MINOTAURUS TYPHŒUS: FIRST ATTEMPTS AT OBSERVATION
Long ago, the Minotaur’s cousins, the Geotrupes, afforded me a
delightfully unusual spectacle, that of a prolonged association in
pairs, a real domestic couple, working in common for the children’s
welfare. Philemon and Baucis, as I used to call them, prepared their
board and lodging with equal ardour. Philemon, the sturdier of the two,
compressed the food by pushing it with his fore-arms; Baucis explored
the heap on the surface, picking out the best part and lowering by the
armful the wherewithal to manufacture the enormous sausage. It was
magnificent to see the mother sifting and the father compressing.
A cloud overshadowed this exquisite picture. My subjects occupied a
cage wherein any inspection demanded an excavation on my part,
discreetly conducted, it is true, but enough to startle the labourers
and make them stop work. With unsparing patience, I thus obtained a
series of snapshots which the logic of things, that delicate
cinematographer, afterwards combined to form a living scene. I wished
for more than this: I should have liked to observe the couple in
continuous action, from the beginning to the end of their task. I had
to abandon the idea, so impossible did it seem to me to observe the
mysterious underground happenings without perturbing excavations.
To-day, my ambition to achieve the impossible has returned. The
Minotaur proclaims himself a rival of the Geotrupes; he even appears to
be their superior. I propose to follow his actions underground, at a
depth of a yard and more, completely at my ease, without in any way
distracting the insect from its occupations. To do this I shall need
the eyes of a Lynx, which are said to be capable of piercing the
opaquest night, whereas I have only my ingenuity to fall back upon in
endeavouring to see plainly in the dark. Let us see what it can do.
To begin with, the direction of the burrow enables me to foresee that
my plan is not altogether absurd. When digging her nest, the Minotaur
descends perpendicularly. If she worked at random, following all sorts
of directions, excavation would demand an infinite area of soil, out of
all proportion to the means at my disposal. Well, her invariable
adherence to the perpendicular informs me that I need not trouble about
the quantity of sand available, but only about the depth of the bed. In
these conditions, the undertaking is not unreasonable.
As good luck will have it, I possess a glass tube which has long been
diverted from chemistry and placed at the service of entomology. It is
a yard or more in length, and over an inch in width. If fixed in a
vertical position, it will do, I think, for the Minotaur’s shaft. I
close one end with a plug and fill the tube with a mixture of fine sand
and moist clay soil, packing the mixture in layers with a ramrod. This
column will be the plot of ground allotted to the digger to work in.
But it must be kept upright and completed with different accessories
essential to successful operation. For this purpose, three bamboo canes
are planted in the earth contained in a large flower-pot. Joined at
their tips, they form a tripod, a frame supporting the whole structure.
The tube is set up in the centre of the triangular base. A small
earthenware pie-dish with a hole made in the bottom, receives the open
upper end, which projects a little and holds a layer of earth that
comes level with the brim. This will represent, around the mouth of the
shaft, the space in which the insect can attend to its business, either
to shoot the rubbish from the shaft or to gather the provisions round
about. Lastly, a glass bell, fitting into the dish, prevents escape and
preserves the slight quantity of moisture needed. A few supporting
strings and bits of wire keep the whole thing firmly fixed.
We must not overlook one most important detail. The diameter of the
tube is about twice that of the natural burrow. Therefore, if the
insect digs along the axis and in an exactly perpendicular direction,
it will have at its disposal more than the required width. It will
obtain a channel lined on every side by a wall of sand a few
millimetres thick. We may however assume that the digger, knowing
nothing of geometrical precision and ignorant of the conditions
provided for it, will take no account of the axis and will deviate from
it to one side or the other. Moreover, the least additional resistance
in the substance traversed will cause the Beetle to turn aside
slightly, now hither, now thither. Consequently the glass wall will be
completely denuded at sundry points; windows will be formed, chinks
upon which I rely to make observation possible, but which will be
hateful to the darkness-loving workers.
To make sure of these windows and save the insect from them, I sheath
the tube in a few cardboard sheaths which can be gently slipped up and
down and which fit inside one another. With this arrangement, I shall
be able, when required, and without distracting the insect from its
work, to create alternately, by a simple movement of the thumb, a
little light for myself and darkness for the Beetle. The distribution
of the movable sheaths, which slip up or down as needed, will allow the
tube to be examined from end to end as and when the accidents of boring
open up new windows.
