A NEW VOLUME OF FABRE'S STUDIES.*
HENRI FABRE did not always deal respectfully with his insects. They were his friends and brothers ; he loved and admired them passionately. But he had an impish nature. He liked to play
practical jokes upon_ beetles who took life too seriously, to mystify thick-skulled grubs, to see a short-tempered mantis in re passion, or to lead on self-important- and didactic bees to mental confusion. Perhaps the wickedest trick he ever played is recorded in the present delightful collection. It is told in a fascinating essay upon the caterpillar called the Pine Processionary. Alas for any insect who was set a " general knowledge " paper by this most horribly in- genious of examiners ! These caterpillars feed on pine-needles, and take their walks abroad by-the hundred in an imposing string which is sometimes as much as twelve yards long :—
"They proceed in single file, each one touching with its head the reap of the one in front of it. The complex turns and twists described in his vagaries by the caterpillar leading the van are scrupulously described by all the others. No Greek Uremia winding its way to the Eleusinian festivals was ever more orderly. . . . The caterpillar who chances to be at. the- head of the procession dribbles a thread, a silken rail placed in position' as he advances. It is so tiny that the eye, though armed- with a magnifying glass, suspects rather than sees it. But a second caterpillar steps on. the slender foot-board and doubles it, and so all the others, however many there may be. . . . When the procession has passed by there remains a narrow ribbon whose dazzling: whiteness shimmers in the sun. . . . Their system of road-making consists in upholstering in silk instead of maeadamizing'! We sprinkle our roads with broken stones; they lay over their paths a soft satin rail. . . . What is the use of all this luxury ? Could they not like, other caterpillars walk about without these costly preparations ? "
The answer is that the caterpillars, being exceedingly ill equipped in the matter of eyes, ears, noses, and brains, must make use of a eke if they would ever reach their tree-top nests again after a walk :-
" At the head of every procession goes a first caterpillar whom we will call theleader of the march or file, though the word leader . . . is a little out of place here. Nothing in fact distinguishes this cater- pillar from the others • it just depends upon the order in which they happen to lineup. Among the Processionaries every captain is an officer of fortune. . . . His temporary functions give him an attitude of his own. While the others follow passively in a close file, he, the captain, tosses himself about and with an abrupt move- ment flings his body hither and thither. As he marches ahead he seems to be seeking his way. MOB he in point of fact explore the country ? Does he choose the most practicable places ? Why can. not I read what passes under his black shiny skull so like a drop of tar to look at ? . . . Observe that the caterpillars when on the march never turn completely ; to wheel round on their tightrope is a-methed utterly unknown to them. In order therefore to regain the road already covered, they have to describer a-zig-zag whose windings and extant are determined by the leader's fancy. . . . Sometimes the winding curve meets the guide-thread at the first attempt. As soon as the first caterpillar has the rail between his legs all hesitation ceases and the band-makes for the nest with hurried steps."
What would the caterpillars do if some dishonest person arranged a circular track for them ?- " On the greenhouse shelf stand some big palm vases measuring nearly a yard and a half in circumference at the top. The cater- pillars often scale the sides and climb up to the moulding which forms a cornice' round the opening. . . . It provides me with a circular track all ready made. I have nothing to do but wait for an occasion propitious to my plans."
On January 30th at noon a procession voluntarily climbed the vase and started along the fatal cornice. Fabre waited for the
string to close up—for the leader, that is, to return to the point from which he started. The- rest of the ascending column was then deflected; lest a crowd should " disturb the fine order of the pro- cession," and all traces of the ascending track removed :—
" In the uninterrupted circular procession there is no longer a-leader. . . . None modifies the trail according to his fancy ; all obey, trusting to the guide whom my trickery has abolished 1 . . . What will the caterpillars do in this deceptive closed path ? Will they
ThelThetttrs of Internet. By J. H. rehire: Translated by AlounderTelzeira de Matto. and Bernard Wall. London : T. Fisher thisin. (10s. 6d. net.] walk endlessly round and round till their strength gives out entirely ? . . . That they should remain up there, hard pressed by hunger and the lack of cover when nothing prevented their going away, seemed to me inconceivable imbecility. Facts, however, forced me to accept the incredible.' The circular procession began about midday in splendid weather. The caterpillars march at an even pace, each touching the stern of the one in front of him. All follow mechani- cally. . . . And this continues for hours and hours ! My success goes beyond my wildest suspicions. Meanwhile the multiplied circuits change the original rail into a superb ribbon a twelfth of
an inch broad kt ten o'clock in the evening grazing time has arrived. . . . Other caterpillars have come crowding from other nests in the greenhouse to browse upon the pine-branches planted close at hand by myself.. . . The others lined up on the cornice would gladly take part in the feast. They have an appetite after ten hours' walk. Tho branch stands green and tempting not a hand's-breadth away. To reach it they need but go down ; and the poor wretches, foolish slaves of their ribbon, cannot make up their minds to do so. I leave the famished ones at half-past ten, per- suaded that they will take counsel with their pillow, and that on the morrow things will have resumed their ordinary course."
But he was wrong. Not even " the tribulations of a distressful stomach " could arouse them to this intellectual effort. They con- tinued their march. Four days later a cold, hungry, weary, foot- sore band still plodded on. And still the heartless experimenter left them at their Sisyphus task ! It was not till the fifth morning that a few hardy spirits broke away and the besotted band achieved pine-branch and nest.
But perhaps it is the first chapter in the book, with its touching little piece of autobiography, that will most please lovers of Fabre. At last his ambition is realized. Ho has got a little leisure and a small piece of waste land—" an abandoned, barren, sun-scorched bit of land favoured by thistles and by wasps and bees. Hero I tould consult the ammophila and the sphox and engage in that difficult conversation whose questions and answers have experiment for their language." For forty years he had fought for bare sub- sistence, and had struggled against misfortune. " The wish is realized. It is a little late, oh my pretty insects ! . . . The wide horizons of the outset have shrunk to a low and stifling canopy." But amid the ruins one thing remains immovable upon its solid base—his passion for truth. " Is it enough, oh my busy insects, to enable one to add yet a few more seemly pages to your history ? " But we must leave the reader to finish this little apologia for himself. The translators and selectors are much to be congratulated upon their work. The little footnotes alone, giving centimetres in frac- tions of inches and the common names of some of the creatures described, are an immense boon. The translators have always kept in mind that it was for the plain man that Fabre wrote.
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