THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC

Insect life: Souvenirs of a naturalist by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC X. THE SPHEX OF LANGUEDOC When the chemist has ripely considered his plan of research, he mixes his reactives at whatever moment suits him best, and sets his retorts on the fire. He is master of time, place, and circumstance, chooses his own hour, isolates himself in his laboratory, where he will be undisturbed, and brings about such or such conditions as reflexion may suggest. He is searching out the secrets of brute nature, whose chemical activities science can arouse at will. The secrets of living nature—not those of anatomy, but those of life in action, especially of instinct—offer conditions far more difficult and delicate to the observer. Far from being able to take his own time, he is the slave of season, day, or hour, even of the moment. If an opportunity offer, it must be seized at once—it may be very long ere it comes again. And as it usually comes just when one is thinking least about it, nothing is ready whereby to turn it to account. One must improvise there and then one’s little means of experiment, combine one’s plan, devise one’s wiles, imagine one’s tactics, and feel only too fortunate if inspiration come quickly enough to allow one to profit by the chance offered. Moreover, such chances come only to one who looks out for them, watches for days and days,—here on sandy slopes exposed to the burning sun, there in the cauldron of some path enclosed by high banks, or on some shelf of sandstone, the solidity of which is not always such as to inspire confidence. If it be granted you to set up your observatory under the scanty shade of an olive that you may think will shelter you from a pitiless sun, then bless the fate which is treating you like a sybarite; your lot is in Eden. Above all—keep a sharp lookout. The spot is promising, and who knows? Any moment the chance may come. It has come! tardily, it is true, but it has come. Ah! could one but observe now, in the peace of one’s study, isolated, absorbed, thinking only of what one is studying, far from the profane passer-by who will stop, seeing you so preoccupied where he sees nothing, will overwhelm you with questions and take you for a diviner of springs with the magic hazel wand, or worse, as a doubtful character, seeking by incantations old pots full of money hidden underground. Even if you seem to him to have the look of a Christian, he will come near, look at what you are looking at, and smile in a fashion which leaves no possible doubt as to his humble opinion of people who spend their time in watching flies. You would only be too happy if this annoying visitor would depart, laughing in his sleeve, but without disturbing everything and repeating the disaster caused by the soles of my two conscripts. Or if it is not the passer-by who is perplexed by [ ]your unaccountable proceedings, it will be the garde-champêtre, that inexorable representative of the law amid the fallow fields. Long has he had his eye upon you. He has so often seen you wandering like a troubled ghost for no reason that he can perceive; has so often caught you seeking something in the ground, or knocking down some bit of wall in some hollow way with infinite precaution that he begins to look on you as a suspicious character, a vagabond, a gipsy, a tramp, or, at all events, a maniac. If you have a botanical tin, to him it is the ferret-cage of the poacher, and it will be impossible to convince him that you are not destroying all the rabbits in the neighbouring warrens, regardless of the laws of the chase and the rights of the owner. Beware! However thirsty you may be, lay no finger on a cluster in the vineyard hard by; the man of the municipal livery would be there, delighted to bear witness and get at last an explanation of your exasperatingly perplexing conduct. 134 I must do myself the justice to say that I have never committed such a misdeed, and yet one day when I was lying on the sand, absorbed in the domestic affairs of a Bembex, I heard beside me, “In the name of the law, I summon you to follow me!” It was the garde-champêtre of Les Angles, who having vainly watched for an opportunity of catching me in some offence, and being daily more desirous of an answer to the riddle which tormented him, had finally decided on a summons. An explanation became necessary. The poor man did not appear in the least convinced. “Bah! bah!” said he, “you’ll never get me to believe that you come and roast [ ]yourself in the sun just to watch flies. I keep my eye on you, you know, and the first time.… Well, that’s enough.” He departed. I have always believed that my red ribbon had a good deal to do with this departure, and I ascribe to that ribbon other similar services during my botanical or entomological rambles. It seemed to me—was it an illusion?—it did seem to me that during my botanical expeditions on Mont Ventoux, the guide was more manageable than usual and the donkey less obstinate. 