himself such very shaky hangers?
The hooks hold so long as the work of
tearing continues, though one would think
that this ought to bring down everything;
they give way under a trifling shock so soon
as that work is done. We have, therefore,
a very unstable condition of equilibrium here,
showing once more with what delicate pre-
cision the insect leaves its sheath.

I said " tearing," for want of a better
word. But it is not quite that. The term
implies violence; and violence there cannot
be any, because of the unsteady balance.
Should the Locust, upset by his exertions,
come to the ground, it would be all up with
him. He would shrivel where he lies; or,
at any rate, his organs of flight, being un-
able to expand, would remain pitiful shreds.
The Locust does not tear himself loose; he
412

The Locusts: the last Moult

flows softly from his scabbard. It is as
though he were forced out by a gentle
spring.

To return to the wings and wing-cases,
which have made no apparent progress since
leaving the sheaths. They are still stumps,
with fine longitudinal seams, not much more
than bits of rope. Their expansion, which
will take more than three hours, is reserved
for the end, when the insect is completely
stripped and in its normal position.

We have seen the Locust turn head up-
permost. This upright position is enough
to restore the natural arrangement of the
wing-cases and wings. Being extremely flex-
ible and bent by their own weight, they were
hanging down with their loose end pointing
towards the head of the inverted insect.
Now, still by virtue of their own weight, they
are straightened and put the right way up.
They are no longer curved like the petals
of a flower, they are no longer in an inverted
position; but they still look miserably insig-
nificant.

In its perfect state, the wing is fan-shaped.
A radiating cluster of strong nervures runs
through it lengthwise and forms the frame-
work of the fan, which is readily furled or
413

The Life of the Grasshopper

unfurled. The intervening spaces are
crossed by innumerable tiny bars which make
of the whole a network of rectangular
meshes. The wing-case, which is coarser and
much less expanded, repeats this structure in
squares.

In neither case does any of the mesh show
during the rope's-end stage. All that we see
is a few wrinkles, a few winding furrows,
which tell us that the stumps are bundles of
cunningly folded material reduced to their
smallest volume.

The expansion begins near the shoulder.
Where at first nothing definite was to be
distinguished, we soon see a diaphanous area
subdivided into meshes of exquisite pre-
cision. Little by little, with a slowness that
defies observation even through the magnify-
ing-glass, this area increases in extent at the
expense of the shapeless terminal roll. My
eyes linger in vain on the confines of the two
portions, the roll developing and the gauze
already developed: I see nothing, see no
more than I should see in a sheet of water.
But wait a moment; and the tissue of squares
stands out with perfect clearness.

If we judged only by this first examina-
tion, we should really think that an organ-

The Locusts: the last Moult

izable fluid is abruptly congealing into a
network of nervures; we should imagine that
we were in the presence of a crystallization
similar, in its suddenness, to that of a saline
solution on the slide of a microscope. Well,
no : things cannot be actually happening like
that. Life does not perform its tasks so
hastily.

I detach a half-developed wing and turn
the powerful eye of the microscope upon it.
This time I am satisfied. On the confines
where the network seemed to be gradually
woven, that network was really in existence.
I can plainly see the longitudinal nervures,
already thick and strong; and I can also see,
pale, it is true, and without relief, the cross-
bars. I find them all in the terminal roll,
of which I succeed in unfolding a few strips.

It is obvious. The wing is not at this mo-
ment a fabric on the loom, through which
the procreative energies are driving their
shuttle ; it is a fabric already completed. AH
that it lacks to be perfect is expansion and
stiffness, even as our linen needs only starch-
ing and ironing.

The flattening out is finished in three hours
or more. The wings and wing-cases stand
up on the Locust's back like a huge set of
415

The Life of the Grasshopper

sails, sometimes colourless, sometimes pale-
green, as are the Cicada's wings at the be-
ginning. We are amazed at their size when
we think of the paltry bundles that repre-
sented them at first. How did so much stuff
manage to find room there !

The fairy-tales tell us of a grain of hemp-
seed that contained the underlinen of a prin-
cess. Here is a grain that is even more
astonishing. The one in the story took
years and years to sprout and multiply and
at last to yield the quantity of hemp required
for the trousseau; the Locust's supplies a
sumptuous set of sails in a short space of
time.

Slowly the proud crest, standing erect in
four straight blades, acquires consistency
and colour. The latter turns the requisite
shade on the following day. For the first
time the wings fold like a fan and lie in their
places; the wing-cases lower their outer edge
and form a gutter which falls over the sides.
The transformation is finished. All that re-
mains for the big Locust to do is to harden
his tissues still further and to darken the grey
of his costume while revelling in the sun.
Let us leave him to enjoy himself and re-
trace our steps a little.
416

The Locusts: the last Moult

The four stumps, which issued from their
sheaths shortly after the corselet split its
keel down the middle, contain, as we have
seen, the wings and wing-cases, with their net-
work of nervures. This network, if not per-
fect, has at least the general plan of its
numberless details mapped out. To unfurl
these poor bundles and convert them into
generous sails, it is enough that the organ-
ism, acting in this case like a forcing-pump,
should shoot a stream of humours, which
have been kept in reserve for this moment,
the hardest of all, into the little channels
already prepared for their reception. With
the channel marked out in advance, a slight
injection is sufficient to explain the rapid
spread.

But what were the four strips of gauze
while still contained in their sheaths? Are
the wings spatules and the three-cornered
pinions of the larva moulds whose creases,
corners and sinuosities shape their contents
in their own image and weave the tissues of
the future wing and wing-case? If we had
to do with a real instance of moulding, our
brains could call a halt. We should say
to ourselves that it was quite simple for the
thing moulded to correspond with the shape
417

The Life of the Grasshopper

of the mould. But our halt would be short-
lived, for the mould in its turn would want
explaining: we should have to seek for a
solution of its infinite intricacies. Let us not
go so far back; we should be utterly in the
dark. Let us rather keep to facts that can
be observed.

