The Hunting Wasps by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. THE BUPRESTIS-HUNTING CERCERIS
Chapter I. THE BUPRESTIS-HUNTING CERCERIS
There are for each one of us, according to his turn of mind, certain books that open up horizons hitherto undreamed of and mark an epoch in our mental life. They fling wide the gates of a new world wherein our intellectual powers are henceforth to be employed; they are the spark which lights the fuel on a hearth doomed, without its aid, to remain indefinitely bleak and cold. And it is often chance that places in our hands those books which mark the beginning of a new era in the evolution of our ideas. The most casual circumstances, a few lines that happen somehow to come before our eyes, decide our future and plant us in the appointed groove.
One winter evening, when the rest of the household was asleep, as I sat reading beside a stove whose ashes were still warm, my book made me forget for a while the cares of the morrow: those heavy cares of a poor professor of physics who, after piling up diplomas and for a quarter of a century performing services of uncontested merit, was receiving for himself and his family a stipend of sixteen hundred francs, or less than the wages of a groom in a decent establishment. Such was the disgraceful parsimony of the day where education was concerned; such was the edict of our government red-tape: I was an irregular, the offspring of my solitary studies. And so I was forgetting the poverty and anxieties of a professor’s life, amid my books, when I chanced to turn over the pages of an entomological essay that had fallen into my hands I forget how.
It was a monograph by the then father of entomology, the venerable scientist Léon Dufour,1 on the habits of a Wasp that hunted Buprestis-beetles. Certainly, I had not waited till then to interest myself in insects; from my early childhood I had delighted in Beetles, Bees, and Butterflies; as far back as I can remember, I see myself in ecstasy before the splendour of a Ground-beetle’s wing-cases or the wings of Papilio machaon, the Swallowtail. The fire was laid; the spark to kindle it was absent. Léon Dufour’s essay provided that spark.
New lights burst forth: I received a sort of mental revelation. So there was more in science than the arranging of pretty Beetles in a cork box and giving them names and classifying them; there was something much finer: a close and loving study of insect life, the examination of the structure and especially the faculties of each species. I read of a magnificent instance of this, glowing with excitement as I did so. Some time after, aided by those lucky circumstances which he who seeks them eagerly is always able to find, I myself published an entomological article, a supplement to Léon Dufour’s. This first work of mine won honourable mention from the Institute of France and was awarded a prize for experimental physiology. But soon I received a far more welcome recompense, in the shape of a most eulogistic and encouraging letter from the very man who had inspired me. From his home in the Landes the revered master sent me a warm expression of his enthusiasm and urged me to go on with my studies. Even now, at that sacred recollection, my old eyes fill with happy tears. O fair days of illusion, of faith in the future, where are you now?
I am sure that my readers will welcome an extract from the essay that formed the starting-point of my own researches, especially as this extract is necessary for the due understanding of what follows. I will therefore let the master speak for himself, abridging his words in parts:2
‘In all insect history, I can think of no more curious, no more extraordinary fact than that which I am about to describe to you. It concerns a species of Cerceris who feeds her family on the most sumptuous species of the genus Buprestis. Allow me to make you share the vivid impressions which I owe to my study of this Hymenopteron’s habits.
‘In July 1839, a friend living in the country sent me two specimens of Buprestis bifasciata, an insect at that time new to my collection, informing me that a kind of Wasp that was carrying one of these pretty Beetles had let it fall on his coat and that, a few moments later, a similar Wasp had dropped another on the ground.
‘In July 1840, I was visiting my friend’s house professionally and reminded him of his capture of the year before and asked for details of the circumstances that accompanied it. The identity of the season and place made me hope to make a similar capture myself; but the weather that day was overcast and chilly; and therefore but few Wasps had ventured out. Nevertheless, we made a tour of inspection in the garden; and, seeing nothing coming, I thought of looking on the ground for the homes of Burrowing Hymenoptera.
‘My attention was attracted by a small heap of sand freshly thrown up and forming a sort of tiny mole-hill. On raking it, I saw that it masked the opening of a shaft running some way down. With a spade we carefully turned over the soil and soon saw the glittering wing-cases of the coveted Buprestis lying scattered around. Presently I discovered not only isolated and fragmentary wing-cases, but a whole Buprestis, then three or four of them, displaying their emerald and gold. I could not believe my eyes.
