The Life of the Fly | Page 7

the pith of a dry bit of bramble,
obtains for her grubs a cylindrical lodging and divides it into floors by
means of partition walls; a third employs the natural channel of a cut
reed; a fourth is a rent-free tenant of the vacant galleries of some mason
bee. Here are the Macrocerae and the Eucerae, whose males are
proudly horned; the Dasypodae, who carry an ample brush of bristles
on their hind legs for a reaping implement; the Andrenae, so manifold
in species; the slender-bellied Halicti [all wild bees]. I omit a host of
others. If I tried to continue this record of the guests of my thistles, it
would muster almost the whole of the honey yielding tribe. A learned
entomologist of Bordeaux, Professor Perez, to whom I submit the
naming of my prizes, once asked me if I had any special means of
hunting, to send him so many rarities and even novelties. I am not at all
an experienced and, still less, a zealous hunter, for the insect interests
me much more when engaged in its work than when struck on a pin in
a cabinet. The whole secret of my hunting is reduced to my dense
nursery of thistles and centauries.
By a most fortunate chance, with this populous family of honey
gatherers was allied the whole hunting tribe. The builders' men had
distributed here and there in the harmas great mounds of sand and

heaps of stones, with a view to running up some surrounding walls. The
work dragged on slowly; and the materials found occupants from the
first year. The mason bees had chosen the interstices between the
stones as a dormitory where to pass the night, in serried groups. The
powerful eyed lizard, who, when close pressed, attacks both man and
dog, wide mouthed, had selected a cave wherein to lie in wait for the
passing scarab [a dung beetle also known as the sacred beetle]; the
black-eared chat, garbed like a Dominican, white-frocked with black
wings, sat on the top stone, singing his short rustic lay: his nest, with its
sky blue eggs, must be somewhere in the heap. The little Dominican
disappeared with the loads of stones. I regret him: he would have been
a charming neighbor. The eyed lizard I do not regret at all.
The sand sheltered a different colony. Here, the Bembeces [digger
wasps] were sweeping the threshold of their burrows, flinging a curve
of dust behind them; the Languedocian Sphex was dragging her
Ephippigera [a green grasshopper] by the antennae; a Stizus [a hunting
wasp] was storing her preserves of Cicadellae [froghoppers]. To my
sorrow, the masons ended by evicting the sporting tribe; but, should I
ever wish to recall it, I have but to renew the mounds of sand: they will
soon all be there.
Hunters that have not disappeared, their homes being different, are the
Ammophilae, whom I see fluttering, one in spring, the others in autumn,
along the garden walks and over the lawns, in search of a caterpillar;
the Pompili [digger or hunting wasp], who travel alertly, beating their
wings and rummaging in every corner in quest of a spider. The largest
of them waylays the Narbonne Lycosa [known also as the black-bellied
tarantula], whose burrow is not infrequent in the harmas. This burrow
is a vertical well, with a curb of fescue grass intertwined with silk. You
can see the eyes of the mighty Spider gleam at the bottom of the den
like little diamonds, an object of terror to most. What a prey and what
dangerous hunting for the Pompilus! And here, on a hot summer
afternoon, is the Amazon ant, who leaves her barrack rooms in long
battalions and marches far afield to hunt for slaves. We will follow her
in her raids when we find time. Here again, around a heap of grasses
turned to mould, are Scoliae [large hunting wasps] an inch and a half
long, who fly gracefully and dive into the heap, attracted by a rich prey,
the grubs of Lamellicorns, Orycotes and Ceotoniae [various beetles].

What subjects for study! And there are more to come. The house was as
utterly deserted as the ground. When man was gone and peace assured,
the animal hastily seized on everything. The warbler took up his abode
in the lilac shrubs; the greenfinch settled in the thick shelter of the
cypresses; the sparrow carted rags and straw under every slate; the
Serin finch, whose downy nest is no bigger than half an apricot, came
and chirped in the plane tree tops; the Scops made a habit of uttering
his monotonous, piping note here, of an evening; the bird of Pallas
Athene, the owl, came hurrying along to hoot and hiss.
In front of the house is a large pond, fed