THE GIFT OF

FLORENCE V. V. DICKEY

TO THE

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
AT LOS ANGELES

THE DONALD R. DICKEY

LIBRARY
OF VERTEBRATE ZOOLOGY

THE LIFE OF THE WEEVIL

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 SACRED BEETLE AND OTHERS

THE MASON-WASPS
THE GLOW-WORM AND OTHER BEETLES

MORE HUNTING WASPS
THE LIFE OF THE WEEVIL

THE LIFE OF

THE WEEVIL

BY

J. HENRI FABRE

TRANSLATED BY

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
FELLOW OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON

NEW YORK

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1922

COPTBIGHT, 1922

BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

I have gathered into this volume the es-
says on Weevils contained in the Souvenirs
entomologiques, lest I should swell unduly
the number of volumes devoted to Beetles,
of which there will be three in all, or four if
we include the present book.

Chapters I. and VII. to IX. have already
appeared, wholly or in part, in an illustrated
miscellany, entitled The Life and Love of
the Insect, translated by myself and pub-
lished by Messrs. Adam and Charles Black
(in America by the Macmillan Co.), and
Chapter V. and parts of Chapters XI. and
XII. in a similar volume, entitled Social Life
in the Insect World, translated by Mr. Ber-
nard Miall and published by Messrs. T.
Fisher Unwin Ltd. (in America by the Cen-
tury Co.). I am permitted by arrangement
with the firms named to retranslate and
reissue the chapters in question for the pur-
pose of this collected and definitive edition
of Fabre's entomological works.

I am also under no small obligation to Mr.
Miall, who has given me the benefit of his
assistance throughout.

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS.
VENTNOR, 30 November, 1920.

626529

CONTENTS

PAGE

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE ...... v

CHAPTER

I THE OLD WEEVILS .... I

II THE SPOTTED LARINUS . . . 23

III THE BEAR LARINUS .... 53

IV THE BOTANICAL INSTINCT . . 72
V THE ELEPHANT WEEVIL . . 88

VI THE NUT-WEEVIL . . . .II?

VII THE POPLAR-WEEVIL . . .139

VIII THE VINE-WEEVIL . . . .158

IX OTHER LEAF-ROLLERS . . .175

X THE SLOE-WEEVIL .... 196

xi THE PEA-WEEVIL: THE EGGS . 229

XII THE PEA-WEEVIL : THE LARVA . 248

XIII THE HARICOT-WEEVIL . . . 265

XIV THE IRIS-WEEVIL .... 292
XV THE CIOJUS 306

INDEX 343

THE LIFE OF THE WEEVIL

CHAPTER I

THE OLD WEEVILS

TN winter, when the insect takes an en-
•*• forced rest, the study of numismatics
affords me some delightful moments. I love
to interrogate its metal disks, the records of
the petty things which men call history. In
this soil of Provence, where the Greek
planted the olive-tree and the Roman
planted the law, the peasant finds coins,
scattered more or less everywhere, when he
turns the sod. He brings them to me and
consults me upon their pecuniary value,
never upon their meaning.

What matters to him the inscription on
his treasure-trove! Men suffered of yore,
they suffer to-day, they will suffer in the
future: to him all history is summed up in
that ! The rest is sheer futility, a pastime of
the idle.

I do not possess this lofty philosophy of
indifference to things of the past. I scratch

The Life of the Weevil

the piece of money with my finger-nail, I
carefully strip it of its earthy rind, I ex-
amine it with the magnifying-glass, I try to
decipher its lettering. And my satisfaction
is no small one when the bronze or silver
disk has spoken. For then I have read a
page of humanity, not in books, which are
chroniclers open to suspicion, but in records
which are, in a manner, living and which
were contemporary with the persons and the
facts.

This bit of silver, flattened with the die,
speaks to me of the Vocontii. x

"VOOC . . . VOCUNT," says the in-
scription.

It comes from the small neighbouring
town of Vaison, where Pliny the naturalist2
sometimes spent a holiday. Here perhaps,
at his host's table, the celebrated compiler

1The Vocontii were a nation of Gauls inhabiting the
Viennaise, between the Allobroges on the north, the
Caturiges and the estates of King Cottius on the east, the
Cavares on the west and the Memini and Vulgientes on
the south. Vasio (Vocontia), now Vaison, was their
capital. — Translator's Note,

2 Caius Plinius Secundus (23-79), known as Pliny the
Elder, or the Naturalist, to distinguish him from his
nephew Caius Plinius Caecilius Secundus (61-0115),
commonly called Pliny the younger, the historian. He
was the author of the famous Naturalis Historia. —
Translator's Note.

2

The Old Weevils

learnt to appreciate the Beccafico,1 famous
among the Roman epicures and still
renowned to-day, under the name of Grasset,
among our Provencal gastronomers. It is
a pity that my bit of silver says nothing of
these events, more memorable than any
battle.

It shows on one side a head and on the
other a galloping horse, all barbarously
inaccurate. A child trying its hand for the
first time with a sharp-pointed stone on the
fresh mortar of the walls would produce
no more shapeless design. No, of a surety,
those bold Allobroges were no artists.

How greatly superior to them were the
foreigners from Phocaea! Here is a
drachma of the Massalietes :2 MASSAAIHTON.
On the obverse, a head of Diana of Ephesus,
chub-faced, full-cheeked, thick-lipped. A
receding forehead, surmounted by a diadem;
an abundant head of hair, streaming down
the neck in a cascade of curls; heavy ear-
drops, a pearl necklace, a bow slung over the

1 The Garden Warbler, or Bush-pipet, a bird which is
considered a great delicacy, especially in the autumn,
•when it feeds on figs, grapes and so on. Cf. The Hunt-
ing^ Wasps, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander
Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xii. — Translator's Note.

2 From Massalia, the ancient name of Marseilles, of

3

The Life of the Weevil

shoulder. Thus was the idol decked by the
hands of the pious Syrian.

To tell the truth, it is not aesthetic. It is
sumptuous, if you will, and preferable, after
all, to the donkey' s-ears which our modern
beauties wear perched upon their heads.
What a singular freak is fashion, so fertile
in the means of uglification ! Commerce
knows nothing of loveliness, says this divinity
of the traders; it prefers profit, embellished
with luxury. So speaks the drachma.

On the reverse, a lion clawing the ground
and roaring wide-mouthed. Not of to-day
alone is the savagery that symbolizes power
in the shape of some formidable brute, as
though evil were the supreme expression of
strength. The eagle, the lion and other
marauders often figure on the reverse of
coins. But reality is not sufficient; the ima-
gination invents monstrosities: the centaur,
the dragon, the griffin, the unicorn, the
double-headed eagle.

Are the inventors of these emblems so
greatly superior to the Redskin who cele-
brates the prowess of his scalping-knife with

which Phocaea, in Asia Minor, was the mother city. —
Translator's Note.

4

The Old Weevils

a Bear's paw, a Falcon's wing or a Puma's
tooth stuck in his hair? We may safely
doubt it.

How preferable to these heraldic horrors
is the reverse of our own silver coinage
recently brought into circulation ! It repre-
sents a sower who, with a nimble hand, at
sunrise, fills the furrows with the good seed
of thought. It is very simple and it is great;
it makes us reflect.

The Marseilles drachma has for its sole
merit its magnificent relief. The artist who
made the dies was a master of the graver's
tool; but he lacked the breath of inspiration.
His chub-faced Diana is no better than a
trollop.

Here is the NAMASAT of the Volscae,
which became the colony of Nimes. Side by
side, profiles of Augustus and of his minister
Agrippa. The former, with his dour fore-
head, his flat skull, his acquisitive broken
nose, inspires me with but little confidence,
notwithstanding what gentle Virgil said of
him : Deus nobis h#c otia fecit.1 It is success
that makes gods. Had he not succeeded in

1 "The god made these hours of leisure for us." —
Translator's Note.

5

The Life of the Weevil

his criminal projects, Augustus the divine
would have remained Octavius the scoundrel.

His minister pleases me better. He was
a great mover of stones, who, with his build-
ing-operations, his aqueducts and his roads,
came and civilized the rude Volscae a little.
Not far from my village a splendid road
crosses the plain, starting from the banks of
the Aygues, and climbs up yonder, tedious in
its monotonous length, to cross the Serignan
hills, under the protection of a mighty
oppidum, which, much later, became the old
castle, the castelas. It is a section of
Agrippa's Road, which joined Marseilles and
Vienne. The majestic ribbon, twenty centu-
ries old, is still frequented. We no longer
see the little brown foot-soldier of the Ro-
man legions upon it; in his stead we see the
peasant going to market at Orange, with his
flock of Sheep or his drove of unruly Porkers.
Of the two I prefer the peasant.

Let us turn over our green-crusted penny.
"COL. NEM.,"1 the reverse tells us. The
inscription is accompanied by a Crocodile
chained to a palm-tree from which hang

1 Colony of Mimes. Nemansus was the Latin name of
Nimes. — Translator's Note.

6

The Old Weevils

crowns. It is an emblem of Egypt, con-
quered by the veterans who founded the
colony. The beast typifying the Nile
gnashes its teeth at the foot of the familiar
tree. It speaks to us of Antony, the Don
Juan; it tells us of Cleopatra, whose nose,
had it been an inch shorter, would have
changed the face of the globe. Thanks to
the memories which it awakens, the scaly-
backed reptile becomes a superb historical
lesson.

In this way, the important lessons of the
numismatics of metals might be continued for
many a day and be constantly varied without
departing from my immediate neighbour-
hood. But there is another science of numis-
matics, far superior and less costly, which,
with its medals, the fossils, tells us the his-
tory of life. I refer to the numismatics
of stones.

My very window-sill, the confidant of by-
gone ages, talks to me of a vanished world.
It is, literally speaking, an ossuary, whose
every particle retains the imprint of past
lives. That block of stone has lived.
Prickly spines of Sea-urchins, teeth and verte-
brae of fish, broken pieces of shells and

7

The Life of the Weevil

fragments of madrepores form a conglomer-
ation of dead existences. Examined stone
by stone, my house would resolve itself into
a reliquary, a rag-fair of ancient things that
were once alive.

The rocky stratum from which we extract
our building-materials in these parts covers
with its mighty shell the greater portion of
the neighbouring uplands. Here the quarry-
man has been digging for none knows how
many centuries, perhaps since the time when
Agrippa hewed Cyclopean blocks to form
the stages and the face of the theatre at
Orange. And here daily the pick-axe un-
covers curious fossils. The most remark-
able of these are teeth, still wonderfully pol-
ished in the midst of their rough matrix and
as bright with enamel as in the fresh state.
Some of them are formidable, three-cor-
nered, finely jagged at the edges, almost as
large as a man's hand. What a yawning
gulf, a jaw armed with such a set of teeth in
manifold rows, placed stepwise almost to the
back of the gullet! What mouthfuls,
snapped up and lacerated by those notched
shears ! You shiver at the mere thought of
8

The Old Weevils

reconstructing that awful implement of
destruction !

The monster thus equipped as a prince of
death belonged to the family of the Squali.
Paleontology calls him Carcharodon mega-
lodon. Our modern Shark, the terror of
the seas, gives an approximate idea of him,
in so far as a dwarf can give an idea of a
giant.

Other Squali, all ferocious gluttons,
abound within the same stone. It contains
Oxyrhinae (O. xyphodon, AGASS.), whose
jaws are furnished with curved and toothed
Malay creeses; Lamias (L. denticulata,
AGASS.), whose mouths bristle with sharp,
flexuous daggers, flat on one side, convex on
the other; and Notidani (N. primigenius,
AGASS.), whose sunken teeth are crowned
with radiating indentations.

This dental arsenal, bearing eloquent wit-
ness to bygone massacres, can hold its own
with the Nimes Crocodile, the Marseilles
Diana or the Vaison Horse. With its pan-
oply of carnage, it tells me how extermina-
tion came at all times to prune the excess
of life; it says:

9

The Life of the Weevil

"On the very spot where you stand med-
itating upon a splinter of stone, an arm of
the sea. once stretched, filled with war-like
devourers and peaceful victims. A deep in-
let occupied the future site of the Rhone
valley. Its billows broke not far from your
house."

Here in fact are the cliffs of the shore,
in such a state of preservation that, when I
concentrate my thoughts, I seem to hear the
thunder of curving billows. Sea-urchins,
Lithodomi,1 Petricolae,2 Pholades 3 have left
their signatures upon the rock: hemispherical
recesses large enough to contain one's fist;
circular cells; cabins with a narrow opening
through which the recluse received the in-
coming water, laden with food and constantly
renewed. Sometimes the erstwhile occupant
is there, mineralized, intact to the smallest
details of his striae, of his scales, a brittle
ornamentation; more often he has dis-
appeared, fallen into decay, and his house
has filled with a fine sea-mud, hardened into
a chalky kernel.

In this quiet inlet, collected by some eddy

XA form of Mussel. — Translator's Note.

2Another genus of bivalve mollucs. — Translator's Note.

3Piddocks. — Translator's Note.

10

The Old Weevils

from the surrounding sea-bed and sunk to
the bottom of the oozes, now turned into
marl, there are stupendous deposits of
shells, of every shape and size. It is a
molluscs' burying-ground, with hills for
tumuli. I dig up Oysters eighteen inches
long and weighing five or six pounds apiece.
One could scoop up from this enormous heap
Scallops, Coni, 1 'Cytheres, 2 Mactrae, 3
Murices,4 Turritellas,5 Mitrae 6 and others
too numerous, too innumerable, to mention.
You stand stupefied before the intense vital-
ity of the days of old, which was able to
supply us with such a mass of relics in a mere
hole in the ground.

This necropolis of shells tell us also that
time, that patient renewer of the harmony
of things, has mown down not only the in-
dividual, a precarious being, but also the
species. Nowadays the neighbouring sea,

iQr Cone-shells.— Translator's Note.

2Bivalved Ostracods. — Translator's Note.

SA genus of molluscs including the Surf Clams and re-
lated species. — Translator's Note.

4Gastropods with a rough, spinose shell. — Translator's
Note.

5Gastropods with an elongated, turreted shell. — Trans-
lator's Note.

6Or Mitre-shells. Gastropods with a fusiform shell
suggesting a bishop's mitre. — Translator's Note.
II

The Life of the Weevil

the Mediterranean, contains hardly anything
identical with the population of the vanished
gulf. To find a few features of resemblance
between the present and the past, we should
have to seek them in the tropical seas.

The climate therefore has become colder;
the sun is slowly approaching extinction; the
species are dying out. Thus I am told by
the numismatics of my stone window-sill.

Without leaving my field of observation,
so modest and restricted and yet so rich, let
us once more consult the stone and this time
on the subject of the insect. The country
around Apt abounds in a curious rock that
breaks off in flakes, not unlike sheets of
whity-grey cardboard, which burn with a
sooty flame and a bituminous smell. It was
deposited at the bottom of the great lakes
haunted by Crocodiles and giant Tortoises.
Those lakes were never beheld by human
eye. Their basins have been replaced by the
range of the hills; their muds, slowly depo-
sited in thin layers, have become mighty
ridges of stone.

Let us remove a slab and subdivide it into
flakes with the point of a knife, a task as
easy as separating the superimposed sheets

12

The Old Weevils

of a piece of paste-board. In so doing we
are examining a volume taken from the li-
brary of the mountains; we are turning the
pages of a magnificently illustrated book. It
is a manuscript of nature, far superior to any
Egyptian papyrus. On almost every page
are diagrams, nay better, realities converted
into pictures.

Here is a page of fish, grouped at random.
One might take them for a dish fried in oil.
Backbone, fins, vertebral column, the little
bones of the head, the crystalline lens turned
into a black globule : all is there, in its natural
arrangement. One thing alone is absent:
the flesh. No matter : our dish of gudgeons
looks so good that we feel tempted to scratch
a bit off with our finger and taste this super-
secular preserve. Let us indulge our fancy
and put between our teeth a morsel of this
mineral fry seasoned with petroleum.

There is no inscription to the picture.
Reflection makes good the deficiency. It
tells us :

"These fish lived here, in large numbers,
in peaceful waters. Suddenly a spate came,
asphyxiating them in its mud-thickened tor-
rent. Buried forthwith in the mire and thus
13

The Life of the Weevil

rescued from the agents of destruction, they
have endured through time and will endure
indefinitely, under the cover of their wind-
ing-sheet."

The same flood brought from the adjacent
rain-swept shores a host of refuse, both vege-
table and animal, so much so that the lacus-
trian deposit tells also of things on land. It
is a general record of the life of the time.

Let us turn a page of our slab, or rather
of our album. Here are winged seeds,
leaves outlined in brown impressions. The
stone herbal rivals the botanical clearness
of our ordinary herbals. It repeats what
the shells have already taught us : the world
is changing, the sun is losing its strength.
The vegetation of modern Provence is not
what it was in the old days; it no longer
includes palm-trees, laurels oozing with cam-
phor, tufted araucarias and many other trees
and shrubs whose equivalents belong to the
torrid regions.

Continue to turn the pages. We now
come to insects. The most frequent are
Diptera, of moderate size, often very humble
Flies and Gnats. The teeth of the great
Squali surprised us by their smooth polish
14

The Old Weevils

amid the roughness of their chalky matrix.
What shall we say of these frail Midges
enshrined intact in their marly reliquary?
The feeble creature, which our fingers could
not pick up without crushing it, remains un-
disturbed beneath the weight of the moun-
tains ! The six slender legs, which the least
touch is enough to disjoint, lie spread upon
the stone, correct in shape and arrangement,
in the attitude of the insect at rest. There
is nothing lacking, not even the tiny double
claws at the end of the tarsi. Here are the
two wings, unfurled. The fine network of
their veins can be studied under the lens as
clearly as in the Fly of our collections, stuck
on a pin. The antennary plumes have lost
none of their fragile grace; the abdomen
gives us the number of the segments, edged
with a row of specks which once were cilia.

Even the carcase of a Mastodon, defying
time in its sandy bed, fills us with amaze-
ment; a Gnat of exquisite delicacy, preserved
intact in the thickness of the rock, staggers
our imagination.

Certainly, the Mosquito, borne along by
the floods, did not come from far away.
Before he arrived, some turbulent streamlet
15

The Life of the Weevil

must have reduced him to the nothingness
to which he was already so near. Slain by
the joys of a morning — a long life for a Gnat
— he fell from the top of his reed, was
straightway drowned and disappeared in the
muddy catacombs.

Who are these others, these dumpy crea-
tures, with hard, convex wing-cases, which
next to the Flies are the most numerous.
Their small heads, prolonged into a snout,
tell us beyond dispute. They are probos-
cidian Beetles, Rhynchophorae, or, in simpler
terms, Weevils. There are small ones, mid-
dling ones, large ones, similar in dimensions
to their counterparts of to-day.

Their position on the limestone slab is
not as correct as the Mosquito's. The legs
are entangled anyhow; the beak, the rostrum,
is now hidden under the breast, now projects
forward. Some display it in profile; others
— more frequent these — stretch it to one
side, as the result of a twisted neck. These
contorted insects, with their dislocated mem-
bers, did not receive the swift and peaceful
burial of the Flies. Though sundry of them
may have lived on the plants by the shore,
the others, the majority, come from the
16

The Old Weevils

surrounding parts, carried by the rain-water,
which warped their joints in crossing such
obstacles as twigs and stones. A suit of
armour has kept the body unscathed, but the
delicate articulations of the members have
given way to some extent; and the muddy
winding-sheet received the drowned Beetles
as the ravages of the journey left them.

These strangers, coming perhaps from
afar, supply us with valuable information.
They tell us that, if the shores of the gulf
had the Mosquito as chief representative of
the insect class, the woods had the Weevil.

Apart from the snout-bearing family, the
pages of my Apt rock show me scarcely any-
thing else, especially in the order of the
Beetles. Where are the other terrestrial
groups, the Carabus,1 the Dung-beetle,2 the
Capricorn,3 whom the wash of the rains,
indifferent as to its harvest, would have
brought to the lake even as it did the

1 Or Ground-beetle. Cf. The Glow-worm and Other
Beetles, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander
Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xiii. — Translator's Note.

2 Cf. The Sacred Beetle and Others, by J. Henri Fabre,
translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: passim. —
Translator's Note.

3 Cf. The Glow-worm and Other Beetles: chap. viii. —
Translator's Note.

17

The Life of the Weevil

Weevil? There is not the least vestige of
those tribes, so prosperous to-day.

Where are the Hydrophilus,1 the Gyrinus,2
the Dytiscus,? all inhabitants of the water?
These lacustrians had every chance of being
handed down to us as mummies between two
sheets of marl. If there were any in those
days, they used to live in the lake, whose mud
would have preserved these horn-clad insects
even more effectually than the little fishes
and more especially the Fly. Well, of these
aquatic Beetles there is no trace either.

Where were they, where were those who
are missing from the geological reliquary?
Where were the inhabitants of the thickets,
of the greenswards, of the worm-eaten tree-
trunks: Capricorns, borers of wood; Sacred
Beetles, workers in dung; Carabi, disem-
bowellers of game? One and all were in the
limbo of the time to come. The present of
that period did not possess them; the future
awaited them. The Weevil, if I may credit

!The Great Water-beetle. Cf. The Glow-worm and
Other Beetles: chap. x. — Translator's Note.

2 The Whirligig Beetle. Cf. The Life of the Fly, by
J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixira de
Mattos: chap. vii. — Translator's Note.

3 A carnivorous Water-beetle. Cf. idem : chaps. ^rii
and viii. — Translator's Note.

18

The Old Weevils

the modest records which I am able to
consult, must therefore be the oldest of the
Beetles.

In the beginning, life fashioned oddities
which would be screaming discords in the
present harmony of things. When it
invented the saurian, it revelled at first in
monsters from fifteen to twenty yards long.
It placed horns upon their noses and above
their eyes, paved their backs with fantastic
scales and hollowed their necks into spiny
pouches wherein their heads withdrew as into
a hood. It even tried, though with no great
success, to give them wings. After these
horrors, the procreating ardour calmed down
and produced the charming Green Lizard of
our hedges.

When it invented the bird, it filled its beak
with the reptile's pointed teeth and
suspended from its rump a long, feather-
clad tail. These indeterminate and revolt-
ingly hideous creatures were the distant
prelude to the Robin Redbreast and the
Dove.

All these primitives are noted for a very
small skull, an idiot's brain. The prehistoric
animal is first and foremost an atrocious
19

The Life of the Weevil

machine for grabbing, with a stomach for
digesting. The intellect does not count as
yet. That will come later.

The Weevil, in his fashion, repeats these
aberrations to a certain extent. See' the
extravagant appendage to his little head.
It is here a short, thick snout; there a sturdy
beak, round or cut four-square; elsewhere
a foolish reed, thin as a hair, long as the
body and longer. At the tip of this
egregious instrument, in the terminal mouth,
are the fine shears of the mandibles; on
either side, the antennae, with their first joints
fitting into a groove.

What is the use of this beak, this snout,
this caricature of a nose? Where did the
insect find the model for it? Nowhere.
The Weevil invented it and retains the
monopoly. Outside his family, no Beetle
indulges in these nasal eccentricities.

Observe also the smallness of the head, a
bulb that hardly swells beyond the base of the
snout. What can it have inside? A very
poor nervous equipment, the sign of exceed-
ingly limited instincts. Before seeing them
at work, we have a poor opinion of the
intelligence of these microcephalies; we

The Old Weevils

class them among the obtuse, among
creatures deprived of industry. These
surmises will not be greatly belied.

Though the Weevil be but little glorified
by his talents., this is no reason for despising
him. As we learn from the lacustrian
schists, he was in the van of the insects with
the armoured wing-cases ; he was long stages
ahead of those which were working out new
forms within the limits of the possible. He
speaks to us of primitive shapes, sometimes
so quaint; he is in his own little world what
the bird with the toothed mandibles and the
saurran with the horned eyebrows are in a
higher world.

In ever-thriving legions, he has come down
to us without changing his characteristics.
He is to-day as he was in the youth of the
continents: the pictures on the chalky slates
proclaim the fact aloud. Under any such
picture I would venture to write the name
of the genus, sometimes even of the species.

Permanence of instinct must go with
permanence of form. By consulting the
modern Weevil we shall therefore obtain a
chapter closely approximate to the biology of
his predecessors at the time when Provence

The Life of the Weevil

was a land of great lakes shaded by palm-
trees and filled with Crocodiles. The
history of the present will teach us the
history of the past.

CHAPTER II

THE SPOTTED LARINUS

T ARINUS is a vague term, which cannot
•*-' teach us anything. The word sounds
well. It is something not to afflict the ear
with raucous spittings; but the prentice
reader wants more than this. He expects
the name to give him, in euphonious syllables,
a brief description of the insect named.
This would help to guide him in the midst of
the vast multitude.

I cordially agree with him, while recogni-
zing what an arduous task it would be to de-
vise a rational nomenclature that would give
the beasts the forenames and surnames which
they deserve. Our ignorance condemns us to
be vague and often nonsensical. Let us con-
sider a case in point.

What does Larinus mean? The Greek

lexicon tells us : Aapivos, fatty, fat. Has the

insect which is the subject of this chapter

any right to such a description ? Not at all.

23

The Life of the Weevil

It is corpulent, I agree, as are the Weevils
generally, but does not more than another
deserve a certificate of obesity.

Let us look a little deeper. Aapd? means
pleasant to the taste, pleasant to the eye,
dainty, sweet. Are we there now? Not
yet. To be sure, the Larinus is not without
daintiness, but how many among the long-
nosed Beetles excel him in beauty of
costume ! Our osier-beds provide nourish-
ment for some that are flecked with flowers
of sulphur, some that are laced with Chinese
white, some that are powdered with
malachite-green. They leave on our fingers
a scaly dust that looks as though it were
gathered from a Butterfly's wing. Our
vines and poplar-trees have some that surpass
copper pyrites in metallic lustre; the
equatorial countries furnish specimens of
unparalleled magnificence, true gems beside
which the marvels of our jewel-cases would
pale. No, the modest Larinus has no right
to be extolled as superb. The title of dandy
must be awarded to others, in the beak-
bearing family, rather than to him.

If his godfather, better-informed, had
named him after his habits, he would have
24

The Spotted Larinus

called him an artichoke-thief. The group of
the Larini, in fact, establishes its offspring
in the fleshy base of the flowers of the
Carduaceae, the thistle, the cotton-thistle, the
centaury, the carline thistle and others,
which, in structure and flavour, recall more
or less remotely the artichoke of our tables.
This is its special province. The Larinus is
charged with the thinning out of the fierce,
encroaching thistle.

Glance at the pink, white or blue heads of
a Carduacea. Long-beaked insects swarm,
awkwardly diving into the mass of florets.
What are they? Larini. Open the head,
split its fleshy base. Surprised by the air
and by the light, plump, white, legless grubs
sway to and fro, each isolated in a small
recess. What are these grubs? Larinus-
larvae.

Here accuracy ;calls for a reservation. A
few other Weevils, related to those whose
history we are considering, are also partial,
on behalf of their family, to the fleshy
receptacles with the artichoke flavour. No
matter: the species that take the lead in
numbers, frequency and handsome pro-
portions are the authorized exterminators of
25

The Life of the Weevil

the thistle-heads. Now the reader knows as
much as I can tell him.

All the summer, all the autumn, until the
cold weather sets in, the most ornamental of
our southern thistles grows profusely by the
road-side. Its pretty, blue flowers, gathered
into round, prickly heads, have won it the
botanical name of Echinops, in allusion to the
Hedgehog rolled into a ball. It is indeed
like a Hedgehog. Better still: it is like a
Sea-urchin stuck upon a stalk and turned into
an azure globe.

Beneath a screen of star-shaped flowerets
the shapely tuft hides the thousand daggers
of its scales-. Whosoever touches it with an
incautious finger is surprised to encounter
such aggressiveness beneath an innocent
appearance. The leaves that go with it,
green above, white and fluffy underneath, do
at least warn the inexperienced: they are
divided into pointed lobes, each of which
bears an extremely sharp needle at its tip.

This thistle is the patrimony of the
Spotted Larinus (L. maculosus, SCH.),
whose back is powdered with cloudy yellow
patches. The Weevil browses very spar-
ingly on the leaves. June is not yet over
26

The Spotted Larinus

before she is exploiting the heads, green at
this time and the size of peas, or at most of
cherries, with a view to establishing her
family. For two or three weeks the work of
colonization continues on globes which grow
bluer and larger day by day.

Couples are formed, very peaceably, in
the glad morning sunlight. The nuptial
preliminaries, resembling the embraces of
jointed levers, display a rustic awkwardness.
With his fore-legs the male Weevil masters
his spouse ; with his hinder tarsi, gently and
at intervals, he strokes her sides. Alterna-
ting with these soft caresses are sudden jolts
and impetuous jerks. Meanwhile, the object
of these attentions, in order to lose no time,
works at the thistle-head with her beak and
prepares the lodging for her egg. Even in
the midst of her wedding the care of the
family leaves this laborious insect no repose.

What precisely is the use of the Weevil's
rostrum, this paradoxical nose, such as no
carnival murmur would venture to wear?
We shall find out at leisure, taking our own
time.

My prisoners, enclosed in a wire-gauze
cover, are working in the sunlight on my
27

The Life of the Weevil

window-sill. A couple has just broken apart.
Careless of what will happen next, the male
retires to browse for a while, not on the blue
thistle-heads, which are choice morsels re-
served for the young, but on the leaves,
where a superficial scraping enables the beak
to remove some frugal mouthfuls. The
mother remains where she is and continues
the boring already commenced.

The rostrum is driven right into the ball
of florets and disappears from sight. The
insect hardly moves, taking at most a few
slow strides now in one direction, now in
another. What we see is not the work of a
gimlet, which twists, but of an awl, which
sinks steadily downwards. The mandibles,
the sharp shears affixed to the implement,
bite and dig; and that is all. In the end, the
rostrum used as a lever, that is to say, bend-
ing upon its base, uproots and lifts the de-
tached florets and pushes them a little way
outwards. This must cause the slight un-
evenness which we perceive at any inhabited
point. The work of excavation lasts a good
quarter of an hour.

Then the mother turns about, finds the

The Spotted Larinus

opening of the shaft with the tip of her
belly and lays the egg. But how? The
pregnant insect's abdomen is far too large
and too blunt to enter the narrow passage
and deposit the egg directly at the bottom.
A special tool, a probe carrying the egg to
the point required, is therefore absolutely
needed here. But the insect does not possess
one that shows; and things take place so
swiftly and discreetly that I see nothing of
that kind unsheathed.

No matter, I am positively convinced of it :
to place the egg at the bottom of the shaft
which the rostrum has just bored, the mother
must possess a guide-rod, a rigid tube, kept
in reserve, invisible, among her tools. We
shall return to this curious subject when more
conclusive instances arise.

One first point is gained: the Weevil's ros-
trum, that nose which at first sight was
deemed grotesque, is in reality an instrument
of maternal love. The extravagant becomes
the everyday, the indispensable. Since it
carries mandibles and other mouth-parts at
its tip, its function is to eat, that is self-
evident; but to this function is added another
29

The Life of the Weevil

of greater importance. The fantastic stylet
prepares the way for the eggs; it is the
oviduct's collaborator.

And this implement, the emblem of the
guild, is so honourable that the father does
not hesitate to sport it, though himself in-
capable of digging the family cells. Like
his consort, he too carries an awl, but a
smaller one, as befits the modesty of his
role.

A second point becomes clear. In order
to insert the egg at convenient points, it is
the rule for the insect to possess an im-
plement with two functions, an implement
which at the same time opens the passage
and guides the eggs along it. This is the
case with the Cicada,1 the Grasshopper,2 the
Saw-fly, the Leucospis 3 and the Ichneumon-
fly,4 all of whom carry a sabre, a saw or a
probe at the tip of the abdomen.

The Weevil divides the work and appor-

!Cf. The Life of the Grasshopper, by J. Henri Fabre,
translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapters i.
to v. — Translator's Note.

2Cf. idem: chapter xiv. and passim. — Translator's Note.

3Cf. The Life of the Fly: chapter iii.— ^Translator's Note.

* Cf. The Life of the Caterpillar, by J. Henri Fabre,

translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter xiv.,

in which the activities of one of the Ichneumon-flies,

Microgaster glomeratus, are described. — Translator's Note.

30

The Spotted Larinus

tions it between two implements, one of
which, in front, is the perforating augur and
the other, behind, hidden in the body and
unsheathed at the moment of the laying, is
the guiding tube. Except in the Weevils,
this curious mechanism is unknown to me.

When the egg is placed in position — and
this is quickly done, thanks to the preliminary
work of the drill — the mother returns to the
point colonized. She packs the disturbed
materials a little, she lightly pushes back the
uprooted florets; then, without taking further
trouble, she goes away. She sometimes even
dispenses with these precautions.

A few hours later, I examine the heads
exploited, which may be recognized by a
certain number of faded and slightly pro-
jecting patches, each of which shelters an egg.
With the point of my penknife I extract the
little, faded bundle and open it. At the
base, in a small round cell, hollowed out of
the substance of the central globule, the re-
ceptacle of the thistle-head, is the egg, fairly
large, yellow and oval.

It is enveloped in a brown substance
derived from the tissues injured by the
mother's augur and from the exudations of
31

The Life of the Weevil

the wound, which have set like cement.
This envelope rises into an irregular cone and
ends in the withered florets. In the centre
of the tuft we generally see an opening,
which might well be a ventilating-shaft.

The number of eggs entrusted to a single
head may easily be ascertained without
destroying the cells: all that we need do is
to count the yellow blurs unevenly distributed
over the blue background. I have found
five, six and more, even in a head smaller
than a cherry. Each covers an egg. Do all
these eggs come from the same mother? It
is possible. At the same time, they may be
of diverse origin, for it is not unusual to
surprise two mothers both occupied in laying
eggs on the same globe.

Sometimes the points worked upon almost
touch. The mother, it seems, has a very
restricted numerical sense and is incapable of
keeping count of the occupants. She drives
her probe into the florets, unheeding that the
place beside her is already taken. As a rule
there are too many, far too many feasters
at the niggardly banquet of the blue thistle.
Three at most will find enough to live on.
The first-comers will thrive; the laggards
32

The Spotted Larinus

will perish for lack of room at the common
table.

The grubs are hatched in a week: little
white atoms with red heads to them.
Suppose them to be three in number, as fre-
quently happens. What have the little crea-
tures in their larder? Next to nothing.
The echinops is an exception among the
Carduaceae. Its flowers do not rest upon a
fleshy receptacle expanded into a heart, like
the artichoke's. Let us open one of the
heads. In the centre, as a common support,
is a round firm nucleus, a globe hardly as
large as a peppercorn, fixed on the top of a
little column which is a continuation of the
axis of the stem. That is all.

A scanty, a very scanty provision for three
consumers. In bulk there is not enough to
furnish the first few meals of a single grub;
still less is there enough — for it is very tough
and unsubstantial — to provide for those fine
layers of fat which make the grub look as
sleek as butter and are employed as reserves
during the transformation.

Nevertheless, it is in this paltry globule
and the small column which supports it that
the three boarders find, their whole life long,

33

The Life of the Weevil

the wherewithal to feed and grow. Not a
bite is given elsewhere; and even so the
attack is delivered with extreme discretion.
The food is rasped and nibbled on the surface
and not completely consumed.

To make much out of nothing, to fill three
starveling bellies, sometimes four, with a
single crumb, would be out of the question.
The secret of the food-supply is not
contained in the small amount of solid mat-
ter that has disappeared. Let us look into
this more closely.

I take out a few larvae which are already
fairly well-grown and install dwellings and
dwellers in glass tubes. For a long time,
with my pocket-lens, I watch the prisoners.
I cannot see that they bite into the central
knob, which is already damaged, nor the
axis, which also has been cut into. From
these surfaces, which have been scored since
I know not how long; from what appeared to
be their daily bread, their mandibles remove
not the smallest particle. At most the
mouth is applied for a moment to the sur-
face; then it is withdrawn, uneasy and dis-
dainful. It is evident that the ligneous fare,
though still quite fresh, does not suit.
34

The Spotted Larinus

The proof is completed by the final result
of my experiments. In vain I keep the
thistle-heads fresh in glass tubes, plugged
with a stopper of wet cotton-wool: my
attempts at rearing are not once crowned
with success. As soon as the head is re-
moved from the plant, its inhabitants begin
to die of starvation, whether I intervene or
whether I do not. They all pine away in
the heart of their native globe and at last
perish, no matter in what receptacle — test-
tube, flask or tin box — I place my collection.
Later, on the other hand, when the feeding-
period is over, I shall find it very easy to
keep the grubs in good condition and to
follow at will their preparations for the
nymphosis.

This failure tells me that the larva of the
Spotted Larinus does not sustain itself with
solid food; it prefers the clear broth of the
sap. It taps the cask of its azure cellar,
that is to say, it makes a careful gash in the
axis of the head as well as in the central
nucleus.

From these surface wounds, which are
kept open by fresh strokes of the plane as
soon as a dry scab forms upon them, it laps
35

The Life of the Weevil

the sap of the thistle, which oozes up from
the roots. As long as the blue globe is on
its stalk, very much alive, the sap ascends,
the broached casks exude their contents and
the grub sips the nourishing draught. But,
once detached from the stem, cut off from its
source of supply, the cellar runs dry. There-
upon the larva promptly dies. This explains
the fatal catastrophe of my attempts to rear
it.

All that the Larinus-larvae need is to lick
the exudations from a wound. The method
employed is henceforth obvious. The new-
born grubs, hatched upon the central globe,
take their places around its axis, proportion-
ing the distance between them to the number
of guests. Each of them peels and slashes
with its mandibles the part in front of it,
causing the nutritious moisture to exude. If
the spring dies up through healing, fresh
bites revive it.

But the attack is made with circumspection.
The central column and its circular capital
form the mainstay of the globe. If too
extensively injured, the scaffolding would
bend before the wind and bring down the
dwelling. Moreover, the conduits of the
36

The Spotted Larinus

aqueduct must be respected, if a suitable
supply of sap is to be provided until the end.
Accordingly, whether three or four in num-
ber, the grubs abstain from rasping the
surface too deeply.

The cuts, which amount to no more than a
judicious paring of the surface, imperil
neither the solidity of the structure nor the
action of the vessels, so that the blossoms,
their plunderers notwithstanding, retain a
very healthy appearance. They expand as
usual, except that the pretty, blue ground is
stained with yellow patches, which grow
wider from day to day. At each of these
points, a grub is established under the cover
of the dead florets. Each blemish marks
one diner's seat at table.

The florets, as we said, have for their
common support, for their receptacle, the
round knob surmounting the axis. It is on
this globule that the grubs begin. They
attack a few of the florets at their base, up-
rooting them without injuring them and
thrusting them upwards with a heave of the
back. The spot thus cleared is slightly
broken into and hollowed out and becomes
the first refreshment-bar.

37

The Life of the Weevil

What becomes of the items removed?
Are they thrown to the ground as inconve-
nient rubbish? The tiny creature is careful
not to do anything of the kind, which would
mean exposing its plump back, a small but
enticing morsel, to the eyes of the foe.

Pushed back, the materials cleared away
remain intact, still clustered together in their
natural position. Not a flake, not a chip
falls to earth. By means of a quick-setting,
rain-proof glue, the whole of the fragments
detached are cemented to the base in a conti-
nuous sheaf, so that the blossom is kept in-
tact, save for the yellowish tint of the parts
wounded. As the grub increases in size,
more florets are cut away and take their
place, beside the others, in the roof, which
swells by degrees and ends by bulging out.

Thus a quiet dwelling is obtained, shel-
tered from wind and weather and the heat of
the sun. Within, the hermit sips at his cask
in safety; he waxes big and fat. I suspected
it, that the larva would be able to make up
by its own industry for the rough and ready
installation of the egg! Where maternal
care is lacking, the grub possesses special
talents as a safeguard.

The Spotted Larinus

Nevertheless, nothing in the grub of the
Spotted Larinus reveals the skilful builder
of thatched huts. It is a little sausage of a
creature, a rusty yellow in colour and bent
into a hook. There is not a vestige of legs;
the whole equipment consists of the mouth
and the opposite end, an active auxiliary.
What can this little roll of rancid butter be
capable of doing? To observe it at work is
easy enough at the propitious moment.

In the middle of August, when the larva,
having achieved its full growth, is busy
strengthening and plastering its abode in view
of the approaching nymphosis, I half-open a
few cells. The hulls opened, but still adher-
ing to the natal blossom, are arranged in a
row in a glass tube which will enable me to
watch the work without disturbing the
worker. I have not long to wait for the
result.

In a state of repose, the grub is a hook
with the extremities very near together.
From time to time I see it bring the two
ends into intimate contact and close the cir-
cuit. Then — do not let us be shocked by the
grub's procedure: this would mean mis-
conceiving life's sacred simplicities — then

39

The Life of the Weevil

with its mandibles it very neatly gathers from
the stercoral orifice a tiny drop the size of
an ordinary pin's head. It is a muddy white
liquid, flowing like gum, similar in appear-
ance to the resinous beads that ooze from
the horned galls of the turpentine-tree when
you break them.

The grub spreads its little drop over the
edges of the breach made in its dwelling; it
distributes it here and there, very sparingly;
it pushes and coaxes it into the gaps. Then,
attacking the adjacent florets, it picks out the
shreds and chips and bits of hairs.

This does not satisfy it. It rasps the axis
and the central nucleus of the blossom, de-
taching tiny scraps and atoms. A laborious
task, for the mandibles are short and cut
badly. They tear rather than slice.

