The Botanical Instinct 



needs, that the mother, half-buried in the 

 ground, will lay her egg. 



That ardent lover of roses and hawthorn- 

 blossom, the Golden Cetonia, leaves the 

 luxury of the flowers, to burrow in the shame 

 of putrescence. She repairs to the compost- 

 heap, but is certainly not tempted by any dish 

 to her taste. She cannot sip honey there 

 nor intoxicate heirself with perfumed es- 

 sences. Another reason draws her to this 

 corruption. 



At first sight it would seem as if these 

 strange instincts might be explained by the 

 larva's diet, of which the adult would retain 

 a lively recollection. The caterpillar of the 

 Pieris fed on cabbage-leaves; the caterpillar 

 of the Vanessa fed on nettle-leaves; and each 

 of the two Butterflies, endowed with a faith- 

 ful memory, exploits the plant which has no 

 attraction for her now, but which was a treat 

 for her in her infancy. 



In the same way, the Cetonia dives into 

 the heap of leaf-mould because she remem- 

 bers the feasts of former days, when she was 

 a grub in the midst of the fermenting vege- 

 table matter; and the Pine Cockchafer seeks 

 17 



