The Scolia's feeding-period lasts, on the average, for a dozen days or so.
By then the victuals are no more than a crumpled bag, a skin emptied of the last scrap of nutriment. A little earlier, the russet-yellow tint announces the extinction of the last spark of life in the creature that is being devoured. The empty skin is pushed back to make space; the dining-room, a shapeless cavity with crumbling walls, is tidied up a little; and the Scolia-grub sets to work on its cocoon without further delay.
The first courses form a general scaffolding, which finds a support here and there on the earthen walls, and consist of a rough, blood-red fabric.
When the larva is merely laid, as required by my investigations, in a hollow made with the finger-tip in the bed of mould, it is not able to spin its cocoon, for want of a ceiling to which to fasten the upper threads of its network. To weave its cocoon, every spinning larva is compelled to isolate itself in a hammock slung in an open-work enclosure, which enables it to distribute its thread uniformly in all directions. If there be no ceiling, the upper part of the cocoon cannot be fashioned, because the worker lacks the necessary points of support. Under these conditions my Scolia-grubs contrive at most to upholster their little pit with a thick down of reddish silk. Discouraged by futile endeavours, some of them die.
It is as if they had been killed by the silk which they omit to disgorge because they are unable to make the right use of it. This, if we were not watchful, would be a very frequent cause of failure in our attempts at artificial rearing. But, once the danger has been perceived, the remedy is simple. I make a ceiling over the cavity by laying a short strip of paper above it. If I want to see how matters are progressing, I bend the strip into a semicircle, into a half-cylinder with open ends. Those who wish to play the breeder for themselves will be able to profit by these little practical details.
In twenty-four hours the cocoon is finished; at least, it no longer allows us to see the grub, which is doubtless making the walls of its dwelling still thicker. At first the cocoon is a vivid red; later it changes to a light chestnut-brown. Its form is that of an ellipsoid, with a major axis 26 millimetres in length, while the minor axis measures 11 millimetres.
(1.014 x .429 inch.--Translator's Note.) These dimensions, which incidentally are inclined to vary slightly, are those of the female cocoons. In the other sex they are smaller and may measure as little as 17millimetres in length by 7 millimetres in width. (.663 x .273 inch.--Translator's Note.)
The two ends of the ellipsoid have the same form, so much so that it is only thanks to an individual peculiarity, independent of the shape, that we can tell the cephalic from the anal extremity. The cephalic pole is flexible and yields to the pressure of my tweezers; the anal pole is hard and unyielding. The wrapper is double, as in the cocoons of the Sphex. (Cf.
"The Hunting Wasps": chapters 4 to 10 et passim.--Translator's Note.) The outer envelope, consisting of pure silk, is thin, flexible and offers little resistance. It is closely superimposed upon the inner envelope and is easily separated from it everywhere, except at the anal end, where it adheres to the second envelope. The adhesion of the two wrappers at one end and the non-adhesion at the other are the cause of the differences which the tweezers reveal when pinching the two ends of the cocoon.
The inner envelope is firm, elastic, rigid and, to a certain point, brittle. I do not hesitate to look upon it as consisting of a silken tissue which the larva, towards the end of its task, has steeped thoroughly in a sort of varnish prepared not by the silk-glands but by the stomach. The cocoons of the Sphex have already shown us a similar varnish. This product of the chylific ventricle is chestnut-brown. It is this which, saturating the thickness of the tissue, effaces the bright red of the beginning and replaces it by a brown tint. It is this again which, disgorged more profusely at the lower end of the cocoon, glues the two wrappers together at that point.
The perfect insect is hatched at the beginning of July. The emergence takes place without any violent effraction, without any ragged rents. A clean, circular fissure appears at some distance from the top; and the cephalic end is detached all of a piece, as a loose lid might be. It is as though the recluse had only to raise a cover by butting it with her head, so exact is the line of division, at least as regards the inner envelope, the stronger and more important of the two. As for the outer wrapper, its lack of resistance enables it to yield without difficulty when the other gives way.
I cannot quite make out by what knack the Wasp contrives to detach the cap of the inner shell with such accuracy. Is it the art practised by the tailor when cutting his stuff, with mandibles taking the place of scissors?
I hardly venture to admit as much: the tissue is so tough and the circle of division so precise. The mandibles are not sharp enough to cut without leaving a ragged edge; and then what geometrical certainty they would need for an operation so perfect that it might well have been performed with the compasses!
