Fabre's Book of Insects

A GENUINE DAE-STAMPED 1936 EDITION THAT HAS BEEN EXCEPTIONALLY WELL-PRESERVED FOR 88 YEARS
HERE ARE "SOME" OF THE SUBJECTS DISCUSSED: THE NATURAL WORLD, RARE INSECTS, ENTOMOLOGY, THE SACRED BEETLE, THE PREYING MANTIS, WASPS, MOTHS, GRASSHOPPERS, THE SPANISH CORPIS, CRICKETS, THE CAPRICORN, LOCUSTS, THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS, AND MORE
THIS EDITION INCLUDES AN INCREDIBLE COLLECTION OF FULLY REMOVABLE COLOR PLATES BY EDWARD JULIUS DETMOLD (1883-1957)

This is an incredibly beautiful and well-kept all-original 1936 edition of this incredible Book of Insects. The artwork is vibrant and colorful, and the copious writings on the Natural World are about as good as possible. This is the nicest condition I have ever owned. They don't make them this good anymore; I don't think they ever will. I would snag this one before it's gone.

"Hailed by Darwin as "The Homer of Insects," famed French entomologist Jean Henri Fabre (1823–1915) devoted hours of rapt attention to insects while they hunted, built nests, and fed their families. Working in barren, sun-scorched fields inhabited by countless wasps and bees in Provence, he observed their intricate and fascinating world, recounting their activities in simple, beautifully written essays.
Based on the translations of Fabre's Souvenirs Entomologiques, this volume blends folklore and mythology with factual explanation. For example, Fabre's absorbing account of the scarab beetle's existence begins with the ancient Egyptians' symbolic view of this busy creature, eventually leading to a careful discussion of its characteristic method of rolling a carefully sculpted ball of food to its den. Elsewhere, he discusses with infectious enthusiasm the physiologic secrets behind the luminosity of fireflies, the musical talents of the locust, the comfortable home of the field cricket, and the cannibalism of the pious-looking praying mantis, among other topics. These charmingly related stories of insect life are a rare combination of scientific study and literary classic that will delight entomologists, naturalists, and nature lovers alike."

The Book of Insects, also known as Souvenirs entomologiques (Entomological Memories), is a famous work by the French entomologist Jean-Henri Fabre. It is a series of essays and observations about various insects and their behaviors.

Jean-Henri Fabre (1823-1915) was a renowned naturalist and writer who dedicated his life to studying insects. His observations and experiments in the field of entomology significantly contributed to our understanding of insect behavior and ecology.

Fabre describes insects' life cycles, habits, and peculiarities, including beetles, bees, wasps, butterflies, and many others. He provides detailed accounts of their behaviors, such as mating rituals, hunting techniques, and the construction of nests.

What sets Fabre's work apart is his vivid storytelling style, which brings the world of insects to life. He captures the reader's imagination with engaging narratives, making the study of insects informative and entertaining.

Fabre's Book of Insects is considered a classic in the field of entomology and a valuable resource for anyone interested in the fascinating world of insects. It continues to be widely read and appreciated by naturalists, scientists, and nature enthusiasts worldwide.


"MY WORK AND MY WORKSHOP."
(INTRODUCTION)

"We all have our own talents, our special gifts. Sometimes these gifts seem to come to us from our forefathers, but more often, it is
difficult to trace their origin. A goatherd, amuses himself by counting little pebbles and doing sums with them. He becomes an astoundingly quick reckoner and, ultimately, is a mathematics professor. Another boy, at an age when most of us care only for play, leaves his schoolfellows at their games and listens to the imaginary sounds of an organ, a secret concert heard by him alone. He has a genius for music. A third—so small, perhaps, that he cannot eat his bread and jam without smearing his face- takes a keen delight in fashioning clay into little amazingly lifelike figures. If he is fortunate, he will someday be a famous sculptor. I know that talking about oneself is hateful, but perhaps I may be allowed to do so for a moment to introduce myself and my studies."

From my earliest childhood, I have felt drawn towards the things of Nature. It would be ridiculous to suppose that this gift, this love of observing plants and insects, was inherited from my ancestors, who were uneducated people of the soil and observed little but their own cows and sheep. Of my four grandparents, only one ever opened a book, and even he was very uncertain about his spelling. Nor do I owe anything to scientific training. Without masters, without guides, and often without books, I have gone forward with one aim always before me: to add a few pages to the history of insects. As I look back—so many years back!—I can see myself as a tiny boy, extremely proud of my first braces and of my attempts to learn the alphabet. And very well, I remember the delight of finding my first bird's nest and gathering my first mushroom. One day, I was climbing a hill. At the top of it was a row of trees that had long interested me very much. From the little window at home, I could see them against the sky, tossing before the wind or writhing madly in the snow, and I wished to have a closer view of them. It was a long climb—ever so long; and my legs were very short. I clambered up slowly and tediously, for the grassy slope was as steep as a roof.

There was a hiding place under a big stone. In a moment, I had found the nest, which was made of hair and fine straw and had six eggs laid side by side in it. The eggs were a magnificent azure blue, very bright. This was the first nest I ever found, the first of the many joys which the birds were to bring me. Overpowered with pleasure, I lay down on the grass and stared at it.
Meanwhile, the mother bird was flying about uneasily from stone to stone, crying "Tack! Tack!" in a voice of the greatest anxiety. I was too small to understand what she was suffering. I made a plan worthy of a little beast of prey. I would carry away just one of the pretty blue eggs as a trophy, and then, in a fortnight, I would come back and take the tiny birds before they could fly away. Fortunately, as I walked carefully home, carrying my blue egg on a bed of moss, I met the priest. "Ah!" said he. "A Saxicola's egg! Where did you get it?" I told him the whole story. "I shall go back for the others," I said, "when the young birds have got their quill feathers." "Oh, but you mustn't do that!" cried the priest. "You mustn't be so cruel as to rob the poor mother of all her little birds. Be a good boy, now, and promise not to touch the nest."