After the details already given concerning the common Cigale it is
hardly needful to tell you how the insupportable _Cacan_ can be reduced
to silence. The cymbals are plainly visible on the exterior. Pierce them
with the point of a needle, and immediately you have perfect silence. If
only there were, in my plane-trees, among the insects which carry
gimlets, some friends of silence like myself, who would devote
themselves to such a task! But no: a note would be lacking in the
majestic symphony of harvest-tide.

We are now familiar with the structure of the musical organ of the
Cigale. Now the question arises: What is the object of these musical
orgies? The reply seems obvious: they are the call of the males inviting
their mates; they constitute a lovers' cantata.

I am going to consider this reply, which is certainly a very natural
one. For thirty years the common Cigale and his unmusical friend the
_Cacan_ have thrust their society upon me. For two months every summer I
have them under my eyes, and their voice in my ears. If I do not listen
to them very willingly I observe them with considerable zeal. I see
them ranged in rows on the smooth rind of the plane-trees, all with
their heads uppermost, the two sexes mingled, and only a few inches
apart.

The proboscis thrust into the bark, they drink, motionless. As the sun
moves, and with it the shadow, they also move round the branch with slow
lateral steps, so as to keep upon that side which is most brilliantly
illuminated, most fiercely heated. Whether the proboscis is at work or
not the song is never interrupted.

Now are we to take their interminable chant for a passionate love-song?