A last precaution is necessary. If I merely put the couple simply in
the dish surmounted by the bell-glass, it is probable that the
prisoners will not realize what a small portion of the soil is
available for digging. It will be best for me to teach them the right
spot in the centre of an impregnable area. For this purpose, I leave
the top of the tube empty to a depth of a few fingers’-breadths; and,
as a glass wall would be impossible to climb, I provide this part with
a lift, that is to say, I line it with wire-gauze. When this is done,
the two insects, male and female, unearthed together from their natural
burrow, are inserted into this entrance-hall, where they will find
their familiar environment, the sandy soil. With a little food
scattered about the pit, it will be enough, I hope, to make them like
their peculiar lodging.
What results shall I obtain with my rustic apparatus, so long planned
by the fireside during the winter evenings? Certainly it is not much to
look at; it would gain a poor reception in the laboratories that are
constantly perfecting their equipment. It is peasant’s work, a clumsy
combination of common objects. I agree; but let us remember that, in
the pursuit of truth, the poor and simple are by no means inferior to
the most magnificent. My arrangement of three bamboo canes has given me
delightful moments; it has provided me with some fascinating glimpses
which I will try to set forth.
In March, at the time of the great nest-building excavations, I dig up
a couple in the fields. I install them in my apparatus. In case
provisions should be needed as a restorative during the laborious
sinking of the shaft, I place a few Sheep-droppings under the glass
bell, near the mouth of the tube. The trick of the empty entrance-hall,
calculated to bring the prisoners into immediate touch with the
workable column of earth, succeeds to perfection. Soon after their
installation, the captives have recovered from their excitement and are
diligently at work.
They were taken from their home in the full ardour of excavation and
they continue in my garden the task which I interrupted. It is true
that I changed the site of their workshop as quickly as I could return
from their place of origin, which was not far away. Their zeal has not
had time to grow cold. They were digging just before removal and they
continue to dig. Time is pressing; the pair will not willingly down
tools, even after an upheaval which one would think must have
demoralized them.
As I anticipated, the digging assumes an eccentric direction, producing
in the sandy wall a few gaps in which the glass is laid bare. These
peep-holes are none too satisfactory as regards my plans; while some of
them permit of clear observation, the greater number are obscured by an
earthy veil. Besides, they are not permanent. New ones open daily,
while others close. These continual variations are due to the rubbish
which, laboriously hoisted outside, rubs against the wall, plastering
or denuding this point or that. I take advantage of these fortuitous
openings to examine as best I may, when the light falls at a favourable
angle, the interesting things happening inside the tube.
I see over and over again, at my leisure, as often as I please and over
a protracted period, what the exhausting inspection of the natural
burrows showed me in rare and fleeting glimpses. The mother is always
ahead, in the post of honour, at the working-face. Alone she toils and
moils, with her clypeus; alone she scrapes and digs, with the harrow of
her toothed arms: her mate never relieves her. The father is always in
the rear, very busy too, but on another job. His task it is to carry
the loosened soil outside and to clear up as the pioneer goes deeper
and deeper.
This labour of his is no slight affair, as we may judge from the mound
which he throws up when plying his trade in the meadows. It is a big
heap of earthen plugs, of cylinders mostly measuring an inch in length.
You need only examine the pieces to see that the navvy handles blocks
of Cyclopean dimensions. He does not carry off the excavated soil
fragment by fragment; he ejects it in huge agglomerations.
What should we think of a miner who was obliged to hoist to the
surface, to a height of some hundreds of feet, an overpoweringly heavy
hod of coal up a narrow, perpendicular shaft which could be climbed
only by the use of his knees and elbows? The Minotaur father’s ordinary
task is the equivalent of this feat of strength. He performs it with
great dexterity. How does he manage to do it? Our bamboo tripod will
tell us.
