Social Life in the Insect World | Page 4

in order to reach the well, slip under the belly of the Cigale, who kindly raises herself on her claws, leaving room for the importunate ones to pass. The larger, stamping with impatience, quickly snatch a mouthful, withdraw, take a turn on the neighbouring twigs, and then return, this time more enterprising. Envy grows keener; those who but now were cautious become turbulent and aggressive, and would willingly drive from the spring the well-sinker who has caused it to flow.
In this crowd of brigands the most aggressive are the ants. I have seen them nibbling the ends of the Cigale's claws; I have caught them tugging the ends of her wings, climbing on her back, tickling her antenn?. One audacious individual so far forgot himself under my eyes as to seize her proboscis, endeavouring to extract it from the well!
Thus hustled by these dwarfs, and at the end of her patience, the giantess finally abandons the well. She flies away, throwing a jet of liquid excrement over her tormentors as she goes. But what cares the Ant for this expression of sovereign contempt? She is left in possession of the spring--only too soon exhausted when the pump is removed that made it flow. There is little left, but that little is sweet. So much to the good; she can wait for another drink, attained in the same manner, as soon as the occasion presents itself.
[Illustration: DURING THE DROUGHTS OF SUMMER THIRSTING INSECTS, AND NOTABLY THE ANT, FLOCK TO THE DRINKING-PLACES OF THE CIGALE.]
As we see, reality completely reverses the action described by the fable. The shameless beggar, who does not hesitate at theft, is the Ant; the industrious worker, willingly sharing her goods with the suffering, is the Cigale. Yet another detail, and the reversal of the fable is further emphasised. After five or six weeks of gaiety, the songstress falls from the tree, exhausted by the fever of life. The sun shrivels her body; the feet of the passers-by crush it. A bandit always in search of booty, the Ant discovers the remains. She divides the rich find, dissects it, and cuts it up into tiny fragments, which go to swell her stock of provisions. It is not uncommon to see a dying Cigale, whose wings are still trembling in the dust, drawn and quartered by a gang of knackers. Her body is black with them. After this instance of cannibalism the truth of the relations between the two insects is obvious.
Antiquity held the Cigale in high esteem. The Greek B��ranger, Anacreon, devoted an ode to her, in which his praise of her is singularly exaggerated. "Thou art almost like unto the Gods," he says. The reasons which he has given for this apotheosis are none of the best. They consist in these three privileges: [Greek: g��gen��s, apath��s, hanaimosarke]; born of the earth, insensible to pain, bloodless. We will not reproach the poet for these mistakes; they were then generally believed, and were perpetuated long afterwards, until the exploring eye of scientific observation was directed upon them. And in minor poetry, whose principal merit lies in rhythm and harmony, we must not look at things too closely.
Even in our days, the Proven?al poets, who know the Cigale as Anacreon never did, are scarcely more careful of the truth in celebrating the insect which they have taken for their emblem. A friend of mine, an eager observer and a scrupulous realist, does not deserve this reproach. He gives me permission to take from his pigeon-holes the following Proven?al poem, in which the relations between the Cigale and the Ant are expounded with all the rigour of science. I leave to him the responsibility for his poetic images and his moral reflections, blossoms unknown to my naturalist's garden; but I can swear to the truth of all he says, for it corresponds with what I see each summer on the lilac-trees of my garden.
LA CIGALO E LA FOURNIGO.
I.
Jour de Di��u, queto caud! B��u t��ms p��r la Cigalo, Que, trefoulido, se regalo D'uno raisso de fio; b��u t��ms per la meissoun. Dins lis erso d'or, lou segaire, Ren plega, pitre au vent, rustico e canto gaire; Dins soun gousi��, la set estranglo la cansoun.
T��ms benesi p��r tu. Dounc, ardit! cigaleto, Fai-lei brusi, ti chimbaleto, E brandusso lou ventre �� creba ti mirau. L'Ome enterin mando le daio, Que vai balin-balan de longo e que dardaio L'ulau de soun aci�� sus li rous espigau.
Pl��n d'aigo p��r la p��iro e tampouna d'erbiho Lou coufi�� sus l'anco pendiho. Si la p��iro es au fr��s dins soun estui de bos, E se de longo es ab��urado, L'Ome barbelo au fio d'aqueli souleiado Que fan bouli de fes la mesoulo dis os.
Tu, Cigalo, as un biais p��r la set: dins la rusco Tendro e jutouso d'uno busco,