XII
THE IGNORANCE OF INSTINCT
The Sphex has just shown us with what infallible, transcendent art she acts, guided by the unconscious inspiration of instinct: she will now show how poor she is in resources, how limited in intelligence, and even illogical in cases somewhat out of her usual line. By a strange contradiction, characteristic of the instinctive faculties, with deep science is associated ignorance not less deep. Nothing is impossible to instinct, however great be the difficulty. In constructing her hexagonal cells with their floor of three lozenge-shaped pieces, the bee resolves, with absolute precision, the arduous problems of maximum and minimum, to solve which man would need a powerful, mathematical mind. Hymenoptera, whose larvæ live on prey, have methods in their murderous art hardly equalled by those of a man versed in the most delicate mysteries of anatomy and physiology. Nothing is difficult to instinct so long as the action moves in the unchanging groove allotted to the animal, but, again, nothing is easy to instinct if the action deviates from it. The very insect which amazes us and alarms us by its high intelligence will, a moment later, astonish [[165]]us by its stupidity before some fact extremely simple, but strange to its usual habits. The Sphex will offer an example.
Let us follow her dragging home an ephippiger. If fortune favour us, we may be present at a little scene which I will describe. On entering the shelter under a rock where the burrow is made, the Sphex finds, perched on a blade of grass, a carnivorous insect which, under a most sanctimonious aspect, hides the morals of a cannibal. The danger threatened by this bandit in ambush on her path must be known to the Sphex, for she leaves her game and runs bravely at the Mantis to administer some sharp blows and dislodge, or at all events, alarm and inspire it with respect. It does not move, but closes its deadly weapons—the two terrible saws of the arm and forearm. The Sphex returns to her prey, harnesses herself to the antennæ, and passes audaciously under the blade of grass where the Mantis sits. From the direction of her head one can see that she is on her guard, and is holding the enemy motionless under her threatening eyes. Such courage is duly rewarded; the prey is stored without further misadventure.
A word more of the Praying Mantis, the Prégo Diéou as it is called in Provence, i.e. the Pray-to-God. And, indeed, its long, pale green wings, like ample veils, its head upraised to heaven, its arms folded and crossed on its breast, give it a false resemblance to a nun in ecstatic devotion. All the same, it is a ferocious creature, bent on carnage. Although not especially favourite hunting-grounds, the workshops of various burrowing Hymenoptera are often visited by [[166]]it. Posted on some bush near the burrows, it waits until chance brings some Sphex returning home within reach, thus achieving a double capture, catching together Sphex and prey. Its patience is long tried; the Sphex is suspicious and on her guard, but from time to time a rash one lets herself be caught. By a sudden rustle of half-spread wings, as by a convulsive movement, the Mantis terrifies the approaching Sphex, which hesitates for a moment, and then with the suddenness of a spring the toothed forearm folds back on an arm also toothed, and the insect is seized between the blades of the double saw, as though the jaws of a wolf trap were closing on the beast as it takes the bait. Then, without unclosing the cruel machine, the Mantis gnaws little mouthfuls of its victim. Such are the ecstasies, the prayers, and the mystic meditations of the Prégo Diéou.
[To face p. 166.
THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC AND ITS ENEMY, THE PRAYING MANTIS
Among the scenes of carnage which the Mantis has left in my memory, let me describe the following. It passes before a working-place of Philanthus apivorus. These miners nourish their larvæ with hive-bees, which they seize on flowers while collecting pollen and honey. If the Philanthus feels that the bee is full of honey, it does not fail to squeeze it before storing it, either on the way, or at the entrance of the hole, to make it disgorge the delicious liquid; this it drinks by licking the tongue of the unfortunate bee, which, dying, extends it at full length. This profanation of a dying creature, squeezed by its murderer to empty its body and enjoy the contents, has something so hideous that I should call it a crime if a Philanthus could be held responsible. In [[167]]the midst of this horrible banquet I have seen both murderer and prey seized by the Mantis; the robber was plundered by a second robber. Horrible to relate, while the Mantis held it transpierced by the points of the double saw, and was already gnawing the under parts, the Philanthus went on licking the honey, unable to abandon the delicious food even in the throes of death. Let us cast a veil over these horrors.
We return to the Sphex, with whose burrow we must make acquaintance before going further. It is made of fine sand, or rather in the fine dust at the bottom of a natural shelter. Its passage is very short—an inch or two without a turn, leading into a single spacious oval chamber, and all is a rude, hastily made den, rather than a dwelling hollowed with art and leisure. I have already said that the captured prey, left for a brief moment or two where it was hunted, is the cause of the simplicity of this abode and of there being but one chamber or cell to each hollow. For who can say whither the chances of the day’s hunt may lead? The dwelling must be near the heavy prey, and to-day’s abode, too far off to admit of carrying the second ephippiger there, cannot be used to-morrow. Thus each time prey is caught there must be new digging out—a new burrow with its one cell, now here, now there. Now let us try some experiments to see how the insect behaves amid circumstances new to it.