The Zonites, a rude clan, grazing on the heads of the p.r.i.c.kly eryngo, despise all tender preliminaries. A few rapid vibrations of the antennae on the males" part; and that is all. The declaration could not be briefer. The pairing, with the creatures placed end to end, lasts nearly an hour.
The Mylabres also must be very expeditious in their preliminaries, so much so that my cages, which were kept well-stocked for two summers, provided me with numerous batches of eggs without giving me a single opportunity of catching the males in the least bit of a flirtation.
Let us therefore consider the egg-laying.
This takes place in August for our two species of Mylabres. In the vegetable mould which does duty as a floor to the wire-gauze dome, the mother digs a pit four-fifths of an inch deep and as wide as her body.
This is the place for the eggs. The laying lasts barely half an hour.
I have seen it last thirty-six hours with Sitares. This quickness of the Mylabris points to an incomparably less numerous family. The hiding-place is next closed. The mother sweeps up the rubbish with her fore-legs, collects it with the rake of her mandibles and pushes it back into the pit, into which she now descends to stamp upon the powdery layer and cram it down with her hind-legs, which I see swiftly working. When this layer is well packed, she starts raking together fresh material to complete the filling of the hole, which is carefully trampled stratum by stratum.
I take the mother from her pit while she is engaged in filling it up.
Delicately, with the tip of a camel-hair pencil, I move her a couple of inches. The Beetle does not return to her batch of eggs, does not even look for it. She climbs up the wire gauze and proceeds to graze among her companions on the bindweed or scabious, without troubling herself further about her eggs, whose hiding-place is only half-filled. A second mother, whom I move only one inch, is no longer able to return to her task, or rather does not think of doing so. I take a third, after shifting her just as slightly, and, while the forgetful creature is climbing up the trellis-work, bring her back to the pit. I replace her with her head at the opening. The mother stands motionless, looking thoroughly perplexed. She sways her head, pa.s.ses her front tarsi through her mandibles, then moves away and climbs to the top of the dome without attempting anything. In each of these three cases I have to finish filling in the pit myself. What then are this maternity, which the touch of a brush causes to forget its duties, and this memory, which is lost at a distance of an inch from the spot? Compare with these shortcomings of the adult the expert machinations of the primary larva, which knows where its victuals are and as its first action introduces itself into the dwelling of the host that is to feed it. How can time and experience be factors of instinct? The newborn animalcule amazes us with its foresight; the adult insect astonishes us with its stupidity.
With both Mylabres, the batch consists of some forty eggs, a very small number compared with those of the Oil-beetle and the Sitaris.
This limited family was already foreseen, judging by the short s.p.a.ce of time which the egg-layer spends in her underground lodging. The eggs of the Twelve-spotted Mylabris are white, cylindrical, rounded at both ends and measure a millimetre and a half in length by half a millimetre in width.[6] Those of the Four-spotted Mylabris are straw coloured and of an elongated oval, a trifle fuller at one end than at the other. Length, two millimetres; width, a little under one millimetre.[7]
[Footnote 6: .058 x .019 inch.--_Translator"s Note_.]
[Footnote 7: .078 x .039 inch.--_Translator"s Note_.]
Of all the batches of eggs collected, one alone hatched. The rest were probably sterile, a suspicion corroborated by the lack of pairing in the breeding-cage. Laid at the end of July, the eggs of the Twelve-spotted Mylabris began to hatch on the 5th of September. The primary larva of this Meloid is still unknown, so far as I am aware; and I shall describe it in detail. It will be the starting-point of a chapter which perhaps will give us some fresh sidelights upon the history of the hypermetamorphosis.
The larva is nearly 2 millimetres long.[8] Coming out of a good-sized egg, it is endowed with greater vigour than the larvae of the Sitares and Oil-beetles. The head is large, rounded, slightly wider than the prothorax and of a rather brighter red. Mandibles powerful, sharp, curved, with the ends crossing, of the same colour as the head, darker at the tips. Eyes black, prominent, globular, very distinct. Antennae fairly long, with three joints, the last thinner and pointed. Palpi very much p.r.o.nounced.
[Footnote 8: .078 inch.--_Translator"s Note_.]
