58 THE WONDERS OF INSTINCT 



task; and behold him outside, his long antennae aquiver 

 with excitement. 



What have we learnt from him ? Nothing, from him ; 

 much from his grub. This grub, so poor in sensory- 

 organs, gives us no little food for reflection with its 

 prescience. It knows that the coming Beetle will not be 

 able to cut himself a road through the oak and it bethinks 

 itself of opening one for him at its own risk and peril. 

 It knows that the Cerambyx, in his stiff armor, will never 

 be able to turn and make for the orifice of the cell; and 

 it takes care to fall into its nymphal sleep with its head 

 to the door. It knows how soft the pupa's flesh will be 

 and upholsters the bedroom with velvet. It knows that 

 the enemy is likely to break in during the slow work of 

 the transformation and, to set a bulwark against his at- 

 tacks, it stores a calcium pap inside its stomach. It 

 knows the future with a clear vision, or, to be accurate, 

 behaves as though it knew it. Whence did it derive the 

 motives of its actions? Certainly not from the experi- 

 ence of the senses. What does it know of the outside 

 world? Let us repeat, as much as a bit of an intestine 

 can know. And this senseless creature fills us with 

 amazement ! I regret that the clever logician, instead of 

 conceiving a statue smelling a rose, did not imagine it 

 gifted with some instinct. How quickly he would have 

 recognized that, quite apart from sense-impressions, the 

 animal, including man, possesses certain psychological re- 

 sources, certain inspirations that are innate and not ac- 

 quired ! 



