And in fact, after several refusals, notwithstanding 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: 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 recalcitrant roll in subjection, is soon over. The male retires to a little [[124]]distance, without quitting the leaf, and the task is resumed. Sooner or later, before the seals are set upon 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 co-operation of the insatiable 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 unreservedly, 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 disturbance. 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 [[125]]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 striking. It is supplied by the Capricorn (Cerambyx 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-horned Beetle does nothing but mount his mate, who, gripped by her rider, wanders at will and, with the point of her oviscapt, selects 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 [[126]]and wife separate, languish for a few days, and die.
What conclusion are we to draw from this extraordinary persistency in the Cerambyx, 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. [[127]]
[1] Cf. The Hunting Wasps: passim; also More Hunting Wasps, by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: passim.—Translator’s Note. [↑]