Insect life: Souvenirs of a naturalistFabre, Jean-Henri
Science
Insect life: Souvenirs of a naturalist
Fabre, Jean-Henri
Insects -- Biology
Talking of one thing and another we followed a path bordered with elder
and hawthorn, where already the Rose Beetle was revelling in the
overwhelming scent of the clustering blossoms. We were going to see if
the Sacred Scarabæus had yet appeared on the sandy plateau of Les
Angles, rolling the ball of dung which ancient Egypt looked on as
emblematic of the world; we wanted to discover whether the running
stream at the bottom of the hill might not hide young newts under the
net of water weeds—newts whose branchiæ look like tiny sprays of coral;
to see if that elegant little fish of the rivulet, the stickleback, had
donned his wedding cravat of azure and purple; if the new-come swallows
were dipping on pointed wings over the meadows chasing the midges which
scatter their eggs in their airy dance; to see if the Eyed Lizard was
sunning his blue-spotted body at the mouth of a hole made in the
sandstone; or if the flocks of Laughing Gulls, come up from the sea
after the legions of fish which ascend the Rhône to spawn, were
hovering over the river, and now and again uttering their cry like the
laugh of a maniac. But enough; suffice it to say that, like simple folk
who find much pleasure in living with the brute creation, we were
intending to spend a morning in enjoying the ineffable awakening of
life in springtime.
We were not disappointed. The stickleback was in full dress, his scales
would have made silver look dim; his throat was of the brightest
vermilion. On the approach of a great horse-leech with no good
intentions, up rose the spines on back and side as if moved by a
spring. Thus bravely encountered, the bandit beat an ignominious
retreat down among the water-plants. The dull race of molluscs,
Planorbinæ, and water-snails were sucking in air on the surface of the
water, and the great Water Beetle, with its hideous larva, went by
wringing the neck now of one, now of another, without the stupid band
seeming to notice it. But let us leave the waters of the plain and
climb the steep cliff dividing us from the tableland where sheep are
feeding and horses are being exercised for the approaching races, one
and all bestowing largesse on the rejoicing dung beetles.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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