The Pine Processionary, seasoned with that stinging poison which, during my earlier investigations, brought out such a violent rash upon my skin, must be a very pungent dish. My Carabi thoroughly enjoy it. The more processions I provide, the more they consume. The fare is highly appreciated. Nevertheless, no one, so far as I know, has ever met the Gold Beetle or her larva in the [[287]]silken purses of the Bombyx.[3] I have not the slightest hope that I shall one day find them there myself. These purses are inhabited only in winter, when the Carabus, indifferent to food and overcome by torpor, lies snugly underground. But in April, when the caterpillars march in procession, seeking a good site for burial and metamorphosis, the Beetle, if he has the good luck to encounter them, must profit largely by the windfall.
The furry nature of the game does not put him off; nevertheless, the hairiest of our caterpillars, the so-called Hedgehog,[4] with its undulating mane, half-red, half-black, does seem to be too much for the glutton. For days on end it wanders about the cage in the assassins’ society. The Carabi seem to ignore its presence. From time to time, one of them will stop, circumnavigate the hairy creature, examine it and try to dig into the bristling fleece. Rebuffed at once by the long, thick, hairy palisade, he retires without [[288]]biting to the quick. Proud and unscathed, the caterpillar proceeds upon its way with undulating back.
This cannot last. In a moment of hunger, emboldened moreover by the co-operation of his fellows, the poltroon decides upon a serious attack. There are four of them, very busy around the Hedgehog, which, worried before and behind, ends by succumbing. It is ripped open and devoured as greedily as any defenceless caterpillar would be.
I supply my menagerie with various caterpillars, naked or hairy, as I chance to find them. All are accepted with the utmost zest, on the one condition that their size is not excessive as compared with that of the murderer. Too small, they are despised: the morsel would not provide an adequate mouthful. Those of the Spurge Hawk-moth and the Great Peacock Moth, for instance, would suit the Carabus, were it not that, at the first bite, the intended victim, by a twist of its powerful rump, hurls its assailant afar. After a few assaults, each followed by a distant tumble, the insect helplessly and regretfully abandons the attack. The prey is too vigorous. I have kept the two sturdy caterpillars caged with my savage Beetles for a [[289]]fortnight; and nothing very serious has happened to them. The abrupt intervention of a suddenly lifted rump overawed the ferocious mandibles.
We will award a first good mark to the Gold Beetle, for exterminating any not too powerful caterpillar. The merit is spoilt by one flaw. The insect is not a climber: it hunts on the ground, not in the foliage overhead. I have never seen it explore the twigs of the smallest shrub. In my cages, it pays no attention to the most enticing quarry fixed to a tuft of thyme, a few inches high. This is a great pity. If the insect could only climb and undertake overhead raids, how quickly would a gang of three or four purge the cabbage of its scourge, the Pieris Caterpillar! The very best always have some defect.
The Gold Beetle must be given another good mark with reference to Slugs. He feeds on all of them, including even the biggest, the Grey Slug, flecked with dark spots. The corpulent creature is soon disposed of, when attacked by three or four knackers. They make by choice for that part of the back which is protected by an inner shell, a sort of slab of mother-of-pearl that covers the region of the heart and lung. The stony [[290]]particles of which the shell is constructed abound here rather than elsewhere; and the Carabus seems to like this mineral condiment. In the same way, the favourite morsel in the Snail is the mantle, speckled with chalky dots. Easily caught and highly appreciated in flavour, the Slug, crawling at night towards the tender lettuces, must often provide the Gold Beetles with a meal. Together with the caterpillar, he appears to be the Beetle’s usual fare.
We must add the Earthworm, Lumbricus terrestris, often found outside its burrow in rainy weather. Even the biggest do not intimidate the aggressor. I dish up an Earthworm eight inches long and as thick as my little finger. The enormous annelid is attacked as soon as seen: six Carabi come hastening up together. As its only means of defence, the victim writhes forwards and backwards, wriggling and rolling upon itself. The monstrous worm drags with it, now on top and now below, the stubborn carvers, who do not let go and work alternately in their normal position or with upturned bellies. Constantly rolling and pitching, burying itself in the sand and reappearing, it does not succeed in discouraging them. It would [[291]]be difficult to find a parallel to their tenacity.
They continue to bite at the points once bitten; they hold tight and let the desperate worm flounder at will, until the tough, leathery skin ends by giving way. The contents pour forth in a blood-stained mess, into which the gluttons plunge their heads. Others hurry up to be in at the death; and soon the mighty worm is a ruin odious to look upon. I put an end to the orgy, lest the gormandizers, heavy with food, should for a long time resist the experiments which I am contemplating. Their frantic feasting tells me pretty clearly that they would finish the huge saveloy if I did not interfere.
To make amends, I throw them an Earthworm of medium size. Ripped open at different points and tugged to and fro, the worm is divided into sections which each Beetle carries off as secured and moves away to consume in seclusion. So long as the dish is not cut up, the banqueters eat peacefully among themselves, often head to head, with their mandibles fixed in the same wound; but, so soon as they feel that they have lopped off a bit that suits them, they hasten to make away with their plunder, far from any covetous envy. The bulk is general property, [[292]]without strife or contest; but the particle extracted belongs to the individual and must be nimbly carried out of the reach of any thievish enterprises.
Let us vary the provisions as far as my resources will permit. Some Cetoniæ (C. floricola) remain in the Gold Beetles’ company for a couple of weeks. They are unmolested; they are hardly vouchsafed a passing glance. Does this mean indifference to the particular game? Does it mean that the game is difficult to attack? We shall see. I remove the wings and wing-cases. The news that there are cripples about soon spreads. The Carabi hasten along and greedily root in their bellies. After a brief spell, the Cetoniæ are drained dry. The fare therefore is deemed excellent, and it was the harness of the tight wing-cases that at first intimidated the ravenous Beetles.