I examine through the magnifying-glass a
pinion of a larva ripe for transformation. I
see a bundle of fairly thick nervures radi-
ating fanwise. Other nervures, paler and
finer, are set in the intermediate spaces.
Lastly, the fabric is completed by a number
of very short transversal lines, more delicate
still and chevron-shaped.

This, no doubt, gives a rough outline of
the future wing-case; but how different
from the mature structure ! The arrange-
ment of the radiating nervures, the skeleton
of the edifice, is not at all the same; the net-
work formed by the transversal veins in no
way suggests the complicated pattern which
we shall see later. The rudimentary is
about to be succeeded by the infinitely com-
plex, the crude by the exquisitely perfect.
The same remark applies to the wing-spatule
and its outcome, the final wing.

It is quite evident, when we have the pre-
418

The Locusts: the last Moult

paratory and the ultimate stage before our
eyes at the same time: the larva's pinion is
not merely a mould which elaborates the ma-
terial in its own image and shapes the wing-
case upon the model of its hollow. No, the
membrane which we are expecting is not yet
inside in the form of a bundle which, when
unfurled, will astonish us with the size and
the extreme complexity of its texture. Or,
to be accurate, it is there, but in a potential
state. Before becoming a real thing, it is
a virtual thing, which is nothing as yet, but
which is capable of becoming something. It
is there just as much as the oak is inside its
acorn.

A fine, transparent rim binds the free edge
both of the embryo wing and the embryo
wing-case. Under a powerful lens we can
see a few uncertain outlines of the future
lacework. This might well be the factory
in which life intends to set its materials
going. There is nothing else visible, nothing
to suggest the prodigious network whose
every mesh will shortly have its form and
place determined for it with geometrical
precision.

There must therefore be something better
and greater than a mould to make the or-
419

The Life of the Grasshopper

ganizable matter shape itself into a sheet
of gauze and describe the inextricable laby-
rinth of the nervation. There is a primary
plan, an ideal pattern which assigns to each
atom its precise place. Before the matter
begins to move, the configuration is already
virtually traced, the courses of the plastic
currents are already marked out. The
stones of our buildings are arranged in ac-
cordance with the architect's considered plan;
they form an ideal assemblage before exist-
ing as a real assemblage. Similarly, a Lo-
cust's wing, that sumptuous piece of lace
emerging from a miserable sheath, speaks to
us of another Architect, the Author of the
plans which life must follow in its labours.

The genesis of living creatures offers to
our contemplation, in an infinity of ways,
marvels far greater than those of the
Acridian; but generally they pass unper-
ceived, overshadowed as they are by the veil
of time. The lapse of years, with its slow
mysteries, robs us of the most astonishing
spectacles, unless our minds be endowed with
a stubborn patience. Here, by exception,
things take place with a swiftness that arrests
even a wavering attention.

He who would, without wearisome delays,
420

The Locusts: the last Moult

catch a glimpse of the inconceivable dex-
terity with which life does its work has but
to go to the great Locust of the vines. The
insect will show him that which, with their
extreme slowness, the sprouting seed, the
budding leaf and the blossoming flower hide
from our curiosity. We cannot see a blade
of grass grow; but we can easily witness the
growth of a Locust's wings and wing-cases.
We stand astounded at this sublime phan-
tasmagoria of a grain of hemp-seed which in
a few hours becomes a superb piece of linen.
What a proud artist is life, driving its shuttle
to weave the wings of a Locust, one of those
insignificant insects of which Pliny, long ago
said:

"In his tarn parvis, fere nullis, qua vis,
qua sapientia, quam inextricabilis per-
fectis!"

How well the old naturalist was inspired
on this occasion ! Let us repeat after him :

" What power, what wisdom, what inde-
scribable perfection in the tiny corner of life
which the Locust of the vines has shown us ! "

I have heard that a learned enquirer, to
whom life was but a conflict of physical and
421

The Life of the Grasshopper

chemical forces, did not despair of one day
obtaining artificial organizable matter : pro-
toplasm, as the official jargon has it. Were
it in my power, I should hasten to satisfy
this ambitious person.

Very well, be it so : you have thoroughly
prepared your protoplasm. By dint of long
hours of meditation, deep study, scrupulous
care and inexhaustible patience, your wishes
have been fulfilled; you have extracted from
your apparatus an albuminous glair, which
goes bad easily and stinks like the very devil
in a few days' time: in short, filth. What
do you propose to do with your product?

Will you organize it? Will you give it
the structure of a living edifice? Will you
take a hypodermic syringe and inject it be-
tween two impalpable films to obtain were
it only the wing of a Gnat?

For that is more or less what the Locust
does. He injects his protoplasm between
the two scales of the pinion; and the ma-
terial becomes a wing-case, because it finds
as a guide the ideal archetype of which I
spoke just now. It is controlled in its in-
tricate windings by a plan which existed
before the injection, before the material
itself.

422

The Locusts: the last Moult

Have you this archetype, this coordinator
of forms, this primordial regulator, at the
end of your syringe? No? Then throw
away your product ! No life will ever spring
from that chemical ordure.

423

CHAPTER XX

THE FOAMY CICADELLA

IN April, when the Swallow and the
Cuckoo visit us, let us consider the fields
for a while, keeping our eyes on the ground,
as befits the eager observer of insect-life.
We shall not fail to see, here and there, on
the grass, little masses of white foam. It
might easily be taken for a spray of frothy
spittle from the lips of a passer-by; but there
is so much of it that we soon abandon this
first idea. Never would human saliva suffice
for so lavish an expenditure of foam, even
if some one with nothing better to do were
to devote all his disgusting and misdirected
zeal to the effort.

While recognizing that man is blameless
in the matter, the northern peasant has not
relinquished the name suggested by the ap-
pearance: he calls those strange flakes
" Cuckoo-spit," after the bird whose note is
then proclaiming the awakening of spring.
424

The Foamy Cicadella

The vagrant creature, unequal to the toils and
delights of housekeeping, ejects it at random,
so they say, as it pays its flying visits to the
homes of others, in search of a resting-place
for its egg.

