"It is clear," says this naturalist, "that when the muscle is alternately contracted and expanded with rapidity, one convex portion of the kettledrum will be rendered concave, and will then resume its convex form by the force of its own spring. Then this noise will be made, this song of which we have been so long seeking an explanation, because we wished to find out all the parts by means of which He, who never makes anything without its use, willed that it should be produced."
Let us add, to complete what we have already said on this subject, that if the kettledrums are the essential organs of the insect's song, the mirrors, the white and wrinkled membranes, and the exterior shutters which cover in the whole apparatus, contribute largely, as Réaumur pointed out, to modify and strengthen the sound.
We have said above that the female Cicada does not sing; and so her singing organs are quite rudimentary. This fact, moreover, has been known for ages. Xenarchus, a poet of Rhodes, says, with little gallantry:—
"Happy Cicadas! thy females are deprived of voice!"
Fig. 80.—Female Cicada laying her eggs in the groove she has bored in the branch of a tree.
Nature has indemnified the female Cicada for this privation, by giving her an instrument less noisy indeed, but more useful. This is a sort of auger, destined to penetrate the bark of the branches of trees, and lodged in the last segment of the abdomen, which, for this purpose, is hollowed out groove-wise. By the aid of a system of muscles the auger can be protruded or retracted at pleasure. It is furnished with three implements. In the middle there is a piercer, or bodkin, which when run into a branch supports the insect, and two stylets, whose upper edges, having teeth like a saw, resting back to back, on the middle implement, move up and down it. With this admirable instrument the female Cicada incises obliquely the bark and wood until she has almost reached the pith ([Fig. 80]). The male sings while she is at work. When the cell is sufficiently deep and properly prepared, the female lays at the bottom of it from five to eight eggs.
From these eggs come very small white grubs ([Fig. 81]), which leave their nest, descend by the trunk, and bury themselves in the ground, where they devour the roots of the tree. They then become pupæ, and hollowing out the earth with their front legs, which are very much developed, continue to live at the expense of the roots. At the end of spring these pupæ ([Fig. 82]) come out of the earth, hook themselves on to the trunks of trees, and strip themselves one fine evening of their skin, which remains whole and dried. Very weak at first, these metamorphosed insects drag themselves along with difficulty. But next day, warmed by the first rays of the sun, having had, no doubt, time to reflect on their new social position, and less astonished than they were on the preceding evening, they agitate their wings, they fly, and the males send forth into the air the first notes of their screeching concert. The Cicadas remain on trees, whose sap they suck by means of their sharp-pointed beak. It is difficult enough to catch them, for owing to their large, highly-developed wings, they fly rapidly away on the slightest noise.
They inhabit the south of Europe, the whole of Africa from north to south, America in the same latitudes as Europe, the whole of the centre and south of Asia, New Holland, and the islands of Oceania. The Cicada, which in hot climates always exposes itself to the ardour of the most scorching sun, is not found in temperate or cold regions. The consequence is that the southern nations know it very well, whilst in the north the large grasshopper, which is so common in those regions, and whose song closely resembles that of the Cicada, is commonly taken for it. There was to be seen at the Exhibition of Fine Arts in 1866 a picture by M. Aussandon, "La Cigale et la Fourmi," which showed, under an allegorical shape, the subject of La Fontaine's fable. The painter here represented the Cigale, or Cicada, under the form of a magnificent apple-green grasshopper. The artist materialised here, as we may say, the common mistake of the inhabitants of the north, which makes them confound the Cicada with the great green grasshopper.