232 SOCIAL LIFE IN THE INSECT WORLD 



selves to fall into the whirlpool, retaken by their mad- 

 ness. The lure is irresistible. None will break free 

 from the swarm until the evening, or perhaps the next 

 day, when the heady fumes will have evaporated. Then 

 the units of the swarm disengage themselves from their 

 mutual embraces, and slowly, as though regretfully, 

 take flight and depart. At the bottom of this devil's 

 purse remains a heap of the dead and dying, of severed 

 limbs and wing-covers torn off ; the inevitable sequels 

 of the frantic orgy. Soon the woodlice, earwigs, and 

 ants will appear to prey upon the injured. 



What are these insects doing ? Were they the 

 prisoners of the flower, converted into a trap which 

 allowed them to enter but prevented their escape by 

 means of a palisade of converging hairs ? No, they 

 were not prisoners ; they had full liberty to escape, as 

 is proved by the final exodus, which is in no way 

 impeded. Deceived by a fallacious odour, were they 

 endeavouring to lay and establish their eggs as they 

 would have done under the shelter of a corpse ? 

 No ; there is no trace of eggs in the purse of the 

 Arum. They came convoked by the odour of a decay- 

 ing body, their supreme delight ; an intoxication seized 

 them, and they rushed into the eddying swarm to take 

 part in a festival of carrion-eaters. 



I was anxious to count the number of those attracted. 

 At the height of the bacchanal I emptied the purse 

 into a bottle. Intoxicated as they were, many would 

 escape my census, and I wished to ensure its accuracy. 

 A few drops of carbon bisulphide quieted the swarm. 

 The census proved that there were more than four 

 hundred insects in the purse of the Arum. The collec- 