From time to time, the denuded points of the tube afford me a glimpse
of his doings. He is stationed at the digger’s heels, raking the
loosened soil towards him by the armful. He kneads it, as its moisture
enables him to do, he works it up into a plug which he thrusts back
into the shaft. Then the plug begins to move. The load precedes him;
and he pushes it from behind with his three-pronged fork. The work of
transport would be a magnificent sight did the accidental peep-holes in
the gallery lend themselves better to our curiosity. Unfortunately,
they are few and small and none too clear.
Let us try to devise something better. In a dimly-lit corner of my
study I hang perpendicularly a glass tube of smaller calibre than the
first. I leave it as it is, unprovided with an opaque sheath. At the
bottom is a nine-inch column of earth. All the rest is empty and may be
easily observed, if the Minotaurs consent to work under such
disadvantageous conditions. Provided that the experiment be not unduly
prolonged, they do consent and very readily, so imperious is the need
of a burrow as laying-time draws nigh.
I extract from the soil a couple engaged in excavating their natural
shaft and place them in the glass tube. Next morning I find them
continuing their interrupted business in broad daylight. Seated a
little way off, in the shadow of the corner in which the apparatus
hangs, I watch the operation, amazed by what I see. The mother digs.
The father, at some distance, waits until the heap of rubbish is
beginning to hamper the worker’s movements. Then he approaches. By
small armfuls he draws towards him and slips beneath his abdomen the
shifted earth, which, being plastic, forms into a ball under the
pressure of the hind-legs.
The Beetle now turns about beneath the load. With the trident driven
into the bundle, as a pitchfork is driven into a truss of hay, before
tossing it into the loft, the fore-legs, with their wide, toothed
shanks, gripping the load and preventing it from crumbling, he pushes
with all his might. And cheerily! The thing moves and ascends, very
slowly, it is true, but still it ascends! How is it done, seeing that
the too smooth surface of the glass acts as an absolute check to the
upward movement?
The insurmountable difficulty has been provided for. I selected a clay
soil likely to leave a trace of its passage. With the cart before the
horse, the load itself sands the road and makes it practicable; in
rubbing past every portion of the wall, it leaves particles of earth
which constitute so many points of purchase. Therefore, as he pushes
his burden upwards, the Beetle finds behind it a roughened surface
which affords him a footing as he climbs.
This, after all, is all he needs, though it involves occasional slips
and efforts to retain his balance, which are unknown in the natural
shaft. When he comes to a certain distance from the opening, he leaves
his clod, which, shaped by the tube, remains in its place, motionless.
He returns to the bottom, not by allowing himself to fall suddenly, but
gradually and carefully, by means of the footholds by which he made his
way up. A second pellet is hoisted up and welded to the first. A third
follows. At length, with a last effort, he pushes out the whole thing
in a single plug.
This fractional division is a judicious method. Because of the enormous
amount of friction in the narrow and uneven natural shaft, the Beetle
would never succeed in hoisting the great cylinders of his mound in one
lump; he carries them up in loads which are not beyond his powers and
which are afterwards joined and welded together.
I am inclined to believe that this work of assembling the component
parts is performed in the slightly sloping vestibule which usually
precedes the perpendicular shaft. Here no doubt the successive clods
are compressed into one very heavy cylinder, which is yet easily moved
along an almost horizontal road. Then the Minotaur, with a last thrust
of his trident, pushes out the lump, which joins the others on the
sides of the mound. They are like so many blocks of hewn stone
forbidding access to the home. The rubbish thus suitably moulded
provides a Cyclopean system of fortification.
In the glass tube, the climbing is such difficult work that the insect
is soon discouraged. The frail footholds left by the load crumble and
fall off, swept away by the tarsi vainly seeking a support; and the
tube again becomes smooth over wide extents of its surface. The climber
ends by giving up struggling against the impossible; he abandons his
bundle and drops to the bottom. The works cease henceforth; the couple
have recognized the treachery of their strange dwelling. Both of them
try to get away. Their uneasiness is betrayed by continual attempts to
escape. I set them free. They have told me all that they were able to
tell me in conditions so favourable to me and so bad for themselves.
To return to the large apparatus, where the work is proceeding
correctly. The boring, begun in March, finishes by the middle of April.
From this time onward, my daily visits no longer show me on the top of
the mound a plug of fresh earth, marking a recent ejection of rubbish.