The first thoracic segment has very nearly the same diameter as the head and is much longer than those which come after. It forms a sort of cuira.s.s equal in length to almost three abdominal segments. It is squared off in front in a straight line and is rounded at the sides and at the back. Its colour is bright red. The second ring is hardly a third as long as the first. It is also red, but a little browner. The third is dark brown, with a touch of green to it. This tint is repeated throughout the abdomen, so that in the matter of colouring the creature is divided into two sections: the front, which is a fairly bright red, includes the head and the first two thoracic segments; the second, which is a greenish brown, includes the third thoracic segment and the nine abdominal rings.
The three pairs of legs are pale red, strong and long, considering the creature"s smallness. They end in a single long, sharp claw.
The abdomen has nine segments, all of an olive brown. The membranous s.p.a.ces which connect them are white, so that, from the second thoracic ring downwards, the tiny creature is alternatively ringed with white and olive brown. All the brown rings bristle with short, spa.r.s.e hairs.
The a.n.a.l segment, which is narrower than the rest, bears at the tip two long cirri, very fine, slightly waved and almost as long as the whole abdomen.
This description enables us to picture a st.u.r.dy little creature, capable of biting l.u.s.tily with its mandibles, exploring the country with its big eyes and moving about with six strong harpoons as a support. We no longer have to do with the puny louse of the Oil-beetle, which lies in ambush on a cichoriaceous blossom in order to slip into the fleece of a harvesting Bee; nor with the black atom of the Sitaris, which swarms in a heap on the spot where it is hatched, at the Anthophora"s door. I see the young Mylabris striding eagerly up and down the gla.s.s tube in which it was born.
What is it seeking? What does it want? I give it a Bee, a Halictus,[9]
to see if it will settle on the insect, as the Sitares and Oil-beetles would not fail to do. My offer is scorned. It is not a winged conveyance that my prisoners require.
[Footnote 9: Cf. _Bramble-bees and Others_: chaps. xii. to xiv.--_Translator"s Note_.]
The primary larva of the Mylabris therefore does not imitate those of the Sitaris and the Oil-beetle; it does not settle in the fleece of its host to get itself carried to the cell crammed with victuals. The task of seeking and finding the heap of food falls upon its own shoulders. The small number of the eggs that const.i.tute a batch also leads to the same conclusion. Remember that the primary larva of the Oil-beetle, for instance, settles on any insect that happens to pay a momentary visit to the flower in which the tiny creature is on the look-out. Whether this visitor be hairy or smooth-skinned, a manufacturer of honey, a canner of animal flesh or without any determined calling, whether she be Spider, b.u.t.terfly, Fly or Beetle makes no difference: the instant the little yellow louse espies the new arrival, it perches on her back and leaves with her. And now it all depends on luck! How many of these stray travellers must be lost; how many will never be carried into a warehouse full of honey, their sole food! Therefore, to remedy this enormous waste, the mother produces an innumerable family. The Oil-beetle"s batch of eggs is prodigious. Prodigious too is that of the Sitaris, who is exposed to similar misadventures.
If, with her thirty or forty eggs, the Mylabris had to run the same risks, perhaps not one larva would reach the desired goal. For so strictly limited a family a safer method is needed. The young larva must not get itself carried to the game-basket, or more probably to the honey-pot, at the risk of never reaching it; it must travel on its own legs. Allowing myself to be guided by the logic of things, I shall therefore complete the story of the Twelve-spotted Mylabris as follows.
The mother lays her eggs underground near the spots frequented by the foster-mothers. The recently-hatched young grubs leave their lodgings in September and travel within a restricted radius in search of burrows containing food. The little creature"s st.u.r.dy legs allow of these underground investigations. The mandibles, which are just as strong, necessarily play their part. The parasite, on forcing its way into the food-pit, finds itself faced with either the egg or the young larva of the Bee. These are compet.i.tors, whom it is important to get rid of as quickly as possible. The hooks of the mandibles now come into play, tearing the egg or the defenceless grub. After this act of brigandage, which may be compared with that of the primary larva of the Sitaris ripping open and drinking the contents of the Anthophora"s egg, the Meloid, now the sole possessor of the victuals, doffs its battle array and becomes the pot-bellied grub, the consumer of the property so brutally acquired. These are merely suspicions on my part, nothing more. Direct observation will, I believe, confirm them, so close is their connection with the known facts.
