THE CABBAGE-CATERPILLAR 301 



Everything, even the nonsensical, is capable of explana- 

 tion with a little credulity. When I question the peas- 

 ants, our neighbors, they tell me that the effect of the 

 egg-shell is as simple as can be : the Butterflies, attracted 

 by the whiteness, come and lay their eggs upon it. 

 Broiled by the sun and lacking all nourishment on that 

 thankless support, the little caterpillars die; and that 

 makes so many fewer. 



I insist ; I ask them if they have ever seen slabs of eggs 

 or masses of young caterpillars on those white shells. 



" Never," they reply, with one voice. 



"Well, then?" 



" It was done in the old days and so we go on doing it : 

 that 's all we know ; and that 's enough for us." 



I leave it at that, persuaded that the memory of the 

 Horse's skull, used once upon a time, is ineradicable, like 

 all the rustic absurdities implanted by the ages. 



We have, when all is said, but one means of protection, 

 which is to watch and inspect the cabbage-leaves assid- 

 uously and crush the slabs of eggs between our finger 

 and thumb and the caterpillars with our feet. Nothing 

 is so effective as this method, which makes great demands 

 on one's time and vigilance. What pains to obtain an 

 unspoilt cabbage! And what a debt do we not owe to 

 those humble scrapers of the soil, those ragged heroes, 

 who provide us with the wherewithal to live! 



To eat and digest, to accumulate reserves whence the 

 Butterfly will issue : that is the caterpillar's one and only 

 business. The Cabbage-caterpillar performs it with 

 insatiable gluttony. Incessantly it browses, incessantly 



