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diff --git a/1887-h/1887-h.htm b/1887-h/1887-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a08d0fc --- /dev/null +++ b/1887-h/1887-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,6877 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg Book of The Life of the Spider, by J. Henri Fabre</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + </style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Life of the Spider, by J. Henri Fabre</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Life of the Spider</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: J. Henri Fabre</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Alexander Teixeira de Mattos</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September, 1999 [eBook #1887]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 8, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF THE SPIDER ***</div> + +<h1>THE LIFE OF THE SPIDER</h1> + +<h2>CHAPTER I: THE BLACK-BELLIED TARANTULA</h2> + +<p>The Spider has a bad name: to most of us, she represents an odious, +noxious animal, which every one hastens to crush under foot. Against +this summary verdict the observer sets the beast’s industry, its +talent as a weaver, its wiliness in the chase, its tragic nuptials and +other characteristics of great interest. Yes, the Spider is well +worth studying, apart from any scientific reasons; but she is said to +be poisonous and that is her crime and the primary cause of the repugnance +wherewith she inspires us. Poisonous, I agree, if by that we understand +that the animal is armed with two fangs which cause the immediate death +of the little victims which it catches; but there is a wide difference +between killing a Midge and harming a man. However immediate in +its effects upon the insect entangled in the fatal web, the Spider’s +poison is not serious for us and causes less inconvenience than a Gnat-bite. +That, at least, is what we can safely say as regards the great majority +of the Spiders of our regions.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, a few are to be feared; and foremost among these is +the Malmignatte, the terror of the Corsican peasantry. I have +seen her settle in the furrows, lay out her web and rush boldly at insects +larger than herself; I have admired her garb of black velvet speckled +with carmine-red; above all, I have heard most disquieting stories told +about her. Around Ajaccio and Bonifacio, her bite is reputed very +dangerous, sometimes mortal. The countryman declares this for +a fact and the doctor does not always dare deny it. In the neighbourhood +of Pujaud, not far from Avignon, the harvesters speak with dread of +<i>Theridion lugubre</i>, <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a> +first observed by Léon Dufour in the Catalonian mountains; according +to them, her bite would lead to serious accidents. The Italians +have bestowed a bad reputation on the Tarantula, who produces convulsions +and frenzied dances in the person stung by her. To cope with ‘tarantism,’ +the name given to the disease that follows on the bite of the Italian +Spider, you must have recourse to music, the only efficacious remedy, +so they tell us. Special tunes have been noted, those quickest +to afford relief. There is medical choreography, medical music. +And have we not the tarantella, a lively and nimble dance, bequeathed +to us perhaps by the healing art of the Calabrian peasant?</p> +<p>Must we take these queer things seriously or laugh at them? +From the little that I have seen, I hesitate to pronounce an opinion. +Nothing tells us that the bite of the Tarantula may not provoke, in +weak and very impressionable people, a nervous disorder which music +will relieve; nothing tells us that a profuse perspiration, resulting +from a very energetic dance, is not likely to diminish the discomfort +by diminishing the cause of the ailment. So far from laughing, +I reflect and enquire, when the Calabrian peasant talks to me of his +Tarantula, the Pujaud reaper of his <i>Theridion lugubre</i>, the Corsican +husbandman of his Malmignatte. Those Spiders might easily deserve, +at least partly, their terrible reputation.</p> +<p>The most powerful Spider in my district, the Black-bellied Tarantula, +will presently give us something to think about, in this connection. +It is not my business to discuss a medical point, I interest myself +especially in matters of instinct; but, as the poison-fangs play a leading +part in the huntress’ manoeuvres of war, I shall speak of their +effects by the way. The habits of the Tarantula, her ambushes, +her artifices, her methods of killing her prey: these constitute my +subject. I will preface it with an account by Léon Dufour, +<a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> one of those accounts +in which I used to delight and which did much to bring me into closer +touch with the insect. The Wizard of the Landes tells us of the +ordinary Tarantula, that of the Calabrias, observed by him in Spain:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<i>Lycosa tarantula</i> by preference inhabits +open places, dry, arid, uncultivated places, exposed to the sun. +She lives generally—at least when full-grown—in underground +passages, regular burrows, which she digs for herself. These burrows +are cylindrical; they are often an inch in diameter and run into the +ground to a depth of more than a foot; but they are not perpendicular. +The inhabitant of this gut proves that she is at the same time a skilful +hunter and an able engineer. It was a question for her not only +of constructing a deep retreat that could hide her from the pursuit +of her foes: she also had to set up her observatory whence to watch +for her prey and dart out upon it. The Tarantula provides for +every contingency: the underground passage, in fact, begins by being +vertical, but, at four or five inches from the surface, it bends at +an obtuse angle, forms a horizontal turning and then becomes perpendicular +once more. It is at the elbow of this tunnel that the Tarantula +posts herself as a vigilant sentry and does not for a moment lose sight +of the door of her dwelling; it was there that, at the period when I +was hunting her, I used to see those eyes gleaming like diamonds, bright +as a cat’s eyes in the dark.</p> +<p>‘The outer orifice of the Tarantula’s burrow is usually +surmounted by a shaft constructed throughout by herself. It is +a genuine work of architecture, standing as much as an inch above the +ground and sometimes two inches in diameter, so that it is wider than +the burrow itself. This last circumstance, which seems to have +been calculated by the industrious Spider, lends itself admirably to +the necessary extension of the legs at the moment when the prey is to +be seized. The shaft is composed mainly of bits of dry wood joined +by a little clay and so artistically laid, one above the other, that +they form the scaffolding of a straight column, the inside of which +is a hollow cylinder. The solidity of this tubular building, of +this outwork, is ensured above all by the fact that it is lined, upholstered +within, with a texture woven by the Lycosa’s <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> +spinnerets and continued throughout the interior of the burrow. +It is easy to imagine how useful this cleverly-manufactured lining must +be for preventing landslip or warping, for maintaining cleanliness and +for helping her claws to scale the fortress.</p> +<p>‘I hinted that this outwork of the burrow was not there invariably; +as a matter of fact, I have often come across Tarantulas’ holes +without a trace of it, perhaps because it had been accidentally destroyed +by the weather, or because the Lycosa may not always light upon the +proper building-materials, or, lastly, because architectural talent +is possibly declared only in individuals that have reached the final +stage, the period of perfection of their physical and intellectual development.</p> +<p>‘One thing is certain, that I have had numerous opportunities +of seeing these shafts, these out-works of the Tarantula’s abode; +they remind me, on a larger scale, of the tubes of certain Caddis-worms. +The Arachnid had more than one object in view in constructing them: +she shelters her retreat from the floods; she protects it from the fall +of foreign bodies which, swept by the wind, might end by obstructing +it; lastly, she uses it as a snare by offering the Flies and other insects +whereon she feeds a projecting point to settle on. Who shall tell +us all the wiles employed by this clever and daring huntress?</p> +<p>‘Let us now say something about my rather diverting Tarantula-hunts. +The best season for them is the months of May and June. The first +time that I lighted on this Spider’s burrows and discovered that +they were inhabited by seeing her come to a point on the first floor +of her dwelling—the elbow which I have mentioned—I thought +that I must attack her by main force and pursue her relentlessly in +order to capture her; I spent whole hours in opening up the trench with +a knife a foot long by two inches wide, without meeting the Tarantula. +I renewed the operation in other burrows, always with the same want +of success; I really wanted a pickaxe to achieve my object, but I was +too far from any kind of house. I was obliged to change my plan +of attack and I resorted to craft. Necessity, they say, is the +mother of invention.</p> +<p>‘It occurred to me to take a stalk, topped with its spikelet, +by way of a bait, and to rub and move it gently at the orifice of the +burrow. I soon saw that the Lycosa’s attention and desires +were roused. Attracted by the bait, she came with measured steps +towards the spikelet. I withdrew it in good time a little outside +the hole, so as not to leave the animal time for reflexion; and the +Spider suddenly, with a rush, darted out of her dwelling, of which I +hastened to close the entrance. The Tarantula, bewildered by her +unaccustomed liberty, was very awkward in evading my attempts at capture; +and I compelled her to enter a paper bag, which I closed without delay.</p> +<p>‘Sometimes, suspecting the trap, or perhaps less pressed by +hunger, she would remain coy and motionless, at a slight distance from +the threshold, which she did not think it opportune to cross. +Her patience outlasted mine. In that case, I employed the following +tactics: after making sure of the Lycosa’s position and the direction +of the tunnel, I drove a knife into it on the slant, so as to take the +animal in the rear and cut off its retreat by stopping up the burrow. +I seldom failed in my attempt, especially in soil that was not stony. +In these critical circumstances, either the Tarantula took fright and +deserted her lair for the open, or else she stubbornly remained with +her back to the blade. I would then give a sudden jerk to the +knife, which flung both the earth and the Lycosa to a distance, enabling +me to capture her. By employing this hunting-method, I sometimes +caught as many as fifteen Tarantulae within the space of an hour.</p> +<p>‘In a few cases, in which the Tarantula was under no misapprehension +as to the trap which I was setting for her, I was not a little surprised, +when I pushed the stalk far enough down to twist it round her hiding-place, +to see her play with the spikelet more or less contemptuously and push +it away with her legs, without troubling to retreat to the back of her +lair.</p> +<p>‘The Apulian peasants, according to Baglivi’s <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a> +account, also hunt the Tarantula by imitating the humming of an insect +with an oat-stalk at the entrance to her burrow. I quote the passage:</p> +<p>‘“<i>Ruricolæ nostri quando eas captare volunt, +ad illorum latibula accedunt, tenuisque avenacæ fistulæ +sonum, apum murmuri non absimilem, modulantur. Quo audito, ferox +exit Tarentula ut muscas vel alia hujus modi insecta, quorum murmur +esse putat, captat; captatur tamen ista a rustico insidiatore</i>.” +<a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a></p> +<p>‘The Tarantula, so dreadful at first sight, especially when +we are filled with the idea that her bite is dangerous, so fierce in +appearance, is nevertheless quite easy to tame, as I have often found +by experiment.</p> +<p>‘On the 7th of May 1812, while at Valencia, in Spain, I caught +a fair-sized male Tarantula, without hurting him, and imprisoned him +in a glass jar, with a paper cover in which I cut a trap-door. +At the bottom of the jar I put a paper bag, to serve as his habitual +residence. I placed the jar on a table in my bedroom, so as to +have him under frequent observation. He soon grew accustomed to +captivity and ended by becoming so familiar that he would come and take +from my fingers the live Fly which I gave him. After killing his +victim with the fangs of his mandibles, he was not satisfied, like most +Spiders, to suck her head: he chewed her whole body, shoving it piecemeal +into his mouth with his palpi, after which he threw up the masticated +teguments and swept them away from his lodging.</p> +<p>‘Having finished his meal, he nearly always made his toilet, +which consisted in brushing his palpi and mandibles, both inside and +out, with his front tarsi. After that, he resumed his air of motionless +gravity. The evening and the night were his time for taking his +walks abroad. I often heard him scratching the paper of the bag. +These habits confirm the opinion, which I have already expressed elsewhere, +that most Spiders have the faculty of seeing by day and night, like +cats.</p> +<p>‘On the 28th of June, my Tarantula cast his skin. It +was his last moult and did not perceptibly alter either the colour of +his attire or the dimensions of his body. On the 14th of July, +I had to leave Valencia; and I stayed away until the 23rd. During +this time, the Tarantula fasted; I found him looking quite well on my +return. On the 20th of August, I again left for a nine days’ +absence, which my prisoner bore without food and without detriment to +his health. On the 1st of October, I once more deserted the Tarantula, +leaving him without provisions. On the 21st, I was fifty miles +from Valencia and, as I intended to remain there, I sent a servant to +fetch him. I was sorry to learn that he was not found in the jar, +and I never heard what became of him.</p> +<p>‘I will end my observations on the Tarantulae with a short +description of a curious fight between those animals. One day, +when I had had a successful hunt after these Lycosae, I picked out two +full-grown and very powerful males and brought them together in a wide +jar, in order to enjoy the sight of a combat to the death. After +walking round the arena several times, to try and avoid each other, +they were not slow in placing themselves in a warlike attitude, as though +at a given signal. I saw them, to my surprise, take their distances +and sit up solemnly on their hind-legs, so as mutually to present the +shield of their chests to each other. After watching them face +to face like that for two minutes, during which they had doubtless provoked +each other by glances that escaped my own, I saw them fling themselves +upon each other at the same time, twisting their legs round each other +and obstinately struggling to bite each other with the fangs of the +mandibles. Whether from fatigue or from convention, the combat +was suspended; there was a few seconds’ truce; and each athlete +moved away and resumed his threatening posture. This circumstance +reminded me that, in the strange fights between cats, there are also +suspensions of hostilities. But the contest was soon renewed between +my two Tarantulae with increased fierceness. One of them, after +holding victory in the balance for a while, was at last thrown and received +a mortal wound in the head. He became the prey of the conqueror, +who tore open his skull and devoured it. After this curious duel, +I kept the victorious Tarantula alive for several weeks.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>My district does not boast the ordinary Tarantula, the Spider whose +habits have been described above by the Wizard of the Landes; but it +possesses an equivalent in the shape of the Black-bellied Tarantula, +or Narbonne Lycosa, half the size of the other, clad in black velvet +on the lower surface, especially under the belly, with brown chevrons +on the abdomen and grey and white rings around the legs. Her favourite +home is the dry, pebbly ground, covered with sun-scorched thyme. +In my <i>harmas</i> <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a> +laboratory there are quite twenty of this Spider’s burrows. +Rarely do I pass by one of these haunts without giving a glance down +the pit where gleam, like diamonds, the four great eyes, the four telescopes, +of the hermit. The four others, which are much smaller, are not +visible at that depth.</p> +<p>Would I have greater riches, I have but to walk a hundred yards from +my house, on the neighbouring plateau, once a shady forest, to-day a +dreary solitude where the Cricket browses and the Wheat-ear flits from +stone to stone. The love of lucre has laid waste the land. +Because wine paid handsomely, they pulled up the forest to plant the +vine. Then came the Phylloxera, the vine-stocks perished and the +once green table-land is now no more than a desolate stretch where a +few tufts of hardy grasses sprout among the pebbles. This waste-land +is the Lycosa’s paradise: in an hour’s time, if need were, +I should discover a hundred burrows within a limited range.</p> +<p>These dwellings are pits about a foot deep, perpendicular at first +and then bent elbow-wise. The average diameter is an inch. +On the edge of the hole stands a kerb, formed of straw, bits and scraps +of all sorts and even small pebbles, the size of a hazel-nut. +The whole is kept in place and cemented with silk. Often, the +Spider confines herself to drawing together the dry blades of the nearest +grass, which she ties down with the straps from her spinnerets, without +removing the blades from the stems; often, also, she rejects this scaffolding +in favour of a masonry constructed of small stones. The nature +of the kerb is decided by the nature of the materials within the Lycosa’s +reach, in the close neighbourhood of the building-yard. There +is no selection: everything meets with approval, provided that it be +near at hand.</p> +<p>Economy of time, therefore, causes the defensive wall to vary greatly +as regards its constituent elements. The height varies also. +One enclosure is a turret an inch high; another amounts to a mere rim. +All have their parts bound firmly together with silk; and all have the +same width as the subterranean channel, of which they are the extension. +There is here no difference in diameter between the underground manor +and its outwork, nor do we behold, at the opening, the platform which +the turret leaves to give free play to the Italian Tarantula’s +legs. The Black-bellied Tarantula’s work takes the form +of a well surmounted by its kerb.</p> +<p>When the soil is earthy and homogeneous, the architectural type is +free from obstructions and the Spider’s dwelling is a cylindrical +tube; but, when the site is pebbly, the shape is modified according +to the exigencies of the digging. In the second case, the lair +is often a rough, winding cave, at intervals along whose inner wall +stick blocks of stone avoided in the process of excavation. Whether +regular or irregular, the house is plastered to a certain depth with +a coat of silk, which prevents earth-slips and facilitates scaling when +a prompt exit is required.</p> +<p>Baglivi, in his unsophisticated Latin, teaches us how to catch the +Tarantula. I became his <i>rusticus insidiator</i>; I waved +a spikelet at the entrance of the burrow to imitate the humming of a +Bee and attract the attention of the Lycosa, who rushes out, thinking +that she is capturing a prey. This method did not succeed with +me. The Spider, it is true, leaves her remote apartments and comes +a little way up the vertical tube to enquire into the sounds at her +door; but the wily animal soon scents a trap; it remains motionless +at mid-height and, at the least alarm, goes down again to the branch +gallery, where it is invisible.</p> +<p>Léon Dufour’s appears to me a better method if it were +only practicable in the conditions wherein I find myself. To drive +a knife quickly into the ground, across the burrow, so as to cut off +the Tarantula’s retreat when she is attracted by the spikelet +and standing on the upper floor, would be a manoeuvre certain of success, +if the soil were favourable. Unfortunately, this is not so in +my case: you might as well try to dig a knife into a block of tufa.</p> +<p>Other stratagems become necessary. Here are two which were +successful: I recommend them to future Tarantula-hunters. I insert +into the burrow, as far down as I can, a stalk with a fleshy spikelet, +which the Spider can bite into. I move and turn and twist my bait. +The Tarantula, when touched by the intruding body, contemplates self-defence +and bites the spikelet. A slight resistance informs my fingers +that the animal has fallen into the trap and seized the tip of the stalk +in its fangs. I draw it to me, slowly, carefully; the Spider hauls +from below, planting her legs against the wall. It comes, it rises. +I hide as best I may, when the Spider enters the perpendicular tunnel: +if she saw me, she would let go the bait and slip down again. +I thus bring her, by degrees, to the orifice. This is the difficult +moment. If I continue the gentle movement, the Spider, feeling +herself dragged out of her home, would at once run back indoors. +It is impossible to get the suspicious animal out by this means. +Therefore, when it appears at the level of the ground, I give a sudden +pull. Surprised by this foul play, the Tarantula has no time to +release her hold; gripping the spikelet, she is thrown some inches away +from the burrow. Her capture now becomes an easy matter. +Outside her own house, the Lycosa is timid, as though scared, and hardly +capable of running away. To push her with a straw into a paper +bag is the affair of a second.</p> +<p>It requires some patience to bring the Tarantula who has bitten into +the insidious spikelet to the entrance of the burrow. The following +method is quicker: I procure a supply of live Bumble-bees. I put +one into a little bottle with a mouth just wide enough to cover the +opening of the burrow; and I turn the apparatus thus baited over the +said opening. The powerful Bee at first flutters and hums about +her glass prison; then, perceiving a burrow similar to that of her family, +she enters it without much hesitation. She is extremely ill-advised: +while she goes down, the Spider comes up; and the meeting takes place +in the perpendicular passage. For a few moments, the ear perceives +a sort of death-song: it is the humming of the Bumble-bee, protesting +against the reception given her. This is followed by a long silence. +Then I remove the bottle and dip a long-jawed forceps into the pit. +I withdraw the Bumble-bee, motionless, dead, with hanging proboscis. +A terrible tragedy must have happened. The Spider follows, refusing +to let go so rich a booty. Game and huntress are brought to the +orifice. Sometimes, mistrustful, the Lycosa goes in again; but +we have only to leave the Bumble-bee on the threshold of the door, or +even a few inches away, to see her reappear, issue from her fortress +and daringly recapture her prey. This is the moment: the house +is closed with the finger, or a pebble and, as Baglivi says, ‘<i>captatur +tamen ista a rustico insidiatore</i>,’ to which I will add, ‘<i>adjuvante +Bombo</i>.’ <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a></p> +<p>The object of these hunting methods was not exactly to obtain Tarantulae; +I had not the least wish to rear the Spider in a bottle. I was +interested in a different matter. Here, thought I, is an ardent +huntress, living solely by her trade. She does not prepare preserved +foodstuffs for her offspring; <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a> +she herself feeds on the prey which she catches. She is not a +‘paralyzer,’ <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a> +who cleverly spares her quarry so as to leave it a glimmer of life and +keep it fresh for weeks at a time; she is a killer, who makes a meal +off her capture on the spot. With her, there is no methodical +vivisection, which destroys movement without entirely destroying life, +but absolute death, as sudden as possible, which protects the assailant +from the counter-attacks of the assailed.