arden and colour the fragile
creature. Some two hours pass without any perceptible change. Hanging to
its deserted shell by the two fore limbs, the Cigale sways to the least
breath of air, still feeble and still green. Finally, the brown colour
appears and rapidly covers the whole body; the change of colour is
completed in half an hour. Fastening upon its chosen twig at nine
o'clock in the morning, the Cigale flies away under my eyes at half-past
twelve.

The empty shell remains, intact except for the fissure in the back;
clasping the twig so firmly that the winds of autumn do not always
succeed in detaching it. For some months yet and even during the winter
you will often find these forsaken skins hanging from the twigs in the
precise attitude assumed by the larva at the moment of metamorphosis.
They are of a horny texture, not unlike dry parchment, and do not
readily decay.

I could gather some wonderful information regarding the Cigale were I to
listen to all that my neighbours, the peasants, tell me. I will give one
instance of rustic natural history.

[Illustration: THE CIGALE AND THE EMPTY PUPA-SKIN.]

Are you afflicted with any kidney trouble, or are you swollen with
dropsy, or have you need of some powerful diuretic? The village
pharmacopoeia is unanimous in recommending the Cigale as a sovereign
remedy. The insects in the adult form are collected in summer. They are
strung into necklaces which are dried in the sun and carefully preserved
in some cupboard or drawer. A good housewife would consider it imprudent
to allow July to pass without threading a few of these insects.

Do you suffer from any nephritic irritation or from stricture? Drink an
infusion of Cigales. Nothing, they say, is more effectual. I must take
this opportunity of thanking the good soul who once upon a time, so I
was afterwards informed, made me drink such a concoction unawares for
the cure of some such trouble; but I still remain incredulous. I have
been greatly struck by the fact that the ancient physician of Anazarbus
used to recommend the same remedy. Dioscorides tells us: _Cicadae, quae
inassatae manduntur, vesicae doloribus prosunt_. Since the distant days
of this patriarch of _materia medica_ the Provencal peasant has retained
his faith in the remedy revealed to him by the Greeks, who came from
Phocaea with the olive, the fig, and the vine. Only one thing is changed:
Dioscorides advises us to eat the Cigales roasted, but now they