THE GREEN GRASSHOPPER 25 



of prey, apparently. But what manner of prey? A 

 lucky chance taught me. 



At break of day I was pacing up and down outside my 

 door, when something fell from the nearest plane-tree 

 with a shrill grating sound. I ran up and saw a Grass- 

 hopper gutting the belly of a struggling Cicada. In vain 

 the victim buzzed and waved his limbs : the other did not 

 let go, dipping her head right into the entrails and root- 

 ing them out by small mouth fuls. 



I knew what I wanted to know : the attack had taken 

 place up above, early in the morning, while the Cicada 

 was asleep; and the plunging of the poor wretch, dis- 

 sected alive, had made assailant and assailed fall in a 

 bundle to the ground. Since then I have repeatedly had 

 occasion to witness similar carnage. 



I have even seen the Grasshopper — the height of 

 audacity, this — dart in pursuit of a Cicada in mad 

 flight. Even so does the Sparrow-hawk pursue the 

 Swallow in the sky. But the bird of prey here is inferior 

 to the insect. It attacks a weaker than itself. The 

 Grasshopper, on the other hand, assaults a colossus, much 

 larger than herself and stronger; and nevertheless the 

 result of the unequal fight is not in doubt. The Grass- 

 hopper rarely fails with the sharp pliers of her powerful 

 jaws to disembowel her capture, which, being unprovided 

 with weapons, confines itself to crying out and kicking. 



The main thing is to retain one's hold of the prize, 

 which is not difficult in somnolent darkness. Any Cicada 

 encountered by the fierce Locustid on her nocturnal 

 rounds is bound to die a lamentable death. This explains 