</p> +<p>Her game, moreover, is essentially bulky and not always of the most +peaceful character. This Diana, ambushed in her tower, needs a +prey worthy of her prowess. The big Grasshopper, with the powerful +jaws; the irascible Wasp; the Bee, the Bumble-bee and other wearers +of poisoned daggers must fall into the ambuscade from time to time. +The duel is nearly equal in point of weapons. To the venomous +fangs of the Lycosa the Wasp opposes her venomous stiletto. Which +of the two bandits shall have the best of it? The struggle is +a hand-to-hand one. The Tarantula has no secondary means of defence, +no cord to bind her victim, no trap to subdue her. When the Epeira, +or Garden Spider, sees an insect entangled in her great upright web, +she hastens up and covers the captive with corded meshes and silk ribbons +by the armful, making all resistance impossible. When the prey +is solidly bound, a prick is carefully administered with the poison-fangs; +then the Spider retires, waiting for the death-throes to calm down, +after which the huntress comes back to the game. In these conditions, +there is no serious danger.</p> +<p>In the case of the Lycosa, the job is riskier. She has naught +to serve her but her courage and her fangs and is obliged to leap upon +the formidable prey, to master it by her dexterity, to annihilate it, +in a measure, by her swift-slaying talent.</p> +<p>Annihilate is the word: the Bumble-bees whom I draw from the fatal +hole are a sufficient proof. As soon as that shrill buzzing, which +I called the death-song, ceases, in vain I hasten to insert my forceps: +I always bring out the insect dead, with slack proboscis and limp legs. +Scarce a few quivers of those legs tell me that it is a quite recent +corpse. The Bumble-bee’s death is instantaneous. Each +time that I take a fresh victim from the terrible slaughter-house, my +surprise is renewed at the sight of its sudden immobility.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, both animals have very nearly the same strength; for +I choose my Bumble-bees from among the largest (<i>Bombus hortorum</i> +and <i>B. terrestris</i>). Their weapons are almost equal: the +Bee’s dart can bear comparison with the Spider’s fangs; +the sting of the first seems to me as formidable as the bite of the +second. How comes it that the Tarantula always has the upper hand +and this moreover in a very short conflict, whence she emerges unscathed? +There must certainly be some cunning strategy on her part. Subtle +though her poison may be, I cannot believe that its mere injection, +at any point whatever of the victim, is enough to produce so prompt +a catastrophe. The ill-famed rattlesnake does not kill so quickly, +takes hours to achieve that for which the Tarantula does not require +a second. We must, therefore, look for an explanation of this +sudden death to the vital importance of the point attacked by the Spider, +rather than to the virulence of the poison.</p> +<p>What is this point? It is impossible to recognize it on the +Bumble-bees. They enter the burrow; and the murder is committed +far from sight. Nor does the lens discover any wound upon the +corpse, so delicate are the weapons that produce it. One would +have to see the two adversaries engage in a direct contest. I +have often tried to place a Tarantula and a Bumble-bee face to face +in the same bottle. The two animals mutually flee each other, +each being as much upset as the other at its captivity. I have +kept them together for twenty-four hours, without aggressive display +on either side. Thinking more of their prison than of attacking +each other, they temporize, as though indifferent. The experiment +has always been fruitless. I have succeeded with Bees and Wasps, +but the murder has been committed at night and has taught me nothing. +I would find both insects, next morning, reduced to a jelly under the +Spider’s mandibles. A weak prey is a mouthful which the +Spider reserves for the calm of the night. A prey capable of resistance +is not attacked in captivity. The prisoner’s anxiety cools +the hunter’s ardour.</p> +<p>The arena of a large bottle enables each athlete to keep out of the +other’s way, respected by her adversary, who is respected in her +turn. Let us reduce the lists, diminish the enclosure. I +put Bumble-bee and Tarantula into a test-tube that has only room for +one at the bottom. A lively brawl ensues, without serious results. +If the Bumble-bee be underneath, she lies down on her back and with +her legs wards off the other as much as she can. I do not see +her draw her sting. The Spider, meanwhile, embracing the whole +circumference of the enclosure with her long legs, hoists herself a +little upon the slippery surface and removes herself as far as possible +from her adversary. There, motionless, she awaits events, which +are soon disturbed by the fussy Bumble-bee. Should the latter +occupy the upper position, the Tarantula protects herself by drawing +up her legs, which keep the enemy at a distance. In short, save +for sharp scuffles when the two champions are in touch, nothing happens +that deserves attention. There is no duel to the death in the +narrow arena of the test-tube, any more than in the wider lists afforded +by the bottle. Utterly timid once she is away from home, the Spider +obstinately refuses the battle; nor will the Bumble-bee, giddy though +she be, think of striking the first blow. I abandon experiments +in my study.</p> +<p>We must go direct to the spot and force the duel upon the Tarantula, +who is full of pluck in her own stronghold. Only, instead of the +Bumble-bee, who enters the burrow and conceals her death from our eyes, +it is necessary to substitute another adversary, less inclined to penetrate +underground. There abounds in the garden, at this moment, on the +flowers of the common clary, one of the largest and most powerful Bees +that haunt my district, the Carpenter-bee (<i>Xylocopa violacea</i>), +clad in black velvet, with wings of purple gauze. Her size, which +is nearly an inch, exceeds that of the Bumble-bee. Her sting is +excruciating and produces a swelling that long continues painful. +I have very exact memories on this subject, memories that have cost +me dear. Here indeed is an antagonist worthy of the Tarantula, +if I succeed in inducing the Spider to accept her. I place a certain +number, one by one, in bottles small in capacity, but having a wide +neck capable of surrounding the entrance to the burrow.</p> +<p>As the prey which I am about to offer is capable of overawing the +huntress, I select from among the Tarantulae the lustiest, the boldest, +those most stimulated by hunger. The spikeleted stalk is pushed +into the burrow. When the Spider hastens up at once, when she +is of a good size, when she climbs boldly to the aperture of her dwelling, +she is admitted to the tourney; otherwise, she is refused. The +bottle, baited with a Carpenter-bee, is placed upside down over the +door of one of the elect. The Bee buzzes gravely in her glass +bell; the huntress mounts from the recesses of the cave; she is on the +threshold, but inside; she looks; she waits. I also wait. +The quarters, the half-hours pass: nothing. The Spider goes down +again: she has probably judged the attempt too dangerous. I move +to a second, a third, a fourth burrow: still nothing; the huntress refuses +to leave her lair.</p> +<p>Fortune at last smiles upon my patience, which has been heavily tried +by all these prudent retreats and particularly by the fierce heat of +the dog-days. A Spider suddenly rushes from her hole: she has +been rendered warlike, doubtless, by prolonged abstinence. The +tragedy that happens under the cover of the bottle lasts for but the +twinkling of an eye. It is over: the sturdy Carpenter-bee is dead. +Where did the murderess strike her? That is easily ascertained: +the Tarantula has not let go; and her fangs are planted in the nape +of the neck. The assassin has the knowledge which I suspected: +she has made for the essentially vital centre, she has stung the insect’s +cervical ganglia with her poison-fangs. In short, she has bitten +the only point a lesion in which produces sudden death. I was +delighted with this murderous skill, which made amends for the blistering +which my skin received in the sun.</p> +<p>Once is not custom: one swallow does not make a summer. Is +what I have just seen due to accident or to premeditation? I turn +to other Lycosae. Many, a deal too many for my patience, stubbornly +refuse to dart from their haunts in order to attack the Carpenter-bee. +The formidable quarry is too much for their daring. Shall not +hunger, which brings the wolf from the wood, also bring the Tarantula +out of her hole? Two, apparently more famished than the rest, +do at last pounce upon the Bee and repeat the scene of murder before +my eyes. The prey, again bitten in the neck, exclusively in the +neck, dies on the instant. Three murders, perpetrated in my presence +under identical conditions, represent the fruits of my experiment pursued, +on two occasions, from eight o’clock in the morning until twelve +midday.</p> +<p>I had seen enough. The quick insect-killer had taught me her +trade as had the paralyzer <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a> +before her: she had shown me that she is thoroughly versed in the art +of the butcher of the Pampas. <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</a> +The Tarantula is an accomplished <i>desnucador</i>. It remained +to me to confirm the open-air experiment with experiments in the privacy +of my study. I therefore got together a menagerie of these poisonous +Spiders, so as to judge of the virulence of their venom and its effect +according to the part of the body injured by the fangs. A dozen +bottles and test-tubes received the prisoners, whom I captured by the +methods known to the reader. To one inclined to scream at the +sight of a Spider, my study, filled with odious Lycosae, would have +presented a very uncanny appearance.</p> +<p>Though the Tarantula scorns or rather fears to attack an adversary +placed in her presence in a bottle, she scarcely hesitates to bite what +is thrust beneath her fangs. I take her by the thorax with my +forceps and present to her mouth the animal which I wish stung. +Forthwith, if the Spider be not already tired by experiments, the fangs +are raised and inserted. I first tried the effects of the bite +upon the Carpenter-bee. When struck in the neck, the Bee succumbs +at once. It was the lightning death which I witnessed on the threshold +of the burrows. When struck in the abdomen and then placed in +a large bottle that leaves its movements free, the insect seems, at +first, to have suffered no serious injury. It flutters about and +buzzes. But half an hour has not elapsed before death is imminent. +The insect lies motionless upon its back or side. At most, a few +movements of the legs, a slight pulsation of the belly, continuing till +the morrow, proclaim that life has not yet entirely departed. +Then everything ceases: the Carpenter-bee is a corpse.</p> +<p>The importance of this experiment compels our attention. When +stung in the neck, the powerful Bee dies on the spot; and the Spider +has not to fear the dangers of a desperate struggle. Stung elsewhere, +in the abdomen, the insect is capable, for nearly half an hour, of making +use of its dart, its mandibles, its legs; and woe to the Lycosa whom +the stiletto reaches. I have seen some who, stabbed in the mouth +while biting close to the sting, died of the wound within the twenty-four +hours. That dangerous prey, therefore, requires instantaneous +death, produced by the injury to the nerve-centres of the neck; otherwise, +the hunter’s life would often be in jeopardy.</p> +<p>The Grasshopper order supplied me with a second series of victims: +Green Grasshoppers as long as one’s finger, large-headed Locusts, +Ephippigerae. <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a> +The same result follows when these are bitten in the neck: lightning +death. When injured elsewhere, notably in the abdomen, the subject +of the experiment resists for some time. I have seen a Grasshopper, +bitten in the belly, cling firmly for fifteen hours to the smooth, upright +wall of the glass bell that constituted his prison. At last, he +dropped off and died. Where the Bee, that delicate organism, succumbs +in less than half an hour, the Grasshopper, coarse ruminant that he +is, resists for a whole day. Put aside these differences, caused +by unequal degrees of organic sensitiveness, and we sum up as follows: +when bitten by the Tarantula in the neck, an insect, chosen from among +the largest, dies on the spot; when bitten elsewhere, it perishes also, +but after a lapse of time which varies considerably in the different +entomological orders.</p> +<p>This explains the long hesitation of the Tarantula, so wearisome +to the experimenter when he presents to her, at the entrance to the +burrow, a rich, but dangerous prey. The majority refuse to fling +themselves upon the Carpenter-bee. The fact is that a quarry of +this kind cannot be seized recklessly: the huntress who missed her stroke +by biting at random would do so at the risk of her life. The nape +of the neck alone possesses the desired vulnerability. The adversary +must be nipped there and no elsewhere. Not to floor her at once +would mean to irritate her and make her more dangerous than ever. +The Spider is well aware of this. In the safe shelter of her threshold, +therefore, prepared to beat a quick retreat if necessary, she watches +for the favourable moment; she waits for the big Bee to face her, when +the neck is easily grabbed. If this condition of success offer, +she leaps out and acts; if not, weary of the violent evolutions of the +quarry, she retires indoors. And that, no doubt, is why it took +me two sittings of four hours apiece to witness three assassinations.</p> +<p>Formerly, instructed by the paralysing Wasps, I had myself tried +to produce paralysis by injecting a drop of ammonia into the thorax +of those insects, such as Weevils, Buprestes, <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a> +and Dung-beetles, whose compact nervous system assists this physiological +operation. I showed myself a ready pupil to my masters’ +teaching and used to paralyze a Buprestis or a Weevil almost as well +as a Cerceris <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14">{14}</a> +could have done. Why should I not to-day imitate that expert butcher, +the Tarantula? With the point of a fine needle, I inject a tiny +drop of ammonia at the base of the skull of a Carpenter-bee or a Grasshopper. +The insect succumbs then and there, without any other movement than +wild convulsions. When attacked by the acrid fluid, the cervical +ganglia cease to do their work; and death ensues. Nevertheless, +this death is not immediate; the throes last for some time. The +experiment is not wholly satisfactory as regards suddenness. Why? +Because the liquid which I employ, ammonia, cannot be compared, for +deadly efficacy, with the Lycosa’s poison, a pretty formidable +poison, as we shall see.</p> +<p>I make a Tarantula bite the leg of a young, well-fledged Sparrow, +ready to leave the nest. A drop of blood flows; the wounded spot +is surrounded by a reddish circle, changing to purple. The bird +almost immediately loses the use of its leg, which drags, with the toes +doubled in; it hops upon the other. Apart from this, the patient +does not seem to trouble much about his hurt; his appetite is good. +My daughters feed him on Flies, bread-crumb, apricot-pulp. He +is sure to get well, he will recover his strength; the poor victim of +the curiosity of science will be restored to liberty. This is +the wish, the intention of us all. Twelve hours later, the hope +of a cure increases; the invalid takes nourishment readily; he clamours +for it, if we keep him waiting. But the leg still drags. +I set this down to a temporary paralysis which will soon disappear. +Two days after, he refuses his food. Wrapping himself in his stoicism +and his rumpled feathers, the Sparrow hunches into a ball, now motionless, +now twitching. My girls take him in the hollow of their hands +and warm him with their breath. The spasms become more frequent. +A gasp proclaims that all is over. The bird is dead.</p> +<p>There was a certain coolness among us at the evening-meal. +I read mute reproaches, because of my experiment, in the eyes of my +home-circle; I read an unspoken accusation of cruelty all around me. +The death of the unfortunate Sparrow had saddened the whole family. +I myself was not without some remorse of conscience: the poor result +achieved seemed to me too dearly bought. I am not made of the +stuff of those who, without turning a hair, rip up live Dogs to find +out nothing in particular.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, I had the courage to start afresh, this time on a Mole +caught ravaging a bed of lettuces. There was a danger lest my +captive, with his famished stomach, should leave things in doubt, if +we had to keep him for a few days. He might die not of his wound, +but of inanition, if I did not succeed in giving him suitable food, +fairly plentiful and dispensed at fairly frequent intervals. In +that case, I ran a risk of ascribing to the poison what might well be +the result of starvation. I must therefore begin by finding out +if it was possible for me to keep the Mole alive in captivity. +The animal was put into a large receptacle from which it could not get +out and fed on a varied diet of insects—Beetles, Grasshoppers, +especially Cicadae <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a>—which +it crunched up with an excellent appetite. Twenty-four hours of +this regimen convinced me that the Mole was making the best of the bill +of fare and taking kindly to his captivity.</p> +<p>I make the Tarantula bite him at the tip of the snout. When +replaced in his cage, the Mole keeps on scratching his nose with his +broad paws. The thing seems to burn, to itch. Henceforth, +less and less of the provision of Cicadae is consumed; on the evening +of the following day, it is refused altogether. About thirty-six +hours after being bitten, the Mole dies during the night and certainly +not from inanition, for there are still half a dozen live Cicadae in +the receptacle, as well as a few Beetles.</p> +<p>The bite of the Black-bellied Tarantula is therefore dangerous to +other animals than insects: it is fatal to the Sparrow, it is fatal +to the Mole. Up to what point are we to generalize? I do +not know, because my enquiries extended no further. Nevertheless, +judging from the little that I saw, it appears to me that the bite of +this Spider is not an accident which man can afford to treat lightly. +This is all that I have to say to the doctors.</p> +<p>To the philosophical entomologists I have something else to say: +I have to call their attention to the consummate knowledge of the insect-killers, +which vies with that of the paralyzers. I speak of insect-killers +in the plural, for the Tarantula must share her deadly art with a host +of other Spiders, especially with those who hunt without nets. +These insect-killers, who live on their prey, strike the game dead instantaneously +by stinging the nerve-centres of the neck; the paralyzers, on the other +hand, who wish to keep the food fresh for their larvae, destroy the +power of movement by stinging the game in the other nerve-centres. +Both of them attack the nervous chain, but they select the point according +to the object to be attained. If death be desired, sudden death, +free from danger to the huntress, the insect is attacked in the neck; +if mere paralysis be required, the neck is respected and the lower segments—sometimes +one alone, sometimes three, sometimes all or nearly all, according to +the special organization of the victim—receive the dagger-thrust.</p> +<p>Even the paralyzers, at least some of them, are acquainted with the +immense vital importance of the nerve-centres of the neck. We +have seen the Hairy Ammophila munching the caterpillar’s brain, +the Languedocian Sphex munching the brain of the Ephippigera, with the +object of inducing a passing torpor. But they simply squeeze the +brain and do even this with a wise discretion; they are careful not +to drive their sting into this fundamental centre of life; not one of +them ever thinks of doing so, for the result would be a corpse which +the larva would despise. The Spider, on the other hand, inserts +her double dirk there and there alone; any elsewhere it would inflict +a wound likely to increase resistance through irritation. She +wants a venison for consumption without delay and brutally thrusts her +fangs into the spot which the others so conscientiously respect.</p> +<p>If the instinct of these scientific murderers is not, in both cases, +an inborn predisposition, inseparable from the animal, but an acquired +habit, then I rack my brain in vain to understand how that habit can +have been acquired. Shroud these facts in theoretic mists as much +as you will, you shall never succeed in veiling the glaring evidence +which they afford of a pre-established order of things.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II: THE BANDED EPEIRA</h2> +<p>In the inclement season of the year, when the insect has nothing +to do and retires to winter quarters, the observer profits by the mildness +of the sunny nooks and grubs in the sand, lifts the stones, searches +the brushwood; and often he is stirred with a pleasurable excitement, +when he lights upon some ingenious work of art, discovered unawares. +Happy are the simple of heart whose ambition is satisfied with such +treasure-trove! I wish them all the joys which it has brought +me and which it will continue to bring me, despite the vexations of +life, which grow ever more bitter as the years follow their swift downward +course.</p> +<p>Should the seekers rummage among the wild grasses in the osier-beds +and copses, I wish them the delight of finding the wonderful object +that, at this moment, lies before my eyes. It is the work of a +Spider, the nest of the Banded Epeira (<i>Epeira fasciata</i>, LATR.).</p> +<p>A Spider is not an insect, according to the rules of classification; +and as such the Epeira seems out of place here. <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</a> +A fig for systems! It is immaterial to the student of instinct +whether the animal have eight legs instead of six, or pulmonary sacs +instead of air-tubes. Besides, the Araneida belong to the group +of segmented animals, organized in sections placed end to end, a structure +to which the terms ‘insect’ and ‘entomology’ +both refer.</p> +<p>Formerly, to describe this group, people said ‘articulate animals,’ +an expression which possessed the drawback of not jarring on the ear +and of being understood by all. This is out of date. Nowadays, +they use the euphonious term ‘Arthropoda.’ And to +think that there are men who question the existence of progress! +Infidels! Say, ‘articulate,’ first; then roll out, +‘Arthropoda;’ and you shall see whether zoological science +is not progressing!</p> +<p>In bearing and colouring, <i>Epeira fasciata</i> is the handsomest +of the Spiders of the South. On her fat belly, a mighty silk-warehouse +nearly as large as a hazel-nut, are alternate yellow, black and silver +sashes, to which she owes her epithet of Banded. Around that portly +abdomen, the eight long legs, with their dark- and pale-brown rings, +radiate like spokes.</p> +<p>Any small prey suits her; and, as long as she can find supports for +her web, she settles wherever the Locust hops, wherever the Fly hovers, +wherever the Dragon-fly dances or the Butterfly flits. As a rule, +because of the greater abundance of game, she spreads her toils across +some brooklet, from bank to bank among the rushes. She also stretches +them, but not assiduously, in the thickets of evergreen oak, on the +slopes with the scrubby greenswards, dear to the Grasshoppers.</p> +<p>Her hunting-weapon is a large upright web, whose outer boundary, +which varies according to the disposition of the ground, is fastened +to the neighbouring branches by a number of moorings. The structure +is that adopted by the other weaving Spiders. Straight threads +radiate at equal intervals from a central point. Over this framework +runs a continuous spiral thread, forming chords, or cross-bars, from +the centre to the circumference. It is magnificently large and +magnificently symmetrical.</p> +<p>In the lower part of the web, starting from the centre, a wide opaque +ribbon descends zigzag-wise across the radii. This is the Epeira’s +trade-mark, the flourish of an artist initialling his creation. +‘<i>Fecit</i> So-and-so,’ she seems to say, when giving +the last throw of the shuttle to her handiwork.</p> +<p>That the Spider feels satisfied when, after passing and repassing +from spoke to spoke, she finishes her spiral, is beyond a doubt: the +work achieved ensures her food for a few days to come. But, in +this particular case, the vanity of the spinstress has naught to say +to the matter: the strong silk zigzag is added to impart greater firmness +to the web.</p> +<p>Increased resistance is not superfluous, for the net is sometimes +exposed to severe tests. The Epeira cannot pick and choose her +prizes. Seated motionless in the centre of her web, her eight +legs wide-spread to feel the shaking of the network in any direction, +she waits for what luck will bring her: now some giddy weakling unable +to control its flight, anon some powerful prey rushing headlong with +a reckless bound.