The Mason-Wasps 



stretches her limbs, twitches her abdomen 

 and, after a few convulsions, lies absolutely 

 still. I believe her dead. She is nothing of 

 the sort. After a sun-bath, a sovran cordial, 

 she recovers her legs again and goes back 

 to the stack of combs. Yet the resuscitated 

 Wasp is not saved. During the afternoon 

 she is seized with a second fit, which this 

 time leaves her really lifeless, with her legs 

 in the air. 



Death, if it be only the death of a Wasp, 

 is always a solemn thing, worthy of our 

 meditation. Day by day, with a curiosity 

 not devoid of emotion, I watch the end of 

 my insects. One detail especially strikes me : 

 the neuters succumb suddenly. They come 

 to the surface, slip down, fall on their backs 

 and rise no more, as though they were struck 

 by lightning. They have had their day; 

 they are slain by age, that inexorable toxin. 

 Even so does a piece of clockwork become 

 inert when its mainspring has unwound its 

 last spiral. 



But the females, the last-born of the com- 

 munity, far from being overcome by decrepi- 

 tude, are, on the contrary, just entering upon 

 life. They have the vigour of youth; and 

 so, when the winter sickness seizes them, 

 they are capable of a certain resistance, 

 264 



