CHAPTER XI THE BURYING-BEETLES: THE BURIAL
Beside the footpath in April lies the Mole, disembowelled by the peasant's spade; at the foot of the hedge the pitiless urchin has stoned to death the Lizard, who was about to don his green, pearl-embellished costume. The passer-by has thought it a meritorious deed to crush beneath his heel the chance-met Adder; and a gust of wind has thrown a tiny unfledged bird from its nest. What will become of these little bodies and so many other pitiful remnants of life? They will not long offend our sense of sight and smell. The sanitary officers of the fields are legion.
An eager freebooter, ready for any task, the Ant is the first to come hastening and begin, particle by particle, to dissect the corpse. Soon the odour attracts the Fly, the genitrix of the odious maggot. At the same time, the flattened Silpha,[1] the glistening, slow-trotting Cellar-beetle, the Dermestes,[2] powdered with snow upon the abdomen, and the slender Staphylinus,[3] all, whence coming no one knows, hurry hither in squads, with never-wearied zeal, investigating, probing and draining the infection.
[Footnote 1: Or Carrion-beetle.--_Translator's Note_.]
[Footnote 2: Or Bacon-beetle.--_Translator's Note_.]
[Footnote 3: Or Rove-beetle.--_Translator's Note_.]
What a spectacle, in the spring, beneath a dead Mole! The horror of this laboratory is a beautiful sight for one who is able to observe and to meditate. Let us overcome our disgust; let us turn over the unclean refuse with our foot. What a swarming there is beneath it, what a tumult of busy workers! The Silphæ, with wing-cases wide and dark, as though in mourning, flee distraught, hiding in the cracks in the soil; the Saprini,[4] of polished ebony which mirrors the sunlight, jog hastily off, deserting their workshop; the Dermestes, of whom one wears a fawn-coloured tippet flecked with white, seek to fly away, but, tipsy with the putrid nectar, tumble over and reveal the immaculate whiteness of their bellies, which forms a violent contrast with the gloom of the rest of their attire.
[Footnote 4: The Saprinus is a very small carnivorous Beetle. Cf. _The Life of the Fly_: chap. xvi.--_Translator's Note_.]
What were they doing there, all these feverish workers? They were making a clearance of death on behalf of life. Transcendent alchemists, they were transforming that horrible putrescence into a living and inoffensive product. They were draining the dangerous corpse to the point of rendering it as dry and sonorous as the remains of an old slipper hardened on the refuse-heap by the frosts of winter and the heats of summer. They were working their hardest to render the carrion innocuous.