The interpretation does credit to the
Cuckoo's salivary powers, but not to the in-
terpreter's intelligence. The other popular
denomination is worse still: "Frog-spit!"
My dear good people, what on earth has the
Frog or his slaver to do with it? *

The shrewder Provencal peasant also
knows that vernal foam; but he is too cau-
tious to give it any wild names. My rustic
neighbours, when I ask them about Cuckoo-
spit and Frog-spit, begin to smile and see
nothing in those words but a poor joke. To
my questions on the nature of the thing they
reply:

" I don't know."

Exactly ! That's the sort of answer I like,
an answer not complicated with grotesque
explanations.

Would you know the real perpetrator of
this spittle? Rummage about the frothy

1 Kirby and other English naturalists refer to
Aphrophora spumaria as the Frothy Froghopper; but
this is rather because the insect's outline and hopping-
powers suggest those of a Frog. — Translator's Note.
425

The Life of the Grasshopper

mass with a straw. You will extract a little
yellow, pot-bellied, dumpy creature, shaped
like a Cicada without wings. That's the
foam-producer.

When laid naked on another leaf, she
brandishes the pointed tip of her little round
paunch. This at once betrays the curious
machine which we shall see at work presently.
When older and still operating under the
cover of its foam, the little thing becomes a
nymph, turns green in colour and gives itself
stumps of wings fixed scarfwise on its sides.
From underneath its blunted head there pro-
jects, when it is working, a little gimlet, a
beak similar to that of the Cicadae.

In its adult form the insect is, in fact, a
sort of very small-sized Cicada, for which
reason the entomologist capable of shaking
off the trammels of nonsensical nomencla-
ture calls it simply the Foamy Cicadella.
For this euphonic name, the diminutive of
Cicada, the others have substituted that hor-
rible word Aphrophora. Orthodox science
says, Aphrophora spumaria, meaning Foamy
Foambearer. The ear is none the better
for this improvement. Let us content our-
selves with Cicadella, which respects the
tympanum and does not reduplicate the foam.
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The Foamy Cicadella

I have consulted my few books as to the
habits of the Cicadella. They tell me that
she punctures plants and makes the sap
exude in foamy flakes. Under this cover,
the insect lives sheltered from the heat. A
work recently compiled has one curious piece
of information: it tells me that I must get
up early in the morning, inspect my crops,
pick any twig with foam on it and at once
plunge it into a cauldron of boiling water.

Oh, my poor Cicadella, this is a bad look-
out! The author does not do things by
halves. I see him rising before the dawn,
lighting a stove on wheels and pushing his
infernal contrivance through the midst of his
lucern, his clover and his peas, to boil you
on the spot. He will have his work cut out
for him. I remember a certain patch of
sainfoin of which almost every stalk had its
foam-flakes. Had the stewing-process been
necessary, one might just as well have reaped
the field and turned the whole crop into herb-
tea.

Why these violent measures ? Are you so
very dangerous to the harvest, my pretty
little Cicada? They accuse you of draining
the plant which you attack. Upon my word,
they are right : you drain it almost as dry as
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The Life of the Grasshopper

the Flea does the Dog. But to touch an-
other's grass — you know it: doesn't the fable
say so ? — is a heinous crime, an offence which
can be punished by nothing less drastic than
boiling water.

Let us waste no more time on these agri-
cultural entomologists with their murderous
designs. To hear them talk, one would
think that the insect has no right to live.
Incapable of behaving like a ferocious land-
owner who becomes filled with thoughts of
massacre at the sight of a maggoty plum, I,
more kindly, abandon my few rows of peas
and beans to the Cicadella: she will leave
me my share, I am convinced.

Besides, the insignificant ones of the earth
are not the least rich in talent, in an orig-
inality of invention which will teach us much
concerning the infinite variety of instinct.
The Cicadella, in particular, possesses her
recipes for aerated waters. Let us ask her
by what process she succeeds in giving such
a fine head of froth to her product, for the
books that talk about boiling cauldrons and
Cuckoo-spit are silent on this subject, the
only one worthy of narration.

The foamy mass has no very definite shape
and is hardly larger than a hazel-nut. It is
428

The Foamy Cicadella

remarkably persistent even when the insect
is not working at it any longer. Deprived
of its manufacturer, who would not fail to
keep it going, and placed on a watch-glass, it
lasts for more than twenty-four hours with-
out evaporating or losing its bubbles. This
persistency is striking, compared with the
rapidity with which soapsuds, for instance,
disappear.

Prolonged duration of the foam is neces-
sary to the Cicadella, who would exhaust
herself in the constant renewal of her pro-
ducts if her work were ordinary froth. Once
the effervescent covering is obtained, it is
essential that the insect should rest for a
time, with no other task than to drink its fill
and grow. And so the moisture converted
into froth possesses a certain stickiness, con-
ducive to longevity. It is slightly oily and
trickles under one's finger like a weak solu-
tion of gum.

The bubbles are small and even, being all
of the same dimensions. You can see that
they have been scrupulously gauged, one by
one ; you suspect the presence of a graduated
tube. Like our chemists and druggists, the
insect must have its drop-measures.

A single Cicadella is usually crouching in-
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The Life of the Grasshopper

visible in the depths of the foam; sometimes
there are two or three or more. In such
cases, it is a fortuitous association, the
fabrics of the several workers being so close
together that they merge into one common
edifice.

Let us see the work begin and, with the
aid of a magnifying-glass, follow the crea-
ture's proceedings. With her sucker in-
serted up to the hilt and her six short legs
firmly fixed, the Cicadella remains motion-
less, flat on her stomach on the long-suffering
leaf. You expect to see froth issuing from
the edge of the well, effervescing under the
action of the insect's implement, whose
lancets, ascending and descending in turns
and rubbing against each other like those
of the Cicada, ought to make the sap foam
as it is forced out. The froth, so it would
seem, must come ready-made from the punc-
ture. That is what the current descriptions
of the Cicadella tell us; that was how I my-
self pictured it on the authority of the
writers. All this is a huge mistake : the real
thing is much more ingenious. It is a very
clear liquid that comes up from the well,
with no more trace of foam than in a dew-
drop. Even so the Cicada, who possesses
430

The Foamy Cicadella

similar tools, makes the spot at which she
slakes her thirst give forth a limpid fluid,
with not a vestige of froth to it. There-
fore, notwithstanding its dexterity in sucking
up liquids, the Cicadella's mouth-apparatus
has nothing to do with the manufacture of
the foamy mattress. It supplies the raw
material; another implement works it up.
What implement? Have patience and we
shall see.