</p> +<p>The Locust in particular, the fiery Locust, who releases the spring +of his long shanks at random, often falls into the trap. One imagines +that his strength ought to frighten the Spider; the kick of his spurred +levers should enable him to make a hole, then and there, in the web +and to get away. But not at all. If he does not free himself +at the first effort, the Locust is lost.</p> +<p>Turning her back on the game, the Epeira works all her spinnerets, +pierced like the rose of a watering-pot, at one and the same time. +The silky spray is gathered by the hind-legs, which are longer than +the others and open into a wide arc to allow the stream to spread. +Thanks to this artifice, the Epeira this time obtains not a thread, +but an iridescent sheet, a sort of clouded fan wherein the component +threads are kept almost separate. The two hind-legs fling this +shroud gradually, by rapid alternate armfuls, while, at the same time, +they turn the prey over and over, swathing it completely.</p> +<p>The ancient <i>retiarius</i>, when pitted against a powerful wild +beast, appeared in the arena with a rope-net folded over his left shoulder. +The animal made its spring. The man, with a sudden movement of +his right arm, cast the net after the manner of the fishermen; he covered +the beast and tangled it in the meshes. A thrust of the trident +gave the quietus to the vanquished foe.</p> +<p>The Epeira acts in like fashion, with this advantage, that she is +able to renew her armful of fetters. Should the first not suffice, +a second instantly follows and another and yet another, until the reserves +of silk become exhausted.</p> +<p>When all movement ceases under the snowy winding-sheet, the Spider +goes up to her bound prisoner. She has a better weapon than the +<i>bestiarius</i>’ trident: she has her poison-fangs. She +gnaws at the Locust, without undue persistence, and then withdraws, +leaving the torpid patient to pine away.</p> +<p>Soon she comes back to her motionless head of game: she sucks it, +drains it, repeatedly changing her point of attack. At last, the +clean-bled remains are flung out of the net and the Spider returns to +her ambush in the centre of the web.</p> +<p>What the Epeira sucks is not a corpse, but a numbed body. If +I remove the Locust immediately after he has been bitten and release +him from the silken sheath, the patient recovers his strength to such +an extent that he seems, at first, to have suffered no injury. +The Spider, therefore, does not kill her capture before sucking its +juices; she is content to deprive it of the power of motion by producing +a state of torpor. Perhaps this kindlier bite gives her greater +facility in working her pump. The humours, if stagnant, in a corpse, +would not respond so readily to the action of the sucker; they are more +easily extracted from a live body, in which they move about.</p> +<p>The Epeira, therefore, being a drinker of blood, moderates the virulence +of her sting, even with victims of appalling size, so sure is she of +her retiarian art. The long-legged Tryxalis, <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a> +the corpulent Grey Locust, the largest of our Grasshoppers are accepted +without hesitation and sucked dry as soon as numbed. Those giants, +capable of making a hole in the net and passing through it in their +impetuous onrush, can be but rarely caught. I myself place them +on the web. The Spider does the rest. Lavishing her silky +spray, she swathes them and then sucks the body at her ease. With +an increased expenditure of the spinnerets, the very biggest game is +mastered as successfully as the everyday prey.</p> +<p>I have seen even better than that. This time, my subject is +the Silky Epeira (<i>Epeira sericea</i>, OLIV.), with a broad, festooned, +silvery abdomen. Like that of the other, her web is large, upright +and ‘signed’ with a zigzag ribbon. I place upon it +a Praying Mantis, <a name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18">{18}</a> +a well-developed specimen, quite capable of changing rôles, should +circumstances permit, and herself making a meal off her assailant. +It is a question no longer of capturing a peaceful Locust, but a fierce +and powerful ogre, who would rip open the Epeira’s paunch with +one blow of her harpoons.</p> +<p>Will the Spider dare? Not immediately. Motionless in +the centre of her net, she consults her strength before attacking the +formidable quarry; she waits until the struggling prey has its claws +more thickly entangled. At last, she approaches. The Mantis +curls her belly; lifts her wings like vertical sails; opens her saw-toothed +arm-pieces; in short, adopts the spectral attitude which she employs +when delivering battle.</p> +<p>The Spider disregards these menaces. Spreading wide her spinnerets, +she pumps out sheets of silk which the hind-legs draw out, expand and +fling without stint in alternate armfuls. Under this shower of +threads, the Mantis’ terrible saws, the lethal legs, quickly disappear +from sight, as do the wings, still erected in the spectral posture.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, the swathed one gives sudden jerks, which make the Spider +fall out of her web. The accident is provided for. A safety-cord, +emitted at the same instant by the spinnerets, keeps the Epeira hanging, +swinging in space. When calm is restored, she packs her cord and +climbs up again. The heavy paunch and the hind-legs are now bound. +The flow slackens, the silk comes only in thin sheets. Fortunately, +the business is done. The prey is invisible under the thick shroud.</p> +<p>The Spider retires without giving a bite. To master the terrible +quarry, she has spent the whole reserves of her spinning-mill, enough +to weave many good-sized webs. With this heap of shackles, further +precautions are superfluous.</p> +<p>After a short rest in the centre of the net, she comes down to dinner. +Slight incisions are made in different parts of the prize, now here, +now there; and the Spider puts her mouth to each and sucks the blood +of her prey. The meal is long protracted, so rich is the dish. +For ten hours, I watch the insatiable glutton, who changes her point +of attack as each wound sucked dries up. Night comes and robs +me of the finish of the unbridled debauch. Next morning, the drained +Mantis lies upon the ground. The Ants are eagerly devouring the +remains.</p> +<p>The eminent talents of the Epeirae are displayed to even better purpose +in the industrial business of motherhood than in the art of the chase. +The silk bag, the nest, in which the Banded Epeira houses her eggs, +is a much greater marvel than the bird’s nest. In shape, +it is an inverted balloon, nearly the size of a Pigeon’s egg. +The top tapers like a pear and is cut short and crowned with a scalloped +rim, the corners of which are lengthened by means of moorings that fasten +the object to the adjoining twigs. The whole, a graceful ovoid, +hangs straight down, amid a few threads that steady it.</p> +<p>The top is hollowed into a crater closed with a silky padding. +Every other part is contained in the general wrapper, formed of thick, +compact white satin, difficult to break and impervious to moisture. +Brown and even black silk, laid out in abroad ribbons, in spindle-shaped +patterns, in fanciful meridian waves, adorns the upper portion of the +exterior. The part played by this fabric is self-evident: it is +a waterproof cover which neither dew nor rain can penetrate.</p> +<p>Exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather, among the dead grasses, +close to the ground, the Epeira’s nest has also to protect its +contents from the winter cold. Let us cut the wrapper with our +scissors. Underneath, we find a thick layer of reddish-brown silk, +not worked into a fabric this time, but puffed into an extra-fine wadding. +It is a fleecy cloud, an incomparable quilt, softer than any swan’s-down. +This is the screen set up against loss of heat.</p> +<p>And what does this cosy mass protect? See: in the middle of +the eiderdown hangs a cylindrical pocket, round at the bottom, cut square +at the top and closed with a padded lid. It is made of extremely +fine satin; it contains the Epeira’s eggs, pretty little orange-coloured +beads, which, glued together, form a globule the size of a pea. +This is the treasure to be defended against the asperities of the winter.</p> +<p>Now that we know the structure of the work, let us try to see in +what manner the spinstress sets about it. The observation is not +an easy one, for the Banded Epeira is a night-worker. She needs +nocturnal quiet in order not to go astray amid the complicated rules +that guide her industry. Now and again, at very early hours in +the morning, I have happened to catch her working, which enables me +to sum up the progress of the operations.</p> +<p>My subjects are busy in their bell-shaped cages, at about the middle +of August. A scaffolding is first run up, at the top of the dome; +it consists of a few stretched threads. The wire trellis represents +the twigs and the blades of grass which the Spider, if at liberty, would +have used as suspension-points. The loom works on this shaky support. +The Epeira does not see what she is doing; she turns her back on her +task. The machinery is so well put together that the whole thing +goes automatically.</p> +<p>The tip of the abdomen sways, a little to the right, a little to +the left, rises and falls, while the Spider moves slowly round and round. +The thread paid out is single. The hind-legs draw it out and place +it in position on that which is already done. Thus is formed a +satin receptacle the rim of which is gradually raised until it becomes +a bag about a centimetre deep. <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19">{19}</a> +The texture is of the daintiest. Guy-ropes bind it to the nearest +threads and keep it stretched, especially at the mouth.</p> +<p>Then the spinnerets take a rest and the turn of the ovaries comes. +A continuous shower of eggs falls into the bag, which is filled to the +top. The capacity of the receptacle has been so nicely calculated +that there is room for all the eggs, without leaving any space unoccupied. +When the Spider has finished and retires, I catch a momentary glimpse +of the heap of orange-coloured eggs; but the work of the spinnerets +is at once resumed.</p> +<p>The next business is to close the bag. The machinery works +a little differently. The tip of the belly no longer sways from +side to side. It sinks and touches a point; it retreats, sinks +again and touches another point, first here, then there, describing +inextricable zigzags. At the same time, the hind-legs tread the +material emitted. The result is no longer a stuff, but a felt, +a blanketing.</p> +<p>Around the satin capsule, which contains the eggs, is the eiderdown +destined to keep out the cold. The youngsters will bide for some +time in this soft shelter, to strengthen their joints and prepare for +the final exodus. It does not take long to make. The spinning-mill +suddenly alters the raw material: it was turning out white silk; it +now furnishes reddish-brown silk, finer than the other and issuing in +clouds which the hind-legs, those dexterous carders, beat into a sort +of froth. The egg-pocket disappears, drowned in this exquisite +wadding.</p> +<p>The balloon-shape is already outlined; the top of the work tapers +to a neck. The Spider, moving up and down, tacking first to one +side and then to the other, from the very first spray marks out the +graceful form as accurately as though she carried a compass in her abdomen.</p> +<p>Then, once again, with the same suddenness, the material changes. +The white silk reappears, wrought into thread. This is the moment +to weave the outer wrapper. Because of the thickness of the stuff +and the density of its texture, this operation is the longest of the +series.</p> +<p>First, a few threads are flung out, hither and thither, to keep the +layer of wadding in position. The Epeira takes special pains with +the edge of the neck, where she fashions an indented border, the angles +of which, prolonged with cords or lines, form the main support of the +building. The spinnerets never touch this part without giving +it, each time, until the end of the work, a certain added solidity, +necessary to secure the stability of the balloon. The suspensory +indentations soon outline a crater which needs plugging. The Spider +closes the bag with a padded stopper similar to that with which she +sealed the egg-pocket.</p> +<p>When these arrangements are made, the real manufacture of the wrapper +begins. The Spider goes backwards and forwards, turns and turns +again. The spinnerets do not touch the fabric. With a rhythmical, +alternate movement, the hind-legs, the sole implements employed, draw +the thread, seize it in their combs and apply it to the work, while +the tip of the abdomen sways methodically to and fro.</p> +<p>In this way, the silken fibre is distributed in an even zigzag, of +almost geometrical precision and comparable with that of the cotton +thread which the machines in our factories roll so neatly into balls. +And this is repeated all over the surface of the work, for the Spider +shifts her position a little at every moment.</p> +<p>At fairly frequent intervals, the tip of the abdomen is lifted to +the mouth of the balloon; and then the spinnerets really touch the fringed +edge. The length of contact is even considerable. We find, +therefore, that the thread is stuck in this star-shaped fringe, the +foundation of the building and the crux of the whole, while every elsewhere +it is simply laid on, in a manner determined by the movements of the +hind-legs. If we wished to unwind the work, the thread would break +at the margin; at any other point, it would unroll.</p> +<p>The Epeira ends her web with a dead-white, angular flourish; she +ends her nest with brown mouldings, which run down, irregularly, from +the marginal junction to the bulging middle. For this purpose, +she makes use, for the third time, of a different silk; she now produces +silk of a dark hue, varying from russet to black. The spinnerets +distribute the material with a wide longitudinal swing, from pole to +pole; and the hind-legs apply it in capricious ribbons. When this +is done, the work is finished. The Spider moves away with slow +strides, without giving a glance at the bag. The rest does not +interest her: time and the sun will see to it.</p> +<p>She felt her hour at hand and came down from her web. Near +by, in the rank grass, she wove the tabernacle of her offspring and, +in so doing, drained her resources. To resume her hunting-post, +to return to her web would be useless to her: she has not the wherewithal +to bind the prey. Besides, the fine appetite of former days has +gone. Withered and languid, she drags out her existence for a +few days and, at last, dies. This is how things happen in my cages; +this is how they must happen in the brushwood.</p> +<p>The Silky Epeira (<i>Epeira sericea</i>, OLIV.) excels the Banded +Epeira in the manufacture of big hunting-nets, but she is less gifted +in the art of nest-building. She gives her nest the inelegant +form of an obtuse cone. The opening of this pocket is very wide +and is scalloped into lobes by which the edifice is slung. It +is closed with a large lid, half satin, half swan’s-down. +The rest is a stout white fabric, frequently covered with irregular +brown streaks.</p> +<p>The difference between the work of the two Epeirae does not extend +beyond the wrapper, which is an obtuse cone in the one case and a balloon +in the other. The same internal arrangements prevail behind this +frontage: first, a flossy quilt; next, a little keg in which the eggs +are packed. Though the two Spiders build the outer wall according +to special architectural rules, they both employ the same means as a +protection against the cold.</p> +<p>As we see, the egg-bag of the Epeirae, particularly that of the Banded +Epeira, is an important and complex work. Various materials enter +into its composition: white silk, red silk, brown silk; moreover, these +materials are worked into dissimilar products: stout cloth, soft eiderdown, +dainty satinette, porous felt. And all of this comes from the +same workshop that weaves the hunting-net, warps the zigzag ribbon-band +and casts an entangling shroud over the prey.</p> +<p>What a wonderful silk-factory it is! With a very simple and +never-varying plant, consisting of the hind-legs and the spinnerets, +it produces, by turns, rope-maker’s, spinner’s, weaver’s, +ribbon-maker’s and fuller’s work. How does the Spider +direct an establishment of this kind? How does she obtain, at +will, skeins of diverse hues and grades? How does she turn them +out, first in this fashion, then in that? I see the results, but +I do not understand the machinery and still less the process. +It beats me altogether.</p> +<p>The Spider also sometimes loses her head in her difficult trade, +when some trouble disturbs the peace of her nocturnal labours. +I do not provoke this trouble myself, for I am not present at those +unseasonable hours. It is simply due to the conditions prevailing +in my menagerie.</p> +<p>In their natural state, the Epeirae settle separately, at long distances +from one another. Each has her own hunting-grounds, where there +is no reason to fear the competition that would result from the close +proximity of the nets. In my cages, on the other hand, there is +cohabitation. In order to save space, I lodge two or three Epeirae +in the same cage. My easy-going captives live together in peace. +There is no strife between them, no encroaching on the neighbour’s +property. Each of them weaves herself a rudimentary web, as far +from the rest as possible, and here, rapt in contemplation, as though +indifferent to what the others are doing, she awaits the hop of the +Locust.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, these close quarters have their drawbacks when laying-time +arrives. The cords by which the different establishments are hung +interlace and criss-cross in a confused network. When one of them +shakes, all the others are more or less affected. This is enough +to distract the layer from her business and to make her do silly things. +Here are two instances.</p> +<p>A bag has been woven during the night. I find it, when I visit +the cage in the morning, hanging from the trellis-work and completed. +It is perfect, as regards structure; it is decorated with the regulation +black meridian curves. There is nothing missing, nothing except +the essential thing, the eggs, for which the spinstress has gone to +such expense in the matter of silks. Where are the eggs? +They are not in the bag, which I open and find empty. They are +lying on the ground below, on the sand in the pan, utterly unprotected.</p> +<p>Disturbed at the moment of discharging them, the mother has missed +the mouth of the little bag and dropped them on the floor. Perhaps +even, in her excitement, she came down from above and, compelled by +the exigencies of the ovaries, laid her eggs on the first support that +offered. No matter: if her Spider brain contains the least gleam +of sense, she must be aware of the disaster and is therefore bound at +once to abandon the elaborate manufacture of a now superfluous nest.</p> +<p>Not at all: the bag is woven around nothing, as accurate in shape, +as finished in structure as under normal conditions. The absurd +perseverance displayed by certain Bees, whose egg and provisions I used +to remove, <a name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20">{20}</a> is +here repeated without the slightest interference from me. My victims +used scrupulously to seal up their empty cells. In the same way, +the Epeira puts the eiderdown quilting and the taffeta wrapper round +a capsule that contains nothing.</p> +<p>Another, distracted from her work by some startling vibration, leaves +her nest at the moment when the layer of red-brown wadding is being +completed. She flees to the dome, at a few inches above her unfinished +work, and spends upon a shapeless mattress, of no use whatever, all +the silk with which she would have woven the outer wrapper if nothing +had come to disturb her.</p> +<p>Poor fool! You upholster the wires of your cage with swan’s-down +and you leave the eggs imperfectly protected. The absence of the +work already executed and the hardness of the metal do not warn you +that you are now engaged upon a senseless task. You remind me +of the Pelopaeus, <a name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21">{21}</a> +who used to coat with mud the place on the wall whence her nest had +been removed. You speak to me, in your own fashion, of a strange +psychology which is able to reconcile the wonders of a master craftsmanship +with aberrations due to unfathomable stupidity.</p> +<p>Let us compare the work of the Banded Epeira with that of the Penduline +Titmouse, the cleverest of our small birds in the art of nest-building. +This Tit haunts the osier-beds of the lower reaches of the Rhone. +Rocking gently in the river breeze, his nest sways pendent over the +peaceful backwaters, at some distance from the too-impetuous current. +It hangs from the drooping end of the branch of a poplar, an old willow +or an alder, all of them tall trees, favouring the banks of streams.</p> +<p>It consists of a cotton bag, closed all round, save for a small opening +at the side, just sufficient to allow of the mother’s passage. +In shape, it resembles the body of an alembic, a chemist’s retort +with a short lateral neck, or, better still, the foot of a stocking, +with the edges brought together, but for a little round hole left at +one side. The outward appearances increase the likeness: one can +almost see the traces of a knitting-needle working with coarse stitches. +That is why, struck by this shape, the Provençal peasant, in +his expressive language, calls the Penduline <i>lou Debassaire</i>, +the Stocking-knitter.</p> +<p>The early-ripening seedlets of the widows and poplars furnish the +materials for the work. There breaks from them, in May, a sort +of vernal snow, a fine down, which the eddies of the air heap in the +crevices of the ground. It is a cotton similar to that of our +manufactures, but of very short staple. It comes from an inexhaustible +warehouse: the tree is bountiful; and the wind from the osier-beds gathers +the tiny flocks as they pour from the seeds. They are easy to +pick up.</p> +<p>The difficulty is to set to work. How does the bird proceed, +in order to knit its stocking? How, with such simple implements +as its beak and claws, does it manage to produce a fabric which our +skilled fingers would fail to achieve? An examination of the nest +will inform us, to a certain extent.</p> +<p>The cotton of the poplar cannot, of itself, supply a hanging pocket +capable of supporting the weight of the brood and resisting the buffeting +of the wind. Rammed, entangled and packed together, the flocks, +similar to those which ordinary wadding would give if chopped up very +fine, would produce only an agglomeration devoid of cohesion and liable +to be dispelled by the first breath of air. They require a canvas, +a warp, to keep them in position.</p> +<p>Tiny dead stalks, with fibrous barks, well softened by the action +of moisture and the air, furnish the Penduline with a coarse tow, not +unlike that of hemp. With these ligaments, purged of every woody +particle and tested for flexibility and tenacity, he winds a number +of loops round the end of the branch which he has selected as a support +for his structure.</p> +<p>It is not a very accurate piece of work. The loops run clumsily +and anyhow: some are slacker, others tighter; but, when all is said, +it is solid, which is the main point. Also, this fibrous sheath, +the keystone of the edifice, occupies a fair length of branch, which +enables the fastenings for the net to be multiplied.</p> +<p>The several straps, after describing a certain number of turns, ravel +out at the ends and hang loose. After them come interlaced threads, +greater in number and finer in texture. In the tangled jumble +occur what might almost be described as weaver’s knots. +As far as one can judge by the result alone, without having seen the +bird at work, this is how the canvas, the support of the cotton wall, +is obtained.</p> +<p>This warp, this inner framework, is obviously not constructed in +its entirety from the start; it goes on gradually, as the bird stuffs +the part above it with cotton. The wadding, picked up bit by bit +from the ground, is teazled by the bird’s claws and inserted, +all fleecy, into the meshes of the canvas. The beak pushes it, +the breast presses it, both inside and out. The result is a soft +felt a couple of inches thick.</p> +<p>Near the top of the pouch, on one side, is contrived a narrow orifice, +tapering into a short neck. This is the kitchen-door. In +order to pass through it, the Penduline, small though he be, has to +force the elastic partition, which yields slightly and then contracts. +Lastly, the house is furnished with a mattress of first-quality cotton. +Here lie from six to eight white eggs, the size of a cherry-stone.