The Life of the Fly 



thick cork, quite a centimetre 1 deep, is the ob- 

 stacle to be pierced for an outlet. Well, in- 

 stead of the mad haste and the ruinous lack of 

 organization which I expected to find, my 

 broods show me in their glass prison an ex- 

 ceedingly well-regulated workshop. One in- 

 sect, one only, works at perforating the cork. 

 Patiently, with its mandibles, grain by grain, 

 it digs a tunnel the width of its body. The 

 gallery is so narrow that, in order to return 

 to the tube, the worker has to move back- 

 wards. It is a slow process ; and it takes 

 hours and hours to dig the hole, a hard job 

 for the frail miner. 



Should her fatigue become too great, the 

 excavator leaves the forefront and mingles 

 with the crowd, to polish and dust herself. 

 Another, the first neighbour at hand, at once 

 takes her place and is herself relieved by a 

 third when her task is done. Others again 

 take their turn, always one at a time, so much 

 so that the works are never at a standstill and 

 never over-crowded. Meanwhile, the multi- 

 tude keeps out of the way, quietly and pa- 

 tiently. There is no anxiety as to the deliver- 

 ance. Success will come : of that they are all 

 convinced. While waiting, one washes her 



1 -39 inch. — Translator's Note. 



74 



