surviving the most serious dangers. I do not see that the adult Cigale
is exposed to greater dangers than any other insect: its eye is
vigilant, its departure sudden, and its flight rapid; and it inhabits
heights at which the prowling brigands of the turf are not to be feared.
The sparrow, it is true, will greedily devour it. From time to time he
will deliberately and meditatively descend upon the plane-trees from the
neighbouring roof and snatch up the singer, who squeaks despairingly. A
few blows of the beak and the Cigale is cut into quarters, delicious
morsels for the nestlings. But how often does the bird return without
his prey! The Cigale, foreseeing his attack, empties its intestine in
the eyes of its assailant and flies away.

But the Cigale has a far more terrible enemy than the sparrow. This is
the green grasshopper. It is late, and the Cigales are silent. Drowsy
with light and heat, they have exhausted themselves in producing their
symphonies all day long. Night has come, and with it repose; but a
repose frequently troubled. In the thick foliage of the plane-trees
there is a sudden sound like a cry of anguish, short and strident. It is
the despairing lamentation of the Cigale surprised in the silence by the
grasshopper, that ardent hunter of the night, which leaps upon the
Cigale, seizes it by the flank, tears it open, and devours the contents
of the stomach. After the orgy of music comes night and assassination.

I obtained an insight into this tragedy in the following manner: I was
walking up and down before my door at daybreak when something fell from
the neighbouring plane-tree uttering shrill squeaks. I ran to see what
it was. I found a green grasshopper eviscerating a struggling Cigale. In
vain did the latter squeak and gesticulate; the other never loosed its
hold, but plunged its head into the entrails of the victim and removed
them by little mouthfuls.