THE GOLD BEETLES: THEIR FOOD

More Beetles by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE GOLD BEETLES: THEIR FOOD CHAPTER XIII. THE GOLD BEETLES: THEIR FOOD As I write the first lines of this chapter, I think of the Chicago slaughter-yards. Those horrible meat-factories where, in the course of the year, men cut up over a million Bullocks and nearly two million Pigs, which, entering the factory alive, come out at the other end changed into tins of preserved meat, lard, sausages and rolled hams. I think of them because the Carabus, or Ground-beetle, is about to show us a similar swiftness in butchery. I have twenty-five Gold-beetles (Carabus auratus, Lin.) in a large glass vivarium. At present they are motionless, cowering under a bit of board which I gave them as a shelter. With their bellies cooled by the sand and their backs warmed by the board, which is visited by the searching rays of the sun, they slumber and digest their food. By good luck I chance upon a procession of Pine-caterpillars descending from their tree in search of a favourable spot for burial, the prelude to the underground cocoon. Here is an excellent herd for the slaughter-house of the Carabi. 1 I collect them and place them in the vivarium. The procession soon forms again; the caterpillars, about a hundred and fifty in number, move in an undulating line. They pass near the piece of board, in single file, like the Pigs at Chicago. This is the propitious moment. I let slip my wild animals, that is to say, I remove their shelter. The sleepers forthwith awaken, scenting the rich prey defiling close at hand. One of them runs forward; three or four others follow, arousing the whole assembly; those who are buried emerge; the whole band of cut-throats falls upon the passing herd. Then comes an unforgettable sight. The mandibles get to work in all directions; the procession is attacked in the van, in the rear, in the middle; the victims are assailed in the back or the belly at random. The hairy skins are ripped open, their contents escape in a rush of entrails green with the pine-needles that constitute the food; the caterpillars writhe convulsively and lash out with their tails, suddenly coiling and uncoiling, clinging with their feet, dribbling and biting. Those as yet unscathed dig desperately in an attempt to take refuge underground. Not one succeeds. They are hardly half-way down before the Carabus hastens up, pulls them out and rips them open. If the butchery were not occurring in a dumb world, we should have all the frightful hubbub of the Chicago massacres. But it needs the ear of the imagination to hear the shrieks and lamentations of the eviscerated. This ear I possess; and I am seized with remorse for having provoked such sufferings. The Beetles are now rummaging everywhere in the heap of dead and dying, each tugging and tearing at a morsel which he carries off to swallow privately, away from envious eyes. After this mouthful, another is hurriedly cut off the carcase, followed by more still, as long as any dismembered bodies remain. In a few minutes the procession is reduced to a few shreds of still quivering flesh. There were a hundred and fifty caterpillars; the butchers are twenty-five. This makes six victims to each Carabus. If the insect had nothing to do but to kill indefinitely, like the labourers in the meat-factories, and if the staff consisted of a hundred disembowellers, a very modest figure compared with that of the ham-boners, the total number of victims, in a ten hours’ day, would be thirty-six thousand. No Chicago cannery ever achieved such an output. The speed of the assassination is even more remarkable when we consider the difficulties of the attack. The Carabus has nothing like the endless chain which seizes the Pig by one leg, hoists it up and swings it along to the butcher’s knife; he has nothing like the sliding plank which brings the Bullock’s forehead beneath the slaughterer’s mallet; he has to fall upon his prey, overpower it and steer clear of its tusks and claws. Moreover, what he disembowels he eats on the spot. What a massacre it would be if the insect had nothing to do but kill! What do we learn from the Chicago slaughter-houses and the Gold-beetle’s feasting? This: the man of lofty morals is nowadays a rather rare exception. Under the skin of the civilized being we nearly always find the ancestor, the savage contemporary with the Cave-bear. True humanity does not yet exist; it is being very gradually formed by the leaven of the centuries and the lessons of conscience; it is progressing towards better things with heart-breaking slowness. It was only yesterday that slavery disappeared, the