All this is distributed over the still fresh
cement. This done, the grub bestirs itself
most strenuously, bending into a hook and
straightening out again; it rolls and glides
about its cabin to make the materials amal-
gamate and to smooth the wall with the pad
of its round rump.

When this pressing and polishing is
finished, the larva once more curves into a
40

The Spotted Larinus

circle. A second white drop appears at the
factory-door. The mandibles take hold of
the ignominious product as they would of an
ordinary mouthful; and the process is re-
peated as before: the cell is first smeared
with glue and then encrusted with ligneous
particles.

After thus expending a certain number of
trowelfuls of cement, the grub remains mo-
tionless; it seems to be abandoning a job too
much for its means. Twenty-four hours
later, the open hulls are still gaping. An
attempt has been made to repair the cell,
but not to close it thoroughly. The task is
too heavy.

What is lacking? Not the ligneous mate-
rials, which can always be obtained from the
grub's surroundings, but the adhesive cement,
the factory having closed down. And why
has it closed down? The answer is quite
simple: because the vessels of the thistle-
head detached from its stalk are dry and can
no longer furnish the food upon which every-
thing depends.

The curly-bearded Chaldean used to build
with bricks of mud baked in the kiln and
cemented with bitumen. The Weevil of the
41

The Life of the Weevil

blue thistle possessed the secret of asphalt
long before man did. Better still: to put
its method into practice with a rapidity and
economy unknown to the Babylonian con-
tractors, it had and still has its own well of
bitumen.

What can this viscous substance be? As
I have explained, it appears in opal drops at
the waste-pipe of the intestine. Becoming
hard and resinous on contact with the air, it
turns a tawny red, so much so that the inside
of the cell looks at first as though coated
with quince-jelly. The final hue is a dull-
brown, against which pale specks of mixed
ligneous refuse stand out sharply.

The first idea that occurs to one's mind
is that the Weevil's glue must be some special
secretion, not unlike silk, but emerging from
the opposite pole. Can there be actually
glands secreting a viscous fluid in the grub's
hinder part? I open a larva which is busily
building. Things are not as I imagined:
there is no glandular apparatus attached to
the lower end of the digestive canal.

Nor is there anything to be seen in the
ventricle. Only the Malpighian tubes, which
are rather large and four in number, reveal,
42

The Spotted Larinus

by their opaline tint, the fact that they are
fairly full; while the lower portion of the
intestine is dilated with a pulpy substance
which conspicuously attracts the eye.

It is a semi-fluid, viscous, treacly material
of a muddy white. I perceive that it
contains an abundance of opaque corpuscles,
like finely powdered chalk, which effervesce
when dissolved in nitric acid and are there-
fore uric products.

This very soft pulp is, beyond a doubt, the
cement which the grub ejects and collects
drop by drop ; and the rectum is obviously the
bitumen-warehouse. The parity of aspect,
colour and treacly consistency are to me
decisive: the grub consolidates and cements
and creates a work of art with the refuse
from its sewer.

Is this really an excremental residue?
Doubts may be permitted. The four Mal-
pighian tubes which have poured the
powdered urates into the intestine might well
supply it with other materials. They do not
in general seem to perform very exclusive
duties. Why should they not be entrusted
with various functions in a poorly-equipped
organism ? They fill with a chalky broth to
43

The Life of the Weevil

enable the Capricorn's larva to block the
doorway of its cell with a marble slab. It
would not be at all surprising if they were
also gorged with the viscous fluid that
becomes the asphalt of the Larinus.

In this embarrassing instance, the fol-
lowing explanation may possibly suffice.
The Larinus' larva observes, as we know,
a very light diet, consisting of sap instead of
solid food. Therefore there is no coarse
residue. I have never seen any dirt in the
cell; its cleanliness is perfect.

This does not mean that all the nourish-
ment is absorbed. There is certainly refuse
of no nutritive value, but it is thin and almost
fluid. Can this be the pitch that cements and
stops up the chinks? Why not? If so, the
grub would be building with its excrement;
with its ordure it would be making a pretty
home.

Here we must silence our repugnance.
Where would you have the recluse obtain the
material for its casket? Its cell is its world.
It knows nothing beyond that cell; nothing
comes to its assistance. It must perish if it
cannot find its store of cement within itself.
Various caterpillars, not rich enough to

44

The Spotted Larinus

afford the luxury of a perfect cocoon, have
the knack of felting their hairs with a little
silk. The Larinus-grub, that poverty-
stricken creature, having no spinning-mill,
must have recourse to its intestine, its only
stand-by.

This stercoral method proves once more
that necessity is the mother of invention.
To build a luxurious palace with one's ordure
is a most meritorious device. Only an insect
would be capable of it. For that matter,
the Larinus has no monopoly of this archi-
tectural style, which is not described in
Vitruvius.1 Many other larvae, better-
furnished with building-materials — those of
the Onites, the Onthophagi,1 the Cetoniae,1
for example — greatly excel it in the beauty
of their excremental edifices.

When completed, on the approach of the
nymphosis, the abode of the Larinus is an
oval cell measuring fifteen millimetres in

1 Marcus Vitruvius Pollio (fl. ist century B. c.) the Ro-
man architect and engineer, author of De Architecture!. —
Translator's Note.

1 For the Onitis and Onthophagus Dung-beetles, fcf. The
Sacred Beetles and Others: chapters xi. and xiv. to xviii.
— Translator's Note.

2 Rose-chafers. Cf. More Hunting Wasps: chap. iv. —
Translator's Note.

45

The Life of the Weevil

length by ten in width.1 Its compact
structure almost enables it to resist the
pressure of the fingers. Its main diameter
runs parallel with the axis of the thistle-head.
When, as is not unusual, three cells are
grouped on the same support, the whole is
not unlike the fruit of the castor-oil-plant,
with its three shaggy husks.

The outer wall of the cell is a rustic bristle
of chips and hairy debris and above all of
whole florets, faded and yellow, torn from
their base and pushed out of place while
retaining their natural arrangement. In the
thickness of the wall the cement predomi-
nates. The inner wall is polished, washed
with a red-brown lacquer and sprinkled with
an incrustation of ligneous fragments.
Lastly, the pitch is of excellent quality. It
makes a solid wall of the work; and, more-
over, it is impervious to moisture: when
immersed in water, the cell does not permit
any to pass through to the interior.

In short, the Larinus' cell is a comfortable
dwelling, endowed, in the beginning, with the
pliancy of soft leather, which allows free
scope for the growing-process; then, thanks

'.585 by .39 inch. — Translator's Note.
46

The Spotted Larinus

to the cement, it hardens into a shell permit-
ting the peaceful somnolence of the trans-
formation. The flexible tent of the early
days becomes a stout manor-house.

Here, I told myself, the adult would pass
the winter, protected against the damp,
which is more to be dreaded than the cold.
I was wrong. By the end of September,
most of the cells are empty, though their
support, the blue thistle, eager to open its
last blooms, is still in fairly good condition.
The Weevils have gone, in all the freshness
of their floured costume; they have broken
out through the top of their cells, which now
gape like broken pitchers. A few loiterers
still lag behind at home, but are quite ready
to make off, judging by their agility when
my curiosity chances to set them free.

When the inclement months of December
and January have arrived, I no longer find a
single cell inhabited. The whole population
has migrated. Where has it taken refuge?

I am not quite sure. Perhaps in the heaps
of broken stones, under cover of the dead
leaves, in the shelter of the tufts of grass
that grow beneath the hawthorn in the
hedges. For a Weevil the country-side is

47

The Life of the Weevil

full of winter-resorts. We need not be
anxious about the emigrants; they are well
able to look after themselves.

None the less, in the face of this exodus,
my first impression is one of surprise. To
leave such an excellent lodging for a casual
shelter, of doubtful safety, seems to me a
rash and ill-advised expedient. Can the
insect be lacking in prudence? No; it has
serious motives for decamping as quickly as
possible when the autumn draws to an end.
Let me explain matters.

In the winter the echinops is a brown ruin
which the north-wind tears from its hold,
flings on the ground and reduces to tatters
by rolling it in the mud of the roads. A
few days of bad weather turn the handsome
blue thistle into a mass of lamentable decay.

What would become of the Weevil on
this support, now the plaything of the winds?
Would her tarred cask resist the assaults of
the storm ? Would she survive rolling over
the rough soil and prolonged steeping in the
puddles of melted snow?

The Weevils foreknow the dangers of a
crazy support; warned by the almanack of
instinct, they foresee the winter and its mis-

The Spotted Larinus

cries. So they move house while there is
yet time; they leave their cells for a stable
shelter where they will no longer have to
fear the vicissitudes of a dwelling blown
along the ground at random.

The desertion of the casket is not a sign
of rash haste on the part of the Larinus: it
shows a clear perception of coming events.
In fact, a second Larinus will teach us pre-
sently that, when the support is safe and
solidly rooted in the ground, the natal cell is
not deserted until the return of the fine
weather.

In conclusion, I ought perhaps to mention
an apparently insignificant, but very excep-
tional fact, which I have only once observed
in my dealings with the Spotted Larinus.
Considering the scarcity of authentic data
as to what becomes of instinct when the
conditions of life are altered, we should do
wrong to neglect these trifling discoveries.

Making ample allowance for anatomy,
a precious aid, what do we know of animals?
Next to nothing. Instead of inflating
cabbalistic bladders with this nothing, let us
collect well-observed facts, however humble.
From a sheaf of such facts a clear, calm light

49

The Life of the Weevil

may shine forth one day, a light far pre-
ferable to the fireworks of theories which
dazzle us for a moment only to leave us in
blacker darkness.

Here is this little detail. By some
accident an egg has fallen from the blue
globe, its regular lodging, into the axilla of
a leaf half-way up the stem. We can even
admit, if we choose, that the mother, either
by inadvertence or by intention, laid it at this
point herself. What will become of the egg
under such conditions, so far removed from
the rules ? What I have before my eyes tell
us.

The grub, faithful to custom, has not
failed to broach the stem of the thistle, which
allows the nourishing moisture to ooze from
the wound. As a defence it has built itself
a pitcher similar in shape and size to that
which it would have obtained in the thistle-
head. This novel edifice lacks only one
thing: the roof of dead florets bristling on
the customary hut.

The builder has contrived to do very well

without its floral pantiles. It has made use

of the base of the leaf, one lobe of which

is involved, as a support, in the wall of the

50

The Spotted Larinus

cell; and from both leaf and stalk it has
taken the ligneous particles which it had to
imbed in the cement. In short, except that
it is bare instead of surrounded with a
palisade, the fabric adhering to the stalk does
not differ from that hidden beneath the with-
ered florets of the thistle-head.

People set great store by environment as
a modifying agent. Well, here we see this
famous environment at work. An insect is
placed as much out of its element as it can
be, but without leaving the food-plant, which
would inevitably be the end of it. Instead
of a ball of close-packed flowers it has for
its workshop the open axilla of a leaf; in-
stead of hairs — a soft fleece easily shorn
off — it has for its materials the fierce teeth
of the thistle. And these profound changes
leave the builder's talents unperturbed; the
house is built according to the usual plans.

I agree that I have not allowed for the
influence of the centuries. But what would
this influence bring about? It is not very
clear. The Weevil born in an unusual place
retains no trace of the accident that has
happened. I extract the adult from his
exceptional cell. He does not differ, even in
51

The Life of the Weevil

size, a not very important characteristic,
from the Larini born in the regular cell.
He has thriven on the axilla of the leaf as
he would have done on the thistle-head.

Let us admit that the accident is repeated,
that it even becomes a normal condition; let
us suppose that the mother decides to
abandon her blue balls and to confide her
eggs to the axillae of the leaves indefinitely.
What will this change bring about? The
answer is obvious.

Since the grub has once developed without
hindrance on a site alien to its habits, it will
continue to thrive there from generation to
generation; with its intestinal cement it will
continue to shape a protective pitcher of the
same pattern as the old, but, for want of
materials, lacking the thatch of withered
florets; in short, its talents will remain what
they were in the beginning.

This example tells us that the insect, as
long as it can accommodate itself to the novel
conditions imposed upon it, works in its
accustomed fashion; if it cannot do so, it dies
rather than change its methods.

CHAPTER III

THE BEAR LARINUS

I SALLY forth in the night, with a lantern,
to spy out the land. Around me, a circle
of faint light enables me to recognize the
broad masses fairly well, but leaves the fine
details unperceived. At a few paces' dis-
tance, the modest illumination disperses, dies
away. Farther off still, everything is pitch-
dark. The lantern shows me — and but very
indistinctly — just one of the innumerable
pieces that compose the mosaic of the ground.

To see some more of them, I move on.
Each time there is the same narrow circle,
of doubtful visibility. By what laws are
these points, inspected one by one, correlated
in the general picture? The candle-end can-
not tell me; I should need the light of the
sun.

Science too proceeds by lantern-flashes; it
explores nature's inexhaustible mosaic piece
by piece. Too often the wick lacks oil; the

S3

The Life of the Weevil

glass panes of the lantern may not be clean.
No matter: his work is not in vain who first
recognizes and shows to others one speck of
the vast unknown.

However far our ray of light may pene-
trate, the illuminated circle is checked on
every side by the barrier of the darkness.
Hemmed in by the unfathomable depths of
the unknown, let us be satisfied if it be vouch-
safed to us to enlarge by a span the narrow
domain of the known. Seekers, all of us,
tormented by the desire for knowledge, let
us move our lantern from point to point:
with the particles explored we shall perhaps
be able to piece together a fragment of the
picture.

To-day the shifting of the lantern's rays
leads us to the Bear Larinus (L. ursus,
FABR.), the exploiter of the carline thistles.
We must not let this inappropriate name of
Bear give us an unfavourable notion of the
insect. It is due to the whim of a nomen-
clator who, having exhausted his vocabulary,
baffled by the never-ending stream of things
already named, uses the first word that comes
to hand.

Others, more happily inspired, perceiving
54

The Bear Larinus

a vague resemblance between the sacerdotal
ornament, the stole, and the white bands
that run down the Weevil's back, have pro-
posed the name of Stoled Larinus (L.
stolatus, GMEL.). This term would please
me; it gives a very good picture of the insect.
The Bear, making nonsense, has prevailed.
So be it: non nobis tantas componere
Utes.

The domain of this ', Weevil is the
corymbed carlina (C. corymbosa, LIN.), a
slender thistle, not devoid of elegance, harsh-
looking though it be. Its heads, with their
tough, yellow-varnished spokes, expand into
a fleshy mass, a genuine heart, like an arti-
choke's, which is defended by a hedge of
savage folioles broadly welded at the base.
It is at the centre of this palatable heart
that the larva is established, always singly.

Each has its exclusive demesne, its invio-
lable ration. When an egg, a single egg,
has been entrusted to the mass of florets,
the mother moves on, to continue elsewhere;
and, should some new-comer by mistake take
possession if it, her grub, arriving too late
and finding the place occupied, will die.

This isolation tells us how the larva feeds.
55

The Life of the Weevil

The carlina's foster-child cannot live on a
clear broth, as does the echinops'; for, if
the drops trickling from a wound were
sufficient, there would be victuals for several
here. The blue thistle feeds three or four
boarders without any loss of solid material
beyond that resulting from a slight gash.
Given such coy-toothed feeders, the heart of
the carline thistle would support quite as
many.

It is always, on the contrary, the portion
of one alone. Thus we already guess that
the grub of the Bear Larinus does not confine
itself to lapping up discharges of sap and
that it likewise feeds upon its artichoke-heart,
the standing dish.

The adult also feeds upon it. On the
cone covered with imbricated folioles it
makes spacious excavations in which the
sweet milk of the plant hardens into white
beads. But these broken victuals, these cut
cakes off which the Weevil has made her
meal, are disdained when the egg-laying
comes into question, in June and July. A
choice is then made of untouched heads,
not as yet developed, not yet expanded and
56

The Bear Larinus

still contracted into prickly globules. The
interior will be tenderer than after they are
full-blown.

The method is the same as that of the
Spotted Larinus. With her rostral gimlet
the mother bores a hole through the scales,
on a level with the base of the florets; then,
with the aid of her guiding probe, she in-
stalls her opalescent white egg at the bottom
of the shaft. A week later, the grub makes
its appearance.

Some time in August let us open the
thistle-heads. Their contents are very
diverse. There are larvae here of all ages;
nymphs covered with reddish ridges, above
all on the last segments, twitching violently
and spinning round when disturbed; lastly,
perfect insects, not yet adorned with their
stoles and other ornaments of the final
costume. We have before our eyes the
means of following the whole development
of the Weevil at the same time.

The folioles of the blossom, those stout

halberds, are welded together at their base

and enclose within their rampart a fleshy

mass, with a flat upper surface and cone-

57

The Life of the Weevil

shaped underneath. This is the larder of
the Bear Larinus.

From the bottom of its cell the new-born
grub dives forthwith into this fleshy mass.
It cuts into it deep. Unreservedly, respect-
ing only the walls, it digs itself, in a couple
of weeks, a recess shaped like a sugar-loaf
and prolonged until it touches the stalk.
The canopy of this recess is a dome of florets
and hairs forced upwards and held in place
by an adhesive. The artichoke-heart is
completely emptied; nothing is respected
save the scaly walls.

As its isolation led us to expect, the grub
of the Bear Larinus therefore eats solid
food. There is, however, nothing to
prevent it from adding to this diet the milky
exudations of the sap.

This fare, in which solid matter predo-
minates, necessarily involves solid excreta,
which are unknown in the inmate of the blue
thistle. What does the hermit of the carline
thistle do with them, cooped up in a narrow
cell from which nothing can be shot outside?
It employs them as the other does its viscous
drops; it upholsters its cell with them.

I see it curved into a circle with its mouth
58

The Bear Larinus

applied to the opposite orifice, carefully
collecting the granules as these are evacuated
by the intestinal factory. It is precious stuff,
this, very precious; and the grub will be
careful not to lose a scrap of it, for it
has naught else wherewith to plaster its
dwelling.

The dropping seized is therefore placed
in position at once, spread with the tips of
the mandibles and compressed with the fore-
head and rump. A few waste chips and
flakes, a few bits of down are torn from the
uncemented ceiling overhead; and the plas-
terer incorporates them, atom by atom, with
the still moist putty.

This gives, as the inmate increases in size,
a coat of rough-cast which, smoothed with
meticulous care, lines the whole of the cell.
Together with the natural wall furnished
by the prickly rind of the artichoke, it makes
a powerful bastion, far superior, as a defen-
sive system, to the thatched huts of the
Spotted Larinus.

The plant, moreover, lends itself to pro-
tracted residence. It is slightly built but
slow to decay. The winds do not prostrate
it in the mire, supported as it is by brush-
59

The Life of the Weevil

wood and sturdy grasses, its habitual envi-
ronment. When the handsome thistle w'ith
the blue spheres has long been mouldering on
the edge of the roads, the carlina, with its
rot-proof base, still stands erect, dead and
brown but not dilapidated. Another ex-
cellent quality is this : the scales of its heads
contract and make a roof which the rain has
difficulty in penetrating.

In such a shelter there is no occasion to
fear the dangers which make the Spotted
Larinus quit her pitchers at the approach of
winter: the dwelling is securely founded and
the cell is dry. The Bear Larinus is well
aware of these advantages; she is careful
not to imitate the other in wintering under
the cover of dead leaves and stone-heaps.
She does not stir abroad, assured beforehand
of the efficiency of her roof.

On the roughest days of the year, in Janu-
ary, if the weather permits me to go out,
I open the heads of the carline thistles which
I come across. I always find the Larinus
there, in all the freshness of her striped
costume. She is waiting, benumbed, until
the warmth and animation of May return.
Then only will she break the dome of her
60

The Bear Larinus

cabin and go to take part in the festival
of spring.

In majesty of bearing and magnificence
of blossom our kitchen-gardens have nothing
superior to the cardoon and its near relative
the artichoke. Their heads grow to double
the size of a man's fist. Outside are spiral
series of imbricated scales which, without
being aggressive, diverge at maturity in the
shape of broad, stiff, pointed blades.
Beneath this armament is a fleshy, hemi-
sperical swelling, as big as half an orange.

From this rises a serried mass of long
white hairs, a sort of fur, than which a Polar
Bear's is no thicker. Closely surrounded by
this hair, the seeds are crowned with feathers
which double the thickness of the shaggy
chevaux de frise. Above this, delighting the
eye, blooms the spreading tuft of flowers,
coloured a splendid lapis lazuli, like that of
the cornflower, the joy of the harvest.

This is the chief domain of a third Larinus
(L. scolymi, OLIV.), a big Weevil, thickset,
broad-backed, powdered with yellow ochre.
The cardoon, which provides our table with
the fleshy veins of its leaves, but whose heads
are disdained, is the insect's customary home ;
61

The Life of the Weevil

but, should the gardener leave the artichoke
a few late heads, these are accepted by the
Larinus as eagerly as the cardoon's. Under
different names, the two plants are merely
horticultural varieties; and the Weevil, a
thorough expert, makes no mistake about it.

Under the scorching July sun, a cardoon-
head exploited by the Larini is a sight worth
seeing. Drunk with heat, busily staggering
amid the thicket of blue florets, they dive
with their tails in the air, sinking and even
disappearing into the depths of the shaggy
forest.

What do they do down there? It is not
possible to observe them directly; but a local
inspection after the work is finished will tell
us. Between the tufts of hairs, not far from
the base, they clear with the rostrum a place
to receive their egg. If they are able to
reach a seed, they rid it of its feathers and
cut a shallow cup in it, an egg-cup as it were.
The probe is pushed no farther. The fleshy
dome, the tasty heart which one would at
first suppose to be the favourite morsel, is
never attacked by the pregnant mothers.

As might have been expected, so rich an
establishment implies a numerous population.
62

The Bear Larinus

If the head is a good-sized one, it is not
unusual to find a score or more of table-
companions, plump, red-headed grubs, with
fat, glossy backs. There is plenty of room
for all.

For the rest, they are of a very stay-at-
home habit. Far from straying at random
over the abundant food-supply, in which they
might well sample the best and pick their
mouthfuls, they remain encamped within the
narrow area of the place where they were
hatched. Moreover, despite their corpu-
lence, they are extremely frugal, to such a
point that, excepting the inhabited patches,
the floral head retains its full vigour and
ripens its seeds as usual.

In this blazing summer weather, three or
four days are enough for the hatching. If
the young grub is at some distance from the
seeds, it reaches them by slipping along the
hairs, a few of which it gathers on its way.
If it is born in contact with a seed, it remains
in its native cup, for the desired point is
attained.

Its food consists, in fact, of the few
surrounding seeds, five or six, hardly more;
and even so the greater number are only in
63

The Life of the Weevil

part consumed. True, when it has grown
stronger, the larva bites deeper and digs in
the fleshy receptacle a little pit that will
serve as the foundation of its future cell.
The waste products of nutrition are pushed
backwards, where they set in a hard lump,
held in position by the palisade of the hairs.

A modest scale of diet, when all is said:
half a dozen unripe seeds and a few mouth-
fuls taken from the cake consisting of the
receptacle. These peaceful creatures must
derive singular benefit from their food to
acquire such plumpness so cheaply. An un-
disturbed and temperate diet is better than
an uneasy feast.

Two or three weeks devoted to these
pleasures of the table and our grub has
become a fat baby. Then the blissful
consumer becomes a craftsman. The placid
gratification of the belly is followed by the
worries of the future. We have to build
ourselves a castle in which to effect the
metamorphosis.

From all around it the grub collects hairs,

which it chops into fragments of different

lengths. It places them in position with the

tip of its mandibles, butts them with its head

64

The Bear Larinus

and presses them by rolling them with its
rump. Without further manipulation, this
would remain a crazy protection, constantly
collapsing and forcing the recluse to make
continual repairs. But the builder is
thoroughly acquainted with the eccentric
ways of its fellow-craftsmen on the echinops ;
it possesses a cement-factory in the end of its
intestine.

If I rear it in a glass tube with a piece of
its native artichoke, I see it from time to
time curving itself into a ring and gathering
with its teeth a drop of a whitish, sticky
substance which the hinder part of the grub
sparingly provides. The glue is instantly
spread hither and thither, swiftly, for it sets
quickly. Thus the hairy particles are bound
together and what was flimsy felt becomes a
solid fabric.

When completed, the work is a sort of
turret, the base of which is contained in the
little pit of the receptacle, from which the
grub obtained part of its nourishment.
The dense mane of untouched hairs forms a
rampart above and at the sides. It is a
somewhat clumsy edifice without, shored up
by the adjacent fur; but it is nicely smoothed
65

The Life of the Weevil

within and coated in every part with the
intestinal glue, which becomes a lustrous red-
dish material, like a shellac varnish. The
castle-keep measures one and a half centi-
metres in height.1

Towards the end of August most of the
recluses are in the perfect state. Many have
even burst the vaulted ceiling of their home;
rostrum in air, they investigate the weather,
awaiting the hour of departure. The
cardoon-head by this time is quite dry upon
its withered stalk. Let us strip it of its
scales and, with a pair of scissors, clip its
fur as closely as possible.

The result thus obtained is truly curious.
It is a sort of convex brush, pierced here and
there with deep cavities wide enough to
admit an ordinary lead-pencil. The sides
consist of a reddish-brown wall covered with
incrustations of hairy debris. Each of these
cavities is the cell of an adult Larinus. At
first sight one would take the thing for the
comb of some extraordinary Wasps'-nest.

Let us mention a fourth member of the
same group. This is the Spangled Larinus
(L. compersus, SCH.), smaller in size than

*.$%$ inch. — Translator's Note.
66

The Bear Larinus

the three foregoing species and more simply
clad. She is sprinkled with small yellow-
ochre spots on a black ground.

Her most sumptous establishment, as far
as I know, is a majestic horror to which the
botanists have given the very expressive name
of the prickly thistle (Cirsium ferox, D. C.).
The moorlands of Provence have nothing in
their flora to equal its proud and menacing
aspect.

In August this fierce-looking plant raises
its voluminous white tufts and with its lofty
stature overtops the blue-green clumps of
the lavender, that lover of stony wastes.
Spread in a rosette on the level of the soil',
the root-leaves, slashed into two series of
narrow strips, call to mind the backbones of
a heap of big fish burnt up by the sun.

These strips are split into two divergent
halves, of which one points upwards and the
other downwards, as though to threaten the
passer-by from every angle. The whole
thing, from top to bottom, is a formidable
arsenal, a trophy of prickles, of pointed nails,
of arrow-heads sharper than needles.

What is the use of this savage panoply?
Its discordance with the usual vegetation
67

The Life of the Weevil

accentuates the grace of the plants around it.
By striking a harsh and dissonant note, it
contributes to the general harmony. The
haughty thistle is really superb, standing
like a monument amidst the humility of the
lavender and thyme.

Others might see in this thicket of halberds
a means of defence. But what has the
fierce thistle to defend, that it should bristle
in this way? Its seed? I doubt, indeed,
whether the Goldfinch, the accredited
pilferer of the Carduaceae, dare set foot on
this horrid arsenal. He would be spitted at
once.

A humble Weevil will do what the bird
dares not undertake and will do it better.
She will entrust her eggs to the white tufts;
she will destroy the seed of the ferocious
plant, which, were it not subjected to a severe
thinning, would become an agricultural
calamity.

At the beginning of July, I cut off a well-
flowered thistle-top; I dip the stem in a
bottle full of water and cover my repellent
bouquet with a wire-gauze cover, after stock-
ing it with a dozen Weevils. The pairing

The Bear Larinus

takes place. Soon the mothers dive down
among the flowers and seed-plumes.

A fortnight later, each head is feeding
one to four larvae, already far advanced.
Things go fast with the Larini : all must be
finished before the thistle-heads wither.
September is not over by the time that the
insect has assumed the adult form; but there
are still laggards at this period, represented
by nymphs and even by larvae.

Built on the same plane as the Artichoke-
weevil's, the dwelling consists of a sheath
having for its base a basin hollowed in the
surface of the receptacle. In either case the
architecture is the same; so is the method
of work. A quilt of hairs, borrowed from
the seed-plumes and the mane-like fringe
of the receptacle, is heaped around the
grub and cemented with the lacquer of the
intestine.

Outside this downy bed of wadding is
spread a further mattress, a layer of gran-
ular excrement. The artist has not thought
fit to employ its digestive refuse to greater
advantage. It has something better at its
disposal. Like the other Larini, it is able to
69

The Life of the Weevil

turn the sordid sewer into a valuable
glue- and varnish-factory.

Will this lodging, so softly padded, be
its winter home? Not so. In January I
inspect the old thistle-heads ; in none of them
do I find the Weevil. The autumnal popu-
lation has migrated. For this I see a very
good reason.

The thistle, now dead and bare, an ash-
grey ruin, is still standing, is still holding
out against the north-wind, thanks to its
strength and the firmness of its roots ; but its
flower-heads, emptied by age, are wide open,
exposing their contents to the inclemencies
of the weather. The fleece of the receptacle
is a sponge that swells up with the rain and
tenaciously retains the moisture. The same
may be said of the cardoon and the artichoke.

In either case, we no longer find the for-
tress of the carlina, encompassed with con-
vergent folioles; what we see is a spacious,
roofless ruin, abandoned to the damp and the
cold. The white tuft of the ferocious thistle
and the blue tuft of the artichoke are delight-
ful villas in summer; in winter they are un-
inhabitable residences, sweating mildew.
Prudence, the safeguard of the humble,
70

The Bear Larinus

counsels the owners to forestall the final
dilapidation and to move. The advice is
accepted. At the approach of the rains and
frosts, both Larini leave the home of their
birth and proceed to take up their winter-
quarters elsewhere : precisely where I do not
know.

CHAPTER IV

THE BOTANICAL INSTINCT

ly/TATERNITY, when it takes thought
for the future, is the most fertile
prompter of instinct. To the maternity that
prepares board and lodging for the family we
owe the wonderful achievements of the
Dung-beetles and of the Wasps and Bees.
The moment the mother confines herself to
laying eggs and becomes a mere germ-tfac-
tory, the industrial talents disappear as use-
less.

That bravely-plumed fine lady, the Pine
Cockchafer, digs the sandy soil with the tip
of her abdomen and buries herself in it la-
boriously right up to her head. Then a bun-
dle of eggs is laid at the bottom of the exca-
vation; and that is all, once the pit has been
filled by means of a casual sweeping.

Constantly ridden by her male during the

four weeks of July, the mother Capricorn

explores the trunk of the oak at random;

she slips her retractible oviscapt, here, there

72

The Botanical Instinct

and everywhere, under the scales of the
cracked bark, probing, feeling, choosing the
propitious spots. Each time, an egg is laid,
almost without protection. This done, she
has no further anxiety.

The grub of Cetonia floricola, breaking its
shell, some time in August, in the depths of
the leaf-mould, goes to feed on the flowers
and there idly slumbers ; then, an adult Rose-
chafer, she returns to the heap of rotten
leaves, enters it and sows her eggs in the
hottest places, those where fermentation
rages most fiercely. Let us not ask anything
further from her: her talents end with this.

So it is, in the vast majority of cases, with
the other insects, weak or powerful, lowly
or splendid. They all know where the eggs
must be established, but they are profoundly
indifferent to what will follow. It is for
the grub to muddle through by its own
methods. The Pine Cockchafer's larva
dives farther into the sand, seeking for
tender rootlets softened by incipient decay.
The Capricorn's, continuing to drag the
shell of its egg behind it, nibbles the uneat-
able for its first mouthful, making flour of
the dead bark and sinking a shaft that leads
73

The Life of the Weevil

it to the wood, on which it feeds for the next
three years. The Cetonia's, born in a heap
of decomposed vegetable matter, has its food
ready to its mouth, without seeking.

With such primitive habits as these,
which emancipate the family at birth, with-
out the least previous training, how far re-
moved are we from the maternal tenderness
of the Copris, x the Necrophorus, 2 the
Sphex3 and so many others! Apart from
these privileged tribes, there is nothing very
striking to be noted. It is enough to fill with
despair the observer in search of facts really
worth recording.

The children, it is true, often make up to
us for their untalented mothers. Their in-
genuity is sometimes amazing, from the time
when they are hatched. Witness our Larini.
What can the mother do? Nothing but
bury the eggs in the blossoms of the thistles.
But what a singular industry on the part of
the grub which builds itself a thatched hut,
upholsters itself a cabin, cards itself a mat-

1 Cf. The Sacred Beetle and Others: chaps, ix., x. and
xvi.— ^Translator's Note.

2 Or Burying-beetle. Cf. The Glow-worm and Other
Beetles: chaps, xi. and xii. — Translator's Note.

3Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chaps, iv. to x.— Trans-
lator's Note.

74

The Botanical Instinct

tress of chopped hairs, makes itself a defen-
sive pitcher, a donjon-keep, with the shellac
prepared by its intestine!

When the transformation is accomplished,
what perspicacity on the part of the inexpe-
rienced insect, when it abandons its cosy
home to seek a refuge under the rude shelter
of the stones, foreseeing the winter which
will ruin the natal villa ! We possess the al-
manac of the past, telling us of the almanac
of the future. The insect, with no records
of the vicissitudes of the seasons; the insect,
born in the dog-days, in the blazing heat of
summer: the insect feels instinctively that
this period of solar intoxication will not last;
it knows, though it has never seen it happen,
that its house is doomed soon to collapse; and
it makes off before the roof falls in.

For a Weevil, this is fine, magnificent.
We might well envy the creature's wisdom
in being thus awake to the calamities of
the future.

However devoid of industry she may be,
the least-gifted mother none the less submits
an insoluble problem for our consideration.
What is it that leads her to lay her eggs at

75

The Life of the Weevil

spots where the larva will find food to their
liking ?

The Pieris J goes to the cabbage, in which
she has no personal interest. The plant,
compressed into a head, has not yet flowered.
Besides, its modest yellow blossoms have no
greater attraction for the Butterfly than an
infinity of other flowers distributed broad-
cast. The Vanessa 2 goes to the nettle, on
which her caterpillars will feast, but on which
the adult insect finds nothing to suck.

When, in the summer gloaming, the Pine
Cockchafer has long been whirling in the
nuptial ballet around her favourite tree, she
refreshes herself after her fatigue by nibbling
a few pine-needles; then, with impetuous
flight, she goes in search of some bare, sandy
tract where the grass-roots lie decaying.
Here, as often as not, there is no resinous
aroma, there are no more pine-trees, the
delight of the plumed beauty; and it is in this
place, where nothing appeals to her own

1 The Large White, or Cabbage, Butterfly. Cf. The
Life of the Caterpillar: chap. xiv. — Translator's Note.

2 A genus of very decorative Butterflies, including such
well-known species as the Red Admiral, the Painted
Lady, the Camberwell Beauty, the Tortoiseshell Butter-
fly and the Peacock Butterfly. — Translator's Note.

76

The Botanical Instinct

needs, that the mother, half-buried in the
ground, will lay her egg.

That ardent lover of roses and hawthorn-
blossom, the Golden Cetonia, leaves the
luxury of the flowers, to burrow in the shame
of putrescence. She repairs to the compost-
heap, but is certainly not tempted by any dish
to her taste. She cannot sip honey there
nor intoxicate he'rself with perfumed es-
sences. Another reason draws her to this
corruption.

At first sight it would seem as if these
strange instincts might be explained by the
larva's diet, of which the adult would retain
a lively recollection. The caterpillar of the
Pieris fed on cabbage-leaves; the caterpillar
of the Vanessa fed on nettle-leaves; and each
of the two Butterflies, endowed with a faith-
ful memory, exploits the plant which has no
attraction for her now, but which was a treat
for her in her infancy.

In the same way, the Cetonia dives into
the heap of leaf-mould because she remem-
bers the feasts of former days, when she was
a grub in the midst of the fermenting vege-
table matter ; and the Pine Cockchafer seeks
77

The Life of the Weevil

the sandy tracts covered with lean tufts of
grass, because she remembers her youthful
revels underground amid the decaying root-
lets.

Such a memory would be almost admissible
if the adult's diet were the same as the
larva's. We can more or less understand
the Dung-bettle, who, herself feeding upon
animal droppings, makes them into canned
provisions for her family. The diet of
maturity and that of infancy are linked as
though each were a reminiscence of the other.
Uniformity offers a very simple solution of
the food-problem.

But what shall we say of the Cetonia pass-
ing from the flowers to the sordid refuse of
the decayed leaves? Above all, what shall
we say of the Hunting Wasps? These fill
their own crops with honey and feed their
youngsters on prey!

By what inconceivable inspiration does the
Cerceris l leave the refreshment-bar of the
blossoms, dripping with nectar, to go a-hunt-
ing and to slay the Weevil, the game destined
for her offspring? How are we to explain

1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps: chaps i. to iii. — Translator's
Note.

78

The Botanical Instinct

the Sphex, who, having refreshed herself at
the sugar-works of the field eringo, suddenly
flies off, eager to stab the Cricket, the food
of her grub?

It is a matter of memory, some will make
haste to reply.

Ah no ! Please do not speak of memory
here; do not appeal to the belly's powers of
reminiscence! Man is fairly well endowed
with mnemonic aptitudes. Yet which of us
has retained the least recollection of his
mother's milk? If we had never seen a babe
at the breast, we could never suspect that we
began life in the same fashion.

This food of earliest infancy is not remem-
bered; it is certified only by example, as by
that of the Lamb, which, with bended knees
and frisking tail, sucks at the udder and butts
it with its head. No, the mouthfuls of
mother's milk have left not a trace in the
mind.

And you would have it that the insect,
after a transformation that has changed it
entirely, both inside and out, remembers its
first diet, when we ourselves, who are not
remoulded in the crucible of a metamorpho-
sis, remain in the most absolute darkness
79

The Life of the Weevil

where ours is concerned! My credulity
will not go to that length.

How then does the mother, whose diet is
different, distinguish what suits her off-
spring? I do not know, I never shall know.
It is an inviolable secret. The mother her-
self does not know. What does the stomach
know of its masterly chemistry? Nothing.
What does the heart know of its wonderful
hydraulics? Nothing. The pregnant mother,
when establishing her brood, knows no more.

And this unconsciousness provides us with
an admirable solution of the difficult problem
of victuals. A good example is afforded by
the Weevils whom we have just been consi-
dering. They will show us with what botan-
ical tact the choice of the food-plant is made.

To entrust the batch of eggs to this or
that cluster of florets is not a matter of
indifference. It is indispensable that the
florets should fulfil certain conditions of
flavour, stability, hairiness and other qualities
appreciated by the grub. Its selection,
therefore, demands a nice botanical discri-
mination which will recognize off-hand the
good and the bad, accept the discovery or
reject it. Let us devote a few lines to these
80

The Botanical Instinct

Weevils from the point of view of their
botanical attainments.

Scorning variety, the Spotted Larinus is a
specialist of immovable convictions. Her
domain is the blue ball of the echinops, «n
exclusive domain, valueless to the others.
She alone appreciates it, she alone exploits
it; and nothing else suits her.

This particularity, an unchangeable family
inheritance, must greatly facilitate her
search. When, on the return of the warm
weather, the insect leaves her hiding-place,
which is doubtless not far from the spot
where she was born, she easily finds, on the
banks by the road-side, her favourite plant,
which is already tipping its branches with
pale-blue globes. The dear heritage is
recognized without hesitation. She climbs
into it, rejoices in her nuptial diversions and
waits for the azure balls to mature to the re-
quisite stage. The blue thistle is familiar to
her though she sees it for the first time. It
was the only one known in the past; it is the
only one known in the present. There is no
confusion possible.

The second Larinus, the Bear, begins to
vary her flora to some extent. I know that
81

The Life of the Weevil

she has two establishments: the corymbed
carlina in the plain and the acanthus-leaved
carlina on the slopes of Mont Ventoux.1

To those who stop at the general aspect
and do not have recourse to delicate floral
analyses, the two plants have nothing in
common. The countryman, clever though
he be at distinguishing one plant from
another, would never think of calling the two
by the same generic name. As for the civil-
ized townsman, unless he be a botanist,
don't speak of him : his testimony here would
be worse than useless.

The corymbed carlina has a tall, slender
stem; thin, sparse leaves; a bunch of average
flowers, with a receptacle less than half the
size of an acorn. The acanthus-leaved car-
lina spreads, level with the soil, a large,
fierce rosette of broad leaves which in shape
is not unlike the ornament of a Corinthian
capital. There is no stem. In the centre
of the leaf-cluster is a flower, one only, but a
giant, big as a man's fist.

The people of Mont Ventoux call this
magnificent thistle the "mountain artichoke."

1 The nearest mountain to the author's village. Cf.
The Hunting Wasps: chap. xi. — Translator's Note.
82

The Botanical Instinct

They gather it and use the base of the flower
in making omelettes not devoid of merit;
this base is very fleshy, is saturated in milk
with a nutty flavour and is delicious even
when raw.

Sometimes they use the plant as an hygro-
meter. Nailed to the lintel of the byre, the
carlina closes its flower when the air is moist
and opens it in a superb sun of golden scales
when the air is dry. With beauty added, it
is the inverse equivalent of the celebrated
rose of Jericho, an unsightly bundle which
expands in wet and shrivels in dry weather.
If the rustic hygrometer were a foreigner,
it would be famous; being an ordinary
product of Mont Ventoux, it is slighted.

The Larinus, for her part, knows it very
well, not as a meteorological apparatus, a
very useless thing to her for foretelling the
weather, but as provender for her family.
Many a time, on my excursions in July and
August, I have seen the Bear Weevil very
busy on the mountain artichoke wide open in
the sun. There is no doubt what she was
doing there : she was attending to her eggs.

