What are these insects doing?  Were they the prisoners of the flower, converted into a trap which allowed them to enter but prevented their escape by means of a palisade of converging hairs?  No, they were not prisoners; they had full liberty to escape, as is proved by the final exodus, which is in no way impeded.  Deceived by a fallacious odour, were they endeavouring to lay and establish their eggs as they would have done under the shelter of a corpse?  No; there is no trace of eggs in the purse of the Arum.  They came convoked by the odour of a decaying body, their supreme delight; an intoxication seized them, and they rushed into the eddying swarm to take part in a festival of carrion-eaters.

I was anxious to count the number of those attracted.  At the height of the bacchanal I emptied the purse into a bottle.  Intoxicated as they were, many would escape my census, and I wished to ensure its accuracy.  A few drops of carbon bisulphide quieted the swarm.  The census proved that there were more than four hundred insects in the purse of the Arum.  The collection consisted entirely of two species—­Dermestes and Saprinidae—­both eager prospectors of carrion and animal detritus during the spring.

My friend Bull, an honest dog all his lifetime if ever there was one, amongst other eccentricities had the following:  finding in the dust of the road the shrivelled body of a mole, flattened by the feet of pedestrians, mummified by the heat of the sun, he would slide himself over it, from the tip of his nose to the root of his tail, he would rub himself against it deliciously over and over again, shaken with nervous spasms, and roll upon it first in one direction, then in the other.

It was his sachet of musk, his flask of eau-de-Cologne.  Perfumed to his liking, he would rise, shake himself, and proceed on his way, delighted with his toilet.  Do not let us scold him, and above all do not let us discuss the matter.  There are all kinds of tastes in a world.

Why should there not be insects with similar habits among the amateurs of corpse-like savours?  We see Dermestes and Saprinidae hastening to the arum-flower.  All day long they writhe and wriggle in a swarm, although perfectly free to escape; numbers perish in the tumultuous orgy.  They are not retained by the desire of food, for the arum provides them with nothing eatable; they do not come to breed, for they take care not to establish their grubs in that place of famine.  What are these frenzied creatures doing?  Apparently they are intoxicated with fetidity, as was Bull when he rolled on the putrid body of a mole.

This intoxication draws them from all parts of the neighbourhood, perhaps over considerable distances; how far we do not know.  The Necrophori, in quest of a place where to establish their family, travel great distances to find the corpses of small animals, informed by such odours as offend our own senses at a considerable distance.