The Cetoniae 



abandons the sumptuous hammock, fragrant 

 of attar, to burrow in nauseous filth. 

 Whence this sudden depravity? 



She knows that her grub will regale itelf 

 on what she herself abhors; and overcoming 

 her repugnance, not even giving it a thought, 

 she takes the plunge. Is she actuated by the 

 memory of her larval days? But what 

 memory of food can she have after a year's 

 interval, above all after an absolute remould- 

 ing of her organism? To draw the Ceto- 

 nia hither, to make her come from the rose 

 to this putrid heap, there is something better 

 than the memory of the belly; there is a 

 blind, irresistible impulse, which acts in the 

 most logical manner under cover of a seem- 

 ing insanity. 



Let us now return to the heap of leaf- 

 mould. The rustle of the withered leaves 

 has informed us approximately: we know in 

 what direction to make our search, a minute 

 and hesitating search, for we have to follow 

 the mother's trail. Nevertheless, guided 

 by the materials thrust aside on the insect's 

 passage, we reach our goal. The eggs are 

 found, scattered without order, always 

 singly, with no preparatory measures. It is 

 enough that there should be close at hand 

 17 



