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The TechBeat: A Guide to Building an AWS Serverless API and CICD Pipeline (11/5/2023)

Overview This article demonstrates the development of a Serverless API utilizing AWS services and establishes a Continuous Integration/Continuous Deployment (CICD) pipeline within the AWS environment. Explores the creation of a Lambda function to handle requests from the API Gateway and persist the data in DynamoDB using the Serverless Application Model. Part 1: Details the necessary steps to configure a CodeCommit repository in AWS and set up a CICD pipeline that automatically initiates a build process upon the submission of new changes to the repository. Part 2: Prerequisites For this project, you'll need an AWS account (Free Tier is sufficient). The following AWS components will be utilized: AWS API Gateway AWS Lambda AWS DynamoDB AWS CodeCommit AWS CodeBuild AWS CodePipeline AWS S3 Miscellaneous - CloudWatch, IAM, etc Ensure you have your local development environment set up as follows: : Follow the guide to install the AWS Command Line Interface. Install AWS CLI here : Install SAM CLI by following the instructions . Install AWS SAM (Serverless Application Model) here : Use IntelliJ or a similar IDE for development. I prefer IntelliJ Choose an IDE : Make sure you have Maven installed for packaging your application. Maven for Packaging (if you need to test Lambda functions locally): Install Docker if you plan to test Lambda functions locally. Optional: Docker These tools and components will form the foundation of the project. Part 1: Development In this section, we will see the process of creating a starter project using AWS SAM, including completing the handler class, building, deploying to AWS, and conducting testing using Postman Environment Setup : AWS Setup Go to the AWS console at , Log in using your admin user credentials. https://aws.amazon.com/console/ : Create a User in IAM In IAM, create a user dedicated for local development and CLI/SAM usage. : Create a DynamoDB Table Name: "users", Primary Key: "id" (Type: String) : Configure AWS CLI on Local Machine Open a terminal and run $ aws configure Provide the access keys for the IAM user created earlier and other default values : Initialize a Project using AWS Serverless Application Model (SAM) Open your terminal and run $ sam init Choose the AWS quick start template. Opt for a "Hello World" example. Select Java 11 or 17, package type as zip, and use Maven as the dependency manager. Enable logging and monitoring with CloudWatch and XRay. : Rename the project to your preferred name. Rename the Project : Launch IntelliJ, and open the project. Open the Project in IntelliJ : Add Dependencies to pom.xml Add the necessary dependencies to the file. You only need to add DynamoDB, as other dependencies will be automatically included by SAM. pom.xml <dependencies>
        <dependency>
            <groupId>com.amazonaws</groupId>
            <artifactId>aws-lambda-java-core</artifactId>
            <version>1.2.2</version>
        </dependency>
        <dependency>
          <groupId>com.amazonaws</groupId>
          <artifactId>aws-lambda-java-events</artifactId>
          <version>3.11.0</version>
        </dependency>
        <dependency>
          <groupId>junit</groupId>
          <artifactId>junit</artifactId>
          <version>4.13.2</version>
          <scope>test</scope>
        </dependency>
        <dependency>
            <groupId>com.amazonaws</groupId>
            <artifactId>aws-java-sdk-dynamodb</artifactId>
            <version>1.12.573</version>
        </dependency>
    </dependencies> Write the Handler Class For the lambda function, edit the handler class generated automatically by sam, and add the following code; this is a simple code, and for real projects, you may want to use more modular code. public class UserRequestHandler implements RequestHandler<Map<String,String>, Map<String,String>> {

    private AmazonDynamoDB amazonDynamoDB;
    private String DYNAMODB_TABLE_NAME = "users";
    private Regions REGION = Regions.US_EAST_1;

    @Override
    public Map<String,String> handleRequest(Map<String,String> input, Context context) {
        this.initDynamoDbClient();
        LambdaLogger logger = context.getLogger();
        logger.log("Input payload:" + input.toString());
        String userId = UUID.randomUUID().toString();

        String firstName= input.get("firstName");
        String lastName= input.get("lastName");

        Map<String, AttributeValue> attributesMap = new HashMap<>();

        attributesMap.put("id", new AttributeValue(userId));
        attributesMap.put("firstName", new AttributeValue(firstName));
        attributesMap.put("lastName", new AttributeValue(lastName));

        logger.log(attributesMap.toString());

        amazonDynamoDB.putItem(DYNAMODB_TABLE_NAME, attributesMap);


        Map<String, String> response = new HashMap<>();
        response.put("id", userId);
        response.put("firstName", firstName);
        response.put("lastName", lastName);

        return response;

    }

    private void initDynamoDbClient() {
        this.amazonDynamoDB = AmazonDynamoDBClientBuilder.standard()
                .withRegion(REGION)
                .build();
    }
} Update SAM Template file The SAM template file plays a pivotal role in building and deploying changes to AWS. Update the file for the project. The key elements to focus on within this file are the Lambda function names and the API Gateway endpoints. They are central to the functionality of your serverless application. AWSTemplateFormatVersion: '2010-09-09'
Transform: AWS::Serverless-2016-10-31
Description: >
  pc-aws-user-api

  Sample SAM Template for pc-aws-user-api

# More info about Globals: https://github.com/awslabs/serverless-application-model/blob/master/docs/globals.rst
Globals:
  Function:
    Timeout: 20
    MemorySize: 128

    Tracing: Active
  Api:
    TracingEnabled: true
Resources:
  UserRequestHandlerLambdaFunction:
    Type: AWS::Serverless::Function # More info about Function Resource: https://github.com/awslabs/serverless-application-model/blob/master/versions/2016-10-31.md#awsserverlessfunction
    Properties:
      CodeUri: PcAwsUsersApi
      Handler: com.pc.aws.users.UserRequestHandler::handleRequest
      Runtime: java11
      Architectures:
      - x86_64
      MemorySize: 512
      Environment: # More info about Env Vars: https://github.com/awslabs/serverless-application-model/blob/master/versions/2016-10-31.md#environment-object
        Variables:
          PARAM1: VALUE
          JAVA_TOOL_OPTIONS: -XX:+TieredCompilation -XX:TieredStopAtLevel=1 # More info about tiered compilation https://aws.amazon.com/blogs/compute/optimizing-aws-lambda-function-performance-for-java/
      Events:
        PcUsers:
          Type: Api # More info about API Event Source: https://github.com/awslabs/serverless-application-model/blob/master/versions/2016-10-31.md#api
          Properties:
            Path: /users
            Method: post

