Armful by armful, the material is heaped up under the belly, between the four legs, which, by a slight pressure, impart their own curve to it and give it a first fashion. Then, betweenwhiles, the rough-hewn pill is set spinning betwixt the four branches of the two spherical compasses; it turns under the Dung-beetle’s belly until it is rolled into a perfect ball. Should the surface layer lack plasticity and threaten to peel off, should some too-stringy part refuse to yield to the action of the wheel, the fore-legs correct the faulty places; their broad beaters pat the ball to give consistency to the new layer and to imbed the recalcitrant scraps into the mass.
Under a hot sun, when the work is urgent, one stands amazed at the turner’s feverish activity. And thus the business proceeds apace: what was but lately a scanty pellet is now a ball the size of a walnut; soon it will be a ball the size of an apple. I have seen greedy-guts manufacture a ball the size of one’s fist. Here, of a certainty, is food in the larder for days to come!
The provisions are made. The next thing is to withdraw [[7]]from the fray and carry the victuals to a fitting place. Here the most striking characteristics of the Scarab begin to show themselves. The Dung-beetle sets out without delay; he embraces the sphere with his two long hind-legs, whose terminal claws, planted in the mass, serve as rotatory pivots; he obtains a purchase with the middle pair of legs; and, using the armlets of his fore-legs for leverage, he travels backwards with his load, bending his body, with his head down and his hinder part in the air. The hind-legs, the principal factor in the machinery, move continually, coming and going, shifting the claws to change the axis of rotation, maintain the equilibrium of the load and push it on by alternate thrusts to right and left. In this way, the ball finds itself touching the ground by turns with every point of its surface, a process which perfects its shape and gives an even consistency to its outer layer by means of pressure uniformly divided.
And now, cheerily! It moves, it rolls; we shall get there, though not without accident. Here is a first difficult step: the Beetle is wending his way athwart a slope and the heavy mass tends to follow the incline; but the insect, for reasons best known to itself, prefers to cut across this natural road, a bold plan which a false step or a grain of sand disturbing the balance may defeat. The false step is made; the ball rolls to the bottom of the valley; and the insect, toppled over by the impetus of its load, kicks about, gets up on its legs again and hastens to harness itself once more. The mechanism is working better than ever. But look out, you scatterbrain! Follow the dip of the valley: that will save you labour and mishap; the road is good and level; your ball will roll quite easily. Not a bit of it! The insect prepares once more to mount the slope that was already [[8]]its undoing. Perhaps it suits it to return to the heights. Against that I have nothing to say: the Scarab’s opinion is more far-seeing than mine as to the advisability of keeping to lofty regions. But, at least, take this path, which will lead you up by a gentle incline! Not at all! If he find himself near some very steep slope, impossible to climb, that is what the obstinate fellow prefers. And now begins a labour of Sisyphus. The ball, that enormous burden, is painfully hoisted, step by step, with infinite precautions, to a certain height, always backwards. I ask myself by what static miracle so great a mass can be kept upon the slope. Oh! An ill-planned movement frustrates all this toil: the ball comes down, dragging the beetle with it! The escalade is repeated, soon to be followed by another fall. The attempt is renewed, better-managed this time at the difficult points; a confounded grass-root, the cause of the previous tumbles, is carefully turned. We are almost there; but gently, gently! The ascent is dangerous and a mere nothing may yet spoil all. For see, a leg slips on a smooth bit of gravel! Down come ball and Dung-beetle, all mixed up together. And the Beetle begins over again, with indefatigable persistency. Ten times, a score of times, he will attempt the thankless ascent, until his obstinacy vanquishes all obstacles, or until, recognizing the uselessness of his efforts, he takes to the level road.
The Scarab does not always push his precious ball alone: sometimes he takes a partner; or, to be accurate, the partner takes him. This is how the thing usually happens: once his ball is ready, a Dung-beetle issues from the crowd and leaves the work-yard, pushing his spoil behind him. A neighbour, one of the newcomers, whose own task is hardly begun, suddenly drops his work and [[9]]runs to the ball now rolling, to lend a hand to the lucky owner, who seems to accept the proffered aid kindly. Henceforth, the two cronies work as partners. Each does his best to push the pellet to a place of safety. Was a compact really concluded in the work-yard, a tacit agreement to share the cake between them? While one was kneading and moulding the ball, was the other tapping rich veins whence to extract choice materials and add them to the common store? I have never observed such a collaboration; I have always seen each Dung-beetle occupied solely with his own affairs in the works. The last-comer, therefore, has no acquired rights.
Is it, then, a partnership between the two sexes, a couple intending to set up house? I thought so for a time. The two beetles, one before, one behind, pushing the heavy ball with equal zeal, reminded me of a song which the barrel-organs used to grind out some years ago:
Pour monter notre menage, hélas! comment feront-nous?
Toi devant et moi derrière, nous pousserons le tonneau.[1]
The evidence of the scalpel compelled me to abandon this domestic idyll. There is no outward difference between the two sexes in the Dung-beetle. I, therefore, dissected the two beetles engaged in conveying one and the same ball; and they often proved to belong to the same sex.
Neither community of family nor community of toil! Then what is the motive for this apparent partnership? It is just simply an attempt at robbery. The eager fellow-worker, under the deceitful pretence of lending a helpful hand, nurses the scheme of purloining the ball at [[10]]the first opportunity. To make one’s own ball at the heap implies drudgery and patience; to steal one ready-made, or at least to foist one’s self as a guest, is a much easier matter. Should the owner’s vigilance slacken, you can run away with the treasure; should you be too closely watched, you can sit down to table uninvited, pleading services rendered. It is, “Heads I win, tails you lose,” in these tactics, so that pillage is exercised as one of the most lucrative of trades. Some go to work craftily, in the way I have just described: they come to the aid of a comrade who has not the least need of them and hide a most indelicate greed under the cloak of charitable assistance. Others, bolder perhaps, more confident in their strength, go straight to the goal and commit robbery with violence.