I regret that my then preoccupations,
which were concerned with botany, did not
83

The Life of the Weevil

permit me to observe the mother's methods
more closely. Does she lay several eggs in
this rich morsel? There is enough to satisfy
a numerous brood. Or does she lay only
one, repeating here what she does on the
corymbed carlina, a middling ration? There
is nothing to tell us that the insect is not to
some extent versed in domestic economy and
does not proportion the number of the guests
to the abundance of the provisions.

If this point is obscure, another and one
of greater interest is quite evident: the Bear
Larinus is a clear-sighted botanist. She
recognizes as carlina, the family food, two
very dissimilar plants, which none of us,
unless he were an expert, would have thought
of grouping together; she accepts as botanic-
al equivalents the gorgeous rosette, eight-
een inches across, whose spokes lie on the
ground, and the shabby-looking thistle that
stands erect and spare.

The Spangled Larinus extends her domain
still farther. Though she has not the fierce
thistle with the white heads, she recognizes
the good qualities of another vegetable hor-
ror, one with pink heads this time. This is
the common horse-thistle (Cirsium lanceo-
84

The Botanical Instinct

latum, SCOP.). The difference in the colour
of the flowers causes her no hesitation.

Can she be apprised by the majestic stat-
ure, by the sturdy prickles? No, for we
next see her established on a humble and
much less savage plant, Carduus nigrescens,
VILL., which rises hardly more than nine
inches from the ground.

Can it be the size of the heads that regu-
lates her choice? Not so, either, for the
paltry heads of Carduus tenuiflorus, CART.,
are accepted as readily as the sizable blooms
of the above three thistles.

But the subtle expert is even cleverer than
this. Regardless of mien, foliage, flavour
or colour, she actively exploits Kentro-
phyllum lanatum, D. C., a plant with
wretched yellow flowers soiled by the dust of
the roads. To recognize a Carduacea in
this dry and unsightly plant you have to be
a botanist or a Weevil.

A fourth Larinus (L. scolymi, OLIV.)
surpasses the Spangled Larinus. We find
her at work on the garden artichoke and the
garden cardoon, both of them giants that
lift their great blue heads to a height of six
feet and more. We meet her afterwards on
85

The Life of the Weevil

a niggardly centaury (Centaur ea aspera,
LIN.), with ragged heads, smaller than the
tip of one's little finger, trailing on the
ground; we see her founding colonies on the
various thistles beloved of the Spangled
Larinus, even on Kentrophyllum lanatum.
Her botanical knowledge of plants so dis-
similar gives us food for reflection.

As a Weevil, she recognizes very clearly,
without resorting to tests, what is artichoke-
heart and what is not, what suits her off-
spring and what would harm it; and I, as a
naturalist, versed by assiduous practice in the
flora of my district, would not dare, without
prudent enquiries, to bite into this or that
fruit or berry were I suddenly transported
to another country.

She is born with her knowledge; and I
have to learn. Every summer, with superb
audacity, she goes from her thistle to various
others which, having no similarity of appear-
ance, ought, one would think, to be rejected
as suspicious hostelries. On the contrary,
she accepts them, recognizes them as her
own; and her confidence is never betrayed.

Her guide is instinct, which instructs her
unerringly, within a very restricted circle;

The Botanical Instinct

mine is intelligence, which gropes, seeks, goes
astray, finds its way again and ends by soar-
ing with an incomparable flight. The Lari-
nus knows the flora of the thistles without
having learnt it; man knows the flora of the
world after long study. The domain of in-
stinct is a speck; that of intelligence is the
universe.

CHAPTER V

THE ELEPHANT WEEVIL

C OME of our machines have odd-looking
^ parts which seem inexplicable so long as
they are seen in repose. But wait until the
whole is set in motion, when the uncouth
contrivance, with its gear-wheels biting and
its jointed rods opening and closing, will
reveal an ingenious combination wherein
everything is cunningly arranged in view of
the effects to be obtained. It is the same
with various Weevils, notably the Balanini,1
who, as their name tells us, are charged
with the exploitation of acorns, nuts and
other, similar fruits.

The most remarkable in my part of the
country is the Elephant Weevil, or Acorn-
weevil (Balaninus elephas, SCH.). What
a well-named insect ! Its title is a picture in
itself. It is a living caricature, with its pro-
digious pipe-stem, no thicker than a horse-

1 From the Latin balanus, an acorn. — Translator's Note.

The Elephant Weevil

hair, reddish, almost straight and so long
that the insect is obliged to carry it extended
like a lance at rest, lest it should stumble,
hampered by its instrument. What does it
do with this enormous pike, with this ridic-
ulous nose?

Here I see some shrugging their shoulders.
In fact, if the sole object of life is to make
money by hook or by crook, such queries are
sheer madness. Happily there are others to
whom nothing in the majestic problem of
things is trivial. They know of what humble
dough the bread of thought is kneaded, a
bread no less necessary than that made from
wheat; they know that husbandmen and
enquirers alike feed the world with an
accumulation of minute fragments.

Let us take pity on the question and
proceed. Without seeing it at work, we
already suspect the Weevil's paradoxical
beak of being a drill similar to those which
we employ to bore through the hardest sub-
stances. Two diamond-points, the man-
dibles, form its terminal bit. Like the
Larini, but under conditions of greater
difficulty, the Weevil must use it to prepare
the way for installing the egg.
89

The Life of the Weevil

But suspicion, however well-founded, is
not certainty. I shall not know the secret
unless and until I witness the performance.

Chance, the servant of those who solicit
her patiently, procures me a meeting with
the Acorn-weevil at work in the first fort-
night of October. My surprise is great, for
at this late period all industrial activity as a
rule is at an end. The entomological season
closes with the first touch of cold.

It happens to be wild weather to-day; an
icy north-wind is roaring, chapping one's
lips. One needs a stout faith to go out on
a day like this to inspect the thickets. Yet,
if the Weevil with the long churchwarden
exploits the acorns, as I imagine that she
does, now or never is the time to look into
things. The acorns, still green, have
attained their full dimensions. In two or
three weeks they will possess the deep brown
of perfect maturity, soon to be followed by
their fall.

My hare-brained excursion gives me a suc-
cess. On the ilexes I surprise a Weevil,
with her proboscis half-sunk in an acorn.
To observe her with due care is impossible
90

The Elephant Weevil

while the branches are being lashed and
shaken by the mistral. I break off the twig
and lay it gently on the ground. The insect
takes no notice of its removal and goes on
with its job. I squat down beside it, shel-
tered from the gale behind a clump of brush-
wood, and watch operations.

Shod with clinging sandals which will
enable her later, in my cages, to scale a
perpendicular pane of glass, the Weevil is
firmly fixed on the smooth and sloping curve
of the acorn. She is working her drill.
Slowly and awkwardly she moves around her
implanted rod, describes a semicircle whose
centre is the perforated point and then,
retracing her steps, describes the semicircle in
the reverse direction. And this is repeated
several times over. We do the same when,
by an alternating movement of the wrist,
we make a hole in a piece of wood with a
bradawl.

Little by little, the rostrum enters. In
an hour's time, it has disappeared entirely.
A brief rest follows. Then at last the
instrument is withdrawn. What will hap-
pen next? Nothing more, this time. The
91

The Life of the Weevil

Weevil abandons her shaft and solemnly
retires, hiding among the dead leaves. I
shall learn no more to-day.

But I have been given a hint. On still
days, more favourable to my hunting, I
return to the spot and soon have the where-
withal to stock my cages. Foreseeing
serious difficulties because of the slowness of
the work, I prefer to continue my studies
indoors, with the unlimited leisure to be
found at home.

This was an excellent precaution. If I
had tried to go on as I had begun and to
observe the Weevil's actions in the freedom
of the woods, never should I have had the
patience to follow to the end the choice of
the acorn, the boring of the hole and the
laying of the eggs — even presuming that my
discoveries were propitious — so meticulously
deliberate is the insect in its business, as the
reader will presently be able to judge.

The copses frequented by my Weevil are
composed of three kinds of oaks : the ilex and
the durmast, which would become fine trees
if the woodcutter gave them time, and lastly
the kermes-oak, a wretched, scrubby bush.
The first, the most plentiful of the three,
92

The Elephant Weevil

is the Weevil's favourite. Its acorns are
firm, long in shape and moderate in size; the
cup is covered with little warts. Those of
the durmast oak are generally stunted, short,
wrinkled and subject to premature falls.
The dryness of the Serignan hills does not
suit them. The Weevil therefore accepts
them only in the absence of something better.

The humility of the kermes, a dwarf shrub,
a truly comic oak, which a man can step over
at a stride, is contrasted by the wealth of
its acorns, which are large, swelling ovoids,
set in a cup bristling with sharp scales. The
Weevil could not have a better home. It
forms a strong dwelling and a copious store-
house.

I place a few sprigs from these three oaks,
well-furnished with acorns, under the dome
of my wire-gauze covers, with their ends
dipped in a tumbler of water to keep them
fresh; I install a suitable number of couples;
lastly, I stand the cages on the window-sills
of my study, where they get the direct sun-
light for the greater part of the day. Let
us now possess our souls in patience and keep
a constant watch. We shall be rewarded.
The exploitation of the acorn is worth seeing.
93

The Life of the Weevil

Things do not drag on so very long.
Two days after these preparations, I arrive
at the exact moment when the work begins.
The mother, larger than the male and
supplied with a longer drill, is inspecting her
acorn, no doubt in view of the eggs.

She goes over it step by step, from tip
to stem, above and below. Walking is easy
on the wrinkled cup; it would be imprac-
ticable on the rest of the surface if the soles
of her feet were not shod with clinging
pattens, with brushes which enable her to
keep her balance in any position. Without
tripping or stumbling, therefore, the insect
walks with equal ease, over the top or bottom
or up the sides of her slippery pedestal.

The choice is made; the acorn is recogr
nized as being of good quality. The time
has come to sink the hole. T]he rod is
difficult to wield, because of its excessive
length. To obtain the best mechanical
effect, the instrument must be held at right
angles to the convex surface; and the cum-
brous tool which, out of working-hours,
projects in front of the worker must now be
brought under her.

To achieve this object, the Weevil raises
94

The Elephant Weevil

herself on her hind-legs and stands on the
tripod formed by the tip of the wing-cases
and of the hinder tarsi. Nothing could be
droller than this strange well-sinker, standing
erect and drawing her nasal rapier towards
her.

The trick is done: the drill is now held
plumb. The boring begins. The method
is that which I saw employed in the woods,
on the day when the wind was so strong.
Very slowly, the insect veers from right to
left and from left to right alternately. Her
tool is not a gimlet, a spiral, corkscrew-
like implement which enters as the result of
a rotary movement always in one direction;
it is a trocar which progresses by successive
bites, by eating away now in one direction,
now in another.

Before continuing, let me give room to an
accidental fact, which is too striking to be
passed over. On various occasions I have
found the insect dead at its work. The
deceased occupies a strange position, which
would give food for laughter if death were
not always a serious event, especially when
it comes suddenly, in the midst of toil. The
boring-tool is implanted in the acorn merely

95

The Life of the Weevil

by its tip : the work was just beginning. At
the top of the rod, a lethal stake, the Weevil
is suspended in mid-air, at right angles, far
from the supporting surface. She is dried-
up, dead since I know not how many days.
The legs are stiff and contracted under the
abdomen. Even if they retained the flex-
ibility and the power of extension which was
theirs in life, they would not be able, by a
long way, to reach the support of the acorn.
What has happened then, that the poor
wretch should be impaled like an insect in
our collections with a pin stuck through its
head?

What has happened is a workshop-
accident. Because of the length of her brad-
awl, the Weevil begins by working upright,
standing on her hind-legs. Imagine a slip, a
false move of the two clinging grapnels; and
the unskilful Weevil will instantly lose her
footing, dragged away by the elasticity of
the probe, which she must have forced
slightly and bent at the start. Thus lifted
to some distance from her foothold, she
vainly struggles, hanging in the air; nowhere
can her tarsi, those safety anchors, find any-
thing to grip. She succumbs exhausted at
96

The Elephant Weevil

the top of her stake, for lack of a support
whereby to release herself. Like the work-
men in our factories, the Elephant Weevil
also is sometimes the victim of her machin-
ery. Let us wish her good luck and sure
feet, careful not to slip, and continue.

This time the mechanism works perfectly,
but so slowly that the descent of the drill,
even when magnified by the lens, cannot be
perceived. And the insect veers and veers
about, rests and again resumes her work.
An hour, two hours pass, of enervating,
sustained attention, for I want to see the
action at the exact moment when the Weevil
withdraws her probe, turns round and depo-
sits her egg at the mouth of the well. This
at least is how I foresee events.

Two hours elapse, exhausting my patience.
I make arrangements with my household.
Three of us will relieve one another in turn,
keeping an uninterrupted watch on the
obstinate creature, whose secret I must have
at all costs.

I was well-advised to call in helpers to
lend me their eyes and their attention.
After eight hours, eight endless hours, the
sentry on the watrh summons me. The

97

The Life of the Weevil

insect appears to have finished. It does in
fact step back, it withdraws its drill, care-
fully, lest it should bend it. The tool is now
outside, once more pointing forwards, in a
straight line.

This is the moment. . . . Alas, no!
Once again I am cheated: my eight hours'
watch has led to nothing. The Weevil de-
camps, abandons the acorn without making
use of her boring. Yes, I was certainly
right to distrust observation in the woods.
Such a period of waiting among the ilexes,
under the scorching sun, would have been
an unbearable torture.

All through October, with the aid of help-
ers when needful, I remark numerous borings
not followed by any laying. The operation
varies greatly in length. Generally it lasts
a couple of hours; sometimes it takes half
the day or even more.

What is the object of these shafts, made
at such cost of time and labour and very
often left unstocked? Let us first look for
the site occupied by the egg and forming the
grub's earliest mouthfuls; then perhaps the
reply will come.

The inhabited acorns remain on the oak,
98

The Elephant Weevil

encased in their cups as though nothing ab-
normal were happening to injure the seed-
lobes. They are easily recognized with a
little attention. Not far from the cup, on
the smooth and still green shells, a little
speck shows, just like the prick of a fine
needle. Soon it is surrounded by a narrow
brown ring, the result of mortification.
This is the mouth of the hole. At other
times, but less often, the opening is made
through the cup itself.

We will take the acorns recently perfor-
ated, that is to say, those with a pale
puncture, not yet surrounded by the brown
ring which will appear in time. Shell them.
Several contain no foreign matter: the
Weevil has bored them without laying her
eggs in them. These represent the acorns
worked for hours and hours in my cages and
not afterwards used. Many contain an egg.

Now, however far above the cup the
entrance to the pit may be, this egg is always
right at the bottom, at the base of the seed-
lobes. There is here, provided by the cup,
a soft, blanket-like layer which imbibes the
sapid exudations from the tip of the
peduncle, the source of nourishment. I see

99

The Life of the Weevil

a young grub, hatched before my eyes, nibble
as its first mouthfuls this tender woolly mass,
this moist cake flavoured with tannin.

This dainty, juicy and easy of digestion,
like all nascent organic matter, is found only
at this particular spot; and it is solely here,
between the cup and the base of the seed-
lobes, that the Weevil lodges her egg. The
insect knows to a nicety the position of the
morsels best-suited to the feeble stomach of
the new-born larva.

Above this is the comparatively coarse
bread of the seed-lobes. Refreshed by its
first meal at the drinking-bar, the grub enters
it, not directly, but through the tunnel opened
by the mother's probe, a tunnel littered with
crumbs, with half-mastidated fragments.
This light farinaceous food, prepared in a
column of appropriate height, gives strength ;
and the grub next penetrates right into the
firm substance of the acorn.

These facts explain the egg-layer's tactics.
What is her object when, before proceeding
to bore the hole, she inspects her acorn,
above, below, in front and behind, with fas-
tidious care? She is making sure that the
100

The Elephant Weevil

fruit is not already occupied. It is a rich
larder, certainly; nevertheless, there is not
enough for two. Never indeed have I found
two larvae in the same acorn. One only,
always one only, digests the generous morsel
and converts it into pale-green flour before
leaving it and descending to the ground.
Of the seed-lobe bread, at most an insig-
nificant crumb remains. The rule is that
each grub has its loaf, each consumer its
ration consisting of one acorn.

Before trusting the egg to the acorn, there-
fore, it is important to examine it, to
ascertain if it already has an occupant.
Now this occupant, if any, is at the bottom
of a crypt, at the base of the acorn, under
the cover of a cup bristling with scales.
Nothing could be more secret than this
hiding-place. No eye would suspect the
presence of a recluse if the surface of the
acorn did not bear the mark of a tiny
puncture.

This just visible mark is my guide. Its
appearance tells me that the fruit is inhabited
or that it has at least been prepared for the
reception of the egg; its absence assures me

The Life of the Weevil

that the acorn has not been appropriated.
The Weevil, beyond a doubt, obtains her
information in the same manner.

I see things from a height, with a com-
prehensive glance, assisted if need be by the
magnifying-glass. I turn the object for a
moment in my fingers; and my inspection is
over. The Weevil, investigating at close
quarters, is obliged to point her microscope
more or less everywhere before detecting
the tell-tale speck with certainty. More-
over, the welfare of her family compels her
to make a far more scrupulous search than
that prompted by my curiosity. This is why
her examination of the acorn is so excess-
ively protracted.

It is done : the acorn is accepted as a good
one. The drill is driven in and kept working
for hours; then, very often, the insect goes
away, despising her work. The laying of
the egg does not follow on the boring.
What is the object of so great and so long
an effort? Can the Weevil simply be
piercing the fruit to satisfy her appetite and
obtain refreshment? Can the reed-like beak
go down to the depths of the barrel to draw,
from the likeliest spots, a few mouthfuls of

102

The Elephant Weevil

sustaining drink? Can the enterprise be a
matter of personal nourishment?

I thought so at first, though I was a little
surprised at this display of perseverance in
view of a sip. The males taught me to
abandon the idea. They too possess a long
rostrum, capable of opening a well if neces-
sary; nevertheless I never see one standing
on an acorn and working at it with his drill.
Why take so much trouble? A mere noth-
ing satisfies these frugal eaters. A super-
ficial digging with the tip of the proboscis
into the tender leaf yields enough to main-
tain their strength.

If they, the idlers who have leisure to en-
joy the delights of the table, want no more,
how will it be with the mothers, busy with
the laying? Have they the time to eat and
drink? No, the pierced acorn is not a bar
at which to lounge, sipping without end.
That the beak, when driven into the fruit,
levies a small mouthful is possible; but this
scrap is certainly not the object in view.

I seem to catch a glimpse of the real

object. The egg, as we said, is always at

the base of the acorn, in the midst of a sort

of wadding moistened by the sap that oozes

103

The Life of the Weevil

from the stalk. At the hatching, the grub,
incapable as yet of tackling the firm sub-
stance of the seed-lobes, chews the delicate
felt at the bottom of the cup and feeds upon
its juices.

But, as the fruit matures, this cake
becomes more solid and changes in flavour
and in the consistency of its pulp. What
was soft hardens, what was moist dries up.
There is a period during which the conditions
necessary to the new-born grub's welfare are
fulfilled to perfection. At an earlier stage,
things would not have reached the requisite
degree of preparation; later, they would be
too ripe.

Outside, on the green rind of the acorn,
there is nothing to show the progress of this
inner cooking. In order not to serve her
grub with noxious food, the mother, inad-
equately informed by the sight of the acorn,
is therefore obliged first to taste with the
tip of her proboscis what lies at the bottom
of the store-room.

The nurse, before giving baby his spoonful

of pap, puts her lips to it to try it. The

mother Weevil in the same way, with no

less affection, dips her probe to the bottom

104

The Elephant Weevil

of the basin, to try its contents before be-
queathing them to her son. If the food is
considered satisfactory, the egg is laid; if
not, the boring is abandoned without more
ado. This explains the perforations of
which no advantage is taken after much
laborious work. The soft bread at the
bottom, carefully tested, was not found to be
in the required condition. How particular,
how fastidious are these Weevils, where the
first mouthful of the family is concerned!

To place the egg in a spot where the new-
born grub will find light, juicy, easily-digested
food is not enough for these far-seeing
mothers. Their care goes farther. An
intermediate diet would be useful, to lead
the little larva from the dainty fare of the
first hours to the regimen of hard bread.
This intermediate diet is in the gallery, the
work of the mother's beak. Here are
crumbs, particles bitten off by the shears of
the proboscis. Moreover, the sides of the
tunnel, softened by mortification, are better-
suited than the rest to the feeble mandibles
of the novice.

Before nibbling at the seed-lobes, the grub
does in fact embark upon this tunnel. It
105

The Life of the Weevil

feeds on the meal found along the road; it
gathers the discoloured atoms hanging from
the walls; and lastly, when strong enough, it
attacks the loaf of the kernel, digs into it
and disappears inside. The stomach is
ready. The rest is a blissful feast.

This tubular nursery must be of a certain
length to satisfy the needs of infancy; and
so the mother works her drill accordingly.
If the thrust of the probe were intended
solely for sampling the material at the base
of the acorn and examining its degree of
maturity, the operation would be much
shorter, since it could be started near that
base, through the cup. This advantage is
not unrecognized: I have happened to sur-
prise the insect working upon the scaly
cupule.

I see in this merely an attempt of the
hurried mother to obtain information. If
the acorn suits, the boring will be made over
again, higher up, outside the cup. When
the egg is to be laid, the rule, in fact, is to
bore through the acorn itself, as high up as
the length of the tool permits.

What is the object of this long boring,
which is not always finished in half a day?
106

The Elephant Weevil

What is the use of this stubborn perseverance
when, near the stalk, at the cost of much less
time and labour, the bradawl would reach
the desired point, the running spring whereat
the nascent grub is to slake its thirst? The
mother has her reasons for going to all this
trouble : by so doing she reaches the regular
spot, the base of the acorn, and by this very
action — a most valuable result — prepares a
long tube of meal for her son.

These are all trivialities ! Not so, if you
please: matters of great importance rather,
telling us of the infinite cares that preside
over the preservation of the least of things
and bearing witness to a higher logic which
regulates the smallest details.

The Weevil, so happily inspired as a
breeder, has her place in the world and is
worthy of consideration. So at least thinks
the Blackbird, who gladly makes a meal of
the long-beaked insect when the berries begin
to run short at the end of autumn. It is a
small mouthful but a tasty one ; and it makes
a pleasant change after the bitterness of the
olive that still resists the cold.

And what were the reawakening of the
woods in spring, without the Blackbird and
107

The Life of the Weevil

his rivals! Were man to disappear, an-
nihilated by his own follies, the springtide
festival would be no less solemnly celebrated
by the Blackbird's triumphant fluting.

To the most deserving part played in
feasting the bird, the minstrel of the forests,
the Weevil adds another, that of moderating
the amount of vegetable lumber. Like all
the mighty really worthy of their power,
the oak is generous : it yields acorns by the
bushel. What could the earth do with this
abundance? The forest itself would be
stifled for lack of space; excess would ruin
the essential.

But, as soon as victuals are plentiful,
there comes from every side a rush of con-
sumers only too eager to reduce the head-
long production. The Field-mouse, a native,
hoards acorns in a stone-heap, near her hay
mattress. A stranger, the Jay, arrives from
.a distance, in flocks, apprised I know not
how. For some weeks he flies feasting from
oak to oak, giving vent to his joys and his
emotions by screeching like a strangled Cat;
then, having fulfilled his mission, he goes
back to the north whence he came.

The Weevil has been beforehand with
1 08

The Elephant Weevil

them all. She confided her eggs to the
acorns while these were still green. They
are now lying on the ground, brown before
their time and pierced with a round hole
through which the larva has escaped after
consuming the contents. It would be easy
under a single oak to fill a basket with these
empty ruins. The Weevil has done more
than the Jay and more than the Field-mouse
to get rid of the superfluity.

Soon man arrives, thinking of his Pigs.
In my village it is a great event when the
public crier announces the opening day for
gathering acorns in the common woods.
The more zealous inspect the ground on the
eve, in order to select a good place. Next
morning, at peep of day, the whole family
is there. The father beats the higher
branches with a pole; the mother, wearing
a large canvas apron which allows her to
force her way through the thickets, gathers
from the tree all that her hand can reach;
the children pick up what lies on the ground.
And the baskets are filled, followed by the
hampers and the sacks.

After the glee of the Field-mouse, the
Jay, the Weevil and so many others, here
109

The Life of the Weevil

comes that of man, calculating how much
bacon his harvest will bring him. One
regret mingles with the rejoicings, that is to
see so many acorns scattered on the ground,
pierced, spoilt, good for nothing. Man in-
veighs against the author of the damage.
To listen to him, you would think that the
forest were his alone and that the oaks bore
fruit only for his Pig.

"My friend," I would say to him, "the
forest-ranger can't summon the delinquent
and this is just as well, for our self-seeking,
which is inclined to look upon the acorn-crop
only in the light of a string of sausages,
would lead to tiresome results. The oak
invites the whole world to enjoy its fruits.
We take the biggest share, because we are
the strongest. That is only our right. . . .
But what ranks ever so much higher is a
fair division among the various consumers,
great and small, all of whom play their part
in this world. If it is well that the Black-
bird should whistle and gladden the burgeon-
ing of the spring, then let us not take it ill
that the acorns are rotten. For here the
Blackbird's dessert is prepared, the Weevil,

The Elephant Weevil

a dainty mouthful that lends fat to his rump
and music to his throat."

Let us leave the Blackbird to sing and
hark back to the Weevil's egg. We know
where it is: at the base of the acorn, in the
tenderest and juiciest part of the fruit.
How did it get there, so far from the en-
trance, which is situated above the edge of
the cup. A very small question, it is true,
even puerile, if you will. Let us not despise
it: science is built up of puerilities.

The first man to rub a piece of amber on
his sleeve and thereupon to discover that the
piece aforesaid attracted bits of straw
certainly did not suspect the electric wonders
of our day. He was amusing himself in his
artless fashion. When repeated and tested
in every conceivable manner, this child's play-
thing became one of the forces of the world.

The observer must neglect nothing: he
never knows what the humblest fact may
bring forth. I therefore repeat the ques-
tion: by what means was the Weevil's egg
placed so far from the entrance?

To any one who was not yet aware of the
position of the egg, but who knew that the
in

The Life of the Weevil

grub attacks the base of the acorn first, the
reply would appear to be as follows: the
egg is laid at the entrance of the tunnel, on
the surface; and the grub, crawling along
the gallery dug by the mother, of its own
accord reaches the point where its infant's-
food exists.

At first, before I possessed adequate
particulars, this explanation was also my
own; but the mistake was soon dispelled. I
pluck the acorn when the mother withdraws
after for an instant applying the tip of her
abdomen to the orifice of the tunnel which
her rostrum has just bored. The egg, so it
seems, must be there, at the entrance, close
to the surface. . . . But not at all : it is not
there; it is at the other end of the passage!
If I dared to take the liberty, I should say
that it has gone down it as a stone falls to
the bottom of a well.

We must hasten to abandon this silly
notion: the tunnel is infinitely narrow and
blocked with shavings, so that any such
descent would be impossible. Besides,
according to the direction of the stalk, which
may be either downwards or upwards, a fall

The Elephant Weevil

in one acorn would mean an ascent in
another.

A second, no less risky explanation sug-
gests itself. You say to yourself:

"The Cuckoo lays her egg in the grass,
anywhere; she picks it up in her beak and
goes and places it as it is in the Warbler's
narrow nest."

Can the Weevil adopt a similar method?
Can she use her rostrum to push her egg to
the base of the acorn? I cannot see that
the insect has any other implement capable
of reaching this remote hiding-place.

And yet we must hastily reject this quaint
explanation as a despairing resource. Never
does the Weevil lay her egg in the open and
then take it in her beak. If she did, the
delicate germ would infallibly perish,
destroyed in the attempt to push it down a
narrow, half-choked passage.

My perplexity is great; and it will be
shared by any of my readers who are
acquainted with the Weevil's structure. The
Grasshopper owns a sabre, a laying-tool
which sinks into the ground and sows the
eggs at the requisite depth; x the Leucospis is

The Life of the Weevil

endowed with a probe which makes its way
through the Chalicodoma's 2 masonry and
slips the egg into the cocoon of the fat, sleepy
larva; but this Weevil of ours has none of
these rapiers, daggers or larding-pins ; she
has nothing at the tip of her abdomen, ab-
solutely nothing. And yet she has but to
apply that tip to the narrow opening of the
well for the egg to be lodged, forthwith, at
the very bottom.

Anatomy will supply the key to the riddle,
which is otherwise undecipherable. . I open
the mother's abdomen. What meets my
eyes astounds me. There is here, occupying
the whole length of the body, an extraor-
dinary piece of mechanism, a stiff, red, horny
rod, I was almost saying a rostrum, so closely
does it resemble that of the head. It is a
tube, slender as a horse-hair, widening
slightly like a blunderbuss at the free end
and swollen like an egg-shaped capsule at
the base.

This is the laying-tool, equalling the brad-

1 The Life of the Grasshopper: chap. xiv. — Translator's
Note.

2 The Mason-bee. Cf. The Mason-bees: passim. —
Translator's Note.

114

The Elephant Weevil

awl in length. As far as the perforating
beak reaches, so far can the egg-probe reach,
that inner beak. When working upon her
acorn, the Weevil chooses the point of attack
so that the two complementary instruments
can both reach the desired point, the base of
the fruit.

The rest now stands self-explained.
When the work of drilling is finished and
the gallery ready, the mother turns round
and plaices the tip of her abdomen over the
entrance. She unsheathes and protrudes her
internal mechanism., which readily sinks
through the loose shavings. No sign
appears of the directing probe, so quickly and
discreetly does it work; no sign appears
either when, after the egg has been placed
in position, the instrument goes up again and
gradually slips back into the abdomen. It
is over; the mother departs and we have
seen none of her little secrets.

Was I not right to persist? An appar-
ently insignificant fact has told me definitely
what the Larini had already led me to
suspect. The long-beaked Weevils have an
inner probe, an abdominal rostrum, which
"5

The Life of the Weevil

no outward sign betrays; they possess, hidden
away in their belly, the counterpart of the
Grasshopper's sabre and of the Ichneumon-
fly's larding-pin.

116

CHAPTER VI

THE NUT-WEEVIL

TF a peaceful home, a good stomach and a
secure livelihood are enough to bring
happiness, then the Nut-Weevil is truly a
happy creature, more so even than the fa-
mous Rat who retired into a Dutch cheese.
The hermit of the fabulist x had kept up
certain relations with the world, the source
of all his troubles. One day, a deputation
from the Rat folk came to ask him for a
trifling alms. The recluse listened to their
complaints with an unwilling ear; he told
them that he could not help them, promised
to pray for them and shut the door without
further ado.

Hard though he was upon the needs of
others, this visit of famished beggars must
have disturbed his digestion somewhat:
history does not tell us so, but we are at
liberty to believe it. The hermit of the

1 Jean de La Fontaine (1621-1695). — Translator's Note.
117

The Life of the Weevil

naturalist is not subject to these annoyances.
Its dwelling is an inviolable cell, a coffer
made all in one piece, with neither door nor
wicket for distressed bores to come knocking
at. Within is absolute quiet, nothing enters
of the sounds or cares of the outer world.
An excellent lodging, neither too hot nor too
cold, peaceful and closed to all. An excel-
lent table, besides, and a sumptuous. What
more could any one ask for? The smug
inmate waxes big and fat.

We all know the rascal. Which of us,
when a boy, cracking a hazel-nut with his
strong teeth, has not bitten into something
acrid and sticky? Ugh! It's the nut-
maggot! Let us conquer our repugnance
and examine the creature closely. It is
worth the trouble.

We see a plump and lusty grub, bent into a
bow, legless and milk-white, except the head,
which is capped with yellowish horn. When
taken from its cell and laid on the table, the
thing wriggles about, coiling and uncoiling
and fidgetting without contriving to shift its
place. It is denied the power of locomotion.
What would the worm do with that power,
boxed up as it is? For that matter, this is
118

The Nut-Weevil

a feature common to the Weevil tribe, all
of whom are inveterate stay-at-homes in
their larval stage. Such is the hermit whose
history follows below, the anchorite with the
sleek and rounded rump, the larva of the
Nut-weevil (Balaninus nucum, LIN.).

The kernel of the hazel-nut is its cake, an
abundant provision, which it never or but
very seldom finishes entirely, so greatly do
the victuals exceed the utmost requirements
of obesity. There is plenty to enable one
alone to live comfortably for three or four
weeks; but it would mean short commons for
two. And so the victuals are scrupulously
rationed: to each nut its grub, no more.

I have happened on very rare occasions
to find two. The late-comer, the offspring
of some ill-informed mother, had seated it-
self at table beside the other, without much
profit to itself. There was not much left
of the cake; moreover, the still feeble
intruder seemed to have had a bad reception
from the powerful and jealous owner of the
property. There was no doubt about it: the
superfluous weakling was doomed to perish.
The Weevil knows no more of mutual aid
among kinsmen than the Rat in the cheese.
119

The Life of the Weevil

Each for himself: such is the savage and
bestial law, even in a nutshell.

The dwelling is a perfectly continuous
fortification, without a joint or fissure for an
invader to slip through. The walnut-tree
forms the shell of its fruit out of two halves
joined together, with a line of least resistance
left between them; the hazel makes its kegs
with a single stave, curved into an arch that
is equally strong at all points. How did the
grub of the Balaninus obtain access to this
fortress?

On the surface, smooth as polished marble,
the eye perceives nothing to explain the
entrance of an exploiter from without. One
can picture the surprise and the artless ima-
ginings of those who first remarked the
peculiar contents of the intact nut, without
any sort of opening to it. The plump mag-
got, living inside it, could not be an alien.
It was therefore born of the fruit itself,
under the influence of an unlucky moon. It
was a child of putrefaction hatched by a mist.

A faithful custodian of the ancient beliefs,
the peasant of to-day always attributes mag-
goty nuts and other fruits spoiled by insects
to the moon and a passing miasma. And

120

The Nut-Weevil

this will be so indefinitely, until our country
schools yield the place of honour to cheerful,
invigorating studies in the fields.

Let us replace these inanities by the
reality. The grub is certainly an outsider,
an invader; and, if it has made its way in,
this is because it has found a passage some-
where. Let us look for this passage, which
escaped us at the first examination, with the
aid of a magnifying-glass.

The search does not take long. The base
of the nut displays a wide, rough, light-
coloured depression, to which the cup was
fastened. On the confines of this area, a
little way outside it, is a darker speck. This
is the entrance to the stronghold; this is the
key to the riddle.

The rest follows without further enquiry
and is very clearly interpreted by the data
provided by the Elephant Weevil. The
Nut-weevil also bears a buccal drill, still in-
ordinately long, but this time slightly curved.

I can well imagine the insect, like its re-
lative of the acorns, standing erect on the
tripod formed by the tip of its wing-covers
and the hinder tarsi; it assumes a posture
worthy of portrayal by a fantastic pencil; it

The Life of the Weevil

plants its instrument perpendicularly; it
patiently veers and veers again.

The work is arduous, very arduous, for
the nut rs selected when nearly ripe, to pro-
vide the grub with more savoury and more
abundant food; it is thick and tough, much
more so than the rind of an acorn. If the
Acorn-weevil takes half a day to bore her
passage, how long must the Nut-weevil's task
be, how patient her persistence! Perhaps
her rod is specially hardened. We can tem-
per our drills till they wear away granite; no
doubt the Weevil, in the same way, provides
her boring-tool with a bit of triple hardness.

Quickly or slowly, the augur sinks into
the base of the nut, where the tissues are
softer and milkier; it enters obliquely, ma-
king a fairly long journey, to prepare for the
grub a column of semolina suited to its first
needs. Whether boring into nuts or into
acorns, the Balanini make the same delicate
preparations for the benefit of their offspring.

At length there comes the placing of the
egg, right at the bottom of the shaft. Here
the strange method which we already know
is repeated. With a hinder rostrum, equal
in length to the front one and kept hidden

The Nut-Weevil

away in the abdomen until the moment comes
for using it, the mother inserts her egg at
the base of the kernel.

I see these nursery precautions only in my
mind's eye, but I see them very clearly,
enlightened as I am by my examination of
the nut converted into a cradle and above all
by the method of the Acorn-weevil. Still,
I might aim at something better than this;
I should like to witness the operation : rather
a hopeless ambition, I fear.

In my neighbourhood, indeed, the hazel is
scarce and its regular exploiter is almost un-
known. Nevertheless, let us make the
experiment with the six hazel-trees which I
planted in the paddock long ago. First of
all we must stock them accordingly.

A valley of the Card, less parched than the
Serignan hills, provides me with a few couples
of the insect. They reach me by post at
the end of April, when the nut, still quite
light in colour, soft and flattish, is beginning
to emerge from the cup in which it is
sheathed. The kernel is far from formed;
there is just a beginning, a promise of a
kernel.

In the morning, in glorious weather, I put
123

The Life of the Weevil

the strangers on the leaves of my hazels.
The journey has not tried them unduly.
They look splendid in their modest drab
costume. The moment they are free, they
half-open their wing-cases, spread their
wings, fold them again and once again unfurl
them, without taking flight. These are mere
muscular exercises, serving to revive their
strength after a long imprisonment. I
regard these sports in the sunlight as a good
omen : my colonists will not run away.

Meantime the nuts are filling out daily
and beginning to tempt and entice the child-
ren. They are within reach of the smallest,
who love to stuff their pockets with them
and to crunch them, cracking them between
two stones. They receive express injunc-
tions to keep their hands off them. This
year, for the sake of the Weevils whose his-
tory I wish to learn, the joys of gathering
nuts in May will be forbidden.

What sort of ideas can such a prohibition
produce in these ingenuous minds? If they
were of an age to understand me, I would
say:

"My dears, beware of the great enchant-
ress, Science. If ever one of you — which
124

The Nut-Weevil

Heaven forbid — should allow himself to be
beguiled by her, let him remember my warn-
ing: in exchange for the little secrets which
she reveals to us, she demands much graver
sacrifices than a handful of nuts."

The prohibition is understood; the tempt-
ing fruit is left almost untouched. For my
part, I inspect the nuts assiduously. All my
trouble is unavailing: I do not succeed in
surprising a Balaninus engaged in her patient
task of boring. At the utmost, at sunset, I
happen to see one who, hoisted to her full
height, is trying to insert her drill. The
little that I observe teaches me nothing new;
the Acorn-weevil has already shown me as
much.

In any case, it is only a brief attempt.
The insect is casting about and has not yet
found what suits her. Perhaps the per-
forator of hazel-nuts works at night.

In another respect I have been more
fortunate. Some nuts, some of the first
colonized, are laid by in my study and sub-
jected to frequent inspections. My diligence
is rewarded with success.

At the beginning of August, two larvae
leave their coffers before my eyes. They
125

The Life of the Weevil

have no doubt long been chipping with the
points of their mandibles, that patient chisel,
at the hard wall. The exit-hole is just
finished when I take note of the coming
departure. A fine dust is falling by way of
shavings.

The window of release is distinct from the
narrow aperture of the entrance. Perhaps
it will not do to obstruct this grating, which
ventilates the house, while the grub is still
at work. The window aforesaid is situated
at the base of the fruit, close to the rough
surface by which the nut adheres to its cupule.
In this region, where the incipient materials
are elaborated until the nut is perfectly ripe,
the density is a little less than elsewhere.
The point to be perforated is excellently
chosen therefore: it is here that the least
resistance will be encountered.

Without any preliminary auscultation,
without exploratory soundings, the recluse
knows the weak point of his prison. Con-
fident of success, he works away with a will.
Where the first blow of the pick is struck
the others follow; no time is wasted on ex-
periments. Persistence is the strength of the
weak.

126

The Nut-Weevil

It is done: daylight enters the coffer.
The window is opened, round, widening a
little inwards and carefully polished over the
whole circumference of its embrasure.
Under the burnisher of the mandibles any
roughness that might presently increase the
difficulty of the emergence has disappeared.
The holes in our steel draw-plates are
scarcely more accurate.

The comparison with a draw-plate comes
in quite aptly here: the larva actually frees
itself by a wire-drawing-operation. Like a
length of brass wire which is reduced by
being passed through an orifice too narrow
for its diameter, it escapes through the
window in the shell by decreasing its girth.
The wire is drawn by an exertion on the part
of the workman's pincers or by the rotation
of the machine; it subsequently retains the
reduced thickness which the operation has
given it. The grub knows another method :
it lengthens and thins itself by its own efforts;
and, directly it has passed through the
narrow orifice, it returns to its natural size.
Apart from these differences the resemblance
is striking.

The exit-aperture is 'precisely the same
127

The Life of the Weevil

width as the head, which, being rigid, with
a horny cap, does not lend itself to deforma-
tion. Where the head has passed, the body
has to pass, however fat it may be. When
the liberation is completed, it is most
surprising to see how bulky a cylinder, how
corpulent a grub has contrived to make its
way through the tiny opening. If we had
not witnessed the exodus, we should never
have suspected such a feat of gymnastics.

The orifice, we were saying, is exactly
fitted to the diameter of the head. Now
this inelastic head, by whose size that of
the hole has been calculated, represents at
most one-third of the width of the body.
How does a threefold thickness pass through
a single calibre?

Here comes the head, without the least
difficulty: it is the pattern to which the door
was built. The neck, a little wider, follows :
a slight contraction frees it. Next comes the
turn of the chest and the plump belly. This
is a most arduous operation. The grub has
no legs. It has nothing, neither hooks nor
stiff bristles, that might give it a purchase.
It is a soft roly-poly which has, by its own
128

The Nut- Weevil

efforts, to clear the disproportionately nar-
row passage.

What happens inside the nut escapes me :
it is hidden by the opaque shell; what I see
outside is very simple and tells me of that
which cannot be seen. The creature's blood
rushes from back to front; the humours of
the organism change their position and accu-
mulate in the part that has already emerged,
which swells into a dropsy, attaining five or
six times the diameter of the head.

