CHAPTER XIII The Modest Moth: Triptogon Modesta
Of course this moth was named Modesta because of modest colouring.
It reminds me of a dove, being one of my prime favourites. On wing
it is suggestive of Polyphemus, but its colours are lighter and
softer. Great beauty that Polyphemus is, Modesta equals it.
Modesta belongs to the genus Triptogon, species Modesta--hence the
common name, the Modest moth. I am told that in the east this moth
is of stronger colouring than in the central and western states.
I do not know about the centre and west, but I do know that only
as far east as Indiana, Modesta is of more delicate colouring than
it is described by scientists of New York and Pennsylvania; and,
of course, as in almost every case, the female is not so strongly
coloured as the male.
I can class the Modest moth and its caterpillar among those I know,
but my acquaintance with it is more limited than with almost any
other. My first introduction came when I found a caterpillar of
striking appearance on water sprouts growing around a poplar stump
in a stretch of trees beside the Wabash. I carried it home with
a supply of the leaves for diet, but as a matter of luck, it had
finished eating, and was ready to pupate. I write of this as good
luck, because the poplar tree is almost extinct in my location.
I know of only one in the fields, those beside the river, and a
few used for ornamental shade trees. They are so scarce I would
have had trouble to provide the caterpillar with natural food; so
I was glad that it was ready to pupate when found.
Any one can identify this caterpillar easily, as it is most peculiar.
There is a purplish pink cast on the head and mouth of the full-grown
caterpillar, and purplish red around the props. The body is a very
light blue-green, faintly tinged with white, and yellow in places.
On the sides are white obliques, or white, shaded with pink, and
at the base of these, a small oval marking. There is a small short
horn on the head. But the distinguishing mark is a mass of little
white granules, scattered all over the caterpillar. It is so peppered
with these, that failure to identify it is impossible.
These caterpillars pupate in the ground. I knew that, but this was
before I had learned that the caterpillar worked out a hole in the
ground, and the pupa case only touched the earth upon which it lay.
So when my Modesta caterpillar ceased crawling, lay quietly, turned
dark, shrank one half in length, and finally burst the dead skin,
and emerged in a shining dark brown pupa case two inches long, I
got in my work. I did well. A spade full of garden soil was thoroughly
sifted, baked in the oven to kill parasites and insects, cooled,
and put in a box, and the pupa case buried in it. Every time it
rained, I opened the box, and moistened the earth. Two months after
time for emergence, I dug out the pupa case to find it white with
mould. I had no idea what the trouble was, for I had done much work
over that case, and the whole winter tended it solicitously. It
was one of my earliest attempts, and I never have found another
caterpillar, or any eggs, though I often search the poplars for
them.
However, something better happened. I say better, because I think
if they will make honest confession, all people who have gathered
eggs and raised caterpillars from them in confinement, by feeding
cut leaves, will admit that the pupa cases they get, and the moths
they produce are only about half size. The big fine cases and cocoons
are the ones you find made by caterpillars in freedom, or by those
that have passed at least the fourth or fifth moult out of doors.
So it was a better thing for my illustration, and for my painting,
when in June of this year, Raymond, in crossing town from a ball
game, found a large, perfect Modesta female. He secured her in his
hat, and hurried to me. Raymond's hat has had many wonderful things
in it besides his head, and his pockets are always lumpy with boxes.
Although perfect, she had mated, deposited her eggs, and was declining.
All she wanted was to be left alone, and she would sit with wings
widespread wherever placed. I was in the orchard, treating myself
to some rare big musky red raspberries that are my especial property,
when Raymond came with her. He set her on a shoot before me, and
guarded her while I arranged a camera. She was the most complacent
subject I ever handled outdoors, and did not make even an attempt
to fly. Raymond was supposed to be watching while I worked, but
our confidence in her was so great, that I paid all my attention
to polishing my lenses, and getting good light, while Raymond gathered
berries with one hand, and promiscuously waved the net over the
bushes with the other.
During the first exposure, Modesta was allowed to place and poise
herself as seemed natural. For a second, I used the brush on her
gently, and coaxed her wings into spreading a little wider than
was natural. These positions gave every evidence of being pleasing
and yet I was not satisfied. There was something else in the back
of my head that kept obtruding itself as I walked to the Cabin,
with the beautiful moth clinging to my fingers. I did not feel quite
happy about her, so she was placed in a large box, lined with corrugated
paper, to wait a while until the mist in my brain cleared, and my
nebulous disturbance evolved an idea. It came slowly. I had a caterpillar
long ago, and had investigated the history of this moth. I asked
Raymond where he found her and he said, "Coming from the game."
