he
incredible. Let us describe them in detail.

The circular procession begins, as I have said, on the 30th of January,
about midday, in splendid weather. The caterpillars march at an even
pace, each touching the stern of the one in front of him. The unbroken
chain eliminates the leader with his changes of direction; and all
follow mechanically, as faithful to their circle as are the hands of a
watch. The headless file has no liberty left, no will; it has become
mere clockwork. And this continues for hours and hours. My success goes
far beyond my wildest suspicions. I stand amazed at it, or rather I am
stupefied.

Meanwhile, the multiplied circuits change the original rail into a
superb ribbon a twelfth of an inch broad. I can easily see it
glittering on the red ground of the pot. The day is drawing to a close
and no alteration has yet taken place in the position of the trail. A
striking proof confirms this.

The trajectory is not a plane curve, but one which, at a certain point,
deviates and goes down a little way to the lower surface of the
cornice, returning to the top some eight inches farther. I marked these
two points of deviation in pencil on the vase at the outset. Well, all
that afternoon and, more conclusive still, on the following days, right
to the end of this mad dance, I see the string of caterpillars dip
under the ledge at the first point and come to the top again at the
second. Once the first thread is laid, the road to be pursued is
permanently established.

If the road does not vary, the speed does. I measure nine centimetres
(3 1/2 inches.--Translator's Note.) a minute as the average distance
covered. But there are more or less lengthy halts; the pace slackens at
times, especially when the temperature falls. At ten o'clock in the
evening the walk is little more than a lazy swaying of the body. I
foresee an early halt, in consequence of the cold, of fatigue and
doubtless also of hunger.

Grazing-time has arrived. The caterpillars have come crowding from all
the nests in the greenhouse to browse upon the pine-branches planted by
myself beside the silken purses. Those in the garden do the same, for
the temperature is mild. The others, lined up along the earthenware
cornice, would gladly take part in the feast; they are bound to have an
appetite after a ten hours' walk. The branch stands green and tempting
not a hand's-breadth away. To reach it they need but go down; and the
poor wretches, foolish