THE SACRED BEETLE 51 



the Cockchafer. And it would therefore, meseems, be 

 entirely to his advantage to rid himself of the four 

 remaining fingers, projecting sideways, idle on the march, 

 inactive in the construction and carriage of the ball. 

 Yes, that would mean progress, for the simple reason 

 that the less hold one gives to the enemy the better. 

 It remains to be seen if chance ever produces this state 

 of things. 



It does and very often. At the end of the fine season, 

 in October, when the insect has worn itself out in dig- 

 ging, in carrying balls and in modelling pears, the maimed, 

 the victims of work, form the great majority. I see 

 them, both hi my voleries and outside, displaying every 

 degree of amputation. Some have lost the finger on 

 their four hind-legs altogether ; others retain a stump, a 

 couple of joints, a single joint ; those which are least 

 damaged have a few members left intact. 



This is certainly the mutilation pleaded by the 

 theorists. And it is no accident, occurring at long 

 intervals : every year, the cripples outnumber the others 

 at the time when the winter-season is at hand. In their 

 final labours, they seem no more embarrassed than those 

 who have been spared by the trials of life. On both 

 sides, I find the same quickness of movement, the same 

 dexterity in kneading the ammunition-bread which will 

 enable them to bear the first rigours of winter philo- 

 sophically underground. In the scavenger's work, the 

 maimed vie with the others. 



And these cripples form a race ; they spend the bad 

 season underground ; they wake up in the spring, return 

 to the surface and take part, for a second, some- 

 times even for a third time, in life's great festival. Their 

 descendants ought to profit by an improvement which 



