The Life of the Caterpillar by Jean-Henri Fabre

The Life of the Caterpillar

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This caterpillar has already had his story told by Réaumur, but it was a story marked by gaps. These were inevitable in the conditions under which the great man worked, for he had to receive all his materials by barge from the distant Bordeaux Landes. The transplanted insect could not be expected to furnish its biographer with other than fragmentary evidence, very weak in those biological details which form the principal charm of entomology. To study the habits of insects one must observe them long and closely on their native heath, so to speak, in the place where their instincts have full and natural play.
With caterpillars foreign to the Paris climate and brought from the other end of France, Réaumur therefore ran the risk of missing many most interesting facts. This is what actually happened, just as it did on a later occasion in the case of another alien, the Cicada. Nevertheless, the information which he was able to extract from a few nests sent to him from the Landes is of the highest value.
Better served than he by circumstances, I will take up afresh the story of the Processionary Caterpillar of the Pine. If the subject does not come up to my hopes, it will certainly not be for lack of materials. In myharmas laboratory, now stocked with a few trees in addition to its bushes, stand some vigorous fir-trees, the Aleppo pine and the black Austrian pine, a substitute for that of the Landes. Every year the caterpillar takes possession of them and spins his great purses in their branches. In the interest of the leaves, which are horribly ravaged, as though there had been a fire, I am obliged each winter to make a strict survey and to extirpate the nests with a long forked batten.
You voracious little creatures, if I let you have your way, I should soon be robbed of the murmur of my once so leafy pines! Today I will seek compensation for all the trouble I have taken. Let us make a compact. You have a story to tell. Tell it me; and for a year, for two years or longer, until I know more or less all about it, I shall leave you undisturbed, even at the cost of lamentable suffering to the pines.
Having concluded the treaty and left the caterpillars in peace, I soon have abundant material for my observations. In return for my indulgence I get some thirty nests within a few steps of my door. If the collection were not large enough, the pine-trees in the neighbourhood would supply me with any necessary additions. But I have a preference and a decided preference for the population of my own enclosure, whose nocturnal habits are much easier to observe by lantern-light. With such treasures daily before my eyes, at any time that I wish and under natural conditions, I cannot fail to see the Processionary’s story unfolded at full length. Let us try.
And first of all the egg, which Réaumur did not see. In the first fortnight of August, let us inspect the lower branches of the pines, on a level with our eyes. If we pay the least attention, we soon discover, here and there, on the foliage, certain little whitish cylinders spotting the dark green. These are the Bombyx’ eggs: each cylinder is the cluster laid by one mother.

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