“He, the master, skilled among the skilful, trained in the finest operations of anatomy; he who, with lens and scalpel, had examined the whole entomological series, leaving not a corner unexplored; he, finally, who has nothing more to learn of the organisation of the insect, can think of nothing better than an antiseptic fluid which gives at least an appearance of an explanation of a fact that leaves him confounded,” and of which he has not discovered the full miracle. The author of this immortal discovery rightly insists on “this comparison between the insect’s instinct and the scientist’s reason, the better to reveal in its true light the crushing superiority of the insect.” As though to give yet another verification of the words so justly applied to entomology—maxime miranda in minimis—the larva’s science is perhaps even more disconcerting than that of the perfect insect. The Scolia’s larva stupefies us by the order in which it proceeds to devour its victim. “It proceeds from the less essential to the more essential, in order to preserve a remnant of life to the very last. In the first place it absorbs the blood which issues from the wound which it has made in the skin; then it proceeds to the fatty matter enveloping the internal organs; then the muscular layer lining the skin; and then, in the last place, the essential organs and the nerve-centres.” [173] “We thus have the spectacle of an insect which is eaten alive, morsel by morsel, during a period of nearly a fortnight, becoming empty and emaciated and collapsing upon itself,” while preserving its succulence and moisture to the end. Starting with these typical facts, which testify to an infallible foresight and a perfect adaptation of the means to the end, the list might be indefinitely prolonged with the aid of Fabre’s memoirs. But these are enough to show us that “what instinct tells the animal is marvellously like what reason tells us,” so that we find nothing unnatural in Fabre’s exclamation when he is confronted by the profound knowledge of the Hymenopteron and “the sublime logic of her stings.” “Proud Science, humble yourself!” All this presumes, in short, in the microscopic little creatures an astonishingly rational inspiration which adapts means to the end with a logic that confounds us. And all this would be very much to the credit of the insect and to the disadvantage of man if there were not a reverse side to the medal. But the same insect that confounds us by its knowledge and wisdom also disconcerts us by its ignorance and stupidity. The best-endowed insect cannot do anything “outside the narrow circle of its attributions. Every insect displays, in its calling, in which it excels, its series of logically co-ordinated actions. There it is truly a master.” [174] Apart from this it is utterly incapable. And even within the cycle of its attributions, apart from the customary conditions under which it exercises them, the ineptness of the insect surpasses imagination.