MINOTAURUS TYPHŒUS

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[[Contents]]

CHAPTER X

MINOTAURUS TYPHŒUS

To describe the insect that forms the subject of this chapter, scientific nomenclature joins two formidable names: that of the Minotaur, Minos’ bull fed on human flesh in the crypts of the Cretan labyrinth; and that of Typhœus, one of the giants, sons of Terra, who tried to scale the heavens. Thanks to the clue of thread which he received from Minos’ daughter Ariadne, Theseus the Athenian found the Minotaur, slew him and made his escape, safe and sound, after delivering his country for ever from the dreadful tribute destined for the monster’s food.

Typhœus, struck by a thunderbolt on his heaped-up mountains, was hurled under Mount Etna. He is there still. His breath is the smoke of the volcano. When he coughs, he spits out streams of lava; when he shifts his position from one shoulder to the other, he puts Sicily aflutter; he shakes her with an earthquake.

It is not unpleasant to find an echo of these old fables in the history of animals. Mythological denominations, so resonant and pleasing to the ear, entail no inconsistencies with reality, a fault that is not always avoided by the terms compiled wholly of data gathered from the lexicon. When vague analogies, in addition, connect the fabled with the historical, then surnames and forenames [[128]]both become very happy. Such is the case with Minotaurus Typhœus (Lin.).

It is the name given to a fair-sized black coleopteron, closely related to the Earth-borers, the Geotrupes. He is a peaceable, inoffensive creature, but even better-horned than Minos’ bull. None among our harness-loving insects wears so threatening an armour. The male carries on his corselet a sheaf consisting of three steeled spears, parallel to one another and jutting forward. Imagine him the size of a bull; and Theseus himself, if he met him in the fields, would hardly dare to face his terrible trident.

The Typhœus of the legend had the ambition to sack the home of the gods by stacking one upon the other a pile of mountains torn from their base; the Typhœus of the naturalists does not climb: he descends; he bores the ground to enormous depths. The first, with a movement of the shoulder, sets a province heaving; the second, with a thrust of its chine, makes his mole-hill tremble as Etna trembles when he stirs who lies buried within her depths.