The wing-cases and wings now emerge. These are four narrow strips, faintly grooved and looking like bits of paper ribbon. At this stage, they are scarcely a quarter of their final length. So limp are they that they bend under their own weight [[406]]and sprawl along the insect’s sides in the opposite direction to the normal. Their free end, which should be turned backwards, now points towards the head of the Locust, who is hanging upside down. Imagine four blades of thick grass, bent and battered by a rainstorm, and you will have a fair picture of the pitiable bunch formed by the future organs of flight.
It must be no light task to bring things to the requisite stage of perfection. The deeper-seated changes are already well-started, solidifying liquid mucilages, bringing order out of chaos; but so far nothing outside betrays what is happening in that mysterious laboratory where everything seems lifeless.
Meanwhile, the hind-legs become released. The great thighs appear in view, tinted on their inner surface with a pale pink, which will soon turn into a streak of bright crimson. The emergence is easy, the bulky haunch clearing the way for the tapering knuckle.
It is different with the shank. This, in the adult insect, bristles throughout its length with a double row of hard, pointed spikes. Moreover, the lower extremity ends in four large spurs. It is a genuine saw, but [[407]]with two parallel sets of teeth and so powerful that, if we dismiss the size from our minds, it might be compared with the rough saw wielded by a quarryman.
The larva’s shin is similarly constructed, so that the object to be extracted is contained in a sheath as awkwardly shaped as itself. Each spur is enclosed in a similar spur, each tooth fits into the hollow of a similar tooth; and the moulding is so exact that we should obtain no more intimate contact if, instead of the envelope waiting to be shed, we coated the limb with a layer of varnish distributed uniformly with a fine brush.
Nevertheless the sawlike tibia slips out of its long, narrow case without catching in it at any point whatever. If I had not seen this happen over and over again, I could never have believed it: the discarded legging is quite intact all the way down. Neither the terminal spurs nor the two rows of spikes have caught in the delicate mould. The saw has respected the dainty scabbard which a puff of my breath is enough to tear; the formidable rake has slipped through without leaving the least scratch behind it.
I was far from expecting such a result as [[408]]this. Because of the spiked armour, I imagined that the leg would strip in scales which came loose of themselves or yielded to rubbing, like dead cuticle. How greatly did the reality exceed my expectations!
From the spurs and spikes of the infinitely thin matrix there emerge spurs and spikes that make the leg capable of cutting soft wood. This is done without violence or the least inconvenience; and the discarded garment remains where it is, hanging by the claws to the top of the cage, uncreased and untorn. The magnifying-glass shows not a trace of rough usage. As the thing was before the excoriation, so it remains afterwards. The legging of dead skin continues, down to the pettiest details, an exact replica of the live leg.
If any one suggested that we should extract a saw from some sort of goldbeater’s-skin sheath which had been exactly moulded on the steel and that we should perform the operation without producing the least tear, we should burst out laughing: the thing is so flagrantly impossible. Life makes light of these impossibilities; it has methods of realizing the absurd, in case of need. And the Locust’s leg tells us so. [[409]]
If the saw of the shin were as hard as it is once it leaves its sheath, it would absolutely refuse to come out without tearing to pieces the tight-fitting scabbard. The difficulty therefore is evaded, for it is essential that the leggings, which form the only suspension-cords, should remain intact in order to furnish a firm support until the deliverance is completed.