It must therefore take two or three weeks at least to excavate the
dwelling. My observations in the open even lead me to think that a
month or longer is not excessive. My two captives, disturbed in the
midst of their earlier labours and pressed for time by the lateness of
the season, cut short this work, which for that matter they were unable
to continue when the cork stopper appeared at the bottom of the tube as
an insuperable obstacle. The others, working in freedom, have an
unlimited depth of sand at their disposal. They have plenty of leisure,
if they start work in good time. Even before the end of February we see
plenty of mounds. Later, these will mark the sites of shafts four or
five feet deep. Such pits as these require a full month’s labour, if
not more.
Now what do the two well-sinkers eat, during this long period, to keep
up their strength? Nothing, absolutely nothing, we are told by the two
guests in my apparatus. Neither of them appears looking for food on the
surface of the pie-dish. The mother does not leave the bottom for a
moment; the father alone goes up and down. When he comes up, it is
always with a load of rubbish. I am warned of his arrival by the
hillock which shakes and partly crumbles under the impetus of the navvy
and his load; but the Beetle himself does not appear, for the mouth of
the erupting cone remains closed by the plug ejected. Everything
happens in secret, sheltered from the indiscretion of the light. In the
same way, in the fields, any burrow in process of construction remains
closed until it is quite finished.
This, it is true, does not prove the absolute absence of provisions,
for the father might go out at night, collect a few pellets in the
neighbourhood of the shaft, push them in, go indoors again and shut up
the house. In this way the couple would have enough bread in the larder
to last them for a few days. This explanation must be abandoned, as we
are definitely taught by what happens in my rearing-appliance.
Foreseeing a need of food, I had supplied the dish with a few
droppings. When the excavation-works were finished, I found these
pellets untouched and undiminished in number. The father, supposing him
to go strolling about at night, could not fail to see them. He had
taken no notice of them.
The peasants in my neighbourhood, rude tillers of the soil, have four
meals a day. At early dawn, on rising, a hunk of bread and a few dried
figs, for a snack, as they put it. In the fields, at nine o’clock, the
wife brings the soup and its complement of anchovies and olives, which
give a man an honest thirst. On the stroke of two, in the shade of a
hedge, lunch is taken from the wallet, consisting of almonds and bread
and cheese. This is followed by a sleep in the hottest part of the day.
When night falls, they go home, where the housewife has made ready a
salad of lettuces and a dish of fried potatoes seasoned with onions.
All told, a great deal of eating to a moderate amount of work.
Ah, how greatly superior is the Minotaur! For a month and longer,
without taking any food, he works like a madman and is always fit and
strong. If I told my neighbours, the chawbacons, that in a certain
world the labourer does a month’s hard work without a bite of food,
they would reply with an incredulous guffaw. If I say as much to the
chewers of ideas, perhaps I shall scandalize them.
No matter: let me repeat what the Minotaur told me. The chemical energy
derived from nourishment is not the only origin of animal activity. As
a source of life there is something better than digested food. What?
How can I tell? Apparently the effluvia, known or unknown, emanating
from the sun and transformed by the organism into a mechanical
equivalent. So we were told before by the Scorpion and the Spider; [41]
So we are told now by the Minotaur, who is more convincing with his
arduous calling. He does not eat, yet he is a frantic worker.
The insect world is fruitful in surprises. The three-pronged
Dung-beetle, an accomplished faster and nevertheless a remarkable
labourer, sets us a magnificent problem. Is it not possible that on
distant planets, governed by another sun, green, blue, yellow or red,
life might be exempt from the ignominy of the stomach, that lamentable
source of atrocities, and maintain its activities merely with the aid
of the radiations flooding that corner of the universe? Shall we ever
know? I sincerely hope so, our earth being but a stage towards a better
world, in which true happiness might well lie in fathoming more and
more deeply the unfathomable secret of things.
Let us leave these nebulous heights and return to the workaday question
of the Minotaur’s affairs. The burrow is ready; it is time to establish
the family. I am apprised of this by seeing the father for the first
time venture abroad in the daylight. He is very busy exploring the
expanse of the dish. What is he looking for? He seems to be seeking
provisions for the coming brood. This is the moment to interfere.
