They passed by the glass prison in which the female was then confined
and hastened to the meshes of wire and the sand on which the magic
philtre had been poured; they crowded round the deserted chamber where
nothing of the magician remained but the odorous testimony of her
sojourn.
The irresistible philtre requires time for its elaboration. I conceive
of it as an exhalation which is given off during courtship and gradually
saturates whatever is in contact with the motionless body of the female.
If the bell-glass was placed directly on the table, or, still better, on
a square of glass, the communication between the inside and the outside
was insufficient, and the males, perceiving no odour, did not arrive so
long as that condition of things obtained. It was plain that this
failure of transmission was not due to the action of the glass as a
screen simply, for if I established a free communication between the
interior of the bell-glass and the open air by supporting it on three
small blocks, the moths did not collect round it at once, although there
were plenty in the room; but in the course of half an hour or so the
feminine alembic began to operate, and the visitors crowded round the
bell-glass as usual.
In possession of these data and this unexpected enlightenment I varied
the experiments, but all pointed to the same conclusion. In the morning
I established the female under the usual wire-gauze cover. For support I
gave her a little twig of oak as before. There, motionless as if dead,
she crouched for hours, half buried in the dry leaves, which would thus
become impregnated with her emanations.
When the hour of the daily visits drew near I removed the twig, which
was by then thoroughly saturated with the emanations, and laid it on a
chair not far from the open window. On the other hand I left the female
under the cover, plainly exposed on the table in the middle of the room.
The moths arrived as usual: first one, then two, then three, and
presently five and six. They entered, flew out again, re-entered,
mounted, descended, came and went, always in the neighbourhood of the
window, not far from which was the chair on which the twig lay. None
made for the large table, on which, a few steps further from the window,
the female awaited them in the wire-gauze cover. They hesitated, that
was plain; they were still seeking.
Finally they found. And what did they find? Simply the twig, which that
morning had served the ample matron as bed. Their wings rapidly
fluttering, they alighted on the foliage; they explored it over and
under, probed it, raised it, and displaced it so that the twig finally
fell to the floor. None the less they continued to probe between the
leaves. Under the buffets and the draught of their wings and the
clutches of their eager feet the little bundle of leaves ran along the
floor like a scrap of paper patted by the paws of a cat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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