Now I questioned him about the kind of a tree, and he promptly answered,
"On one of those poplars behind the schoolhouse."
That was the clue. Instantly I recognized it. A poplar limb was
what I wanted. Its fine, glossy leaf, flattened stem, and smooth
upright twigs made a setting, appropriate, above all others, for
the Modest moth.
I explained the situation to the Deacon, and he had Brenner drive
with him to the Hirschy farm, and help secure a limb from one of
the very few Lombardy poplars of this region. They drove very fast,
and I had to trouble to induce Modesta to clamber over a poplar
twig, and settle. Then by gently stroking, an unusual wing sweep
was secured, because there is a wonderful purple-pink and a peculiar
blue on the back wings.
It has been my experience that the longer a moth of these big short-lived
subjects remains out of doors, the paler its colours become, and
most of them fade rapidly when mounted, if not kept in the dark.
So my Modesta may have been slightly faded, but she could have been
several shades paler and yet appeared most beautiful to me.
Her head, shoulders, and abdomen were a lovely dove grey; that soft
tan grey, with a warm shade, almost suggestive of pink. I suppose
the reason I thought of this was because at the time two pairs of
doves, one on a heap of driftwood overhanging the river, and the
other in an apple tree in the Aspy orchard a few rods away, were
giving me much trouble, and I had dove grey on my mind.
This same dove grey coloured the basic third of the fore-wings.
Then they were crossed with a band only a little less in width,
of rich cinnamon brown. There was a narrow wavy line of lighter
brown, and the remaining third of the wing was paler, but with darker
shadings. These four distinct colour divisions were exquisitely
blended, and on the darkest band, near the costa, was a tiny white
half moon. The under sides of the fore-wings were a delicate brownish
grey, with heavy flushings of a purplish pink, a most beautiful
colour.
The back wings were dove colour near the abdomen, more of a mouse
colour around the edges, and beginning strongly at the base, and
spreading in lighter shade over the wing, was the same purplish
pink of the front under-wing, only much stronger. Near the abdomen,
a little below half the length, and adjoining the grey; each wing
had a mark difficult to describe in shape, and of rich blue colour.
The antennae stood up stoutly, and were of dove grey on one side,
and white on the other. The thorax, legs, and under side of the
abdomen were more of the mouse grey in colour. Over the whole moth
in strong light, there was an almost intangible flushing of palest
purplish pink. It may have shaded through the fore-wing from beneath,
and over the back wing from above. At any rate, it was there, and
so lovely and delicate was the whole colour scheme, it made me feel
that I would give much to see a newly emerged male of this species.
In my childhood my mother called this colour aniline red.
I once asked a Chicago importer if he believed that Oriental rug
weavers sometimes use these big night moths as colour guides in
their weaving. He said he had heard this, and gave me the freedom
of his rarest rugs. Of course the designs woven into these rugs
have a history, and a meaning for those who understand. There were
three, almost priceless, one of which I am quite sure copied its
greys, terra cotta, and black shades from Cecropia.
There was another, a rug of pure silk, that never could have touched
a floor, or been trusted outside a case, had it been my property,
that beyond all question took its exquisite combinations of browns
and tans with pink lines, and peacock blue designs from Polyphemus.
A third could have been copied from no moth save Modesta, for it
was dove grey, mouse grey, and cinnamon brown, with the purplish
pink of the back wings, and exactly the blue of their decorations.
Had this rug been woven of silk, as the brown one, that moment would
have taught me why people sometimes steal when they cannot afford
to buy. Examination of the stock of any importer of high grade rugs
will convince one who knows moths, that many of our commonest or
their near relatives native to the Orient are really used as models
for colour combinations in rug weaving. The Herat frequently has
moths in its border.
The Modest moth has a wing sweep in large females of from five and
one-half to six inches. In my territory they are very rare, only
a few caterpillars and one moth have fallen to me. This can be accounted
for by the fact that the favourite food tree of the caterpillar
is so scarce, for some reason having become almost extinct, except
in a few cases where they are used for shade.
The eggs are a greyish green, and have the pearly appearance of
almost all moth eggs. On account of white granules, the caterpillar
cannot fail to be identified. The moths in their beautiful soft
colouring are well worth search and study. They are as exquisitely
shaded as any, and of a richness difficult to describe.