To facilitate observation, I make a clean sweep. I clear the site of
its mound, under which lie buried the victuals which I deemed necessary
at the outset, but which have remained untouched. These old pellets,
soiled with earth, are discarded and replaced by others, a dozen in
number, distributed around the mouth of the shaft. There are, as I say,
precisely twelve, arranged in groups of three, which will make it
easier and quicker for me to count them daily through the haze covering
the bell. A moderate watering, effected from time to time on the border
of soil which surrounds the bell and keeps it in position, produces a
humid atmosphere inside the apparatus similar to that of the depths
favoured by the Minotaur. This element of success should not be
omitted. Lastly, I keep a current account in which I enter day by day
the pieces stored away. There were twelve at the beginning. If these
are exhausted, we shall replace them as often as may be necessary.
I have not to wait long for the results of my preparations. That same
evening, watching from a distance, I catch sight of the father leaving
his home. He makes for the pellets, chooses one that suits him and,
with little taps of his head, rolls it as he might roll a barrel. I
steal up softly to observe the action. Forthwith the Beetle, timid to
excess, abandons his morsel and dives down the shaft. The distrustful
fellow has seen me; he has perceived some enormous and
suspicious-looking thing moving near at hand. This is more than enough
to alarm him and make him postpone his harvesting. He will not reappear
until perfect quiet is restored.
I now know: he who wishes to watch the gathering of the provisions must
display the utmost patience and discretion. I accept the facts: I will
be discreet and patient. On the following days, at different hours, I
try again, silently and slyly, until success rewards me for my
assiduous vigil.
Again and again I see the Minotaur go his harvesting rounds. It is
always the male and the male alone that comes out and goes in quest of
supplies; the mother never, never on any account, shows herself, being
absorbed in other occupations at the bottom of the burrow. The
provisions are transported sparingly. Down below, it seems, the
culinary preparations are minute and deliberate; the housewife must be
given time to work up the morsels lowered to her before we bring others
which would encumber the workshop and hinder the manipulation. In ten
days, beginning with the 13th of April, the date on which the male
leaves home for the first time, I count twenty-three pellets stored
away, say an average of a little over two in the twenty-four hours. In
all, ten days’ harvesting and two dozen morsels to manufacture the
sausage which will form the ration of one grub.
Let us try to catch a glimpse of the couple’s behaviour in private. In
this connection I can have recourse to two methods, which, if employed
in alternation and with perseverance, may give me the much-desired
spectacle in a fragmentary form. In the first place, there is a large
tripod. The narrow column of earth affords, as we know, incidental
peep-holes, situated at different heights. I avail myself of these to
take a glance at what happens inside. In the second place, a
perpendicular, uncovered tube, the same which I used when investigating
the climbing, receives a couple removed from the ground a few hours
before, while actively engaged on preparing the foodstuffs.
I quite expect that my device will fail to have any lasting effect.
Soon demoralized by the peculiarity of their new residence, the two
insects will refuse to work, will become restless and wish to get away.
No matter: before their nest-building ardour dies down, they may be
able to supply me with valuable details. On combining the facts
collected by means of the two methods, I obtain the following data.
The father goes out and selects a pellet whose length is greater than
the diameter of the pit. He conveys it to the mouth, either backwards,
by dragging it with his fore-feet, or straight ahead, by rolling it
with little thrusts of his clypeus. He reaches the edge of the hole.
Will he fling the lump down the precipice with one last push? Not at
all: he has plans that are incompatible with a violent fall.
He enters, clasping the pellet with his legs and taking care to insert
it by one end. On reaching a certain distance from the bottom, he has
only to slant the piece slightly to make it find a support at its two
ends against the walls of the shaft: this because of the greater length
of its main axis. He thus obtains a sort of temporary flooring able to
bear the load of two or three pellets. The whole forms the workshop in
which the father will perform his task without disturbing the mother,
who is herself engaged below. It is the mill whence will be lowered the
meal for making the cakes.
The miller is well-equipped for his work. Look at his trident. On the
solid foundation of the corselet stand three sharp spears, the two
outer ones long, the middle one short, all three pointing forwards.
What purpose does this weapon serve? At first sight, one would take it
for a mere masculine decoration, the corporation of Dung-beetles
boasting many such, of various forms. Well, it is something more than
an ornament: the Minotaur turns his gaud into a tool.