  ApplicationResourceGroup:
    Type: AWS::ResourceGroups::Group
    Properties:
      Name:
        Fn::Sub: ApplicationInsights-SAM-${AWS::StackName}
      ResourceQuery:
        Type: CLOUDFORMATION_STACK_1_0
  ApplicationInsightsMonitoring:
    Type: AWS::ApplicationInsights::Application
    Properties:
      ResourceGroupName:
        Ref: ApplicationResourceGroup
      AutoConfigurationEnabled: 'true'
Outputs:
  # ServerlessRestApi is an implicit API created out of Events key under Serverless::Function
  # Find out more about other implicit resources you can reference within SAM
  # https://github.com/awslabs/serverless-application-model/blob/master/docs/internals/generated_resources.rst#api
  PcAwsUsersApi:
    Description: API Gateway endpoint URL for Prod stage
    Value: !Sub "https://${ServerlessRestApi}.execute-api.${AWS::Region}.amazonaws.com/Prod/users/"
  UserRequestHandlerLambdaFunction:
    Description: Lambda Function ARN
    Value: !GetAtt UserRequestHandlerLambdaFunction.Arn
  UserRequestHandlerLambdaFunctionIamRole:
    Description: Implicit IAM Role created
    Value: !GetAtt UserRequestHandlerLambdaFunctionRole.Arn Build and Deploy Code using SAM In IntelliJ, open the terminal, and execute the following commands: $ sam build $ sam deploy –guided When prompted, provide the Stack name as "PcAwsUsersApi", and choose the default options. The output will showcase the CloudFormation stack that has been created and will also provide the API Gateway endpoint. Test the API Before testing the API, grant DynamoDB access to the Lambda role created by SAM. Open the Lambda function in the AWS Console. Navigate to "Permissions", and locate the role name. Add the "DynamoDBFullAccess" permission to this role. This step ensures that the Lambda function has the necessary permissions to interact with DynamoDB. Navigate to API Gateway, then follow these steps to obtain the URL for your service: Go to API Gateway in the AWS Console. Select your API. In the left sidebar, click on "Stages." Under "Stages", select the "Prod" stage. In the Stage Editor section, you'll find the "Invoke URL". Copy this URL. Launch the Postman application. Create a POST Request: Set up a new request with the following details: Method: POST URL: Paste the API Gateway endpoint URL obtained earlier. Set Headers: Add any necessary headers (e.g., ). Content-Type: application/json Add Request Body: Create a JSON object representing the user data you want to send in the request. This would be the data you expect to be stored in DynamoDB. Part II Implement CICD Pipeline In this section, we'll demonstrate how to build a CICD pipeline using AWS CodeCommit, CodeBuild, and CodePipeline. The pipeline will initiate a build process that fetches code from the repository, builds it using the build file, and triggers CloudFormation to create the stack. Create CodeCommit Repository Login to AWS, and search for CodeCommit service. Create a new repository in AWS CodeCommit to store your project's source code. Commit Code to Repository In IntelliJ, open the terminal and enter the following commands to commit the code created in Step I $ git init → This initialize local git 
$ git add . → This will stage files
$ git commit -m "commit to CodeCommit" Push Changes to the remote Repo Copy the CodeCommit repo URL from aws console. $ git remote add origin <repo URL>

$ git push --set-upstream origin master --> This will prompt for user/password Create AWS CodeBuild project Set up a CodeBuild project that specifies how to build your application. This includes defining build environments, build commands, and dependencies. Create a S3 bucket to store the build files. Search for AWS Code Build, create a new Project, and provide CodeCommit as a source for code and S3 for artifacts storage To set up CodeBuild, you'll need to create a build specification file named in your project directory. This file will contain the build commands and instructions for CodeBuild. buildspec.yml You can refer to the official documentation for detailed instructions on creating a file. here buildspec.yml version: 0.2

phases:
  install:
    runtime-versions:
      java: corretto11
  pre_build:
    commands:
      - echo Nothing to do in the pre_build phase...
  build:
    commands:
      - echo Build started on `date`
      - sam build
      - sam package --output-template-file pcoutputtemplate.yaml  --s3-bucket com-appsdev-pc-001
  post_build:
    commands:
      - echo Build completed on `date`
artifacts:
  files:
    - pcoutputtemplate.yaml Push the new file to the repository from local. After this, you can build the project to see if the Code is Pulled from Repo and artifacts are built. Create a CodePipeline Create a new pipeline in AWS CodePipeline. Connect the pipeline to your CodeCommit repository as the source. Configure the pipeline to use CodeBuild as the build stage. Add a deploy stage to trigger CloudFormation using the template you created. The pipeline will automatically build and deploy code based on the git commit. Test the Pipeline Open your project in IntelliJ. Make a small change in one of your files, for example, add another logger line. Commit the change to your local Git repository. Push the commit to the CodeCommit repository. $ git branch CR01
$ git checkout CR01
$ git add .
$ git commit -m “CR01”
$ git push --set-upstream origin CR01

You cand also create a pull request in aws code commit, just for simplicity I am merging from local 

$ git checkout master
$ git merge --ff-only CR01
$ git push Go to the AWS CodePipeline console. You should see the pipeline start automatically. It will pull the latest code from the repository, build the project using CodeBuild, and deploy it using CloudFormation. Monitor the progress in the CodePipeline dashboard. This will simulate the process of making changes to your code, pushing them to the repository, and having the CICD pipeline automatically trigger and deploy the updated code. By harnessing AWS API Gateway, Lambda, DynamoDB, CodeCommit, CodeBuild, and CodePipeline, the article demonstrates how to architect a resilient and automated deployment process. Thank you for reading. May your serverless endeavors be met with success and innovation!

