THE CAPRICORN 



In fact, I find the lid intact on the threshold of the 

 abandoned cell. Last comes a second mass of woody 

 remnants as easy to scatter as the first. The road is now 

 free : the Capricorn has but to follow the wide vestibule, 

 which will lead him, without any possibility of mistake, 

 to the outer exit. Should the doorway not be open, all 

 that he has to do is to gnaw through a thin screen, an 

 easy task. Behold him outside, his long antennae quiver- 

 ing with excitement. 



What have we learnt from him? Nothing from him, 

 but much from his grub. This grub, so poor in organs 

 of sensation, gives us much to think about. It knows 

 that the coming Beetle will not be able to cut himself 

 a road through the oak, and it therefore opens one for 

 him at its own risk and peril. It knows that the Capri- 

 corn, in his stiif armour, will never be able to turn round 

 and make for the opening of the cell; and it takes care to 

 fall into its sleep of transformation with its head towards 

 the door. It knows how soft the pupa's flesh will be, 

 and it upholsters the bedroom with velvet. It knows 

 that the enemy is likely to break in during the slow work 

 of the transformation, and so, to make a protection 

 against attack, it stores lime inside its stomach. It 

 knows the future with a clear vision, or, to be accurate, 

 it behaves as if it knew the future. 



What makes it act in this way? It is certainly not 

 taught by the experiences of its senses. What does it 



[223] 