</p> +<p>Well, this wonderful nest is a barbarous casemate compared with that +of the Banded Epeira. As regards shape, this stocking-foot cannot +be mentioned in the same breath with the Spider’s elegant and +faultlessly-rounded balloon. The fabric of mixed cotton and tow +is a rustic frieze beside the spinstress’ satin; the suspension-straps +are clumsy cables compared with her delicate silk fastenings. +Where shall we find in the Penduline’s mattress aught to vie with +the Epeira’s eiderdown, that teazled russet gossamer? The +Spider is superior to the bird in every way, in so far as concerns her +work.</p> +<p>But, on her side, the Penduline is a more devoted mother. For +weeks on end, squatting at the bottom of her purse, she presses to her +heart the eggs, those little white pebbles from which the warmth of +her body will bring forth life. The Epeira knows not these softer +passions. Without bestowing a second glance an it, she abandons +her nest to its fate, be it good or ill.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III: THE NARBONNE LYCOSA</h2> +<p>The Epeira, who displays such astonishing industry to give her eggs +a dwelling-house of incomparable perfection, becomes, after that, careless +of her family. For what reason? She lacks the time. +She has to die when the first cold comes, whereas the eggs are destined +to pass the winter in their downy snuggery. The desertion of the +nest is inevitable, owing to the very force of things. But, if +the hatching were earlier and took place in the Epeira’s lifetime, +I imagine that she would rival the bird in devotion.</p> +<p>So I gather from the analogy of <i>Thomisus onustus</i>, WALCK., +a shapely Spider who weaves no web, lies in wait for her prey and walks +sideways, after the manner of the Crab. I have spoken elsewhere +<a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22">{22}</a> of her encounters +with the Domestic Bee, whom she jugulates by biting her in the neck.</p> +<p>Skilful in the prompt despatch of her prey, the little Crab Spider +is no less well-versed in the nesting art. I find her settled +on a privet in the enclosure. Here, in the heart of a cluster +of flowers, the luxurious creature plaits a little pocket of white satin, +shaped like a wee thimble. It is the receptacle for the eggs. +A round, flat lid, of a felted fabric, closes the mouth.</p> +<p>Above this ceiling rises a dome of stretched threads and faded flowerets +which have fallen from the cluster. This is the watcher’s +belvedere, her conning-tower. An opening, which is always free, +gives access to this post.</p> +<p>Here the Spider remains on constant duty. She has thinned greatly +since she laid her eggs, has almost lost her corporation. At the +least alarm, she sallies forth, waves a threatening limb at the passing +stranger and invites him, with a gesture, to keep his distance. +Having put the intruder to flight, she quickly returns indoors.</p> +<p>And what does she do in there, under her arch of withered flowers +and silk? Night and day, she shields the precious eggs with her +poor body spread out flat. Eating is neglected. No more +lying in wait, no more Bees drained to the last drop of blood. +Motionless, rapt in meditation, the Spider is in an incubating posture, +in other words, she is sitting on her eggs. Strictly speaking, +the word ‘incubating’ means that and nothing else.</p> +<p>The brooding Hen is no more assiduous, but she is also a heating-apparatus +and, with the gentle warmth of her body, awakens the germs to life. +For the Spider, the heat of the sun suffices; and this alone keeps me +from saying that she ‘broods.’</p> +<p>For two or three weeks, more and more wrinkled by abstinence, the +little Spider never relaxes her position. Then comes the hatching. +The youngsters stretch a few threads in swing-like curves from twig +to twig. The tiny rope-dancers practise for some days in the sun; +then they disperse, each intent upon his own affairs.</p> +<p>Let us now look at the watch-tower of the nest. The mother +is still there, but this time lifeless. The devoted creature has +known the delight of seeing her family born; she has assisted the weaklings +through the trap-door; and, when her duty was done, very gently she +died. The Hen does not reach this height of self-abnegation.</p> +<p>Other Spiders do better still, as, for instance, the Narbonne Lycosa, +or Black-bellied Tarantula (<i>Lycosa narbonnensis</i>, WALCK.), whose +prowess has been described in an earlier chapter. The reader will +remember her burrow, her pit of a bottle-neck’s width, dug in +the pebbly soil beloved by the lavender and the thyme. The mouth +is rimmed by a bastion of gravel and bits of wood cemented with silk. +There is nothing else around her dwelling: no web, no snares of any +kind.</p> +<p>From her inch-high turret, the Lycosa lies in wait for the passing +Locust. She gives a bound, pursues the prey and suddenly deprives +it of motion with a bite in the neck. The game is consumed on +the spot, or else in the lair; the insect’s tough hide arouses +no disgust. The sturdy huntress is not a drinker of blood, like +the Epeira; she needs solid food, food that crackles between the jaws. +She is like a Dog devouring his bone.</p> +<p>Would you care to bring her to the light of day from the depths of +her well? Insert a thin straw into the burrow and move it about. +Uneasy as to what is happening above, the recluse hastens to climb up +and stops, in a threatening attitude, at some distance from the orifice. +You see her eight eyes gleaming like diamonds in the dark; you see her +powerful poison-fangs yawning, ready to bite. He who is not accustomed +to the sight of this horror, rising from under the ground, cannot suppress +a shiver. B-r-r-r-r! Let us leave the beast alone.</p> +<p>Chance, a poor stand-by, sometimes contrives very well. At +the beginning of the month of August, the children call me to the far +side of the enclosure, rejoicing in a find which they have made under +the rosemary-bushes. It is a magnificent Lycosa, with an enormous +belly, the sign of an impending delivery.</p> +<p>The obese Spider is gravely devouring something in the midst of a +circle of onlookers. And what? The remains of a Lycosa a +little smaller than herself, the remains of her male. It is the +end of the tragedy that concludes the nuptials. The sweetheart +is eating her lover. I allow the matrimonial rites to be fulfilled +in all their horror; and, when the last morsel of the unhappy wretch +has been scrunched up, I incarcerate the terrible matron under a cage +standing in an earthen pan filled with sand.</p> +<p>Early one morning, ten days later, I find her preparing for her confinement. +A silk network is first spun on the ground, covering an extent about +equal to the palm of one’s hand. It is coarse and shapeless, +but firmly fixed. This is the floor on which the Spider means +to operate.</p> +<p>On this foundation, which acts as a protection from the sand, the +Lycosa fashions a round mat, the size of a two-franc piece and made +of superb white silk. With a gentle, uniform movement, which might +be regulated by the wheels of a delicate piece of clockwork, the tip +of the abdomen rises and falls, each time touching the supporting base +a little farther away, until the extreme scope of the mechanism is attained.</p> +<p>Then, without the Spider’s moving her position, the oscillation +is resumed in the opposite direction. By means of this alternate +motion, interspersed with numerous contacts, a segment of the sheet +is obtained, of a very accurate texture. When this is done, the +Spider moves a little along a circular line and the loom works in the +same manner on another segment.</p> +<p>The silk disk, a sort of hardly concave paten, now no longer receives +aught from the spinnerets in its centre; the marginal belt alone increases +in thickness. The piece thus becomes a bowl-shaped porringer, +surrounded by a wide, flat edge.</p> +<p>The time for the laying has come. With one quick emission, +the viscous, pale-yellow eggs are laid in the basin, where they heap +together in the shape of a globe which projects largely outside the +cavity. The spinnerets are once more set going. With short +movements, as the tip of the abdomen rises and falls to weave the round +mat, they cover up the exposed hemisphere. The result is a pill +set in the middle of a circular carpet.</p> +<p>The legs, hitherto idle, are now working. They take up and +break off one by one the threads that keep the round mat stretched on +the coarse supporting network. At the same time, the fangs grip +this sheet, lift it by degrees, tear it from its base and fold it over +upon the globe of eggs. It is a laborious operation. The +whole edifice totters, the floor collapses, fouled with sand. +By a movement of the legs, those soiled shreds are cast aside. +Briefly, by means of violent tugs of the fangs, which pull, and broom-like +efforts of the legs, which clear away, the Lycosa extricates the bag +of eggs and removes it as a clear-cut mass, free from any adhesion.</p> +<p>It is a white-silk pill, soft to the touch and glutinous. Its +size is that of an average cherry. An observant eye will notice, +running horizontally around the middle, a fold which a needle is able +to raise without breaking it. This hem, generally undistinguishable +from the rest of the surface, is none other than the edge of the circular +mat, drawn over the lower hemisphere. The other hemisphere, through +which the youngsters will go out, is less well fortified: its only wrapper +is the texture spun over the eggs immediately after they were laid.</p> +<p>Inside, there is nothing but the eggs: no mattress, no soft eiderdown, +like that of the Epeirae. The Lycosa, indeed, has no need to guard +her eggs against the inclemencies of the winter, for the hatching will +take place long before the cold weather comes. Similarly, the +Thomisus, with her early brood, takes good care not to incur useless +expenditure: she gives her eggs, for their protection, a simple purse +of satin.</p> +<p>The work of spinning, followed by that of tearing, is continued for +a whole morning, from five to nine o’clock. Worn out with +fatigue, the mother embraces her dear pill and remains motionless. +I shall see no more to-day. Next morning, I find the Spider carrying +the bag of eggs slung from her stern.</p> +<p>Henceforth, until the hatching, she does not leave go of the precious +burden, which, fastened to the spinnerets by a short ligament, drags +and bumps along the ground. With this load banging against her +heels, she goes about her business; she walks or rests, she seeks her +prey, attacks it and devours it. Should some accident cause the +wallet to drop off, it is soon replaced. The spinnerets touch +it somewhere, anywhere, and that is enough: adhesion is at once restored.</p> +<p>The Lycosa is a stay-at-home. She never goes out except to +snap up some game passing within her hunting-domains, near the burrow. +At the end of August, however, it is not unusual to meet her roaming +about, dragging her wallet behind her. Her hesitations make one +think that she is looking for her home, which she has left for the moment +and has a difficulty in finding.</p> +<p>Why these rambles? There are two reasons: first the pairing +and then the making of the pill. There is a lack of space in the +burrow, which provides only room enough for the Spider engaged in long +contemplation. Now the preparations for the egg-bag require an +extensive flooring, a supporting framework about the size of one’s +hand, as my caged prisoner has shown us. The Lycosa has not so +much space at her disposal, in her well; hence the necessity for coming +out and working at her wallet in the open air, doubtless in the quiet +hours of the night.</p> +<p>The meeting with the male seems likewise to demand an excursion. +Running the risk of being eaten alive, will he venture to plunge into +his lady’s cave, into a lair whence flight would be impossible? +It is very doubtful. Prudence demands that matters should take +place outside. Here at least there is some chance of beating a +hasty retreat which will enable the rash swain to escape the attacks +of his horrible bride.</p> +<p>The interview in the open air lessens the danger without removing +it entirely. We had proof of this when we caught the Lycosa in +the act of devouring her lover aboveground, in a part of the enclosure +which had been broken for planting and which was therefore not suitable +for the Spider’s establishment. The burrow must have been +some way off; and the meeting of the pair took place at the very spot +of the tragic catastrophe. Although he had a clear road, the male +was not quick enough in getting away and was duly eaten.</p> +<p>After this cannibal orgy, does the Lycosa go back home? Perhaps +not, for a while. Besides, she would have to go out a second time, +to manufacture her pill on a level space of sufficient extent.</p> +<p>When the work is done, some of them emancipate themselves, think +they will have a look at the country before retiring for good and all. +It is these whom we sometimes meet wandering aimlessly and dragging +their bag behind them. Sooner or later, however, the vagrants +return home; and the month of August is not over before a straw rustled +in any burrow will bring the mother up, with her wallet slung behind +her. I am able to procure as many as I want and, with them, to +indulge in certain experiments of the highest interest.</p> +<p>It is a sight worth seeing, that of the Lycosa dragging her treasure +after her, never leaving it, day or night, sleeping or waking, and defending +it with a courage that strikes the beholder with awe. If I try +to take the bag from her, she presses it to her breast in despair, hangs +on to my pincers, bites them with her poison-fangs. I can hear +the daggers grating on the steel. No, she would not allow herself +to be robbed of the wallet with impunity, if my fingers were not supplied +with an implement.</p> +<p>By dint of pulling and shaking the pill with the forceps, I take +it from the Lycosa, who protests furiously. I fling her in exchange +a pill taken from another Lycosa. It is at once seized in the +fangs, embraced by the legs and hung on to the spinneret. Her +own or another’s: it is all one to the Spider, who walks away +proudly with the alien wallet. This was to be expected, in view +of the similarity of the pills exchanged.</p> +<p>A test of another kind, with a second subject, renders the mistake +more striking. I substitute, in the place of the lawful bag which +I have removed, the work of the Silky Epeira. The colour and softness +of the material are the same in both cases; but the shape is quite different. +The stolen object is a globe; the object presented in exchange is an +elliptical conoid studded with angular projections along the edge of +the base. The Spider takes no account of this dissimilarity. +She promptly glues the queer bag to her spinnerets and is as pleased +as though she were in possession of her real pill. My experimental +villainies have no other consequences beyond an ephemeral carting. +When hatching-time arrives, early in the case of the Lycosa, late in +that of the Epeira, the gulled Spider abandons the strange bag and pays +it no further attention.</p> +<p>Let us penetrate yet deeper into the wallet-bearer’s stupidity. +After depriving the Lycosa of her eggs, I throw her a ball of cork, +roughly polished with a file and of the same size as the stolen pill. +She accepts the corky substance, so different from the silk purse, without +the least demur. One would have thought that she would recognize +her mistake with those eight eyes of hers, which gleam like precious +stones. The silly creature pays no attention. Lovingly she +embraces the cork ball, fondles it with her palpi, fastens it to her +spinnerets and thenceforth drags it after her as though she were dragging +her own bag.</p> +<p>Let us give another the choice between the imitation and the real. +The rightful pill and the cork ball are placed together on the floor +of the jar. Will the Spider be able to know the one that belongs +to her? The fool is incapable of doing so. She makes a wild +rush and seizes haphazard at one time her property, at another my sham +product. Whatever is first touched becomes a good capture and +is forthwith hung up.</p> +<p>If I increase the number of cork balls, if I put in four or five +of them, with the real pill among them, it is seldom that the Lycosa +recovers her own property. Attempts at enquiry, attempts at selection +there are none. Whatever she snaps up at random she sticks to, +be it good or bad. As there are more of the sham pills of cork, +these are the most often seized by the Spider.</p> +<p>This obtuseness baffles me. Can the animal be deceived by the +soft contact of the cork? I replace the cork balls by pellets +of cotton or paper, kept in their round shape with a few bands of thread. +Both are very readily accepted instead of the real bag that has been +removed.</p> +<p>Can the illusion be due to the colouring, which is light in the cork +and not unlike the tint of the silk globe when soiled with a little +earth, while it is white in the paper and the cotton, when it is identical +with that of the original pill? I give the Lycosa, in exchange +for her work, a pellet of silk thread, chosen of a fine red, the brightest +of all colours. The uncommon pill is as readily accepted and as +jealously guarded as the others.</p> +<p>We will leave the wallet-bearer alone; we know all that we want to +know about her poverty of intellect. Let us wait for the hatching, +which takes place in the first fortnight in September. As they +come out of the pill, the youngsters, to the number of about a couple +of hundred, clamber on the Spider’s back and there sit motionless, +jammed close together, forming a sort of bark of mingled legs and paunches. +The mother is unrecognizable under this live mantilla. When the +hatching is over, the wallet is loosened from the spinnerets and cast +aside as a worthless rag.</p> +<p>The little ones are very good: none stirs none tries to get more +room for himself at his neighbours’ expense. What are they +doing there, so quietly? They allow themselves to be carted about, +like the young of the Opossum. Whether she sit in long meditation +at the bottom of her den, or come to the orifice, in mild weather, to +bask in the sun, the Lycosa never throws off her great-coat of swarming +youngsters until the fine season comes.</p> +<p>If, in the middle of winter, in January or February, I happen, out +in the fields, to ransack the Spider’s dwelling, after the rain, +snow and frost have battered it and, as a rule, dismantled the bastion +at the entrance, I always find her at home, still full of vigour, still +carrying her family. This vehicular upbringing lasts five or six +months at least, without interruption. The celebrated American +carrier, the Opossum, who emancipates her offspring after a few weeks’ +carting, cuts a poor figure beside the Lycosa.</p> +<p>What do the little ones eat, on the maternal spine? Nothing, +so far as I know. I do not see them grow larger. I find +them, at the tardy period of their emancipation, just as they were when +they left the bag.</p> +<p>During the bad season, the mother herself is extremely abstemious. +At long intervals, she accepts, in my jars, a belated Locust, whom I +have captured, for her benefit, in the sunnier nooks. In order +to keep herself in condition, as when she is dug up in the course of +my winter excavations, she must therefore sometimes break her fast and +come out in search of prey, without, of course, discarding her live +mantilla.</p> +<p>The expedition has its dangers. The youngsters may be brushed +off by a blade of grass. What becomes of them when they have a +fall? Does the mother give them a thought? Does she come +to their assistance and help them to regain their place on her back? +Not at all. The affection of a Spider’s heart, divided among +some hundreds, can spare but a very feeble portion to each. The +Lycosa hardly troubles, whether one youngster fall from his place, or +six, or all of them. She waits impassively for the victims of +the mishap to get out of their own difficulty, which they do, for that +matter, and very nimbly.</p> +<p>I sweep the whole family from the back of one of my boarders with +a hair-pencil. Not a sign of emotion, not an attempt at search +on the part of the denuded one. After trotting about a little +on the sand, the dislodged youngsters find, these here, those there, +one or other of the mother’s legs, spread wide in a circle. +By means of these climbing-poles, they swarm to the top and soon the +dorsal group resumes its original form. Not one of the lot is +missing. The Lycosa’s sons know their trade as acrobats +to perfection: the mother need not trouble her head about their fall.</p> +<p>With a sweep of the pencil, I make the family of one Spider fall +around another laden with her own family. The dislodged ones nimbly +scramble up the legs and climb on the back of their new mother, who +kindly allows them to behave as though they belonged to her. There +is no room on the abdomen, the regulation resting-place, which is already +occupied by the real sons. The invaders thereupon encamp on the +front part, beset the thorax and change the carrier into a horrible +pin-cushion that no longer bears the least resemblance to a Spider form. +Meanwhile, the sufferer raises no sort of protest against this access +of family. She placidly accepts them all and walks them all about.</p> +<p>The youngsters, on their side, are unable to distinguish between +what is permitted and forbidden. Remarkable acrobats that they +are, they climb on the first Spider that comes along, even when of a +different species, provided that she be of a fair size. I place +them in the presence of a big Epeira marked with a white cross on a +pale-orange ground (<i>Epeira pallida</i>, OLIV.). The little +ones, as soon as they are dislodged from the back of the Lycosa their +mother, clamber up the stranger without hesitation.</p> +<p>Intolerant of these familiarities, the Spider shakes the leg encroached +upon and flings the intruders to a distance. The assault is doggedly +resumed, to such good purpose that a dozen succeed in hoisting themselves +to the top. The Epeira, who is not accustomed to the tickling +of such a load, turns over on her back and rolls on the ground in the +manner of a donkey when his hide is itching. Some are lamed, some +are even crushed. This does not deter the others, who repeat the +escalade as soon as the Epeira is on her legs again. Then come +more somersaults, more rollings on the back, until the giddy swarm are +all discomfited and leave the Spider in peace.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV: THE NARBONNE LYCOSA: THE BURROW</h2> +<p>Michelet <a name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23">{23}</a> +has told us how, as a printer’s apprentice in a cellar, he established +amicable relations with a Spider. At a certain hour of the day, +a ray of sunlight would glint through the window of the gloomy workshop +and light up the little compositor’s case. Then his eight-legged +neighbour would come down from her web and take her share of the sunshine +on the edge of the case. The boy did not interfere with her; he +welcomed the trusting visitor as a friend and as a pleasant diversion +from the long monotony. When we lack the society of our fellow-men, +we take refuge in that of animals, without always losing by the change.</p> +<p>I do not, thank God, suffer from the melancholy of a cellar: my solitude +is gay with light and verdure; I attend, whenever I please, the fields’ +high festival, the Thrushes’ concert, the Crickets’ symphony; +and yet my friendly commerce with the Spider is marked by an even greater +devotion than the young typesetter’s. I admit her to the +intimacy of my study, I make room for her among my books, I set her +in the sun on my window-ledge, I visit her assiduously at her home, +in the country. The object of our relations is not to create a +means of escape from the petty worries of life, pin-pricks whereof I +have my share like other men, a very large share, indeed; I propose +to submit to the Spider a host of questions whereto, at times, she condescends +to reply.</p> +<p>To what fair problems does not the habit of frequenting her give +rise! To set them forth worthily, the marvellous art which the +little printer was to acquire were not too much. One needs the +pen of a Michelet; and I have but a rough, blunt pencil. Let us +try, nevertheless: even when poorly clad, truth is still beautiful.</p> +<p>I will therefore once more take up the story of the Spider’s +instinct, a story of which the preceding chapters have given but a very +rough idea. Since I wrote those earlier essays, my field of observation +has been greatly extended. My notes have been enriched by new +and most remarkable facts. It is right that I should employ them +for the purpose of a more detailed biography.