The Life of the Caterpillar 



placed a few egg-laden branches in the wind- 

 ow of my study. They are standing in a 

 glass of water which will keep them proper- 

 ly fresh for some time. 



The little caterpillars leave the egg in the 

 morning, at about eight o'clock. If I just 

 lift the scales of the cylinder in process of 

 hatching, I see black heads appear, which 

 nibble and burst and push back the torn ceil- 

 ings. The tiny creatures emerge slowly, some 

 here and some there, all over the surface. 



After the hatching, the scaly cylinder is as 

 regular and as fresh in appearance as if it 

 were still inhabited. We do not perceive that 

 it is deserted until we raise the spangles. 

 The eggs, still arranged in regular rows, are 

 now so many yawning goblets of a slightly 

 translucent white; they lack the cap-shaped 

 lid, which has been rent and destroyed by the 

 new-born grubs. 



The puny creatures measure a millimetre^ 

 at most in length. Devoid as yet of the bright 

 red that will soon be their adornment, they 

 are pale-yellow, bristling with hairs, some 

 shortish and black, others rather longer and 

 white. The head, of a glossy black, is big 

 1.039 inch. — Translator's Note. 



22 