A Guide to Building an AWS Serverless API and CICD Pipeline

একটি AWS সার্ভারলেস API এবং CICD পাইপলাইন তৈরির জন্য একটি নির্দেশিকা৷

Ein Leitfaden zum Aufbau einer serverlosen AWS-API und CICD-Pipeline

Una guía para crear una API sin servidor de AWS y una canalización CICD

Un guide pour créer une API sans serveur AWS et un pipeline CICD

AWS सर्वर रहित एपीआई और CICD पाइपलाइन बनाने के लिए एक गाइड

AWS サーバーレス API と CICD パイプラインを構築するためのガイド

AWS 서버리스 API 및 CICD 파이프라인 구축 가이드

Um guia para construir uma API sem servidor AWS e um pipeline CICD

Руководство по созданию бессерверного API AWS и конвейера CICD

AWS Sunucusuz API ve CICD İşlem Hattı Oluşturma Kılavuzu

Hướng dẫn xây dựng quy trình CICD và API AWS Serverless

构建 AWS Serverless API 和 CICD 管道的指南

THE FOAMY CICADELLA

THE CICADA: THE LAYING AND THE HATCHING OF THE EGGS

THE CICADA: HIS MUSIC

The Life of the Grasshopper by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE CICADA: THE TRANSFORMATION CHAPTER III. THE CICADA: THE TRANSFORMATION The exit-gate is passed and left wide open, like a hole made with a large gimlet. For some time the larva wanders about the neighbourhood, looking for some aerial support, a tiny bush, a tuft of thyme, a blade of grass or the twig of a shrub. It finds it, climbs up and, head upwards, clings to it firmly with the claws of the fore-feet, which close and do not let go again. The other legs take part in sustaining it, if the position of the branch make this possible; if not, the two claws suffice. There follows a moment of rest to allow the supporting arms to stiffen into an immovable grip. First, the mesothorax splits along the middle of the back. The edges of the slit separate slowly and reveal the pale-green colour of the insect. Almost immediately afterwards, the prothorax splits also. The longitudinal fissure reaches the back of the [ ]head above and the metathorax below, without spreading farther. The wrapper of the skull breaks crosswise, in front of the eyes; and the red stemmata appear. The green portion uncovered by these ruptures swells and protrudes over the whole of the mesothorax. We see slow palpitations, alternate contractions and distensions due to the ebb and flow of the blood. This hernia, working at first out of sight, is the wedge that made the cuirass split along two crossed lines of least resistance. 43 The skinning-operation makes rapid progress. Soon the head is free. Then the rostrum and the front legs gradually leave their sheaths. The body is horizontal, with the ventral surface turned upwards. Under the wide-open carapace appear the hinder legs, the last to be released. The wings are distended with moisture. They are still rumpled and look like stumps bent into a bow. This first phase of the transformation has taken but ten minutes. There remains the second, which lasts longer. The whole of the insect is free, except the tip of the abdomen, which is still contained in its scabbard. The cast skin continues to grip the twig. Stiffening as the [ ]result of quick desiccation, it preserves without change the attitude which it had at the start. It forms the pivot for what is about to follow. 44 Fixed to his slough by the tip of the abdomen, which is not yet extracted, the Cicada turns over perpendicularly, head downwards. He is pale-green, tinged with yellow. The wings, until now compressed into thick stumps, straighten out, unfurl, spread under the rush of the liquid with which they are gorged. When this slow and delicate operation is ended, the Cicada, with an almost imperceptible movement, draws himself up by sheer strength of loin and resumes a normal position, head upwards. The fore-legs hook on to the empty skin; and at last the tip of the belly is drawn from its sheath. The extraction is over. The work has required half an hour altogether. Here is the whole insect, freed from its mask, but how different from what it will be presently! The wings are heavy, moist, transparent, with their veins a light green. The prothorax and mesothorax are barely tinged with brown. All the rest of the body is pale-green, whitish in places. It must [ ]bathe in air and sunshine for a long time before strength and colour can come to its frail body. About two hours pass without producing any noticeable change. Hanging to his cast skin by his fore-claws only, the Cicada sways at the least breath of air, still feeble and still green. At last the brown tinge appears, becomes more marked and is soon general. Half an hour has effected the change of colour. Slung from the suspension-twig at nine o’clock in the morning, the Cicada flies away, before my eyes, at half-past twelve. 45 The cast skin remains, intact, save for its fissure, and so firmly fastened that the rough weather of autumn does not always succeed in bringing it to the ground. For some months yet, even during the winter, one often meets old skins hanging in the bushes in the exact position adopted by the larva at the moment of its transformation. Their horny nature, something like dry parchment, ensures a long existence for these relics. Let us hark back for a moment to the gymnastic feat which enables the Cicada to leave his scabbard. At first retained by the tip of the abdomen, which is the last part to remain in its case, the Cicada turns over [ ]perpendicularly, head downwards. This somersault allows him to free his wings and legs, after the head and chest have already made their appearance by cracking the armour under the pressure of a hernia. Now comes the time to free the end of the abdomen, the pivot of this inverted attitude. For this purpose, the insect, with a laborious movement of its back, draws itself up, brings its head to the top again and hooks itself with its fore-claws to the cast skin. A fresh support is thus obtained, enabling it to pull the tip of its abdomen from its sheath. 46 There are therefore two means of support: first the end of the belly and then the front claws; and there are two principal movements: in the first place the downward somersault, in the second place the return to the normal position. These gymnastics demand that the larva shall fix itself to a twig, head upwards, and that it shall have a free space beneath it. Suppose that these conditions were lacking, thanks to my wiles: what would happen? That remained to be seen. I tie a thread to the end of one of the hind-legs and hang the larva up in the peaceful atmosphere of a test-tube. My thread [ ]is a plumb-line which will remain vertical, for there is nothing to interfere with it. In this unwonted posture, which places its head at the bottom at a time when the near approach of the transformation demands that it should be at the top, the unfortunate creature for a long time kicks about and struggles, striving to turn over and to seize with its fore-claws either the thread by which it hangs or one of its own hind-legs. Some of them succeed in their efforts, draw themselves up as best they can, fasten themselves as they wish, despite the difficulty of keeping their balance, and effect their metamorphosis without impediment. 47 Others wear themselves out in vain. They do not catch hold of the thread, they do not bring their heads upwards. Then the transformation is not accomplished. Sometimes the dorsal rupture takes place, leaving bare the mesothorax swollen into a hernia, but the shelling proceeds no farther and the insect soon dies. More often still the larva perishes intact, without the least fissure. Another experiment. I place the larva in a glass jar with a thin bed of sand, which makes progress possible. The animal moves along, but is not able to hoist itself up anywhere: [ ]the slippery sides of the glass prevent this. Under these conditions, the captive expires without trying to transform itself. I have known exceptions to this miserable ending; I have sometimes seen the larva undergo a regular metamorphosis on a layer of sand thanks to peculiarities of equilibrium which were very difficult to distinguish. In the main, when the normal attitude or something very near it is impossible, metamorphosis does not take place and the insect succumbs. That is the general rule. 48 This result seems to tell us that the larva is capable of opposing the forces which are at work in it when the transformation is at hand. A cabbage-silique, a pea-pod invariably burst to set free their seeds. The Cicada-larva, a sort of pod containing, by way of seed, the perfect insect, is able to control its dehiscence, to defer it until a more opportune moment and even to suppress it altogether in unfavourable circumstances. Convulsed by the profound revolution that takes place in its body on the point of transfiguration, but at the same time warned by instinct that the conditions are not good, the insect makes a desperate resistance and dies rather than consent to open.