Two Zonites, both visitors of the eryngo-heads during the heats of summer, are among the Meloidae of my part of the country. They are _Zonitis mutica_ and _Z. praeusta_. I have spoken of the first in another volume;[10] I have mentioned its pseudochrysalis found in the cells of two Osmiae, namely, the Three-p.r.o.nged Osmia, which piles its cells in a dry bramble-stem, and the Three-horned Osmia and also Latreille"s Osmia, both of which exploit the nests of the Chalicodoma of the Sheds. The second Zonitis is to-day adding its quota of evidence to a story which is still very incomplete. I have obtained the Burnt Zonitis, in the first place, from the cotton pouches of _Anthidium scapulare_, who, like the Three-toothed Osmia, makes her nests in the brambles; in the second place, from the wallets of _Megachile sericans_, made with little round disks of the leaves of the common acacia; in the third place, from the cells which _Anthidium bellicosum_[11] builds with part.i.tions of resin in the sh.e.l.l of a dead Snail. This last Anthidium is the victim also of the Unarmed Zonitis.
Thus we have two closely-related exploiters for the same victim.
[Footnote 10: Cf. _Bramble-bees and Others_: chaps. i., iii. and x.--_Translator"s Note_.]
[Footnote 11: For the Cotton-bee, Leaf-cutter and Resin-bee mentioned, cf. _Bramble-bees and Others_: _pa.s.sim_.--_Translator"s Note_.]
During the last fortnight of July, I witness the emergence of the Burnt Zonitis from the pseudochrysalis. The latter is cylindrical, slightly curved and rounded at both ends. It is closely wrapped in the cast skin of the secondary larva, a skin consisting of a diaphanous bag, without any outlet, with running along each side a white tracheal thread which connects the various stigmatic apertures. I easily recognize the seven abdominal stigmata; they are round and diminish slightly in width from front to back. I also detect the thoracic stigma. Lastly, I perceive the legs, which are quite small, with weak claws, incapable of supporting the creature. Of the mouth-parts I see plainly only the mandibles, which are short, weak and brown. In short, the secondary larva was soft, white, big-bellied, blind, with rudimentary legs. Similar results were furnished by the shed skin of the secondary larva of _Zonitis mutica_, consisting, like the other, of a bag without an opening, fitting closely over the pseudochrysalis.
Let us continue our examination of the relics of the Burnt Zonitis.
The pseudochrysalis is red, the colour of a cough-lozenge. It remains intact after opening, except in front, where the adult insect has emerged. In shape it is a cylindrical bag, with firm, elastic walls.
The segmentation is plainly visible. The magnifying-gla.s.s shows the fine star-shaped dots already observed in the Unarmed Zonitis. The stigmatic apertures have a projecting, dark-red rim. They are all, even the last, clearly marked. The signs of the legs are mere studs, hardly protruding, a little darker than the rest of the skin. The cephalic mask is reduced to a few mouldings which are not easy to distinguish.
At the bottom of this pseudochrysalidal sheath I find a little white wad which, when placed in water, softened and then patiently unravelled with the tip of a paint-brush, yields a white, powdery substance, which is uric acid, the usual product of the work of the nymphosis, and a rumpled membrane, in which I recognize the cast skin of the nymph. There should still be the tertiary larva, of which I see not a trace. But, on taking a needle and gradually breaking the envelope of the pseudochrysalis, after soaking it awhile in water, I see it dividing into two layers, one an outer layer, brittle, h.o.r.n.y in appearance and currant-red; the other an inner layer, consisting of a transparent, flexible pellicle. There can be no doubt that this inner layer represents the tertiary larva, whose skin is left adhering to the envelope of the pseudochrysalis. It is fairly thick and tough, but I cannot detach it except in shreds, so closely does it adhere to the h.o.r.n.y, crumbly sheath.
Since I possessed a fair number of pseudochrysalids, I sacrificed a few in order to ascertain their contents on the approach of the final transformations. Well, I never found anything that I could detach; I never succeeded in extracting a larva in its tertiary form, though this larva is so easily obtained from the amber pouches of the Sitares and, in the Oil-beetles and Cerocomae, emerges of its own accord from the split wrapper of the pseudochrysalis. When, for the first time, the stiff sh.e.l.l encloses a body which does not adhere to the rest, this body is a nymph and nothing else. The wall surrounding it is a dull white inside. I attribute this colouring to the cast skin of the tertiary larva, which was inseparably fixed to the sh.e.l.l of the pseudochrysalis.
