Chapter xv
THE SISYPHUS: THE INSTINCT OF PATERNITY
The duties of paternity are hardly ever imposed on any except the higher animals. The bird excels in them; and the furred folk perform them honourably. Lower in the scale, the father is generally indifferent to his family. Very few insects form exceptions to this rule. Whereas all display a frenzied ardour in propagating their species, nearly all, having satisfied the passion of the moment, promptly break off domestic relations and retire, heedless of their brood, which must do the best that it can for itself.
This paternal coldness, which would be detestable in the higher ranks of the animal kingdom, where the weakness of the young demands prolonged assistance, has here as its excuse the robustness of the new-born insect, which is able unaided to gather its food, provided that it be in a propitious place. When all that the Pieris need do, to safeguard the prosperity of the race, is to lay her eggs on the leaves of a cabbage, what use would a father’s solicitude be? The mother’s botanical instinct requires no assistance. At laying-time, the other parent would be an obstacle. Let him go and flirt elsewhere; he would only be in the way at this critical season. [[236]]
Most insects are equally summary in their educational methods. They have but to choose the refectory which will be the home of the family once it is hatched, or else a place that will allow their young to find suitable fare for themselves. There is no need for the father in these cases. After the wedding, therefore, the unoccupied male, henceforth useless, drags out a languid existence for a few days more and at last dies without lending the least assistance in the work of setting up his offspring in life.
Things do not always happen in quite such a primitive fashion. There are tribes that provide a dower for their families, that prepare board and lodging for them in advance. The Bees and Wasps, in particular, are masters in the industry of making cellars, jars and satchels in which the mess of honey for the young is hoarded; they are perfect in the art of creating burrows stocked with the game that forms the food of their grubs.
Well, this enormous labour, which is one of building and provisioning combined, this toil, in which the insect’s whole life is spent, is done by the mother alone. It wears her out, it utterly exhausts her. The father, drunk with sunlight, stands by the edge of the workyard watching his plucky helpmate at her job and considers himself to have done all the work that he is called upon to do when he has toyed a little with his fair neighbours.
Why does he not lend the mother a helping hand? It is now or never. Why does he not follow the example of the Swallow couple, both of whom bring their bit of straw, their blob of mortar to the building, their Midge to the brood? He does nothing of the kind, perhaps alleging his comparative weakness as an excuse. It is a poor argument, for to cut a disk out of a leaf, to scrape [[237]]some cotton from a downy plant, to collect a little bit of cement in muddy places would not overtax his strength. He could very easily help, at any rate as a labourer; he is quite fit to gather the materials for the mother, with her greater intelligence, to fix in place. The real reason of his inactivity is sheer ineptitude.
It is strange that the Hymenopteron, the most gifted of the industrial insects, should know nothing of paternal labour. The male, in whom one would think that the needs of the young ought to develop the highest aptitudes, remains as dull-witted as a Butterfly, whose family is established at so small a cost. The bestowal of instinct baffles our most reasonable conjectures.