[ ] 49 Apart from the trials to which my curiosity subjects it, I do not see that the Cicada-larva is exposed to any danger of perishing in this way. There is always a bit of brushwood of some kind near the exit-hole. The newly-exhumed insect climbs on it; and a few minutes are enough for the animal pod to split down the back. This swift hatching has often been a source of trouble to me in my studies. A larva appears on the hills not far from my house. I catch sight of it just as it is fastening on the twig. It would form an interesting subject of observation indoors. I place it in a paper bag, together with the stick that carries it, and hurry home. This takes me a quarter of an hour, but it is labour lost: by the time that I arrive, the green Cicada is almost free. I shall not see what I was bent on seeing. I had to abandon this method of obtaining information and be content with an occasional lucky find within a few yards of my door. “Everything is in everything,” as Jacotot the pedagogue used to say. In connection [ ]with that remarkably quick metamorphosis a culinary question arises. According to Aristotle, Cicadæ were a highly-appreciated dish among the Greeks. I am not acquainted with the great naturalist’s text: humble villager that I am, my library possesses no such treasure. I happen, however, to have before me a venerable tome which can tell me just what I want to know. I refer to Matthiolus’ Commentaries on Dioscorides. As an eminent scholar, who must have known his Aristotle very well, Matthiolus inspires me with complete confidence. Now he says: 1 50 2 “Mirum non est quod dixerit Aristoteles, cicadas esse gustu suavissimas antequam tettigometræ rumpatur cortex.” Knowing that tettigometra, or mother of the Cicada, is the expression used by the ancients to denote the larva, we see that, according to Aristotle, the Cicadæ possess a flavour most delicious to the taste before the bark or outer covering of the matrix bursts.[ ] 51 This detail of the unbroken covering tells us at what season the toothsome dainty should be picked. It cannot be in winter, when the earth is dug deep by the plough, for at that time there is no danger of the larva’s hatching. People do not recommend an utterly superfluous precaution. It is therefore in summer, at the period of the emergence from underground, when a good search will discover the larvæ, one by one, on the surface of the soil. This is the real moment to take care that the wrapper is unbroken. It is the moment also to hasten the gathering and the preparations for cooking: in a very few minutes the wrapper will burst. Are the ancient culinary reputation and that appetizing epithet, suavissimas gustu, well-deserved? We have an excellent opportunity: let us profit by it and restore to honour, if the occasion warrant it, the dish extolled by Aristotle. Rondelet, Rabelais’ erudite friend, gloried in having rediscovered [ ]garum, the famous sauce made from the entrails of rotten fish. Would it not be a meritorious work to give the epicures their tettigometræ again? 3 52 On a morning in July, when the sun is up and has invited the Cicadæ to leave the ground, the whole household, big and little, go out searching. There are five of us engaged in exploring the enclosure, especially the edges of paths, which yield the best results. To prevent the skin from bursting, as each larva is found I dip it into a glass of water. Asphyxia will stay the work of metamorphosis. After two hours of careful seeking, when every forehead is streaming with perspiration, I am the owner of four larvæ, no more. They are dead or dying in their preserving bath; but this does not matter, since they are destined for the frying-pan. The method of cooking is of the simplest, so as to alter as little as possible the flavour reputed to be so exquisite: a few drops of oil, a pinch of salt, a little onion and that is all. There is no conciser recipe in the whole of La Cuisinière bourgeoise. At dinner, the fry is divided fairly among all of us hunters.[ ] 53 The stuff is unanimously admitted to be eatable. True, we are people blessed with good appetites and wholly unprejudiced stomachs. There is even a slightly shrimpy flavour which would be found in a still more pronounced form in a brochette of Locusts. It is, however, as tough as the devil and anything but succulent; we really feel as if we were chewing bits of parchment. I will not recommend to anybody the dish extolled by Aristotle. Certainly, the renowned animal-historian was remarkably well-informed as a rule. His royal pupil sent on his behalf to India, the land at that time so full of mystery, for the curiosities most impressive to Macedonian eyes; he received by caravan the Elephant, the Panther, the Tiger, the Rhinoceros, the Peacock; and he described them faithfully. But, in Macedonia itself, he knew the insect only through the peasant, that stubborn tiller of the soil, who found the tettigometra under his spade and was the first to know that a Cicada comes out of it. Aristotle, therefore, in his immense undertaking, was doing more or less what Pliny was to do later, with a much greater amount of artless credulity. He listened to [ ]the chit-chat of the country-side and set it down as veracious history. 54 Rustic waggery is world-famous. The countryman is always ready to jeer at the trifles which we call science; he laughs at whoso stops to examine an insignificant insect; he goes into fits of laughter if he sees us picking up a pebble, looking at it and putting it in our pocket. The Greek peasant excelled in this sort of thing. He told the townsman that the tettigometra was a dish fit for the gods, of an incomparable flavour, suavissima gustu. But, while making his victim’s mouth water with hyperbolical praises, he put it out of his power to satisfy his longings, by laying down the essential condition that he must gather the delicious morsel before the shell had burst. I should like to see any one try to get together the material for a sufficiently copious dish by gathering a few handfuls of tettigometræ just coming out of the earth, when my squad of five took two hours to find four larvæ on ground rich in Cicadæ. Above all, mind that the skin does not break during your search, which will last for days and days, whereas the bursting takes place in a few minutes. My opinion [ ]is that Aristotle never tasted a fry of tettigometræ; and my own culinary experience is my witness. He is repeating some rustic jest in all good faith. His heavenly dish is too horrible for words. 55 Oh, what a fine collection of stories I too could make about the Cicada, if I listened to all that my neighbours the peasants tell me! I will give one particular of his history and one alone, as related in the country. Have you any renal infirmity? Are you dropsical at all? Do you need a powerful depurative? The village pharmacopœia is unanimous in suggesting the Cicada as a sovran remedy. The insects are collected in summer, in their adult form. They are strung together and dried in the sun and are fondly preserved in a corner of the press. A housewife would think herself lacking in prudence if she allowed July to pass without threading her store of them. Do you suffer from irritation of the kidneys, or perhaps from stricture? Quick, have some Cicada-tea! Nothing, they tell me, is so efficacious. I am duly grateful to the good soul who once, as I have since heard, made me drink a concoction of the sort, without my knowing it, for some [ ]trouble or other; but I remain profoundly incredulous. I am struck, however, by the fact that the same specific was recommended long ago by Dioscorides. The old Cilician doctor tells us: 56 “Cicadæ, quæ inassatæ manduntur, vesicæ doloribus prosunt.” Ever since the far-off days of this patriarch of materia medica, the Provençal peasant has retained his faith in the remedy revealed to him by the Greeks who brought the olive, the fig-tree and the vine from Phocæa. One thing alone is changed: Dioscorides advises us to eat our Cicadæ roasted; nowadays they are boiled and taken as an infusion. The explanation given of the insect’s diuretic properties is wonderfully ingenuous. The Cicada, as all of us here know, shoots a sudden spray of urine, as it flies away, in the face of any one who tries to take hold of it. He is therefore bound to hand on his powers of evacuation to us. Thus must Dioscorides and his contemporaries have [ ]argued; and thus does the peasant of Provence argue to this day. 57 O my worthy friends, what would you say if you knew the virtues of the tettigometra, which is capable of mixing mortar with its urine to build a meteorological station withal! You would be driven to borrow the hyperbole of Rabelais, who shows us Gargantua seated on the towers of Notre-Dame and drowning with the deluge from his mighty bladder so many thousand Paris loafers, not to mention the women and children! About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jean-Henri Fabre (2021). The Life of the Grasshopper. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66650/pg66650-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