The Zonites, therefore, display a peculiarity which is not offered by the other Meloidae, namely, a series of tightly-fitting sh.e.l.ls, one within the other. The pseudochrysalis is enclosed in the skin of the secondary larva, a skin which forms a pouch without an orifice, fitted very closely to its contents. The slough of the tertiary larva fits even more closely to the inner surface of the pseudochrysalid sheath.
The nymph alone does not adhere to its envelope. In the Cerocomae and the Oil-beetles, each form of the hypermetamorphosis becomes detached from the preceding skin by a complete extraction; the contents are removed from the ruptured container and have no further connection with it. In the Sitares, the successive casts are not ruptured and remain enclosed inside one another, but with an interval between, so that the tertiary larva can move and turn as it wishes in its multiple enclosure. In the Zonites, there is the same arrangement, with this difference, that, until the nymph appears, there is no empty s.p.a.ce between one slough and the next. The tertiary larva cannot budge. It is not free, as witness its cast skin, which fits so precisely to the envelope of the pseudochrysalis. This form would therefore pa.s.s unperceived if its existence were not proclaimed by the membrane which lines the inside of the pseudochrysalid pouch.
To complete the story of the Zonites, the primary larva is lacking. I do not yet know it, for, when rearing the insect under wire-gauze covers, I never succeeded in obtaining a batch of eggs.
CHAPTER VII THE CAPRICORN
My youthful meditations owe some happy moments to Condillac"s[1]
famous statue which, when endowed with the sense of smell, inhales the scent of a rose and out of that single impression creates a whole world of ideas. My twenty-year-old mind, full of faith in syllogisms, loved to follow the deductive jugglery of the abbe-philosopher: I saw, or seemed to see, the statue take life in that action of the nostrils, acquiring attention, memory, judgment and all the psychological paraphernalia, even as still waters are aroused and rippled by the impact of a grain of sand. I recovered from my illusion under the instruction of my abler master, the animal. The Capricorn shall teach us that the problem is more obscure than the abbe led me to believe.
[Footnote 1: etienne Bonnot de Condillac, Abbe de Mureaux (1715-1780), the leading exponent of sensational philosophy. His most important work is the _Traite des sensations_, in which he imagines a statue, organized like a man, and endows it with the senses one by one, beginning with that of smell. He argues by a process of imaginative reconstruction that all human faculties and all human knowledge are merely transformed sensation, to the exclusion of any other principle, that, in short, everything has its source in sensation: man is nothing but what he has acquired.--_Translator"s Note_.]
When wedge and mallet are at work, preparing my provision of firewood under the grey sky that heralds winter, a favourite relaxation creates a welcome break in my daily output of prose. By my express orders, the woodman has selected the oldest and most ravaged trunks in his stack.
My tastes bring a smile to his lips; he wonders by what whimsy I prefer wood that is worm-eaten, _chirouna_, as he calls it, to sound wood, which burns so much better. I have my views on the subject; and the worthy man submits to them.
And now to us two, O my fine oak-trunk seamed with scars, gashed with wounds whence trickle the brown drops smelling of the tan-yard. The mallet drives home, the wedges bite, the wood splits. What do your flanks contain? Real treasures for my studies. In the dry and hollow parts, groups of various insects, capable of living through the bad season of the year, have taken up their winter quarters: in the low-roofed galleries, galleries built by some Buprestis Beetle, Osmiae, working their paste of masticated leaves, have piled their cells one above the other; in the deserted chambers and vestibules, Megachiles have arranged their leafy jars; in the live wood, filled with juicy saps, the larvae of the Capricorn (_Cerambyx miles_), the chief author of the oak"s undoing, have set up their home.
