16 FABRE'S BOOK OF INSECTS 



of the nest has become an impassable rampart ; it has turned 

 into a sort of brick, baked in the kiln of summer. 



I have, of course, made experiments on insects that are 

 ready to be released. I lay the hard, dry shells in a box where 

 they remain dry ; and sooner or later I hear a sharp, grating 

 sound inside each cell. It is the prisoner scraping the wall 

 with the rakes on his forehead and his fore-feet. Two or three 

 days pass, and no progress seems to have been made. 



I try to help a couple of them by opening a loophole with 

 my knife ; but these favoured ones make no more progress 

 than the others. 



In less than a fortnight silence reigns in all the shells. The 

 prisoners, worn out with their efforts, have all died. 



Then I take some other shells, as hard as the first, wrap 

 them in a wet rag, and put them in a corked flask. When the 

 moisture has soaked through them I rid them of the wrapper, 

 but keep them in the flask. This time the experiment is a 

 complete success. Softened by the wet the shells are burst 

 by the prisoner, who props himself boldly on his legs, using 

 his back as a lever, or else scrapes away at one point till the 

 walls crumble to pieces. In every case the Beetle is released. 



In natural conditions, when the shells remain underground, 

 the same thing occurs. When the soil is burnt by the August 

 sun it is impossible for the insect to wear away his prison, 

 which is hard as a brick. But when a shower comes the shell 

 recovers the softness of its early days : the insect struggles 

 with his legs and pushes with his back, and so becomes free. 



At first he shows no interest in food. What he wants 

 above all is the joy of the light. He sets himself in the sun, 

 and there, motionless, basks in the warmth. 



Presently, however, he wishes to eat. With no one to 

 teach him, he sets to work, exactly like his elders, to make 

 himself a ball of food. He digs his burrow and stores it with 

 provisions. Without ever learning it, he knows his trade to 

 perfection. 