THE CICADA: THE TRANSFORMATION

The Life of the Grasshopper by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE CICADA: LEAVING THE BURROW CHAPTER II. THE CICADA: LEAVING THE BURROW To come back to the Cicada after Réaumur has told the insect’s story would be waste of time, save that the disciple enjoys an advantage unknown to the master. The great naturalist received the materials for his work from my part of the world; his subjects came by barge after being carefully preserved in spirits. I, on the other hand, live in the Cicada’s company. When July comes, he takes possession of the enclosure right up to the threshold of the house. The hermitage is our joint property. I remain master indoors; but out of doors he is the sovereign lord and an extremely noisy and abusive one. Our near neighbourhood and constant association have enabled me to enter into certain details of which Réaumur could not dream. The first Cicadæ appear at the time of the summer solstice. Along the much-trodden paths baked by the sun and hardened by the frequent passage of feet there open, level with the ground, round orifices about the size of a man’s thumb. These are the exit-holes of the Cicada-larvæ, who come up from the depths to undergo their transformation on the surface. They are more or less everywhere, except in soil turned over by the plough. Their usual position is in the driest spots, those most exposed to the sun, especially by the side of the roads. Equipped with powerful tools to pass, if necessary, through sandstone and dried clay, the larva, on leaving the earth, has a fancy for the hardest places. One of the garden-paths, converted into a little inferno by the glare from a wall facing south, abounds in such exit-holes. I proceed, in the last days of June, to examine these recently abandoned pits. The soil is so hard that I have to take my pickaxe to tackle it. The orifices are round and nearly an inch in diameter. There is absolutely no rubbish around them, no mound of earth thrown up [ ]outside. This is invariably the case: the Cicada’s hole is never surmounted with a mole-hill, as are the burrows of the Geotrupes, or Dorbeetles, those other sturdy excavators. The manner of working accounts for this difference. The Dung-beetle progresses from the outside inwards; he commences his digging at the mouth of the well, which allows him to ascend and heap up on the surface the material which he has extracted. The larva of the Cicada, on the other hand, goes from the inside outwards; the last thing that it does is to open the exit-door, which, remaining closed until the very end of the work, cannot be used for getting rid of the rubbish. The former goes in and makes a mound on the threshold of the home; the latter comes out and cannot heap up anything on a threshold that does not yet exist. 27 2 The Cicada’s tunnel runs to a depth of between fifteen and sixteen inches. It is cylindrical, winds slightly, according to the exigencies of the soil, and is always nearly perpendicular, for it is shorter to go that way. The passage is quite open throughout [ ]its length. It is useless to search for the rubbish which this excavation ought, one would think, to produce; we see none anywhere. The tunnel ends in a blind alley, in a rather wider chamber, with level walls and not the least vestige of communication with any gallery prolonging the well. 28 Reckoned by its length and its diameter, the excavation represents a volume of about twelve cubic inches. What has become of the earth removed? Sunk in very dry and very loose soil, the well and the chamber at the bottom ought to have crumbly walls, which would easily fall in, if nothing else had taken place but the work of boring. My surprise was great to find, on the contrary, coated surfaces, washed with a paste of clayey earth. They are not by a long way what one could call smooth, but at any rate their irregularities are covered with a layer of plaster; and their slippery materials, soaked with some agglutinant, are kept in position. The larva can move about and climb nearly up to the surface and down again to its refuge at the bottom without producing, with its clawed legs, landslips which would block the tube, making ascent difficult and [ ]retreat impossible. The miner shores up his galleries with pit-props and cross-beams; the builder of underground railways strengthens his tunnels with a casing of brickwork; the Cicada’s larva, which is quite as clever an engineer, cements its shaft so as to keep it open however long it may have to serve. 29 If I surprise the creature at the moment when it emerges from the soil to make for a neighbouring branch and there undergo its transformation, I see it at once beat a prudent retreat and, without the slightest difficulty, run down again to the bottom of its gallery, proving that, even when the dwelling is on the point of being abandoned for good, it does not become blocked with earth. The ascending-shaft is not a piece of work improvised in a hurry, in the insect’s impatience to reach the sunlight; it is a regular manor-house, an abode in which the grub is meant to make a long stay. So the plastered walls tell us. Any such precaution would be superfluous in the case of a mere exit abandoned as soon as bored. There is not a doubt but that we have here a sort of meteorological station in which observations are taken of the weather outside. Underground, fifteen inches down, or more, the [ ]larva ripe for its emergence is hardly able to judge whether the climatic conditions be favourable. Its subterranean weather is too gradual in its changes to be able to supply it with the precise indications necessary for the most important action of its life, its escape into the sunlight for the metamorphosis. 30 Patiently, for weeks, perhaps for months, it digs, clears and strengthens a perpendicular chimney, leaving at the surface, to keep it sequestered from the world without, a layer as thick as one’s finger. At the bottom it makes itself a recess more carefully built than the remainder. This is its refuge, its waiting-room, where it rests if its reconnoitring lead it to defer its emigration. At the least suspicion of fine weather, it scrambles up, tests the exterior through the thin layer of earth forming a lid and enquires into the temperature and the degree of humidity of the air. If things do not bode well, if a heavy shower threaten or a blustering storm—events of supreme importance when the delicate Cicada throws off her skin—the prudent insect slips back to the bottom of the tube and goes on waiting. If, on the other hand, the atmospheric conditions be favourable, [ ]then the ceiling is smashed with a few strokes of the claws and the larva emerges from the well. 31 Everything seems to confirm that the Cicada’s gallery is a waiting-room, a meteorological station where the larva stays for a long time, now hoisting itself near the surface to discover the state of the weather, now retreating to the depths for better shelter. This explains the convenience of a resting-place at the base and the need for a strong cement on walls which, without it, would certainly give way under continual comings and goings. What is not so easily explained is the complete disappearance of the rubbish corresponding with the space excavated. What has become of the twelve cubic inches of earth yielded by an average well? There is nothing outside to represent them, nor anything inside either. And then how, in a soil dry as cinders, is the plaster obtained with which the walls are glazed? Larvæ that gnaw into wood, such as those of the Capricorn and the Buprestes, [ ]for instance, ought to be able to answer the first question. They make their way inside a tree-trunk, boring galleries by eating the materials of the road which they open. Detached in tiny fragments by the mandibles, these materials are digested. They pass through the pioneer’s body from end to end, yielding up their meagre nutritive elements on the way, and accumulate behind, completely blocking the road which the grub will never take again. The work of excessive division and subdivision, done either by the mandibles or the stomach, causes the digested materials to take up less room than the untouched wood; and the result is a space in front of the gallery, a chamber in which the grub works, a chamber which is greatly restricted in length, giving the prisoner just enough room to move about. 3 32 Can it not be in a similar fashion that the Cicada-grub bores its tunnel? Certainly the waste material flung up as it digs its way does not pass through its body; even if the soil were of the softest and most yielding character, earth plays no part whatever in the larva’s food. But, after all, cannot the materials removed be simply shot back as the work proceeds? The Cicada remains [ ]four years in the ground. This long life is not, of course, spent at the bottom of the well which we have described: this is just a place where the larva prepares for its emergence. It comes from elsewhere, doubtless from some distance. It is a vagabond, going from one root to another and driving its sucker into each. When it moves, either to escape from the upper layers, which are too cold in winter, or to settle down at a better drinking-bar, it clears a road by flinging behind it the materials broken up by its pickaxes. This is undoubtedly the method. 