In this way a large cushion is formed on
the kerb of the well, a girdle of energy
which, by its dilatation and its intrinsic
elasticity, gradually extricates the remaining
segments, which are diminished in volume by
the shifting of their fluid contents.

It is a slow and very laborious business.
The grub, in its free part, bends, draws it-
self up and sways from side to side. We do
the same when forcing a nail from side to
side to extract it from its socket. The man-
dibles gape widely, close and gape again,
with no intention of laying hold. These
movements represent the yo-heave-hoes with
which the exhausted creature accompanies its
129

The Life of the Weevil

efforts, like those of sailors hauling on a
cable.

"Yo-heave-ho!" says the grub; and the
sausage rises a peg higher.

While the extracting pad is swelling and
straining every muscle, it is evident that the
part still in the shell is draining itself of its
humours as far as it possibly can, making
them flow into the part released. It is
this that makes the wire-drawing action
feasible.

One more effort of leverage from the in-
flated girdle; one more yawn:

"Heave-ho!"

That has done the trick. The grub glides
over the shell and drops.

One of the nuts which have just afforded
me this sight was gathered on its branch a
few hours before. The grub, then, would
have fallen to the ground from the height
of the hazel-bush. Allowing for the pro-
portions, such a fall would for us mean a ter-
rible crash; for the grub, so plastic and
supple, it is a trifle. It matters little to the
larva whether it tumbles into the world from
the top of the bush or whether it quietly
changes its lodgings a little later, when the
130

The Nut-Weevil

nut, fallen of its own ripeness, is lying on the
ground.

Without delay, as soon as free, it explores
the soil within a restricted radius, seeks a
point easy to dig, finds it, does a little spade-
work with its jaws, wriggles its rump and
buries itself. At no very great depth a
spherical cavity is made by pressing back the
dusty soil. Here the grub will spend the
winter and await the resurrection of the
spring.

Were I so presumptous as to advise the
Balaninus, better-versed than any one in its
business as a Weevil, I should say:

"To leave your nut now is an act of folly.
Later, when the April festival is here and
the hazels replace their drooping catkins by
the pink pistils of their nascent fruit, well
and good ; but to-day, in this time of blazing
sunshine, which drives the most gallant work-
ers to idleness, what is the use of deserting
a home in which you can sleep so comfortably
throughout the slack summer season?
Where will you find a better lodging than
the shell of a hazel-nut when the autumn
rains come and the winter frosts? In what
more peaceful solitude could the delicate
131

The Life of the Weevil

work of the transformation be effected?
Besides, the subsoil is full of dangers. It
is damp and cold; its roughness makes it
painful to the touch for a skin as fine as
yours. A formidable enemy lurks there, a
cryptogam that implants itself upon any
buried larva. In my jars I have great diffi-
culty in protecting the buried larvae which I
am trying to rear. Sooner or later white
tufts form upon the glass wall, thread-like
fluffs whose lower portion will clasp and
drain a poor grub turned into a scrap of
plaster: it is the mycelium of one of the
Sphaeriaceae whose allotted field of exploita-
tion is the bodies of insects undergoing
nymphosis underground. In the nut, a
hygienic cell, free from devastating germs,
nothing of the sort is to be feared. Why
leave it?"

These arguments the Balaninus meets with
a refusal. It shifts its quarters and it is
right. On the ground, where the nut is
lying, it has reason, to begin with, to dread
the Field-mouse, a great hoarder of nuts.
He collects in his stone-heap everything
yielded by his nightly rounds; then, at his
leisure, with a patient tooth, he pierces a
132

The Nut-Weevil

small hole in the shell and extracts the kernel.

The hazel-nut is a welcome find, a savoury
morsel. If emptied by the Weevil, it is
only the more valuable : instead of its usual
contents it contains the grub of the Balaninus,
a rich saveloy which makes a pleasant change
from a farinaceous diet. So, for fear of
the Field-mouse, we go underground.

A still more important motive urges this
departure. True, it would be pleasant to
sleep in the impregnable castle of the nut-
shell; but the delivery of the future insect
has also to be thought of. The larva of
the Capricorn, throwing caution to the winds,
leaves the interior of the oak and comes to
the surface, risking the investigations of the
Woodpecker; it runs into danger to prepare
an exit for the great horned Beetle, who
could not make his way out unaided.

A similar precaution is necessary for the
Weevil-larva. While possessing the full
strength of its mandibles, without waiting
for the torpor during which the accumulated
fats will be remoulded into a new organism,
it pierces the coffer from which the adult
would be incapable of escaping by her own
efforts; it comes out and buries itself in the
133

The Life of the Weevil

ground. The future is wisely provided
against; from its present catacomb the adult
will be able without hindrance to ascend to
the light of day.

We were saying that, if the Weevil
assumed her final shape in the nut, she would
be incapable of effecting her own release.
Yet with her drill she is very well able to
perforate the shell when the egg has to be
installed. Why should she be prevented
from doing in the inverse direction what she
is able to perform inwards from without?
A little reflection will show us the tremend-
ous difficulty.

To place the egg in position, a fine tube,
of the thickness of the drill, is sufficient.
To give passage to the solid adult Weevil
would demand a comparatively enormous
opening. The material to be pierced is very
hard, so hard that the larva, with the power-
ful gouges of its mandibles, bores a hole
only just big enough to allow the head to
pass. The rest of the body has to follow by
dint of exhausting efforts.

How could the insect open a sufficiently
large door with its delicate foil, when the
far better-equipped grub has so much
134

The Nut- Weevil

difficulty in boring a moderate porthole?
Could she not, by making a ring of perfor-
ations, remove a round disk of the requisite
size? Strictly speaking, this would be pos-
sible, with a prodigious expenditure of
patience, a quality which insects can hardly
be said to lack.

But here length of time is not enough : the
boring-tool is absolutely unmanageable inside
the nut-shell. It is so long that, to implant
it at the point to be drilled, the Weevil, when
she works outside, is obliged to stand erect.
For lack of space under the low ceiling of
the shell, this position and the alternate
tacking about become impossible.

However patient she herself may be and
however well-armed we suppose the tip of
her drill to be, the Weevil, prevented from
employing her augur by the narrowness of
the premises, would perish in her coffer.
She would die a victim to her inordinate
machinery, which serves excellently well for
pushing the egg into place, but which would
be very unwieldy if the prisoner had to
effect her own delivery.

Given a less exaggerated rostrum, just a
short and powerful punch, the Weevil, me-
i35

The Life of the Weevil

thinks, would not abandon the nut while
she was still in the larva stage, the danger
of the Field-mouse notwithstanding. It is a
delightful laboratory for the remodelling-
process of the metamorphosis. The shell,
it is true, lies on the surface of the soil,
unsheltered and exposed to the north-wind.
But what does the cold matter, provided
that we keep dry? The insect has little to
fear from the frosts. Its slumbers are all
the sweeter when the torpor attending the
renewal of its being is increased by the torpor
due to a low temperature.

I am persuaded of it: if she carried a
less cumbersome drill, the Balaninus would
not change her quarters the moment the
kernel of her hazel-nut was consumed. My
conviction is based on the habits of other
Weevils, in particular Gymnetron thapsicola,
GERM., who exploits the capsules of a mull-
ein, Verbascum thapsus, LIN., the shep-
herd's club, a frequent denizen of the tilled
fields. As cells these capsules are, though
less in volume, almost the equivalent of the
hazelnut.

They consist of strong shells, formed of
two pieces closely joined, with no communi-
136

The Nut-Weevil

cation whatever with the outside world.
A Weevil of humble size and modest attire
takes possession of them in May and June
as lodgings for her larvae, which gnaw the
placenta of the fruit, laden with unripe seeds.

In August the plant is withered, scorched
by the sun, but still standing and topped with
its compact spike of capsules. Open some of
these shells, almost as solid as cherry-stones.
Inside is the Weevil in the adult state.
Open them in winter: the Gymnetron has
not gone. Open them for the last time in
April : the little Weevil is still at home.

Meanwhile, fresh mulleins have sprouted
hard by; they flower; their shells attain the
right degree of ripeness: the time has come
to leave, to go and establish one's family.
Not till then does the solitary demolish her
hermitage, her capsule, which has protected
her so faithfully hitherto.

And how does she do so? It is quite
simple. Her rostrum is a short bradawl,
easily wielded therefore, even in the con-
fined space of a cell. The shell, moreover,
is not too strong. It is a very dry vellum
wrapper rather than a hard wooden wall.
The recluse drives her short-handled pick
137

The Life of the Weevil

into it; she .stabs and thumps and brings
the wall crumbling down. And now hurrah
for the joys of the sun! Hurrah for the
yellow flowers, with stamens all bristling with
violet hairs!

Considering their tools, in one case of
exaggerated length under a too low ceiling,
in another short and suited to the space
available in the cell, are not both these insects
happily inspired, the first in leaving her nut
prematurely, while the grub's powerful
shears enable her to do so, the second in
spending three parts of the year in ^the
security of her shell, quitting it only at the
time of the wedding on the friendly plant?
Thus do we see the impeccable logic of the
instincts revealed, even in the humblest
creatures.

138

CHAPTER VII

THE POPLAR-WEEVIL

/^ENERALLY speaking, the mother
^-^ Weevil's attainments are limited to
slipping her eggs into places where the grubs
will find food to suit them and occasionally,
with wonderfully assured botanical tact, to
varying the diet. She does little or no indus-
trial work. The niceties of the baby-linen
or the feeding-bottle do not concern her.
To this uncouth maternity I know but one
exception, appertaining to certain Weevils
who, in order to endow their young with pre-
served food-stuffs, have the knack of rolling
a leaf, which serves as board and lodging in
one.

Among these manufacturers of vegetable
sausages the most skilful is the Poplar-
weevil (Rhynchites populi, LIN'.), who is
of modest size but splendidly attired. Her
back glitters with gold and copper, her
abdomen with indigo-blue. Would you see
139

The Life of the Weevil

her at work, you need but inspect the lower
twigs of the common black poplar, at the
edge of the meadows, about the end of May.

While, overhead, spring's caressing
breezes stir the majestic green distaff and set
the leaves quivering on their flat stalks, down
below, in a layer of calmer air, this year's
tender shoots remain quiescent. Here above
all, far from the wind-tossed heights uncon-
genial to the industrious, the Rhynchites
labours. And, as the workshop is just at a
man's height, nothing is more easy than to
watch the roller's actions.

Easy, yes, but distressing, under a blazing
sun, if you wish to follow the insect in every
detail of its method and the progress of its
work. Moreover, this involves long jour-
neys, which take up time ; and again it is none
too favourable to precise observations, which
demand indefinite leisure and assiduous
inspections at all hours of the day. It is
greatly preferable to pursue our studies in the
comfort of our own home ; but it is above all
things necessary that the insect should lend
itself to our plan.

The Rhynchites fulfils this condition
140

The Poplar-Weevil

excellently well. She is a peaceable enthu-
siast who works on my table with the same
zest as on her poplar-tree. A few young
shoots, planted in fresh sand, under a wire-
gauze cover, and renewed as and when they
fade, take the place of the tree in my work-
room. The Weevil, not in the least intimi-
dated, devotes herself to her industry even
under my magnifying-glass and supplies me
with as many cylinders as I could wish for.

Let us watch her at work. From this
year's growth, sprouting in sheaves at the
base of the trunk, she chooses the leaf to be
rolled; but she picks it not among the lower
leaves, which are already of the usual green
and of a firm texture, nor yet among the end
leaves, which are still growing. Above, they
are too young, not large enough; below,
they are too old, too tough, too difficult
to manage.

The leaf selected belongs to the inter-
mediate rows. Though still of a doubtful
green, in which yellow predominates, soft
and shiny with varnish, it has very nearly
attained the final dimensions. Its denticula-
tions swell into delicate glandular pads,
141

The Life of the Weevil

whence oozes a little of the viscous matter
that smears the buds at the moment when
their scales separate.

Now a word on the tools. The legs are
provided with two claws shaped like the
hook of a steel-yard. The lower side of the
tarsi carries a thick brush of white bristles.
Thus shod, the insect very nimbly climbs the
most slippery perpendicular walls; it can
stand and run like a Fly, back downwards,
on the ceiling of a glass bell. This charac-
teristic alone is enough to suggest the
delicate balance which its work will demand.

The beak, the curved and powerful
rostrum, without being exaggerated in size,
like those of the Balanini, expands at the
tip into a spatula ending in a pair of fine
shears. It makes an excellent stylet, which
plays the first part of all.

The leaf, as a matter of fact, cannot be
rolled in its actual condition. It is a living
sheet which, owing to the rush of the sap
and the resilience of the tissues, would
recover its flatness while the insect was
endeavouring to bend it. The dwarf has not
the strength to master an object of this size,
to roll it up so long as it retains the
142

The Poplar-Weevil

elasticity of life. This is obvious to our
eyes; it is obvious likewise to the Weevil's.

How is she to obtain the degree of lifeless
flexibility required in the circumstances?
We might say:

"The leaf must be plucked, allowed to
fall to the earth and manipulated on the
ground when sufficiently faded."

The Weevil knows more than we do about
these things and does not share our opinion.
What she says to herself is :

"On the ground, amid the intricate
obstructions of the grass, my task would be
impracticable. I want elbow-room; I want
the thing to hang in the air, free from any
obstacle. And there is a more important
condition: my larva would refuse a rank,
withered sausage; it insists on food that
retains a certain freshness. The cylinder
which I intend for its consumption must be
not a dead leaf but an enfeebled leaf, not
entirely deprived of the juices with which
the tree supplies it. I must wean my leaf
and not kill it outright, so that, when dead,
it will remain in its place during the few days
of the grub's extreme youth."

The mother therefore, having made her
143

The Life of the Weevil

selection, takes up her stand on the stalk
of the leaf and there patiently inserts her
rostrum, turning it with a persistency that
denotes the great importance of this stiletto-
thrust. A little wound opens, a fairly deep
wound, which soon becomes a speck of decay.

It is done : the conduits are cut and allow
only a small quantity of sap to ooze into the
edge. At the injured point the leaf yields
under its own weight; it droops perpend-
icularly, becomes slightly withered and
soon acquires the requisite flexibility. The
moment has come for operating on it.

That stiletto-thrust represents, though
much less scientifically, the prick of the
Hunting Wasp's sting.1 The latter wants
for her offspring a prey now dead, now
paralysed: she knows, with the thoroughness
of a consummate anatomist, at what points
it behoves her to insert her lancet to procure
either sudden death or merely a suppression
of movement. The Rhynchites requires for
hers a leaf rendered flexible, half-alive,

1 Cf. The Hunting Wasps: passim; also More Hunting
Wasps, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander
Teixeira de Mattos: passim. — Translator's Note.
144

The Poplar- Weevil

in a sense paralysed, which can be easily
fashioned into a cylinder; she is perfectly
familiar with the little leaf-stalk, the petiole,
in which the vessels that disperse the energy
of the foliage are gathered in a tiny bundle ;
and she inserts her drill here, here only and
never elsewhere. Thus at one blow, without
much trouble, she effects the ruin of the
aqueduct. Where can the long-nosed insect
have learnt her clever trick of draining
springs ?

The leaf of the poplar is an irregular
rhombus, a spear-head whose sides are
expanded into pointed wings. The manu-
facture of the cylinder begins with one of
these two lateral corners, the right or the
left indifferently.

Despite the hanging posture of the leaf,
which makes the upper or lower surface
equally easy of access, the insect never fails
to take up its position on the upper side.
It has its reasons, dictated by the laws of
mechanics. The upper surface, which is
smooth and more flexible, has to form the
inside of the cylinder; the under surface,
which has greater elasticity because of its
145

The Life of the Weevil

powerful veins, has to occupy the outside.
The statics of the small-brained Weevils
agrees with that of the scientists.

Watch her at work. She is standing on
the line along which the leaf is rolled, with
three legs on the part already rolled and the
three opposite legs on the part still free.
Firmly fixed on both with her claws and
tufts, she obtains a purchase with the legs
on one side while straining with the legs on
the other side. The two halves of the
machine alternate as motive powers, so that
at one moment the shaped cylinder en-
croaches on the free leaf and at another the
free leaf moves and is applied to the cylinder
already formed.

There is nothing regular, however, about
these alternations, which depend upon cir-
cumstances known to the insect alone.
Perhaps they merely enable the insect to take
a brief rest without suspending a task which
does not allow of interruptions. In the
same way our two hands mutually relieve
each other by taking it in turns to carry a
burden.

It is impossible to form an exact image
of the difficulties overcome without watching,
146

The Poplar- Weevil

for hours on end, the obstinate straining of
the legs, which tremble with exhaustion and
threaten to jeopardize everything should one
of them let go at the wrong moment, or
without seeing how prudently the leaf-roller
refrains from releasing one claw until the
five others are firmly anchored. On the one
hand are three points of support, on the
other three points of traction; and the six
points are shifted, one by one, little by little,
without for an instant allowing their mechan-
ical system to become relaxed. A single
moment of forgetfulness or weariness would
cause the refractory leaf to unroll its
cylinder and escape from the manipulator's
grasp.

The work is performed moreover in an
uncomfortable position. The leaf hangs,
almost or even quite vertically. Its surface
is varnished and as smooth as glass. But the
worker is shod accordingly. With her
tufted soles, she scales polished and per-
pendicular surfaces; with her twelve meat-
hooks, she grapples the slippery floor.

Yet this fine equipment does not rid the
operation of all its difficulties. I find it no
easy matter to follow the progress through
'47

The Life of the Weevil

the magnifying-glass. The hands of a watch
do not move more slowly. For a long
while, the insect stands still, at the same
point, with its claws firmly fixed: it is wait-
ing for the leaf to take the curve and cease
to react. Here, of course, there is no glue
to set hard and hold the fresh surfaces stuck
together. The stability depends purely on
the flexion acquired. And so it is not un-
usual for the elasticity of the leaf to over-
come the worker's efforts and partly to un-
roll the more or less complete work. Stub-
bornly, with the same impassive slowness,
the insect begins all over again, putting the
unsubjected piece back into its place. No,
the Weevil is not one to allow herself to be
upset by failure: she knows too well what
patience and time can do.

As a rule, the Rhynchites works back-
wards. When her line is finished, she is
careful not to abandon the fold which she
has just made in order to return to the
starting-point and begin another. The part
last folded is not yet sufficiently subdued;
if left to itself too soon, it might prove
rebellious and flatten out again. The insect
therefore continues at this extreme point,
148

The Poplar- Weevil

which is more exposed than the rest, and
then, without letting go, makes her way back-
wards to the other end, always with patient
deliberation. In this manner, an added
firmness is imparted to the new fold; and
the next fold is prepared. At the end of the
line, there is a fresh prolonged halt and a
fresh move backwards. Even so does the
husbandman plough the furrows in alternate
directions.

Less frequently, no doubt when the leaf
is found to be so limp as to entail no risk,
the insect abandons the fold which it has
just made, without going over it again con-
versely, and quickly scrambles back to the
starting-point to make another.

Here we are at last. Coming and going
from top to bottom and from bottom to
top, the insect, by dint of stubborn dexterity,
has rolled its leaf. It is now at the extreme
edge of the leaf, at the lateral corner
opposite to that whereat the work began.
This is the keystone on which the stability
of the rest depends. The Rhynchites re-
doubles her efforts and her patience. With
the tip of her rostrum, expanded spatula-
wise, she presses, point by point, the edge to
149

The Life of the Weevil

be fixed, even as the tailor presses the rebel-
lious edges of a seam with his iron. For a
long, a very long time, without moving, she
pushes and pushes, awaiting a proper degree
of adhesion. Point by point, the whole welt
of the corner is minutely and carefully made
fast.

How is adhesion obtained? If only some
sort of thread were employed, one might
very well regard the rostrum as a sewing-
machine, inserting its needle at right angles
into the stuff. But the comparison is not
permissible: there is no filament employed
in the work. The explanation of the adhe-
sion lies elsewhere.

The leaf is young, we said; the fine pads
of its denticulations are glands emitting
traces of liquid glue. These drops of sticky
matter are the gum, the sealing-wax. By
the pressure of its beak, the insect makes it
flow more abundantly from the glands. It
then has only to hold the signet in position
and wait for the viscous seal to set. Taken
all round, this is our own method of sealing
a letter. If it holds ever so lightly, the leaf,
losing its resilience as it gradually withers,
will soon cease to react and will of itself
150

The Poplar-Weevil

retain the cylindrical shape imposed upon it.

The work is finished. It is a cigar of the
diameter of a thick straw and about an inch
long. It hangs perpendicularly from the end
of the stalk bruised and bent at a sharp angle.
It has taken the whole day to manufacture.
After a short spell of rest, the mother tackles
a second leaf and, working by night, obtains
another cylinder. Two in twenty-four hours
is as much as the most diligent can achieve.

Now what is the roller's object? Can
she be preparing preserves for her own use?
Obviously not: no insect, where itself alone
is concerned, devotes such care and patience
to the preparation of food. It is only with
a view to the family that it hoards so indus-
triously. The Rhynchites' cigar forms a
dowry for the future.

Let us unroll it. Here, between the
layers of the cylinder, is the egg; often there
are two, three or even four. They are oval,
pale-yellow, like fine drops of amber. Their
adhesion to the leaf is very slight; the least
jerk loosens them. They are distributed
without order, tucked away more or less
deeply in the thickness of the cigar and
always isolated, one at a time. We find
151

The Life of the Weevil

them in the centre of the scroll, almost at the
corner where the rolling begins; we come
upon them between the different layers and
even near the edge sealed in glue with the
signet of the rostrum.

Without interrupting her work on the
cylinder, without relaxing the tension of her
claws, the mother laid them between the
edges of the fold which she was forming, as
she felt them coming, duly matured, at the
end of her oviduct. She produces life in the
very midst of her labours, amid the wheels of
the machine which would be thrown out of
gear if she snatched a moment's rest.
Industry and procreation go hand-in-hand.
Short-lived, with but two or three weeks
before her and an expensive family to estab-
lish, the mother Rhynchites would not dare
to waste time in being churched.

This is not all: on the same leaf, not far
from the cylinder that is being laboriously
rolled, we almost always find the male.
What is he doing there, the lazybones? Is
he watching the work as a mere onlooker,
who happened to be passing and stopped to
see the wheels go round? Is he interested
152

The Poplar- Weevil

in the business? Does he ever feel inclined
to lend a helping hand in case of need?

One would say so. From time to time I
see him take his stand behind his industrious
mate, in the furrow of the fold, hang on to
the cylinder and join in the work for a little.
But it is done listlessly and awkwardly. A
bare half-turn of the wheel; and that's
enough for him. After all, it is not his
affair. He moves away, to the other end of
the leaf; he waits, he looks on.

We will give him credit for this attempt,
since paternal assistance in settling the family
is rare among insects; we will congratulate
him on the help which he gives, but not to
excess: his assistance is interested. It is a
means of declaring his flame and urging his
merits.

And in fact, after several refusals not-
withstanding the advances made during a
brief collaboration on the cylinder, the
impatient suitor is accepted. Everything
takes place on the site of the female's
labours. For ten minutes or so, the rolling
is suspended, but the worker's legs, violently
contracted, are very careful not to let go:

The Life of the Weevil

were their effort to cease, the cylinder might
at once come unrolled. There must be no
interruption of work for this brief diversion,
the insect's only enjoyment.

The stoppage of the machine, which
remains tense in order to keep the recal-
citrant roll in subjection, is soon over. The
male retires to a little distance, without quit-
ting the leaf, and the task is resumed.
Sooner or later, before the seals are set up-
on the work, a fresh visit is paid by the
dawdler, who, under pretence of assisting,
comes running up, sticks his claws for a
moment into the partly-rolled piece, plucks
up courage and renews his exploits with as
much liveliness as though nothing had yet
occurred. And this is repeated three or
four times during the making of a single
cigar, so much so that we begin to wonder
whether the laying of each egg may not
require the direct cooperation of the insa-
tiable swain.

It is true that numerous couples are
formed in the sunlight, on the leaves not yet
punctured. Here the nuptial gambols are
really a frolic unaffected by the stern
demands of labour. The insects revel un-
154

The Poplar- Weevil

reservedly, hustling their rivals off the field
and browsing on half the thickness of a leaf
which becomes furrowed with bare streaks
resembling a freakish handwriting. The
fatigues of the workshop are preceded by
merry-making in gay company.

According to the rules of entomology,
once these rejoicings are over, all should be
quiet again and each mother should get to
work on her cigars without further distur-
bance. In this case the general law relents.
I have never seen a cylinder formed without
a male lurking in the neighbourhood; and,
if I had the patience to wait, I should not
fail to witness repeated pairings. These
weddings renewed for each egg puzzle me.
Where, on the faith of the text-books, I
looked for a single mating, I find an indefinite
number.

This is not an isolated instance. I will
mention a second, which is even more strik-
ing. It is supplied by the Capricorn (Cer-
ambyx heros). I rear a few couples in
captivity, with sliced pears for food and
with oak billets wherein to lay the eggs.
The pairing is continued during almost the
whole of July. For four weeks the long-
i55

The Life of the Weevil

horned Beetle does nothing but mount his
mate, who, gripped by her rider, wanders at
will and, with the point of her oviscapt, se-
lects the fissures in the bark best-suited to
receive the eggs.

At long intervals, the Cerambyx steps off
and goes to refresh himself on a piece of
pear. Then suddenly he stamps his feet as
though he had gone mad; he returns with a
frantic rush, clambers into the saddle and
resumes his seat, of which he makes free
use at all hours of the night and day. At
the moment when the egg is being placed
in position, he keeps quiet; with his hairy
tongue he polishes the egg-layer's back, which
is a Capricorn's way of caressing; but the
next instant he renews his attempts, which
are usually followed by success. There is
no end to it!

The pairing continues in this manner for
a month; it does not cease until the ovaries
are exhausted. Then, mutually worn out,
having no further business on the trunk of
the oak, husband and wife separate, languish
for a few days and die.

What conclusion are we to draw from this
extraordinary persistency in the Cerambyx,
156

The Poplar- Weevil

the Rhynchites and many others? Simply
this: our truths are but provisional; assailed
by the truths of to-morrow, they become
entangled with so many contradictory facts
that the last word of knowledge is doubt.

157

CHAPTER VIII

THE VINE-WEEVIL

TN the spring, while the poplar-leaves are
being worked into cylinders, another
Rhynchites, who is likewise magnificently
attired, is making cigars out of vine-leaves.
She is a little bigger, of a metallic lustre, a
golden green that changes to blue. Were
she only larger, the resplendent Vine-Weevil
would occupy a very respectable place among
the gems of entomology.

To attract our eyes, she has something
better than her brilliancy: she has her in-
dustry, which has earned her the hatred of
the vine-grower, jealous of his property.
The peasant knows her : he even calls her by
a special name, an honour rarely bestowed
in the world of the smaller creatures.

The rural vocabulary is rich in names of

plants, but very poor in names of insects. A

couple of dozen words, inextricably confused

because of their general character, represent

158

The Vine-Weevil

the whole list of insect names in our Pro-
vengal idiom, expressive and fertile though
this idiom be when it refers to the vegetable
world and even, at times, to a sorry weed
which one would think was known to the
botanist only.

The man of the soil is interested above all
things in the plant, the great foster-mother;
all else leaves him indifferent. Splendid
adornment, curious habits, marvels of in-
stinct : all these make no appeal to him. But
to touch his vine, to eat other people's grass :
what a heinous crime! Quick, a name, a
badge of infamy, to hang round the male-
factor's neck !

This time the Provencal peasant has taken
the trouble to invent a special term: he
calls the cigar-roller the Becaru. Here the
scientific name and the rural name are in
complete agreement. Rhynchites and Becaru
are exact equivalents: both allude to the
insect's long beak.

But how much more correct is the vine-
grower's term, in its lucid simplicity, than
the scientific name, set forth in full, with its
imperative complement relating to the
species! I rack my brain in vain to guess
159

The Life of the Weevil

the reason why the cigar-roller of the vine
was called the Rhynchites of the Birch (R.
betuleti, FAB.).

If there be in fact a Weevil that exploits
the birch-tree, it is certainly not the same as
that of the vineyards: the two leaves to be
rolled are too dissimilar in shape and size
to suit the same worker.

Recorders of descriptions, you who, under
the scrupulous eye of the magnifying-glass,
specify the shapes and establish the identity
of the animal species, before you give names
and surnames to your impaled insects, pray,
pray enquire a little into their manner of
life. By so doing, you will see things more
clearly, you will avoid much detestable
nonsense and you will spare the novice such
doubts as those which obsess him when he
finds himself obliged to label a Weevil inha-
biting the vine-branches as a Rhynchites of
the Birch. We are ready to excuse caco-
phonous syllables and grating consonants;
but we reject with exasperation a name that
misrepresents the facts.

In her work the Vine-Weevil pursues the
same method as the Poplar-Weevil. The
leaf is first pricked with the rostrum at
160

The Vine-Weevil

a point on the stalk, which checks the flow
of the sap and makes the edges of the faded
leaf pliable. The rolling begins at the angle
of one of the lower lobes, with the smooth,
green upper surface inside and the downy,
strongly-veined lower surface outside.

But the great size of the leaf and its
deeply indented outline hardly ever allow of
regular work from one end of the leaf to
the other. Over and over again, sudden
folds occur and alter the direction of the
rolling, leaving now the green and now the
downy surface outside, without any appre-
ciable design, as though by chance. The
poplar-leaf, with its simple form and its
moderate size, yields an elegant cylinder;
the vine-leaf, with its cumbersome width and
complicated outline, produces a shapeless
cigar, an untidy bundle.

This is not due to defective talents, but
to the difficulty of manipulating and control-
ling a leaf of this kind. The mechanical
method, indeed, is the same as that practised
on the poplar-leaf. With three legs here
and three legs there on the edges of the fold,
the Becaru obtains a purchase on one side
and tugs and strains on the other.
161

The Life of the Weevil

Like her rival 'cigar-maker, she works
backwards, keeping her eyes upon the part
which, folded that moment and still unset,
may require immediate touching up. The
product is thus watched until it gives proof
of its stability.

Like the other, she too seals the denticu-
lations of the final layer by pressing them
with her rostrum. Here there is no sticky
secretion oozing from the edges of the leaf,
but there is a downy fluff whose fibres get
entangled and cause adhesion. On the
whole, therefore, the method employed by
the two Rhynchites is the same.

Nor do their domestic habits differ.
While the mother is patiently rolling her
cylinder, the father remains close at hand,
on the same leaf. He looks on. Next, he
comes running along in a hurry, takes his
stand in the crease and kindly lends the
assistance of his grappling-irons. But he
again is not a very diligent helper. His
brief collaboration is a pretext to tease the
worker and achieve his ends by sheer persist-
ence.

He retires satisfied. Let us watch him.
Before the roll is finished, we shall see him
162

The Vine-Weevil

return many times, inspired by the same
intentions, which are rarely scorned. I need
not insist further on these pairings, which
are repeated indefinitely and run counter to
the classic data on one of the nicest points
of insect physiology. To impress the seal of
life upon the hundreds of eggs of the mother
Bombyx,1 or the thirty thousand or more of
the mother Bee, the father exerts only one
direct intervention. The Weevil claims the
privilege of intervening for almost every egg.
I leave the curious problem to the experts.

Let us unroll a recently-made cigar. The
eggs, fine, amber-coloured beads, are scat-
tered, one by one, at very different depths in
the spiral. As a rule, I find several, from
five to eight. The multiplicity of fellow-
feasters, in both the rolled poplar-leaf and
the rolled vine-leaf, bears witness to extreme
frugality.

The two leaf-rollers are quickly hatched:
the grub is born in five or six days' time.
Then the observer begins to be faced with
the same difficulties that beset a prentice
hand in the rearing of larvae; and these
difficulties are all the more exasperating in

1 The Silk-worm Moth. — Translator's Note.
163

The Life of the Weevil

that there was nothing to predict them. The
course to be followed here seems indeed so
very simple.

Since the rolled leaves are at the same
time board and lodging, we have but to pick
them, from the vine and the poplar respect-
ively, and to place them in the glass jars,
whence we can take them at such times as
we consider suitable. What used to be
effected in the open air, amid the disturbances
of the atmosphere, will be effected all the
better in the peaceful shelter of the glass.
There can be no doubt, therefore, of an easy
success.

But what is this? From time to time I
unroll a few cigars to ascertain the state of
their contents. What I see fills me with
anxiety for the fate of my baby-farm. The
young larvae are very far from thriving. I
find some of them languishing and emaciated,
shrivelling into a wrinkled ball; I find some
of them dead. Vainly I possess myself in
patience : the weeks go by and not one of
my grubs grows or gives a sign of energy.
From day to day my two colonies dwindle
until they consist wholly of dying larvas.
164

The Vine-Weevil

When July comes, there is not a living thing
left in my glass jars.

All have died. And of what? Of star-
vation, yes, of starvation in a well-stored
granary. This is evident from the small
amount of food consumed. The cylinders
are almost untouched; at most I perceive in
the midst of their layers a few scratches,
the traces of a scornful tooth. Probably the
food was too dry, had been rendered uneat-
able by dessication.

Under natural conditions, while the burn-
ing heat of the sun hardened the leaves by
day, the mists and the dew softened them at
night. Thus, in the heart of the spiral
layers, a column of soft crumb is preserved,
a necessity for the tender nurselings. A
sojourn in the uniformly dry atmosphere of
the jars has, on the other hand, turned the
roll into a hard, stale crust which the grubs
refused to touch. The failure is due to that.

A year later, I begin again, this time more
cautiously. The rolled leaves, I said to my-
self, remain hanging for some days on the
vine or the poplar. The perforation of the
leaf-stalk has not completely severed the
165

The Life of the Weevil

ducts conveying the sap; a scanty flow still
persists and for some time maintains a certain
flexibility in the leaf, especially in the centre
of the spiral, which is not exposed to the
action of the sun. Consequently the new-
born grub has fresh provisions within reach
of its mandibles. It waxes big and strong
and acquires a stomach able to satisfy itself
with less tender food.

Meantime, from day to day, the roll turns
brown and dry. If it remained indefinitely
hanging on the bough and if, as often
happens, there were a lack of moisture at
nights, it would dry up completely and its
inmates would perish as they did in my glass
jars. But, sooner or later, the wind shakes
them off and they drop to the ground.

Their fall is the salvation of the grub,
which is still very far from full-grown. At
the foot of the poplar, under the grass of
the meadow subject to frequent irrigation,
the soil is always damp; at the foot of the
vine-stock, the earth, overshadowed by the
branches, fairly well retains the moisture of
the last showers. Lying in the wet and
sheltered from the direct onslaughts of the
166

The Vine-Weevil

sun, the Rhynchites' victuals remain as soft
as need be.

Thus I argued, meditating a fresh experi-
ment; and the facts confirmed the accuracy
of my forecast. This time all goes well.
Rather than the green rolls of recent
manufacture, I gather the brown cigars which
are due to fall to the ground. The larvae
in these latter, being older, are less difficult
to rear. Lastly, my harvest is installed in
glass jars as before, but on a bed of moist
sand. With this and this alone I achieve
complete success.

Despite the mildew which this time
invades the heaped cigars and seems bound
to jeopardize everything, the larvae thrive
and grow without hindrance. The decay
which I distrusted so much in the beginning,
when I kept my crops dry to avoid it, this
decay suits them. I see them taking big
mouthfuls of decomposing shreds, the tainted
remains of leaves that have almost turned
to mould.

I am no longer surprised that in my first
experiments my nurselings allowed them-
selves to die of hunger. Obeying a mistaken
167

The Life of the Weevil

idea of hygiene, I took pains to keep the
rations in good condition, in an atmosphere
free from mustiness. I ought, on the
contrary, to have allowed fermentation to do
its work, softening the tough tissues and
enhancing their flavour.

Six weeks later, in the middle of June, the
oldest rolls are dilapidated hovels, retaining
scarcely a trace of their cylindrical form
save the outer layer, a protecting roof. Let
us open one of these ruins. Inside, there
is absolute wreck, a mixture of shapeless
remnants and black granules, like fine gun-
powder; outside, a crumbling envelope,
pierced here and there with holes. These
openings tell me that the inhabitants have
departed and made their way underground.

I find them, in fact, in the layers of moist
sand with which the jars are provided.
Pushing and heaving with their backs, they
have each dug themselves a round hollow,
taking up the least possible room, in which
the grub, rolled into a bunch, makes ready
for its new life.

Though formed of sandy particles, the
wall of the cell does not threaten to collapse.
Before lapsing into the sleep of the trans-
168

The Vine-Weevil

formation, the recluse has deemed it prudent
to strengthen its house. With a little care,
I am able to detach the dwelling in the form
of a little ball the size of a pea.

I then discover that the materials are
cemented by means of a gummy produce
which, liquid at the moment of its emission,
has penetrated to a sufficient depth and
welded the sandy grains into a wall of a
certain thickness. This product, which is
colourless and not very plentiful, leaves me in
doubt as to its origin. It certainly does not
come from glands similar to the silk-tubes
of the caterpillars ; the Weevil-grub possesses
nothing of that kind. It is, therefore, a
contribution from the digestive canal, pre-
sented through either the entrance or the
exit-door. Which of the two?

Without completely solving the question
of this cement, another Weevil supplies a
fairly probable answer. This is Brachycerus
algirus, FAB., an ugly, unwieldy insect,
covered with little warts each ending in a
claw-like horn. It is soot-black and almost
always soiled with earth when you meet it in
spring. This dusty garb denotes a tunneller.

The Brachycerus, in fact, haunts the sub-
169

The Life of the Weevil

soil, hunting for garlic, the exclusive food
of her larva. In my modest kitchen-garden,
garlic, dear to the Provence folk, has its
special corner. At the time when we gather
it, in July, most of the heads give me a mag-
nificent grub, fat as butter, which has dug
itself a large hollow in one of the cloves, only
one, without touching the rest. This is the
grub of the Brachycerus, which discovered
the aioli of the Provengal cooks long before
they did.

Raw garlic, Raspail1 used to say, is the
camphor of the poor. The camphor pos-
sibly, but not the bread. This paradox
becomes a reality in the case of our grub,
which is so much in love with this powerful
condiment that it will not eat anything else
its whole life long. How, with this fiery
diet, does it put on such fine layers of fat?
That is its secret; and there is room for
every sort of taste in this world of ours.

After eating its clove, this lover of garlic
dives deeper into the soil, fearing perhaps
the lifting of the bulbs, the time for which

1 Francois Vincent Raspail (1794-1878), a French
physician and politician, one of the early advocates of
universal suffrage. — Translator's Note.
170

The Vine-Weevil

will soon arrive. It foresees the annoyance
which the market-gardener would cause it;
and it goes below, far from the natal plant.

I have reared a dozen in a jar half full
of sand. Some have established themselves
right against the wall, which enables me to
obtain a vague idea of how things happen
in the underground cell. The builder is bent
into a bow which now and again closes and
forms a circle. I then seem to see it collect-
ing, with the tips of its mandibles, as the
Larini do, a sticky drop which forms at its
hinder end. With this it soaks the sandy
wall and smears the glass, on which the stuff
hardens in cloudy streaks, white and pale-
yellow.

On the whole, the appearance of the
cement employed and the little that I can
see of the grub's proceedings incline me to
believe that the Brachycerus strengthening
its cabin uses the same method as the Larinus
building its thatched hut. The Brachycerus
also knows the whimsical secret of turning
the intestine into a factory of hydraulic
cement. The sandy agglomerate thus
obtained forms a fairly solid shell, in which
the insect, which reaches the adult stage in
171

The Life of the Weevil

August, remains until the garlic season is at
hand.

This method may well be general among
the various Weevils that, in the larval,
nymphal or adult state, spend part of the
year tucked away in an underground shell.
The leaf-rollers, notably the Rhynchites of
the poplar and the vine, sparing though they
be in the use of their cement, no doubt have
a store of it in their intestine, for it would be
difficult for them to find anything better.
Let us, however, leave a door open to doubt
and continue.

For the first time, at the end of August,
four months after the rolling of the cigars, I
take the Poplar-weevil in her adult form
out of her shell. I disinter her in all her
gleaming gold and copper; but the beauty,
if I had left her undisturbed, would have
slept in her subterranean fortress till the
young leaves sprouted on her tree, in April.

I disinter others, soft and quite white,
whose limp wing-cases open to allow the
crumpled wings to spread. The most ad-
vanced of these pale sleepers boast, by way
of a startling contrast, a deep-black rostrum
with violet gleams. The Sacred Beetle, in
172

The Vine-Weevil

the early days of his final form, begins by
hardening and colouring his implements of
labour: the toothed arm-pieces and the
clypeus with its semicircular notching. The
Weevil likewise in the first place hardens
and colours her drill. These industrious
workers interest me with their preparations.
Barely has the rest of the body set and
crystallized before the tools of its future
work acquire exceptional strength, which they
owe to an early and long protracted temper-
ing.

From the broken shells I also take nymphs
and larvae. The latter apparently will not
pass beyond the first stage this year. What
is the use of hurrying? The larva, no less
than the adult and perhaps more so, is given
to slumbering through the severities of the
winter. When the poplar unfurls its sticky
buds and the Cricket on the greensward
strikes up the first bars of his melody, they
will be ready, one and all: the forward and
backward alike; faithful to the call of spring,
all will come forth from the ground, eager
to climb the kindly tree and to renew the
leaf-rollers' festival in the sunlight.