‘But this was only a prelude to the feast. In the chaos of rubbish produced by the exhumation, a Wasp appeared and fell into my hands: it was the kidnapper of the Buprestes, trying to escape from among her victims. In this burrowing insect I recognized an old acquaintance, a Cerceris whom I have found hundreds of times, both in Spain and round about Saint-Sever.
‘My ambition was far from satisfied. It was not enough for me to identify the kidnapper and her victim: I wanted the larva, the sole consumer of those rich provisions. After exhausting this first vein of Buprestes, I hastened to make fresh excavations and, planting my spade more carefully still, I at last succeeded in discovering two larvæ which crowned the good fortune of this campaign. In less than an hour I ransacked the haunts of three Cerceres; and my booty was some fifteen whole Buprestes, with fragments of a still larger number. I calculated, keeping, I believe, well within the mark, that this particular garden contained five-and-twenty nests, making an enormous total of buried Buprestes. What must it be, I thought, in places where in a few hours I have caught on the garlic-flowers as many as sixty Cerceres, whose nests were apparently in the neighbourhood and no doubt victualled just as abundantly? And so my imagination, never going beyond the bounds of probability, showed me underground, within a small radius, Buprestis fasciata by the thousand, whereas, during the thirty years and upwards that I have been studying the entomology of this district, I never discovered a single one in the open.
‘Once only, perhaps twenty years ago, I found the abdomen of this insect, together with its wing-cases, stuck in a hole in an old oak. This fact was illuminating. By informing me that the larva of Buprestis fasciata must live in the wood of the oak, it completely explained why this Beetle is so common in a district which has none but oak-forests. As Cerceris bupresticida is rare in the clay hills of such districts, as compared with the sandy plains thickly planted with the maritime pine, it became an interesting question to know whether this Wasp, when she inhabits the pine country, victuals her nest in the same way as in the oak country. I had a strong presumption that this was not the case; and you will soon see, not without surprise, what exquisite entomological discrimination our Cerceris displays in her choice of the numerous species of the genus Buprestis.
‘We will therefore hasten to the pine region to reap new delights. The field to be explored is the garden of a country-house standing amid forests of maritime pines. One soon recognized the dwellings of the Cerceris; they had been made solely in the main paths, where the firm, compact soil offered the Burrowing Hymenopteron a solid foundation for the construction of her subterranean abode. I inspected some twenty, I may say, by the sweat of my brow. It is a very laborious sort of undertaking, for the nests, and consequently the provisions, are not found at less than a foot below the surface. It becomes necessary, therefore, lest they should be damaged, to begin by inserting a grass-stalk, serving as a landmark and a guide, into the Cerceris’ gallery and next to invest the place with a square of trenches, some seven or eight inches from the orifice or the landmark. The sapping must be done with a garden-spade, so that the central clod can be completely detached on every side and raised in one piece, which we turn over on the ground and then break up carefully. This was the method that answered with me.
‘You would have shared our enthusiasm, my friend, at the sight of the beautiful specimens of Buprestes which this original method of treasure-hunting disclosed, one after the other, to our eager gaze. You should have heard our exclamations each time that the mine was turned upside down and new glories stood revealed, rendered more brilliant still by the blazing sun; or when we discovered, here, larvæ of all ages fastened to their prey, there, the cocoons of those larvæ all encrusted with copper, bronze, and emerald. I who had been studying insects at close quarters for three or four decades—alas!—had never witnessed such a lovely sight nor enjoyed so great a treat. It only needed your presence to double our delight. Our ever-increasing admiration was devoted by turns to those brilliant Beetles and to the marvellous discernment, the astonishing sagacity of the Cerceris who had buried and stored them away. Will you believe it, of more than four hundred Beetles that we dug up, there was not one but belonged to the old genus Buprestis! Not even the very smallest mistake had been made by the wise Wasp. What can we not learn from this intelligent industry in so tiny an insect! What value would not Latreille4 have set upon this Cerceris’ support of the natural method!