</p> +<p>The exigencies of order and clearness expose me, it is true, to occasional +repetitions. This is inevitable when one has to marshal in an +harmonious whole a thousand items culled from day to day, often unexpectedly, +and bearing no relation one to the other. The observer is not +master of his time; opportunity leads him and by unsuspected ways. +A certain question suggested by an earlier fact finds no reply until +many years after. Its scope, moreover, is amplified and completed +with views collected on the road. In a work, therefore, of this +fragmentary character, repetitions, necessary for the due co-ordination +of ideas, are inevitable. I shall be as sparing of them as I can.</p> +<p>Let us once more introduce our old friends the Epeira and the Lycosa, +who are the most important Spiders in my district. The Narbonne +Lycosa, or Black-bellied Tarantula, chooses her domicile in the waste, +pebbly lands beloved of the thyme. Her dwelling, a fortress rather +than a villa, is a burrow about nine inches deep and as wide as the +neck of a claret-bottle. The direction is perpendicular, in so +far as obstacles, frequent in a soil of this kind, permit. A bit +of gravel can be extracted and hoisted outside; but a flint is an immovable +boulder which the Spider avoids by giving a bend to her gallery. +If more such are met with, the residence becomes a winding cave, with +stone vaults, with lobbies communicating by means of sharp passages.</p> +<p>This lack of plan has no attendant drawbacks, so well does the owner, +from long habit, know every corner and storey of her mansion. +If any interesting buzz occur overhead, the Lycosa climbs up from her +rugged manor with the same speed as from a vertical shaft. Perhaps +she even finds the windings and turnings an advantage, when she has +to drag into her den a prey that happens to defend itself.</p> +<p>As a rule, the end of the burrow widens into a side-chamber, a lounge +or resting-place where the Spider meditates at length and is content +to lead a life of quiet when her belly is full.</p> +<p>A silk coating, but a scanty one, for the Lycosa has not the wealth +of silk possessed by the Weaving Spiders, lines the walls of the tube +and keeps the loose earth from falling. This plaster, which cements +the incohesive and smooths the rugged parts, is reserved more particularly +for the top of the gallery, near the mouth. Here, in the daytime, +if things be peaceful all around, the Lycosa stations herself, either +to enjoy the warmth of the sun, her great delight, or to lie in wait +for game. The threads of the silk lining afford a firm hold to +the claws on every side, whether the object be to sit motionless for +hours, revelling in the light and heat, or to pounce upon the passing +prey.</p> +<p>Around the orifice of the burrow rises, to a greater or lesser height, +a circular parapet, formed of tiny pebbles, twigs and straps borrowed +from the dry leaves of the neighbouring grasses, all more or less dexterously +tied together and cemented with silk. This work of rustic architecture +is never missing, even though it be no more than a mere pad.</p> +<p>When she reaches maturity and is once settled, the Lycosa becomes +eminently domesticated. I have been living in close communion +with her for the last three years. I have installed her in large +earthen pans on the window-sills of my study and I have her daily under +my eyes. Well, it is very rarely that I happen on her outside, +a few inches from her hole, back to which she bolts at the least alarm.</p> +<p>We may take it, then, that, when not in captivity, the Lycosa does +not go far afield to gather the wherewithal to build her parapet and +that she makes shift with what she finds upon her threshold. In +these conditions, the building-stones are soon exhausted and the masonry +ceases for lack of materials.</p> +<p>The wish came over me to see what dimensions the circular edifice +would assume, if the Spider were given an unlimited supply. With +captives to whom I myself act as purveyor the thing is easy enough. +Were it only with a view to helping whoso may one day care to continue +these relations with the big Spider of the waste-lands, let me describe +how my subjects are housed.</p> +<p>A good-sized earthenware pan, some nine inches deep, is filled with +a red, clayey earth, rich in pebbles, similar, in short, to that of +the places haunted by the Lycosa. Properly moistened into a paste, +the artificial soil is heaped, layer by layer, around a central reed, +of a bore equal to that of the animal’s natural burrow. +When the receptacle is filled to the top, I withdraw the reed, which +leaves a yawning, perpendicular shaft. I thus obtain the abode +which shall replace that of the fields.</p> +<p>To find the hermit to inhabit it is merely the matter of a walk in +the neighbourhood. When removed from her own dwelling, which is +turned topsy-turvy by my trowel, and placed in possession of the den +produced by my art, the Lycosa at once disappears into that den. +She does not come out again, seeks nothing better elsewhere. A +large wire-gauze cover rests on the soil in the pan and prevents escape.</p> +<p>In any case, the watch, in this respect, makes no demands upon my +diligence. The prisoner is satisfied with her new abode and manifests +no regret for her natural burrow. There is no attempt at flight +on her part. Let me not omit to add that each pan must receive +not more than one inhabitant. The Lycosa is very intolerant. +To her, a neighbour is fair game, to be eaten without scruple when one +has might on one’s side. Time was when, unaware of this +fierce intolerance, which is more savage still at breeding-time, I saw +hideous orgies perpetrated in my overstocked cages. I shall have +occasion to describe those tragedies later.</p> +<p>Let us meanwhile consider the isolated Lycosae. They do not +touch up the dwelling which I have moulded for them with a bit of reed; +at most, now and again, perhaps with the object of forming a lounge +or bedroom at the bottom, they fling out a few loads of rubbish. +But all, little by little, build the kerb that is to edge the mouth.</p> +<p>I have given them plenty of first-rate materials, far superior to +those which they use when left to their own resources. These consist, +first, for the foundations, of little smooth stones, some of which are +as large as an almond. With this road-metal are mingled short +strips of raphia, or palm-fibre, flexible ribbons, easily bent. +These stand for the Spider’s usual basket-work, consisting of +slender stalks and dry blades of grass. Lastly, by way of an unprecedented +treasure, never yet employed by a Lycosa, I place at my captives’ +disposal some thick threads of wool, cut into inch lengths.</p> +<p>As I wish, at the same time, to find out whether my animals, with +the magnificent lenses of their eyes, are able to distinguish colours +and prefer one colour to another, I mix up bits of wool of different +hues: there are red, green, white and yellow pieces. If the Spider +have any preference, she can choose where she pleases.</p> +<p>The Lycosa always works at night, a regrettable circumstance, which +does not allow me to follow the worker’s methods. I see +the result; and that is all. Were I to visit the building-yard +by the light of a lantern, I should be no wiser. The animal, which +is very shy, would at once dive into her lair; and I should have lost +my sleep for nothing. Furthermore, she is not a very diligent +labourer; she likes to take her time. Two or three bits of wool +or raphia placed in position represent a whole night’s work. +And to this slowness we must add long spells of utter idleness.</p> +<p>Two months pass; and the result of my liberality surpasses my expectations. +Possessing more windfalls than they know what to do with, all picked +up in their immediate neighbourhood, my Lycosae have built themselves +donjon-keeps the like of which their race has not yet known. Around +the orifice, on a slightly sloping bank, small, flat, smooth stones +have been laid to form a broken, flagged pavement. The larger +stones, which are Cyclopean blocks compared with the size of the animal +that has shifted them, are employed as abundantly as the others.</p> +<p>On this rockwork stands the donjon. It is an interlacing of +raphia and bits of wool, picked up at random, without distinction of +shade. Red and white, green and yellow are mixed without any attempt +at order. The Lycosa is indifferent to the joys of colour.</p> +<p>The ultimate result is a sort of muff, a couple of inches high. +Bands of silk, supplied by the spinnerets, unite the pieces, so that +the whole resembles a coarse fabric. Without being absolutely +faultless, for there are always awkward pieces on the outside, which +the worker could not handle, the gaudy building is not devoid of merit. +The bird lining its nest would do no better. Whoso sees the curious, +many-coloured productions in my pans takes them for an outcome of my +industry, contrived with a view to some experimental mischief; and his +surprise is great when I confess who the real author is. No one +would ever believe the Spider capable of constructing such a monument.</p> +<p>It goes without saying that, in a state of liberty, on our barren +waste-lands, the Lycosa does not indulge in such sumptuous architecture. +I have given the reason: she is too great a stay-at-home to go in search +of materials and she makes use of the limited resources which she finds +around her. Bits of earth, small chips of stone, a few twigs, +a few withered grasses: that is all, or nearly all. Wherefore +the work is generally quite modest and reduced to a parapet that hardly +attracts attention.</p> +<p>My captives teach us that, when materials are plentiful, especially +textile materials that remove all fears of landslip, the Lycosa delights +in tall turrets. She understands the art of donjon-building and +puts it into practice as often as she possesses the means.</p> +<p>This art is akin to another, from which it is apparently derived. +If the sun be fierce or if rain threaten, the Lycosa closes the entrance +to her dwelling with a silken trellis-work, wherein she embeds different +matters, often the remnants of victims which she has devoured. +The ancient Gael nailed the heads of his vanquished enemies to the door +of his hut. In the same way, the fierce Spider sticks the skulls +of her prey into the lid of her cave. These lumps look very well +on the ogre’s roof; but we must be careful not to mistake them +for warlike trophies. The animal knows nothing of our barbarous +bravado. Everything at the threshold of the burrow is used indiscriminately: +fragments of Locust, vegetable remains and especially particles of earth. +A Dragon-fly’s head baked by the sun is as good as a bit of gravel +and no better.</p> +<p>And so, with silk and all sorts of tiny materials, the Lycosa builds +a lidded cap to the entrance of her home. I am not well acquainted +with the reasons that prompt her to barricade herself indoors, particularly +as the seclusion is only temporary and varies greatly in duration. +I obtain precise details from a tribe of Lycosae wherewith the enclosure, +as will be seen later, happens to be thronged in consequence of my investigations +into the dispersal of the family.</p> +<p>At the time of the tropical August heat, I see my Lycosae, now this +batch, now that, building, at the entrance to the burrow, a convex ceiling, +which is difficult to distinguish from the surrounding soil. Can +it be to protect themselves from the too-vivid light? This is +doubtful; for, a few days later, though the power of the sun remain +the same, the roof is broken open and the Spider reappears at her door, +where she revels in the torrid heat of the dog-days.</p> +<p>Later, when October comes, if it be rainy weather, she retires once +more under a roof, as though she were guarding herself against the damp. +Let us not be too positive of anything, however: often, when it is raining +hard, the Spider bursts her ceiling and leaves her house open to the +skies.</p> +<p>Perhaps the lid is only put on for serious domestic events, notably +for the laying. I do, in fact, perceive young Lycosae who shut +themselves in before they have attained the dignity of motherhood and +who reappear, some time later, with the bag containing the eggs hung +to their stern. The inference that they close the door with the +object of securing greater quiet while spinning the maternal cocoon +would not be in keeping with the unconcern displayed by the majority. +I find some who lay their eggs in an open burrow; I come upon some who +weave their cocoon and cram it with eggs in the open air, before they +even own a residence. In short, I do not succeed in fathoming +the reasons that cause the burrow to be closed, no matter what the weather, +hot or cold, wet or dry.</p> +<p>The fact remains that the lid is broken and repaired repeatedly, +sometimes on the same day. In spite of the earthy casing, the +silk woof gives it the requisite pliancy to cleave when pushed by the +anchorite and to rip open without falling into ruins. Swept back +to the circumference of the mouth and increased by the wreckage of further +ceilings, it becomes a parapet, which the Lycosa raises by degrees in +her long moments of leisure. The bastion which surmounts the burrow, +therefore, takes its origin from the temporary lid. The turret +derives from the split ceiling.</p> +<p>What is the purpose of this turret? My pans will tell us that. +An enthusiastic votary of the chase, so long as she is not permanently +fixed, the Lycosa, once she has set up house, prefers to lie in ambush +and wait for the quarry. Every day, when the heat is greatest, +I see my captives come up slowly from under ground and lean upon the +battlements of their woolly castle-keep. They are then really +magnificent in their stately gravity. With their swelling belly +contained within the aperture, their head outside, their glassy eyes +staring, their legs gathered for a spring, for hours and hours they +wait, motionless, bathing voluptuously in the sun.</p> +<p>Should a tit-bit to her liking happen to pass, forthwith the watcher +darts from her tall tower, swift as an arrow from the bow. With +a dagger-thrust in the neck, she stabs the jugular of the Locust, Dragon-fly +or other prey whereof I am the purveyor; and she as quickly scales the +donjon and retires with her capture. The performance is a wonderful +exhibition of skill and speed.</p> +<p>Very seldom is a quarry missed, provided that it pass at a convenient +distance, within the range of the huntress’ bound. But, +if the prey be at some distance, for instance on the wire of the cage, +the Lycosa takes no notice of it. Scorning to go in pursuit, she +allows it to roam at will. She never strikes except when sure +of her stroke. She achieves this by means of her tower. +Hiding behind the wall, she sees the stranger advancing, keeps her eyes +on him and suddenly pounces when he comes within reach. These +abrupt tactics make the thing a certainty. Though he were winged +and swift of flight, the unwary one who approaches the ambush is lost.</p> +<p>This presumes, it is true, an exemplary patience on the Lycosa’s +part; for the burrow has naught that can serve to entice victims. +At best, the ledge provided by the turret may, at rare intervals, tempt +some weary wayfarer to use it as a resting-place. But, if the +quarry do not come to-day, it is sure to come to-morrow, the next day, +or later, for the Locusts hop innumerable in the waste-land, nor are +they always able to regulate their leaps. Some day or other, chance +is bound to bring one of them within the purlieus of the burrow. +This is the moment to spring upon the pilgrim from the ramparts. +Until then, we maintain a stoical vigilance. We shall dine when +we can; but we shall end by dining.</p> +<p>The Lycosa, therefore, well aware of these lingering eventualities, +waits and is not unduly distressed by a prolonged abstinence. +She has an accommodating stomach, which is satisfied to be gorged to-day +and to remain empty afterwards for goodness knows how long. I +have sometimes neglected my catering-duties for weeks at a time; and +my boarders have been none the worse for it. After a more or less +protracted fast, they do not pine away, but are smitten with a wolf-like +hunger. All these ravenous eaters are alike: they guzzle to excess +to-day, in anticipation of to-morrow’s dearth.</p> +<p>In her youth, before she has a burrow, the Lycosa earns her living +in another manner. Clad in grey like her elders, but without the +black-velvet apron which she receives on attaining the marriageable +age, she roams among the scrubby grass. This is true hunting. +Should a suitable quarry heave in sight, the Spider pursues it, drives +it from its shelters, follows it hot-foot. The fugitive gains +the heights, makes as though to fly away. He has not the time. +With an upward leap, the Lycosa grabs him before he can rise.</p> +<p>I am charmed with the agility wherewith my yearling boarders seize +the Flies which I provide for them. In vain does the Fly take +refuge a couple of inches up, on some blade of grass. With a sudden +spring into the air, the Spider pounces on the prey. No Cat is +quicker in catching her Mouse.</p> +<p>But these are the feats of youth not handicapped by obesity. +Later, when a heavy paunch, dilated with eggs and silk, has to be trailed +along, those gymnastic performances become impracticable. The +Lycosa then digs herself a settled abode, a hunting-box, and sits in +her watch-tower, on the look-out for game.</p> +<p>When and how is the burrow obtained wherein the Lycosa, once a vagrant, +now a stay-at-home, is to spend the remainder of her long life? +We are in autumn, the weather is already turning cool. This is +how the Field Cricket sets to work: as long as the days are fine and +the nights not too cold, the future chorister of spring rambles over +the fallows, careless of a local habitation. At critical moments, +the cover of a dead leaf provides him with a temporary shelter. +In the end, the burrow, the permanent dwelling, is dug as the inclement +season draws nigh.</p> +<p>The Lycosa shares the Cricket’s views: like him, she finds +a thousand pleasures in the vagabond life. With September comes +the nuptial badge, the black-velvet bib. The Spiders meet at night, +by the soft moonlight: they romp together, they eat the beloved shortly +after the wedding; by day, they scour the country, they track the game +on the short-pile, grassy carpet, they take their fill of the joys of +the sun. That is much better than solitary meditation at the bottom +of a well. And so it is not rare to see young mothers dragging +their bag of eggs, or even already carrying their family, and as yet +without a home.</p> +<p>In October, it is time to settle down. We then, in fact, find +two sorts of burrows, which differ in diameter. The larger, bottle-neck +burrows belong to the old matrons, who have owned their house for two +years at least. The smaller, of the width of a thick lead-pencil, +contain the young mothers, born that year. By dint of long and +leisurely alterations, the novice’s earths will increase in depth +as well as in diameter and become roomy abodes, similar to those of +the grandmothers. In both, we find the owner and her family, the +latter sometimes already hatched and sometimes still enclosed in the +satin wallet.</p> +<p>Seeing no digging-tools, such as the excavation of the dwelling seemed +to me to require, I wondered whether the Lycosa might not avail herself +of some chance gallery, the work of the Cicada or the Earth-worm. +This ready-made tunnel, thought I, must shorten the labours of the Spider, +who appears to be so badly off for tools; she would only have to enlarge +it and put it in order. I was wrong: the burrow is excavated, +from start to finish, by her unaided labour.</p> +<p>Then where are the digging-implements? We think of the legs, +of the claws. We think of them, but reflection tells us that tools +such as these would not do: they are too long and too difficult to wield +in a confined space. What is required is the miner’s short-handled +pick, wherewith to drive hard, to insert, to lever and to extract; what +is required is the sharp point that enters the earth and crumbles it +into fragments. There remain the Lycosa’s fangs, delicate +weapons which we at first hesitate to associate with such work, so illogical +does it seem to dig a pit with surgeon’s scalpels.</p> +<p>The fangs are a pair of sharp, curved points, which, when at rest, +crook like a finger and take shelter between two strong pillars. +The Cat sheathes her claws under the velvet of the paw, to preserve +their edge and sharpness. In the same way, the Lycosa protects +her poisoned daggers by folding them within the case of two powerful +columns, which come plumb on the surface and contain the muscles that +work them.</p> +<p>Well, this surgical outfit, intended for stabbing the jugular artery +of the prey, suddenly becomes a pick-axe and does rough navvy’s +work. To witness the underground digging is impossible; but we +can, at least, with the exercise of a little patience, see the rubbish +carted away. If I watch my captives, without tiring, at a very +early hour—for the work takes place mostly at night and at long +intervals—in the end I catch them coming up with a load. +Contrary to what I expected, the legs take no part in the carting. +It is the mouth that acts as the barrow. A tiny ball of earth +is held between the fangs and is supported by the palpi, or feelers, +which are little arms employed in the service of the mouth-parts. +The Lycosa descends cautiously from her turret, goes to some distance +to get rid of her burden and quickly dives down again to bring up more.</p> +<p>We have seen enough: we know that the Lycosa’s fangs, those +lethal weapons, are not afraid to bite into clay and gravel. They +knead the excavated rubbish into pellets, take up the mass of earth +and carry it outside. The rest follows naturally; it is the fangs +that dig, delve and extract. How finely-tempered they must be, +not to be blunted by this well-sinker’s work and to do duty presently +in the surgical operation of stabbing the neck!</p> +<p>I have said that the repairs and extensions of the burrow are made +at long intervals. From time to time, the circular parapet receives +additions and becomes a little higher; less frequently still, the dwelling +is enlarged and deepened. As a rule, the mansion remains as it +was for a whole season. Towards the end of winter, in March more +than at any other period, the Lycosa seems to wish to give herself a +little more space. This is the moment to subject her to certain +tests.</p> +<p>We know that the Field Cricket, when removed from his burrow and +caged under conditions that would allow him to dig himself a new home +should the fit seize him, prefers to tramp from one casual shelter to +another, or rather abandons every idea of creating a permanent residence. +There is a short season whereat the instinct for building a subterranean +gallery is imperatively aroused. When this season is past, the +excavating artist, if accidentally deprived of his abode, becomes a +wandering Bohemian, careless of a lodging. He has forgotten his +talents and he sleeps out.</p> +<p>That the bird, the nest-builder, should neglect its art when it has +no brood to care for is perfectly logical: it builds for its family, +not for itself. But what shall we say of the Cricket, who is exposed +to a thousand mishaps when away from home? The protection of a +roof would be of great use to him; and the giddy-pate does not give +it a thought, though he is very strong and more capable than ever of +digging with his powerful jaws.</p> +<p>What reason can we allege for this neglect? None, unless it +be that the season of strenuous burrowing is past. The instincts +have a calendar of their own. At the given hour, suddenly they +awaken; as suddenly, afterwards, they fall asleep. The ingenious +become incompetent when the prescribed period is ended.</p> +<p>On a subject of this kind, we can consult the Spider of the waste-lands. +I catch an old Lycosa in the fields and house her, that same day, under +wire, in a burrow where I have prepared a soil to her liking. +If, by my contrivances and with a bit of reed, I have previously moulded +a burrow roughly representing the one from which I took her, the Spider +enters it forthwith and seems pleased with her new residence. +The product of my art is accepted as her lawful property and undergoes +hardly any alterations. In course of time, a bastion is erected +around the orifice; the top of the gallery is cemented with silk; and +that is all. In this establishment of my building, the animal’s +behaviour remains what it would be under natural conditions.</p> +<p>But place the Lycosa on the surface of the ground, without first +shaping a burrow. What will the homeless Spider do? Dig +herself a dwelling, one would think. She has the strength to do +so; she is in the prime of life. Besides, the soil is similar +to that whence I ousted her and suits the operation perfectly. +We therefore expect to see the Spider settled before long in a shaft +of her own construction.</p> +<p>We are disappointed. Weeks pass and not an effort is made, +not one. Demoralized by the absence of an ambush, the Lycosa hardly +vouchsafes a glance at the game which I serve up. The Crickets +pass within her reach in vain; most often she scorns them. She +slowly wastes away with fasting and boredom. At length, she dies.