In its pebbly, parching soil, on which the
173

The Life of the Weevil

food-cylinders dry up so quickly, the Vine-
weevil lags behind, exposed as she is to
periods of unemployment due to the absence
of properly softened food. It is in Septem-
ber and October that I obtain the first adults,
splendid gems, enclosed, until spring, in their
casket, the underground shell. At this
season there is an abundance of buried
nymphs and larvae. Many of the grubs even
have not yet left their cylinders; but, to
judge by their size, they will hardly linger
much longer. At the first frosts, all will
become torpid and postpone their further
development until the end of the winter.

CHAPTER IX

OTHER LEAF-ROLLERS

TS the insect's trade determined by the
••• nature of the tools of which it disposes,
or, on the contrary, is it independent of
them? Does the organic structure govern
the instincts, or do the insect's various apti-
tudes hark back to origins that cannot be
explained merely by the details of its
anatomy? We shall obtain an answer to
these questions from two other leaf-rollers,
the Apoderus of the Hazel (A. coryli,
LIN.) and the Attelabus (A. curculionoides,
LIN.), both of them eager rivals of the
cigar-makers who work the poplar and the
vine.

According to the Greek lexicon, the term
Apoderus ought to mean "the flayed." Is
this really what the author of the expression
had in mind? My few books, the odd
volumes of a village naturalist, do not enable
175

The Life of the Weevil

me to reply. However, to me the word is
explained by the insect's colour.

The Apoderus is a skinless creature,
displaying its naked and bleeding misery.
Its colour is vermilion, as bright as sealing-
wax. It is like a drop of arterial blood
coagulated on the dark green of a leaf.

To this loud costume, rare among insects,
are added other, equally unusual character-
istics. The Weevils are all microcephalous.
This one exaggerates the absurd dispropor-
tion even further: she retains only the
indispensable minimum of a head, as though
she were trying to do without one altogether.
The cranium in which her poor brain is
lodged is a paltry, glittering, jet-black speck.
In front of this speck is no beak, but a very
short, wide snout; behind is an unsightly
neck, which one might imagine to have been
strangled in a halter.

Standing high on her legs, clumsy in her
gait, she ambles step by step across her leaf,
which she pierces with round windows. The
material removed is her food. Faith, a
strange creature : a reminiscence, may be, of
some ancient mould, cast aside by life's
progress !

176

Other Leaf-Rollers

Three Apoderi and no more figure in the
European fauna. The best-known is that
of the hazel. This is the one to whom I
propose to devote my attention. I find her
here, not on the hazel, her lawful domain,
but on the common alder. This change in
her activities deserves a brief investigation.

My district does not suit the hazel very
well; the climate is unfavourable, being too
hot and dry. On the high slopes of Mont
Ventoux it grows sparsely; in the plain,
except in the gardens where a few find a
footing, they are no longer to be seen. In
the absence of the fostering bush, the insect,
without becoming impossible, is at least
extremely rare.

Long though I have been beating the
brambles of my countryside over an umbrella
held upside down, here is our Apoderus for
the first time. For three springs in suc-
cession I see the red Weevil on the alder and
observe her work. One tree, one alone and
always the same, in the osier-beds of the
Aygues provides me with this leaf-roller,
whom I now for the first time see alive.
The other alders round about have not a
trace of her, though they are only a few
177

The Life of the Weevil

yards distant. There is here, on this
privileged tree, a small, accidental colony, a
settlement of foreigners, who are becoming
acclimatized before extending their domain.

How did they come here? Undoubtedly
brought by the torrent. The geographers
call the Aygues a water-course. As an eye-
witness, I should call it, more accurately, a
pebble-course. Understand me: I do not
mean that the dry pebbles flow down it of
themselves; the low gradient does not permit
of such an avalanche. But only let it rain;
and they will stream fast enough. Then I
can hear the roar of the grinding stones
from my house, a mile and a quarter distant.

During the greater part of the year, the
Aygues is a broad expanse of white pebbles;
of the torrent naught remains but the bed,
a furrow of enormous width, comparable
with that of its mighty neighbour, the Rhone.
Let the rain fall persistently, let the snows
melt on the slopes of the Alps; and the
thirsty furrow fills for a few days: roaring,
it overflows to a great distance and turbu-
lently shifts its shoals of pebbles. Return
a week later. The roar of the flood is
succeeded by silence. The terrible waters
178

Other Leaf-Rollers

have disappeared, leaving on the banks, as
the trace of their brief passage, wretched
muddy puddles soon absorbed by the sun.

These sudden freshets bring a thousand
live gleanings swept off the flanks of the
mountains. The dry bed of the Aygues is
a most interesting botanical garden. There
you may gather many vegetable species
brought down from the higher levels, some
temporary, disappearing without offspring in
a single season, others persisting and adapt-
ing themselves to the new climate. They
come from far away, from the heights, these
exiles; to pluck this one or that in its true
environment you would have to climb Mont
Ventoux, pass beyond the zone of the beeches
and reach the altitude where trees cannot
grow.

Alien zoology in its turn is represented in
the osier-beds, whose calm is disturbed only
during unusually prolonged floods. My
attention is attracted especially by the land-
mollusc, that champion stay-at-home. In
stormy weather, when the thunder growls —
lou tambour di cacalauso, as the Provengal
calls it — the most that the Snail permits him-
self in the matter of moving about is to issue
179

The Life of the Weevil

from his stronghold, some crevice in the
rocks, and to browse before his door upon
the grasses, mosses and lichens made tender
by the flood. It takes a cataclysm to make
that one travel !

The wild freshets of the Aygues succeed
in doing so. They bring into my part of
the world and deposit in the osier-thickets
the largest of our Snails, Helix pomatia, the
glory of Burgundy.1 Rolled down the
grassy mountain-slopes by the showers, the
exile defies immersion within the water-tight
cover of his chalky operculum ; he endures the
jolting, thanks to his strong shell. He
travels by stages, from one osier-bed to
another. He descends as far even as the
Rhone and colonizes the lie des Rats and
the lie du Colombier opposite the mouth
of the Aygues.

Whence does he come, this enforced
emigrant, whom one would vainly seek else-
where in the land of the olive ? He loves a
moderate temperature, green turf, cool
shades. His place of origin is certainly not

1 H. pomatia is the Large Edible Snail.— -^Translator's
Note.

180

Other Leaf-Rollers

here, but far away on the rounded heights
of the lower, outermost Alps. The high-
lander's exile none the less seems pleasant.
The big Snail does quite well in the marshy
scrub on the banks of the torrent.

Neither is the Apoderus a native. She is
a castaway, hailing from the hazel-clad
heights. She has made the voyage in a
little boat, that is to say, in the leafy cockle-
shell in which the grub is born. The vessel
was tightly closed, which made the passage
possible. Running ashore at some point on
the bank in the height of summer, the insect
perforated its cell and, not finding its
favourite tree, established itself upon the
alder. There it founded a family, remain-
ing faithful to the same tree for the three
years during which I had to do with it. It is
probable, for that matter, that the origin of
the settlement dates farther back.

The history of this stranger interests me.
The primordial conditions of her life —
climate and food — are changed. Her
ancestors lived under a temperate sky; they
grazed on the leaf of the hazel-bush; they
manufactured cylinders out of piece-goods
181

The Life of the Weevil

made familiar by the constant practice of
past generations. But the wanderer is living
under a torrid sky; she grazes on the alder-
leaf, whose flavour and nutritive properties
must differ from those of the family diet;
she works at an unknown piece, though it is
not unlike the normal piece in shape and
size. What changes has this disturbance of
its diet and climate effected in the insect's
characteristics?

Absolutely none. In vain I pass the
magnifying-glass over the exploiter of the
alder and over the exploiter of the hazel-
bush, of whom the latter has reached me
from the heart of the Correze by post. I
see not the least difference between the two,
even in the smallest details. Can the
method of the industry have been modified?
Without seeing the work done with a hazel-
leaf, I boldly assert that it is similar to that
obtained with an alder-leaf.

Change the food and the climate, change
the materials to be worked: if it can adapt
itself to the new conditions imposed upon it,
the insect persists, immutable in its craft,
habits and organization; if it cannot, it dies.
To be as one was or not to be : that is what
182

Other Leaf-Rollers

the castaway of the torrent, like so many
others, tells us.

Let us watch her at work on the alder and
we shall know how she labours on the hazel-
bush. The Apoderus does not know the
method of the Rhynchites, who, to kill the
elasticity of the leaf to be rolled, makes a
deep puncture in the stalk. The red leaf-
roller has a special modus operandi, in no
way related to that of the puncture.

Can this change of method be due to the
absence of the rostrum, of the fine awl
capable of being driven into the narrow leaf-
stalk? It is possible, but not certain, for
the snout, an excellent pair of shears, could
cut half through the leaf-stalk at a bite and
obtain an equivalent result. I prefer to see
in the novel procedure one of those methods
which are the separate property of every
specialist. We must never judge of the
work by the tool employed. The insect is
an adept at using any sort of implement,
even though defective.

The fact is that with her mandibles the

Apoderus slashes the alder-leaf cross-wise,

at some distance from the base. The whole

leaf is cut clean through, including even the

183

The Life of the Weevil

central vein. The only part left intact is the
extreme edge, from which the large severed
area hangs withering.

This area, the greater part of the leaf, is
then folded in two along the principal vein,
with the green or upper surface inside; then,
starting from the tip, the folded sheet is
rolled into a cylinder. The orifice above is
closed with that part of the border which the
cut has left untouched; the orifice below is
closed with the edges of the leaf tucked
inwards.

The pretty little barrel hangs perpend-
icularly, swaying to the least breeze. It is
hooped by the median vein, which projects
at the upper end. Between the second and
third pages, as it were, of the double sheet,
near the middle of the spiral, is the egg,
resin-red and, this time, single.

The few cylinders which I have been able
to -examine afford me no circumstantial
details touching the development of their
inmate. The most interesting fact which I
learn from them is that the grub, when it
has attained its full growth, does not go
underground as the others do. It remains
in its barrel, which the wind soon shakes
184

Other Leaf-Rollers

down into the grass. That half-decayed
shelter would be very unsafe in bad weather.
The red Weevil knows this. She hastens to
assume her adult form, to don her scarlet
cloak; and by the beginning of summer she
abandons her cylinder, now a mere wreck.
She will find a better refuge under the loose
strips of old bark.

Attelabus curculionoides is no less expert
in the art of making a keg out of a leaf.
There is one curious point of resemblance:
the new cooper is red, like the other, or,
more accurately speaking, crimson. The
rostrum is very short and expanded into a
snout. Here the likeness ceases. Our first
friend is rather fine-drawn and loose-limbed;
the second is a thickset, round, dumpy
Weevil. We are quite surprised by her
work, which seems incompatible with the
worker's awkward, clumsy build.

And she does not work a docile stuff
either: she rolls ilex-leaves, young ones, it
is true, not yet too stiff. It is a tough
material all the same, difficult to bend and
slow in fading. Of the four leaf-rollers of
my acquaintance, the smallest, the Attelabus,
has the hardest lot; nevertheless, it is she,
185

The Life of the Weevil

the dwarf, such a bungler in appearance,
who by dint of patience builds the prettiest
house.

At other times she exploits the common
oak, the English oak, whose leaves are
broader and more deeply indented than those
of the ilex, or holm-oak. On the spring
shoots she selects the topmost leaves, of
average size and medium consistency. If
the position suit her, five, six or more little
kegs will be dangling from the same twig.

Whether it settle on the holm-oak or on
the common oak, the insect begins by incising
the leaf, at some distance from the base, to
the right and left of the median vein, while
respecting the vein itself, which will provide
a solid attachment. Then the Apoderus'
method is repeated: the leaf, rendered more
tractable by the two incisions, is folded
lengthwise, with the upper surface inside.
All these leaf-rollers, cigar-makers and
coopers alike, know how to overcome the
resilience of a leaf by means of punctures
or incisions; all are thoroughly versed in that
principle of statics according to which the
surface whose elasticity is the greater will
be found on the convex aspect of the curve.
186

Other Leaf-Rollers

Between the two sheets which touch, the
egg is laid, again one egg. Then the double
leaf is rolled from the tip to the attachment.
The indentations, the serrations of the last
fold are sealed down by the patient pressure
of the snout; the two mouths of the cylinder
are closed by turning the edges in. It is
finished. The barrel is completed, about
two-fifths of an inch long and hooped at its
fixed end by the median vein. It is small but
strong and not devoid of elegance.

The thick-set cooper has her merits, which
I should like to elucidate more fully by
watching her at wtfrk. What I have con-
trived to see in the open, in the actual work-
shop, amounts to little more than nothing.
Many a time do I surprise the Weevil on
her cask, motionless, with her snout against
the staves. What is she doing there? She
is sleeping in the sunlight; she is waiting
for the last layer of the work to acquire a
firm hold under prolonged pressure. If I
examine her too closely, she at once gathers
her legs under her belly and lets herself fall.

Since my visits tell me hardly anything,
I try to rear the insect in domesticity. The
Attelabus lends herself very well to the
187

The Life of the Weevil

attempt: she works under my bell-jars as
zealously as on her oak. What I now learn
deprives me of all hope of following the
details of the leaf-rolling process : the Atte-
labus is one of those who work at night.

Late in the evening, about nine or ten
o'clock, she gives the cuts of the scissors
that slash the leaf; next morning, the keg is
finished. Seen by the uncertain light of a
lamp and at untimely hours, hours rightly
claimed by sleep, the worker's delicate tech-
nique would escape me. We will give up
the idea.

There is a reason for these nocturnal
habits. I think I see what it is. The leaf
of the oak, especially of the holm-oak, is
much harder to bend than the leaf of the
alder, the poplar or the vine. If rolled in
the daytime, under the burning rays of the
sun, it would add to the difficulties arising
from indifferent flexibility those due to
incipient dryness. On the other hand, when
visited by the dew, in the coolness of the
night, it will remain pliable; it will yield
adequately to the efforts of the roller; and
the barrel will be ready when the sun comes,

Other Leaf-Rollers

with its blazing heat, to steady the shape of
the still moist fabric.

However different one from the other, the
four leaf-rollers have shown us that the in-
dividual craft is not a matter of organic
structure, that the tool does not determine
the nature of the work. Whether endowed
with a rostrum or a snout, whether long-
legged or slow, slender or thick-set, perfora-
tors or cutters-out, they -all four achieve the
same result, the cylinder that acts as a shelter
and a larder for the grub.

They tell us that instinct has its origin else-
where than in the organs. It goes farther
back; it is inscribed in the primeval code of
life. Far from being dependent on the tools,
it commands them and is able to employ them
as it finds them, with the same skill, for one
task here and for another there.

The little cooper of the oak-tree has not
finished with her revelations. Having
observed her pretty frequently, I know how
fastidious she is of the quality of her victuals.
If they be dry, she refuses them absolutely,
even though it means dying of starvation.
She wants them tender, pickled in moisture,
189

The Life of the Weevil

softened by incipient decay, even seasoned
with a touch of mildew. I prepare them to
her liking by keeping them in -a jar on a
bed of moist sand.

Thus treated, the grub hatched in June
soon increases in size. Two months are
enough to turn it into a handsome orange-
yellow larva, which, when its cell is broken
open, suddenly, with the violence of a spring
released, straightens its curved body and
tosses about. Observe its slender form,
much less stout than that of the other
Weevils in general. This is the only instance
in which lack of corpulence in the larva
denotes an adult of an exceptional class. I
shall say no more on the subject of the grub :
its description would be df no particular
interest.

The matter deserves looking into more
closely. It is the end of September ; we have
been suffering from an extraordinarily hot
and dry summer. The dog-days seem deter-
mined to last for ever. The forests are
ablaze in the Ardeche, the Bordeaux and the
Roussillon districts; whole villages have been
burnt down on the slopes of the Alps; in
front of my door, a careless passer-by, throw-
190

Other Leaf-Rollers

ing away a match, sets fire to the neighbour-
ing meadows. You cannot call it a summer :
it is a conflagration.

What can the Attelabus be doing in such
disastrous weather? She is thriving com-
fortably in my jars, which keep her victuals
soft for her; but, at the foot of her oak,
amid the undergrowth shrivelled as though
by the breath of a furnace, on the calcined
earth, what becomes of the poor thing? Let
us go and see.

Beneath the oaks which she was exploiting
in June, I succeed in finding, among the dead
leaves, a dozen of her little barrels. They
have retained their green colour, so suddenly
did the dessication seize them. They crack
and crumble into dust under the pressure of
the fingers.

I open a barrel. In the middle is the
grub, looking fit enough, but how small!
It is hardly larger than when it left the egg.
Is it dead or alive, this yellow atom? Its
immobility proclaims it to be dead; its un-
faded colour proclaims it to be alive. I
break open a second barrel, a third. In the
middle there is always a yellow grub, motion-
less and quite small, as though newly-born.
191

The Life of the Weevil

We will stop at this and keep the rest of my
collection for an experiment that occurs to
my mind.

With their mummy-like immobility, are
the grubs really dead? No; for, if I prick
them with the point of a needle, they twitch
immediately. Their condition is merely one
of arrested development. In their freshly-
rolled sheath, still hanging from the tree and
receiving a little sap, they found the food
necessary for their early growth; then the
barrel fell to the ground, where it soon dried
up.

Then, disdaining its hard provender, the
grub ceased to eat and grow. Who sleeps
dines, so the proverb says; and it is waiting
in a state of torpor for the rain to soften its
bread.

This rain, for which man and beast have
been sighing for four months past, I have
it in my power to realize, at least to the
limits of a Weevil's requirements. I float
the rest of the dry barrels in water. When
they are thoroughly soaked, I transfer them
into a glass tube, closed at either end with
a plug of wet cotton-wool which will keep
the atmosphere moist.
192

Other Leaf-Rollers

The result of my stratagems deserves
mention. The sleepers awake, eat the in-
side of the softened loaf and make up so
well for lost time that in a few weeks they
are as large as those which have not suffered
any interruption in my jars half full of moist
earth.

This knack of suspending life for months
at a time, when the provisions have lost the
requisite tenderness, is not repeated in the
other leaf-rollers. At the end of August,
three months after the hatching, there is
nothing left alive in the cigars of the vine
which have been allowed to dry. Death is
even swifter in the withered cigars of the
poplar. As for the cylinders of the alder,
in the absence of a sufficient number of
leaves, I was not able to estimate their inhab-
itants' powers of endurance.

Of the four leaf-rollers, the one most
threatened by drought is that of the oak.
Her barrel falls and lies on a soil which is
extremely arid except at times of rain; more-
over, because of its small dimensions, it dries
right through at the first touch of the sun.

The ground is equally dry in the vine-
yard; but there is shade under the branches
193

The Life of the Weevil

and the generous cigar is thick enough to
retain in its central part, far better than the
slender barrel does, a little of the moisture
indispensable to the grub. In respect of
prolonged abstinence, the Vine-Weevil can-
not be compared with the barrel-maker; still
less can the Poplar-Weevil. For this last,
more often than otherwise, there is no
danger from drought, despite the smallness
of the cylinder, a sorry rat's-tail. This roll
usually falls by the side of a ditch, on the
moist soil of the meadows. The exploiter
of the alder is hardly in danger either: at the
foot of her tree, a lover of the trickling
brooks, she finds the coolness needed to keep
her food-cylinder in good condition. But,
when she exploits the hazel-bush, I do not
know what conditions help her out of her
difficulty.

Lately the newspapers, which noisily echo
every piece of absurdity, have been making
a certain fuss about the gastric feats of a
few poor devils who, to earn their bread,
have fasted for thirty or forty days. As in
most stunts, admirers were found, ready
to encourage those wretched competitions.
194

Other Leaf-Rollers

Now here is something far better, ye
snobbish upholders of abstinence ! A trivial
beastie, not celebrated by the newspapers,
a grub born the day before yesterday, takes
a few mouthfuls; then, finding its victuals
too dry, it eats no more for four months or
longer. And this is not the result of sickly
languor: the creature fasts in spite of the
extreme appetite of youth, when, more than
ever, the stomach demands a copious diet.
The Rotifer,1 which for a whole season lies
lifeless and desiccated in the mosses of
its home, begins to whirl round again when
placed in a drop of water. The grub of
the Attelabus, lying near to death for four or
five months, recovers its liveliness and eats
like a glutton if I moisten its bread for it.
What can life be, capable of such inter-
missions ?

Or Wheel Animalcule.— Translator's Note.
195

CHAPTER X

THE SLOE-WEEVIL

less skilled than the Vine and Poplar-
Weevils in the art of leaf-rolling, the
Attelabus and the Apoderus have shown us
that, in spite of a dissimilar equipment, the
industry may remain the same; they have
proved that similarity of aptitude is compa-
tible with diversity of organization. Con-
versely, different trades may be followed
with the same tools; identity of form does
not imply equivalence of instinct.

Who tells us this? Who puts forward
this subversive proposition? The Sloe-
Weevil (Rhynchites auratus, SCOP.) has the
audacity to do so.

Rivalling the exploiters of the vine and
poplar in metallic lustre, she possesses,
exactly as they do, a curved awl which one
would say was meant for puncturing the stalk
of a leaf and then fastening the edges of the
rolled portion ; her figure is short and squat,
196

The Sloe-Weevil

adapted, so it seems to me, to working in
the narrow crease of a fold; she has spiked
sandals which give her a firm hold on slippery
surfaces. Any one acquainted with the
cigar-makers has but to see her to call her
straightway by the same generic name.
The nomenclators have made no mistake;
they are unanimous in styling her a Rhyn-
chites. Judging the trade by the worker's
looks, we do not hesitate : we set down this
third Rhynchites as a rival of the others, we
class her in the leaf-rollers' guild.

Well, in this case, we are thoroughly
deceived by outward appearances; we are
taken in by an identity of structure. In her
habits, the Rhynchites of the Sloe has
nothing in common with the two with whom
she is associated by her classification, which
is based solely on the peculiarities of her
form. What is more, until she is seen at
work, no one would suspect her calling. She
exploits the fruit of the sloe exclusively; her
grub's ration is the tiny kernel and its lodging
the small stone of the sloe.

So, unskilled in the trade of her fellows,
without any change in her tools, the kins-
woman of the cigar-makers becomes a driller
197

The Life of the Weevil

of caskets; with the same bodkin that serves
her relatives for fastening the last layer of
a leaf-roll, she hollows a little cup in the
surface of a shell hard as ivory. The tool
that is able to roll a flexible sheet now wears
away the invincible and works like a digger's
pick-axe. And stranger still: when it has
finished its arduous piece of carving, it sets
up above the egg a little miracle whose
exquisite delicacy we shall have occasion to
admire.

The grub amazes me no less. It changes
its diet. When a denizen of the vine and
the poplar, it eats a leaf; when a denizen of
the sloe, it takes to starchy food. It
changes its means of liberation. When they
have attained their full growth and the mo-
ment comes for them to go underground, the
first two have nothing in front of them but a
yielding obstacle, the surface layer of the
leafy sheath, softened and wasted by decay;
the third, like the Nut-weevil, has to pierce
a wall of exceptional strength.

What singular contrasts might we not

discover in facts of this kind, if we were

better-acquainted with the habits of the

Rhynchites group? A fourth example is

198

The Sloe- Weevil

familiar to me (R. Bacchus, LIN.). Iden-
tical in shape with the manufacturers of
cigars and the exploiters of fruit-stones,
worthy, indeed, in all respects of the name of
Rhynchites, what does this Weevil do?
Does she roll leaves? No. Does she in-
stall her grub in the casket of a kernel? No.

Her trade is a very simple one, for her
method is confined to inserting her eggs,
here, there and everywhere, in the still green
flesh of the apricot. Here there is no
difficulty to overcome and consequently no
art to be displayed by either mother or
grub. . The rostrum sinks into a material
which offers but a slight resistance; the egg
is let down to the bottom of the wound;
and that is all. The establishment of the
family is a most summary proceeding; it
reminds us of the practice of the Larini.

The grub, for its part, has no need for
talents of any sort. What would it do with
them? It feeds on the pulp of the fruit,
which soon falls to the ground and is reduced
to a jelly. Life is easy in these liquescent
surroundings; the infant is bathed in ferment-
ing pap. When the time comes for it to
take refuge in the subsoil, the jam-sodden
199

The Life of the Weevil

grub has no veil to tear, no wall to break
through : the flesh of the apricot has become
a pinch of brown dust.

In the old days, the Anthidia,1 partly
weavers of cotton, partly kneaders of resin,
set me a difficult problem. Later came the
Dung-Beetles of the pampas, the Phanasi,2
some preparing, as preserved foodstuff, cakes
of Cow-dung modelled in the shape of a
pear, others sausage-meat kept fresh in clay
jars. Both suggested the same difficulty:
can habits and industries which have no
mutual connection be explained as soon as
we accept a common origin for these different
manufacturers, who moreover are so much
alike in conformation? The question crops
up again, more urgently, with the four
Rhynchites.

That the influence of environment may, to
some extent, have caused external modifica-
tions; that the light may have accentuated
the colouring; that the quantity of the food
may have brought about some small varia-

1 For these Cotten-bees and Resin-bees, cf. Bramble-bees
and Others, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander
Teixeira de Mattos: chaps, ix. and x. — Translator's Note.

2 Cf. The Glow-Worm and Other Beetles: chaps, ix.
and x. — Translator's Note.

200

The Sloe-Weevil

tion in size; that a warm or cold climate may
have thinned or thickened the fur: all these
changes and many others besides I willingly
concede, if that will give any one any pleas-
ure; but, for pity's sake, let us take higher
ground than this, do not let us reduce the
world of the living to a collection of digestive
tubes, an assortment of bellies that fill and
empty themselves.

Let us reflect upon the masterly touch that
sets the whole animal machine in motion;
let us question the instincts, the controllers
of form; let us remember that glorious ex-
pression of the ancients, mens agitat molem;
and we shall understand the inextricable
difficulty that besets the theorists when they
wish to explain how it is that of four insects,
as much alike in shape as so many drops of
water, two roll leaves, another carves fruit-
stones and the fourth profits by the pulp of
a rotten fruit.

If they are affiliated to one another, if
they are indeed related, as their so strongly-
marked family-resemblance would seem to
affirm, which of them was the first of the
line? Could it be the leaf-roller?

No one, unless he be content with idle

The Life of the Weevil

fancies, will admit that the cigar-roller can
have tired of her cylinder one day and
proceeded, as a crazy innovator, to make a
hole in the casket of a fruit-stone. Such
dissimilar industries do not suggest mutual
connection. The first leaf-rollers, never
knowing any lack of leaves, may perhaps
have gone from one tree to others more or
less like it; but to give up the art of leaf-
rolling, so easy to acquire, and to become,
when nothing compelled them to, strenuous
nibblers of hard wood : that would have been
idiotic. No acceptable reason would explain
the desertion of the original trade. Such
follies are unknown in the insect world.

The exploiter of the sloe refuses in her
turn to acknowledge herself as inspiring the
cigar-maker:

"What, 1 1" she says, "I, give up my little
blue plum, so savoury in its tartness! I, a
chaser of goblets, abandon my chisel and, in
a moment of madness, become a folder of
leaves! What do you take me for? My
grub dotes on the floury kernel; confronted
with any other fare, above all with the
meagre, tasteless roll of my colleague of the
poplar, it would let itself die of hunger. So

The Sloe-Weevil

long as sloes or kindred fruits have existed,
my race, thriving upon them, has never
committed the folly of forsaking them in
favour of a leaf. So long as they exist, we
shall remain faithful to them; and, if ever
they fail us, we shall perish to the last grub."

The lover of the apricot is no less positive.
She, who is so easy to establish in soft pulp,
has taken good care not to advise her child-
ren to undertake the laborious task of per-
forating a shell or rolling a leaf into a cigar.
According to the locality and the abundance
of the fruit, her boldest innovation has been
to pass from the apricot to the plum, the
peach, or even the cherry. But how are we
to admit that these lovers of fruit-pulp,
well satisfied with their rich living, which
has always been possible, in the old days and
to-day alike, can ever have risked leaving the
soft for the hard, the juicy for the dry, the
easy for the difficult?

None of these four is the head of the line.
Is the common ancestor then an unknown
species, dumped down, perhaps, in the schist-
foliations whose venerable archives we began
by consulting? Even if he were there, we
should be none the wiser. The library of , the
203

The Life of the Weevil

stones preserves the forms but not the in-
stincts; it says nothing of industries, because,
let us repeat and again repeat, the insect's
tool tells us nothing of its trade. With the
same rostrum the Weevil may follow very
different callings.

What the ancestor of the Rhynchites did
we do not know and have no hope of ever
knowing. The theorists, therefore, take
their stand only on the vague and slippery
ground of suppositions:

"Let us admit," they say, "let us imagine
that ... it might be that ..." and so
forth.

My dearly-beloved theorists, this is a most
convenient means of arriving at any con-
clusion we like. With a bunch of nicely-
selected hypotheses, I will undertake, though
no subtle logician, to prove to you that
white is black and that darkness is light.

I am too fond of tangible, indisputable
truths; I will not follow you in your sophis-
tical suppositions. I want genuine facts,
well-observed, scrupulously-tested facts.
Now what can you tell us of the genesis of
the instincts? Nothing and again nothing
and always nothing.

204

The Sloe-Weevil

You think that you have raised a monu-
ment of Cyclopaean blocks and all that you
have built is a house of cards which tumbles
to pieces before the breath of reality. The
real Rhynchites — not the imaginary one, but
the insect which any one can observe and
question at will — ventures to tell you so, in
her artless sincerity.

She tells you :

"My manufactures, which are so contrary,
cannot be derived one from another. Our
talents are not the legacy of a common an-
cestress, for, to leave us such a heritage, the
original initiator would have had to be versed
at one and the same time in arts which are
mutually incompatible: that of leaf-rolling,
that of piercing fruit-stones and that of jam-
making, to say nothing of the rest, which you
don't yet know. If she was not capable of
doing everything, she must, at least, in course
of time, have given up a first trade and learnt
a second, then a third, then a host of others,
the knowledge of which is reserved for future
observers. Well, to practise several in-
dustries at the same time, or even, from
specializing in one department, to begin
specializing in some other, quite different
205

The Life of the Weevil

department: on my word as a Rhynchites,
all this would seem madness to an animal."

Thus speaks the Weevil. Let me complete
her statement. As the instincts of the three
industrial guilds whose history is here related
cannot in any way be referred to a common
origin, the corresponding Rhynchites, despite
their extreme similarity of structure, cannot
be ramifications of the same stock. Each
race is an independent medal, struck from a
special die in the workshop of forms and
aptitudes. What will it be then when dis-
similarity of form is added to dissimilarity
of instincts?

But enough of philosophizing. Let us
make the closer acquaintance of the Sloe-
Weevil. At the end of July, fattened to a
nicety, the grub leaves its plum-stone and
descends into the ground. With its back and
forehead it presses back the surrounding dust
and makes itself a spherical recess, slightly
reinforced with a glue furnished by the
builder, to prevent the earth from falling in.
Similar preparations for nymphosis and
hibernation are made by the Vine-weevil and
the Poplar-weevil; but these are more for-
ward in their development. Before Septem-
206

The Sloe-Weevil

her is over, most of them have achieved the
adult form. I see them glittering in the
sand of my jars like living nuggets. These
golden globules foresee the rapidly approach-
ing winter: as a rule they do not stir from
their underground quarters. However,
enticed by the hot sunlight, the last of the
year, a few Poplar-weevils come up into the
open air to see what the weather is like. At
the first breath of the north wind, these
venturesome ones will take refuge under the
strips of dead bark; perhaps they will even
perish.

The guest of the sloe is not in such a
hurry. Autumn is drawing to a close; and
my buried captives are still in the larval
state. What matters this delay? They will
all be ready when the beloved bush is covered
with blossom. By May, in point of fact,
the insect abounds on the sloes.

This is the time of careless revelry. The
fruit is still too small, with its stone not set
and its kernel a transparent jelly; it would
not suit the grub, but it makes a feast for the
adult, who, with an imperceptible movement,
without any twisting of the boring-tool,
sinks her drill into the pulp, drives it half-
207

The Life of the Weevil

way down, holds it there motionless and
drinks ecstatically. The juice of the sloe
pours over the edge of the well.

This affection for the sour sloe is not
exclusive. In my breeding-jars, even when
the regulation fruit is there, Rhynchites
auratus very readily accepts the green cherry
and also the orchard plum, as yet hardly the
size of an olive. She refuses absolutely,
though they are as round and as small as
sloes, the fruits of the mahaleb cherry, or
Sainte-Lucie cherry, a wilding frequent in
the thickets of the neighbourhood. She
finds their drug-like flavour repellent.

When the egg is at stake, I cannot induce
the mother to accept the cultivated plum.
In time of dearth, the ordinary cherry seems
to be less repugnant. Whereas the mother's
stomach is satisfied with any sort of astringent
pulp, the grub's clamours for a sweet kernel
in a small casket which does not offer too
much resistance. That of the cherry, sea-
soned with prussic acid and rather bitter,
is accepted only with hesitation; that of the
plum, contained in a stone whose strong walls
would oppose too great an obstacle first to
the entry and then to the exit of the grub,
208

The Sloe-Weevil

is absolutely disdained. Therefore the
pregnant mother, thoroughly versed in her
household affairs, refuses for jher family
any stone fruit other than the sloe.

Let us watch her at work. During the
first fortnight of June, the egg-laying is in
full swing. At this period the sloes begin
to assume a purple hue. They are hard,
about as large as a pea, which is not far
from their final size. The stone is woody
and resists the knife; the kernel has acquired
consistency.

The fruits attacked show two kinds of
pit, turned brown by the decayed tissues.
Some, the more numerous, are shallow
funnels nearly always filled up with a drop
of hardened gum. At these points the insect
has simply made a meal and has not gone
deeper than about half the thickness of the
pulpy layer. Later, the exudations from the
wound have filled the cavity with a gummy
plug.

The other cavities, which are wider and
form irregular polygons, penetrate to the
stone. The opening measures nearly four
millimetres1; and the walls, instead of slant-

1 .156 inch. — Translator's Note.
209

The Life of the Weevil

ing like those of the food-pits, rise vertically
from the exposed stone. Let us note yet
another detail whose importance we shall
see presently: it is rare to find any gum in
them, though the other cavities usually
contain it. These pits, which are free from
obstruction, are family establishments. I
count two, three, four on the same sloe ;
sometimes only one. Very often they are
accompanied, where the Weevil has fed, by
funnel-shaped surface erosions.

The larger pits descending to the stone
form a sort of irregular crater, in the centre
of which there is always a little cone of
brown pulp. Not infrequently the magnify-
ing-glass reveals a fine perforation at the top
of this central cone; at other times the orifice
is closed, but in a careless fashion, which
makes one suspect a connection with the
depths below.

Cut this cone down the axis. At its base
is a tiny hemispherical cup hollowed in the
thickness of the stone. Here, on a bed of
fine dust due to the work of erosion, lies
a yellow egg, oval and about a millimetre1
long. Above the egg, like a protecting roof,

1 About y>5 inch. — Translator's Note.
210

The Sloe-Weevil

rises the cone of brown pulp, pierced
throughout its length by a fine channel, which
is sometimes free and sometimes half
obstructed.

The structure of the work tells us how
the operation is conducted. In the fleshy
layer of the sloe the mother, eating the sub-
stance, or discarding it if there be more than
her appetite calls for, first makes a pit with
perpendicular walls and lays a suitable
surface of the stone absolutely bare. Then,
in the centre of this area, she chases with
her graver a little cup sinking half-way
through the thickness of the shell. Here,
on a soft bed of raspings, the egg is laid.
Lastly, as a defensive device, the mother
erects above the cup and its contents a
pointed roof, a cone of pulp obtained from
the walls of the pit.

The insect works very well in captivity, if
given plenty of space, sunlight and a twig
covered with sloes. It is easy to watch the
proceedings of the egg-laying mother; but
the result of diligent observation amounts
to very little.

Almost the whole day, the mother remains
clinging to one spot on the fruit, motionless,

The Life of the Weevil

with her rostrum driven into the pulp. As
a rule, there is no movement on her part,
nothing to betray any effort.

From time to time a male visits her,
climbs on her back, throws his legs around
her and, himself swaying from side to side,
rocks her very gently to and fro. Without
permitting herself to be diverted from her
serious labours, the female thus embraced
passively yields to the rolling motion.
Perhaps it is a means of whiling away the
long hours needed for establishing an egg.

To see more than this is very difficult.
The rostrum does its work in the hidden
seclusion of the pulp and, as the pit opens
and widens, the digger covers it with the
fore-part of her body. The hollow is ready.
The mother withdraws and turns round.
For a moment I catch a glimpse of the bare
stone at the bottom of the crater, with a
tiny cup in the centre of the denuded area.
As soon as the egg is laid in this cup, the
insect turns round again and nothing more
is visible until the work is completed.

How does the pregnant mother contrive
to raise above the egg a protective heap,
a cone, an obelisk somewhat irregular in

The Sloe-Weevil

shape, but very curious with its narrow ven-
tilating-shaft? Above all, how does she
manage to make this communicating passage
in the soft mass? These are details which
we can scarcely hope to detect, so discreetly
does the insect work. We must be content
to know that the rostrum alone, without the
aid of the legs, digs the crater and erects
the central cone.

In the heat of June, less than a week is
enough for the hatching. By good fortune,
solicited, so far as that goes, by attempts
that come near to exhausting my small stock
of patience, I witness an interesting sight.
I have a new-born grub before my eyes. It
has just cast the skin of the egg; it is very
busily wriggling in its powdery cup. Why so
much excitement? For this reason : to reach
the kernel, its ration, the tiny creature has
to finish the pit and turn it into an entrance-
window.

A stupendous task for a speck of albumen.
But this feeble speck boasts a set of
carpenter's tools; its mandibles, a pair of
fine chisels, received the necessary temper
while their owner was still in the egg. The
grub sets to work immediately. By the
213

The Life of the Weevil

following day, through a tiny aperture which
would hardly admit the point of a fair-sized
needle, it has entered into the promised land
and is in possession of the kernel.

Another stroke of luck partly tells me the
use of the central ebne pierced chimney-
fashion. The mother, while sinking the pit
in the flesh of the sloe, drinks the juices that
ooze out and eats the pulp. This is the
most direct manner of getting rid of the
refuse without interrupting her work.
When she is digging in the surface of the
stone, the cup intended to receive the egg,
she leaves in place the fine dust resulting
from her labours, an excellent material as
bedding for the egg but useless as food.

And what does the maggot in its turn do
with its sawdust as it deepens the pit in order
to reach the kernel? To scatter the rubbish
round about is impossible: there is no room;
to put it away in its stomach is even less
feasible : it cannot make its first mouthfuls
of this dry flour while waiting for the milk-
food of a kernel.

The new-born grub has a better method.
With a few heaves of its back, it thrusts
the litter of rubbish outside, through the
214

The Sloe-Weevil

chimney in the cone. I have indeed caught
sight of a white, powdery speck at the top
of the central cone. This tunnelled cone
therefore is a lift which carr.ies away the
rubbish of the excavation.

But the use of the curious building cannot
be limited to this: the ever thrifty insect
has not gone to the pains of building a tall,
hollow obelisk with the sole object of
preparing a thoroughfare for the atoms of
dust that hamper the grub in its labours.
The same result could be obtained with less
trouble; and the Weevil is too sensible to
construct the complex when the single would
suffice. Let us look at things more closely.

Evidently the egg, laid in a cup on the
surface of the stone, needs a protecting roof.
Moreover, the grub, which will presently be
working at the bottom of its cup to reach
the kernel, will require a refuse-shoot in its
restricted quarters. A small, shallow dome,
with a window to get rid of the sweepings,
would, it seems, fulfil all the requisite
conditions. Then why the luxury of this
pyramidal chimney which rises to the top-
most level of the pit, as a cone in eruption
rises in the centre of a volcanic crater?
215

The Life of the Weevil

The craters in the sloes have their lava,
that is, their flow of gum, which trickles from
the various points injured and then hardens
into blocks. This flood stops up every hole
at which the insect has merely fed. The
large pits with the central cones, on the other
hand, have no gum or show only a few scanty
drops of it on their walls.

The mother, it is obvious, has taken
certain precautions to defend the home of the
egg against the inroads of the gum. In the
first place, she has enlarged the cavity to
keep the egg at a due distance from the
treacherous wall oozing with viscidity; she
has moreover dug the pulp down to the stone
and has thoroughly stripped a perfectly clean
surface from which nothing dangerous can
now exude.

This is not yet enough : though distant and
rising perpendicularly from the stripped area,
the walls of the pit still give cause for alarm.
In some sloes under certain conditions, they
will perhaps yield a superabundance of gum.
The only means of averting the danger is
to raise above the egg a barricade as high
as the brink of the crater and capable of
arresting the flow. This is the reason for
216

The Sloe-Weevil

the central cone. If there is a copious
eruption, the gum will fill the ringed space,
but at least it will not cover the spot where
the egg lies. The tall, insubmersible obelisk
is therefore a most ingeniously-contrived
defensive structure.

This obelisk is hollow along its axis. We
have seen it serving as a lift for the rubbish
which the young grub throws out when
deepening its natal basin and converting it
into a passage which gives access to the
kernel. But this is a very secondary func-
tion; it has another of greater importance.

Every egg breathes. In its cup with the
sawdust mattress, the Weevil's egg needs a
supply of air, a very moderate supply, no
doubt, but it must have some. Through the
passage in its conical roof the air reaches it
and is renewed, even if bad luck has filled
the crater with gum.

