The Botanical Instinct 
needs, that the mother, half-buried in the 
ground, will lay her egg. 
That ardent lover of roses and hawthorn- 
blossom, the Golden Cetonia, leaves the 
luxury of the flowers, to burrow in the shame 
of putrescence. She repairs to the compost- 
heap, but is certainly not tempted by any dish 
to her taste. She cannot sip honey there 
nor intoxicate herself with perfumed es- 
sences. Another reason draws her to this 
corruption. 
At first sight it would seem as if these 
strange instincts might be explained by the 
larva’s diet, of which the adult would retain 
a lively recollection. ‘The caterpillar of the 
Pieris fed on cabbage-leaves; the caterpillar 
of the Vanessa fed on nettle-leaves; and each 
of the two Butterflies, endowed with a faith- 
ful memory, exploits the plant which has no 
attraction for her now, but which was a treat 
for her in her infancy. 
In the same way, the Cetonia. dives into 
the heap of leaf-mould because she remem- 
bers the feasts of former days, when she was 
a grub in the midst of the fermenting vege- 
table matter; and the Pine Cockchafer seeks 
77 