</p> +<p>Take up your miner’s trade again, poor fool! Make yourself +a home, since you know how to, and life will be sweet to you for many +a long day yet: the weather is fine and victuals plentiful. Dig, +delve, go underground, where safety lies. Like an idiot, you refrain; +and you perish. Why?</p> +<p>Because the craft which you were wont to ply is forgotten; because +the days of patient digging are past and your poor brain is unable to +work back. To do a second time what has been done already is beyond +your wit. For all your meditative air, you cannot solve the problem +of how to reconstruct that which is vanished and gone.</p> +<p>Let us now see what we can do with younger Lycosae, who are at the +burrowing-stage. I dig out five or six at the end of February. +They are half the size of the old ones; their burrows are equal in diameter +to my little finger. Rubbish quite fresh-spread around the pit +bears witness to the recent date of the excavations.</p> +<p>Relegated to their wire cages, these young Lycosae behave differently +according as the soil placed at their disposal is or is not already +provided with a burrow made by me. A burrow is hardly the word: +I give them but the nucleus of a shaft, about an inch deep, to lure +them on. When in possession of this rudimentary lair, the Spider +does not hesitate to pursue the work which I have interrupted in the +fields. At night, she digs with a will. I can see this by +the heap of rubbish flung aside. She at last obtains a house to +suit her, a house surmounted by the usual turret.</p> +<p>The others, on the contrary, those Spiders for whom the thrust of +my pencil has not contrived an entrance-hall representing, to a certain +extent, the natural gallery whence I dislodged them, absolutely refuse +to work; and they die, notwithstanding the abundance of provisions.</p> +<p>The first pursue the season’s task. They were digging +when I caught them; and, carried away by the enthusiasm of their activity, +they go on digging inside my cages. Taken in by my decoy-shaft, +they deepen the imprint of the pencil as though they were deepening +their real vestibule. They do not begin their labours over again; +they continue them.</p> +<p>The second, not having this inducement, this semblance of a burrow +mistaken for their own work, forsake the idea of digging and allow themselves +to die, because they would have to travel back along the chain of actions +and to resume the pick-strokes of the start. To begin all over +again requires reflection, a quality wherewith they are not endowed.</p> +<p>To the insect—and we have seen this in many earlier cases—what +is done is done and cannot be taken up again. The hands of a watch +do not move backwards. The insect behaves in much the same way. +Its activity urges it in one direction, ever forwards, without allowing +it to retrace its steps, even when an accident makes this necessary.</p> +<p>What the Mason-bees and the others taught us erewhile the Lycosa +now confirms in her manner. Incapable of taking fresh pains to +build herself a second dwelling, when the first is done for, she will +go on the tramp, she will break into a neighbour’s house, she +will run the risk of being eaten should she not prove the stronger, +but she will never think of making herself a home by starting afresh.</p> +<p>What a strange intellect is that of the animal, a mixture of mechanical +routine and subtle brain-power! Does it contain gleams that contrive, +wishes that pursue a definite object? Following in the wake of +so many others, the Lycosa warrants us in entertaining a doubt.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V: THE NARBONNE LYCOSA: THE FAMILY</h2> +<p>For three weeks and more, the Lycosa trails the bag of eggs hanging +to her spinnerets. The reader will remember the experiments described +in the third chapter of this volume, particularly those with the cork +ball and the thread pellet which the Spider so foolishly accepts in +exchange for the real pill. Well, this exceedingly dull-witted +mother, satisfied with aught that knocks against her heels, is about +to make us wonder at her devotion.</p> +<p>Whether she come up from her shaft to lean upon the kerb and bask +in the sun, whether she suddenly retire underground in the face of danger, +or whether she be roaming the country before settling down, never does +she let go her precious bag, that very cumbrous burden in walking, climbing +or leaping. If, by some accident, it become detached from the +fastening to which it is hung, she flings herself madly on her treasure +and lovingly embraces it, ready to bite whoso would take it from her. +I myself am sometimes the thief. I then hear the points of the +poison-fangs grinding against the steel of my pincers, which tug in +one direction while the Lycosa tugs in the other. But let us leave +the animal alone: with a quick touch of the spinnerets, the pill is +restored to its place; and the Spider strides off, still menacing.</p> +<p>Towards the end of summer, all the householders, old or young, whether +in captivity on the window-sill or at liberty in the paths of the enclosure, +supply me daily with the following improving sight. In the morning, +as soon as the sun is hot and beats upon their burrow, the anchorites +come up from the bottom with their bag and station themselves at the +opening. Long siestas on the threshold in the sun are the order +of the day throughout the fine season; but, at the present time, the +position adopted is a different one. Formerly, the Lycosa came +out into the sun for her own sake. Leaning on the parapet, she +had the front half of her body outside the pit and the hinder half inside.</p> +<p>The eyes took their fill of light; the belly remained in the dark. +When carrying her egg-bag, the Spider reverses the posture: the front +is in the pit, the rear outside. With her hind-legs she holds +the white pill bulging with germs lifted above the entrance; gently +she turns and returns it, so as to present every side to the life-giving +rays. And this goes on for half the day, so long as the temperature +is high; and it is repeated daily, with exquisite patience, during three +or four weeks. To hatch its eggs, the bird covers them with the +quilt of its breast; it strains them to the furnace of its heart. +The Lycosa turns hers in front of the hearth of hearths, she gives them +the sun as an incubator.</p> +<p>In the early days of September, the young ones, who have been some +time hatched, are ready to come out. The pill rips open along +the middle fold. We read of the origin of this fold in an earlier +chapter. <a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24">{24}</a> +Does the mother, feeling the brood quicken inside the satin wrapper, +herself break open the vessel at the opportune moment? It seems +probable. On the other hand, there may be a spontaneous bursting, +such as we shall see later in the Banded Epeira’s balloon, a tough +wallet which opens a breach of its own accord, long after the mother +has ceased to exist.</p> +<p>The whole family emerges from the bag straightway. Then and +there, the youngsters climb to the mother’s back. As for +the empty bag, now a worthless shred, it is flung out of the burrow; +the Lycosa does not give it a further thought. Huddled together, +sometimes in two or three layers, according to their number, the little +ones cover the whole back of the mother, who, for seven or eight months +to come, will carry her family night and day. Nowhere can we hope +to see a more edifying domestic picture than that of the Lycosa clothed +in her young.</p> +<p>From time to time, I meet a little band of gipsies passing along +the high-road on their way to some neighbouring fair. The new-born +babe mewls on the mother’s breast, in a hammock formed out of +a kerchief. The last-weaned is carried pick-a-back; a third toddles +clinging to its mother’s skirts; others follow closely, the biggest +in the rear, ferreting in the blackberry-laden hedgerows. It is +a magnificent spectacle of happy-go-lucky fruitfulness. They go +their way, penniless and rejoicing. The sun is hot and the earth +is fertile.</p> +<p>But how this picture pales before that of the Lycosa, that incomparable +gipsy whose brats are numbered by the hundred! And one and all +of them, from September to April, without a moment’s respite, +find room upon the patient creature’s back, where they are content +to lead a tranquil life and to be carted about.</p> +<p>The little ones are very good; none moves, none seeks a quarrel with +his neighbours. Clinging together, they form a continuous drapery, +a shaggy ulster under which the mother becomes unrecognizable. +Is it an animal, a fluff of wool, a cluster of small seeds fastened +to one another? ’Tis impossible to tell at the first glance.</p> +<p>The equilibrium of this living blanket is not so firm but that falls +often occur, especially when the mother climbs from indoors and comes +to the threshold to let the little ones take the sun. The least +brush against the gallery unseats a part of the family. The mishap +is not serious. The Hen, fidgeting about her Chicks, looks for +the strays, calls them, gathers them together. The Lycosa knows +not these maternal alarms. Impassively, she leaves those who drop +off to manage their own difficulty, which they do with wonderful quickness. +Commend me to those youngsters for getting up without whining, dusting +themselves and resuming their seat in the saddle! The unhorsed +ones promptly find a leg of the mother, the usual climbing-pole; they +swarm up it as fast as they can and recover their places on the bearer’s +back. The living bark of animals is reconstructed in the twinkling +of an eye.</p> +<p>To speak here of mother-love were, I think, extravagant. The +Lycosa’s affection for her offspring hardly surpasses that of +the plant, which is unacquainted with any tender feeling and nevertheless +bestows the nicest and most delicate care upon its seeds. The +animal, in many cases, knows no other sense of motherhood. What +cares the Lycosa for her brood! She accepts another’s as +readily as her own; she is satisfied so long as her back is burdened +with a swarming crowd, whether it issue from her ovaries or elsewhence. +There is no question here of real maternal affection.</p> +<p>I have described elsewhere the prowess of the Copris <a name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25">{25}</a> +watching over cells that are not her handiwork and do not contain her +offspring. With a zeal which even the additional labour laid upon +her does not easily weary, she removes the mildew from the alien dung-balls, +which far exceed the regular nests in number; she gently scrapes and +polishes and repairs them; she listens to them attentively and enquires +by ear into each nursling’s progress. Her real collection +could not receive greater care. Her own family or another’s: +it is all one to her.</p> +<p>The Lycosa is equally indifferent. I take a hair-pencil and +sweep the living burden from one of my Spiders, making it fall close +to another covered with her little ones. The evicted youngsters +scamper about, find the new mother’s legs outspread, nimbly clamber +up these and mount on the back of the obliging creature, who quietly +lets them have their way.</p> +<p>They slip in among the others, or, when the layer is too thick, push +to the front and pass from the abdomen to the thorax and even to the +head, though leaving the region of the eyes uncovered. It does +not do to blind the bearer: the common safety demands that. They +know this and respect the lenses of the eyes, however populous the assembly +be. The whole animal is now covered with a swarming carpet of +young, all except the legs, which must preserve their freedom of action, +and the under part of the body, where contact with the ground is to +be feared.</p> +<p>My pencil forces a third family upon the already overburdened Spider; +and this too is peacefully accepted. The youngsters huddle up +closer, lie one on top of the other in layers and room is found for +all. The Lycosa has lost the last semblance of an animal, has +become a nameless bristling thing that walks about. Falls are +frequent and are followed by continual climbings.</p> +<p>I perceive that I have reached the limits not of the bearer’s +good-will, but of equilibrium. The Spider would adopt an indefinite +further number of foundlings, if the dimensions of her back afforded +them a firm hold. Let us be content with this. Let us restore +each family to its mother, drawing at random from the lot. There +must necessarily be interchanges, but that is of no importance: real +children and adopted children are the same thing in the Lycosa’s +eyes.</p> +<p>One would like to know if, apart from my artifices, in circumstances +where I do not interfere, the good-natured dry-nurse sometimes burdens +herself with a supplementary family; it would also be interesting to +learn what comes of this association of lawful offspring and strangers. +I have ample materials wherewith to obtain an answer to both questions. +I have housed in the same cage two elderly matrons laden with youngsters. +Each has her home as far removed from the other’s as the size +of the common pan permits. The distance is nine inches or more. +It is not enough. Proximity soon kindles fierce jealousies between +those intolerant creatures, who are obliged to live far apart, so as +to secure adequate hunting-grounds.</p> +<p>One morning, I catch the two harridans fighting out their quarrel +on the floor. The loser is laid flat upon her back; the victress, +belly to belly with her adversary, clutches her with her legs and prevents +her from moving a limb. Both have their poison-fangs wide open, +ready to bite without yet daring, so mutually formidable are they. +After a certain period of waiting, during which the pair merely exchange +threats, the stronger of the two, the one on top, closes her lethal +engine and grinds the head of the prostrate foe. Then she calmly +devours the deceased by small mouthfuls.</p> +<p>Now what do the youngsters do, while their mother is being eaten? +Easily consoled, heedless of the atrocious scene, they climb on the +conqueror’s back and quietly take their places among the lawful +family. The ogress raises no objection, accepts them as her own. +She makes a meal off the mother and adopts the orphans.</p> +<p>Let us add that, for many months yet, until the final emancipation +comes, she will carry them without drawing any distinction between them +and her own young. Henceforth, the two families, united in so +tragic a fashion, will form but one. We see how greatly out of +place it would be to speak, in this connection, of mother-love and its +fond manifestations.</p> +<p>Does the Lycosa at least feed the younglings who, for seven months, +swarm upon her back? Does she invite them to the banquet when +she has secured a prize? I thought so at first; and, anxious to +assist at the family repast, I devoted special attention to watching +the mothers eat. As a rule, the prey is consumed out of sight, +in the burrow; but sometimes also a meal is taken on the threshold, +in the open air. Besides, it is easy to rear the Lycosa and her +family in a wire-gauze cage, with a layer of earth wherein the captive +will never dream of sinking a well, such work being out of season. +Everything then happens in the open.</p> +<p>Well, while the mother munches, chews, expresses the juices and swallows, +the youngsters do not budge from their camping-ground on her back. +Not one quits its place nor gives a sign of wishing to slip down and +join in the meal. Nor does the mother extend an invitation to +them to come and recruit themselves, nor put any broken victuals aside +for them. She feeds and the others look on, or rather remain indifferent +to what is happening. Their perfect quiet during the Lycosa’s +feast points to the posession of a stomach that knows no cravings.</p> +<p>Then with what are they sustained, during their seven months’ +upbringing on the mother’s back? One conceives a notion +of exudations supplied by the bearer’s body, in which case the +young would feed on their mother, after the manner of parasitic vermin, +and gradually drain her strength.</p> +<p>We must abandon this notion. Never are they seen to put their +mouths to the skin that should be a sort of teat to them. On the +other hand, the Lycosa, far from being exhausted and shrivelling, keeps +perfectly well and plump. She has the same pot-belly when she +finishes rearing her young as when she began. She has not lost +weight: far from it; on the contrary, she has put on flesh: she has +gained the wherewithal to beget a new family next summer, one as numerous +as to-day’s.</p> +<p>Once more, with what do the little ones keep up their strength? +We do not like to suggest reserves supplied by the egg as rectifying +the beastie’s expenditure of vital force, especially when we consider +that those reserves, themselves so close to nothing, must be economized +in view of the silk, a material of the highest importance, of which +a plentiful use will be made presently. There must be other powers +at play in the tiny animal’s machinery.</p> +<p>Total abstinence from food could be understood, if it were accompanied +by inertia: immobility is not life. But the young Lycosae, although +usually quiet on their mother’s back, are at all times ready for +exercise and for agile swarming. When they fall from the maternal +perambulator, they briskly pick themselves up, briskly scramble up a +leg and make their way to the top. It is a splendidly nimble and +spirited performance. Besides, once seated, they have to keep +a firm balance in the mass; they have to stretch and stiffen their little +limbs in order to hang on to their neighbours. As a matter of +fact, there is no absolute rest for them. Now physiology teaches +us that not a fibre works without some expenditure of energy. +The animal, which can be likened, in no small measure, to our industrial +machines, demands, on the one hand, the renovation of its organism, +which wears out with movement, and, on the other, the maintenance of +the heat transformed into action. We can compare it with the locomotive-engine. +As the iron horse performs its work, it gradually wears out its pistons, +its rods, its wheels, its boiler-tubes, all of which have to be made +good from time to time. The founder and the smith repair it, supply +it, so to speak, with ‘plastic food,’ the food that becomes +embodied with the whole and forms part of it. But, though it have +just come from the engine-shop, it is still inert. To acquire +the power of movement, it must receive from the stoker a supply of ‘energy-producing +food;’ in other words, he lights a few shovelfuls of coal in its +inside. This heat will produce mechanical work.</p> +<p>Even so with the beast. As nothing is made from nothing, the +egg supplies first the materials of the new-born animal; then the plastic +food, the smith of living creatures, increases the body, up to a certain +limit, and renews it as it wears away. The stoker works at the +same time, without stopping. Fuel, the source of energy, makes +but a short stay in the system, where it is consumed and furnishes heat, +whence movement is derived. Life is a fire-box. Warmed by +its food, the animal machine moves, walks, runs, jumps, swims, flies, +sets its locomotory apparatus going in a thousand manners.</p> +<p>To return to the young Lycosae, they grow no larger until the period +of their emancipation. I find them at the age of seven months +the same as when I saw them at their birth. The egg supplied the +materials necessary for their tiny frames; and, as the loss of waste +substance is, for the moment, excessively small, or even <i>nil</i>, +additional plastic food is not needed so long as the beastie does not +grow. In this respect, the prolonged abstinence presents no difficulty. +But there remains the question of energy-producing food, which is indispensable, +for the little Lycosa moves, when necessary, and very actively at that. +To what shall we attribute the heat expended upon action, when the animal +takes absolutely no nourishment?</p> +<p>An idea suggests itself. We say to ourselves that, without +being life, a machine is something more than matter, for man has added +a little of his mind to it. Now the iron beast, consuming its +ration of coal, is really browsing the ancient foliage of arborescent +ferns in which solar energy has accumulated.</p> +<p>Beasts of flesh and blood act no otherwise. Whether they mutually +devour one another or levy tribute on the plant, they invariably quicken +themselves with the stimulant of the sun’s heat, a heat stored +in grass, fruit, seed and those which feed on such. The sun, the +soul of the universe, is the supreme dispenser of energy.</p> +<p>Instead of being served up through the intermediary of food and passing +through the ignominious circuit of gastric chemistry, could not this +solar energy penetrate the animal directly and charge it with activity, +even as the battery charges an accumulator with power? Why not +live on sun, seeing that, after all, we find naught but sun in the fruits +which we consume?</p> +<p>Chemical science, that bold revolutionary, promises to provide us +with synthetic food-stuffs. The laboratory and the factory will +take the place of the farm. Why should not physical science step +in as well? It would leave the preparation of plastic food to +the chemist’s retorts; it would reserve for itself that of energy-producing +food, which, reduced to its exact terms, ceases to be matter. +With the aid of some ingenious apparatus, it would pump into us our +daily ration of solar energy, to be later expended in movement, whereby +the machine would be kept going without the often painful assistance +of the stomach and its adjuncts. What a delightful world, where +one would lunch off a ray of sunshine!</p> +<p>Is it a dream, or the anticipation of a remote reality? The +problem is one of the most important that science can set us. +Let us first hear the evidence of the young Lycosae regarding its possibilities.</p> +<p>For seven months, without any material nourishment, they expend strength +in moving. To wind up the mechanism of their muscles, they recruit +themselves direct with heat and light. During the time when she +was dragging the bag of eggs behind her, the mother, at the best moments +of the day, came and held up her pill to the sun. With her two +hind-legs, she lifted it out of the ground, into the full light; slowly +she turned it and returned it, so that every side might receive its +share of the vivifying rays. Well, this bath of life, which awakened +the germs, is now prolonged to keep the tender babes active.</p> +<p>Daily, if the sky be clear, the Lycosa, carrying her young, comes +up from the burrow, leans on the kerb and spends long hours basking +in the sun. Here, on their mother’s back, the youngsters +stretch their limbs delightedly, saturate themselves with heat, take +in reserves of motor power, absorb energy.</p> +<p>They are motionless; but, if I only blow upon them, they stampede +as nimbly as though a hurricane were passing. Hurriedly, they +disperse; hurriedly, they reassemble: a proof that, without material +nourishment, the little animal machine is always at full pressure, ready +to work. When the shade comes, mother and sons go down again, +surfeited with solar emanations. The feast of energy at the Sun +Tavern is finished for the day. It is repeated in the same way +daily, if the weather be mild, until the hour of emancipation comes, +followed by the first mouthfuls of solid food.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI: THE NARBONNE LYCOSA: THE CLIMBING-INSTINCT</h2> +<p>The month of March comes to an end; and the departure of the youngsters +begins, in glorious weather, during the hottest hours of the morning. +Laden with her swarming burden, the mother Lycosa is outside her burrow, +squatting on the parapet at the entrance. She lets them do as +they please; as though indifferent to what is happening, she exhibits +neither encouragement nor regret. Whoso will goes; whoso will +remains behind.</p> +<p>First these, then those, according as they feel themselves duly soaked +with sunshine, the little ones leave the mother in batches, run about +for a moment on the ground and then quickly reach the trellis-work of +the cage, which they climb with surprising alacrity. They pass +through the meshes, they clamber right to the top of the citadel. +All, with not one exception, make for the heights, instead of roaming +on the ground, as might reasonably be expected from the eminently earthly +habits of the Lycosae; all ascend the dome, a strange procedure whereof +I do not yet guess the object.</p> +<p>I receive a hint from the upright ring that finishes the top of the +cage. The youngsters hurry to it. It represents the porch +of their gymnasium. They hang out threads across the opening; +they stretch others from the ring to the nearest points of the trellis-work. +On these foot-bridges, they perform slack-rope exercises amid endless +comings and goings. The tiny legs open out from time to time and +straddle as though to reach the most distant points. I begin to +realize that they are acrobats aiming at loftier heights than those +of the dome.