Every living creature breathes. The
maggot has entered the stone of the fruit
by making an opening such as our finest
drills could not equal for precision. It is
now in a sealed casket, an air-tight barrel,
tarred, moreover, with gummy pulp. Yet
it must have air, even more than the egg.
217

The Life of the Weevil

Well, ventilation is effected by the shaft
which the grub has driven through the thick-
ness of the stone. However tiny the air-
hole, it is big enough provided it be not
clogged. There is no need to fear anything
of the sort, even with an excess of gum.
Above the ventilator rises the defensive cone,
continuing, by means of its tunnel, the
communication with the outer world.

I wanted to know how anchorites more
vigorous than the hermit of the sloe would
behave in an exceedingly limited and renew-
able atmosphere. I must have them in the
period of repose which precedes the meta-
morphosis. The insect has then completed
its growth; it is no longer feeding; it is
almost inert. It is living as cheaply as it
can and may be compared with a germinating
seed. Its need of air is reduced to the
lowest possible limit.

Indifferent as to choice, I use what I have
within reach and first of all the larvae of the
Brachycerus, the Weevil that feeds on garlic.
A week ago they abandoned their cloves and
went down into the earth, where, motionless
in their hollows, they are making ready for
the transformation. I place six of them in
218

The Sloe-Weevil

a glass tube, sealed at one end by the blow-
pipe. I divide them one from the other by
means of cork partitions, so as to allow each
a cell comparable in capacity with the natural
lodging. Thus stocked, the tube receives a
first-rate cork covered with a layer of sealing-
wax. It is absolutely closed. No gaseous
exchanges are possible between the inside and
the outside; and each larva is strictly limited
to the small quantity of atmosphere which I
have meted out to it approximately, accord-
ing to the capacity of the underground cells.

Similar tubes are prepared, some with
Cetonia-grubs taken from the shells in which
they were awaiting metamorphosis and
others with nymphs of the same species.
What will become of these various prisoners,
whose life is latent, suspended, demanding
a minimum of ventilation?

The sight that greets my eyes a fortnight
later is conclusive. My tubes contain only a
horrible mess of corpses. Evaporation was
impossible; no fresh air came to cleanse the
premises and vivify the larvae and nymphs;
and all have perished, all have become putrid.

The casket of the sloe, despite its air-tight
condition, is not so close a receptacle as my
219

The Life of the Weevil

glass prisons. Gaseous exchanges are
effected, since the kernel, itself a living body,
continues to thrive. But what suffices to
maintain the life of a seed must be insuffi-
cient for the much more active life of the
insect. The larva of the Weevil, during the
few weeks which it spends nibbling its kernel,
would thus be in great jeopardy if it had no
other resources for breathing than the air in
the sloe-stone, so limited in quantity and so
scantily renewed.

Everything seems to prove that if the air-
hole, the work of its chisel, were to be
plugged with a drop of gum, the recluse
would perish, or at least drag out a languish-
ing existence and would be incapable of mi-
grating underground at the proper time.
This suspicion is worth confirming.

I therefore prepare a handful of sloes; I
myself bring about what would have hap-
pened naturally but for the mother's pre-
cautions. I deluge the crater and its central
cone with a drop of thick solution of gum
arabic. My sticky preparation takes the
place of the product of the sloe-bush. The
drop hardens; I add others until the top of
the cone disappears in the thickness of the

The Sloe-Weevil

varnish. As for the rest of the fruit, I leave
it as it was.

This done, let us wait, but leave the sloes
in the open air, as they are, on the bush.
There the gummy concretions will not grow
soft — which would not fail to happen in a
glass jar — merely by means of the moisture
supplied by the fruits themselves.

By the end of July, the sloes left in their
natural state give me the first emigrants;
the exodus goes on through part of August.
The means of exit is a round hole, very
cleanly cut, similar to that made by the Nut-
weevil. Just like the grub of the last-
named, the emigrant passes itself through
the draw-plate and releases itself by a feat
of gymnastics in which it dilates the part of
the body already extracted with the humours
forced out of the part still imprisoned.

The exit-door is sometimes one with the
narrow entrance; more often it is beside it;
but it is never, absolutely never, outside the
bare space that forms the bottom of the
crater. The grub seems to loathe finding
the soft pulp of the sloe in front of its man-
dibles. Admirably adapted for chiselling
hard wood, the tool would perhaps become

The Life of the Weevil

clogged in a sticky mess. This needs a spoon
to remove it, not a gouge. At all events, the
exit is always made at some point of the
floor thoroughly cleaned by the mother,
where there is neither gum nor fleshy pulp
to hamper the proper working of the tool.

What is happening at the same time with
the gummy sloes? Nothing whatever. I
wait a month: nothing yet. I wait two,
three, four months: nothing, still nothing.
Not a grub comes out of my prepared sloes.
At last, in December, I decide to see what
has been going on inside. I crack the stones
whose air-holes I have blocked with gum.

Most of them contain a dead maggot,
which has dried up while quite young. Some
hide a live larva, well developed, but lacking
in strength. You can see that the creature
has suffered not from want of food, for the
kernel is almost entirely consumed, but from
another unsatisfied need. Lastly, a small
number show me a live grub and an exit-hole
made in the regular manner. These lucky
ones, immured by the gum perhaps when they
were already full-grown, had the strength to
perforate the casket; but, finding on top of
the wood the hateful varnish, which is the

The Sloe-Weevil

result of my perfidy, they obstinately refused
to bore any farther. The gummy barrier
stopped them short; and it is not their habit
to seek their freedom in another direction.
Away from the bare floor, the bottom of
the crater, they would infallibly come upon
the pulp, which is no less detestable than the
gum. In short, of the collection of larvae
subjected to my stratagems, not one has
thriven; the sealing with gum has been fatal
to them.

This result puts an end to my hesitations :
the cone set up in the centre of the pit is
necessary to the existence of the grub seques-
tered in the stone. Its tunnel is a ventila-
ting-shaft.

Each species certainly possesses its peculiar
method of maintaining a connection with the
outside world, when the larva lives under
conditions in which the renewal of the air
would be too difficult or even impossible if
no precautions were taketa. Generally, a
fissure, a corridor, more or less unobstructed
and the usual work of the grub, is enough
to ventilate the dwelling. Sometimes it is
the mother herself who sees to these hy-
gienic requirements; and then the method
223

The Life of the Weevil

employed is strikingly ingenious. While on
this subject, let us recall the wonderful
devices of the Dung-Beetles.

The Sacred Beetle models her grub's loaf
in the form of a pear; the Spanish Copris 1
shapes it like an egg. It is compact, homo-
geneous and as air-tight as stucco-work. To
breathe in these lodgings would unquestion-
ably be a very difficult thing; but the danger
is provided against. Look at the small end
of the pear and the top of the ovoid. After
ever so little reflection, you will be seized
with surprise and admiration.

There — and there only — you will see, not
the air-tight paste of the rest of the work,
but a stringy plug, a disk of coarse velvet
bristling with tiny fibres, a round piece of
loosely-made felt through which the gaseous
exchanges can be effected. A filter takes the
place of the solid material. The mere
appearance is enough to tell us the function
of this part. If doubts occurred to our
minds, here is something to dispel them : I
cover the fibrous expanse with several coats
of varnish; I deprive the filter of its porous-

1 Cf. The Sacred Beetle and Others: chaps, ix. and
x. — Translator's Note.

224

The Sloe-Weevil

ness, without interfering with any other part.
Now let us see what happens. When the
time comes for the emergence, with the first
autumn rains, let us break open the pills.
They contain nothing but shrivelled corpses.

An egg is killed if you varnish it: when
placed under the sitting Hen it remains a
lifeless pebble. The chicken has died in the
germ. So perish the Sacred Beetle, the
Copris and the rest when we varnish the
circular disk of felt which acts as a ventilator.

This method of the porous plug is re-
cognized as being so efficacious that it is in
general use among the pill-makers of the
remotest regions. The Splendid Phanaeus
and Bolbites onitoides, both from Buenos
Aires,1 employ it as zealously as the Dung-
Beetles of Provence.

One of the dwellers in the pampas uses
another process, prescribed by the material
which she manipulates. This is Phanaus
Milan, a ceramic artist and meat-packer.
With very fine clay she fashions a gourd in
the middle of which she places a round meat-

1 For both these Beetles and also for the next insect
mentioned in the text, Phanceus Milan, cf. The Glow-
worm and Other Beetles: chap. ix. — Translator's Note.
225

The Life of the Weevil

pie made from the sanies of a corpse. The
grub for which these victuals are intended
hatches in an upper story, separated from
the larder by a clay partition.

How will this grub breathe, first in its cell
upstairs and then in the lower room, when
it has perforated the floor and reached the
cold pasty? The house is a piece of pot-
tery, an earthenware jar whose wall some-
times measures a finger's-breadth in thickness.
Air cannot possibly pass through such a ca-
sing. The mother, who knew this, made
arrangements accordingly. Along the
gourd's neck she contrived a narrow passage
through .which a flow of air is possible.
Without resorting to obstruction by means
of varnish or anything else, we see quite
plainly that this minute tunnel is a ventila-
ting-shaft.

Exposed on her fruit to the danger from
the gum, the Weevil excels the meat-packer
of the pampas in her delicate precautions.
Over the -spot where the egg lies, she raises
an obelisk, the equivalent of the gourd's
neck in the work of the Phanaeus ; to give the
germ air, she leaves the axis of the nipple
hollow, as does the potter. In either case,
226

The Sloe-Weevil

the new-born grub has a tough job to begin
with: in the one it chisels the fruit-stone; in
the other it pierces the earthenware parti-
tion. And now both have reached their
goal: the first its kernel, the second its meat-
pie. Behind them they have left a round
port-hole which continues the tunnel made
by the mother. Thus communication
between the inside of the establishment and
the outer atmosphere is assured.

The comparison cannot be carried farther,
so greatly does the ingenuity of the Rhyn-
chites, in danger of being stifled by the gum,
surpass that of the other Beetle, who is
perfectly safe in his clay pot. The Weevil
has to reckon with the terrible exudations
which threaten to submerge and stifle her
larva. The mother, therefore, in the first
place, builds up the defensive cone, the
ventilating-shaft, to a height which the
gummy flood will not reach; then, around
this rampart of fruit-pulp, she makes a wide
moat which keeps at a distance the wall
sweating the dangerous substance. If the
eruption is too violent, the viscous fluid will
collect in the crater without imperilling the
breathing-hole.

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The Life of the Weevil

If the Rhynchites and her competitors in
means of defence against the dangers of
asphyxia have taught themselves their trade
by degrees, by passing from an unsuccessful
to another, more satisfactory method; if
they are really the creatures of their achieve-
ments, do not let us hesitate, though we deal
a blow to our self-conceit : let us recognize
them as engineers capable of teaching a
lesson to our own graduates; let us acclaim
the microcephalous Weevil as a powerful
thinker, a wonderful inventor.

You dare not go to that length; you prefer
to appeal to the hazards of chance. But
what a wretched resource is chance when we
are considering such rational contrivances !
As well throw the letters of the alphabet up
in the air and expect them to form a given
line of a poem as they fall!

Instead of bamboozling our minds with
such tortuous conceptions, how much simpler
and above all how much more truthful to say :

"Matter is governed by a sovereign
order."

This is what the Sloe-weevil, in her
humble way, tells us.

CHAPTER XI

THE PEA-WEEVIL: THE EGGS

TV/TAN holds the pea in high esteem.

*•*•** Ever since the days of antiquity, he
has tried, by devoting greater and greater
attention to its cultivation, to make it
produce larger, tenderer and sweeter vari-
eties. The adaptable plant, gently entreated,
has complied with his desires and has ended
by giving us what the gardener's ambition
aimed at obtaining. How far we moderns
have progressed beyond the crop of the
Varros * and Columellas,2 how far, above
all, beyond the original peas, beyond the wild
seeds confided to the soil by the first man
who thought of scraping the earth, may-

1 Marcus Terentius Varro (B.C. u6 — Circa B.C. 27), a
famous Roman scholar, author of De Re rustica and for
some time director of the public library. — Translator's
Note.

2 Lucius Junius Moderatus Columella (fl. ist century
A.D.), author of a work, De Re rustica, bearing the same
title as Varro's. — Translator's Note.

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The Life of the Weevil

be with a jaw-bone of the Cave-bear,3
whose mighty canine did duty as a plough-
share !

Where is this plant, the first source of the
pea, in the world of spontaneous vegetation?
Our regions possess nothing like it. Is it
to be found elsewhere? On this point
botany is silent, or replies only with vague
probabilities.

For that matter, the same ignorance
prevails on the subject of most of our edible
plants. Whence comes wheat, the blessed
grain that gives us bread? No one knows.
Except in the fields tilled by man, you need
not look for it in this country. You need
not look for it abroad either. In the East,
where agriculture had its birth, no botanist
ever came across the sacred ear increasing of
its own accord on ground not broken by
the plough.

Barley, oats and rye, the turnip and the
radish, the beet, the carrot, the pumpkin
leave us in a like uncertainty: their origin
is unknown, or at most suspected behind the

3 A very large, prehistoric Bear (Ursus spelaeus)
whose remains are common in European caves, including
those of England. — Translator's Note.
230

The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs

impenetrable mist of the ages. Nature
delivered them to us in the full vigour of
things untamed, when they were of little
value as food, as she nowadays offers us the
wild blackberry and the sloe ; she gave them
to us in a rudimentary and incomplete state ;
and it was for our husbandry and ingenuity
patiently to hoard the nutritive pulp, that
earliest form of capital, with dividends
always increasing in the most excellent bank
of the tiller of the soil.

As storehouses of provisions, the cereal
and the garden vegetable are, for the most
part, the work of man. The founders of
the species, a poor resource in their original
condition, we borrowed as we found them
from nature's green treasury; the improved
race, rich in nourishing matter, is the result
of our art.

But, if wheat, peas and the rest are in-
dispensable to us, our care, in fair exchange,
is absolutely necessary to their maintenance.
Such as our needs have made them, incapable
of resistance in the savage conflict of living
things, these plants, if left to themselves,
without cultivation, would rapidly disappear,
despite the numerical immensity of their
231

The Life of the Weevil

seeds, even as the silly Sheep would shortly
disappear were there no sheepfolds.

They are our work, but not always our
exclusive property. Wherever food is
amassed, consumers flock from the four
corners of the sky; they invite themselves to
the copious feast; and, the richer the vict-
uals, the greater their numbers. Man, who
alone is capable of provoking agrarian lux-
uriance, becomes by this very fact the giver
of an immense banquet whereat legions of
guests take their places. By creating more
palatable and more generous victuals, he
willy-nilly summons to his granaries thou-
sands and thousands of famished creatures
against whose teeth his prohibitions battle
in vain. The more he produces, the larger
tribute he has to pay. Big crops and sump-
tuous hoards favour the insects, our rivals
as consumers.

It is the prevailing law. Nature offers
her mighty breast with equal zeal to all her
children, to those who live by others' goods
no less than to the producers. For us who
plough and sow and reap, wearing ourselves
out with toil, she ripens the wheat; she
ripens it also for the little Corn-weevil,
232

The Pea- Weevil: The Eggs

who, though exempted from the labour of
the fields, will nevertheless settle in our
granaries and with her pointed beak nibble
the heap of corn, grain by grain, to the husk.
For us who dig and weed and water, bent
with fatigue and burnt by the heat of the day,
nature swells the pea-pods; she swells them
also for the Pea-weevil, who, doing no
gardener's work, will all the same take her
share of the crop at her own time, when the
earth is joyful with the new life of spring.

Let us watch the actions of this zealous
tax-collector, who levies her tithes in green
peas. I, a well-meaning rate-payer, will let
her have her way: it is precisely for her
benefit that I have sown a few rows of the
beloved plant in my enclosure. With no
other invitation from me than this modest
seed-plot, she arrives punctually in the course
of May. She has learnt that in this stony
soil, unfitted for market-gardening, peas are
flourishing for the first time. And she has
hastened thither to exercise her privileges
as an entomological revenue-officer.

Whence does she come? It is impossible
to say exactly. She has come from some
refuge or other where she has spent the
233

The Life of the Weevil

winter in a state of torpor. The plane-
tree, which strips itself of its own initiative
during the heat of summer, furnishes ex-
cellent shelters for homeless paupers under
its patches of loose-hanging bark. I have
often found our Pea-thief in one of these
winter sanctuaries. Sheltered under the
dead covering of the plane, or otherwise
protected while the winter raged, she woke
from her slumbers at the first kisses of a
kindly sun. The almanack of the instincts
has taught her; she knows as well as the
gardener when the peas are in flower and
she comes to her plant more or less from
every direction, ambling at a slow pace, but
swift in flight.

A small head, a slender snout, a dress of
ashen grey sprinkled with brown, flat wing-
cases, a squat, thick-set figure, with two large
black dots on the flat of the tail: there you
have a rough sketch of my visitor. The
van-guard arrives by the end of the first
fortnight in May.

The Weevils settle on the flowers, which

are like so many white Butterflies' wings: I

see some installed at the foot of the upper

petal, I see some hidden in the casket of the

234

The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs

keel. Others, more numerous these, explore
the blossoms and take possession of them.
The laying-time has not yet come. It is a
mild morning; the sun is hot without being
oppressive. This is the moment for nuptial
exploits and for raptures amid the splendour
of the light. Life therefore is enjoyed for
a little while. Couples form, soon part and
soon come together again. When the heat
grows too great, towards the middle of the
day, each Jack and Jill retire into the shade,
in a fold of the flower whose secret recesses
they know so well. To-morrow they will
resume the festival and the next day too,
until the pod, splitting the sheath of its keel,
appears outside, more and more swollen
from day to day.

A few pregnant mothers, harder-pressed
than the rest, confide their eggs to the grow-
ing pod, as it issues flat and tiny from its
floral scabbard. These eggs laid pre-
maturely, pushed out perhaps through the
exigencies of an ovary which can wait no
longer, seem to me in serious danger. The
seed in which the grub is to make its home
is as yet but a feeble granule, without sub-
stance and without floury contents. No
235

The Life of the Weevil

Weevil-larva would ever find an adequate
meal there, unless by biding its time until the
seed ripened.

But is the grub, once hatched, capable of
long fasting? It is doubtful. The little
that I have seen tells me that the new-born
larva begins eating with all speed and, if it
cannot do so, dies. I therefore regard as
lost the eggs laid upon immature pods. The
prosperity of the race will hardly suffer,
thanks to the Weevil's fertility. Moreover,
we shall see presently with what reckless
prodigality she scatters her germs, most of
which are doomed to perish.

The bulk of the mother's work is finished
by the end of May, when the pods begin to
bulge with protuberances revealing the
pressure of the peas, which have now at-
tained their final size, or very nearly. I was
anxious to see the Bruchus at work, in her
quality of a Curculio, which is how she is
classified.1 The other Weevils are Rhyn-
chophorse, beak-wearers, armed with a rod
that prepares the hollow in which the egg

1 The modern classification places the Pea- and
Haricot-Weevils in a separate family, the Bruchidae,
whereas the family of the Curculionidae includes most of
the other, or true, Weevils. — Translator's Note.
236

The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs

is laid. Our friend possesses only a short
snout, which does capitally for sipping a few
sweet mouthfuls, but which is of no value
as a boring-tool.

Therefore the method of installing the
family is quite different. Here we see no
ingenious preparations, such as the Balanini,
the Larini and the Rhynchites showed us.
Having no probe among her tools, the
mother scatters her eggs in the open, with no
protection against the heat of the sun or the
inclemencies of the weather. Nothing could
be simpler and nothing more dangerous to
the germs, in the absence of a special con-
stitution made to withstand the alternate
trials of heat and cold, drought and wet.

In the mild sunshine of ten o'clock in the
morning, the mother, with a jerky, capri-
cious, unmethodical step, runs up and down
the chosen pod, first on one and then on the
other surface. She protrudes at every
instant a short oviscapt, which swings right
and left as though to scrape the skin. An
egg follows and is abandoned as soon as
laid.

A hasty touch of the oviscapt, first here,
then there, on the green skin of the pea-pod;
237

The Life of the Weevil

and that is all. The germ is left there,
unprotected, right in the sun. Nor is any
choice of site made, to assist the coming grub
and shorten its quest when it has to make
its way unaided into the larder. There are
eggs placed on the swellings created by the
peas; there are just as many in the barren
dividing valleys. It is for the grub to take
its bearings accordingly. In short, the
Bruchus' eggs are laid anyhow, as though
sown on the wing.

A more serious flaw: the number of eggs
confided to one pod is not in proportion to
that of the peas contained in it. Let us first
realize that each grub needs a ration of one
pea, an obligatory ration, amply sufficient for
the welfare of one larva, but not big enough
for several consumers, nor even for two.
A pea for each grub, no more and no less,
is the invariable rule.

Procreative economy would therefore
demand that the mother, familiar with the
pod which she has just explored, should,
when emitting her germs, more or less limit
their number to that of the peas which it
contains. Now there is no limit. To a
238

The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs

single ration the impetuous ovaries always
offer a multiplicity of consumers.

My notes are unanimous on this point.
The number of eggs laid on a pod always
exceeds and often in a scandalous fashion
the number of peas available. However
scanty the food-wallet may be, the guests
are superabundant. Dividing the number
of eggs perceived on a given pod by that
of the peas inside it, I find from five to eight
claimants for each pea; I find as many as
ten; and there is nothing to tell me that the
prodigality does not go farther still. Many
are called, but few are chosen! Why all
these supernumeraries, who are necessarily
excluded from the banquet for want of
space?

The eggs are a fairly bright amber-yellow,
cylindrical in form, smooth and rounded at
both ends. They are a millimetre long at
most.1 Each of them is fixed to the pod by
a thin network of threads of coagulated
albumen. Neither the rain nor the wind can
loosen their hold.

The mother often emits them two at a

1 %5 inch.— Translator's Note.
239

The Life of the Weevil

time, one above the other; often also the
uppermost of the pair succeeds in hatching
whereas the lower fades and perishes.
What did this latter lack, to produce a grub ?
A sun-bath, perhaps, the gentle incubation of
which the upper egg robs it. Whether
through the effect of the untimely screen that
overshadows it, or for some other reason,
the elder of the eggs in a group of two rarely
follows the normal course. It withers on
the pod, dead before it has come to life.

There are exceptions to this premature
end. Sometimes the twin eggs develop
equally well; but these instances are so rare
that the family of the Bruchus would be
reduced by nearly one-half if the binary
system were a fixed rule. To the detriment
of the peas and to the Weevil's advantage
there is one thing that lessens this destructive
factor: the eggs are laid one by one and in
separate places.

A recent hatching is marked by a whitish,
winding little ribbon, which raises and fades
the skin of the pod near the sloughed egg-
shell. It is the work of the new-born larva
and is a subcutaneous tunnel along which
the tiny creature wends its way in search
240

The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs

of a point through which to penetrate.
When it has found this spot, the grub,
measuring hardly a millimetre and pale-
bodied, with a black cap, pierces the outer
wrapper and dives into the capacious sheath
of the pod.

It reaches the peas and perches on the
nearest. I watch it through the magnifying-
glass, exploring its globe, its world. It sinks
a well at right angles to the sphere. I see
some which, half-way down, wriggle their
tails to stimulate their efforts. After a short
spell of work, the miner disappears and is at
home.

The entrance-hole is minute, but is easily
recognized at any time by its brown colouring
against the pale-green or yellow-green back-
ground of the pea. It has no fixed site;
we see it more or less anywhere on the
surface of the pea, excepting generally on
the lower half, that is to say, the hemisphere
whose pole is formed by the base of the
funicular cord.

It is precisely in this part that the germ

is found which will not be consumed and

will remain capable of developing into an

embryo plant, in spite of the large hole made

241

The Life of the Weevil

by the adult insect in leaving. Why is this
portion left unscathed? What are the
reasons that safeguard the germ of the
exploited seed?

It goes without saying that the Bruchus
does riot consider the gardener. The pea
is meant for it and none other. In refusing
to take the few bites which would entail the
death of the seed, it has no intention of
reducing the damage. It abstains from
other motives.

Remark that the peas touch at the sides,
where they are pressed one against the other.
The grub seeking the point of attack cannot
move about at its ease. Remark also that
the lower pole rests upon the umbilical
excrescence and opposes to any attempt at
boring difficulties which do not exist in the
parts protected by the skin alone. It is even
possible that this umbilicus, which is dif-
ferently organized, contains special juices
distasteful to the little larva.

This, beyond a doubt, is the secret of the
peas exploited by the Bruchus and yet
remaining fit to sprout. They are injured
but not dead, because they are invaded in
the free hemisphere, the part which is at
242

The Pea-Weevil: The Eggs

the same time easier to enter and less easy to
wound. Moreover, as the whole pea is too
much for a single grub, the loss of substance
is reduced to the piece preferred by the
consumer; and this piece is not the essential
part of the pea.

Given other conditions, with seeds either
very small or exceedingly large, we should
see the results changing entirely. In the
first case, the germ would be gnawed like
the remainder and would perish by the tooth
of the too niggardly served grub; in the
second case, the abundant food would allow
of several guests. The common vetch and
the broad bean, exploited in the absence of
the pea, tell us something in this connection :
the smaller seed, devoured all but the skin,
is a ruin whose germination we may expect
in vain; the larger, on the contrary, despite
the Weevil's numerous cells, is still capable
of sprouting.

Admitting that the number of eggs on
the pod is always much greater than that of
the peas contained and that, on the other
hand, each pea is the exclusive property of
one grub, we wonder what becomes of the
surplus. Do these larvae perish outside,
243

The Life of the Weevil

when the more precocious have taken their
places one by one in the leguminous larder?
Do they succumb to the intolerant teeth of
the early occupants? They do neither. Let
us set forth the facts.

On all old peas, now dry, from which the
adult Weevil has issued, leaving a gaping
hole, the magnifying-glass reveals a varying
number of fine, reddish-brown dots, perfor-
ated at the centre. What are these spots,
of which I count five or six or even more on
a single pea ? There is no mistake possible :
they are the entrance-points of so many
grubs. Several workers have therefore
penetrated into the seed; and of the whole
gang only one has survived, waxed big and
fat and attained the adult age. And the
others? We shall see.

At the end of May and in June, during
the laying-season, inspect the still green and
tender peas. Nearly all the seeds invaded
show us the multiple dots which we already
observed on the dry peas abandoned by the
Weevils. Does this actually mean an
assembly of guests? Yes. Skin the afore-
said seeds, separate the seed-lobes, subdivide
them if necessary. We discover several
244

The Pea- Weevil: The Eggs

larvae, very young, bent into a bow, fat and
wriggling, each in a little round hollow in
the heart of the victuals.

Peace and comfort seem to reign in the
community. There is no quarrelling, no
jealous competition among neighbours. The
eating has begun, provisions are plentiful
and the banqueters are separated from one
another by partitions formed by the as yet
untouched portions of the seed-lobes. With
this isolation in separate cells, there is no
fear of squabbles; the guests will not bite
one another, by accident or intention. All
the occupants enjoy the same rights of pro-
perty, the same appetite and the same
strength. What will be the end of the
communal working?

I split some peas which I have found to be
well-stocked and place them in a glass tube.
I add others daily. This method keeps me
informed of the boarders' progress. At first
there is nothing special. Isolated in its
narrow recess, each grub nibbles around itself
and eats frugally and peacefully. It is still
quite small; a speck qf food surfeits it.
Nevertheless, a dish consisting of one pea
cannot satisfy so large a number until the
245

The Life of the Weevil

end. Famine threatens; all save one must
die.

Soon indeed the aspect of things changes.
One of the grubs, the one occupying the
central position in the pea, grows faster than
the others. He has hardly begun to be
larger than his competitors when these cease
to eat and refrain from digging any farther.
They lie motionless and resigned; they die
the gentle death which reaps unconscious
lives. They, disappear, wasted away to
nothing. They were so tiny, the poor
victims ! Henceforth the whole pea belongs
to the sole survivor. But what has
happened, to produce this desolation around
the privileged one? For lack of a relevant
answer, I will propound a suggestion.

In the centre of the pea, more gently
stewed than the rest by the sun's chemistry,
may there not be an infant-pap, a pulp of a
quality better-suited to the delicate organs
of a grub? Here perhaps, stimulated by
tender, highly flavoured and sweeter food,
the stomach becomes more vigorous and fit
to cope with food less easily digested. A
baby is fed on milk before it receives the
basin of broth and the bread of the able-
246

The Pea- Weevil: The Eggs

bodied. Might not the central portion of
the pea be the Weevil-grub's feeding-bottle?

Fired by one ambition and endowed with
equal rights, all the occupants of the seed
set out towards the delicious morsel. It is
a laborious journey; and frequent halts are
made in temporary recesses. The grubs
rest; pending better things to come, they
frugally crunch the ripe substance around
them; they gnaw even more to open a way
than to fill their stomachs.

At last one of the excavators, favoured by
the direction taken, reaches the central dairy.
It settles there and the thing is done: there
is nothing for the rest but to die. How do
they come to know that the place is taken?
Do they hear their kinsman's mandibles
striking against the wall of his cell? Can
they feel the vibration of the nibbling at a
distance? Something of the sort must hap-
pen, for from that moment they cease their
attempts to burrow any farther. Without
struggling with the lucky winner, without
seeking to dislodge him, those beaten in the
race allow themselves to die. I like this
frank resignation on the part of the late
arrivals.

247

CHAPTER XII

THE PEA-WEEVIL : THE LARVA

A NOTHER condition, that of space, is
present as a factor. The Pea-weevil
is the largest of our Bruchi. When she
attains the adult age she requires a bigger
lodging than is demanded by the other seed-
destroyers. A pea provides her with a very
adequate cell; nevertheless, cohabitation in
twos would be impossible: there would be
no room, even if the occupants accepted the
discomfort. And so the inexorable need
returns for reducing the numbers and, in
the seed invaded, doing away with all the
competitors save one.

On the other hand, the broad bean, which
is almost as great a favourite of the Bruchus
as the pea, is able to house a whole commu-
nity. The grub that was but now a solitary
becomes a cenobite. There is room for five
or six more, without encroaching on the
neighbours' domain. Moreover, each grub
248

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

finds infant-food within its reach, that is to
say, the layer which, being at some distance
from the surface, hardens slowly and retains
the dainty juices for a greater length of
time. This inner layer may be regarded as
the crumb of an otherwise crusty loaf.

In the pea, which is a small sphere, it
occupies the central part, a limited area which
the grub has to reach or perish; in the bean,
a generous muffin, it includes the large joint
of the two flat seed-lobes. No matter where
the big seed is tackled, each larva need but
bore straight ahead and it quickly reaches
the coveted food.

Then what happens? I add up the eggs
adhering to a bean-pod, I count the seeds
inside and, on comparing the two totals, I
find that there is plenty of room for the
whole family, at the rate of five or six to
each bean. Here we have no surplus larvse
dying of starvation almost as soon as they
leave the egg: all have their share of the
ample portion, all live and prosper. The
abundance of the provisions counterbalances
the mother's extravagance.

If the Bruchus always adopted the broad
bean as the establishment of her family, I
249

The Life of the Weevil

could very well explain her exuberant
emission of germs on a single pod: a rich
supply of food, easily acquired, invites a
large colony. The pea, on the other hand,
puzzles me. What vagary makes the
mother abandon her offspring to starvation
on this insufficient legumen? Why so many
boarders gathered around a seed which forms
the ration of one alone?

It is not thus that matters are arranged
in life's general balance-sheet. A certain
foresight rules the ovaries and makes them
adjust the number of eaters to the abundance
or scarcity of the thing eaten. The Sacred
Beetle, the Sphex-wasp, the Burying-beetle
and the other manufacturers of preserved
provisions for the family set close limits to
their fertility, because the soft loaves of
their baking, the baskets containing their
game and the contents of their sepulchral
retting-vat are all obtained at the cost of
laborious and often unproductive efforts.

The Bluebottle, on the contrary, heaps her
eggs in bundles. Trusting in the inexhaust-
ible wealth of a corpse, she lavishes her
maggots without counting the number. At
other times, the provision is obtained by
250

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

crafty brigandage, exposing the new-born off-
spring to a thousand fatal accidents. Then
the mother makes up for the chances of
destruction by an excessive outpouring of
eggs. This is the case with the Oil-beetles,
who, stealing the property of others under
very parlous conditions, are for that reason
endowed with prodigious fertility.

The Bruchus knows neither the fatigues
of the hard worker, obliged to restrict her
family, nor the woes of the parasite, obliged
to go to the other extreme. Without costly
researches, entirely at her ease, merely by
strolling in the sun over her favourite plant,
she can ensure an adequate provision for each
of her children; she can do this and yet the
mad creature takes it into her head to over-
populate the pea-pod, a niggardly baby-farm
in which the great majority will die of
starvation. This folly passes my under-
standing: it clashes so utterly with the usual
perspicacity of the maternal instinct.

I am therefore inclined to believe that the
pea was not the Bruchus' original share in
the distribution of the earth's gifts. It must
rather have been the bean, one seed of which
is capable of entertaining half a dozen
251

The Life of the Weevil

visitors and more. With a seed of this size,
the startling disproportion between the
number of the insect's eggs and the foodstuffs
available disappears.

Besides, there is not a doubt that, of our
various culinary acquisitions, the broad bean
is the earliest in date. Its exceptional
dimensions and its pleasant flavour have
certainly attracted man's attention since the
most remote times. It is a ready-made
mouthful, of great value to the hungry tribe,
which would have hastened to secure its
increase by sowing it in the patch of garden
beside the house, a hut of wattled branches
plastered with mud. This was the begin-
ing of agriculture.

Travelling by long stages, with their wag-
gons drawn by shaggy Oxen and rolling on
solid wheels cut out of the trunks of trees,
the emigrants from Central Asia brought to
our uncultivated tracts first the bean, then the
pea and finally the cereal, that eminent
stand-by against hunger. They taught us
the care of herds and the use of bronze, of
which the first metal implements were made.
Thus did the dawn of civilization rise over
Europe.

252

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

With the bean did those ancient pioneers
bring us, involuntarily, the insect which
disputes its possession with us today?
There is room for doubt; the Bruchus seems
to be a native. I find her at least levying
tribute on divers Leguminosae of the country,
spontaneous plants which have never tempted
man's appetite. She abounds in particular
on the great broad-leaved everlasting pea
(Lathyrus latifolius), with its magnificent
clusters of flowers and its long and handsome
pods. Its seeds are not large, are much
smaller than those of our peas; but, gnawed
to the very skin, as they always are by their
occupants, they are each sufficient to the
welfare of its grub.

Note also their considerable number: I
have counted more than twenty to the pod,
a wealth unknown to the garden pea, even
in its most prolific state. Thus the superb
perennial is generally able, without much
loss, to feed the family entrusted to its pod.

Where the everlasting pea is lacking, the
Bruchus none the less continues her habitual
flux of germs on another legumen, of similar
flavour but incapable of nourishing all the
grubs, as for instance on the broad-podded
253

The Life of the Weevil

vetch (Vicia peregrlna) or the common vetch
(V . sativa) . The number of eggs remains
high even on these insufficient pods, because
the original plant offered a copious pro-
vender, whether by the multiplicity or by the
large size of the seeds. If the Bruchus is
really a foreigner, we may accept the bean
as her first victim; if the insect is a native,
let us accept the everlasting pea.

Some time in the remote past the pea
reached us, gathered at first in the same pre-
historic garden-patch which already supplied
the bean. Man found it a better food than
the horse-bean, which is very much neglected
to-day after doing such good service. The
Weevil was of the same opinion and, without
quite forgetting her broad bean and her ever-
lasting pea, generally pitched her camp on
the garden pea, which became more widely
cultivated from century to century. Today
we have to go shares: the Bruchus takes
what she wants and lets us have her leavings.

The insect's prosperity, born of the abun-
dance and quality of our products, from
another point of view spells decadence. For
the Weevil as for ourselves, progress in the
matter of food and drink does not always
254

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

mean improvement. The race fares better
by remaining frugal. On her horse-bean,
on her everlasting pea, the Bruchus founded
colonies in which the infant mortality was
low. There was room for all. On the pea,
a delectable sweetmeat, the greater part of
the guests die of starvation. The rations
are few and the claimants legion.

We will linger over this problem no
longer. Let us enquire into the grub which
has become the sole owner of the pea through
the death of its brothers. It has had no
part in that decease; chance has favoured it,
that is all. In the centre of the pea, a
luxurious solitude, it performs a grub's duty,
the one and only duty of eating. It gnaws
the walls around and enlarges its cell, which
it always fills completely with its fair round
belly. It is a plump and shapely creature,
glistening with health. If I tease it, it turns
lazily in its cell and wags its head. This
is its way of complaining of my rudeness.
Let us leave it in peace.

The anchorite thrives so well and so fast

that, by the dog-days, it is already making

ready for its coming liberation. The adult

has not the necessary tools to open for her-

255

The Life of the Weevil

self her way out of the pea, which is now
quite hard. The larva knows of this future
helplessness and provides against it with
consummate art. With its strong jaws it
bores an exit-shaft, absolutely circular, with
very clean-cut sides. Our best ivory-carvers
could produce nothing neater.

To prepare the door of escape in advance
is not enough; we must also think of the
tranquillity essential to the delicate work of
the nymphosis. An intruder might enter
through the open door and work mischief
upon the defenceless nymph. This opening
must therefore be kept shut. And how?
Here is the device.

The grub boring the exit-hole eats the
floury matter without leaving a single crumb.
On reaching the skin of the seed, suddenly
it stops short. This semitranslucent mem-
brane is the screen protecting the chamber in
which the metamorphosis takes place, the
door that defends the cabin against ill-inten-
tioned intruders. It is also the only obstacle
which the adult will encounter at the time
of moving. To lessen the difficulty of forc-
ing it out, the grub takes the precaution of
carving a groove of least resistance inside the
256

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

skin, all around the circumference. The
perfect insect will only have to heave with
its shoulders, to strike a blow or two with its
head, in order to raise the lid and knock it
off, like the lid of a box. The exit-hole
shows through the transparent skin of the
pea in the shape of a large circular spot,
darkened by the obscurity within. What
happens below cannot be seen, hidden as it
is behind a sort of ground-glass window.

A pretty invention, this little port-hole,
this barricade against the invader, this trap-
door lifted with a push of the hermit's
shoulder when the time has come. Shall we
give the Bruchus the credit of it? Could the
ingenious insect imagine the enterprise,
ponder a plan and work upon a scheme of
its own devising? This would be a fine
triumph for a Weevil's brain. Before
deciding, let us hear what experiment has to
tell us.

I skin some inhabited peas; I save them
from drying too quickly by placing them in
glass tubes. The grubs do as well here as
in the intact peas. The preparations for the
deliverance are made at the proper time.

If the miner acts on its own inspiration,
257

The Life of the Weevil

if it ceases to prolong its shaft as soon as
it perceives, by sounding it now and again,
that the ceiling is thin enough, what ought
to happen under the present conditions?
Feeling that it is as near the surface as it
wishes to be, the grub will stop boring; it
will respect the last layer of the bare pea and
will thus obtain the indispensable defensive
screen.

Nothing of the kind takes place. The
well is excavated entirely; its mouth is open
to the outside, as wide, as carefully finished
as though the skin of the pea were still
protecting it. Reasons of safety have in no
way modified the usual work. The foe can
enter this open lodging; the grub gives the
matter not a thought.

Nor has it this in mind when it refrains
from boring right through the pea still clad
in its skin. It stops suddenly, because it
does not like the non-farinaceous skin. We
remove the skins before making our peas into
soup : they have no culinary value ; they are
not good. The larva of the Bruchus appears
to be like ourselves: it hates the tough out-
side of the pea. Warned by the unpleasant
taste, it stops at the skin; and this aversion
258

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

causes a little miracle. The insect has no
logical sense of its own. It passively obeys
a higher logic; it obeys, but is as unconscious
of its art as crystals are when assembling
their battalions of atoms in exquisite order.

Sooner or later, in August, dark circles
form on the peas, always one to each seed,
with no exception. These mark the exit-
hatches. Most of them open in September.
The lid, which looks as though cut out with a
punch, comes off very neatly and falls, leav-
ing the opening of the cell free. The
Bruchus issues, freshly clad, in her final form.

The weather is delightful. Flowers
abound, awakened by the showers; the emi-
grants from the peas visit them in autumnal
revelry. Then, when the cold sets in, they
take up their winter-quarters in some retreat
or other. Others, quite as numerous, are
less eager to quit the native seed. They stay
there, motionless, all through the frosty
season, sheltered behind the trap which they
are careful not to touch. The door of the
cell will not open on its hinges, that is to
say, along its line of least resistance, until
the hot weather returns. Then the laggards
leave their homes and rejoin the more for-
259

The Life of the Weevil

ward; and all are ready for work when the
peas come into flower.

The great attraction of the insect world
for the observer is that he can obtain a
more or less general survey of the instincts,
in their inexhaustible variety; for nowhere
do we see the wonderful order of life's
details more clearly revealed. Entomology,
I know, does not appeal to everybody from
this point of view : people have a poor opin-
ion of the artless person absorbed in the be-
haviour of insects. To the terrible utili-
tarian, a measure of peas saved from the
Weevil is of more importance than any
number of observations which bring no
immediate profit.

And who has told you, O man of little
faith, that what is useless to-day may not be
useful to-morrow? If we learn the habits
of animals, we shall be better able to pro-
tect our property. Do not despise disin-
terested ideas, lest you live to rue the day.
It is by accumulating ideas, whether imme-
diately applicable or not, that mankind has
done and will continue to do better to-day
than yesterday, better in the future than in
the present. If we live by peas and horse-
260

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

beans, which the Weevil disputes with us,
we also live by knowledge, that mighty
kneading-trough in which the dough of pro-
gress is mixed and fermented. Science is
well worth a bean or two. Among other
things, it tells us :

"The corn-chandler need not trouble to
wage war upon the Weevil. By the time
that the peas are stored, the harm is done;
it is irreparable, but not transmissible. The
untouched seeds have nothing to fear from
the proximity of the seeds attacked, how-
ever long they may remain together. The
Bruchus will issue from the latter when her
time comes; she will fly out of the granary,
if escape be possible; if not, she will die
without in any way infesting the seeds that
are still sound. No eggs, no new generation
will ever be seen on the dried peas in our
storehouse; nor will any damage be caused
by the feeding of the adult."

