THE CAPRICORN 57 



is a matter of great indifference to the grub, which is very 

 supple, turning easily in its narrow lodging and adopt- 

 ing whatever position it pleases. The coming Capricorn 

 will not enjoy the same privileges. Stiffly girt in his 

 horn cuirass, he will not be able to turn from end to end; 

 he will not even be capable of bending, if some sudden 

 wind should make the passage difficult. He must abso- 

 lutely find the door in front of him, lest he perish in the 

 casket. Should the grub forget this little formality, 

 should it lie down to its nymphal sleep with its head at 

 the back of the cell, the Capricorn is infallibly lost: his 

 cradle becomes a hopeless dungeon. 



But there is no fear of this danger: the knowledge of 

 our bit of an intestine is too sound in things of the future 

 for the grub to neglect the formality of keeping its 

 head to the door. At the end of spring, the Capricorn, 

 now in possession of his full strength, dreams of the 

 joys of the sun, of the festivals of light. He wants to 

 get out. What does he find before him? A heap of 

 filings easily dispersed with his claws; next, a stone lid 

 which he need not even break into fragments: it comes 

 undone in one piece; it is removed from its frame with 

 a few pushes of the forehead, a few tugs of the claws. 

 In fact, I find the lid intact on the threshold of the aban- 

 doned cells. Last comes a second mass of woody rem- 

 nants, as easy to disperse as the first. The road is now 

 free : the Cerambyx has but to follow the spacious vesti- 

 bule, which will lead him, without the possibility of mis- 

 take, to the exit. Should the window not be open, all 

 that he has to do is to gnaw through a thin screen : an easy 



