The Life of the Caterpillar 



One cannot easily get used to the idea of 

 such poverty. The caterpillar of the start was 

 no humbler-looking. There are no wings, 

 none at all; no silky fur either. At the tip 

 of the abdomen, a round, tufty pad, a crown 

 of dirty-white velvet; on each segment, in the 

 middle of the back, a large rectangular dark 

 patch: these are the sole attempts at orna- 

 ment. The mother Psyche renounces all the 

 beauty which her name of Moth promised. 



From the centre of the hairy coronet a long 

 ovipositor stands out, consisting of two parts, 

 one stiff, forming the base of the implement, 

 the other soft and flexible, sheathed in the 

 first just as a telescope fits in its tube. The 

 laying mother bends herself into a hook, grips 

 the lower end of her case with her six feet 

 and drives her probe into the back-window, a 

 window which serves manifold purposes, al- 

 lowing of the consummation of the clande- 

 stine marriage, the emergence of the fertilized 

 bride, the installation of the eggs and, lastly, 

 the exodus of the young family. 



There, at the free end of her case, the 

 mother remains for a long time, bowed and 

 motionless. What can she be doing in this 

 contemplative attitude? She Is lodging her 



196 