135 The little dark red ribbon has not always protected me from the tribulations the entomologist must expect when carrying on experiments upon the highway. Since dawn I had been lying in ambush at the bottom of a ravine; Sphex occitanica was the object of my early visit. A party of three women vintagers passed on their way to work. A glance was cast on the seated figure apparently lost in thought. “Good day” was politely offered and politely answered. At sunset the women returned with full baskets. The man was still there, seated on the same stone, his eyes fixed on the same spot. My motionless figure, my persistent stay in that lonely place, must have struck them greatly. As they passed I saw one tap her forehead, and heard her whisper, “A poor innocent, pe’caïre! a poor innocent!” and all three made the sign of the cross. An innocent, an idiot, a poor inoffensive creature who is deficient; and all three crossed themselves—an idiot being one to them marked by God’s seal. “How?” said I. “What cruel mockery of fate! You who are labouring to discover what is instinct and what reason in the animal; you yourself are a [ ]half-wit in the eyes of these women! What humiliation! However, pe’caïre, that term of supreme commiseration in Provençal, uttered from the bottom of the heart, made me quickly forget the Innocent.” 136 It is to that same ravine that I invite my reader, if he is not repelled by the small annoyances of which I have given him a foretaste. S. occitanica haunts these parts, not in numbers giving one another rendezvous when nidification is going on, but solitary individuals far apart, wherever their vagabond peregrinations have led them. Just as their relative S. flavipennis seeks the society of relations and the animation of a work-yard and company, so, on the other hand, does the Languedocian Sphex prefer calm, isolation, and solitude. Graver in behaviour, more formal in manner, more elegant of figure, and in more sombre attire, she always lives apart, careless of what others are doing, disdaining companionship, a very misanthrope among Sphegidæ. S. flavipennis is sociable; S. occitanica is unsociable—a profound difference, alone sufficient to characterise them. This suggests how greatly the difficulty of observing the latter is increased. No long meditated experiment is possible, nor can one attempt to repeat it a second time if the first has failed. If you make preparations beforehand,—for instance, if you put in reserve a piece of game to substitute for that of the Sphex,—it is to be feared, indeed it is almost certain, that she will not appear, or if she comes, your preparations turn out useless. Everything must be improvised at once—conditions which I have not always been able to realise as I could have wished. SPHEX OCCITANICA TAKING A SUN BATH Let us take courage; the position is good. [ ]Many a time I have here surprised the Sphex reposing on a vine-leaf, exposed to the full rays of the sun. The insect, lying flat and spread out, is voluptuously enjoying the delights of warmth and light. From time to time a kind of frenzy of pleasure bursts forth in her; she thrills with well-being, drums rapidly on her resting-place with the points of her feet, and produces a sound somewhat like the roll of a drum, or heavy rain falling on foliage perpendicularly. You may hear this joyous drumming several paces off. Then again comes perfect stillness, followed by a fresh nervous commotion, and that waving of tarsi which is a sign of supreme happiness. I have known some of these ardent sun-worshippers suddenly leave a half-finished burrow to settle on a neighbouring vine and take a bath of sun and light, returning reluctantly to give a careless sweep to the hole, and finally abandon the workshop, unable longer to resist the temptation of luxuriating on a vine leaf. Perhaps this voluptuous resting-place is also an observatory whence to inspect the neighbourhood, and espy and choose prey. This Sphex catches only the ephippiger of the vine, scattered here and there on the leaves or on any convenient bush. The game is succulent—all the more that only females full of eggs are selected. 137 Let us pass over numerous expeditions, fruitless researches, and the tedium of long waiting, and present the Sphex to the reader just as she shows herself to the observer. Here she is, at the bottom of a hollow way with high sandy banks. She comes on foot, but aids herself with her wings in dragging along her heavy captive. The ephippiger’s antennæ, like [ ]long fine threads, are the harness ropes. With her mandibles and holding her head high, she grasps one of them, passing it between her feet, and the prey is dragged on its back. If some unevenness of ground should oppose itself to this style of haulage, she stops, clasps the ample provender, and transports it by very short flights, going on foot between whiles whenever this is possible. One never sees her undertake sustained flights for long distances carrying prey, as do those strong cruisers, the Bembex and Cerceris, which will carry perhaps for a good half mile through the air, the former their Diptera, the latter their weevils—very light prey compared with the huge ephippiger. The overwhelming size of its captive forces S. occitanica to convey it along the ground—a means of transit both slow and difficult. The same reason—namely, the great size and weight of the prey—entirely upsets the usual order followed by the Hymenoptera, in their labours,—an order well known, and consisting in first hollowing a burrow and then victualling it. The prey not being disproportioned to the size of the spoiler, facility of transport by flight allows the Hymenopteron a choice as to the position of her domicile. What matter if she has to hunt at considerable distances? Having made a capture, she returns home with rapid flight; it is indifferent to her whether she is near or far. Therefore she prefers the spot where she was born, and where her predecessors have lived; there she inherits deep galleries, the accumulated labour of former generations; with a little repair they can be used as avenues to new chambers, better defended than would be a [ ]single excavation a little below the surface made annually. Such is the case with Cerceris tuberculata and Philanthus apivorus, and even if the inherited dwelling should not be solid enough to resist wind and weather from one year’s end to another, and to be handed down to the next generation, at all events the Hymenopteron finds conditions of greater safety in spots consecrated by ancestral experience. There she hollows out galleries, each serving as corridors to a group of cells, thus economising the labour to be expended on the entire egg-laying. 