33 As with the larvæ of the Capricorn and the Buprestes, the traveller needs around him only the small amount of free room which his movements require. Damp, soft, easily compressed earth is to this larva what the digested pap is to the others. Such earth is heaped up without difficulty; it condenses and leaves a vacant space. The difficulty is one of a different kind with the exit-well bored in a very dry soil, which offers a marked resistance to compression so long as it retains its aridity. That the larva, when beginning to dig its passage, flung back part of the excavated materials into an earlier gallery which has now disappeared [ ]is fairly probable, though there is nothing in the condition of things to tell us so; but, if we consider the capacity of the well and the extreme difficulty of finding room for so great a volume of rubbish, our doubts return and we say to ourselves: 34 “This rubbish demanded a large empty space, which itself was obtained by shifting other refuse no less difficult to house. The room required presupposes the existence of another space into which the earth extracted was shot.” And so we find ourselves in a vicious circle, for the mere subsidence of materials flung behind would not be enough to explain so great a void. The Cicada must have a special method of disposing of the superfluous earth. Let us try and surprise his secret. Examine a larva at the moment when it emerges from the ground. It is nearly always more or less soiled with mud, sometimes wet, sometimes dry. The digging-implements, the fore-feet, have the points of their pickaxes stuck in a globule of slime; its other legs are cased in mud; its back is spotted with clay. We are reminded of a scavenger who has been stirring up sewage. [ ]These stains are the more striking inasmuch as the creature comes out of exceedingly dry ground. We expected to see it covered with dust and we find it covered with mud. 35 One more step in this direction and the problem of the well is solved. I exhume a larva which happens to be working at its exit-gallery. Very occasionally, I get a piece of luck like this, in the course of my digging; it would be useless for me to try for it, as there is nothing outside to guide my search. My welcome prize is just beginning its excavations. An inch of tunnel, free from any rubbish, and the waiting-room at the bottom represent all the work for the moment. In what condition is the worker? We shall see. The grub is much paler in colour than those which I catch as they emerge. Its big eyes in particular are whitish, cloudy, squinting and apparently of little use for seeing. What good is sight underground? The eyes of the larvæ issuing from the earth are, on the contrary, black and shining and indicate ability to see. When it makes its appearance in the sunshine, the future Cicada has to seek, occasionally at some distance from the exit-hole, the hanging [ ]branch on which the metamorphosis will be performed; and here sight will manifestly be useful. This maturity of vision attained during the preparation for the release is enough to show us that the larva, far from hastily improvising its ascending-shaft, works at it for a long time. 36 Moreover, the pale and blind larva is bulkier than it is in the state of maturity. It is swollen with liquid and looks dropsical. If you take it in your fingers, a limpid humour oozes from the hinder part and moistens the whole body. Is this fluid, expelled from the intestines, a urinary product? Is it just the residue of a stomach fed solely on sap? I will not decide the question and will content myself with calling it urine, merely for convenience. Well, this fountain of urine is the key to the mystery. The larva, as it goes on and digs, sprinkles the dusty materials and makes them into paste, which is forthwith applied to the walls by abdominal pressure. The original dryness is succeeded by plasticity. The mud obtained penetrates the interstices of a rough soil; the more liquid part of it trickles in front; the remainder is compressed and packed and occupies the empty [ ]spaces in between. Thus is an unblocked tunnel obtained, without any refuse, because the dust and rubbish are used on the spot in the form of a mortar which is more compact and more homogeneous than the soil traversed. 37 The larva therefore works in the midst of clayey mire; and this is the cause of the stains that astonish us so much when we see it issuing from excessively dry soil. The perfect insect, though relieved henceforth from all mining labour, does not utterly abandon the use of its bladder; a few drains of urine are preserved as a weapon of defence. When too closely observed, it discharges a spray at the intruder and quickly flies away. In either form, the Cicada, his dry constitution notwithstanding, proves himself a skilled irrigator. Dropsical though it be, the larva cannot carry sufficient liquid to moisten and turn into compressible mud the long column of earth which has to be tunnelled. The reservoir becomes exhausted and the supply has to be renewed. How is this done and when? I think I see. The few wells which I have laid bare throughout their length, with the painstaking [ ]care which this sort of digging demands, show me at the bottom, encrusted in the wall of the terminal chamber, a live root, sometimes as big as a lead-pencil, sometimes no thicker than a straw. The visible part of this root is quite small, barely a fraction of an inch. The rest is contained in the surrounding earth. Is the discovery of this sort of sap fortuitous? Or is it the result of a special search on the larva’s part? The presence of a rootlet is so frequent, at least when my digging is skilfully conducted, that I rather favour the latter alternative. 38 Yes, the Cicada-grub, when hollowing out its cell, the starting-point of the future chimney, seeks the immediate neighbourhood of a small live root; it lays bare a certain portion, which continues the side wall without projecting. This live spot in the wall is, I think, the fount from which the contents of the urinary bladder are renewed as the need arises. When its reserves are exhausted by the conversion of dry dust into mud, the miner goes down to his chamber, drives in his sucker and takes a deep draught from the cask built into the wall. With his jug well filled, he goes up again. He resumes his work, wetting the hard earth the [ ]better to flatten it with his claws and reducing the dusty rubbish to mud which can be heaped up around him and leave a clear thoroughfare. That is how things must happen. So logic and the circumstances of the case tell us, in the absence of direct observation, which is not feasible here. 39 If this root-cask fail, if moreover the reservoir of the intestine be exhausted, what will happen then? We shall learn from the following experiment. I catch a grub as it is leaving the ground. I put it at the bottom of a test-tube and cover it with a column of dry earth, not too closely packed. The column is nearly six inches high. The larva has just quitted an excavation thrice as deep, in soil of the same nature, but offering a much greater resistance. Now that it is buried under my short, sandy column, will it be capable of climbing to the surface? If it were a mere matter of strength, the issue would be certain. What can an obstacle without cohesion be to one that has just bored a hole through the hard ground? And yet I am assailed by doubts. To break down the screen that still separated it from the outer air, the larva has expended its last reserves of fluid. The flask is dry; [ ]and there is no way of replenishing it in the absence of a live root. My suspicion of failure is well-founded. For three days I see the entombed one wasting itself in efforts without succeeding in rising an inch higher. The materials removed refuse to stay in position for lack of anything to bind them; they are no sooner pushed aside than they slip down again under the insect’s legs. The labour has no perceptible result and has always to be done all over again. On the fourth day, the creature dies. 40 With the water-can full, the result is quite different. I subject to the same experiment an insect whose work of self-deliverance is just beginning. It is all swollen with urinary humours which ooze out and moisten its whole body. This one’s task is easy. The materials offer hardly any resistance. A little moisture, supplied by the miner’s flask, converts them into mud, sticks them together and keeps them out of the way. The passage is opened, very irregular in shape, it is true, and almost filled up at the back as the ascent proceeds. It is as though the larva, recognizing the impossibility of renewing its store of fluid, were saving up the little which it possesses and spending no [ ]more than is strictly necessary to enable it to escape as quickly as possible from its unfamiliar surroundings. This economy is so well arranged that the insect reaches the surface at the end of ten days. 41 About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jean-Henri Fabre (2021). The Life of the Grasshopper. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/66650/pg66650-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