Our Bruchus is not a sedentary inhabit-
ant of the granaries: she needs the open
air, the sunshine, the freedom of the fields.
Very frugal on her own behalf, she absolutely
disdains the hardness of the legumen; all
that her slender snout requires is a few
261

The Life of the Weevil

honeyed mouthfuls sipped from the flowers.
The larva, on the other hand, demands the
soft bread of the green pea still growing
inside the pod. For these reasons, the store-
house knows no further multiplication on the
part of the ravager introduced at the
beginning.

The origin of the mischief lies out of
doors. It is here more than elsewhere that
we ought to keep a watch on the Weevil's
misdeeds, were it not that we are nearly
always unarmed when it comes to fighting
against insects. Indestructible because of
their numbers, their small size, their sly
cunning, the little creatures laugh at man's
anger. The gardener fumes and curses; the
Weevil remains unconcerned: imperturbably
she continues to levy her tithe.

Fortunately, we have assistants, more
patient and more clear-sighted than our-
selves. In the first week of August, when
the adult Bruchus is beginning to move away,
I make the acquaintance of a little Chalcis,
the protector of our peas. In my rearing-
jars, a number of her comes out of the
Weevil's home before my eyes. The female
has a red head and thorax and a black abdo-
262

The Pea-Weevil: The Larva

men, with a long boring-tool. The male, a
little smaller, is clad in black. Both sexes
have dull-red legs and thread-like antennae.

In order to leave the pea, the exterminator
of the Bruchus opens herself a window in the
centre of the disk which the Weevil's grub
has bored in the skin with a view to its future
deliverance. The devoured has prepared
the way out for the devourer. This detail
enables us to guess the rest.

When the preliminaries of the metamor-
phosis are finished, when the exit-hole is
bored, furnished with its lid, a surface cuticle,
the Chalcis comes bustling along. She
inspects the peas, still on the plant, in their
pods; she tries them with her antennae; she
discovers, hidden under the general outer
wrapper of the pod, the weak points in the
ceiling formed by the skin. Then, raising
her sounding-rod, she thrusts it through the
pod and pierces the thin lid. However
deeply secreted in the centre of the pea, the
Weevil, whether larva or nymph, is reached
by the long implement. It receives an egg
in its tender flesh; and the trick is done.
Without any chance of defence, for it is by
now either, a torpid grub or else a nymph,
263

The Life of the Weevil

the corpulent infant will be drained to the
skin.

What a pity that we are not able at will
to promote the multiplication of this zealous
exterminator! Alas, our agricultural auxil-
iaries have us in a disappointing vicious
circle : if we wish to obtain the assistance of
large numbers of the Chalcids that bore holes
in peas, we must first have large numbers
of Pea-weevils!

264

CHAPTER XIII

THE HARICOT-WEEVIL

TF there is a Heaven-sent vegetable on
earth, it is the haricot bean. It has every
good quality in its favour: it is soft to the
tooth, of an agreeable flavour, plentiful,
cheap and very nutritious. It is a vegetable
flesh which, without being repulsive or drip-
ping with blood, is as good as the cut-up
horrors in the butcher's shop. To em-
phasize its services to mankind, the Pro-
vengal idiom calls it gounflo-gus, the poor
man's bellows.1

Blessed bean, consoler of the poor, yes,
you easily fill out the labourer, the honest and
capable worker who has drawn the wrong
number in life's mad lottery; kindly bean,
with three drops of oil and a dash of vinegar,
you were the favourite dish of my boyhood;
and even now, in the evening of my days,

iQr, if the reader prefers, the Swell-belly. Gus, in
the Provencal dialect, means both "guts" and "bigger."
—^Translator's Note.

265

The Life of the Weevil

you are welcome to my humble porringer.
We shall be friends to the last.

To-day it is not my intention to extol your
deserts : I want to ask you a question, simply
out of curiosity. What is your country of
origin? Did you come from Central Asia,
with the horse-bean and the pea? Did you
belong to the collection of seeds which the
first pioneers of husbandry handed to us from
their garden patch? Were you known to
antiquity?

Here the insect, an impartial and well-
informed witness, answers:

"No, in our parts antiquity did not know
the haricot. The precious legumen did not
reach our country by the same road as the
broad bean. It is a foreigner, introduced
into the old continent at a later date."

The insect's statement merits serious exam-
ination, supported as it is by very plausible
arguments. Here are the facts.

Though I have followed agricultural mat-
ters closely for many years, I have never
seen the haricots attacked by any ravager
whatever of the insect series, nor in partic-
ular by the Bruchi, the licensed despoilers of
leguminous seeds.

266

The Haricot- Weevil

I question my peasant neighbours on this
point. They are men who keep a sharp look
out where their crops are concerned. To
touch their property is a heinous crime,
quickly discovered. Besides, there is the
housewife, who would not fail to find the
malefactor as she shells the haricots intended
for the pot, conscientiously fingering them
one by one before dropping them into a
plate.

Well, one and all reply to my question
with a smile in which I read their disbelief
in my knowledge of the smaller creatures:

"Sir," they say, "learn that there are never
any worms in the haricot. It is a blessed
bean and respected by the Weevil. The
pea, the broad bean, the lentil, the ever-
lasting pea, the chick-pea, all have their
vermin; this one, lou gounflo-gus, never.
What should we poor people do if the
Courcoussoun tried to rob us of it?"

The Curculio in fact despises it, displaying
a very strange contempt when we consider
the fervour with which the other legumina
are attacked. All, down to the meagre
lentil, are eagerly despoiled; and the haricot,
so tempting both in size and in flavour,
267

The Life of the Weevil

remains unharmed. It baffles the under-
standing. For what reason does the
Bruchus, who passes without hesitation from
the excellent to the indifferent and from the
indifferent to the excellent, disdain this
delicious seed? She leaves the everlasting
pea for the green pea, she leaves the green
pea for the broad bean and the vetch, accept-
ing the niggardly scrap and the rich cake with
equal satisfaction; and the attractions of the
haricot leave her uninterested. Why?

Apparently because this legumen is
unknown to her. The others, whether
natives or acclimatized foreigners from the
east, have been familiar to her for centuries;
she tests their excellence year by year and,
relying on the lessons of the past, she bases
her forethought for the future upon ancient
custom. She suspects the haricot as a new-
comer whose merits she has still to learn.

The insect tells us emphatically that the
haricot is of recent date. It reached us from
very far away, surely from the New World.
Every edible thing attracts those whose
business it is to make use of it. If the
haricot had originated in the old continent,
it would have had its licensed consumers,
268

The Haricot-Weevil

after the manner of the pea, the lentil and
the others. The smallest leguminous seed,
often no bigger than a pin's head, feeds its
Bruchus, a dwarf that nibbles it patiently
and hollows it into a dwelling, whereas the
plump and exquisite haricot is spared!

This strange immunity can have but one
explanation: like the potato, like maize, the
haricot is a present from the New World.
It arrived in Europe unaccompanied by the
insect that battens on it regularly in its
native land; it found in our fields other seed-
eaters, which, because they did not know it,
despised it. In the same way, the potato
and maize are respected over here, unless
their American consumers are imported with
them by accident.

The insect's report is confirmed by the
negative evidence of the ancient classics : the
haricot never appears on the rustic table of
their peasants. In Vergil's second Eclogue,
Thestylis is preparing the reapers' repast:

Thestylis et rapido fessis messoribus astu
Allia serpyllumque herbas contundit olentes.1

1 "And Thestylis wild thyme and garlic beats

For harvest hinds, o'erspent with toil and heats." —
Pastorals, ii, Dryden's translation.
269

The Life of the Weevil

The mixture is the equivalent of the aioli
dear to the Provencal palate. It sounds
very well in verse, but it lacks substance.
On such an occasion men would prefer such
solid fare as a dish of red haricots seasoned
with chopped onions. Capital: that ballasts
the stomach, while remaining just as countri-
fied as garlic. Thus filled, in the open air,
to the chirping of the Cicadae, the gang of
harvesters could take a brief mid-day nap
and gently digest their meal in the shade of
the sheaves. Our modern Thestyles, differ-
ing so little from their classic sisters, would
take good care not to forget the gounflo-gus,
that thrifty stand-by of big appetites. The
Thestylis of the poet does not think of it,
because she does not know it.

The same author shows us Tityrus offering
a night's hospitality to his friend Meliboeus,
who, driven from his property by the soldiers
of Octavius, goes off limping behind his flock
of goats.

"We shall have chestnuts," says Tityrus,
"cheese and fruits."

History does not say if Meliboeus allowed
himself to be tempted. It is a pity, for
during the frugal meal we might have learnt,
270

The Haricot-Weevil

in a more explicit fashion, that the shepherds
of olden time had to do without the haricot.

Ovid tells us, in a delightful passage, of
the manner in which Philemon and Baucis
welcomed the gods unawares as guests in
their humble cottage. On the three-legged
table steadied by means of a potsherd, they
served cabbage-soup, rancid bacon, eggs
turned for a moment over the hot cinders,
cornelian cherries preserved in brine, honey
and fruits. One dish is lacking amid this
rustic magnificence, an essential dish which
no Baucis of our country-side would ever
forget. The bacon-soup would have been
followed, inevitably, by a plateful of haricots.
Why does Ovid, the poet so rich in details,
fail to speak of the bean which would have
looked so well on the bill of fare? The
reply is the same: he cannot have known
of it.

In vain do I go over the little that my
reading has taught me of rustic food in
ancient times: I have no recollection of the
haricot. The stew-pots of the vine-dresser
and the harvester tell me of the lupin, the
broad bean, the pea and the lentil; but they
never mention the bean of beans.
271

The Life of the Weevil

The haricot has a reputation of another
kind, a reputation more flatulent than flatter-
ing. You eat it and then, as the saying goes,
the sooner you are off the better. It there-
fore lends itself to the coarse jests loved by
the rabble, especially when these are put into
words by the shameless genius of an
Aristophanes or a Plautus. What stage
effects could have been produced by the
merest allusion to the noisy bean, raising
guffaws of laughter from the mariners of
Athens or the street-porters of Rome ! Did
the two comic poets, in the unfettered gaiety
of a language less reserved than ours, ever
refer to the virtues of the haricot? Not
once. They are quite silent on the subject
of the sonorous bean.

The word haricot itself sets us thinking.
It is an outlandish term, related to none of
our expressions. Its turn of language, which
is alien to our combinations of sounds,
suggests to the mind some West-Indian
jargon, as do caoutchouc and cocoa. Does
the word, as a matter of fact, come from the
American Redskins? Did we receive, to-
gether with the bean, the name by which it is
called in its native country? Perhaps so;
272

The Haricot-Weevil

but how are we to know? Haricot, fantastic
haricot, you set us a curious linguistic
problem.

The Frenchman calls it also faseole,
flageolet. The Provencal dubs it fa'iou and
/ avion-, the Catalan fayol; the Spaniard
faseolo; the Portuguese feydo; the Italian
faguilo. Here I am on familiar ground:
the languages of the Latin family have kept,
with the inevitable terminal modifications,
the ancient word faseolus.

Now, if I consult my dictionary, I find:
faselus, phaselus, faseolus, phaseolus,
haricot. Learned vocabulary, permit me to
tell you that your translation is wrong:
phaselus or phaseolus cannot mean haricot.
And the incontestable proof is in the
Georgics* where Virgil tells us the season
at which to sow the faseolus. He says:

Si vero viciamque seres vilemque phaselum. . . .
Hand obscura cadens mittet tib'i signa Bootes;2
Incipe et ad medias sementem extende pruinas.

1 Book L, line 227 et seq. — Author's Note.

2 "Vile vetches would you sow, or lentils lean?

The growth of Egypt, or the kidney-bean?
Begin when the slow Waggoner descends,
Nor cease your sowing till mid-winter ends."
— Dryden's translation.
273

The Life of the Weevil

Nothing is clearer than the teaching of
the poet, who was wonderfully well-informed
on agricultural matters: we must begin to
sow the phaselus when the constellation
Bootes disappears at sunset, that is to say,
at the end of October, and continue doing so
until the middle of the winter.

These conditions put the haricot out of the
question : it is a chilly plant, which would not
withstand the slightest frost. The winter
would be fatal to it, even in the climate of the
south of Italy. On the other hand, the pea,
the broad bean, the everlasting pea and
others, better able to resist the cold because
of their country of origin, have nothing to
fear from an autumn sowing and thrive dur-
ing the winter, provided that the climate be
fairly mild.

What then does the phaselus of the
Georgics stand for, that problematical bean
which has handed down its name to the
haricot in the Latin languages? Remember-
ing the contemptuous epithet vilis with which
the poet stigmatizes it, I feel inclined to look
upon it as the chickling vetch, the coarse
square pea, the jaisso despised by the Proven-
cal peasant.

274

The Haricot-Weevil

The problem of the haricot had reached
this stage, almost elucidated by the insect's
evidence alone, when an unexpected docu-
ment came and gave me the last word of the
riddle. It is once more a poet — and a very
famous poet — M. Jose Maria de Heredia,1
who comes to the naturalist's aid. Without
suspecting the service which he is rendering
me, the village schoolmaster lends me a ma-
gazine 2 in which I read the following
conversation between the masterly chaser of
sonnets and a lady journalist who asks him
which of his works he prefers :

" 'What would you have me say?' asks
the poet. 'You place me in a great
difficulty. ... I do not know which sonnet
I like best: they all cost me terrible pains
to write. . . . Which do you yourself
prefer?'

" 'How can I possibly make a choice, my
dear master, out of so many jewels, each of
which is perfectly beautiful? You flash
pearls, emeralds and rubies before my
astonished eyes; how can I decide to prefer

1 The academician (1842-1905).— ^Translator's Note.

2 Annales politiques et litteraires Les Enfants jugis
par leur peres. Christmas number, 1901. — Author's Note.

275

The Life of the Weevil

the emerald to the pearl? The whole
necklace throws me into an ecstasy of admi-
ration.'

" 'Well, as for me, there is something of
which I am prouder than of all my sonnets,
something which has done more than my
verses to establish my fame.'

"I open my eyes wide:

'"What is that?' I ask.

"The master gives me a mischievous
glance; then, with that fine light in his eyes
which fires his youthful features, he exclaims,
triumphantly :

" 'I have discovered the etymology of the
word haricot.'

"I was too much astounded even to laugh.

" 'What I tell you is perfectly serious.'

" 'My dear master, I knew your reputa-
tion for profound scholarship; but from that
to imagining that you owed your fame to
discovering the etymology of the word
haricot: ah no, I should never have expected
that ! Can you tell me how you made the
discovery?'

"'With pleasure. It was like this: I
found some particulars about haricots when
276

The Haricot-Weevil

searching through a fine sixteenth-century
work on natural history, Hernandez' De
Historia plantarum novi orbis. The word
haricot was unknown in France until the
seventeenth century: we used to say feve or
phaseol; in Mexican, ayacot. Thirty vari-
eties of haricot were cultivated in Mexico
before the conquest. They are called ayacot
to this day, especially the red haricot, with
black or violet spots. One day, at Gaston
Paris' house, I met a great scholar. On
hearing my name, he rushed at me and
asked if it was I who had discovered
the etymology of the word haricot. He
was absolutely ignorant of the fact that
I had written poems and published Les
Trophees.

What a glorious jest, to place the jewellery
of his sonnets under the protection of a
bean! I in my turn am delighted with the
ayacot. How right I was to suspect that
strange word haricot of being an American-
Indian idiom ! How truthful the insect was
when it declared, in its own fashion, that the
precious seed reached us from the New
World! While retaining its first name, or
277

The Life of the Weevil

something very nearly, the bean of Monte-
zuma, the Aztec ayacot, found its way from
Mexico to our kitchen-gardens.

But it came to us unaccompanied by the
insect which is its titular consumer, for there
must certainly be a Weevil in its native
country which levies tribute on the generous
bean. Our indigenous nibblers of seeds have
disowned the foreigner; they have not yet
had time to become familiar with it and to
appreciate its merits; they have prudently
refrained from touching the ayacot, which
aroused suspicion because of its novelty.
Until our own days, therefore, the Mexican
bean remained unharmed, differing curiously
in this from our other legumina, all of which
are eagerly devoured by the Weevil.

This state of things could not last. If
our fields do not contain the haricot-loving
insect, the New World knows it well. In
the ordinary way of commercial exchange,
some sack of worm-eaten beans was bound
to bring it to Europe. The invasion was
inevitable.

Indeed, according to data in my possession,
it seems recently to have taken place. Three
or four years ago, I received from Mail-
278

The Haricot-Weevil

lanne, in the Bouches-du-Rhone, what I was
vainly seeking in my neighbourhood,
although I cross-examined both farmers and
housewives, astonishing them greatly by my
questions. No one had ever seen the pest
of the haricots; no one had ever heard of it.
Friends who knew of my enquiries sent me
from Maillanne, as I have said, the where-
withal to satisfy fully my curiosity as a na-
turalist. It consisted of a bushel of hari-
cots outrageously spoilt, riddled with holes,
changed into a sort of sponge and swarming
inside with innumerable Bruchi, which re-
called the Lentil-weevil by their diminutive
size.

The senders told me of the damage
suffered at Maillanne. The odious insect,
they said, had destroyed the best part of the
crop. A veritable plague, the like of which
had never been known before, had fallen
upon the haricots, leaving the housekeeper
hardly any with which to garnish her stew.
Of the culprit's habits, of its way of going to
work nothing was known. It was for me to
find out this by experiment.

Quick, then, let us experiment! Cir-
cumstances favour me. We are in the
279

The Life of the Weevil

middle of June; and I have in the garden a
row of early haricots, black Belgian haricots,
sown for cooking-purposes. Though it
mean sacrificing the precious vegetable, let
us loose the terrible destroyer on the mass of
verdure. The development of the plant is
at just the right stage, if I may go by what
the Pea-weevil has already shown me : there
are plenty of flowers and also of pods, still
green and of all sizes.

I put two or three handfuls of my Mail-
lanne haricots in a plate and place the swarm-
ing mass full in the sunlight on the edge of
my bed of beans. I can imagine what will
happen. The insects which are free and
those which the stimulus of the sun will soon
set free will take to their wings. Finding
the fostering plant close by, they will stop
and take possession of it. I shall see them
exploring the pods and flowers and I shall
not have long to wait before I witness the
laying. That is how the Pea-Weevil would
act under similar conditions.

Well, no : to my confusion, matters do not
fall out as I foresaw. For a few minutes
the insects bustle about in the sunlight, open-
ing and closing their wing-cases to ease the
280

The Haricot-Weevil

mechanism of flight; then one by one they
fly off. They mount high in the luminous
air; they grow smaller and smaller and are
soon lost to view. My persevering attention
meets with not the slightest success : not one
of the fly-aways settles on the haricots.

After tasting the joys of liberty to the full,
will they return this evening, to-morrow, the
day after? No, they do not return. All
the week, at favourable hours, I inspect the
rows of beans, flower by flower, pod by pod;
never a Weevil do I see, never an egg. And
yet it is a propitious time of year, for at
this moment the mothers imprisoned in my
jars are laying their eggs profusely on the
dry haricots.

Let us try at another season. I have two
other beds which I have had sown with the
late haricot, the red cocot, partly for the
use of the household, but principally for the
sake of the Weevils. Arranged in conveni-
ent rows, the two beds will yield their crops
one in August, the other in September and
later.

I repeat with the red haricot the experi-
ment which I made with the black. On
several occasions, at opportune times, I
281

The Life of the Weevil

release into the tangle of verdure large num-
bers of Bruchi from my glass jars, the
general depot. Each time the result is
plainly negative. In vain, all through the
season, I repeat my almost daily search,
until both the crops are exhausted: I can
never discover a single colonized pod, nor
even a single Weevil perched upon the plant.

And yet this is not for lacking of watch-
ing. My family are enjoined not to touch
any part of certain rows which I reserve for
my purposes ; they are told to mind the eggs
which might occur on the pods gathered.
I myself examine the beans brought from
my own or the neighbouring gardens, before
handing them to the housekeeper to be
shelled. All my trouble is wasted: there is
nowhere a trace of any laying.

To these experiments in the open air I
add others under glass. I place in long,
narrow flasks fresh pods hanging from their
stalks, some green, others mottled with crim-
son and containing seeds which are nearly
ripe. Each flask receives its complement of
Weevils. This time I obtain eggs, but they
do not inspire me with much hope: the
mother has laid them on the sides of the
282

The Haricot-Weevil

flasks and not on the pods. No matter:
they hatch. For a few days I see the grubs
roaming about, exploring the pods and the
glass with equal zeal. In the end they all
die, from the first to the last, without touch-
ing the food provided.

The conclusion to be drawn is obvious:
the young and tender haricot is not the thing
for them. Unlike the Pea-weevil, the Hari-
cot-weevil refuses to entrust her family to
beans that are not hardened by age and
desiccation ; she declines to stop on my seed-
patch, because she does not find the provi-
sions which she requires.

Then what does she want? She wants
old, hard beans, which clatter on the ground
like little pebbles. I will satisfy her. I
place in my flasks some very hard, tough
pods, which have been long dried in the sun.
This time the family prospers ; the grubs bore
through the parched shell, reach the seeds,
enter them ; and henceforth all goes well as
well can be.

To all appearances, this is how the Weevil
invades the farmer's granary. Some hari-
cots are left standing in the fields until both
plants and pods, baked by the sun, are per-
283

The Life of the Weevil

fectly dry. This will make them easier to
beat in order to separate the beans. It is
now that the Weevil, finding things as she
wants them, begins her laying. By getting
in his crop a little late, the peasant gets the
marauder into the bargain.

But the Bruchus attacks more especially
the seeds in our stores. Copying the Corn-
weevil, who eats the wheat in our granaries
and disregards the cereal swaying in the ear,
in the same way she abhors the tender bean
and prefers to make her home in the peace
and darkness of our warehouses. She is a
formidable enemy of the corn-chandler rather
than of the farmer.

What a fury of destruction, once the rava-
ger is installed amidst our hoards of beans!
My flasks proclaim the fact aloud. A single
haricot-bean harbours a numerous family,
often as many as twenty. And not only one
generation exploits it, but quite three or four
in the year. So long as any edible matter
remains within the skin, so long do new
consumers settle down in it, until in the end
the haricot becomes a loathsome sugar-plum
stuffed with stercoral droppings. The skin,
which the grubs refuse to eat, is a sack
284

The Haricot-Weevil

pierced with round holes numbering as many
as the inhabitants that have left it; the con-
tents yield to the pressure of the finger and
spread into a disgusting paste of floury ex-
creta. The bean is a complete wreck.

The Pea-weevil, living alone in its seed,
eats only enough to make a little hollow for
the nymph. The rest remains intact, so that
the pea is able to sprout and can even serve
as food, if we dismiss any unreasonable
repugnance from our mind. The American
insect does not exercise this self-restraint:
it empties its haricot entirely, leaving a skin-
ful of filth which I have seen refused by the
pigs. America does not do things by halves
when she sends us her plagues of insects.
We had to thank her for the Phylloxera,
the disastrous Louse against whom our vine-
growers wage incessant war; and now we
have to thank her for the Haricot-weevil,
a serious future menace. A few experiments
will give us an idea of the danger.

For nearly three years there have stood,
on the table of my insect laboratory, some
dozens of jars and bottles closed with gauze
covers which prevent escape, while permit-
ting constant ventilation. These are the
285

The Life of the Weevil

cages containing my wild animals. In them
I rear the Haricot-weevil, varying the diet
as I please. They teach me among other
things that the insect, far from being exclu-
sive in the choice of its establishments, will
make itself at home in our different legumina,
with very few exceptions.

All the haricots suit it, whether black or
white, red or striped, small or large, those of
the last crop or those many years old and
almost too hard to boil. The loose beans
are attacked by preference, as being less
troublesome to invade; but, when there are
no shelled beans available, those covered by
their natural sheath are just as zealously ex-
ploited. The new-born grubs are well able
to reach them through the pod, which is
often as stiff as parchment. This is how the
beans are raided in the fields.

Another highly-appreciated bean is the
long-podded dolichos, known among our
people as lou faiou borgne, the one-eyed
haricot, because of the dark speck which
gives the umbilicus the look of a black eye.
I even fancy that my boarders show a
marked predilection for this bean.

So far, there is nothing abnormal: the
286

The Haricot-Weevil

Bruchus has not gone beyond the botanical
genus Phaseolus. But here is something that
increases the danger and shows us the
phaseolus-lover in an unexpected light. The
Bruchus accepts without the least hesitation
the dried pea, the broad bean, the everlasting
pea, the vetch, the chick-pea; she passes from
one to the other, always satisfied; her family
live and prosper in all these legumina as well
as they do in the haricot. Only the lentil is
refused, perhaps because of its insufficient
size. What a dread robber this American
Weevil is !

The evil would become still greater if, as
I feared at first, the ever greedy insect passed
from leguminous seeds to cereals. This
it does not do. When installed in my jars
with a heap of wheat, barley, rice or maize,
the Bruchus invariably dies without offspring.
The result is the same with horny seeds, such
as coffee-beans; with oleaginous seeds, such as
those of the castor-oil-plant or of the sun-
flower. Nothing outside the legumina suits
the Bruchus. Notwithstanding these limita-
tions, its portion is a very extensive one; and
it uses and abuses it with the utmost energy.

The eggs are white and drawn out into

The Life of the Weevil

a tiny cylinder. They are scattered anyhow
and anywhere. The mother lays them either
singly or in little groups, on the sides of the
jar as well as on the haricots. Her heed-
lessness is such that she will even fasten
them to maize, castor-oil-seeds, coffee-beans
or other seeds, on which the family are
doomed soon to perish, finding no food to
their liking. What is the use of maternal
foresight here? Left no matter where,
under the heap of beans, the eggs are always
well-placed, for it is the new-born grubs'
business to seek and find the spots at which
to effect an entrance.

The egg hatches in five days at most.
Out of it comes a tiny white creature, with a
red head. It is a mere speck, just visible
to the naked eye. The grub is swollen in
front, to give more strength to its tool, the
chisel of its mandibles, which has to break
through the tough seed, hard as wood. The
larvae of the Buprestes and the Capricorns,
which tunnel through the trunks of trees, are
similarly shaped. As soon as it is born, the
crawling worm makes off at random, with an
activity which we should hardly expect in one

The Haricot-Weevil

so young. It roams about, anxious to find
board and lodging as soon as possible.

It attains its object, for the most part,
within the twenty-four hours. I see the
worm making a hole in the tough skin of the
seed; I watch its efforts; I catch sight of it
half-sunk in the beginning of a gallery whose
entrance is dusty with white flour, the refuse
from the boring. It works its way in and
penetrates into the heart of the seed. Its
evolution is so rapid that it will emerge in
the adult form in five weeks' time.

This hasty development permits several
generations to take place in the course of the
year. I have seen four. On the other hand,
an isolated couple supplied me with a family
of eighty. Let us consider only half this
number, to allow for the two sexes, which I
take to be equally represented. At the end
of the year, the couples resulting from this
source will therefore be represented by the
fourth power of forty, reaching in terms of
larvae the frightful total of over two and a
half millions. What a heap of haricots such
a legion would destroy!

The larva's methods remind us at all

The Life of the Weevil

points of what the Pea-weevil showed us.
Each grub digs itself a cell in the floury mass,
while respecting the skin in the form of a pro-
tective disk, which the adult will easily be
able to push out at the moment of leaving.
Towards the end of the larval phase, the
cells show through on the surface of the bean
as so many dark circles. At last the lid falls
off, the insect leaves its cell and the haricot
remains pierced with as many holes as it had
grubs feeding on it.

Very frugal, satisfied with a few floury
scraps, the adults seem not at all anxious to
abandon the heap so long as beans worth ex-
ploiting remain. They mate in the inter-
stices of the stack; the mothers scatter their
eggs at random ; the young grubs make them-
selves at home, some in the untouched hari-
cots, some in the beans that are holed but
not yet exhausted; and the swarming is re-
peated every five weeks throughout the sum-
mer, after which the last generation, the one
born in September or October, slumbers in
its cells till the return of the warm weather.

If ever the spoiler of the haricots became
too ominously threatening, it would not be
very difficult to wage a war of extermination
290

The Haricot-Weevil

upon her. We know from her habits the
best tactics to follow. She ravages the dry
and gathered crop, stored in the granaries.
It is an irksome matter to attend to her in
the open fields; and it is also almost useless.
The bulk of her business is conducted else-
where, in our warehouses. The enemy
settles down under 'our roof, within our
reach. This being so, with the aid of insecti-
cides defence becomes relatively easy.

CHAPTER XIV

THE IRIS-WEEVIL

pLANTS, with their fruits, have been
•^ and still are the main sustenance of man-
kind. The ancient Paradise of which the
eastern legends tell us had no other food-
resources. It was a delicious garden with
cool rivulets and fruits of every kind, includ-
ing the apple that was to be so fatal to us.
On the other hand, from a very early period,
our ills sought to obtain relief by the virtues
of simples, virtues that were sometimes real
and sometimes, indeed most frequently, ima-
ginary. Our knowledge of plants is thus as
old as our infirmities and our need of food.
Our knowledge of insects, on the contrary,
is quite recent. The ancients knew nothing
of the lesser animals, did not even deign to
glance at them. This disdain is by no means
extinct. We are vaguely familiar with the
work of the Bee and the Silk-worm; we have
heard people speak of the industry of the
292

The Iris-Weevil

Ant; we know that the Cicada sings, without
having a very exact notion of the singer, who
is confused with others; we have perhaps
vouchsafed a careless glance to the splen-
dours of the Butterflies; and with this, for
the immense majority, entomology begins
and ends. What layman would risk naming
an insect, even one of the more remarkable?

The Provencal peasant, who is pretty quick
at observing things that have to do with the
land, has a dozen expressions at the very
most to denominate indiscriminately the vast
world of insects, though he possesses a very
rich vocabulary by which to describe plants.
This or that bit of weed which one would
think was known only to the botanists is to
him a familiar object and bears a special
name of its own.

Now the vegetarian insect is, as a rule,
scrupulously faithful to its food-plant, so
that, with botany and entomology going hand
in hand, the beginner is spared many a hesita-
tion. The plant exploited gives the name
of the exploiting insect. Who, for instance,
does not know the splendid yellow iris?
The green cutlasses of its leaves and its
yellow cluster of flowers are mirrored in the
293

The Life of the Weevil

brooks. The pretty, green Tree-frog, swell-
ing his throat into a bagpipe, sits and croaks
in it at the approach of rain.

Come nearer. On its trivalvular capsules,
which the heat of June is beginning to ripen
we shall see a curious sight. Here, a rest-
less company of thick-set, rusty-red Weevils
are embracing, separating and coming to-
gether again. They are working with their
beaks and are busy mating. This shall be
our subject for to-day.

Our current language has not given them
a name, but history has inflicted on them the
fantastic appellation of Mononychus pseudo-
acori, FAB. Literally interpreted and am-
plified, this means "the one-nailed insect of
the mock acorus," acorus in its turn being
derived from a, privative, and *o>7 the pupil
of the eye. The grammarian's scalpel,
searching and dissecting the entrails of
words, is liable, like the anatomist's scalpel,
to meet with strange adventures. Let us ex-
plain this scientific jargon, which at first
sight seems utterly meaningless.

The plant helpful to those without
pupils — that is to say, the weak-sighted — is
the acorus, or sweet flag, which the medical
294

The Iris-Weevil

science of antiquity prescribed for certain
affections of the eyes. Its sword-shaped
leaves bear some resemblance to those of the
yellow iris. Ours, therefore, is the false
acorus, a deceptive image of the famous
medicinal plant.

As for the one nail, this is explained by
the tarsi, the insect's six fingers, each of
which is armed with a single claw instead
of the usual two. This strange exception
certainly deserved to be pointed out; all the
same, any one must prefer Iris-weevil to
Mononychus pseudo-acori. Neglecting all
pomp and ostentation, the everyday name
does not topsy-turvify the mind and makes
straight for the insect.

In June, I pluck some stems of yellow iris
surmounted by their bunch of capsules, which
are already large and keep fresh and green
for a long time. The exploiting Weevil
goes with them. In captivity, under the
trellis-work of a wire-gauze cover, the work
proceeds just as it does beside the brook.
Most of the insects, singly or in groups,
stand at convenient points. With their
rostrum plunged into the green hull, they
sip and sup indefinitely. When they retire
295

The Life of the Weevil

sated, a drop of gum oozes out "which,
after drying on the orifice of the well, marks
the spot which they have drained.

Others are grazing. They attack the
tender capsules and skin them almost down
to the seeds. Despite their tiny size, they
nibble gluttonously; when several of them
are feasting together, they gnaw large areas;
but they do not actually reach the seeds, the
food reserved for the larvae. Many of them
stroll about, seem not to care for eating.
They meet, tease one another for a moment
and couple.

I do not succeed in observing the method
of laying, which, however, must be much the
same as that of the other Weevils who use a
sound. The mother apparently bores a well
with her rostrum; she then turns and places
the egg in position by means of her oviscapt.
I have seen larvae quite recently hatched.
The vermin occupy the interior of a seed
whose substance is becoming organized and
beginning to grow firm.

At the end of July, I open some capsules

brought on the same day from the banks of

the stream. In most of them the insect

occurs in the three forms of larva, nymph

296

The Iris- Weevil

and adult. Each of the three cells of the
fruit contains a row of some fifteen seeds,
flat and pressed tightly one against the other.
The grub's portion consists of three conti-
guous seeds. The one in the middle is
entirely consumed, excepting the husk, which
is too tough; the two at either end are
simply bitten into. The result is a house
with three rooms, the central one shaped
like a ring, the two outer ones dug cup-wise.

With its fifteen seeds, each compartment
of the fruit is therefore able to shelter five
larvae at most, providing them with a fitting
ration and a detached villa which does not
interfere with the neighbours. However, on
the back of the capsule, we count, for each
cell, about twenty perforations, the edge of
which is marked by a little wart either of
gum or of some brown substance. These
are so many soundings made by the Wee-
vil's rostrum.

Some of these have to do with the feeding:
they are the refreshment-bars at which the
colonists of the capsule have taken a snack.
The others relate to the laying of the eggs
and the placing 'of them, one by one, in the
midst of the victuals. Outwardly, there is
297

The Life of the Weevil

nothing to distinguish the speck which marks
a refreshment-bar from that which marks
a cradle; therefore it is impossible, by merely
counting the borings, to tell exactly how
many eggs have been confided to the capsule.
Let us strike an average. Of the twenty
punctures in one shell, let us consider ten
as relating to the eggs. These would be
twice as many as the cell could feed. What
then has become of the surplus?

Here we are reminded of the Weevil who
scatters over her pea-pod an excessive number
of eggs, out of all proportion to the pro-
visions which it contains. In the same way,
on the iris, the pregnant mother takes no
stock of the rations ; she peoples the already
populated and fills the overflowing. Her
procreative fury does not reckon with the
future. Let those thrive who may.

We can understand Ferbascum thapsus
allowing itself forty-eight thousand seeds
when the germination of a single one would
suffice to maintain the species: its distaff is
a treasure-house of food by which a host
of consumers will profit. But we cannot
understand the Pea-weevil, the Iris-weevil
and many others who, though not exposed
298

The Iris-Weevil

to a serious thinning, nevertheless produce
excessive families without taking into account
the resources at their disposal.

For lack of room on the seed-capsule
of the iris, of the ten guests in one shell four
or five at most will survive. As for the
disappearance of the rest, we need not seek
the cause in the massacring of rivals, though
the struggle for existence is fruitful in such
crimes. The Weevil's grub is too pacific a
creature to wring the neck of those which get
in its way. I prefer the explanation which I
gave in the case of the Pea-weevil. The
late-comers, finding the best places taken,
allow themselves to die without striving to
dislodge the others. For those first installed,
a plentiful board and life; for those which
lag behind, famine and death.

In August the adults begin to appear
outside the seed-pods of the iris. The larva
has not the talent which the Pea-weevil's
grub possesses: it does not, by patient
nibbling, make any sort of preparation for
the exodus. It is the perfect insect itself
that contrives the exit-way, which consists of
a round hole bored through the tough husk
of the seed and the thick wall of the fruit.
299

The Life of the Weevil

Finally, in September, the capsules of the iris
turn brown and the three valves become
unfastened; the house threatens to fall to
pieces. Before it becomes untenable, the
last occupants hasten to clear out, each by its
round window. They will spend the winter
in the neighbourhood, under some kind of
shelter; then, when spring returns and the
iris is yellow with flowers, the colonizing of
the capsules will begin all over again.

The flora of my district, not far from the
spots frequented by our insect, in addition
to the yellow iris comprises three other
species. On the neighbouring hills, among
the rock-roses and the rosemaries, the dwarf
iris abounds (/. chamceiris, BERTOL.), with
flowers of varying colour : they are sometimes
purple, sometimes yellow or white and some-
times attired in a mixture of the three hues.
The plant is barely a hand's-breadth in
height, but its flowers are quite as large as
those of the other species.

On the same hills, at points where the
rains have left a little moisture, the spurious
iris (/. spuria) forms a glorious carpet.
It is tall, slender-leaved and decked with
flowers of rare beauty. Lastly, near the
300

The Iris-Weevil

brook where I have been observing the Iris-
weevil, is the Gladwyn iris, or leg-of-mutton
iris (/. fcetidissima, LIN.), whose leaves,
when bruised, give a faint scent of mutton
and garlic. Its seeds are a fine orange-red,
a specific characteristic which recurs no
elsewhere.

Altogether, without counting such foreign-
ers as may have found their way into the
flower-gardens around, we see four varieties
of native iris at the Weevil's disposal. They
have the same sort of capsules, all equally
bulky and equally rich in seeds, whose prop-
erties as food cannot differ much. More-
over, the four plants flower at the same
season. And of these four, which would
permit her greatly to extend her race, the
Weevil invariably selects the yellow iris. I
have never found the insect established in the
capsules of one of the other three.

For what reasons does she prefer nig-
gardly uniformity to varied abundance?
The tastes of the adult insect and those of
the larva must have something to say to the
choice. The adult feeds on the fleshy hull
of the capsules; the grub, on the other hand,
lives entirely on the seeds, which are not yet
301

The Life of the Weevil

hardened and are full of juice. Are the
appetites of the adult insect satisfied with
the fruit of any kind of iris? This can be
tested.

Under the trellis-work of a wire cover,
I place before the Weevil some green
capsules of different origins. Jumbled up
with the fruits of the yellow iris are those
of the dwarf iris, the leg-of-mutton iris and
the spurious iris. To these I add some
foreign capsules, those of the pale Turkey
iris (/. pallida, LAM.) and of the great
bulbous iris (/. xiphoides, EHRH.), which
differs so greatly from the others by the bulb
which takes the place of the usual rhizone.

Well, all these fruits are accepted as
eagerly as those of the yellow iris. The
Weevil riddles them with punctures, strips
them bare, pierces them with windows. The
capsules of my choosing and those from the
banks of the stream, which are normally
used, often lie side by side; the consumer
makes no distinction between them, but goes
without hesitation from one to the other,
attacking them with a zeal which is in no
wise impaired by the novelty of the dish. It
considers everything good to eat, so long as
302

The Iris- Weevil

it comes from an iris of some sort or other.

And this is not, as one might reasonably
suppose, an aberration caused by the tedium
of captivity. I have found in the harmas x
on the tall stalks of the pale Turkey iris,
a group of our Weevils feeding together on
the green capsules. Whence came they,
these pilgrims observed for the first time
between my four walls? How did they
learn, these colonists from the moist river-
banks, that an iris which provided excellent
eating was flowering amid the aridities of
my acre of pebbles? At any rate they left
no part of the young capsules intact. The
food discovered suited them very well. It
was therefore impossible for me to profit by
this windfall in order to ascertain whether
the unfamiliar plant would serve for the
establishment of the family.

Apart from the genus /m, are there any
other plants, its near botanical relations,
whose fruits are accepted? I have vainly
tried the trivalvular capsules of the corn-flag
(Gladiolus segetum, GAWL.) and the

1 The enclosed piece of waste land on which the author
used to study his insects in the wild state. Cf. The Life
of the Fly: chap. i. — Translator's Note.
303

The Life of the Weevil

globular capsules of two asphodels (Aspho-
dclus luteus, LIN. and A. cerasiferus, GAY).
The Weevil would have none of them. At
most she dipped her rostrum into the green
capsules of the yellow asphodel, the common
Jacob's staff. She tasted and then moved
away. The dish was not to her liking; and
hunger was unable to overcome her obstinate
disdain. She would die of starvation sooner
than touch victuals unhallowed by tradition.
It goes without saying that I found
nothing in the way of eggs on the corn-flag
or the two asphodels. What the insect
regards as unfit for its own consumption is
a fortiori refused when the grub's food is
concerned. Nor was I any luckier with the
various irises which I tried, the yellow iris
excepted. Are we to attribute this refusal
to the insect's captivity? No, for the cap-
sules of the yellow iris were colonized fairly
well under my wire covers. The fact is that,
as soon as the establishment of the family
comes into question, the Weevil abstains
entirely from anything that is contrary to
habit and remains firmly faithful to the laws
and customs of the ancients. In short, I
have never found the Weevil established
304

The Iris-Weevil

elsewhere than in the capsules of the yellow
iris, however appetizing the appearance of
the others, especially those of the dwarf iris,
which are exceedingly fleshy and very nu-
merous in the spring.