The clear liquid rises imperceptibly and
glides under the insect, which at last is half
inundated. The work begins again without
delay. To make white of egg into a froth
we have two methods : we can whip it, thus
dividing the sticky fluid into thin flakes and
causing it to take in air in a network of
cells; or we can blow into it and so inject
air-bubbles right into the mass. Of these
two methods, the Cicadella employs the sec-
ond, which is less violent and more elegant.
She blows her froth.

But how is the blowing done ? The insect
seems incapable of it, being devoid of any
air-mechanism similar to that of the lungs.
To breathe with tracheae and to blow like
a bellows are incompatible actions.

Agreed; but be sure that, if the insect

The Life of the Grasshopper

needs a blast of air for its manufactures, the
blowing-machine will be there, most inge-
niously contrived. This machine the Cica-
della possesses at the tip of her abdomen, at
the end of the intestine. Here, split length-
wise in the shape of a Y, a little pocket opens
and shuts in turns, a pocket whose two lips
close hermetically when joined.

Having said this, let us watch the per-
formance. The insect lifts the tip of its
abdomen out of the bath in which it is swim-
ming. The pocket opens, sucks in the air
of the atmosphere till it is full, then closes
and dives down, the richer by its prize. In-
side the liquid, the apparatus contracts.
The captive air escapes as from a nozzle
and produces a first bubble of froth. Forth-
with the air-pocket returns to the upper air,
opens, takes in a fresh load and goes down
again closed, to immerse itself once more
and blow in its gas. A new bubble is pro-
duced.

And so it goes on with chronometrical
regularity, from second to second, the blow-
ing-machine swinging upwards to open its
valve and fill itself with air, downwards to
dive into the liquid and send out its gaseous
contents. Such is the air-measurer, the drop-
432

The Foamy Cicadella

glass which accounts for the evenness of the
frothy bubbles.

Ulysses, the favourite of the gods, re-
ceived from the storm-dispenser, uiEolus,
bags in which the winds were confined. The
carelessness of his crew, who untied the bags
to find out what they contained, let loose a
tempest which destroyed the fleet. I have
seen those mythological wind-filled bags; I
saw them years ago, when I was a child.

A peripatetic tinker, a son of Calabria,
had set up between two stones the crucible
in which a tin soup-tureen and plates were
to be remelted. ^Eolus did the blowing,
^Eolus in the person of a little dark-
skinned boy who, squatting on his heels,
forced air towards the forge by alter-
nately squeezing two goatskin bags, one on
the right and one on the left. Thus must
the prehistoric bronze-smelters have per-
formed their task, they whose workshops and
whose remains of copper-slag I find on the
hills near my home: the blast of their fur-
naces was produced by these inflated skins.

The machine employed by my ^Eolus is

pathetically simple. The hide of a goat,

with the hair left on, is practically all that

is necessary. It is a bag fastened at the

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The Life of the Grasshopper

bottom over a nozzle, open at the top and
supplied, by way of lips, with two little
boards which, when brought together, close
up the whole apparatus. These two stiff
lips are each furnished with a leather handle,
one for the thumb, the other for the four
remaining fingers. The hand opens; the lips
of the bag part and it fills with air. The
hand closes and brings the boards together;
the air imprisoned in the compressed bag
escapes by the nozzle. The alternate work-
ing of the two bags gives a continuous blast.

Apart from continuity, which is not a
favourable condition when the gas has to
be discharged in small bubbles, the Cica-
della's bellows works like the Calabrian
tinker's. It is a flexible pocket with stiff lips,
which alternately part and unite, opening to
let the air enter and closing to keep it im-
prisoned. The contraction of the sides takes
the place of the shrinking of the bag and
puffs out the gaseous contents when the
pocket is immersed.

He certainly had a lucky inspiration who
first thought of confining the wind in a bag,
as mythology tells us that ^olus did. The
goatskin turned into a bellows gave us our
metals, the essential matter whereof our

434

The Foamy Cicadella

tools are made. Well, in this art of expelling
air, an enormous source of progress, the Ci-
cadella was the pioneer. She was blowing
her froth before Tubalcain thought of
urging the fire of his forge with a leather
pouch. She was the first to invent bellows.

When, bubble by bubble, the foamy wrap-
per covers the insect to a height which the
uplifted tip of her belly is unable to reach,
it is no longer possible to take in air and
the effervescence stops. Nevertheless, the
gimlet that extracts the sap goes on working,
for nourishment must be obtained. As a
rule then, in the sloping part, the superfluous
liquid, that which is not converted into foam,
collects and forms a drop of perfectly clear
liquid.

What does this limpid fluid lack in order
to turn white and effervesce? Nothing but
air blown into it, one would think. I am
able to substitute my own devices for the
Cicadella's syringe. I place between my lips
a very slender glass tube and with delicate
puffs send my breath into the drop of
moisture. To my great surprise, it does hot
froth up. The result is just the same as that
which I should have with plain water from
the tap.

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The Life of the Grasshopper

Instead of a plentiful, lasting, slow-sub-
siding foam, like that with which the insect
covers itself, all that I obtain is a miserable
ring of bubbles, which burst as soon as they
appear. And I am equally unsuccessful with
the liquid which the Cicadella collects under
her abdomen at the start, before working
her bellows. What is wrong in each case?
The foamy product and its generating liquid
shall tell us.

