Hampshire Days

by W. H. Hudson

A human parallel

So interested was I in watching them, so delighted to be in this society, whose members, for all their shape, no longer moved about in, to me, unimaginable worlds, that I went day after day and spent long hours with them. I could best watch their battles by getting down on my knees in the good-for-nothing ("heath false brome") grass, so as to bring my eyes within two or three feet of them. My attitude, kneeling with bowed head by the half-hour at a stretch, one day attracted the attention of some persons who had come in a carriage to picnic under the trees at the foot of the slope, four or five hundred yards away. There were from time to time little explosions of laughter, and at last a young lady of twelve or fourteen cried, or piped out, in a clear, far-reaching voice, "Holy man!" She was an impudent monkey.

So far not a word has been said of the female, simply because, as it seemed to me, there was, so far, nothing to say. In most insects the odour excites and draws the males, often from long distances, as we see in the moths; they fly to, and find, and see her, and woo, and chase, and fight with each other for possession of her; and when there are beautiful or fantastic movements, sometimes accompanied with sounds, corresponding to the antics of birds—I have observed them in species of Asilidæ and other insects—they are directly caused by the presence of the female. But with viridissima it appears not to be so, since they do not seek the female, nor will they notice her when she comes in their way, but they are wholly absorbed in their own music, and in trying to outsing the others, or, failing in this, to kick and bite them into silence.

Now, seeing this strange condition of things among these insects—seeing it day after day for weeks—the conclusion forced itself upon my mind that we have here one of those strange cases among the lower creatures which are not uncommon in human life—the case of a faculty, a means to an end, being developed and refined to an excessive degree, and the reflex effect of this too great refinement on the species, or race. Comparing it then to certain human matters—to Art, let us say—we see that that which was but a means has become an end, and is pursued for its own sake.

Such a conclusion may seem absurd, and perhaps it is, since we cannot know what "nimble emanations" and vibrations, which touch not our coarser natures, there may be to link these diverse and seemingly ill-fitting actions into one perfect chain. It may be said, for instance, that in this species the incessant stridulating of the male has an action similar to that of the sun's light and heat on plant life, causing the flower to blow and its sexual organs to ripen. But we see, too, that Nature does often overshoot her mark. We have seen it, I think, in the over-refinement of the passion and faculty of fear in certain species, in reference to cases of fascination, and we see it in the over-protected and the over-specialised; but we are so imbued with the idea that the right mean has always been hit upon and adhered to, that it is only in view of the most flagrant cases to the contrary that we are ever startled out of that delusion. The miserable case, for example, of the Polyergus rufescens, the slave-making ant, who, from being too much waited upon, has so entirely lost the power of waiting upon himself that he will perish of hunger amidst plenty if his slaves be not there to pick up and put the food into his mouth. These extreme cases are not the only ones; for every one of such a character there are hundreds of cases. "Degeneration," as Ray Lankester has aptly said, "goes hand in hand with elaboration"; and I would add that in numberless cases over-elaboration is the cause of degeneration.

The female viridissima

The female is the grander insect, being nearly a third larger than the male, of a fuller figure, and adorned with a long, broadsword-shaped ovipositor, which projects beyond her wings like a tail. She has rather a grand air too, and is both silent and inactive. Hers is a life of listening and waiting; and the waiting is long—days and weeks go by, and the males stridulate, and fight, and pay no attention to her. But how patient she can be may be seen in the case of one which I took from her heath and placed on a well-berried branch of wild guelder on my table. There she was contented to rest, usually on one of the topmost clusters, for many days, almost always with the window open at the side of her branch, so that she could easily have made her escape. The wind blew in upon her, and outside the world was green and lit with sunshine. One could almost fancy that she was conscious of her fine appearance in her pale vivid green colour, touched in certain lights with glaucous blue, on her throne of clustered carbuncles. At intervals of an hour or two she would move about a little, and find some other perch; only the waving of her long, fine antennæ appeared to show that she was alive to much that was going on about her—in her world. The one thing that excited her was the stridulating of one of the males confined in a glass vessel on the same table. She would then travel over her branch to get as near as possible to the musician, and would remain motionless, even to the nervous antennæ, and apparently absorbed in the sound for as long as it lasted. At first she ate a few of the crimson berries on her branch, and also took a little parsley and shepherd's purse, but later on she declined all green stuff, and fed on jam, honey, cooked sultanas, and bread-and-butter pudding, which she liked best. Water and ginger-beer for drink. This most placid and dignified lady—we had got into calling her "Lady Greensleeves," and "Queen," and sometimes "The Cow"—was restored, on 12th September, in good health, after sixteen days, to her native heath, and disappeared from sight in the long grass, quietly making her way to some spot where she could settle down comfortably to listen to the music.

Habits of female

All the females I found and watched behaved as my captive had done. They were no more active, and preferred to be at a good height above the ground—eighteen inches or two feet—when quietly listening. One day I watched one perched on the topmost spray of a heath-bush in her listening attitude: clouds came over the sun, and the wind grew colder and stronger, and the singers ceased singing. And at last, finding that the silence continued, and doubtless feeling uncomfortable on that spray where the wind blew on and swayed her about, she slowly climbed down and settled herself in a horizontal position on the sheltered side of the plant; and when the sun broke out and shone on her she tipped over on one side, stretched her hind legs out, and rested motionless in that position, exactly like a fowl lying in her dusting-place luxuriating in the heat.

But at last, despite that air of repose which is her chief characteristic, she is so wrought upon by that perpetual, shrill, irresistible music that she can no longer endure to sit still, but is drawn to it. She goes to her charmers, one may say, to remind them by her presence that the minstrelsy in which they are so absorbed is not itself an end but a means. Brisk or lively she cannot be, but it is plain that when she follows up or settles herself down near her forgetful knights, she is greatly excited, and waiting to be taken in marriage. That she distinguishes one singer above others, or exercises "selection" in the Darwinian sense, seems unlikely: it strikes one, on the contrary, that having so long suffered neglect she is only too willing to be claimed by any one of them. And this is just what they decline to do—for some time, at any rate. Again and again I have observed when the female had followed and placed herself close to a couple of these rival musicians, that they took not the least notice of her; and that when, in the course of the alarums and excursions, one of them found himself close to her, the sight of her appeared to disconcert him, and he made all haste to get away from her. It looked to human eyes as if her large portly figure had not corresponded to his ideal, and had even moved him to repugnance. But the Ann of Cleves in a green gown is an exceedingly patient person, and very persistent, and though often denied, she will not be denied, or take No for an answer. But it is altogether a curious business, for not only is the wooing process reversed, as many think it is in the cuckoo, but it lasts an unconscionable time in a creature whose life, in the perfect stage, is limited to a season. But the female viridissima has not the power and swiftness of that feathered lady who boldly pursues her singer (in love with nothing but his own voice), and compels him to take her.