Strange creatures, of a verity, are these grubs, for an insect of superior organization: bits of intestines crawling about! At this time of year, the middle of autumn, I meet them of two different ages. The older are almost as thick as one"s finger; the others hardly attain the diameter of a pencil. I find, in addition, pupae more or less fully coloured, perfect insects, with a distended abdomen, ready to leave the trunk when the hot weather comes again. Life inside the wood, therefore, lasts three years. How is this long period of solitude and captivity spent? In wandering lazily through the thickness of the oak, in making roads whose rubbish serves as food. The horse in Job swallows the ground[2] in a figure of speech; the Capricorn"s grub eats its way literally. With its carpenter"s-gouge, a strong black mandible, short, devoid of notches, scooped into a sharp-edged spoon, it digs the opening of its tunnel. The piece cut out is a mouthful which, as it enters the stomach, yields its scanty juices and acc.u.mulates behind the worker in heaps of wormed wood. The refuse leaves room in front by pa.s.sing through the worker. A labour at once of nutrition and of road-making, the path is devoured while constructed; it is blocked behind as it makes way ahead. That, however, is how all the borers who look to wood for victuals and lodging set about their business.
[Footnote 2: "Chafing and raging, he swalloweth the ground, neither doth he make account when the noise of the trumpet soundeth."--Job, x.x.xix, 23 (Douai version).--_Translator"s Note_.]
For the harsh work of its two gouges, or curved chisels, the larva of the Capricorn concentrates its muscular strength in the front of its body, which swells into a pestle-head. The Buprestis-grubs, those other industrious carpenters, adopt a similar form; they even exaggerate their pestle. The part that toils and carves hard wood requires a robust structure; the rest of the body, which has but to follow after, continues slim. The essential thing is that the implement of the jaws should possess a solid support and a powerful motor. The Cerambyx-larva strengthens its chisels with a stout, black, h.o.r.n.y armour that surrounds the mouth; yet, apart from its skull and its equipment of tools, the grub has a skin as fine as satin and as white as ivory. This dead white comes from a copious layer of grease which the animal"s spare diet would not lead us to suspect. True, it has nothing to do, at every hour of the day and night, but gnaw. The quant.i.ty of wood that pa.s.ses into its stomach makes up for the dearth of nourishing elements.
The legs, consisting of three pieces, the first globular, the last sharp-pointed, are mere rudiments, vestiges. They are hardly a millimetre[3] long. For this reason, they are of no use whatever for walking; they do not even bear upon the supporting surface, being kept off it by the obesity of the chest. The organs of locomotion are something altogether different. The Cetonia-grub[4] has shown us how, with the aid of the hairs and the pad-like excrescences upon its spine, it manages to reverse the universally-accepted usage and to wriggle along on its back. The grub of the Capricorn is even more ingenious: it moves at the same time on its back and belly; instead of the useless legs of the thorax, it has a walking-apparatus almost resembling feet, which appear, contrary to every rule, on the dorsal surface.
[Footnote 3: .039 inch.--_Translator"s Note_.]
[Footnote 4: For the grub of the Cetonia, or Rose-chafer, cf. _The Life and Love of the Insect_, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xi.--_Translator"s Note_.]
The first seven segments of the abdomen have, both above and below, a four-sided facet, bristling with rough protuberances. This the grub can either expand or contract, making it stick out or lie flat at will. The upper facets consist of two excrescences separated by the mid-dorsal line; the lower ones have not this divided appearance.
These are the organs of locomotion, the ambulacra. When the larva wishes to move forwards, it expands its hinder ambulacra, those on the back as well as those on the belly, and contracts its front ones.
Fixed to the side of the narrow gallery by their ridges, the hind-pads give the grub a purchase. The flattening of the fore-pads, by decreasing the diameter, allows it to slip forward and to take half a step. To complete the step, the hind-quarters have to be brought up the same distance. With this object, the front pads fill out and provide support, while those behind shrink and leave free scope for their segments to contract.
With the double support of its back and belly, with alternate puffings and shrinkings, the animal easily advances or retreats along its gallery, a sort of mould which the contents fill without a gap. But, if the locomotory pads grip only on one side, progress becomes impossible. When placed on the smooth wood of my table, the animal wriggles slowly; it lengthens and shortens without advancing by a hair"s-breadth. Laid on the surface of a piece of split oak, a rough, uneven surface, due to the gash made by the wedge, it twists and writhes, moves the front part of its body very slowly from left to right and right to left, lifts it a little, lowers it and begins again. These are the most extensive movements made. The vestigial legs remain inert and absolutely useless.