The first is oily to the touch, gummy and
as fluid as, for instance, a weak solution of
albumen would be ; the second flows as read-
ily as plain water. The Cicadella therefore
does not draw from her well a liquid liable
to effervesce merely by the action of the blow-
pocket; she adds something to what oozes
from the puncture, adds a viscous element
which gives cohesion and makes frothing pos-
sible, even as a boy adds soap to the water
which he blows into iridescent bubbles
through a straw.

Where then does the insect keep its soap-
works, its manufactory of the effervescent
element? Evidently in the blow-pocket itself.
It is here that the intestine ends and here
that albuminous products, furnished either
by the digestive canal or by special glands,
436

The Foamy Cicadella

can be expelled in infinitesimal doses. Each
whiff sent out is thus accompanied by a trifle
of adhesive matter, which dissolves in the
water, making it sticky and enabling it to
retain the captive air in permanent bubbles.
The Cicadella covers herself with an icing of
which her intestine is to some extent the
manufacturer.

This method brings us back to the industry
of the lily-dweller, the grub which makes
itself a loathsome armour out of its excre-
tions ; x but what a distance between the heap
of ordure which it wears on its back and the
Cicadella's aerated mattress !

Another fact, more difficult to explain,
attracts our attention. A multitude of low-
growing, herbaceous plants, whose sap starts
flowing in April, suit the frothy insect,
without distinction of species, genus or
family. I could almost make a list of the
non-ligneous vegetation of my neighbourhood
by cataloguing the plants on which the little
creature's foam is to be found in greater or
lesser abundance. A few experiments will
tell us how indifferent the Cicadella is to both

*The larva of the Lily-beetle (Crioceris merdigera),
the essay on which insect has not yet been translated into
English. — Translator's Note.
437

The Life of the Grasshopper

the nature and the properties of the plant
which she adopts as her home.

I pick the insect out of its froth with the
tip of a hair-pencil and place it on some
other plant, of an opposite flavour, letting
the strong come after the mild, the spicy
after the insipid, the bitter after the sweet.
The new encampment is accepted without
hesitation and soon covered with foam. For
instance, a Cicadella taken from the bean,
which has a neutral flavour, thrives excel-
lently on the spurges, full of pungent milky
sap, and particularly on Euphorbia serrata,
the narrow notch-leaved spurge, which is one
of her favourite dwelling-places. And she
is equally satisfied when moved from the
highly-spiced spurge to the comparatively
flavourless bean.

This indifference is surprising when we re-
flect how scrupulously faithful other insects
are to their plants. There are undoubtedly
stomachs expressly made to drink corrosive
and assimilate toxic matters. The caterpillar
of Acherontia atropos, the Death's-head
Hawk-moth, eats its fill of potato-leaves,
which are seasoned with solanin; the cater-
pillar of the Spurge-moth browses in these
parts on the upright red spurge (Euphorbia
438

The Foamy Cicadella

characias), whose milk produces much the
same effect as red-hot iron on the tongue;
but neither one nor the other would pass
from these narcotics or these caustics to ut-
terly insipid fare.

How does the Cicadella manage to feed
on anything and everything, for she evi-
dently obtains nourishment while putting a
head on her liquid? I see her thrive, either
of her own accord or by my devices, on the
common buttercup (Ranunculus acris), which
has a flavour unequalled save by Cayenne
pepper; on the Italian arum (Arum itali-
cum), the veriest particle of whose leaves
is enough to burn the lips; on the traveller's
joy, or virgin's bower (Clematis vitalba),
the famous beggars' herb, which reddens the
skin and produces the sores in request among
our sham cripples. After these highly-
seasoned condiments, she will promptly ac-
cept the mild sainfoin, the scented savory,
the bitter dandelion, the sweet field eringo,
in short, anything that I put before her,
whether full-flavoured or tasteless.

As a matter of fact, this strange catho-
licity of diet might well be only apparent.
When the Cicadella punctures this or that
herb, of whatever species, all that she does
439

The Life of the Grasshopper

is to extract an almost neutral liquid, just
as the roots draw it from the soil; she does
not admit to her fountain the fluids worked
up into essential principles. The liquid that
trickles forth under the insect's gimlet and
forms a bead at the bottom of the foamy
mass is perfectly clear.

I have gathered this drop on the spurge,
the arum, the clematis and the buttercup. I
expected to find a fire-water, pungent as the
sap of those different plants. Well, it is
nothing of the kind; it lacks all savour; it is
water or little more. And this insipid stuff
has issued from a reservoir of vitriol.

If I prick the spurge with a fine needle,
that which rises from the puncture is a white,
milky drop, tasting horribly bitter. When
the Cicadella pushes in her drill, a clear,
flavourless fluid oozes out. The two opera-
tions seem to be directed towards different
sources.

How does she manage to draw a liquid
that is clear and harmless from the same
barrel whence my needle brings up some-
thing milky and burning? Can the Cica-
della, with her instrument, that incompara-
ble alembic, divide the fierce fluid into two,
admitting the neutral and rejecting the pep-
440

The Foamy Cicadella

pery? Can she be drawing on certain vessels
whose sap, not yet elaborated, has not ac-
quired its final virulence ? The delicate
vegetable anatomy is helpless in the presence
of the tiny creature's pump. I give up the
problem.

When the Cicadella is exploring the
spurge, as frequently happens, she has a seri-
ous reason for not admitting to her fountain
all that would be yielded by simple bleeding,
such as my needle would produce. The milky
juice of the plant would be fatal to her.

I gather a drop or two of the liquid that
trickles from a cut stalk and instal a Cica-
della in it. The insect is not comfortable:
I can see this by its efforts to escape. My
hair-pencil pushes the fugitive back into the
pool of milk, rich in dissolved rubber. Soon
this rubber settles into clots similar to crumbs
of cheese; the insect's legs become clad in
gaiters that seem made of casein; a coating
of gum obstructs the breathing-valves ; possi-
bly also the extremely delicate skin is hurt
by the blistering qualities of the milky sap.
If kept for some time in that environment,
the Cicadella dies.