foundation of the ancient community, and that people perceived that a man, even though black, is really a man and as such deserving of consideration. What was woman in the old days? What she still is in the East: a pretty little animal without a soul. The question was discussed at great length by the scholars. The great seventeenth-century bishop Bossuet himself, looked upon woman as the diminutive of man. The proof lay in the origin of Eve: she was the superfluous bone, the thirteenth rib which Adam had in the beginning. It has at last been admitted that woman possesses a soul similar to our own and even its superior in tenderness and devotion. She has been permitted to educate herself, which she does with a zeal at least equal to that of her rival. But the law, that gloomy cavern which is still the lurking-place of so many barbarities, continues to regard her as incompetent, as a minor. 2 The abolition of slavery and the education of women are two enormous strides upon the path of moral progress. Our grandchildren will go further. They will see, with a clear vision, capable of piercing every obstacle, that war is the most absurd of our eccentricities; that conquerors, fighters of battles and despoilers of nations are execrable scourges; that a hand-shake is better than a rifle-bullet; that the happiest people is not that which possesses the most artillery but that which labours in peace and produces abundantly; and that the amenities of existence do not positively clamour for frontiers, beyond which the vexatious custom-house-officer awaits us, searching our pockets and plundering our luggage. They will see all this, our grandsons, and many other wonders which to-day rank as crazy dreams. Whither will it lead us, this ascent? Towards the blue skies of the ideal? To no very great height, I fear. We are afflicted with an indelible taint, a sort of original sin, if we may give the name of sin to a state of affairs in which our free will plays no part. We are built that way and we cannot help it. It is the taint of the belly, that inexhaustible source of brutality. The intestine rules the world. In the midst of our gravest affairs the question of bread and butter rises imperious. So long as there are stomachs that digest—and as yet we see no possibility of dispensing with them—we must have the wherewithal to satisfy them and the strong will live by the misfortunes of the weak. Life is an abyss which only death can fill. Hence endless butcheries, on which man, Gold-beetles and others feed; hence the perpetual massacres that have made of the world a slaughter-house beside which those of Chicago hardly count. But the feasters are legion and the victuals are not abundant in proportion. Those who have not envy those who have; the famished show their teeth to the sated. Then follows the battle for the right of possession. Man raises armies to defend his harvests, his cellars, his granaries; and this is war. Shall we ever see the end of it? Alas and seven times alas! So long as there are Wolves in the world, there must be Sheep-dogs to defend the flock! Carried away by our thoughts, we have left our Beetles far behind. Let us hurry back to them. What was my reason for provoking the massacre of the Processionaries who were on the point of quietly burying themselves when I confronted them with their butchers? Was it to enjoy the spectacle of a frantic massacre? Certainly not: I have always pitied the sufferings of animals; and the life of the smallest is worthy of respect. To overcome that compassion, the demands of scientific research were needed; and these are sometimes cruel. I had in view the habits of the Gold-beetle, the little ranger of our gardens who, for this reason, is popularly known as the Gardener. How far does he deserve to be called a helper? What does the Carabus hunt? Of what vermin does he rid our flower-beds? We have seen a promising start made with the Pine Processionary. Let us continue in the same direction. On various occasions late in April, the enclosure provides me with processions, now longer, now shorter. I capture them and place them in the glass vivarium. No sooner is the banquet served than the feasting begins. The caterpillars are ripped open, by a single consumer or by several at one time. In less than fifteen minutes the herd is completely exterminated. Nothing remains but shapeless lumps, which are carried hither and thither to be consumed under the shelter of the board. The well-provided Beetle decamps, with his booty in his teeth, anxious to feast in peace. He is met by companions who, enticed by the morsel dangling from the fugitive’s jaws, turn highwaymen. First two, then