‘We will now pass to the different manœuvres of the Cerceris for establishing and victualling her nests. I have already said that she chooses ground with a firm, compact, and smooth surface; I will add that this ground must be dry and fully exposed to the sun. She reveals in this choice an intelligence, or, if you prefer, an instinct, which one might be tempted to consider the result of experience. Loose earth or a merely sandy soil would doubtless be much easier to dig; but then how is she to get an aperture that will remain open for goods to pass in and out, or a gallery whose walls will not constantly be liable to fall in, to lose their shape, to be blocked after a few days of rain? Her choice therefore is both sensible and nicely calculated.
‘Our Burrowing Wasp digs her gallery with her mandibles and her front tarsi, which are furnished for this purpose with stiff spikes that perform the office of rakes. The orifice must not only have the diameter of the miner’s body: it must also be able to admit a capture of large bulk. It is an instance of admirable foresight. As the Cerceris goes deeper into the earth, she casts out the rubbish: this forms the heap which I likened above to a tiny mole-hill. The gallery is not perpendicular, for then it would inevitably become blocked up, owing either to the wind or to other causes. Not far from where it starts, it forms an angle; its length is seven or eight inches. At the end of the passage the industrious mother establishes the cradles of her offspring. These consist of five separate cells, independent of one another, arranged in a semicircle and hollowed into the shape and nearly the size of an olive. Inside, they are polished and firm. Each of them is large enough to contain three Buprestes, which form the usual allowance for each larva. The mother lays an egg in the middle of the three victims and then stops up the gallery with earth, so that, when the victualling of the whole brood is finished, the cells no longer communicate with the outside.
‘Cerceris bupresticida must be a dexterous, daring, and skilful huntress. The cleanliness and freshness of the Buprestes whom she buries in her lair incline one to believe that she must seize these Beetles at the moment when they are leaving the wooden galleries in which their final metamorphosis has taken place. But what inconceivable instinct urges her, a creature that lives solely on the nectar of flowers, to procure, in the face of a thousand difficulties, animal food for carnivorous children which she will never see, and to take up her post on utterly dissimilar trees, which conceal deep down in their trunks the insects destined to become her prey? What yet more inconceivable entomological judgment lays down the strict law that she shall confine herself in the choice of her victims to a single generic group and capture specimens differing greatly among themselves in size, shape, and colour? For observe, my friend, how slight the resemblance is between Buprestis biguttata, with a long, slender body and a dark colour; B. octoguttata, oval-oblong, with great patches of a beautiful yellow on a blue or green ground; and B. micans, who is three or four times the size of B. biguttata and glitters with a metallic lustre of a fine golden green.
‘There is another very singular fact about the manœuvres of our Buprestis-slayer. The buried Buprestes, like those whom I have seized in the grasp of their kidnappers, are always deprived of any sign of life; in a word, they are decidedly dead. I was surprised to remark that, no matter when these corpses were dug up, they not only preserved all their freshness of colouring, but their legs, antennæ, palpi, and the membranes uniting the various parts of the body remained perfectly supple and flexible. There was no mutilation, no apparent wound to be seen. One might at first believe the reason, in the case of the buried ones, to be due to the coolness of the bowels of the earth, in the absence of air and light; and, in the case of those taken from the kidnappers, to the very recent date of their death. But please observe that, at the time of my explorations, after placing the numerous exhumed Buprestes in separate screws of paper, I often left them in their little bags for thirty-six hours before pinning them out. Well, notwithstanding the dryness of the air and the burning July heat, I always found the same flexibility in their joints. Nay more: I have dissected several of them, after that lapse of time, and their viscera were as perfectly preserved as if I had used my scalpel on the insects’ live entrails. Now long experience has taught me that, even in a Beetle of this size, when twelve hours have passed after death in summer, the internal organs become either dried up or putrefied, so that it is impossible to make sure of their form or structure. There is some special circumstance about the Buprestes killed by the Cerceres that saves them from desiccation and putrefaction for a week and perhaps two. But what is this circumstance?’
