The Sacred Beetle: the Release 



an average pea In bulk, is all that those 

 powerful implements, rasp, saw, harrow 

 and rake, have succeeded in detaching from 

 the invincible wall. 



I take some other shells, of equal hard- 

 ness, wrap them in a wet rag and put them 

 in a flask. When the moisture has soaked 

 through them, I rid them of their wrapper 

 and keep them in the corked flask. This 

 time, events take a very different course. 

 Softened to a nicety by the wet rag, the 

 shells open, burst by the efforts of the 

 prisoner, who props himself boldly on his 

 legs, using his back as a lever; or else, 

 scraped away at one point, they crumble to 

 pieces and reveal a yawning breach. The 

 experiment Is a complete success. In every 

 case, the release of the Beetles Is safely 

 accomplished: a few drops of water have 

 brought them the joys of the sun. 



For the second time, Horapollo was right. 

 True, it Is not the mother, as the ancient 

 writer says, who throws her ball into the 

 water: it Is the clouds that provide the 

 liberating douche, it is the rain that brings 

 about the ultimate release. In the natural 

 state things must happen as In my experi- 

 ments. When the soil is burnt by the August 

 sun, the shells, baked like bricks under their 

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