three try to rob the lawful owner. Each grabs the fragment, tugs at it, proceeds to swallow it without serious dispute. There is no actual battle, no exchange of bites as with Dogs disputing a bone. Everything is confined to attempts at theft. If the owner retains his hold, they all eat peacefully in common, mandibles touching mandibles, until the piece is torn apart and each retires with his shred. The Pine Processionary, seasoned with that stinging poison which, during my earlier investigations, brought out such a violent rash upon my skin, must be a very pungent dish. My Carabi thoroughly enjoy it. The more processions I provide, the more they consume. The fare is highly appreciated. Nevertheless, no one, so far as I know, has ever met the Gold Beetle or her larva in the silken purses of the Bombyx. I have not the slightest hope that I shall one day find them there myself. These purses are inhabited only in winter, when the Carabus, indifferent to food and overcome by torpor, lies snugly underground. But in April, when the caterpillars march in procession, seeking a good site for burial and metamorphosis, the Beetle, if he has the good luck to encounter them, must profit largely by the windfall. 3 The furry nature of the game does not put him off; nevertheless, the hairiest of our caterpillars, the so-called Hedgehog, with its undulating mane, half-red, half-black, does seem to be too much for the glutton. For days on end it wanders about the cage in the assassins’ society. The Carabi seem to ignore its presence. From time to time, one of them will stop, circumnavigate the hairy creature, examine it and try to dig into the bristling fleece. Rebuffed at once by the long, thick, hairy palisade, he retires without biting to the quick. Proud and unscathed, the caterpillar proceeds upon its way with undulating back. 4 This cannot last. In a moment of hunger, emboldened moreover by the co-operation of his fellows, the poltroon decides upon a serious attack. There are four of them, very busy around the Hedgehog, which, worried before and behind, ends by succumbing. It is ripped open and devoured as greedily as any defenceless caterpillar would be. I supply my menagerie with various caterpillars, naked or hairy, as I chance to find them. All are accepted with the utmost zest, on the one condition that their size is not excessive as compared with that of the murderer. Too small, they are despised: the morsel would not provide an adequate mouthful. Those of the Spurge Hawk-moth and the Great Peacock Moth, for instance, would suit the Carabus, were it not that, at the first bite, the intended victim, by a twist of its powerful rump, hurls its assailant afar. After a few assaults, each followed by a distant tumble, the insect helplessly and regretfully abandons the attack. The prey is too vigorous. I have kept the two sturdy caterpillars caged with my savage Beetles for a fortnight; and nothing very serious has happened to them. The abrupt intervention of a suddenly lifted rump overawed the ferocious mandibles. We will award a first good mark to the Gold Beetle, for exterminating any not too powerful caterpillar. The merit is spoilt by one flaw. The insect is not a climber: it hunts on the ground, not in the foliage overhead. I have never seen it explore the twigs of the smallest shrub. In my cages, it pays no attention to the most enticing quarry fixed to a tuft of thyme, a few inches high. This is a great pity. If the insect could only climb and undertake overhead raids, how quickly would a gang of three or four purge the cabbage of its scourge, the Pieris Caterpillar! The very best always have some defect. The Gold Beetle must be given another good mark with reference to Slugs. He feeds on all of them, including even the biggest, the Grey Slug, flecked with dark spots. The corpulent creature is soon disposed of, when attacked by three or four knackers. They make by choice for that part of the back which is protected by an inner shell, a sort of slab of mother-of-pearl that covers the region of the heart and lung. The stony particles of which the shell is constructed abound here rather than elsewhere; and the Carabus seems to like this mineral condiment. In the same way, the favourite morsel in the Snail is the mantle, speckled with chalky dots. Easily caught and highly appreciated in flavour, the Slug, crawling at night towards the tender lettuces, must often provide the Gold Beetles with a meal. Together with the caterpillar, he appears to be the Beetle’s usual fare. We must add the Earthworm, Lumbricus terrestris, often found outside its burrow in rainy weather. Even the biggest do not intimidate the aggressor. I