CHAPTER VIII:
INSECT METAMORPHOSIS
The fascination of mythology and the charm of fairy tales lie in the power of the characters to change their form or to be changed by others. Zeus would court the lovely Semele, but knowing well she could not endure the radiance of a god, he takes the form of a mortal. Omit the metamorphosis, and what becomes of the myth? And who would remember the story of Cinderella if the fairy godmother were left out? The flirtation between the heroine and the prince, the triumph of beauty, the chagrin of the haughty sisters—these are but ingredients in the pot of common fiction. But the transformation of rats into prancing horses, of lizards into coachman and lackeys, of rags into fine raiment—this imparts the thrill that endures a lifetime!
It is not surprising, then, that the insects, by reason of the never-ending marvel of their transformations, hold first place in every course of nature study in our modern schools, or that nature writers of all times have round a principal source of inspiration in the "wonders of insect lire." Nor, finally, should it be made a matter of scorn if the insects have attached themselves to our emotions, knowing how ardently the natural human mind craves a sign of the supernatural. The butterfly, spirit of the lowly caterpillar, has thus been exalted as a symbol of human resurrection, and its image, carved on graveyard gates, still offers hope to those unfortunates interred behind the walls.
Metamorphosis is a magic word, in spite of its formidable
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