Even so would she die if her gimlet, work-
ing simply as a needle, brought the milk of
441

The Life of the Grasshopper

the spurge to the surface. A sifting takes
place then, which allows almost pure water
to issue from the source that gives the where-
withal for making the froth. A subtle
exhaustion-process, whose mechanism is hid-
den from our curiosity, a piston-play of un-
rivalled delicacy, effects this marvellous work
of purification.

Water is always water, whether it come
from the stagnant pool or the clear stream,
from a poisonous liquid or a healing infu-
sion; and it possesses the same properties,
when it is rid of its impurities by distillation.
In like manner, the sap, whether furnished
by the spurge or the bean, the clematis or
the sainfoin, the buttercup or the borage,
is of the same watery nature when the
Cicadella's syphon, by a reducing-process
which would be the envy of our stills, has
deprived it of its peculiar properties, which
vary so greatly in different plants.

This would explain how the insect makes
its froth rise on the first plant that it comes
across. Everything suits it, because its appa-
ratus reduces any sap to the condition of
plain water. The inimitable well-sinker is
able to produce the limpid from the cloudy
and the harmless from the toxic.
441

The Foamy Cicadella

It may possibly happen that the insect's
well supplies water that is not quite pure.
If left to evaporate in a watch-glass, the
clear drop that trickles from the mass of
foam yields a thin white residue, which dis-
solves by effervescence in nitric acid. This
residue might well be carbonate of potash.
I also suspect the presence of traces of
albumen.

Obviously, the Cicadella finds something
to feed on at the bottom of the puncture.
Now what does she consume? To all ap-
pearances, something with an albuminous
basis, for the pigmy herself is, for the most
part, but a grain of similar matter. This
element is plentiful in all plants; and it is
probable that the insect uses it lavishly to
make up for the expenditure of gum needed
for the formation of froth. Some albu-
minous product, perfected in the digestive
canal and discharged by the intestine as and
when the blow-pocket expels its bubble of
air, might well give the liquid the power of
swelling into a foam that lasts for a long
time.

If we ask ourselves what advantage the
Cicadella derives from her mass of froth, a
very excellent answer is at once suggested;
443

The Life of the Grasshopper

the insect keeps itself cool under that shelter,
hides itself from the eyes of its persecutors
and is protected against the rays of the sun
and the attacks of parasites.

The Lily-beetle makes a similar use of
the mantle of her own dirt; but she, most
unhappily for herself, flings off her nasty
cloak and descends naked from the plant to
the ground, where she has to bury herself
to slaver her cocoon. At this critical mo-
ment, the Flies lie in wait for her and en-
trust her with their eggs, the germs of para-
sites which will eat into her body.

The Cicadella is better-advised and alto-
gether escapes the dangers attendant on a re-
moval. Subject to certain summary changes
which never interrupt her activity, she as-
sumes the adult form in the very heart of
her bastion, under the shelter of a viscous
rampart capable of repelling any assailant.
Here she enjoys perfect security when the
difficult hour has come for tearing off her old
skin and putting on another, brand-new and
more decorative; here she finds profound
peace for her excoriation and for the dis-
play of the attire of a riper age.

The insect does not leave its cool cover-
ing until it is grown up, when it appears in

The Foamy Cicadella

the form of a pretty little, brown-striped
Cicadella. It is then able to take enormous
and sudden leaps, which carry it far from
the aggressor ; and it leads an easy life, un-
troubled by the foe.

Looked upon as a system of defence, the
frothy stronghold is indeed a magnificent in-
vention, much superior to the squalid work
of the invader of the lily. And, strange to
say, the system has no imitators among the
genera most nearly allied to the froth-
blower.

In her larval form, the Asparagus-beetle
is victimized by the Fly because she does not
follow the example of her cousin, the Lily-
beetle, and clothe herself in her own drop-
pings. Even so, on the grass, on the trees
displaying their tender leaves, other Cica-
dellas abound, no less exposed to danger
from the Warbler seeking a succulent morsel
for his little ones ; and, as they draw out the
sap through the punctures made by their
suckers, not one of them thinks of making it
effervesce. Yet they too possess the elevator-
pump, which they all work in the same
manner; only they do not know how to turn
the end of their intestine into a bellows.
Why not? Because instincts are not to be

445

The Life of the Grasshopper

acquired. They are primordial aptitudes,
bestowed here and denied there; time
cannot awaken them by a slow incubation,
nor are they decreed by any similarity of
organization.

446

INDEX

A

Asparagus-beetle, 445

Ass, 138, 257

Acherontia atropos (see

Death's-head Hawk-

B

moth)

Badger, 308

Adder, 122, 125, 206

Bat, 201-202

y£sop, 6-7

Bee, 92, 121, 136, 146, 180,

Agrion, 273

202, 247, 251, 256

Alpine Analota, 231-235,

Beetle (see also the va-

238, 299, 373

rieties), 22, 146, 255-256,

Ameles decolor (see Grey

360

Mantis)

Bellot, M., 232

Ammonite, 273

Beranger, Pierre Jean de,

Ammophila holosericea,

4«, 13

202-204

Black Cicada, 59, 73

Anacreon, 13

Blue-winged Locust, 214-

Analota alpina (see Alpine

217, 381-383, 389, 397-

Analota)

400

Anianus, SB

Bolboceras gallicus, 255-

Anoxia pilosa, 290

256

Ant, 1-2, 4-5, 7, 9-24, 176-

Bombyx, 205

178, 181, 183, 187-190,

Bordeaux Cricket, 309-

199, 263, 298, 307, 321-

310, 345-346

323

Buffon, Georges Louis

Anthidium, 203

Leclerc de, 253

Anthophora, 109

Bull, 69, 249

Anthrax, 100

Bull, the author's Dog,

Ant-lion, 307

133-134

Aphis, 178

Buprestis, 31-33

Aphrophora spumaria (see
Foamy Cicadella)

Burying-beetle (see Necro-
phorus)