dish up an Earthworm eight inches long and as thick as my little finger. The enormous annelid is attacked as soon as seen: six Carabi come hastening up together. As its only means of defence, the victim writhes forwards and backwards, wriggling and rolling upon itself. The monstrous worm drags with it, now on top and now below, the stubborn carvers, who do not let go and work alternately in their normal position or with upturned bellies. Constantly rolling and pitching, burying itself in the sand and reappearing, it does not succeed in discouraging them. It would be difficult to find a parallel to their tenacity. They continue to bite at the points once bitten; they hold tight and let the desperate worm flounder at will, until the tough, leathery skin ends by giving way. The contents pour forth in a blood-stained mess, into which the gluttons plunge their heads. Others hurry up to be in at the death; and soon the mighty worm is a ruin odious to look upon. I put an end to the orgy, lest the gormandizers, heavy with food, should for a long time resist the experiments which I am contemplating. Their frantic feasting tells me pretty clearly that they would finish the huge saveloy if I did not interfere. To make amends, I throw them an Earthworm of medium size. Ripped open at different points and tugged to and fro, the worm is divided into sections which each Beetle carries off as secured and moves away to consume in seclusion. So long as the dish is not cut up, the banqueters eat peacefully among themselves, often head to head, with their mandibles fixed in the same wound; but, so soon as they feel that they have lopped off a bit that suits them, they hasten to make away with their plunder, far from any covetous envy. The bulk is general property, without strife or contest; but the particle extracted belongs to the individual and must be nimbly carried out of the reach of any thievish enterprises. Let us vary the provisions as far as my resources will permit. Some Cetoniæ (C. floricola) remain in the Gold Beetles’ company for a couple of weeks. They are unmolested; they are hardly vouchsafed a passing glance. Does this mean indifference to the particular game? Does it mean that the game is difficult to attack? We shall see. I remove the wings and wing-cases. The news that there are cripples about soon spreads. The Carabi hasten along and greedily root in their bellies. After a brief spell, the Cetoniæ are drained dry. The fare therefore is deemed excellent, and it was the harness of the tight wing-cases that at first intimidated the ravenous Beetles. The result is the same with the big Black Chrysomela-beetle (Timarcha tenebricosa). The intact insect is disdained by the Carabus, who often encounters it in the vivarium and passes on, without trying to open the hermetically sealed meat-tin. But, if I remove the wing-cases, it is very satisfactorily devoured, notwithstanding its orange-yellow secretions. Again, the same Chrysomela’s fat larva, with its delicate, bare skin, makes a treat for the Carabus. Its almost metallic, bronze-black colour causes no hesitation in the hunter. As soon as seen, the tasty morsel is grabbed, ripped open and consumed. The bronze pill is regarded as a choice titbit; as many are devoured as I am able to serve. Under the strongly-built roof of their wing-cases, the Cetonia and the Black Chrysomela are safe from the attacks of the Gold Beetle, who has not the knack of forcing open the cuirass to reach the tender abdomen. If, on the other hand, the tin is less precisely closed, the ravener finds it an easy matter to lift the defensive sheaths of his prey and attain his ends. After a few attempts, he raises the wing-cases of Cerambyx cerdo and of many others from behind; he opens his oyster, pushes aside the shells and lays bare the succulent dainties of the abdomen. Any Beetle is accepted, if it be possible to force open the tin. I serve a Great Peacock, fresh from the cocoon. The Gold Beetle does not make a fierce rush for the magnificent titbit. He approaches warily at intervals, trying to nibble at the abdomen. But, at the first touch of the mandibles, the Moth grows excited, beats the ground with her wide wings and, with a sudden flap, hurls the aggressor to a distance. Attack is impossible with such game as this, for ever fluttering and giving vigorous jerks. I cut off the big Moth’s wings. The assailants are soon on the spot. There are seven of them tugging and biting the cripple’s belly. The down flies off in tufts, the skin breaks and the seven Beetles besetting the quarry dive into the entrails. It is like a pack of Wolves devouring a horse. In a little while the Great