Scenes are constantly happening such as this: a Scarab walks off, peacefully and alone, rolling his ball, his lawful property, acquired by conscientious work. Another comes flying up, I know not whence, drops down heavily, folds his smoky wings under their elytra and, with the back of his toothed armlets, knocks over the owner, who is powerless to ward off the attack in his harnessed posture. While the dispossessed one struggles to his feet, the other perches himself atop the ball, the best position from which to repel the assailant. With his armlets folded under his breast, ready at all points, he awaits events. The victim of the theft moves round the ball, seeking a favourable spot at which to attempt the assault; the thief spins round on the roof of the citadel, constantly facing him. If the first raise himself in order to scale the wall, the second gives him a cuff that stretches him on his back. Safe at the top of his fortress, the besieged Beetle would baffle his adversary’s attempts indefinitely, [[11]]if the latter did not change his tactics to recover his property. Sapping is brought into play to bring down the citadel with the garrison. The ball, shaken from below, staggers and rolls, carrying with it the robber, who makes violent efforts to maintain his position on the top. This he succeeds in doing, though not always, thanks to hurried feats of gymnastics that enable him to regain a level from which the rolling of his support tends to drive him. Should a false movement bring him to the ground, the chances become equal and the struggle turns into a wrestling-match. Robber and robbed grapple at close quarters, breast to breast. Their legs twist and untwist, their joints intertwine, their horny armour clashes and grinds with the rasping sound of filed metal. Then that one of the two who succeeds in throwing his adversary and releasing himself hurriedly takes up a position on the top of the ball. The siege is renewed, now by the robber, now by the robbed, as the chances of the hand-to-hand conflict may have determined. The former, no doubt a hardy filibuster and adventurer, often has the best of the fight. Then, after two or three defeats, the ejected Beetle wearies and returns philosophically to the heap, there to make himself a new pellet. As for the other, with all fear of a surprise at an end, he harnesses himself to the conquered ball and pushes it whither he pleases. I have sometimes seen a third thief appear upon the scene and rob the robber. Nor can I honestly say that I was sorry.
I ask myself in vain what Proudhon[2] introduced into Beetle-morality the daring paradox that “property is based on plunder,” or what diplomatist taught Dung-beetles the savage maxim that “might is right.” I have [[12]]no facts whereby to trace the origin of these spoliations which have become a custom, of this abuse of strength to capture a lump of ordure. All that I can say is that theft is in general use among the Scarab tribe. These Dung-rollers rob one another among themselves with a calm effrontery of which I know no other instance. I leave it to future observers to elucidate this curious problem in animal psychology and I return to the two partners rolling their ball in concert.
Let us call the two fellow-workers partners, although that is not the proper name for them, seeing that the one forces himself upon the other, who probably accepts outside help only for fear of a worse evil. The meeting, however, is absolutely peaceful. The Beetle owning the ball does not cease work for an instant at the arrival of his assistant; and the newcomer seems animated by the best intentions and sets to work on the spot. The way in which the two partners harness themselves differs. The owner occupies the chief position, the place of honour: he pushes behind the load, with his hind-legs in the air and his head down. The assistant is in front, in the reverse position, head up, toothed arms on the ball, long hind-legs on the ground. Between the two, the ball rolls along, pushed before him by the first, dragged towards him by the second.
The efforts of the couple are not always very harmonious, the more so as the helper has his back to the road to be traversed, while the owner’s view is impeded by the load. Hence arise constant accidents, absurd tumbles, taken cheerfully and in good part: each picks himself up quickly and resumes the same position as before. On level ground, this system of draught does not correspond with the dynamic force expended, for [[13]]lack of precision in the combined movements: the Scarab at the back would do as well and better if left to himself. And so the helper, after giving a proof of his good-will at the risk of disturbing the mechanism, decides to keep still, without, of course, abandoning the precious ball, which he already looks upon as his: finding is keeping; a ball touched is a ball gained. He will commit no such imprudence: the other might give him the slip!
He, therefore, gathers his legs under his belly, flattens himself, encrusts himself, so to speak, on the ball and becomes one with it. Henceforth, the whole concern—ball and Beetle clinging to its surface—rolls along, pushed by the lawful owner. Whether the load passes over his body, whether he occupies the top, the bottom or the side of the rolling burden matters little to the intruder, who sits tight and lies low. A singular helper this, who has himself driven in a carriage to secure his share of the victuals!
But a steep ascent heaves in sight and gives him a fine part to play. He now, on the stiff slope, takes the lead, holding the heavy mass with his toothed arms, while his mate seeks a purchase to hoist the load a little higher. Thus, by a combination of well-managed efforts, the one above gripping, the one below pushing, I have seen them together mount acclivities where the stubborn determination of one alone would have come to naught. But not all have the same zeal at these difficult moments: there are some who, on slopes where their assistance is most needed, seem not in the least aware of the difficulties to overcome. While the unhappy Sisyphus exhausts himself in endeavours to pass the dangerous place, the other quietly leaves him to do his best and, himself encrusted on the ball, rolls down with it, when it comes to grief, and is hoisted up with it anew. [[14]]
Let us suppose the Scarab fortunate enough to have found a loyal partner; or, better still, let us suppose that he has met no self-invited colleague. The burrow is ready. It is a cavity dug in soft earth, usually in sand, shallow, the size of one’s fist and communicating with the outside by a short channel just large enough for the passage of the ball. As soon as the provisions are safely housed, the Scarab shuts himself in by stopping up the entrance to his dwelling with rubbish reserved for the purpose in a corner. Once the door is closed, no sign outside betrays the banqueting-hall. And, now, welcome mirth and jollity! All is for the best in the best of all possible worlds! The table is sumptuously laid; the ceiling tempers the heat of the sun and allows but a mild, moist heat to penetrate; the calm, the darkness, the concert of the crickets overhead all favour the digestive functions. So great has been my illusion that I have caught myself listening at the door, expecting to hear the revellers burst into that famous snatch from the opera of Galatée:[3]
Ah! qu’il est doux de ne rien faire
Quand tout s’agite autour de nous.[4]
Who would dare disturb the bliss of such a banquet? But the wish to learn is capable of all things; and I had the courage. I will set down here the result of my violations of the sanctity of domestic life: the ball by itself fills almost the whole of the room; the rich repast rises from floor to ceiling. A narrow passage runs between it and the walls. Here sit the banqueters, two at [[15]]most, very often but one, belly to table, back to the wall. Once the seat is chosen, no one stirs; all the vital forces are absorbed by the digestive faculties. No little movements, which might cause the loss of a mouthful; no dainty toying with the food, which might cause the waste of some. Everything has to pass, properly and in order. To see them so pensively seated around a ball of dung, one would think that they were aware of their task as scavengers of the earth and that they consciously devoted themselves to that marvellous chemistry which out of filth brings forth the flower, the joy of our eyes, and the Beetles’ elytra, the ornament of our lawns in spring. For the purpose of this transcendental work, which is to turn into live matter the residue discarded by the horse and the mule, despite the perfection of their digestive organs, the Dung-beetle must needs be specially equipped. And, in point of fact, anatomy compels us to admire the prodigious length of his intestine, which, folded and refolded upon itself, slowly elaborates the materials in its profuse circuits and exhausts them to the very last serviceable atom. From that whence the stomach of the herbivorous animal has been able to extract nothing, this powerful alembic wrings riches that, at a mere touch, turn into ebon armour in the Sacred Scarab and a breast-plate of gold and rubies in other Dung-beetles.