The three points of unequal length describe a concave arc, wide enough
to admit a spherical dropping. Standing on his incomplete and quaking
floor, which demands the employment of his four hind-legs, propped
against the walls of the shaft, how will the Beetle manage to keep the
slippery pellet in position and break it up? Let us watch him at work.
Stooping a little, he drives his fork into the piece, which is
thenceforth rendered stationary, for it is held in the crescent-shaped
jaws of the implement. The fore-legs are free; with their toothed
shanks they can saw the morsel, shred it and reduce it to fragments
which gradually fall through the gaps in the flooring and reach the
mother below.
The substance which the miller shoots down is not a flour passed
through the bolting-sieve, but rather a coarse meal, a mixture of
pulverized remnants and of pieces hardly ground at all. Incomplete
though it be, this preliminary grinding will be of the greatest
assistance to the mother in her tedious job of bread-making: it will
shorten the work and allow the best and the second best to be separated
forthwith. When everything on the upper story, including the floor
itself, is ground to powder, the horned miller returns to the open air,
gathers a fresh harvest and starts his work of crumbling anew entirely
at his leisure.
Nor is the baker inactive in her kitchen. She collects the remnants
pouring down around her, subdivides them yet further, refines them and
sorts them. This, the tenderer part, for the central crumb; that,
tougher, for the crust of the loaf. Turning this way and that, she pats
the material with the battledore of her flat arms; she arranges it in
layers, which presently she compresses by stamping on them where they
lie, much after the manner of a vintager treading his grapes. Rendered
firm and compact, the mass will keep better. After some ten days of
this united labour, the couple at last obtain the long, cylindrical
loaf. The father has done the grinding, the mother the kneading.
On the 24th of April, everything being now in order, the male leaves
the tube of my apparatus. He roams about in the bell-glass, heedless of
my presence, he who was at first so timid and apt to dive down the
shaft at the first sight of me. He is indifferent to food. A few
pellets remain on the surface. He comes upon them at every moment; he
disdainfully passes them by. He has but one wish, to get away as fast
as he can. This is shown by his restless marching and countermarching,
by his continual attempts to scale the glass wall. He tumbles over,
recovers his footing and begins all over again indefinitely, giving not
a thought to the burrow, which he will never re-enter.
I let the desperate Beetle exhaust himself for twenty-four hours in
vain attempts at escape. Let us come to his assistance now and restore
his freedom. Or rather no, for this would mean that we should lose
sight of him and remain ignorant of the object of his perturbation. I
have a very large unoccupied rearing-cage. I house the Minotaur in this
cage, where he will have plenty of flying-room, choice victuals and
sunlight. Next morning, in spite of all these luxuries, I find him
lying on his back, with his legs stiff and stark. He is dead. The
gallant fellow, having fulfilled his duties as the father of a family,
felt his strength failing him; and this was the cause of his
restlessness. He was anxious to go and die by himself, far away, so as
not to defile the home with a corpse and trouble the widow in her
subsequent operations. I admire this stoical resignation on the
insect’s part.
If it were an isolated, casual instance, resulting perhaps from a
defective installation, there would be no reason to dwell upon the
Beetle who met with his death in my apparatus. But here is something
that complicates matters. In the open fields, when May is at hand, I
often happen upon Minotaurs shrivelling in the sun; and these corpses
are those of males, always males, with very few exceptions.
Another and a very significant detail is supplied by a cage in which I
several times tried to rear the insect. As the bed of soil, some
eighteen inches thick, was not deep enough, the prisoners absolutely
refused to build their nests in it. Apart from this, the other, usual
operations were pursued according to rule. Well, from the end of April
onwards, the males ascend to the surface, one at a time. For a couple
of days they wander about the trellis-work, anxious to get away. At
last they tumble off, lie on their backs and slowly give up the ghost.
Age has killed them.
In the first week of June, I dig up the soil in the cage from top to
bottom. Of the fifteen males who were there at the beginning, hardly
one remains. All have died; all the females survive. The harsh law is
therefore inevitable. After helping with his hod in the lengthy task of
sinking the shaft, after amassing suitable provisions and grinding the
meal, the industrious trident-bearer goes away to die far from home.