138 139 In this way are formed, not true societies, there being no concerted effort to a common end, but at least gatherings where the sight of other Sphegidæ no doubt animates the labour of each. In fact, one can notice between these small tribes, sprung from one and the same stock, and the solitary miners, a difference in activity, recalling in one case the emulation of a populous workshop, and in the other the dulness of labourers in the tedium of isolation. For the animal as well as man activity is contagious, and excited by its own example. Let us sum up. Where there is a moderate weight for the spoiler, it is possible to carry it on the wing for a great distance, and then the Hymenopteron can arrange the burrows at pleasure, choosing by preference its birthplace. From this preference of the birthplace results an agglomeration—a coming together of insects of the same species, whence arises emulation in their work. This first step towards social life is the result of easy journeys. Is it not so with man? excuse the comparison! Men, where ways are bad, [ ]build solitary cottages, while where there are good roads, they collect in populous cities, served by railroads, which, so to say, annihilate distance; they assemble in immense human hives called London or Paris. 140 The Languedocian Sphex has quite another lot. Its prey is a heavy ephippiger—a single morsel representing the whole sum of provender amassed by the other predatory insects bit by bit. What the Cerceris and other strong-flying insects do by dividing their labour is accomplished by a single effort. The weight of the prey rendering flight impossible, it must be brought home with all the delays and fatigue of dragging it along the ground. This one fact obliges her to accommodate the position of her burrow to the chances of the chase: first the prey and then the dwelling. Hence no rendezvous at a general meeting-place; no living among neighbours, no tribes stimulating themselves by mutual example—only isolation where chance has led the Sphex—solitary labour, unenthusiastic, though always conscientious. First of all prey is sought, attacked, and paralysed. Then comes making the burrow. A favourable spot is chosen as near as possible to that where lies the victim, so as to abridge the toil of transport, and the cell of the future larva is rapidly hollowed to receive an egg and food as soon as possible. Such is the very different method shown by all my observations. I will mention the chief of them. If surprised in its mining, one always finds this Sphex alone—sometimes at the bottom of some dusty niche a fallen stone has left in an old wall—[ ]sometimes in a shelter formed by a projecting bit of sandstone, such as is sought by the fierce-eyed lizard as a vestibule to its retreat. The sun falls full upon it; the place is a furnace. The soil is extremely easy to hollow, formed as it is by ancient dust which has dropped little by little from the roof. The mandibles, which act as pincers to dig with, and the tarsi, as rakes to clear away, soon hollow the cavity. Then the Sphex flies off, but in a leisurely way, and without any great expenditure of wing power, a manifest sign that the expedition is not a long one. One’s eye can easily follow the insect and discover where it alights, usually some ten yards off. Sometimes it decides to go on foot. It sets out, hurrying to a spot where we will be indiscreet enough to follow, our presence noways troubling it. Having arrived on foot or on the wing it hunts about for a while, as one may conclude from its indecision and short excursions on all sides. It seeks and at last finds, or rather finds anew. The object found is an ephippiger, half-paralysed, but still moving antennæ, tarsi, and ovipositor—a victim which the Sphex certainly poignarded a little while before with several stings, and then left her prey, an embarrassing burden, while she still hesitated as to the choice of a domicile. Perhaps she abandoned it on the very spot of the capture, leaving it rather obvious on a grass tuft the better to find it later, and trusting to her good memory to return where lies the booty, set to work to explore the neighbourhood and find a suitable spot to burrow. This done she came back for the game which was found without much hesitation, and now she prepares to convey it home. [ ]She bestrides the insect, seizes one or both antennæ and sets off, pulling and dragging with all the strength of loins and jaws. 141 142 Sometimes the journey is accomplished at one trial; more frequently she leaves her load and hurries home. Perhaps it occurs to her that the entrance door is not wide enough for this ample morsel, perhaps she bethinks her of some defect of detail that might interfere with provisioning the cell. Yes, she retouches her work, enlarges the doorway, levels the threshold, consolidates the arch, all with a few sweeps of the tarsi. Then she returns to the ephippiger, lying on its back a few paces distant, and drags it on again. But a new idea seems to flash across her