The Arbutus Caterpillar 



ing-wax. The sixth and seventh segments of 

 the abdomen are the only ones that bear these 

 vermilion goblets, placed in the middle of the 

 back. I do not know the function of these 

 little cups. Perhaps they should be regarded 

 as organs of information, similar to the Pine 

 Processionary's dorsal mouths. 



The Arbutus Caterpillar is much dreaded 

 in the village. Woodcutters, faggot-binders, 

 brushwood-gatherers, all are unanimous in re- 

 viling him. They have such a painfully vivid 

 memory of the irritation that, when I listen 

 to them, I can hardly repress a movement of 

 the shoulders to relieve the imaginary itching 

 in the middle of my back. I seem to feel the 

 arbutus-faggot, laden with its glowing rags, 

 rubbing my bare skin. 



It is, it appears, a disagreeable job to cut 

 down the shrub alive with caterpillars during 

 the hottest part of the day and to shake, under 

 the blows of the axe, that sort of upas-tree, 

 shedding poison in its shade. As for me, I 

 have no complaint to make of my relations 

 with the ravager of the arbutus. I have very 

 often handled him; I have applied his fur to 

 the tips of my fingers, my neck and even my 

 face, for hours at a time; I have ripped up 