To explain this wonderful preservation of the tissues which makes of an insect smitten for many weeks past with a corpse-like inertness a piece of game which does not even go high and which, during the greatest heat of summer, keeps as fresh as at the moment of its capture, the able historian of the Buprestis-huntress surmises the presence of an antiseptic fluid, acting similarly to the preparations used for preserving anatomical specimens. This fluid, he suggests, can be nothing but the poison of the Wasp, injected into the victim’s body. A tiny drop of the venomous liquid accompanying the sting, the needle destined for the inoculation, would therefore serve as a kind of brine or pickle to preserve the meat on which the larva is to feed. But how immensely superior to our own pickling processes is that of the Wasp! We salt, or smoke, or tin foodstuffs which remain fit to eat, it is true, but which are very far indeed from retaining the qualities which they possessed when fresh. Tins of sardines soaked in oil, Dutch smoked herrings, codfish reduced to hard slabs by salt and sun: which of these can compare with the same fish supplied to the cook, so to speak, all alive and kicking? In the case of flesh-meat, things are even worse. Apart from salting and curing, we have nothing that can keep a piece of meat fit for consumption for even a fairly short period.
Nowadays, after a thousand fruitless attempts in the most varied directions, we equip special ships at great cost; and these ships, fitted with a powerful refrigerating-plant, bring us the flesh of sheep and oxen slaughtered in the South American pampas, frozen and preserved from decomposition by the intense cold. How much more excellent is the Cerceris’ method, so swift, so inexpensive, and so efficacious! What lessons can we not learn from her transcendental chemistry! With an imperceptible drop of her poison-fluid, she straightway renders her prey incorruptible! Incorruptible, did I say? It is much more than that! The game is brought to a condition which prevents desiccation, leaves the joints supple, keeps all the organs, both internal and external, in their pristine freshness, and, in short, places the sacrificed insect in a state that differs from life only by its corpse-like immobility.
This is the theory that satisfied Léon Dufour, as he contemplated the incomprehensible marvel of those dead Buprestes proof against corruption. A preserving-fluid, incomparably superior to aught that human science can produce, explains the mystery. He, the master, the ablest of them all, an expert in the niceties of anatomy; he who, with magnifying-glass and scalpel, examined the whole entomological series, leaving no nook or corner unexplored; he, in short, for whom insect organism possessed no secrets can think of nothing better than an antiseptic fluid to give at least the semblance of an explanation of a fact that leaves him confounded. I crave permission to emphasize this comparison between animal instinct and the reasoning power of the sage in order the better to bring to light, in due season, the overwhelming superiority of the former.
I will add but a few words to the history of the Buprestis-hunting Cerceris. This Wasp, who is common in the Landes, as her historian tells us, appears to be very rarely found in the department of Vaucluse. I have met her only at long intervals, in autumn—and then only isolated specimens—on the spiny heads of the field eryngo (Eryngium campestre), in the neighbourhood either of Avignon or of Orange and Carpentras. In this last spot, so favourable to the work of the Burrowing Wasps owing to its sandy soil of Molasse formation, I have had the good fortune, not to witness the exhumation of such entomological treasures as Léon Dufour describes, but to find some old nests which I attribute without hesitation to the Buprestis-huntress, basing my opinion upon the shape of the cocoons, the nature of the provisioning, and the presence of the Wasp in the neighbourhood. These nests, dug in the heart of a very crumbly sandstone, known in the district as safre, were crammed with remains of Beetles, remains easily recognized and consisting of detached wing-cases, gutted corselets and entire legs. Now these broken victuals of the larva’s banquet all belonged to a single species; and that species was once more a Buprestis, the Double-lined Buprestis (Sphenoptera geminata).5 Thus from the west to the east of France, from the department of the Landes to that of Vaucluse, the Cerceris remains faithful to her favourite prey; longitude makes no difference to her predilections; a huntress of Buprestes among the maritime pines of the sand-dunes along the coast remains a huntress of Buprestes among the olive-trees and evergreen oaks of Provence. She changes the species according to place, climate, and vegetation, which alter the nature of the insect population so greatly; but she never departs from her favoured genus, the genus Buprestis. What can her reason be? That is what I shall try to show.
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