The result is the same with the big Black Chrysomela-beetle (Timarcha tenebricosa). The intact insect is disdained by the Carabus, who often encounters it in the vivarium and passes on, without trying to open the hermetically sealed meat-tin. But, if I remove the wing-cases, it is very satisfactorily devoured, notwithstanding its orange-yellow secretions. [[293]]Again, the same Chrysomela’s fat larva, with its delicate, bare skin, makes a treat for the Carabus. Its almost metallic, bronze-black colour causes no hesitation in the hunter. As soon as seen, the tasty morsel is grabbed, ripped open and consumed. The bronze pill is regarded as a choice titbit; as many are devoured as I am able to serve.
Under the strongly-built roof of their wing-cases, the Cetonia and the Black Chrysomela are safe from the attacks of the Gold Beetle, who has not the knack of forcing open the cuirass to reach the tender abdomen. If, on the other hand, the tin is less precisely closed, the ravener finds it an easy matter to lift the defensive sheaths of his prey and attain his ends. After a few attempts, he raises the wing-cases of Cerambyx cerdo and of many others from behind; he opens his oyster, pushes aside the shells and lays bare the succulent dainties of the abdomen. Any Beetle is accepted, if it be possible to force open the tin.
I serve a Great Peacock, fresh from the cocoon. The Gold Beetle does not make a fierce rush for the magnificent titbit. He approaches warily at intervals, trying to nibble at the abdomen. But, at the first [[294]]touch of the mandibles, the Moth grows excited, beats the ground with her wide wings and, with a sudden flap, hurls the aggressor to a distance. Attack is impossible with such game as this, for ever fluttering and giving vigorous jerks. I cut off the big Moth’s wings. The assailants are soon on the spot. There are seven of them tugging and biting the cripple’s belly. The down flies off in tufts, the skin breaks and the seven Beetles besetting the quarry dive into the entrails. It is like a pack of Wolves devouring a horse. In a little while the Great Peacock is eviscerated.
The Carabus has no particular liking for the Snail (Helix aspersa) so long as he remains intact. I place two in the midst of my Beetles, whom a couple of days’ fasting has rendered more than usually enterprising. The molluscs are ensconced within their shells; and these are stuck into the sand of the cage mouth upwards. The Carabi come up and stop for a moment, in turns; they taste the slime and at once go away in disgust, without insisting further. Slightly bitten here and there, the Snail foams by driving out the small reserve of air contained in his pulmonary sac. This viscous froth constitutes [[295]]his protection. The passing Beetle who takes a modest mouthful of this retires forthwith, not caring to dig any more.
The foamy covering is highly effective. I leave the two Snails all day in the presence of the famished Beetles. No disaster befalls them. Next morning I find them as fresh and fit as before. To save the Carabus from that odious froth, I lay bare the two molluscs over an expanse as wide as my thumb-nail, removing a fragment of the shell in the region of the pulmonary sac. The attack now becomes prompt and persistent.
Five or six Gold Beetles at a time take their stands around the breach that lays bare the non-slimy flesh. There would be more of them if there were room for a greater number, for some eager Carabi arrive who try to slip in between the occupants. Above the breach a sort of scrimmage forms, in which those nearest the victim dig and uproot its flesh, while the others look on or steal a bit from their neighbour’s lips. In one afternoon, the Snail is emptied almost to the bottom of his spiral.
Next day, when the carnage is at its height, I remove the prey and replace it by an untouched Snail, fixed in the sand with [[296]]the opening at the top. Aroused by a bath of water, the animal comes out of its shell, protruding its swan-like neck and extending to their full length its telescopic eye-stalks, which seem quite placidly to contemplate the frantic saraband of the ravenous Beetles. The imminent danger of evisceration does not prevent it from fully displaying its tender flesh, an easy prey on which, one would think, the gluttons, deprived of their meat, will fling themselves to continue the interrupted feast.
But what is this? None of the Gold Beetles pays any attention to the magnificent quarry, which, swaying with a wave-like motion, is largely uncovered by its fortress. If one of the starvelings, more greatly daring than the others, ventures to dig a tooth into the mollusc, the Snail contracts, goes indoors and begins to foam. This is enough to repel the assailant. All the afternoon and all night, the victim remains thus in the presence of five-and-twenty disembowellers; and nothing serious happens.
This same experiment, repeated on sundry occasions, proves that the Gold Beetle does not attack the unwounded Snail, even when the latter, after a shower of rain, is crawling [[297]]over the wet grass, protruding all the fore-part of his body from the shell. The Carabus wants cripples, helpless inmates of broken shells; he wants a breach which enables him to bite at a point not liable to slaver. In these circumstances, the “Gardener” can do little to restrain the Snail’s misdeeds. When injured by accident, more or less badly crushed, the ravager of our garden stuff would soon die without the Gold Beetle’s intervention.
From time to time, to vary the diet, I feed a piece of butcher’s meat to my charges. The Carabi eagerly flock around it, diligently taking up their stand, mincing it into tiny morsels and devouring it. This food, unknown to their race save perhaps in the form of a Mole disembowelled by the peasant’s spade, suits them as well as does the caterpillar. They like any sort of meat, excepting fish-meat. One day the bill of fare consisted of a Sardine. The guzzlers came trotting up, took a few mouthfuls and then withdrew without touching it again. It was too much of a novelty for them.