Aristotle, 50-51, 53-55, 366
Ash Cicada, 59, 66-75, 80,

Butterfly (see also the va-
rieties), 121, 125, 146,

94

183, 198-199,256,302-305

447

*

Index

Cabbage Butterfly (see
White Cabbage Butter-
fly)

Cacan (see Ash Cicada)

Callot, Jacques, 194

Caloptenus italicus (see
Italian Locust)

Camel, 362

Capon, 188

Capricorn, 31-33, 255-256

Cassida (see Tortoise-
beetle)

Cat, 3, 140, 196, 282,

Centipede, 223/1

Century Co., vii

Cephalopod, 223, 273, 299

Cerambyx (see Capricorn)

Cetonia, u, 183

Chaffinch, 147

Chalcis, 92, 178

Chalicodoma, 365

Chicken, 188

Chrysomela, 360

Cicada (see also the va-
rieties), vii, i-ii2, 171-
172, 178, 242, 256, 258-
259, 263, 268, 276-278,
287-291, 343-344, 366,
412, 416, 426-427

Cicada atra (see Black
Cicada)

Cicada hematodes (see
Red Cicada)

Cicada orni (see Ash
Cicada)

Cicada plebeia (see Com-
mon Cicada)

Cicada pygmaa (see
Pigmy Cicada)

448

Cicada foment osa, 73
Cigale (see Cicada)
Cigalon, Cigaloun (see

Cicada tomentosa)
Coaltit, 265
Cockchafer (see also Pine

Cockchafer), 290
Cockroach, 287^
Cod, 186-187
Common Black Cricket,

Common Cricket (see

Field Cricket)
Common Cicada, 59-66, 70-

72, 74-112
Common Owl, 282
Common Snail, 223
Conocephalus mandibu-

laris, 21 4W, 266
Copris, 255-256
Crab, 130, 366
Crab Spider, 129-136
Crayfish, 410
Crested Lark, 325-326
Cricket (see also the va-
rieties), vii, 256, 258-

259, 266, 287«, 295
Cri-cri (see Cricket)
Crioceris merdiaera (see

Lily-beetle)
Cross Spider, 120
Crow, 3
Cuckoo, 424
Cuckoo-spit (see Foamy

Cicadella)

Cul-blanc (see Wheatear)
Cuttlefish, 22371

Daumas, General Eugene,
361

Index

Death's-head Hawk-moth,

43?-439

Decticus (see also the va-
rieties), 121, 123-124,
266, 287, 296, 299, 314,
317-318, 327, 329, 336-

337, 399
Decticus albifrons (see

White-faced Decticus)
Devilkin (see Empusa

pauper ata)
Diadema, Epeira (see

Cross Spider)
Dioscorides, 50, 56
Dog, 319

Donkey (see Ass)
Dorbeetle (see Geotrupes)
Double-spotted Cricket,

309-310

Dragon-fly, 121, 225, 273
Drone, 22

Drone-fly (see Eristalis)
Dryden, John, 24971, 341/1,

35i"
Dung-beetle, 316, 322

Earwig, n, 183, 2871*
Edwards, Osman, viii, 20
Elephant, 53, 273-274
Empusa pauperata, 162,

191-210

Epeira (see also the va-
rieties), 121
Epeira diadema (see Cross

Spider)
Epeira sericea (see Silky

Epeira)

Ephippiger (see also Vine
Ephippiger), 124, 229-
230, 232, 327

Ephippiger vitium (see

Vine Ephippiger)
Eristalis, 197
Eucera, 203
Euripides, 290/1
Eyed Lizard, 363

Fabre, Mile. Marie Pau-
line, the author's daugh-
ter, 356-357

Fabre, Paul, the author's
son, 356

Fallow-chat (see Wheat-
ear)

Fallow-finch (see Wheat-
ear)

Field Cricket, 283-284, 300-
347, 350

Field-mouse, 183

Flea, 102

Florian, Jean Pierre Claris
de, 302, 306

Fly (see also House-fly),
3, n, 22-23, "8, 121,
146, 179, 183, 199-200,
256, 263, 444-445.

Foamy Cicadella, vii, 287/1,
424-446

Fox, 3, 308

Franklin, Benjamin, 335

Frog, 257

Frog-hopper, Frog-spit

(see Foamy Cicadella)

Frothy Frog-hopper (see
Foamy Cicadella)

Garden Spider (see Cross
Spider, Silky Epeira)

449

Index

Geotrupes, 27

Gerard, Jean Ignace Isi-
dore (see Grandville)

Glow-worm, 283

Gnat, 92-94, 127, 183, 322,
422

Goat, 3, 249

Grandville, 4

Grasshopper (see also
Green Grasshopper,

Ephippiger, Vine Ephip-
piger), vii, 577, 8, 80,
117, 119, 135, 140, 198-
199, 214, 21877, 224, 229,
233, 238-241, 245, 256,
258, 266-271, 277, 282,
287*, 327-328, 337, 362-
363, 365, 370, 379, 392,
397-399

Greenfinch, 183

Green Fly (see Aphis)

Green Grasshopper, 228-
229, 238, 263-265, 275-
299, 327, 344

Green Tree-frog, 80

Grey Decticus, 238, 265-
266

Grey Flesh-fly, 245

Grey Lizard, 177-178, 181,
273, 321, 363

Grey Locust, 120-121, 124,
127, 139, 355, 372, 383-
388, 392, 393«> 395, 4°i-
423

Grey Mantis, 126-127, 146,
160-161, 165-166, 173-
174, 207-208

Gryllus bimaculatus (see
Double-spotted Cricket)

Gryllus burdigalensis (see
Bordeaux Cricket)

Gryllus desertus (see

Solitary Cricket)
Guinea-fowl, 357-358

H

Hare, 300-301

Harpalus, 360

Helix aspersa (see Com-
mon Snail)

Hen, 358, 383

Herod Antipas, 365

Hive-bee, 130-135

Horned Owl (see Scops-
owl)

