“Proceed we then in our course. An herb of the field sufficed to prove to you the existence of a Providence; a butterfly, the law of universal harmony; the insect before us, of which the organization is of a still higher order, may lead us still farther towards conviction.”
Charney, at the instance of his friend, proceeded to examine the little stranger with curious attention.
“Behold this insignificant creature,” resumed Girardi. “All that human genius could effect would not add one tittle to an organization perfectly adapted to its wants and necessities. It has wings to transport it from one place to another; elytra to incase and secure them from the contact of any hard substance. Its breast is defended by a cuirass, its eyes by a curious network that defies the prick of a thorn or the sting of an enemy. It possesses antennæ to interrogate the obstacles that present themselves, feet to attain its prey, iron mandibles to assist in devouring it, in digging the earth for a refuge or a depository for its food or eggs. If a dangerous adversary should approach, it has in reserve an acrid and corrosive fluid, by discharging which it defies its enemies. Instinct teaches it to find its food, to provide its lodging, and exercise its powers of offence and defence. Nor is this a solitary instance. Other insects are endowed with similar delicacy of organization; the imagination recoils with wonder from the multiplicity and variety of provisions invented by nature for the security of the apparently feeble insect tribe. We have still to consider this fragile creature as demonstrating the line of demarcation between mankind and the brute creation.
“Man is sent naked into the world—feeble, helpless—unendowed with the wings of a bird, the swiftness of the stag, the tortuous speed of the serpent; without means of defence against the claws or darts of an enemy, nay, against even the inclemency of the weather. He has no shell, no fleece, no covering of fur, nor even a den or burrow for his hiding-place. Yet by force of his natural powers, he has driven the lion from his cave—despoiled the bear of his shaggy coat for a vestment, and the bull of his horn to form a drinking-cup. He has dug into the entrails of the earth, to bring forth elements of future strength; the very eagle, in traversing the skies, finds itself struck down in the midst of its career to adorn his cap with a trophy of distinction.
“Which of all the animal creation could have supported itself in the midst of such difficulties and such privations? Let us for a moment suppose the disunion of power and action—of God and nature. Nature has done wonders for the insect before us; for man, apparently nothing. Because man, an emanation from God himself, and formed after his image, was created feeble and helpless as regards the organization of matter, in order to demonstrate the divine influence of that ethereal spark, which endows him with all the elements of future greatness.”
“Explain to me, at least,” interrupted Charney, “the peculiar value of this precious gift, bestowed, you say, exclusively upon the human species; superior in many points to the animal creation, surely we are inferior in the majority. This very insect, whose wondrous powers you have expounded, inspires me with a sense of inferiority and profound humiliation.”
“From time immemorial,” replied Girardi, “animals have displayed no progress in their powers of operation. What they are to-day, such have they ever been; what to-day they know, they have known from the beginning of the world. If born so lavishly endowed, it is because they are incapable of improvement. They live not by their own will, but by the impulse imparted to them by nature. From the creation until now, the beaver has constructed his lodge upon the same plan; the caterpillar and spider woven their cocoons and tissues of the same form; the bee projected his cell of the same hexagon; the lion-ant traced, without a compass, its circles and arches. The character of their labours is that of exactitude and uniformity; that of man, diversity—for human labour arises from a free and creative faculty of mind. Judge therefore between them! Of all created beings, man alone possesses the idea of duty, of responsibility, of contemplation, of piety. Alone of all the earth he is endowed with insight into futurity, and the knowledge of life and death.”
“But is this knowledge an advantage? is it a source of happiness?” demanded the Count. “Why has God bestowed upon us reason by which we are led astray, and learning which serves but to perplex us? With all our superiority, how often are we forced to despise ourselves! Why is the exclusively privileged being the only one liable to error? Is not the instinct of animals preferable to our glimmering reason?”