THE CICADA: LEAVING THE BURROW

THE FABLE OF THE CICADA AND THE ANT

Fabre's Book of Insects by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE CICADA CHAPTER III. THE CICADA I. THE CICADA AND THE ANT To most of us the Cicada’s song is unknown, for he lives in the land of the olive-trees. But every one who has read La Fontaine’s “Fables” has heard of the snub the Cicada received from the Ant, though La Fontaine was not the first to tell the tale. The Cicada, says the story, did nothing but sing all through the summer, while the Ants were busy storing their provisions. When winter came he was hungry, and hurried to his neighbour to borrow some food. He met with a poor welcome. “Why didn’t you gather your food in the summer?” asked the prudent Ant. “I was busy singing all the summer,” said the Cicada. “Singing, were you?” answered the Ant unkindly. “Well, then, now you may dance!” And she turned her back on the beggar.[ ] 26 Now the insect in this fable could not possibly be a Cicada. La Fontaine, it is plain, was thinking of the Grasshopper and as a matter of fact the English translations usually substitute a Grasshopper for the Cicada. THE CICADA In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are parched with thirst, the Cicada remains perfectly cheerful For my village does not contain a peasant so ignorant as to imagine the Cicada ever exists in winter. Every tiller of the soil is familiar with the grub of this insect, which he turns over with his spade whenever he banks up the olive-trees at the approach of cold weather. A thousand times he has seen the grub leave the ground through a round hole of its own making, fasten itself to a twig, split its own back, take off its skin, and turn into a Cicada. The fable is a slander. The Cicada is no beggar, though it is true that he demands a good deal of attention from his neighbours. Every summer he comes and settles in his hundreds outside my door, amid the greenery of two tall plane-trees; and here, from sunrise to sunset, he tortures my head with the rasping of his harsh music. This deafening concert, this incessant rattling and drumming, makes all thought impossible. It is true, too, that there are sometimes dealings between the Cicada and the Ant; but they are exactly the opposite of those described in the fable. The Cicada is never dependent on others for his living. At no time does he go crying famine at the doors of the Ant-hills. [ ]On the contrary, it is the Ant who, driven by hunger, begs and entreats the singer. Entreats, did I say? It is not the right word. She brazenly robs him. 27 In July, when most of the insects in my sunny country are parched with thirst, and vainly wander round the withered flowers in search of refreshment, the Cicada remains perfectly cheerful. With his rostrum—the delicate sucker, sharp as a gimlet, that he carries on his chest—he broaches a cask in his inexhaustible cellar. Sitting, always singing, on the branch of a shrub, he bores through the firm, smooth bark, which is swollen with sap. Driving his sucker through the bunghole, he drinks his fill. If I watch him for a little while I may perhaps see him in unexpected trouble. There are many thirsty insects in the neighbourhood, who soon discover the sap that oozes from the Cicada’s well. They hasten up, at first quietly and discreetly, to lick the fluid as it comes out. I see Wasps, Flies, Earwigs, Rose-chafers, and above all, Ants. The smallest, in order to reach the well, slip under the body of the Cicada, who good-naturedly raises himself on his legs to let them pass. The larger insects snatch a sip, retreat, take a walk on a neighbouring branch, and then return more eager and enterprising than before. They now become violent brigands, determined to chase the Cicada away from his well.[ ] 28 The worst offenders are the Ants. I have seen them nibbling at the ends of the Cicada’s legs, tugging at the tips of his wings, and climbing on his back. Once a bold robber, before my very eyes, caught hold of a Cicada’s sucker and tried to pull it out. At last, worried beyond all patience, the singer deserts the well he has made. The Ant has now attained her object: she is left in possession of the spring. This dries up very soon, it is true; but, having drunk all the sap that is there, she can wait for another drink till she has a chance of stealing another well. So you see that the actual facts are just the reverse of those in the fable. The Ant is the hardened beggar: the industrious worker is the Cicada. II. THE CICADA’S BURROW I am in an excellent position to study the habits of the Cicada, for I live in his company. When July comes he takes possession of the enclosures right up to the threshold of the house. I remain master indoors, but out of doors he reigns supreme, and his reign is by no means a peaceful one. The first Cicada appear at midsummer. In the much-trodden, sun-baked paths I see, level with the ground, [ ]round holes about the size of a man’s thumb. Through these holes the Cicada-grubs come up from the underground to be transformed into full-grown Cicadæ on the surface. Their favourite places are the driest and sunniest; for these grubs are provided with such powerful tools that they can bore through baked earth or sandstone. When I examine their deserted burrows I have to use my pickaxe. 29 The first thing one notices is that the holes, which measure nearly an inch across, have absolutely no rubbish round them. There is no mound of earth thrown up outside. Most of the digging insects, such as the Dorbeetles for instance, make a mole-hill above their burrows. The reason for this difference lies in their manner of working. The Dorbeetle begins his work at the mouth of the hole, so he can heap up on the surface the material he digs out: but the Cicada-grub comes up from below. The last thing he does is to make the doorway, and he cannot heap rubbish on a threshold that does not yet exist. The Cicada’s tunnel runs to a depth of fifteen or sixteen inches. It is quite open the whole way. It ends in a rather wider space, but is completely closed at the bottom. What has become of the earth removed to make this tunnel? And why do not the walls crumble? One would expect that the grub, climbing up and down with [ ]his clawed legs, would make landslips and block up his own house. 30 Well, he behaves like a miner or a railway-engineer. The miner holds up his galleries with pit-props; the builder of railways strengthens his tunnel with a casing of brickwork; the Cicada is as clever as either of them, and covers the walls of his tunnel with cement. He carries a store of sticky fluid hidden within him, with which to make this plaster. His burrow is always built above some tiny rootlet containing sap, and from this root he renews his supply of fluid. It is very important for him to be able to run up and down his burrow at his ease, because, when the time comes for him to find his way into the sunshine, he wants to know what the weather is like outside. So he works away for weeks, perhaps for months, to make a funnel with good strong plastered walls, on which he can clamber. At the top he leaves a layer as thick as one’s finger, to protect him from the outer air till the last moment. At the least hint of fine weather he scrambles up, and, through the thin lid at the top, inquires into the state of the weather. If he suspects a storm or rain on the surface—matter of great importance to a delicate grub when he takes off his skin!—he slips prudently back to the bottom of his snug funnel. But if the weather seems warm he smashes his [ ]ceiling with a few strokes of his claws, and climbs to the surface. 31 It is the fluid substance carried by the Cicada-grub in his swollen body that enables him to get rid of the rubbish in his burrow. As he digs he sprinkles the dusty earth and turns it into paste. The walls then become soft and yielding. The mud squeezes into the chinks of the rough soil, and the grub compresses it with his fat body. This is why, when he appears at the top, he is always covered with wet stains. For some time after the Cicada-grub’s first appearance above-ground he wanders about the neighbourhood, looking for a suitable spot in which to cast off his skin—a tiny bush, a tuft of thyme, a blade of grass, or the twig of a shrub. When he finds it he climbs up, and clings to it firmly with the claws of his fore-feet. His fore-legs stiffen into an immovable grip. Then his outer skin begins to split along the middle of the back, showing the pale-green Cicada within. Presently the head is free; then the sucker and front legs appear, and finally the hind-legs and the rumpled wings. The whole insect is free now, except the extreme tip of his body. He next performs a wonderful gymnastic feat. High in the air as he is, fixed to his old skin at one point [ ]only, he turns himself over till his head is hanging downwards. His crumpled wings straighten out, unfurl, and spread themselves. Then with an almost invisible movement he draws himself up again by sheer strength, and hooks his fore-legs on to his empty skin. This movement has released the tip of his body from its sheath. The whole operation has taken about half an hour. 32 For a time the freed Cicada does not feel very strong. He must bathe in air and sunshine before strength and colour come to his frail body. Hanging to his