Three species compose the population: the common Jardinière, or Golden Beetle, the usual inmate of our gardens; Procrustes coriaceus, the sombre and powerful explorer of the grassy thickets at the foot of walls; and the rare Purple Carabus, who trims the ebony of his wing-cases with metallic violet. I feed them on Snails, after partly removing the shell.
Hidden at first promiscuously under the potsherds, the Carabi make a rush for the wretched Snail, who, in his despair, alternately puts out and withdraws his horns. Three of them at a time, then four, then five begin by devouring the edge of his mantle, specked with chalky atoms. This is the favourite morsel. With their mandibles, those stout pincers, they lay hold of it through the froth; they tug at it, tear off a shred and retire to a distance to swallow it at their ease.
Meanwhile the legs, streaming with slime, pick up grains of sand and become covered with heavy gaiters, which are extremely cumbersome but to which the Beetle pays no attention. Heavy with mire, he staggers back to his prey and cuts off another morsel. He will think of polishing his boots presently. Others do not stir, but gorge themselves on the spot, with the whole fore-part of their body immersed in the froth. The feast lasts for hours on end. The guests do not leave the joint until the distended belly lifts the roof of the wing-cases and uncovers the nudities of the stern.
Fonder of shady nooks, the Procrustes form a separate company. They drag the Snail into their lair, under the shelter of a potsherd, and there, peacefully and in common, dismember the mollusc. They love the Slug, as easier to cut up than the Snail, who is defended by his shell; they regard the Testacella,1 who bears a chalky shell, shaped like a Phrygian cap, right at the hinder end of her foot, as a delicious tit-bit. The game has firmer flesh and is less nauseously slimy.
1 Or Shell-bearing Slug, found along the shores of the Mediterranean.—Translator's Note.
To feast gluttonously on a Snail whom I myself have rendered defenseless by breaking her shell is nothing for a warrior to boast about; but we shall soon see the Carabus display his daring. I offer a Pine-chafer, in the pink of strength, to the Golden Beetle, whose appetite has been whetted by a few days' fasting. The victim is a colossus beside the Golden Carabus; an Ox facing a Wolf.
The beast of prey prowls round the peaceful creature and selects its moment. It rushes forward, recoils, hesitates and returns to the charge. And lo, the giant is overthrown! Incontinently the other devours him, ransacking his belly. If this had happened in a higher order of the animal world, it would make one's flesh creep to watch the Carabus half immersed in the big Cockchafer and rooting out his entrails.
I test the eviscerator with a more difficult quarry. This time the victim is Oryctes nasicornis, the powerful Rhinoceros Beetle, an invincible giant, one would think, under the shelter of his armour. But the hunter knows the weak point of the horn-clad prey, the fine skin protected by the wing-cases. By means of attacks which the assailant renews as soon as they are repulsed by the assailed, the Carabus contrives to raise the cuirass slightly and to slip his head beneath it. From the moment that the pincers have made a gash in the vulnerable skin, the Rhinoceros is lost. Soon there will be nothing left of the colossus but a pitiful empty carcase.
Those who wish for a more hideous conflict must apply to Calosoma sycophanta, the handsomest of our flesh-eating insects, the most majestic in costume and size. This prince of Carabi is the butcher of the caterpillars. He is not to be overawed even by the sturdiest of rumps.
His struggle with the huge caterpillar of the Great Peacock Moth2 is a thing to see once, not oftener: a single experience of such horrors is enough to disgust one. The contortions of the eviscerated insect, which, with a sudden heave of the loins, hurls the bandit in the air and lets him fall, belly uppermost, without managing to make him release his hold; the green entrails spilt quivering on the ground; the tramping gait of the murderer, drunk with slaughter, slaking his thirst at the springs of a horrible wound: these are the main features of the combat. If entomology had no other scenes to show us, I should without the least regret turn my back upon my insects.