</p> +<p>I top the trellis with a branch that doubles the attainable height. +The bustling crowd hastily scrambles up it, reaches the tip of the topmost +twigs and thence sends out threads that attach themselves to every surrounding +object. These form so many suspension-bridges; and my beasties +nimbly run along them, incessantly passing to and fro. One would +say that they wished to climb higher still. I will endeavour to +satisfy their desires.</p> +<p>I take a nine-foot reed, with tiny branches spreading right up to +the top, and place it above the cage. The little Lycosae clamber +to the very summit. Here, longer threads are produced from the +rope-yard and are now left to float, anon converted into bridges by +the mere contact of the free end with the neighbouring supports. +The rope-dancers embark upon them and form garlands which the least +breath of air swings daintily. The thread is invisible when it +does not come between the eyes and the sun; and the whole suggests rows +of Gnats dancing an aerial ballet.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, teased by the air-currents, the delicate mooring +breaks and flies through space. Behold the emigrants off and away, +clinging to their thread. If the wind be favourable, they can +land at great distances. Their departure is thus continued for +a week or two, in bands more or less numerous, according to the temperature +and the brightness of the day. If the sky be overcast, none dreams +of leaving. The travellers need the kisses of the sun, which give +energy and vigour.</p> +<p>At last, the whole family has disappeared, carried afar by its flying-ropes. +The mother remains alone. The loss of her offspring hardly seems +to distress her. She retains her usual colour and plumpness, which +is a sign that the maternal exertions have not been too much for her.</p> +<p>I also notice an increased fervour in the chase. While burdened +with her family, she was remarkably abstemious, accepting only with +great reserve the game placed at her disposal. The coldness of +the season may have militated against copious refections; perhaps also +the weight of the little ones hampered her movements and made her more +discreet in attacking the prey.</p> +<p>To-day, cheered by the fine weather and able to move freely, she +hurries up from her lair each time I set a tit-bit to her liking buzzing +at the entrance to her burrow; she comes and takes from my fingers the +savoury Locust, the portly Anoxia; <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26">{26}</a> +and this performance is repeated daily, whenever I have the leisure +to devote to it. After a frugal winter, the time has come for +plentiful repasts.</p> +<p>This appetite tells us that the animal is not at the point of death; +one does not feast in this way with a played-out stomach. My boarders +are entering in full vigour upon their fourth year. In the winter, +in the fields, I used to find large mothers, carting their young, and +others not much more than half their size. The whole series, therefore, +represented three generations. And now, in my earthenware pans, +after the departure of the family, the old matrons still carry on and +continue as strong as ever. Every outward appearance tells us +that, after becoming great-grandmothers, they still keep themselves +fit for propagating their species.</p> +<p>The facts correspond with these anticipations. When September +returns, my captives are dragging a bag as bulky as that of last year. +For a long time, even when the eggs of the others have been hatched +for some weeks past, the mothers come daily to the threshold of the +burrow and hold out their wallets for incubation by the sun. Their +perseverance is not rewarded: nothing issues from the satin purse; nothing +stirs within. Why? Because, in the prison of my cages, the +eggs have had no father. Tired of waiting and at last recognizing +the barrenness of their produce, they push the bag of eggs outside the +burrow and trouble about it no more. At the return of spring, +by which time the family, if developed according to rule, would have +been emancipated, they die. The mighty Spider of the waste-lands, +therefore, attains to an even more patriarchal age than her neighbour +the Sacred Beetle: <a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27">{27}</a> +she lives for five years at the very least.</p> +<p>Let us leave the mothers to their business and return to the youngsters. +It is not without a certain surprise that we see the little Lycosae, +at the first moment of their emancipation, hasten to ascend the heights. +Destined to live on the ground, amidst the short grass, and afterwards +to settle in the permanent abode, a pit, they start by being enthusiastic +acrobats. Before descending to the low levels, their normal dwelling-place, +they affect lofty altitudes.</p> +<p>To rise higher and ever higher is their first need. I have +not, it seems, exhausted the limit of their climbing-instinct even with +a nine-foot pole, suitably furnished with branches to facilitate the +escalade. Those who have eagerly reached the very top wave their +legs, fumble in space as though for yet higher stalks. It behoves +us to begin again and under better conditions.</p> +<p>Although the Narbonne Lycosa, with her temporary yearning for the +heights, is more interesting than other Spiders, by reason of the fact +that her usual habitation is underground, she is not so striking at +swarming-time, because the youngsters, instead of all migrating at once, +leave the mother at different periods and in small batches. The +sight will be a finer one with the common Garden or Cross Spider, the +Diadem Epeira (<i>Epeira diadema</i>, LIN.), decorated with three white +crosses on her back.</p> +<p>She lays her eggs in November and dies with the first cold snap. +She is denied the Lycosa’s longevity. She leaves the natal +wallet early one spring and never sees the following spring. This +wallet, which contains the eggs, has none of the ingenious structure +which we admired in the Banded and in the Silky Epeira. No longer +do we see a graceful balloon-shape nor yet a paraboloid with a starry +base; no longer a tough, waterproof satin stuff; no longer a swan’s-down +resembling a fleecy, russet cloud; no longer an inner keg in which the +eggs are packed. The art of stout fabrics and of walls within +walls is unknown here.</p> +<p>The work of the Cross Spider is a pill of white silk, wrought into +a yielding felt, through which the new-born Spiders will easily work +their way, without the aid of the mother, long since dead, and without +having to rely upon its bursting at the given hour. It is about +the size of a damson.</p> +<p>We can judge the method of manufacture from the structure. +Like the Lycosa, whom we saw, in Chapter III., at work in one of my +earthenware pans, the Cross Spider, on the support supplied by a few +threads stretched between the nearest objects, begins by making a shallow +saucer of sufficient thickness to dispense with subsequent corrections. +The process is easily guessed. The tip of the abdomen goes up +and down, down and up with an even beat, while the worker shifts her +place a little. Each time, the spinnerets add a bit of thread +to the carpet already made.</p> +<p>When the requisite thickness is obtained, the mother empties her +ovaries, in one continuous flow, into the centre of the bowl. +Glued together by their inherent moisture, the eggs, of a handsome orange-yellow, +form a ball-shaped heap. The work of the spinnerets is resumed. +The ball of germs is covered with a silk cap, fashioned in the same +way as the saucer. The two halves of the work are so well joined +that the whole constitutes an unbroken sphere.</p> +<p>The Banded Epeira and the Silky Epeira, those experts in the manufacture +of rainproof textures, lay their eggs high up, on brushwood and bramble, +without shelter of any kind. The thick material of the wallets +is enough to protect the eggs from the inclemencies of the winter, especially +from damp. The Diadem Epeira, or Cross Spider, needs a cranny +for hers, which is contained in a non-waterproof felt. In a heap +of stones, well exposed to the sun, she will choose a large slab to +serve as a roof. She lodges her pill underneath it, in the company +of the hibernating Snail.</p> +<p>More often still, she prefers the thick tangle of some dwarf shrub, +standing eight or nine inches high and retaining its leaves in winter. +In the absence of anything better, a tuft of grass answers the purpose. +Whatever the hiding-place, the bag of eggs is always near the ground, +tucked away as well as may be, amid the surrounding twigs.</p> +<p>Save in the case of the roof supplied by a large stone, we see that +the site selected hardly satisfies proper hygienic needs. The +Epeira seems to realize this fact. By way of an additional protection, +even under a stone, she never fails to make a thatched roof for her +eggs. She builds them a covering with bits of fine, dry grass, +joined together with a little silk. The abode of the eggs becomes +a straw wigwam.</p> +<p>Good luck procures me two Cross Spiders’ nests, on the edge +of one of the paths in the enclosure, among some tufts of ground-cypress, +or lavender-cotton. This is just what I wanted for my plans. +The find is all the more valuable as the period of the exodus is near +at hand.</p> +<p>I prepare two lengths of bamboo, standing about fifteen feet high +and clustered with little twigs from top to bottom. I plant one +of them straight up in the tuft, beside the first nest. I clear +the surrounding ground, because the bushy vegetation might easily, thanks +to threads carried by the wind, divert the emigrants from the road which +I have laid out for them. The other bamboo I set up in the middle +of the yard, all by itself, some few steps from any outstanding object. +The second nest is removed as it is, shrub and all, and placed at the +bottom of the tall, ragged distaff.</p> +<p>The events expected are not long in coming. In the first fortnight +in May, a little earlier in one case, a little later in the other, the +two families, each presented with a bamboo climbing-pole, leave their +respective wallets. There is nothing remarkable about the mode +of egress. The precincts to be crossed consist of a very slack +net-work, through which the outcomers wriggle: weak little orange-yellow +beasties, with a triangular black patch upon their sterns. One +morning is long enough for the whole family to make its appearance.</p> +<p>By degrees, the emancipated youngsters climb the nearest twigs, clamber +to the top, and spread a few threads. Soon, they gather in a compact, +ball-shaped cluster, the size of a walnut. They remain motionless. +With their heads plunged into the heap and their sterns projecting, +they doze gently, mellowing under the kisses of the sun. Rich +in the possession of a thread in their belly as their sole inheritance, +they prepare to disperse over the wide world.</p> +<p>Let us create a disturbance among the globular group by stirring +it with a straw. All wake up at once. The cluster softly +dilates and spreads, as though set in motion by some centrifugal force; +it becomes a transparent orb wherein thousands and thousands of tiny +legs quiver and shake, while threads are extended along the way to be +followed. The whole work resolves itself into a delicate veil +which swallows up the scattered family. We then see an exquisite +nebula against whose opalescent tapestry the tiny animals gleam like +twinkling orange stars.</p> +<p>This straggling state, though it last for hours, is but temporary. +If the air grow cooler, if rain threaten, the spherical group reforms +at once. This is a protective measure. On the morning after +a shower, I find the families on either bamboo in as good condition +as on the day before. The silk veil and the pill formation have +sheltered them well enough from the downpour. Even so do Sheep, +when caught in a storm in the pastures, gather close, huddle together +and make a common rampart of their backs.</p> +<p>The assembly into a ball-shaped mass is also the rule in calm, bright +weather, after the morning’s exertions. In the afternoon, +the climbers collect at a higher point, where they weave a wide, conical +tent, with the end of a shoot for its top, and, gathered into a compact +group, spend the night there. Next day, when the heat returns, +the ascent is resumed in long files, following the shrouds which a few +pioneers have rigged and which those who come after elaborate with their +own work.</p> +<p>Collected nightly into a globular troop and sheltered under a fresh +tent, for three or four days, each morning, before the sun grows too +hot, my little emigrants thus raise themselves, stage by stage, on both +bamboos, until they reach the sun-unit, at fifteen feet above the ground. +The climb comes to an end for lack of foothold.</p> +<p>Under normal conditions, the ascent would be shorter. The young +Spiders have at their disposal the bushes, the brushwood, providing +supports on every side for the threads wafted hither and thither by +the eddying air-currents. With these rope-bridges flung across +space, the dispersal presents no difficulties. Each emigrant leaves +at his own good time and travels as suits him best.</p> +<p>My devices have changed these conditions somewhat. My two bristling +poles stand at a distance from the surrounding shrubs, especially the +one which I planted in the middle of the yard. Bridges are out +of the question, for the threads flung into the air are not long enough. +And so the acrobats, eager to get away, keep on climbing, never come +down again, are impelled to seek in a higher position what they have +failed to find in a lower. The top of my two bamboos probably +fails to represent the limit of what my keen climbers are capable of +achieving.</p> +<p>We shall see, in a moment, the object of this climbing-propensity, +which is a sufficiently remarkable instinct in the Garden Spiders, who +have as their domain the low-growing brushwood wherein their nets are +spread; it becomes a still more remarkable instinct in the Lycosa, who, +except at the moment when she leaves her mother’s back, never +quits the ground and yet, in the early hours of her life, shows herself +as ardent a wooer of high places as the young Garden Spiders.</p> +<p>Let us consider the Lycosa in particular. In her, at the moment +of the exodus, a sudden instinct arises, to disappear, as promptly and +for ever, a few hours later. This is the climbing-instinct, which +is unknown to the adult and soon forgotten by the emancipated youngling, +doomed to wander homeless, for many a long day, upon the ground. +Neither of them dreams of climbing to the top of a grass-stalk. +The full-grown Spider hunts trapper-fashion, ambushed in her tower; +the young one hunts afoot through the scrubby grass. In both cases +there is no web and therefore no need for lofty contact-points. +They are not allowed to quit the ground and climb the heights.</p> +<p>Yet here we have the young Lycosa, wishing to leave the maternal +abode and to travel far afield by the easiest and swiftest methods, +suddenly becoming an enthusiastic climber. Impetuously she scales +the wire trellis of the cage where she was born; hurriedly she clambers +to the top of the tall mast which I have prepared for her. In +the same way, she would make for the summit of the bushes in her waste-land.</p> +<p>We catch a glimpse of her object. From on high, finding a wide +space beneath her, she sends a thread floating. It is caught by +the wind and carries her hanging to it. We have our aeroplanes; +she too possesses her flying-machine. Once the journey is accomplished, +naught remains of this ingenious business. The climbing-instinct +conies suddenly, at the hour of need, and no less suddenly vanishes.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII: THE SPIDERS’ EXODUS</h2> +<p>Seeds, when ripened in the fruit, are disseminated, that is to say, +scattered on the surface of the ground, to sprout in spots as yet unoccupied +and fill the expanses that realize favourable conditions.</p> +<p>Amid the wayside rubbish grows one of the gourd family, <i>Ecbalium +elaterium</i>, commonly called the squirting cucumber, whose fruit—a +rough and extremely bitter little cucumber—is the size of a date. +When ripe, the fleshy core resolves into a liquid in which float the +seeds. Compressed by the elastic rind of the fruit, this liquid +bears upon the base of the footstalk, which is gradually forced out, +yields like a stopper, breaks off and leaves an orifice through which +a stream of seeds and fluid pulp is suddenly ejected. If, with +a novice hand, under a scorching sun, you shake the plant laden with +yellow fruit, you are bound to be somewhat startled when you hear a +noise among the leaves and receive the cucumber’s grapeshot in +your face.</p> +<p>The fruit of the garden balsam, when ripe, splits, at the least touch, +into five fleshy valves, which curl up and shoot their seeds to a distance. +The botanical name of <i>Impatiens</i> given to the balsam alludes to +this sudden dehiscence of the capsules, which cannot endure contact +without bursting.</p> +<p>In the damp and shady places of the woods there exists a plant of +the same family which, for similar reasons, bears the even more expressive +name of <i>Impatiens noli-me-tangere</i>, or touch-me-not.</p> +<p>The capsule of the pansy expands into three valves, each scooped +out like a boat and laden in the middle with two rows of seeds. +When these valves dry, the edges shrivel, press upon the grains and +eject them.</p> +<p>Light seeds, especially those of the order of Compositae, have aeronautic +apparatus—tufts, plumes, fly-wheels—which keep them up in +the air and enable them to take distant voyages. In this way, +at the least breath, the seeds of the dandelion, surmounted by a tuft +of feathers, fly from their dry receptacle and waft gently in the air.</p> +<p>Next to the tuft, the wing is the most satisfactory contrivance for +dissemination by wind. Thanks to their membranous edge, which +gives them the appearance of thin scales, the seeds of the yellow wall-flower +reach high cornices of buildings, clefts of inaccessible rocks, crannies +in old walls, and sprout in the remnant of mould bequeathed by the mosses +that were there before them.</p> +<p>The samaras, or keys, of the elm, formed of a broad, light fan with +the seed cased in its centre; those of the maple, joined in pairs and +resembling the unfurled wings of a bird; those of the ash, carved like +the blade of an oar, perform the most distant journeys when driven before +the storm.</p> +<p>Like the plant, the insect also sometimes possesses travelling-apparatus, +means of dissemination that allow large families to disperse quickly +over the country, so that each member may have his place in the sun +without injuring his neighbour; and these apparatus, these methods vie +in ingenuity with the elm’s samara, the dandelion-plume and the +catapult of the squirting cucumber.</p> +<p>Let us consider, in particular, the Epeirae, those magnificent Spiders +who, to catch their prey, stretch, between one bush and the next, great +vertical sheets of meshes, resembling those of the fowler. The +most remarkable in my district is the Banded Epeira (<i>Epeira fasciata</i>, +WALCK.), so prettily belted with yellow, black and silvery white. +Her nest, a marvel of gracefulness, is a satin bag, shaped like a tiny +pear. Its neck ends in a concave mouthpiece closed with a lid, +also of satin. Brown ribbons, in fanciful meridian waves, adorn +the object from pole to pole.</p> +<p>Open the nest. We have seen, in an earlier chapter, <a name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28">{28}</a> +what we find there; let us retell the story. Under the outer wrapper, +which is as stout as our woven stuffs and, moreover, perfectly waterproof, +is a russet eiderdown of exquisite delicacy, a silky fluff resembling +driven smoke. Nowhere does mother-love prepare a softer bed.</p> +<p>In the middle of this downy mass hangs a fine, silk, thimble-shaped +purse, closed with a movable lid. This contains the eggs, of a +pretty orange-yellow and about five hundred in number.</p> +<p>All things considered, is not this charming edifice an animal fruit, +a germ-casket, a capsule to be compared with that of the plants? +Only, the Epeira’s wallet, instead of seeds, holds eggs. +The difference is more apparent than real, for egg and grain are one.</p> +<p>How will this living fruit, ripening in the heat beloved of the Cicadae, +manage to burst? How, above all, will dissemination take place? +They are there in their hundreds. They must separate, go far away, +isolate themselves in a spot where there is not too much fear of competition +among neighbours. How will they set to work to achieve this distant +exodus, weaklings that they are, taking such very tiny steps?</p> +<p>I receive the first answer from another and much earlier Epeira, +whose family I find, at the beginning of May, on a yucca in the enclosure. +The plant blossomed last year. The branching flower-stem, some +three feet high, still stands erect, though withered. On the green +leaves, shaped like a sword-blade, swarm two newly-hatched families. +The wee beasties are a dull yellow, with a triangular black patch upon +their stern. Later on, three white crosses, ornamenting the back, +will tell me that my find corresponds with the Cross or Diadem Spider +(<i>Epeira diadema</i>, WALCK.).</p> +<p>When the sun reaches this part of the enclosure, one of the two groups +falls into a great state of flutter. Nimble acrobats that they +are, the little Spiders scramble up, one after the other, and reach +the top of the stem. Here, marches and countermarches, tumult +and confusion reign, for there is a slight breeze which throws the troop +into disorder. I see no connected manoeuvres. From the top +of the stalk they set out at every moment, one by one; they dart off +suddenly; they fly away, so to speak. It is as though they had +the wings of a Gnat.</p> +<p>Forthwith they disappear from view. Nothing that my eyes can +see explains this strange flight; for precise observation is impossible +amid the disturbing influences out of doors. What is wanted is +a peaceful atmosphere and the quiet of my study.</p> +<p>I gather the family in a large box, which I close at once, and instal +it in the animals’ laboratory, on a small table, two steps from +the open window. Apprised by what I have just seen of their propensity +to resort to the heights, I give my subjects a bundle of twigs, eighteen +inches tall, as a climbing-pole. The whole band hurriedly clambers +up and reaches the top. In a few moments there is not one lacking +in the group on high. The future will tell us the reason of this +assemblage on the projecting tips of the twigs.</p> +<p>The little Spiders are now spinning here and there at random: they +go up, go down, come up again. Thus is woven a light veil of divergent +threads, a many-cornered web with the end of the branch for its summit +and the edge of the table for its base, some eighteen inches wide. +This veil is the drill-ground, the work-yard where the preparations +for departure are made.</p> +<p>Here hasten the humble little creatures, running indefatigably to +and fro. When the sun shines upon them, they become gleaming specks +and form upon the milky background of the veil a sort of constellation, +a reflex of those remote points in the sky where the telescope shows +us endless galaxies of stars. The immeasurably small and the immeasurably +large are alike in appearance. It is all a matter of distance.</p> +<p>But the living nebula is not composed of fixed stars; on the contrary, +its specks are in continual movement. The young Spiders never +cease shifting their position on the web. Many let themselves +drop, hanging by a length of thread, which the faller’s weight +draws from the spinnerets. Then quickly they climb up again by +the same thread, which they wind gradually into a skein and lengthen +by successive falls. Others confine themselves to running about +the web and also give me the impression of working at a bundle of ropes.</p> +<p>The thread, as a matter of fact, does not flow from the spinneret; +it is drawn thence with a certain effort. It is a case of extraction, +not emission. To obtain her slender cord, the Spider has to move +about and haul, either by falling or by walking, even as the rope-maker +steps backwards when working his hemp. The activity now displayed +on the drill-ground is a preparation for the approaching dispersal. +The travellers are packing up.</p> +<p>Soon we see a few Spiders trotting briskly between the table and +the open window. They are running in mid-air. But on what? +If the light fall favourably, I manage to see, at moments, behind the +tiny animal, a thread resembling a ray of light, which appears for an +instant, gleams and disappears. Behind, therefore, there is a +mooring, only just perceptible, if you look very carefully; but, in +front, towards the window, there is nothing to be seen at all.