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disentangled, knotted up and unknotted, forming
the most capricious figures. The encounter does
not lead to confusion. All the caterpillars of the
same file march with a uniform and almost grave
step; not one hastens to get before the others, not
one remains behind, not one makes a mistake in the
procession. Each one keeps its rank and
scrupulously regulates its march by the one that
precedes it. The file-leader of the troop directs the
evolutions. When it turns to the right, all the
caterpillars of the same line, one after the other,
turn to the right; when it turns to the left, all, one
after the other, turn to the left. If it stops, the whole
procession stops, but not simultaneously; the
second caterpillar first, then the third, fourth, fifth,
and so on until the last. They would be called well-
trained troops that, when defiling in order, stop at
the word of command and close their ranks.
The expedition, simply a promenade, or a
journey in search of provisions, is now finished.
They have gone far away from their nest. It is time
to go home. How can they find it, through the grass
and underbrush, and over all the obstacles of the
road they have just travelled? Will they let
themselves be guided by sight, obstructed though it
be by every little tuft of grass; by the sense of
smell, which wafted odours of every sort may put at
fault? No; processionary caterpillars have for their
guidance in travelling something better than sight
or smell. They have instinct, which inspires them
with infallible resources. Without taking account
of what they do, they call to their service means
that seem dictated by reason. Without doubt, they
do not reason, but they obey the secret impulse of
the eternal Reason, in whom and through whom all
live.
Now, this is what the processionary caterpillars
do in order not to lose their way home again after a
distant expedition. We pave our roads with crushed
stone; caterpillars are more luxurious in their
highways; they spread on their road a carpet of silk,
they walk on nothing but silk. They spin
continually on the journey and glue their silk all
along the road. In fact, each caterpillar of the
procession can be seen lowering and raising its
head alternately. In the first movement, the
spinneret, situated in the lower lip, glues the thread
to the road that the procession is following; in the
second, the spinneret lets the thread run out while
the caterpillar is taking several steps. Then the
head is lowered and lifted again, and a second
length of thread is put in place. Each caterpillar
that follows walks on the threads left by the
preceding ones and adds its own thread to the silk,
so that in all its length the road passed over is
carpeted with a silky ribbon. It is by following this
ribbon conductor that the processionaries get back
to their home without ever losing their way,
however tortuous the road may be.
If one wishes to embarrass the procession, it
suffices to pass the finger over the track so as to cut
the silk road. The procession stops before the cut
with every indication of fear and mistrust. Shall
they go on? Shall they not go on? The heads rise
and fall in anxious quest of the conductor threads.
At last, one caterpillar bolder than the others, or
perhaps more impatient, crosses the bad place and
stretches its thread from one end of the cut to the
other. A second, without hesitating, passes over on
the thread left by the first, and in passing adds its
own thread to the bridge. The others in turn all do
the same. Soon the broken road is repaired and the
defile of the procession continues.
The processionary caterpillar of the oak
marches in another way. It is covered with white
hairs turned back and very long. One nest contains
from seven to eight hundred individuals. When an
expedition is decided on, a caterpillar leaves the
nest and pauses at a certain distance to give the
others time to arrange themselves in rank and file
and form a battalion. This first caterpillar has to
start the march. Following it, others place
themselves, not one after another, like the
processionaries of the pine, but in rows of two,
three, four, and more. The troop, completed, begins
to move in obedience to the evolutions of its file-
leader, which always marches alone at the head of
the legion, while the other caterpillars advance
several abreast, dressing their ranks in perfect
order. The first ranks of the army corps are always
arranged in wedge formation, because of the
gradual increase in the number of the caterpillars
composing it; the remainder are more or less
expanded in different places. There are sometimes
rows of from fifteen to twenty caterpillars marching
in step, like well-trained soldiers so that the head of
one is never beyond the head of another. Of course
the troop carpets its road with silk as it marches, so
as to find its way back to its nest.
The processionaries, especially those of the
oak, retire to their nests to slough their skins, and
these nests finally become filled with a fine dust of
broken hairs. When you touch them the dust of the
hairs sticks to your hands and face, causes an
inflammation that lasts several days if the skin is
delicate. One has only to stand at the foot of an oak
where the processionaries have established
themselves, to receive the irritating dust blown by
the wind, and to feel a smart itching.
If owners of pines understood their interests
better, they would, in the winter, when the
caterpillars are assembled in their silk bags, have