One Hundred Butterflies by Harold Feinstein

Author:Harold Feinstein [FEINSTEIN, HAROLD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: PHO013000
ISBN: 9780316071888
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2009-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

BIRDWING Trogonoptera trojana, Asia

BLUE MORPHO (underside) Morpho didius, South America

BLUE MORPHO Morpho didius, South America

TIGER SWALLOWTAIL Papilio glaucus, North America

ZEBRA LONGWING Heliconius charitonius, Central America

SPARKLING CHERUB Doxocopa cherubina, South America

THE BUTTERFLY APPEARS

A CATERPILLAR found on the oak trees cuts off thin strips of bark, which it builds into two compact blades; these it so arranges as to form a hollow cone, or boat-shaped shell, in which it becomes a pupa. It is at once architect, cabinet-maker, and weaver.

In due time — sometimes in a few days, sometimes not until another summer, and in one instance, after as many as seven years — the time comes for the last, and most glorious transformation. The poetical Greeks found in this change a type of the liberation of the soul from its mortal tenement, and its entrance into a higher and happier life; hence they called the Butterfly, Psyche, the soul. This idea is most natural. The worm seems to spin its own shroud, to make its own coffin, often to enter its own grave. Yet within this shroud, this coffin, this grave, it lives, a dormant, waiting life, until the day comes for its resurrection. Then it bursts its cerements, and emerges in a new and beautiful garb, into a brighter existence. But the new life, unlike that of the soul, is brief and mortal; a few short days complete its round, and it perishes forever.

The pupa-case is dry, brittle, and easily broken. The least movement of the fly within opens the dry skin over the middle of the upper part of the thorax; the split extends over the forehead; the pieces separate, and the insect finds an opening through which it may escape. But the escape requires time, for the head, the antennae, the wings, the legs, sometimes even the tongue, are each in a separate case, and must be liberated one by one. All the parts are soft and moist. The wings, especially, are a pair of crumpled packages, fastened to either side of the thorax. Gradually they unfold, they expand; the insect clings to a twig, and suffers them to hang in such a position that they may expand the more freely; in time they become dry and firm. If the pupa is in a cocoon, there is yet more to be done, for it is still within the silken envelope. In some, as in the Cecropia moth, the end of the cocoon opposite the head is only partially closed, and the moth more easily creeps out. Others cut their way through the silk, for which, Reaumur says, they use their compound eyes as files. Others exude a liquid which softens the silk, and assists their escape.

The perfect insect has four wings, covered with minute scales of varied forms; these, under the microscope, glow with the most beautiful metallic tints. “Suppose a painter could present on his canvas, in all their splendor, gold, silver, the ruby, the sapphire, the emerald, all the precious stones of the East, he would

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