Peacock is eviscerated. The Carabus has no particular liking for the Snail (Helix aspersa) so long as he remains intact. I place two in the midst of my Beetles, whom a couple of days’ fasting has rendered more than usually enterprising. The molluscs are ensconced within their shells; and these are stuck into the sand of the cage mouth upwards. The Carabi come up and stop for a moment, in turns; they taste the slime and at once go away in disgust, without insisting further. Slightly bitten here and there, the Snail foams by driving out the small reserve of air contained in his pulmonary sac. This viscous froth constitutes his protection. The passing Beetle who takes a modest mouthful of this retires forthwith, not caring to dig any more. The foamy covering is highly effective. I leave the two Snails all day in the presence of the famished Beetles. No disaster befalls them. Next morning I find them as fresh and fit as before. To save the Carabus from that odious froth, I lay bare the two molluscs over an expanse as wide as my thumb-nail, removing a fragment of the shell in the region of the pulmonary sac. The attack now becomes prompt and persistent. Five or six Gold Beetles at a time take their stands around the breach that lays bare the non-slimy flesh. There would be more of them if there were room for a greater number, for some eager Carabi arrive who try to slip in between the occupants. Above the breach a sort of scrimmage forms, in which those nearest the victim dig and uproot its flesh, while the others look on or steal a bit from their neighbour’s lips. In one afternoon, the Snail is emptied almost to the bottom of his spiral. Next day, when the carnage is at its height, I remove the prey and replace it by an untouched Snail, fixed in the sand with the opening at the top. Aroused by a bath of water, the animal comes out of its shell, protruding its swan-like neck and extending to their full length its telescopic eye-stalks, which seem quite placidly to contemplate the frantic saraband of the ravenous Beetles. The imminent danger of evisceration does not prevent it from fully displaying its tender flesh, an easy prey on which, one would think, the gluttons, deprived of their meat, will fling themselves to continue the interrupted feast. But what is this? None of the Gold Beetles pays any attention to the magnificent quarry, which, swaying with a wave-like motion, is largely uncovered by its fortress. If one of the starvelings, more greatly daring than the others, ventures to dig a tooth into the mollusc, the Snail contracts, goes indoors and begins to foam. This is enough to repel the assailant. All the afternoon and all night, the victim remains thus in the presence of five-and-twenty disembowellers; and nothing serious happens. This same experiment, repeated on sundry occasions, proves that the Gold Beetle does not attack the unwounded Snail, even when the latter, after a shower of rain, is crawling over the wet grass, protruding all the fore-part of his body from the shell. The Carabus wants cripples, helpless inmates of broken shells; he wants a breach which enables him to bite at a point not liable to slaver. In these circumstances, the “Gardener” can do little to restrain the Snail’s misdeeds. When injured by accident, more or less badly crushed, the ravager of our garden stuff would soon die without the Gold Beetle’s intervention. From time to time, to vary the diet, I feed a piece of butcher’s meat to my charges. The Carabi eagerly flock around it, diligently taking up their stand, mincing it into tiny morsels and devouring it. This food, unknown to their race save perhaps in the form of a Mole disembowelled by the peasant’s spade, suits them as well as does the caterpillar. They like any sort of meat, excepting fish-meat. One day the bill of fare consisted of a Sardine. The guzzlers came trotting up, took a few mouthfuls and then withdrew without touching it again. It was too much of a novelty for them. I must not forget to mention that the cage is provided with a drinking-trough, that is to say, a saucer full of water. The Gold Beetles often come and drink at it after their meals. Parched after their heating diet and, moreover, daubed all over with slime after cutting up a Snail, they quench their thirst at the saucer, rinse their mouths and bathe their tarsi, which are shod in sticky boots heavy with sand. After this ablution, they make for their shelter under the bit of board and quietly enjoy a long siesta. 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). More Beetles. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. 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