At long intervals, the Cerambyx steps off and goes to refresh himself on a piece of pear. Then suddenly he stamps his feet as though he had gone mad; he returns with a frantic rush, clambers into the saddle and resumes his seat, of which he makes free use at all hours of the night and day. At the moment when the egg is being placed in position, he keeps quiet; with his hairy tongue he polishes the egg-layer’s back, which is a Capricorn’s way of caressing; but the next instant he renews his attempts, which are usually followed by success. There is no end to it! The pairing continues in this manner for a month; it does not cease until the ovaries are exhausted. Then, mutually worn out, having no further business on the trunk of the oak, husband and wife separate, languish for a few days, and die. What conclusion are we to draw from this extraordinary persistency in the Cerambyx, the Rhynchites and many others? Simply this: our truths are but provisional; assailed by the truths of to-morrow, they become entangled with so many contradictory facts that the last word of knowledge is doubt. CHAPTER VIII THE VINE-WEEVIL In the spring, while the poplar-leaves are being worked into cylinders, another Rhynchites, who is likewise magnificently attired, is making cigars out of vine-leaves. She is a little bigger, of a metallic lustre, a golden green that changes to blue. Were she only larger, the resplendent Vine-weevil would occupy a very respectable place among the gems of entomology. To attract our eyes, she has something better than her brilliancy: she has her industry, which has earned her the hatred of the vine-grower, jealous of his property. The peasant knows her: he even calls her by a special name, an honour rarely bestowed in the world of the smaller creatures. The rural vocabulary is rich in names of plants, but very poor in names of insects. A couple of dozen words, inextricably confused because of their general character, represent the whole list of insect names in our Provençal idiom, expressive and fertile though this idiom be when it refers to the vegetable world and even, at times, to a sorry weed which one would think was known to the botanist only. The man of the soil is interested above all things in the plant, the great foster-mother; all else leaves him indifferent. Splendid adornment, curious habits, marvels of instinct: all these make no appeal to him. But to touch his vine, to eat other people’s grass: what a heinous crime! Quick, a name, a badge of infamy, to hang round the malefactor’s neck! This time the Provençal peasant has taken the trouble to invent a special term: he calls the cigar-roller the Bécaru. Here the scientific name and the rural name are in complete agreement. Rhynchites and Bécaru are exact equivalents: both allude to the insect’s long beak.