Chapter ix
THE WISDOM OF INSTINCT
To paralyse her prey, the Languedocian Sphex, I have no doubt, pursues the method of the Cricket-huntress and drives her lancet repeatedly into the Ephippiger’s breast in order to strike the ganglia of the thorax. The process of wounding the nerve-centres must be familiar to her; and I am convinced beforehand of her consummate skill in that scientific operation. This is an art thoroughly known to all the Hunting Wasps, who carry a poisoned dart that has not been given them in vain. At the same time, I must confess that I have never yet succeeded in witnessing the deadly performance. This omission is due to the solitary life led by the Languedocian Sphex.
When a number of burrows are dug on a common site and then provisioned, one has but to wait on the spot to see now one huntress and now another arrive with the game which they have caught. It is easy in these circumstances to try upon the new arrivals the substitution of [[150]]a live prey for the doomed victim and to repeat the experiment as often as we wish. Besides, the certainty that we shall not lack subjects of observation, as and when wanted, enables us to arrange everything in advance. With the Languedocian Sphex these conditions of success do not exist. To set out expressly to look for her, with one’s material prepared, is almost useless, as the solitary insect is scattered one by one over vast expanses of ground. Moreover, if you do come upon her, it will most often be in an idle hour and you will get nothing out of her. As I said before, it is nearly always unexpectedly, when your thoughts are elsewhere engaged, that the Sphex appears, dragging her Ephippiger after her.
This is the moment, the only propitious moment, to attempt a substitution of prey and invite the huntress to let you witness her lancet-thrusts. Quick, let us procure an alternative morsel, a live Ephippiger! Hurry, time presses: in a few minutes the burrow will have received the victuals and the glorious occasion will be lost! Must I speak of my mortification at these moments of good fortune, the mocking bait held out by chance? Here, before my eyes, is matter for interesting observations; and I cannot profit by it! I cannot surprise the Sphex’ secret for the lack of something [[151]]to offer her in the place of her prize! Try it for yourself, try setting out in quest of an alternative piece with only a few minutes at your disposal, when it took me three days of wild running about before I found Weevils for my Cerceres! And yet I made the desperate experiment twice over. Ah, if the keeper had caught me this time, tearing like mad through the vineyards, what a good opportunity it would have been for crediting me with robbery and having me up before the magistrate! Vine-branches and clusters of grapes: not a thing did I respect in my mad rush, hampered by the trailing shoots. I must have an Ephippiger at all costs, I must have him that moment. And once I did get my Ephippiger during one of these frenzied expeditions. I was radiant with joy, never suspecting the bitter disappointment in store for me.
If only I arrive in time, if only the Sphex be still engaged in transport work! Thank heaven, everything is in my favour! The Wasp is still some distance away from her burrow and still dragging her prize along. With my forceps I pull gently at it from behind. The huntress resists, stubbornly clutches the antennæ of her victim and refuses to let go. I pull harder, even drawing the carter back as well; it makes no difference: the Sphex does [[152]]not loose her hold. I have with me a pair of sharp scissors, belonging to my little entomological case. I use them and promptly cut the harness-ropes, the Ephippiger’s long antennæ. The Sphex continues to move ahead, but soon stops, astonished at the sudden decrease in the weight of the burden which she is trailing, for this burden is now reduced merely to the two antennæ, snipped off by my mischievous wiles. The real load, the heavy, pot-bellied insect, remains behind and is instantly replaced by my live specimen. The Wasp turns round, lets go the ropes that now draw nothing after them, and retraces her steps. She comes face to face with the prey substituted for her own. She examines it, walks round it gingerly, then stops, moistens her foot with saliva, and begins to wash her eyes. In this attitude of meditation, can some such thought as the following pass through her mind:
‘Come now! Am I awake or am I asleep? Do I know what I am about or do I not? That thing’s not mine. Who or what is trying to humbug me?’
At any rate, the Sphex shows no great hurry to attack my prey with her mandibles. She keeps away from it and shows not the smallest wish to seize it. To excite her, I offer the insect to her in my fingers, I almost thrust the [[153]]antennæ under her teeth. I know that she does not suffer from shyness; I know that she will come and take from your fingers, without hesitation, the prey which you have snatched from her and afterwards present to her. But what is this? Scorning my offers, the Sphex retreats instead of snapping up what I place within her reach. I put down the Ephippiger, who, obeying a thoughtless impulse, unconscious of danger, goes straight to his assassin. Now we shall see! Alas, no: the Sphex continues to recoil, like a regular coward, and ends by flying away. I never saw her again. Thus ended, to my confusion, an experiment that had filled me with such enthusiasm.
Later and by degrees, as I inspected an increasing number of burrows, I came to understand my failure and the obstinate refusal of the Sphex. I always found the provisions to consist, without a single exception, of a female Ephippiger, harbouring in her belly a copious and succulent cluster of eggs. This appears to be the favourite food of the grubs. Well, in my hurried rush through the vines, I had laid my hands on an Ephippiger of the other sex. I was offering the Sphex a male. More far-seeing than I in this important question of provender, the Wasp would have nothing to say to my game: [[154]]