When the male has recovered from his shock, he shakes the dust off himself and once more begins his merry click-clack. For the present let us leave him to his joys and follow the mother that is to be, pacing along solemnly with her burden, which is fastened with a plug of jelly as transparent as glass.
At intervals she draws herself up on her shanks, curls into a ring and seizes her opalescent load in her mandibles, nibbling it calmly and squeezing it, but without tearing the wrapper or shedding any of the contents. Each time, she removes from the surface a particle which she chews and then chews again slowly, ending by swallowing it.
This process is continued for twenty minutes or so. Then the capsule, now drained, is torn off in a single piece, all but the jelly plug at the end. The huge, sticky [[225]]mass is not let go for a moment, but is munched, ground and kneaded by the insect’s mandibles and at last gulped down whole.
At first I looked upon the horrible banquet as no more than an individual aberration, an accident: the Decticus’ behaviour was so extraordinary; no other instance of it was known to me. But I have had to yield to the evidence of the facts. Four times in succession I surprised my captives dragging their wallet and four times I saw them soon tear it, work at it solemnly with their mandibles for hours on end and finally gulp it down. It is therefore the rule: when its contents have reached their destination, the fertilizing capsule, possibly a powerful stimulant, an unparalleled dainty, is chewed, enjoyed and swallowed.
If this, as we are entitled to believe, is a relic of ancient manners, we must admit that the insect of old had singular customs. Réaumur tells us of the startling operations of the Dragon-flies when pairing. This again is a nuptial eccentricity of primeval times.
When the Decticus has finished her strange feast, the end of the apparatus still remains in its place, the end whose most visible [[226]]part consists of two crystalline nipples the size of pepper-corns. To rid itself of this plug, the insect assumes a curious attitude. The ovipositor is driven half-way into the earth, perpendicularly. That will be the prop. The long hind-legs straighten out, raise the creature as high as possible and form a tripod with the sabre.
Then the insect again curves itself into a complete circle and, with its mandibles, crumbles to atoms the end of the apparatus, consisting of a plug of clearest jelly. All these remnants are scrupulously swallowed. Not a scrap must be lost. Lastly, the ovipositor is washed, wiped, smoothed with the tips of the palpi. Everything is put in order again; nothing remains of the cumbrous load. The normal pose is resumed and the Decticus goes back to pilfering the ears of millet.
To return to the male. Limp and exhausted, as though shattered by his exploit, he remains where he is, all shrivelled and shrunk. He is so motionless that I believe him dead. Not a bit of it! The gallant fellow recovers his spirits, picks himself up, polishes himself and goes off. A quarter of an hour later, when he has taken a few mouthfuls, [[227]]behold him stridulating once more. The tune is certainly lacking in spirit. It is far from being as brilliant or prolonged as it was before the wedding; but, after all, the poor old crock is doing his best.
Can he have any further amorous pretensions? It is hardly likely. Affairs of that kind, calling for ruinous expenditure, are not to be repeated: it would be too much for the works of the organism. Nevertheless, next day and every day after, when a diet of Locusts has duly renewed his strength, the Decticus scrapes his bow as noisily as ever. He might be a novice, instead of a glutted veteran. His persistence surprises me.
If he be really singing to attract the attention of his fair neighbours, what would he do with a second wife, he who has just extracted from his paunch a monstrous wallet in which all life’s savings were accumulated? He is thoroughly used up. No, once more, in the big Grasshopper these things are too costly to be done all over again. To-day’s song, despite its gladness, is certainly no epithalamium.