305

CHAPTER XV

THE CIONUS

AN insect, well known to every one, is
often but a stupid creature, while an-
other, of which nothing is known, is of real
value. When endowed with talents worthy
of attention, it passes unrecognized; when
richly clad and of handsome appearance, it is
familiar to us. We judge it by its coat and
its size, as we judge our neighbour by the
fineness of his clothing and the importance
of the position which he fills. The rest
does not count.

Of course, if it is to be honoured by the
historian, it is best that the insect should
enjoy popular renown. This saves the
reader trouble, as he at once knows precisely
what we are speaking of; furthermore, it
shortens the story, which is not hampered
by long and tedious descriptions. More-
over, if size facilitates observation, if ele-
gance of shape and brilliance of costume
306

The Cionus

captivate the eye, we should be wrong not
to take this magnificence into our reck-
oning.

But far more important are the habits,
the ingenious devices, which give a real charm
to entomological study. Now it so happens
that among the insects it is the largest, the
most magnificent, that are generally the
most inefficient: a freak of nature that recurs
elsewhere. What can we expect of a Cara-
bus, all shimmering with metallic gleams?
Nothing but feasting amid the foam secre-
ted by a murdered snail. What can we ex-
pect of the Cetonia, who looks as though she
had escaped from a jeweller's show-case?
Nothing but drowsy slumbers in the heart of
a rose. These magnificoes cannot do any-
thing; they have no craft, no trade.

If, on the contrary, we wish to see original
inventions, artistic masterpieces and ingen-
ious contrivances, we must apply to the hum-
ble creatures that are oftener than not un-
known to any one. And we must not allow
ourselves to be disgusted by the spots fre-
quented. Ordure has beautiful and curious
things in store for us, the like of which we
should never find on the rose. The Mino-
307

The Life of the Weevil

taur1 has edified us by his domestic habits.
Long live the modest! Long live the
little !

One of these little ones, smaller than a
peppercorn, will set us a great problem, full
of interest but probably insoluble. The offi-
cial nomenclators call it Clonus thapsus, FAB.
If you ask me what Clonus means, I shall
reply frankly that I have not the least idea.
Neither the writer of these lines nor the
reader is any the worse off for that. In en-
tomology a name is all the better for mean-
ing nothing but the insect named.

If an amalgam of Greek or Latin has a
meaning that alludes to the insect's manner
of living, the reality is often inconsistent with
the word, because the nomenclator, work-
ing in a necropolis, has preceded the obser-
ver, who is concerned with the living species.
Moreover, rough guesses and even glaring
mistakes too often disfigure the records of
the insect world.

At the present moment, it is the word thap-
sus that deserves reproach, for the plant ex-

1 The essays on Minotaurus Typhceus will appear in
the next volume of the series, to be entitled More Beetles.
— Translator's Note.

308

The Cionus

plotted by the Cionus is not the botanists1
Ferbascum thapsus at all, but quite another
plant, of wholly different character, Ver-
bascum sinuatum. A lover of the way-side,
having no fear of the ungrateful soil and the
white dust, the scallop-leaved mullein is a
southern plant which spreads over the ground
a rosette of broad, fluffy leaves, the edges of
which are gashed with deep, wavy incisions.
Its flower-stalk is divided into a number of
twigs bearing yellow blossoms whose stam-
inal filaments are bearded with violet hairs.
At the end of May, let us open the um-
brella, the collector's chief engine of the
chase, underneath the plant. A few blows
of a walking-stick on the chandelier ablaze
with yellow flowers will bring down a sort
of hail. This is our friend the Cionus, a
roundish little creature, huddled into a glob-
ule on its short legs. Its costume is not lack-
ing in elegance and consists of a scaly jacket
flecked with black specks on an ash-grey back-
ground. The insect is distinguished above
all by two large tufts of black velvet, one on
its back and the other at the lower extremity
of the wing-case. No other Weevil of our
country-side wears the like. The rostrum is
309

The Life of the Weevil

fairly long, powerful and depressed towards
the thorax.

For a long while this Weevil, with her
decoration of black spots, has occupied my
mind. I should like to know her larva,
which, as everything seems to prove, must
live in the capsules of the scollop-leaved mul-
lein. The insect belongs to the series that
nibble at seeds contained in a shell; it ought
to share their botanical habits. But vainly,
whatever the season, do I open the capsules
of the exploited plant: never do I find the
Cionus there, nor its larva, nor its nymph.
This little mystery increases my curiosity.
Perhaps the dwarf has interesting things to
tell us. I propose to wrest her secret from
her.

It so happens that a few scollop-leaved
mulleins are spreading their rosettes amid
the pebbles of my enclosure. They are not
populated, but I can easily colonize them
with specimens from the country round about,
obtained by a few battues over the umbrella.
No sooner said than done. From May on-
wards I have before my door, without fear
of disturbance by passing Sheep, the means
310

The Clonus

of following the Clonus' doings, in comfort,
at any hour of the day.

My colonies flourish. The strangers, sat-
isfied with their new camping-ground, settle
down on the twigs on which I have placed
them. They browse and gently tease one
another with their legs: many of them pair
off and gaily spend their lives revelling in the
sunshine. Those coupled together, one on
top of the other, are subject to sudden lurches
from side to side, as though impelled by the
release of a vibrating spring. Pauses follow,
of varying length; then the lurches are re-
peated, cease and begin again.

Which of the two supplies the motive force
of this little piece of machinery? It seems
to me that it is the female, who is rather
larger than the male. The jerking would
then be a protest on her part, an attempt to
free herself from the embraces of her com-
panion, who holds on despite all this shaking.
Or again, it may be a common manifestation,
the pair joyfully exulting in a nuptial rolling
from side to side.

Those who are not coupled plunge their
rostrum into the budding flowers and feast
311

The Life of the Weevil

deliciously. Others bore little brown holes
in the tiny twigs, whence oozes a drop of
syrup which the Ants will come and lick up
presently. And that, for the moment, is all.
There is nothing to tell us where the eggs
will be laid.

In July, certain capsules, still quite small,
green and tender, have at their base a brown
speck which might well be the work of the
Clonus placing her eggs. I have my doubts :
most of these punctured capsules contain
nothing. The grubs then left their cell
shortly after the hatching, the aperture, still
open, allowing them to pass.

This emancipation of the new-born grubs,
this premature exposure to the dangers of the
outside world, is not consistent with the hab-
its of the Weevils, who are great stay-at-
homes while in the larval state. Legless,
plump, fond of repose, the grub shrinks from
change of place; it grows up on the spot
where it was born.

Another circumstance increases my per-
plexity. Among the capsules which the Wee-
vil seems to have perforated with her ros-
trum, some contain eggs of an orange yellow,
grouped into a single heap of five or six or
312

The Cionus

more. This multiplicity gives us food for re-
flection. When fully matured, the capsules
of the scollop-leaved mullein are small,
greatly inferior in size to those of other
plants of the same genus. When still very
young, green and tender, those containing
the eggs are hardly as big as half a grain
of wheat. There is not food for so many
feasters in so tiny a morsel; there would not
be enough for one.

All mothers are provident. The exploiter
of the mullein cannot have endowed her six
or more nurselings with such scanty posses-
sions. For these various reasons, I doubt
at first whether these are really the Cionus'
eggs. What follows is not calculated to de-
crease my hesitation. The orange eggs
hatch out, producing grubs which within
twenty-four hours abandon their exiguous
natal chamber. They emerge through the
orifice which has been left open; they spread
over the capsule, cropping its down, a pasture
sufficient for their first mouthfuls. They de-
scend to the thin little twigs, which they strip
of their bark, and gradually move on to the
small ajacent leaves, where the banquet is
continued. Let us leave them to grow.
313

The Life of the Weevil

Their final transformation will tell me that I
really have the authentic larva of the Cionus
before my eyes.

They are bare, legless grubs, of a uniform
pale yellow, excepting the head, which is
black, and the first segment of the thorax,
which is adorned with two large black spots.
They are varnished all over their bodies with
a glutinous humour, so much so that they
stick to the paint-brush used to collect them
and are difficult to shake off. When teased,
they omit from the end of their intestine a
viscous fluid, apparently the. origin of their
varnish.

They wander idly over the young twigs,
whose bark they gnaw down to the wood;
they also browse on the leaves growing
from the twigs, which are much smaller than
those upon the ground. Having found a
good grazing-place, they stay there without
moving, curved into a bow and held in
position by their glue. Their walk is an
undulating crawl, based upon the support
of their sticky behind. Helpless cripples,
but coated with an adhesive varnish, they
are firmly enough fixed to resist a shake of
the bough that bears them without falling
314

The Cionus

off. When you have no sort of grapnel to
hold on by, the idea of clothing yourself in
glue, so that you may shift your position
without danger of falling, even in a gust of
wind, is an original invention of which, as yet,
I know no other instance.

Our grubs are easily reared. Placed in a
glass jar, with a few tender twigs of the plant
that feeds them, they go on browsing for
some time and then make themselves a pretty
empulla in which the transformation will
take place. To observe this performance
and discover the method employed was the
chief purpose of my enquiry. I succeeded,
though not without a great expenditure of
assiduity.

All its life long, the larva is smeared, on
both its dorsal and its ventral surface, with
a viscous, colourless, strongly adhesive fluid.
Touch the creature lightly, anywhere, with
the tip of a camel-hair pencil. The glutinous
matter yields and draws out into a thread
of a certain length. Repeat the touch in the
hot sunshine, in very dry weather. The vis-
cosity is not diminished. Our varnishes dry
up ; the grub's does not; and this is a property
of the greatest value, enabling the feeble
315

The Life of the Weevil

larva, without fear of being shrivelled by the
wind or the rays of the sun, to adhere firmly
to its food-plant, which loves the open air
and warm, sunny places.

The laboratory producing this sticky var-
nish is easily discovered; we have only to
make the creature move along a slip of glass.
We see from time to time a sort of treacly
dew oozing from the end of the intestine
and lubricating the last segment. The glue
is therefore supplied by the digestive canal.
Is there a special glandular laboratory there,
or is it the intestine itself that prepares
the product? I will leave the question un-
answered, for nowadays I no longer have the
steady hand or the keen sight required for
delicate dissection. The fact remains that
the grub daubs itself with a glue of which
the end of the intestine is at least the store-
house, if it is not the actual source.

How is the sticky emission distributed
over the whole body, both above and below ?
The larva is a legless cripple ; it moves about
by obtaining a hold with its behind. More-
over, it is well segmented. The back, in
particular, has a series of fairly protuberant
cushions; the ventral surface, on the other
316

The Clonus

hand, is puckered by knotty excrescences,
which change their shape considerably in the
act of crawling. When moving, with the
flexible fore-part of the body groping to find
its way, the grub consists of a series of waves
that follow one another in perfect order.

Each wave starts from the hinder extrem-
ity and by swift degrees reaches the head.
Straightway a second wave follows in the
same direction, succeeded by a third, a fourth
and so on, indefinitely. Each of these waves,
proceeding from one end of the grub to the
other, is a step. So long as the wave con-
tinues, the fulcrum, that is, the orifice of
the intestine, remains in its place, at first a
little before and then a litle behind the move-
ment as a whole. Hence the source of the
sticky dew grazes first the tip of the abdo-
men and then the end of the back of the mov-
ing grub. In this way the tiny drop of gum
is deposited above and below.

The glue has still to be distributed. This
is done by crawling. Between the puckers,
the cushions, which the locomotory wave
brings together and then separates, alter-
nately come into contact and open clefts into
which the sticky fluid gradually makes its way
317

The Life of the Weevil

by capillary action. The grub clothes itself
in glue without exercising any special skill,
merely by moving along. Each locomotory
wave, each step, supplies its quota to the
viscous doublet. This makes up for the
losses which the larva cannot fail to suffer
on the road as it roams from pasture to pas-
ture; and, since the fresh material balances
the wastage of the old, a suitable coat is
obtained, neither too thin nor too thick.

The complete coating is rapidly effected.
With the tip of a camel-hair pencil, I wash a
grub in a little water. The viscosity dis-
solves and disappears; and the water used
for washing the larva, evaporated on a slip
of glass, leaves a mark like that of a weak
solution of gum arabic. I place the grub to
dry on blotting-paper. When I now touch
it with a straw, it no longer sticks to it; it
has lost its coating of varnish.

How will it replace it? This is a very
simple matter. I allow the grub to move
about at will for a few minutes. No more
is needed; the layer of gum is restored; the
creature sticks to the straw that touches it.
To sum up, the varnish with which the
318

The Cionus

Cionus' larva is covered, is a viscous fluid,
soluble in water, quickly emitted and ex-
tremely slow to dry, even in an intensely hot
sun and in the parching breath of the North-
wind.

Having obtained these data, let us see how
the ampulla is constructed in which the trans-
formation will take place. On the 8th of
July 1906, my son Paul, my zealous collabo-
rator now that my once sturdy legs are fail-
ing me, brings me, on returning from his
morning walk, a magnificent branching head
of mullein peopled by the Cionus. It con-
tains an abundance of larva. Two of them
in particular delight me; while the others
stand browsing, these two wander about rest-
lessly, indifferent to their food. Beyond any
doubt, they are looking for a spot favourable
to the process of the nymphosis.

I place each of them singly in a small
glass tube which will allow me to observe
them easily. In case they might find the
food-plant useful, I supply them with a sprig
of mullein. And now, lens in hand, from
morning to evening and then by night, as far
as drowsiness and the doubtful light of a can-
319

The Life of the Weevil

die will permit, let us be on the alert; for very
interesting things are about to happen. Let
me describe them hour by hour.

8. A. M. — The larva is not making use
of the twig with which I provided it. It
is crawling along the glass, darting its pointed
head now this way, now that. With a gentle
creeping movement that causes an undulation
of the back and belly, it is trying to settle it-
self comfortably. After two hours of this
effort, which is certain to be accompanied by
an emission of viscous fluid, it finds a position
to its taste.

10 A. M. — Being now fixed to the glass,
the larva has shrunk into the semblance of a
little barrel, or a grain of wheat with rounded
ends. At one end is a shining black speck.
This is the head, jammed into a fold of the
first segment. The grub's colour is un-
changed : it is still a dirty yellow.

i P. M. — A copious emission of fine black
granules, followed by semifluid dejecta. To
avoid soiling its future residence and to pre-
pare the intestine for the delicate chemistry
about to follow, the grub purges itself before-
hand of its impurities. It is now a uniform
pale yellow, without the cloudy markings
320

The Clonus

that disfigured it at first. It is lying at full
length on its ventral surface.

3 P. M. — Under the skin, especially on
the back, the lens reveals subtle pulsations,
slight tremors, like those of a liquid surface
on the point of boiling. The dorsal vessel
itself is dilating and contracting, throughout
its length, more actively than usual. This
means a fit of fever. Some internal change
must be preparing, which will affect the whole
organism. Can it be the preparation for a
moult ?

5 P. M. — No, for the grub is no longer
motionless. It leaves its heap of dirt and
begins to move along impetuously, more rest-
lessly than ever. What is happening that is
in any way unusual? I think I can obtain
some idea of it with the aid of logic.

Remember that the sticky coat in which the
grub is clad does not dry up: this is a con-
dition indispensable to liberty of movement.
If changed into a hard varnish, a dry film,
it would hamper, would indeed stop the
crawling; but, so long as it remains liquid, it
is the drop of oil that lubricates the loco-
motory machine. This moist coating will
however, constitute the material of the nym-
321

The Life of the Weevil

phosis-bladder : the fluid will become gold-
beater's-skin, the liquid will solidify.

This change of condition at first suggests
oxidation. We must abandon this idea.
If the hardening were really the result of
oxidization, the grub, being sticky from its
birth and always exposed to the air, would
long ago have been clad not in a delicate
coat of adhesive, but in a stiff parchment
sheath. Desiccation obviously must take
place at the last moment and rapidly, when
the grub is preparing to change its shape.
Before then, this desiccation would be a
danger; now, it is an excellent means of
defence.

To "fix" oil-paintings our ingenuity em-
ploys siccatives, that is to say, ingredients
that act upon the oil, giving it a resinous
consistency. The Cionus likewise has its
siccative, as the following facts prove. It
may be that the grub was labouring to pro-
duce this desiccating substance, by some pro-
found change in the process of its organic
laboratory, at the time when its poor flesh
was quivering with feverish tremors; it may
be that it was proceeding to spread the sic-
322

The Cionus

cative over the whole surface of its body by
taking a long walk, the last of its larval life.

7 P. M. — The larva is once more motion-
less, lying flat on its belly. Is this the end
of its preparations? Not yet. The globu-
lar structure must have a foundation, a base
on which the grub can support itself in order
to dilate its ampulla.

8 P. M. — Round the head and the fore-
part of the thorax, which, like the rest of the
body, are touching the slip of glass, a border
of pure white now appears, as though snow
had fallen at these points. This forms a
sort of horse-shoe enclosing an area in which
the snowy deposit is continued in a vague
mist. From the base of this border some
threads of the same white substance radiate
in short tufts. This structure denotes work
done with the mouth, a miniature wire-draw-
ing. And in fact no such white substance is
seen anywhere except around the head.
Thus the creature's two ends take part in
the building of the hut: the one in front
provides the foundations, the one behind
provides the edifice.

10 P. M. — The larva shrinks. With its
323

The Life of the Weevil

support, that is to say, its head anchored to
the snowy cushion, it brings its hinder end
a little nearer; it coils up, hunches its back
and gradually turns itself into a ball.
Though not yet perceptible, the ampulla is
being prepared. The siccative has taken
effect; the original gumminess has been trans-
formed into a sort of skin, flexible enough at
this moment to be distended by the pressure
of the back. When its capacity is large
enough, the grub will become unglued, throw
off its envelope and find itself at liberty in a
spacious enclosure.

I should much like to see this peeling, but
things happen so slowly as to drive one to
despair. Let us go to bed. What I have
seen is enough to enable me to guess the little
that remains to be seen.

Next day, when the pale dawn gives me
sufficient light, I hasten to my two larva.
The bladder is completed. It is a graceful
ovoid of the finest gold-beater's-skin, adher-
ing at no point to the insect inside. It has
taken some twenty hours to manufacture. It
has still to be strengthened with a lining.
The transparency of the wall enables us to
follow the operation.

324

The Cionus

We see the grub's little black head rising
and falling, swerving this way and that and
from time to time gathering with its mandi-
bles, at the door of the intestine, a particle
of cement, which is instantly placed in
position and meticulously smoothed. So the
interior of the hut is plastered, point after
point, by small touches. Lest I should not
see clearly through the wall, I cut off the top
of a bladder, partly uncovering the larva.
The work is continued without much hes-
itation. The strange method is revealed
as plainly as one could wish. The grub
makes use of its behind as a store of con-
solidating cement; the end of the intestine
serves as the equivalent of the hod from
which the bricklayer takes his trowelful of
mortar.

This original mode of procedure is famil-
iar to me. At one time, a big Weevil, the
Spotted Larinus, inhabiting the blue-headed
globe-thistle (Echinops Ritro), enabled me to
witness a similar method. The Larinus also
expels its own cement. With the tips of its
mandibles it gathers it from the evacuating
orifice, applying it with strict economy.
Moreover it has other materials at its dis-
325

The Life of the Weevil

posal, the hairs and remnants of the florets
of its thistle. Its cement is used only to
plaster and glaze the work. The Cionus'
larva, on the other hand, employs nothing
but the oozings of its intestine ; consequently
the little hut resulting is of incomparable
perfection.

Besides the Spotted Larinus, my notes
mention .other Weevils, for instance, the
Garlic-Weevil (Brachy cents algirus), whose
larvae possess the art of coating their cells
with a thin glaze provided by the rump.
This intestinal artifice seems, therefore, to be
pretty frequently employed by the Weevils
that build little chambers in which the met-
amorphosis is to take place; but none of
them excel in it as does the Cionus. Its
task becomes yet more interesting when we
consider that, in the same factory, after a
very brief interval, three different products
are compounded: first a liquid glue, a means
of adhesion to the swaying support of the
mullein lashed by the winds; then a siccative
fluid which transforms the sticky coating
into gold-beater's-skin ; and lastly a cement
which strengthens the bladder separated
from the larva by a sort of moult. What a
326

The Cionus

laboratory, what exquisite chemistry in a
scrap of intestine !

What use are these minute details, noted
hour by hour? Why these puerilities?
What matters to us the industry of a
wretched grub, hardly known even to the pro-
fessional experts?

Well, these puerilities involve the most
weighty problems that we are privileged to
discuss. Is the world an harmonious crea-
tion, governed by a primordial force, a causa
causarum? Or is it a chaos of blind con-
flicting forces, whose reciprocal thrusts pro-
duce a chance equilibrium, for better or for
worse? Minute entomological details ex-
amined with some thoroughness, may serve
us better than syllogisms, in the scientific in-
vestigation of these trifles and others like
them. The humble Cionus, for its part, tells
us of a primordial force, the motive power
of the smallest as of the greatest things.

A day is not too long to give the bladder
a good lining. Next day, the larva molts
and passes into the nymphal state. Let us
complete its story with the data gleaned in
the fields. The cocoons are often found on
the grass near the food-plant, on the stalks
327

The Life of the Weevil

and dead blades of the Gramineae. Gener-
ally, however, they occupy the little twigs of
the mullein, stripped of their bark and
withered. The adult insect emerges sooner
or later in September. The gold-beater's-
skin capsule is not torn irregularly, at ran-
dom; it is neatly divided into two equal
parts, like the two halves of a soap-box.

Has the enclosed insect gnawed the casing
with its patient tooth and made a fissure
along the equator? No, for the edges of
either hemisphere are perfectly clean-cut.
There must, therefore, have been a circular
line ready to facilitate the opening. All that
the insect had to do was to hunch its back
and give a slight push, in order to unfasten
the roof of its cabin all in one piece and set
itself free.

I can just see this line of easy rupture on
certain intact capsules. It is a faint line ring-
ing the equator. What does the insect do
beforehand to contrive that its cell shall open
in this way? A humble plant, flowering
early in the spring, the blue or scarlet pim-
pernel, has also its soap-box, its pyxidium,
which splits easily into two hemispheres
when the time comes- for the seed to be scat-
328

The Clonus

tered. In either case it is the work of an
unconscious ingenuity. The grub does not
plan its methods any more than the pimper-
nel: it has hit upon its ingenious scheme of
joining the halves of its capsule by the in-
spiration of instinct alone.

More numerous than the capsules which
burst accurately are others which are clumsily
torn by a shapeless breach. Through this
some parasite must have emerged, some ruth-
less creature which, unacquainted with the
secret of the delicate joint, has released itself
by tearing the gold-beater's-skin. I find its
larva in cells which are not yet perforated.
It is a small, white grub, fixed to a discol-
oured tit-bit which is all that remains of the
Cionus' nymph. The intruder is sucking dry
the rightful occupant, whose budding flesh
is still quite tender. I think I can identify
the murderess as a bandit of the Chalcid
tribe, which is addicted to such massacres.

Her appearance and her gluttonous ways
have not misled me. My rearing-jars pro-
vide me with abundant supplies of a small
bronze-coloured Chalcid with a large head
and a round, tapering body, but with no visi-
ble boring-tool. To enquire her name of the
329

The Life of the Weevil

experts will not help me much. I do not ask
the insect, "what are you called?" but "what
are you able to do?"

The anonymous parasite hatched in my
jars has no implement similar to that of the
Leucospis,1 the chief of the Chalcididae; it
has no probe which is able to penetrate a
wall and place the egg, at some distance, on
the food-ration. Her germ, therefore, was
laid in the very flanks of the Cionus' larva,
before the latter had built its shell.

The methods of these tiny brigands ap-
pointed to the task of thinning out the too
numerous are extremely varied. Each guild
has its own method, which is always horribly
effective. How should so small a creature
as the Cionus cumber the earth? No
matter: it has to be massacred, to perish in
its cradle, a victim of the Chalcid. Like
other creatures, the peaceful dwarf must
furnish its share of organizable matter,
which will be further and further refined as it
passes from stomach to stomach.

Let us recapitulate the habits of the
Cionus, very strange habits in an insect of

1 The Life of the Fly: chaps, ii. and iii. — Translator's
Note.

330

The Cionus

the Weevil series. The mother entrusts her
eggs to the swelling capsules of the scollop-
leaved mullein. So far, everything is ac-
cording to rule. Other Weevils, as a matter
of fact, prefer, when setting their children up
in life, the pods of some other mullein, or
those of the figwort or of the snapdragon,
two plants belonging to one and the same
botanical family. But now we are suddenly
confronted with the strange and exceptional.
The mother Cionus choses the mullein with
the smallest capsules, whereas in the neigh-
bourhood and at the same season there are
others loaded with fruit whose dimensions
would provide spacious lodgings and abun-
dance of food. She prefers dearth to plenty
and narrow to spacious quarters.

Worse still. Indifferent to leaving pro-
vision for her brood, she nibbles the tender
seeds, destroys them, extirpates them, in
order to obtain a cavity in the heart of the
tiny globule. Into this she slips more or less
half a dozen eggs. With the edible sub-
stance left, were the whole cell to be con-
sumed, there would not be enough to feed a
single grub.

When the bread-pan is empty, the house is
331

The Life of the Weevil

deserted. The young abandon their famine-
stricken dwelling on the day when they are
hatched. They are bold innovators and'
practice a method which is held in detestation
among the Weevils, who are all preeminently
stay-at-homes: they dare the dangers of the
outer world : they travel, passing from one
leaf to another in search of food. This
strange exodus, unprecedented in a Weevil, is
not a mere caprice but a necessity imposed
on them by hunger; they migrate because
their mother has not provided them with any-
thing to eat.

If traveling has its pleasures, enough to
make the insect forget the delights of the cell
in which it digests at peace, it also has its
drawbacks. The legless grub can progress
only by a sort of creeping gait. It has no
instrument of adherence which will enable it
to remain fixed to the twig, whence the least
breath of wind may make it fall. Necessity
is the mother of invention. To guard
against the danger of falling, the wanderer
smears itself with a viscous fluid, which var-
nishes it and makes it adhere to the trail
which it is following.

But this is not all. When the ticklish
332

The Clonus

moment of the nymphosis arrives, a retreat
in which the grub can undergo its transfor-
mation in peace becomes indispensible. The
vagabond has nothing of the sort. It is
homeless, it sleeps in the open air; yet it is
able, when the time comes, to make itself a
tent, a capsule, the materials for which are
supplied by its intestine. No other insect of
its order can build a home like this. Let us
hope that the hateful Chalcid, the murderer
of nymphs, will not visit it in its pretty little
tent.

The grub that lives on the scollop-leaved
mullein has shown an utter revolution in the
habits of the Weevil clan. The better to
judge of this, let us consult a cognate species,
placed not far from the Cionus by the classi-
fiers; let us compare the two kinds of life,
on the one hand the exception and on the
other the rule. The comparison will be all
the more useful inasmuch as the new wit-
ness also exploits a mullein. It is known as
Gymnetron thapsicola, GERM.

Dressed in russet homespun, with a plump
round body and about the size of the Cionus :
there you have the creature. Note the
qualifying thapsicola, meaning an inhabitant

333

The Life of the Weevil

of the thapsus. On this occasion, I am glad
to see, the term could not possibly be
happier: it enables the novice to identify the
insect exactly, without other data than the
name of the plant on which it lives.

The botanist gives the name of Verloascum
thapsus to the common mullein, or shepherd's
club, a lover of the tilled fields in both the
north and the south. Its bloom, instead of
branching out like that of the scollop-leaved
mullein, consists of one thick cone of yellow
flowers. These flowers are followed by
close-packed capsules about as big as a fair-
sized olive. Here we no longer have the
niggardly pods in which the grub of the
Cionus would die of starvation if it did not
abandon them as soon as it is hatched; these
caskets contain plenty of victuals for one
larva and even for two. A partition divides
them into two equal compartments, both of
them crammed with seeds.

The fancy took me to estimate roughly
the mullein's wealth of seeds. I have
counted as many as 321 in a single shell.
Now a spike of ordinary size contains 150
capsules. The total number of seeds is there-
fore 48,000. What can the plant want with

334

The Clonus

such abundance? Allowing for the small
number of seeds required to maintain the
species in a thriving state, it is evident that
the mullein is a hoarder of nutritive atoms;
it creates foodstuffs; it summons guests to its
opulent banquet.

Knowing these facts, the Gymnetron, from
May onwards, visits the luxuriant flower-
spike and there installs her grubs. The in-
habited capsules may be recognized by the
brown speck at their base. This is the hole
bored by the mother's rostrum, the aperture
needed for inserting the eggs. Usually there
are two, corresponding with the two cells of
the fruit. Soon the oozings from the cell
set hard and dry and obstruct the tiny win-
dow ; and the capsule is closed again, without
any communication with the outer world.

In June and July, let us open the shells
marked with brown specks. Nearly always
we find two grubs, looking fat as butter,
with their fore-parts swollen and their hinder
parts shrunken and curved like a comma.
Not a vestige of legs, which members would
be very useless in such a lodging. Lying at
its ease, the grub has plenty of food ready
to its mouth: first the tender, sugary seeds;
335

The Life of the Weevil

'then the placenta, their common support,
which is likewise fleshy and highly flavoured.
It is pleasant to live under such conditions,
motionless and devoting one's self entirely to
the joys of the stomach.

It would take a cataclysm to upset the
smug hermit. This cataclysm I bring about
by opening the cell. Then and there, the
grub begins to twist and wriggle desperately,
hating any exposure to the air and light. It
takes more than an hour to recover from its
excitement. Here assuredly is a grub that
will never be tempted to leave its home and
go wandering about like the Cionus' larva.
It is most highly domestic by inheritance and
domestic it will remain.

It refuses even to go next door. In the
same capsule, on the other side of the par-
tition, a neighbour is nibbling away. Never
does it pay the neighbour a visit, though it
could easily do so by perforating the par-
tition, which at this moment is an actual sort
of cake, no less tender than the seeds and
the placenta. Each holds the other's share
of the capsule inviolable. On the one hand
is one grub; on the other hand is another;
and never do the two hold the least communi-
336

The Clonus

cation through the little skylight. A grub's
home is its castle.

The Gymnetron is so happy in her cell that
she stays there a long time after assuming
her adult form. For ten months out of the
twelve she does not leave it. In April, when
the buds of the new twigs are swelling, she
pierces the natal capsule, now a mighty don-
jon; she comes out and revels in the sun on
the recent flower-spikes, which grow daily
longer and thicker; she frisks in couples and,
in May, establishes her family, which will
obstinately repeat the sedentary habits of
the elders.

With these data before us, let us philoso-
phize awhile. Every Weevil spends its lar-
val life on the spot where the egg was laid.
Various larvae, it is true, when the time of
metamorphosis approaches, migrate and
make their way underground. The Brachy-
cerus abandons its clove of garlic, the Bal-
aninus its nut or acorn, the Rhynchites its
vine-leaf or poplar-leaf cigar; the Ceutho-
rhynchus its cabbage stalk. But these in-
stances of desertion on the part of grubs
which have attained their full growth do not
in any way invalidate the rule: all Weevil-

337

The Life of the Weevil

larvae grow up in the actual place where they
are born.

Now here, by a most unexpected change of
tactics, the Cionus-grub, while still quite
young, quits its natal cell, the capsule of the
mullein ; it longs for the outer world, that it
may browse in the open air on the bark of a
twig; and this entails upon it two inventions
elsewhere unknown : the sticky coat, which
gives it a firm hold when it moves from place
to place, and the gold-beater's-skin ampulla,
which serves to house the nymph.

What is the cause of this aberration?
Two theories are suggested, one based on
decadence, the other on progress. Of old,
we tell ourselves, the mother Cionus, far
back in the ages, used to obey the conventions
of her tribe. Like the other Weevils that
munch unripe seeds, she favoured large cap-
sules, enough to feed a sedentary family.
Later, by inadvertence or flightiness or for
some other reason, she turned her attention
to the stingy scollop-leaved mullein. Faith-
ful to ancient custom, she rightly chose for
her domain a plant of the same family as
that which she first exploited; but it unfor-
tunately happens that the mullein adopted is
338

The Clonus

incapable of feeding a single grub in its fruit,
which is too small for the purpose. The
mother's ineptitude has led to decadence ; the
perils of a wandering life have taken the
place of a peaceful, sedentary existence. The
species is on the high road to extinction.

Again, we might argue as follows, at the
outset, the Cionus had the scollop-leaved
mullein as her portion; but, since the grubs
do not thrive when thus installed, the mother
is searching for a better means of setting
them up in life. Gradual experiment will
one day show her the way. From time to
time, indeed, I find her on Fervascum maiale
or Verbascum thapsus, both of which have
large capsules; only she is there by accident,
in the course of a trip, thinking of obtaining
a good drink and not of laying her eggs.
Sooner or later, the future will establish her
there for the sake of her family. The species
is in process of improvement.

By dressing up the matter in uncouth
phrases, calculated to conceal the vagueness
of the thought behind them, we might repre-
sent the Cionus as a magnificent example of
the changes which the centuries bring about
in the habits of insects. This would sound

339

The Life of the Weevil

extremely learned, but would it be very in-
telligible? I doubt it. When my eyes fall
upon a page bristling with barbarous and so-
called scientific locution, I say to myself:

"Take care! The author has not quite
grasped what he is saying, or he would have
found, in the vocabulary hammered out by
so many brilliant minds, words that would
express his thought more plainly."

Boileau,1 who has been denied poetic in-
spiration, but who certainly possessed com-
mon-sense and plenty of it, tells us :

"Ce que I'on concoit bien s'enonce claire-
ment." 2

Just so, Nicolas! Yes, clearness, clear-
ness always ! He calls a spade a spade. Let
us do as he does, let us qualify as gibberish
any over-learned prose that reminds us of
Voltaire's witty sally:

"When the listener does not understand
and the speaker does not himself know what
he is saying, then they are talking meta-
physics."

"And advanced science," let us add.

1 Nicholas Boileau-Despreaux (1636-1711), author of
L'Art poetique and other poetical, critical and satirical
works. — Translator's Note.

2 "That which is well conceived is also clearly stated."

340

The Clonus

We will confine ourselves to stating the
problem of the Cionus, without much hope
that some day it will be clearly solved. For
that matter, if the truth be told, it may be
that there is no problem at all. The grub of
the Cionus was a vagabond in the beginning
and a vagabond it will remain, among the
other Weevil-grubs, which are all essentially
stay-at-home larvae. Let us leave it at
that: it is the simplest and most lucid ex-
planation.

THE END

341

Index

Acorn-weevil (see Ele-
phant Weevil)

Agrippa, 5, 8

Antony (see Mark Antony)

Anthidium, 200

Apoderus coryli (see Apo-
derus of the Hazel)

Apoderus of the Hazel,
175, 177, i«x, '83, 186,
196

Aristophanes, 272

Artichoke-weevil, 61, 65,

Attelabus curculionoides ,
175, 185, 187, 191, I9i
I96

Augustus, 5, 6

B

Balaninus (see the va-
rieties below)

Balaninus elephas (see Ele-
phant Weevil)

Balaninus nucum (see Nut-
weevil)

Bear (see also Cave-
bear), 5

Bear Lairnus, 54, 58, 60, 83

Becaru (see Vine-weevil)

Black, Adam and Charles,
V

Blackbird, 107, 108, no

Bluebottle, 250

Boileau-Despreaux Nico-
las, 340

Bombyx, 163

Brachycerus algirus, 169,
171, 218, 326, 337

Bruchus (see Haricot-
weevil. Pea-weevil)

Burying-bee'tle (see Nec-
rophorus)

Butterfly (see also the
varieties), 76, 77

Caggae Butterfly (see
Large White Butterfly)

Capricorn, 17, 18, 44, 72,
73, 133, 155, 156, 288

Carabus, 17, 18, 307

Carcharodon megalodon, 9

Cave-bear, 230

Cerambyx heros (see Capri-
corn)

Cerceris, 78, 144

Cetonia (see C. ftoricola,
Rose-chafer)

Cetonia ftoricola, 45, 7*,
77, 219, 307

Ceutorhyncus, 337

Chalcid, 264, 329, 330, 333

Chalcis, 262, 263

Chalicodoma (see Mason-
bee)

Cicada, 30, 293

Cionus, (see Cionus Thap-
sus)

Cionus Thapsus, 308, 309,
310, 312, 313, 3*4, 3*9.
322, 326, 330, 338, 339,

343

Index

Clam (see Surf Clam)

Cleopatra, 7

Cockchafer (see Pine Cock-
chafer)

Columella, 229

Conus, ii

Copris, 74, 225, (see also
Spanish Copris)

Corn-weevil, 232, 284

Cotton-bee (see Anthi-
dium)

Courcoussoun (see Haricot-
weevil)

Cricket, 173

Crocodile, 6, 12, 22

Cuckoo, 113

Cytherida, n

Dove, 19

Dung-beetle, 17, 73, 78,
200, 224, (see also Bol-
bites, Copris, Necropho-
rus, Onitis, Onthopha-
gus, Phanaeus, Sacred
Beetle)

Dytiscus, 1 8

Garlic-weevil (see Brachy-

cerus Algirus)
Gnat, 15, 16

Grasshopper, 30, 113, 11$
Great Water-beetle, 18
Green Lizard, 19
Ground-beetle (see Cara-

bus)
Gymnetron thapsicola, 136,

137, 333, 335, 337
Gyrinus (see Whirligig

Beetle)

H

Haricot-weevil, 236, 279,

280, 283, 285, 286
Hedgehog, 26
Helix pomatia (see Large

Edible Snail)
Heredia, Jose Maria de,

275
Hunting Wasp, (see Cer-

ceris, Sphex)
Hydrophilus (see Great

Water-beetle)

Edible Snail (see Large

Edible Snail)
Elephant Weevil, 88, 121,

122

Falcon, £

Field-mouse, "108, 109, 132,

133, 136
Fly, 1 6, 142

344

Ichneumon-fly, 30, 116
Iris-weevil, 294, 295, 298

La Fontaine, Jean de, 117
Lamia denticulata, 9
Large Edible Snail, 180
Large White Butterfly, 76,

77

Larinus (see also the varie-
ties below), 23, 24 and
Seq.

Index

Larinus conspersus (see

Spangled Larinus)
Larinus maculosus (see

Spotted Larinus)
Larinus scolymi (see Arti-

choke-weevil)
Larinus stolatus (see Stoled

Larinus)
Larinus ursus (see Bear

Larinus)

Leucospis, 30, 114, 330
Lithodomus, 10
Lizard (see Green Lizard)
Louse (see Phylloxera)

M

Macmillan Co. V
Mactra, n
Mark Antony, 7
Mason-bee, 114
Mastodon, 15
Miall, Bernard, V
Midge, 15
Minotaur (see Minotaurus

Typhoeus)

Minotaurus Typhoeus, 307
Mitre-shell (see Turri-

tella)
Mononychus pseudo-acori

(see Iris-weevil)
Mosquito (see also Gnat),

N

Necrophorus, 74, 250
Notidanus primigenius, 9
Nut-weevil, 117, 119, 121,

122, 198, 221

Cctavius (see Augustus)

Onitis, 45

Onthophagus, 45

Ovid, 271

Ox, 252

Oxyrhina xyphodon, 9

Oyster, n

Pea-weevil, 233, 236, 238;
242, 248, 251, 253, 254,
255. 259, 262, 280, 283,
285, 289, 298, 299

Petricola, 10

Phanaeus (see Phanaeus
Milan, Splendid Pha-
naeus)

Phanaeus Milon, 200, 225,
226

Pholas (see Piddock)

Phylloxera, 285

Piddock, 10

Pieris (see Large White
Butterfly)

Pig, 6, no

Pine Cockchafer, 72, 73,
76, 77

Plautus, 272

Pliny the Elder, 2

Pliny the Younger, 2

Poplar-weevil, 139, 160,
172, 194, 196, 206, 207

Porker (see Pig)

Puma, 5

345

Raspail, Francois Vincent,
170

Index

Rat, 117

Resin-bee (see Anthidium)

Rhynchites (see the varie-
ties below)

Rhynchites auratus (see
Sloe-weevil)

Rftynchites Bacchus, 199

Rhynchites betuleti (see
Vine-weevil)

Rhynchites populi (see
Poplar-weevil)

Rhynchophora, 16, 236

Robin Redbreast, 19

Rose-chafer, 45, 73

Rotifer, 195

Spotted Larinus, 26, 35, 35.

49, 57, 59, 325
Stoled Larinus, 55

Teixeira de Mattos, Alex-
ander, V
Tortoise, 12
Tree-frog, 294

U

Unwin, T. Fisher, Ltd., V
Ursus spelaeus (see Cave-
bear)

Saw-fly, 30

Scallop, ii

Sea-urchin, 7, *°» 2fi

Shark, 9

Sheep, 6, 232, 310

Silk-worm Moth (see

Bombyx)
Sloe-weevil, 196, 197, 206,

228
Snail (see also Large

Edible Snail), 179
Spangled Larinus, 66, 85
Spanish Copris, 224, 225
Sphex, 74, 250

Vanessa, 76, 77

Varro, 229

Vine-weevil, 158, 159, 160,

174, 194, 196, 206
Virgil, 5, 273
Vitruvius, 45
Voltaire, 345

W

Water-beetle (see Great

Water-beetle)
Wheel Animalculae (see

Rotifer)

Whirligig Beetle, 18
White Butterfly (see Large

White Butterfly)

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