rity more obscure
than before. As for us, who hunger after lucidity, let us relinquish
abstruse theories to whoever delights in them and confine our ambition
to observable facts, without pretending to explain the quackery of
the plasma. Our method certainly will not reveal to us the origin of
instinct; but it will at least show us where it would be waste of time
to look for it.

In this sort of research, a subject known through and through, down to
its most intimate peculiarities, is indispensable. Where shall we find
that subject? There would be a host of them and magnificent ones, if it
were possible to read the sealed pages of others' lives; but no one can
sound an existence outside his own and even then he can think himself
lucky if a retentive memory and the habit of reflection give his
soundings the proper accuracy. As none of us is able to project himself
into another's skin, we must needs, in considering this problem, remain
inside our own.

To talk about one's self is hateful, I know. The reader must have the
kindness to excuse me for the sake of the study in hand. I shall take
the silent beetle's place in the witness box, cross-examining myself
in all simplicity of soul, as I do the animal, and asking myself whence
that one of my instincts which stands out above the others is derived.

Since Darwin bestowed upon me the title of 'incomparable observer,' the
epithet has often come back to me, from this side and from that, without
my yet understanding what particular merit I have shown. It seems to me
so natural, so much within everybody's scope, so absorbing to interest
one's self in everything that swarms around us! However, let us pass on
and admit that the compliment is not unfounded.

My hesitation ceases if it is a question of admitting my curiosity in
matters that concern the insect. Yes, I possess the gift, the instinct
that impels me to frequent that singular world; yes, I know that I am
capable of spending on those studies an amount of precious time which
would be better employed in making provision, if possible, for the
poverty of old age; yes, I confess that I am an enthusiastic observer of
the animal. How was this characteristic propensity, at once the torment
and delight of my life, developed? And, to begin with, how much does it
owe to heredity?

The common people have no history: persecuted by the present, they
cannot think of preserving the memory of the past. And yet what
surpassingly in