cast skin by his fore-claws only, he sways at the least breath of air, still feeble and still green. But at last the brown tinge appears, and is soon general. Supposing him to have taken possession of the twig at nine o’clock in the morning, the Cicada flies away at half-past twelve, leaving his cast skin behind him. Sometimes it hangs from the twigs for months. III. THE CICADA’S MUSIC The Cicada, it appears, loves singing for its own sake. Not content with carrying an instrument called the cymbal in a cavity behind his wings, he increases its power by means of sounding-boards under his chest. [ ]Indeed, there is one kind of Cicada who sacrifices a great deal in order to give full play to his musical tastes. He carries such an enormous sounding-board that there is hardly any room left for his vital organs, which are squeezed into a tiny corner. Assuredly one must be passionately devoted to music thus to clear away one’s internal organs in order to make room for a musical box! 33 Unfortunately the song he loves so much is extremely unattractive to others. Nor have I yet discovered its object. It is usually suggested that he is calling his mate; but the facts appear to contradict this idea. For fifteen years the Common Cicada has thrust his society upon me. Every summer for two months I have these insects before my eyes, and their song in my ears. I see them ranged in rows on the smooth bark of the plane-trees, the maker of music and his mate sitting side by side. With their suckers driven into the tree they drink, motionless. As the sun turns they also turn round the branch with slow, sidelong steps, to find the hottest spot. Whether drinking or moving they never cease singing. It seems unlikely, therefore, that they are calling their mates. You do not spend months on end calling to some one who is at your elbow. Indeed, I am inclined to think that the Cicada himself [ ]cannot even hear the song he sings with so much apparent delight. This might account for the relentless way in which he forces his music upon others. 34 He has very clear sight. His five eyes tell him what is happening to right and to left and above his head; and the moment he sees any one coming he is silent and flies away. Yet no noise disturbs him. Place yourself behind him, and then talk, whistle, clap your hands, and knock two stones together. For much less than this a bird, though he would not see you, would fly away terrified. The imperturbable Cicada goes on rattling as though nothing were there. On one occasion I borrowed the local artillery, that is to say the guns that are fired on feast-days in the village. There were two of them, and they were crammed with powder as though for the most important rejoicings. They were placed at the foot of the plane-trees in front of my door. We were careful to leave the windows open, to prevent the panes from breaking. The Cicadæ in the branches overhead could not see what was happening. Six of us waited below, eager to hear what would be the effect on the orchestra above. Bang! The gun went off with a noise like a thunderclap. Quite unconcerned, the Cicadæ continued to sing. [ ]Not one appeared in the least disturbed. There was no change whatever in the quality or the quantity of the sound. The second gun had no more effect than the first. 35 I think, after this experiment, we must admit that the Cicada is hard of hearing, and like a very deaf man, is quite unconscious that he is making a noise. IV. THE CICADA’S EGGS The Common Cicada likes to lay her eggs on small dry branches. She chooses, as far as possible, tiny stalks, which may be of any size between that of a straw and a lead-pencil. The sprig is never lying on the ground, is usually nearly upright in position, and is almost always dead. Having found a twig to suit her, she makes a row of pricks with the sharp instrument on her chest—such pricks as might be made with a pin if it were driven downwards on a slant, so as to tear the fibres and force them slightly upwards. If she is undisturbed she will make thirty or forty of these pricks on the same twig. In the tiny cells formed by these pricks she lays her eggs. The cells are narrow passages, each one slanting down towards the one below it. I generally find about [ ]ten eggs in each cell, so it is plain that the Cicada lays between three and four hundred eggs altogether. 36 This is a fine family for one insect. The numbers point to some special danger that threatens the Cicada, and makes it necessary to produce a great quantity of grubs lest some should be destroyed. After many observations I have discovered what this danger is. It is an extremely tiny Gnat, compared with which the Cicada is a monster. This Gnat, like the Cicada, carries a boring-tool. It is planted beneath her body, near the middle, and sticks out at right angles. As fast as the Cicada lays her eggs the Gnat tries to destroy them. It is a real scourge to the Cicada family. It is amazing to watch her calm and brazen audacity in the presence of the giant who could crush her by simply stepping on her. I have seen as many as three preparing to despoil one unhappy Cicada at the same time, standing close behind one another. The Cicada has just stocked a cell with eggs, and is climbing a little higher to make another cell. One of the brigands runs to the spot she has just left; and here, almost under the claws of the monster, as calmly and fearlessly as though she were at home, the Gnat bores a second hole above the Cicada’s eggs, and places among them an egg of her own. By the time the Cicada flies away most of her cells have, in this way, received a [ ]stranger’s egg, which will be the ruin of hers. A small quick-hatching grub, one only to each cell, handsomely fed on a dozen raw eggs, will take the place of the Cicada’s family. 37 This deplorable mother has learnt nothing from centuries of experience. Her large and excellent eyes cannot fail to see the terrible felons fluttering round her. She must know they are at her heels, and yet she remains unmoved, and lets herself be victimised. She could easily crush the wicked atoms, but she is incapable of altering her instincts, even to save her family from destruction. Through my magnifying-glass I have seen the hatching of the Cicada’s eggs. When the grub first appears it has a marked likeness to an extremely small fish, with large black eyes, and a curious sort of mock fin under its body, formed of the two fore-legs joined together. This fin has some power of movement, and helps the grub to work its way out of the shell, and also—a much more difficult matter—out of the fibrous stem in which it is imprisoned. As soon as this fish-like object has made its way out of the cell it sheds its skin. But the cast skin forms itself into a thread, by which the grub remains fastened to the twig or stem. Here, before dropping to the ground, it treats itself to a sun-bath, kicking about and [ ]trying its strength, or swinging lazily at the end of its rope. 38 Its antennæ now are free, and wave about; its legs work their joints; those in front open and shut their claws. I know hardly any more curious sight than this tiny acrobat hanging by the tip of its body, swinging at the least breath of wind, and making ready in the air for its somersault into the world. Sooner or later, without losing much time, it drops to the ground. The little creature, no bigger than a Flea, has saved its tender body from the rough earth by swinging on its cord. It has hardened itself in the air, that luxurious eiderdown. It now plunges into the stern realities of life. I see a thousand dangers ahead of it. The merest breath of wind could blow it on to the hard rock, or into the stagnant water in some deep cart-rut, or on the sand where nothing grows, or else on a clay soil, too tough for it to dig in. The feeble creature needs shelter at once, and must look for an underground refuge. The days are growing cold, and delays are fatal to it. It must wander about in search of soft soil, and no doubt many die before they find it. When at last it discovers the right spot it attacks the earth with the hooks on its fore-feet. Through the magnifying-glass [ ]I watch it wielding its pickaxes, and raking an atom of earth to the surface. In a few minutes a well has been scooped out. The little creature goes down into it, buries itself, and is henceforth invisible. 39 The underground life of the undeveloped Cicada remains a secret. But we know how long it remains in the earth before it comes to the surface and becomes a full-grown Cicada. For four years it lives below the soil. Then for about five weeks it sings in the sunshine. Four years of hard work in the darkness, and a month of delight in the sun—such is the Cicada’s life. We must not blame him for the noisy triumph of his song. For four years he has dug the earth with his feet, and then suddenly he is dressed in exquisite raiment, provided with wings that rival the bird’s, and bathed in heat and light! What cymbals can be loud enough to celebrate his happiness, so hardly earned, and so very, very short? About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jean-Henri Fabre (2021). Fabre's Book of Insects. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/67000/pg67000-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

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