The Life and Love of the Insect

by Jean-Henri Fabre

The artistic object bears the marks of its method of manufacture. The part that rests upon the bottom of the cavity is crusted over with earthy particles; all the rest is of a glossy polish. Owing to its weight, owing also to the pressure exercised when the Scarab manipulates it, the pear, which is still quite soft, has become soiled with grains of earth on the side that touches the floor of the workshop; on the remainder, which is the larger part, it retains the delicate finish which the insect was able to give it.

The inferences to be drawn from these minutely-observed details are obvious: the pear is no turner’s work; it has not been obtained by any sort of rolling on the ground of the spacious studio, for then it would have been soiled with earth all over. Besides, its projecting neck precludes this mode of fabrication. It has not even been turned from one side to the other, as is loudly proclaimed by its unblemished upper surface. The Scarab, therefore, has moulded it where it lies, without turning or shifting it in any way; she has modelled it with little taps of her broad battledores, just as when we saw her model her ball in the daylight.

Let us now return to the usual case, in the open. The materials then come from a distance and are introduced into the burrow in the form of a ball covered with soil on every part of its surface. What will the insect do with this sphere which contains the paunch of the future pear ready-made? The answer would present no serious difficulty if, limiting my ambition to the results obtained, I sacrificed the means employed. It would be [[35]]enough for me, as I have often done, to capture the mother in her burrow with her ball and carry one and all home, to my animal laboratory, to watch events at first hand.

A large glass jar is filled with earth, sifted, moistened and heaped to the desired depth. I place the mother and her beloved pill, which she holds embraced, on the surface of this artificial soil. I stow away the apparatus in a half-light and wait. My patience is not very long tried. Urged by the labour of the ovaries, the insect resumes its interrupted work.

In certain cases, I see it, still on the surface, destroying its ball, ripping it up, cutting it to pieces, shredding it. This is not in the least the act of one in despair who, finding herself a captive, breaks the cherished object in her bewilderment. It is an act of wise hygienics. A scrupulous inspection of the morsel gathered in haste, among lawless competitors, is often necessary, for supervision is not always easy on the harvesting-spot itself, in the midst of thieves and robbers. The ball may contain a blend of little Onthophagi, of Aphodians, which have not been noticed in the heat of acquisition.

These involuntary intruders, finding themselves very comfortable in the heart of the mass, would themselves make good use of the contemplated pear, much to the detriment of the legitimate consumer. The ball must be purged of this starveling brood. The mother, therefore, destroys it, reduces it to atoms, scrutinizes it. Then, out of the collected remnants, the ball is remade, stripped of its earthy rind. It is dragged underground and becomes an immaculate pear, always excepting the surface touching the soil.

Oftener still, the ball is thrust by the mother into the [[36]]earth of the jar just as I took it from the burrow, with the wrinkled covering which it acquired in rolling across country during the journey from the place where it was found to the spot where the insect intended to use it. In that case, I find it at the bottom of my jar converted into a pear, itself wrinkled and encrusted with earth and sand over the whole of its surface, thus proving that the pear-shaped outline has not demanded a general recasting of the mass, inside as well as out, but has been obtained by simple pressure and by drawing out the neck.

This is how, in the vast majority of cases, things happen in the normal state. Almost all the pears which I dig up in the fields are crusted, unpolished, some more, others less. If we put on one side the inevitable encrustations due to the carting across fields, these blemishes would seem to point to a prolonged rolling in the interior of the subterranean manor. The few which I find perfectly smooth, especially those wonderfully neat specimens furnished by my voleries, dispel this mistake entirely. They show us that, with materials collected near at hand and stored away unshaped, the pear is modelled wholly without rolling; they prove to us that, where the others are concerned, the earthy wrinkles of the rind are not the signs of a rolling manipulation at the bottom of the workshop, but simply the marks of a fairly long journey on the surface of the ground.

To be present at the construction of the pear is no easy matter: the sombre artist obstinately refuses to do any work as soon as the light reaches her. She needs absolute darkness for her modelling; and I need light if I would see her at work. It is impossible to unite the two conditions. Let us try, nevertheless; let us seize by fragments the truth which hides itself in its fulness.