[1] 3·9 inches.—Translator’s Note. [↑]
CHAPTER IV
THE SACRED BEETLE: THE GRUB, THE METAMORPHOSIS, THE HATCHING-CHAMBER
The hatching-chamber is an oval recess about one centimetre[1] in diameter. The egg is fixed at the bottom of this recess. It is cylindrical in shape, rounded at both ends, yellowish-white in colour and having nearly the bulk of a grain of wheat, but shorter. The inner wall of the recess is plastered with a greenish-brown matter, shiny, half-fluid, a real cream destined to form the first mouthfuls of the grub. In order to produce this delicate fare, does the mother select the quintessence of the ordure? The appearance of the mess tells me differently and assures me that it is a broth elaborated in the maternal stomach. The Pigeon softens the corn in her crop and turns it into a sort of milk-diet which she afterwards disgorges for her brood. The Dung-beetle has the same fond ways: she half-digests selected viands and disgorges them as a fine pap, with which she hangs the walls of the nest wherein her egg is laid. In this manner, the grub, when hatched, finds an easily-digested food that soon strengthens its stomach and allows it to attack the underlying layers, which are less daintily prepared.
A progressive change of diet is here made manifest. On leaving the egg, the feeble little grub licks the fine [[43]]sop on the walls of its lodging. There is not much of it, but it is strengthening and possesses a high nourishing value. The pap of tender childhood is followed by the pottage of the weaned nursling.
The time has come for a sight stranger than any yet displayed to me by the mechanical daring of the insect. Anxious to observe the grub in the intimacy of its home, I open in the belly of the pear a little peep-hole half a centimetre square. The head of the recluse at once appears in the opening, to enquire what is happening. The breach is perceived. The head disappears. I can just see the white chine turning about in the narrow cabin; and, then and there, the window which I have contrived is closed with a soft, brown paste, which soon hardens.
The inside of the cabin, said I to myself, is no doubt a semi-fluid porridge. Turning upon itself, as is shown by the sudden slide of the back, the grub has collected an armful of this material and, completing the circuit, has stuck its load, by way of mortar, in the breach considered dangerous. I remove the closing plug. The grub acts as before, puts its head at the window, withdraws it, spins round upon itself like a fruit-stone slipping in its shell and forthwith produces a second plug as ample as the first. Forewarned of what was coming, this time I saw more clearly.
What a mistake was mine! I am not too greatly thunderstruck, however: in the exercise of its defensive skill, the animal often employs methods which our imagination would not dare to contemplate. It is not the head that is presented at the breach, after the preliminary twisting: it is the opposite extremity. The grub does not bring an armful of its alimentary dough, [[44]]gathered by scraping the walls: it excretes upon the aperture to be closed; a much more economical proceeding. Sparingly measured out, the rations must not be wasted: there is just enough to live upon. Besides, the cement is of better quality; it soon sets. Lastly, the urgent repairs are more quickly effected, if the intestines lend their kindly aid.