lively mind. She had visited the gateway but had not looked within; who knows if all be well there? She hastens back, leaving the ephippiger midway. The interior is visited, and apparently some touches as with a trowel are given by the tarsi, to lend a last finish to the walls. Without lingering over these final touches the Sphex returns to her prey, and harnesses herself to the antennæ. Forward! Will the journey be accomplished this time? I would not answer for it. I have known a Sphex, perhaps more suspicious than others, or more forgetful of the minor details of architecture, set her omissions right or allay her suspicions by abandoning her prey five or six times successively, and hurrying to the burrow, which each time was touched up a little or simply entered. It is true that others go straight home, without even stopping to rest. I must add that when the Sphex comes home to perfect her dwelling, she does not [ ]fail to give an occasional, distant glance at the ephippiger left on the way, to make sure that nothing touches it. This prudence recalls that of the Scarabæus sacer issuing from the hole which it is digging to feel its dear ball, and bring it a little nearer. 143 The deduction to be drawn from the facts just stated is evident. Since every Sphex occitanica we surprise while it burrows—be it at the very beginning, at the first stroke of her tarsi in the dust, or later, the dwelling being ready—makes a short expedition on foot or on the wing, and always finds a victim already stabbed, already paralysed, one may conclude with certainty that she first makes her capture, and later burrows, so that the place of capture decides that of the domicile. This reversal of method which prepares the food before the larder, while previously we saw the larder precede the food, I attribute to the weight of the prey being too great to carry on the wing. It is not that S. occitanica is ill-organised for flight; on the contrary, she can soar splendidly, but her prey would overwhelm her if she depended only on her wings. She needs the support of the ground and must drag her prey, and displays wonderful vigour in doing this. Loaded with prey she always goes on foot, or takes very short flights when these spare time and toil. Let me quote an instance taken from my latest observations on this curious Hymenopteron. A Sphex appeared suddenly, whence I know not, dragging an ephippiger apparently just caught hard by. As things were she had to burrow, but the position was as bad as possible—a highway, hard as [ ]stone. There was no time for difficult mining, since the prey must be stored as soon as possible; she needed light soil where the cell could be quickly made. I have already described her favourite soil—dust deposed by years at the bottom of some hole in a wall, or in some little hollow of a rock. The Sphex which I was observing stopped at the foot of a country house with a newly whitewashed façade, and measuring from six to eight metres in height. Instinct told her that under the roof tiles she would find hollows rich in ancient dust. Leaving her prey at the foot of the façade, she flew on to the roof. For some time I saw her seek vainly about. Then, having found a suitable position, she set to work under the hollow of a tile. In ten minutes or a quarter of an hour at most the domicile was ready; she flew down, promptly found the ephippiger, and then had to carry up her prey. Would it be on the wing, as circumstances suggest? Not at all; the Sphex adopted the difficult method of escalading a vertical wall with a surface smoothed by the mason’s trowel and from six to eight metres high. Seeing her take this road, dragging her game between her feet, I thought at first that it was impossible, but was soon reassured as to the outcome of this audacious attempt. Supporting herself by the little roughnesses of the mortar, the vigorous insect, in spite of the embarrassment of her heavy load, made her way up this vertical plane with the same security, the same speed, as on horizontal ground. The top is reached without any hindrance, and the prey provisionally deposited at the edge of the roof on the rounded bark of a tile. While the Sphex was retouching her [ ]burrow the ill-balanced prey slipped and fell to the foot of the wall. She must begin again, and again by means of an escalade. The same imprudence is repeated; once more left on the curved tile the prey slips and falls to the ground. With a calm which such accidents cannot disturb, the Sphex for the third time hoists the ephippiger by climbing the wall, and, better advised, drags it straight to the bottom of the hole. 144 145 If carrying the prey on the wing has not been attempted even in such conditions as the above, it is clear that the Sphex is incapable of flight with so heavy a load. To this impotence we owe the few details of habits which are the subject of this chapter. A prey not too heavy to be carried on the wing makes a semi-sociable species of S. flavipennis—that is to say, one seeking the company of its fellows; a heavy prey impossible to carry through the air renders S. occitanica a species devoted to solitary labour—a kind of savage, disdainful of the solace derived from neighbourhood of one’s fellows. The greater or lesser weight of their prey decides the fundamental character. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jean-Henri Fabre (2022). Insect life: Souvenirs of a naturalist. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66762/pg66762-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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