Hornet, 22, 183

House Cricket, 346

House-fly, 195-197, 199

I

Intermediary Decticus,

21471, 265-266
Italian Cricket, 283-284,

346-352
Italian Locust, 21471, 355-

356, 370-372, 379-381,

390
lulus, 360

J

Jacotot, Joseph, 49

K

Kirby, William, 425/1

La Fontaine, Jean de, 3-5,
7, 263, 300-302, 306

Lark (see also Crested
Lark), 189

450

Index

L'Estrange, Sir Roger, 50

Leucospis, 92, 100

Libellula (see Dragon-fly,
Meganeura Monyi)

Lily-beetle, 437, 444

Little Cicada, Little Cigale
(see Cicada tomentosa)

Lizard (see Eyed Lizard,
Grey Lizard)

Locust (see also the varie-
ties), vii, 53, 117, "9.
121, 123-124, 126-130,
I3S-I36, 138, i4«i l63,
177, 179-180, 187, 189,

'95. 199, 2°6, 21I» 2I4»
2i8«, 227, 233, 238, 245,

287". 353-4.23

Locusta viridissima (see
Green Grasshopper)

M

Machato banarudo (see
Scops-owl)

McKenna, Stephen, viii,
305/1

Mammoth, 248, 273, 368

Mantis (see also the varie-
ties), vii, 287/1

Mantis religiosa (see
Praying Mantis)

Matthiolus, 50

Mattioli, Pietro Andrea
(see Matthiolus)

Megalosaurus, 273

Meganeura Monyi, 273

Melolontha fullo (see Pine
Cockchafer)

Miall, Bernard, vii, 255

Midge, 179, 181, 337

Millepede, 224

Moffett, Thomas, 169
Moth (see also the varie-
ties), 146, 205
Moufet (see Moffett)
Mouse, 196
Muffet (see Moffett)
Myriapod, 223/1

N

Nautilus, 273
Necrophorus, 322
Nightingale, 253-254

Octopus, 22371, 224

Odynerus, 203

(Ecanthus pellucens (see

Italian Cricket)
(Edipoda ccerulescens (see

Blue-winged Locust)
(Edipoda miniata, 214/1
Oil-beetle, 100, 180
Olivier, Guillaume An-

toine, 73
Omar, the second Caliph,

362, 364, 366
Opatrum, 360
Owl (see the varieties)
Ox, 368

Pachytylus dnerescens (see
Grey Locust)

Pachytylus nigrofasciatus,
21471, 381-383, 388-389

Panther, 53

Partridge (see also Red-
legged Partridge), 249,
364

(451

Index

Peacock, 53, 122
Pedestrian Locust, 373-377,

389-390
Pezotettix pedestris (see

Pedestrian Locust)
Phaneroptera falcata, 266,

298-299

Pheasant, 188-189
Pieris brassica (see White

Cabbage Butterfly)
Pigmy Cicada, 59, 73-74
Pine Cockchafer, 255-256,

290
Platycleis gr'tsea\see Grey

Decticus)
Platycleis intermedia (see

Intermediary Decticus)
PHny, 53, 421
Pompilus, ii
Praying Mantis, 113-130,

135-191, 193, 204-210,

221, 229, 234, 242, 291,

321, 387, 394
Preffo-Dieu (see Praying

Mantis)
Pullet, 188

Q

Quail, 257

Rabbit, 3, 308

Rabelais, Francois, 51, 57

Ram, 195

Rassado (see Eyed Lizard)

Rat, 3

Reaumur, Rene Antoine
Ferchault de, 25-26, 58,
73, 87, 92, 96, 102, 225

Red Cicada, 59, 71-72
Red-legged Partridge, 358-

T, 3-5^
Reindeer, 251

Rhinoceros, 53

Ringed Calicurgus (see

Pompilus)
Rodwell, Miss Frances,

viii

Rondelet, Guillaume, 51
Rose-chafer (see Cetonia)
Rumford, Benjamin

Thompson, Count, 160-

162

Saxicola (see Wheatear)

Scolopendra, 223, 299

Scops-owl, 281-282, 284-
285

Sheep, 274, 357, 368

Silky Epeira, 120

Sitaris, 109

Slug, 183

Snail (see also Common
Snail), 249, 296, 360

Solitary Cricket, 309-310

Spanish Copris (see
Copris)

Sparrow, 87-88, 183

Sparrow-hawk, 288

Sphex (see also Yellow-
winged Sphex), ii

Sphingonotus ceerulans

214;!

Spider (see also the varie-
ties), 145, 360

Spurge-moth, 438-439

Squid, 2237*

Stone-chat (see Wheatear)

Swallow, 288, 355, 424

452

Index

Swallow-tail, 303/1
Swammerdam, Jan, 169

Teixeira de Mattos, Alex-
ander, i in, 92/1, icon,
109/1, I2on, 13671, 245/1,
255/1

Theocritus, 249

Thomisus onustus, rotun-
datus (see Crab Spider)

Thompson, Benjamin (see
Rumford)

Thrush, 257

Tiger, 53

Tiger-beetle, 307

Tiro-lengo (see Wryneck)

Toad, 278-285, 339

Topsell, Edward, 169/1

Tortoise-beetle, 360

Tousserel, Alphonse, 360

Tree-frog (see Green
Tree-frog)

Truxalis nasuta (see
Tryxalis)

Tryxalis, 120-121, 124,
214", 355, 372, 391-395

Turkey, 122, 357, 364, 369

Virgil, 249, 341, 351
Voltaire, Francois Marie
Arouet de, 3020

W

Warbler, 183, 257, 445

Wasp, ii, 22, 183, 202,
322

Weevil, 360

Wheatear, 360-361

Whin-chat (see Wheat-
ear)

White Cabbage Butterfly,
198-200

White-faced Decticus, viii,
120, 139, 211-274, 293-
294

White-tail (see Wheatear)

Wild Boar, 257

Wolf, 3, 140, 186

Wood-louse, 183, 360

Wryneck, 188-189

X

Xiphidion, 266

Vine Ephippiger, 120, 214;*,
238, 267-272, 294-299

Yellow- winged Sphex, 323

453

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