</p> +<p>In vain I examine above, below, at the side; in vain I vary the direction +of the eye: I can distinguish no support for the little creature to +walk upon. One would think that the beastie were paddling in space. +It suggests the idea of a small bird, tied by the leg with a thread +and making a flying rush forwards.</p> +<p>But, in this case, appearances are deceptive: flight is impossible; +the Spider must necessarily have a bridge whereby to cross the intervening +space. This bridge, which I cannot see, I can at least destroy. +I cleave the air with a ruler in front of the Spider making for the +window. That is quite enough: the tiny animal at once ceases to +go forward and falls. The invisible foot-plank is broken. +My son, young Paul, who is helping me, is astounded at this wave of +the magic wand, for not even he, with his fresh, young eyes, is able +to see a support ahead for the Spiderling to move along.</p> +<p>In the rear, on the other hand, a thread is visible. The difference +is easily explained. Every Spider, as she goes, at the same time +spins a safety-cord which will guard the rope-walker against the risk +of an always possible fall. In the rear, therefore, the thread +is of double thickness and can be seen, whereas, in front, it is still +single and hardly perceptible to the eye.</p> +<p>Obviously, this invisible foot-bridge is not flung out by the animal: +it is carried and unrolled by a gust of air. The Epeira, supplied +with this line, lets it float freely; and the wind, however softly blowing, +bears it along and unwinds it. Even so is the smoke from the bowl +of a pipe whirled up in the air.</p> +<p>This floating thread has but to touch any object in the neighbourhood +and it will remain fixed to it. The suspension-bridge is thrown; +and the Spider can set out. The South-American Indians are said +to cross the abysses of the Cordilleras in travelling-cradles made of +twisted creepers; the little Spider passes through space on the invisible +and the imponderable.</p> +<p>But to carry the end of the floating thread elsewhither a draught +is needed. At this moment, the draught exists between the door +of my study and the window, both of which are open. It is so slight +that I do not feel its; I only know of it by the smoke from my pipe, +curling softly in that direction. Cold air enters from without +through the door; warm air escapes from the room through the window. +This is the drought that carries the threads with it and enables the +Spiders to embark upon their journey.</p> +<p>I get rid of it by closing both apertures and I break off any communication +by passing my ruler between the window and the table. Henceforth, +in the motionless atmosphere, there are no departures. The current +of air is missing, the skeins are not unwound and migration becomes +impossible.</p> +<p>It is soon resumed, but in a direction whereof I never dreamt. +The hot sun is beating on a certain part of the floor. At this +spot, which is warmer than the rest, a column of lighter, ascending +air is generated. If this column catch the threads, my Spiders +ought to rise to the ceiling of the room.</p> +<p>The curious ascent does, in fact, take place. Unfortunately, +my troop, which has been greatly reduced by the number of departures +through the window, does not lend itself to prolonged experiment. +We must begin again.</p> +<p>The next morning, on the same yucca, I gather the second family, +as numerous as the first. Yesterday’s preparations are repeated. +My legion of Spiders first weaves a divergent framework between the +top of the brushwood placed at the emigrants’ disposal and the +edge of the table. Five or six hundred wee beasties swarm all +over this work-yard.</p> +<p>While this little world is busily fussing, making its arrangements +for departure, I make my own. Every aperture in the room is closed, +so as to obtain as calm an atmosphere as possible. A small chafing-dish +is lit at the foot of the table. My hands cannot feel the heat +of it at the level of the web whereon my Spiders are weaving. +This is the very modest fire which, with its column of rising air, shall +unwind the threads and carry them on high.</p> +<p>Let us first enquire the direction and strength of the current. +Dandelion-plumes, made lighter by the removal of their seeds, serve +as my guides. Released above the chafing-dish, on the level of +the table, they float slowly upwards and, for the most part, reach the +ceiling. The emigrants’ lines should rise in the same way +and even better.</p> +<p>The thing is done: with the aid of nothing that is visible to the +three of us looking on, a Spider makes her ascent. She ambles +with her eight legs through the air; she mounts, gently swaying. +The others, in ever-increasing numbers, follow, sometimes by different +roads, sometimes by the same road. Any one who did not possess +the secret would stand amazed at this magic ascent without a ladder. +In a few minutes, most of them are up, clinging to the ceiling.</p> +<p>Not all of them reach it. I see some who, on attaining a certain +height, cease to go up and even lose ground, although moving their legs +forward with all the nimbleness of which they are capable. The +more they struggle upwards, the faster they come down. This drifting, +which neutralizes the distance covered and even converts it into a retrogression, +is easily explained.</p> +<p>The thread has not reached the platform; it floats, it is fixed only +at the lower end. As long as it is of a fair length, it is able, +although moving, to bear the minute animal’s weight. But, +as the Spider climbs, the float becomes shorter in proportion; and the +time comes when a balance is struck between the ascensional force of +the thread and the weight carried. Then the beastie remains stationary, +although continuing to climb.</p> +<p>Presently, the weight becomes too much for the shorter and shorter +float; and the Spider slips down, in spite of her persistent, forward +striving. She is at last brought back to the branch by the falling +threads. Here, the ascent is soon renewed, either on a fresh thread, +if the supply of silk be not yet exhausted, or on a strange thread, +the work, of those who have gone before.</p> +<p>As a rule, the ceiling is reached. It is twelve feet high. +The little Spider is able, therefore, as the first product of her spinning-mill, +before taking any refreshment, to obtain a line fully twelve feet in +length. And all this, the rope-maker and her rope, was contained +in the egg, a particle of no size at all. To what a degree of +fineness can the silky matter be wrought wherewith the young Spider +is provided! Our manufacturers are able to turn out platinum-wire +that can only be seen when it is made red-hot. With much simpler +means, the Spiderling draws from her wire-mill threads so delicate that, +even the brilliant light of the sun does not always enable us to discern +them.</p> +<p>We must not let all the climbers be stranded on the ceiling, an inhospitable +region where most of them will doubtless perish, being unable to produce +a second thread before they have had a meal. I open the window. +A current of lukewarm air, coming from the chafing-dish, escapes through +the top. Dandelion-plumes, taking that direction, tell me so. +The wafting threads cannot fail to be carried by this flow of air and +to lengthen out in the open, where a light breeze is blowing.</p> +<p>I take a pair of sharp scissors and, without shaking the threads, +cut a few that are just visible at the base, where they are thickened +with an added strand. The result of this operation is marvellous. +Hanging to the flying-rope, which is borne on the wind outside, the +Spider passes through the window, suddenly flies off and disappears. +An easy way of travelling, if the conveyance possessed a rudder that +allowed the passenger to land where he pleases! But the little +things are at the mercy of the winds: where will they alight? +Hundreds, thousands of yards away, perhaps. Let us wish them a +prosperous journey.</p> +<p>The problem of dissemination is now solved. What would happen +if matters, instead of being brought about by my wiles, took place in +the open fields? The answer is obvious. The young Spiders, +born acrobats and rope-walkers, climb to the top of a branch so as to +find sufficient space below them to unfurl their apparatus. Here, +each draws from her rope-factory a thread which she abandons to the +eddies of the air. Gently raised by the currents that ascend from +the ground warmed by the sun, this thread wafts upwards, floats, undulates, +makes for its point of contact. At last, it breaks and vanishes +in the distance, carrying the spinstress hanging to it.</p> +<p>The Epeira with the three white crosses, the Spider who has supplied +us with these first data concerning the process of dissemination, is +endowed with a moderate maternal industry. As a receptacle for +the eggs, she weaves a mere pill of silk. Her work is modest indeed +beside the Banded Epeira’s balloons. I looked to these to +supply me with fuller documents. I had laid up a store by rearing +some mothers during the autumn. So that nothing of importance +might escape me, I divided my stock of balloons, most of which were +woven before my eyes, into two sections. One half remained in +my study, under a wire-gauze cover, with, small bunches of brushwood +as supports; the other half were experiencing the vicissitudes of open-air +life on the rosemaries in the enclosure.</p> +<p>These preparations, which promised so well, did not provide me with +the sight which I expected, namely, a magnificent exodus, worthy of +the tabernacle occupied. However, a few results, not devoid of +interest, are to be noted. Let us state them briefly.</p> +<p>The hatching takes place as March approaches. When this time +comes, let us open the Banded Epeira’s nest with the scissors. +We shall find that some of the youngsters have already left the central +chamber and scattered over the surrounding eiderdown, while the rest +of the laying still consists of a compact mass of orange eggs. +The appearance of the younglings is not simultaneous; it takes place +with intermissions and may last a couple of weeks.</p> +<p>Nothing as yet suggests the future, richly-striped livery. +The abdomen is white and, as it were, floury in the front half; in the +other half it is a blackish-brown. The rest of the body is pale-yellow, +except in front, where the eyes form a black edging. When left +alone, the little ones remain motionless in the soft, russet swan’s-down; +if disturbed, they shuffle lazily where they are, or even walk about +in a hesitating and unsteady fashion. One can see that they have +to ripen before venturing outside.</p> +<p>Maturity is achieved in the exquisite floss that surrounds the natal +chamber and fills out the balloon. This is the waiting-room in +which the body hardens. All dive into it as and when they emerge +from the central keg. They will not leave it until four months +later, when the midsummer heats have come.</p> +<p>Their number is considerable. A patient and careful census +gives me nearly six hundred. And all this comes out of a purse +no larger than a pea. By what miracle is there room for such a +family? How do those thousands of legs manage to grow without +straining themselves?</p> +<p>The egg-bag, as we learnt in Chapter II., is a short cylinder rounded +at the bottom. It is formed of compact white satin, an insuperable +barrier. It opens into a round orifice wherein is bedded a lid +of the same material, through which the feeble beasties would be incapable +of passing. It is not a porous felt, but a fabric as tough as +that of the sack. Then by what mechanism is the delivery effected?</p> +<p>Observe that the disk of the lid doubles back into a short fold, +which edges into the orifice of the bag. In the same way, the +lid of a saucepan fits the mouth by means of a projecting rim, with +this difference, that the rim is not attached to the saucepan, whereas, +in the Epeira’s work, it is soldered to the bag or nest. +Well, at the time of the hatching, this disk becomes unstuck, lifts +and allows the new-born Spiders to pass through.</p> +<p>If the rim were movable and simply inserted, if, moreover, the birth +of all the family took place at the same time, we might think that the +door is forced open by the living wave of inmates, who would set their +backs to it with a common effort. We should find an approximate +image in the case of the saucepan, whose lid is raised by the boiling +of its contents. But the fabric of the cover is one with the fabric +of the bag, the two are closely welded; besides, the hatching is effected +in small batches, incapable of the least exertion. There must, +therefore, be a spontaneous bursting, or dehiscence, independent of +the assistance of the youngsters and similar to that of the seed-pods +of plants.</p> +<p>When fully ripened, the dry fruit of the snap-dragon opens three +windows; that of the pimpernel splits into two rounded halves, something +like those of the outer case of a fob-watch; the fruit of the carnation +partly unseals its valves and opens at the top into a star-shaped hatch. +Each seed-casket has its own system of locks, which are made to work +smoothly by the mere kiss of the sun.</p> +<p>Well, that other dry fruit, the Banded Epeira’s germ-box, likewise +possesses its bursting-gear. As long as the eggs remain unhatched, +the door, solidly fixed in its frame, holds good; as soon as the little +ones swarm and want to get out, it opens of itself.</p> +<p>Come June and July, beloved of the Cicadae, no less beloved of the +young Spiders who are anxious to be off. It were difficult indeed +for them to work their way through the thick shell of the balloon. +For the second time, a spontaneous dehiscence seems called for. +Where will it be effected?</p> +<p>The idea occurs off-hand that it will take place along the edges +of the top cover. Remember the details given in an earlier chapter. +The neck of the balloon ends in a wide crater, which is closed by a +ceiling dug out cup-wise. The material is as stout in this part +as in any other; but, as the lid was the finishing touch to the work, +we expect to find an incomplete soldering, which would allow it to be +unfastened.</p> +<p>The method of construction deceives us: the ceiling is immovable; +at no season can my forceps manage to extract it, without destroying +the building from top to bottom. The dehiscence takes place elsewhere, +at some point on the sides. Nothing informs us, nothing suggests +to us that it will occur at one place rather than another.</p> +<p>Moreover, to tell the truth, it is not a dehiscence prepared by means +of some dainty piece of mechanism; it is a very irregular tear. +Somewhat sharply, under the fierce heat of the sun, the satin bursts +like the rind of an over-ripe pomegranate. Judging by the result, +we think of the expansion of the air inside, which, heated by the sun, +causes this rupture. The signs of pressure from within are manifest: +the tatters of the torn fabric are turned outwards; also, a wisp of +the russet eiderdown that fills the wallet invariably straggles through +the breach. In the midst of the protruding floss, the Spiderlings, +expelled from their home by the explosion, are in frantic commotion.</p> +<p>The balloons of the Banded Epeira are bombs which, to free their +contents, burst under the rays of a torrid sun. To break they +need the fiery heat-waves of the dog-days. When kept in the moderate +atmosphere of my study, most of them do not open and the emergence of +the young does not take place, unless I myself I have a hand in the +business; a few others open with a round hole, a hole so neat that it +might have been made with a punch. This aperture is the work of +the prisoners, who, relieving one another in turns, have, with a patient +tooth, bitten through the stuff of the jar at some point or other.</p> +<p>When exposed to the full force of the sun, however, on the rosemaries +in the enclosure, the balloons burst and shoot forth a ruddy flood of +floss and tiny animals. That is how things occur in the free sun-bath +of the fields. Unsheltered, among the bushes, the wallet of the +Banded Epeira, when the July heat arrives, splits under the effort of +the inner air. The delivery is effected by an explosion of the +dwelling.</p> +<p>A very small part of the family are expelled with the flow of tawny +floss; the vast majority remain in the bag, which is ripped open, but +still bulges with eiderdown. Now that the breach is made, any +one can go out who pleases, in his own good time, without hurrying. +Besides, a solemn action has to be performed before the emigration. +The animal must cast its skin; and the moult is an event that does not +fall on the same date for all. The evacuation of the place, therefore, +lasts several days. It is effected in small squads, as the slough +is flung aside.</p> +<p>Those who sally forth climb up the neighbouring twigs and there, +in the full heat of the sun, proceed with the work of dissemination. +The method is the same as that which we saw in the case of the Cross +Spider. The spinnerets abandon to the breeze a thread that floats, +breaks and flies away, carrying the rope-maker with it. The number +of starters on any one morning is so small as to rob the spectacle of +the greater part of its interest. The scene lacks animation because +of the absence of a crowd.</p> +<p>To my intense disappointment, the Silky Epeira does not either indulge +in a tumultuous and dashing exodus. Let me remind you of her handiwork, +the handsomest of the maternal wallets, next to the Banded Epeira’s. +It is an obtuse conoid, closed with a star-shaped disk. It is +made of a stouter and especially a thicker material than the Banded +Epeira’s balloon, for which reason a spontaneous rupture becomes +more necessary than ever.</p> +<p>This rupture is effected at the sides of the bag, not far from the +edge of the lid. Like the ripping of the balloon, it requires +the rough aid of the heat of July. Its mechanism also seems to +work by the expansion of the heated air, for we again see a partial +emission of the silky floss that fills the pouch.</p> +<p>The exit of the family is performed in a single group and, this time, +before the moult, perhaps for lack of the space necessary for the delicate +casting of the skin. The conical bag falls far short of the balloon +in size; those packed within would sprain their legs in extracting them +from their sheaths. The family, therefore, emerges in a body and +settles on a sprig hard by.</p> +<p>This is a temporary camping-ground, where, spinning in unison, the +youngsters soon weave an open-work tent, the abode of a week, or thereabouts. +The moult is effected in this lounge of intersecting threads. +The sloughed skins form a heap at the bottom of the dwelling; on the +trapezes above, the flaylings take exercise and gain strength and vigour. +Finally, when maturity is attained, they set out, now these, now those, +little by little and always cautiously. There are no audacious +flights on the thready airship; the journey is accomplished by modest +stages.</p> +<p>Hanging to her thread, the Spider lets herself drop straight down, +to a depth of nine or ten inches. A breath of air sets her swinging +like a pendulum, sometimes drives her against a neighbouring branch. +This is a step towards the dispersal. At the point reached, there +is a fresh fall, followed by a fresh pendulous swing that lands her +a little farther afield. Thus, in short tacks, for the thread +is never very long, does the Spiderling go about, seeing the country, +until she comes to a place that suits her. Should the wind blow +at all hard, the voyage is cut short: the cable of the pendulum breaks +and the beastie is carried for some distance on its cord.</p> +<p>To sum up, although, on the whole, the tactics of the exodus remain +much the same, the two spinstresses of my region best-versed in the +art of weaving mothers’ wallets failed to come up to my expectations. +I went to the trouble of rearing them, with disappointing results. +Where shall I find again the wonderful spectacle which the Cross Spider +offered me by chance? I shall find it—in an even more striking +fashion—among humbler Spiders, whom I had neglected to observe.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII: THE CRAB SPIDER</h2> +<p>The Spider that showed me the exodus in all its magnificence is known +officially as <i>Thomisus onustus</i>, WALCK. Though the name +suggest nothing to the reader’s mind, it has the advantage, at +any rate, of hurting neither the throat nor the ear, as is too often +the case with scientific nomenclature, which sounds more like sneezing +than articulate speech. Since it is the rule to dignify plants +and animals with a Latin label, let us at least respect the euphony +of the classics and refrain from harsh splutters which spit out a name +instead of pronouncing it.</p> +<p>What will posterity do in face of the rising tide of a barbarous +vocabulary which, under the pretence of progress, stifles real knowledge? +It will relegate the whole business to the quagmire of oblivion. +But what will never disappear is the popular name, which sounds well, +is picturesque and conveys some sort of information. Such is the +term Crab Spider, applied by the ancients to the group to which the +Thomisus belongs, a pretty accurate term, for, in this case, there is +an evident analogy between the Spider and the Crustacean.</p> +<p>Like the Crab, the Thomisus walks sideways; she also has forelegs +stronger than her hind-legs. The only thing wanting to complete +the resemblance is the front pair of stone gauntlets, raised in the +attitude of self-defence.</p> +<p>The Spider with the Crab-like figure does not know how to manufacture +nets for catching game. Without springs or snares, she lies in +ambush, among the flowers, and awaits the arrival of the quarry, which +she kills by administering a scientific stab in the neck. The +Thomisus, in particular, the subject of this chapter, is passionately +addicted to the pursuit of the Domestic Bee. I have described +the contests between the victim and her executioner, at greater length, +elsewhere.</p> +<p>The Bee appears, seeking no quarrel, intent upon plunder. She +tests the flowers with her tongue; she selects a spot that will yield +a good return. Soon she is wrapped up in her harvesting. +While she is filling her baskets and distending her crop, the Thomisus, +that bandit lurking under cover of the flowers, issues from her hiding-place, +creeps round behind the bustling insect, steals up close and, with a +sudden rush, nabs her in the nape of the neck. In vain, the Bee +protests and darts her sting at random; the assailant does not let go.</p> +<p>Besides, the bite in the neck is paralysing, because the cervical +nerve-centres are affected. The poor thing’s legs stiffen; +and all is over in a second. The murderess now sucks the victim’s +blood at her ease and, when she has done, scornfully flings the drained +corpse aside. She hides herself once more, ready to bleed a second +gleaner should the occasion offer.</p> +<p>This slaughter of the Bee engaged in the hallowed delights of labour +has always revolted me. Why should there be workers to feed idlers, +why sweated to keep sweaters in luxury? Why should so many admirable +lives be sacrificed to the greater prosperity of brigandage? These +hateful discords amid the general harmony perplex the thinker, all the +more as we shall see the cruel vampire become a model of devotion where +her family is concerned.</p> +<p>The ogre loved his children; he ate the children of others. +Under the tyranny of the stomach, we are all of us, beasts and men alike, +ogres. The dignity of labour, the joy of life, maternal affection, +the terrors of death: all these do not count, in others; the main point +is that morsel the be tender and savoury.</p> +<p>According to the etymology of her name—θωμιγξ, +a cord—the Thomisus should be like the ancient lictor, who bound +the sufferer to the stake. The comparison is not inappropriate +as regards many Spiders who tie their prey with a thread to subdue it +and consume it at their ease; but it just happens that the Thomisus +is at variance with her label. She does not fasten her Bee, who, +dying suddenly of a bite in the neck, offers no resistance to her consumer. +Carried away by his recollection of the regular tactics, our Spider’s +godfather overlooked the exception; he did not know of the perfidious +mode of attack which renders the use of a bow-string superfluous.</p> +<p>Nor is the second name of <i>onustus</i>—loaded, burdened, +freighted—any too happily chosen. The fact that the Bee-huntress +carries a heavy paunch is no reason to refer to this as a distinctive +characteristic. Nearly all Spiders have a voluminous belly, a +silk-warehouse where, in some cases, the rigging of the net, in others, +the swan’s-down of the nest is manufactured. The Thomisus, +a first-class nest-builder, does like the rest: she hoards in her abdomen, +but without undue display of obesity, the wherewithal to house her family +snugly.</p> +<p>Can the expression <i>onustus</i> refer simply to her slow and sidelong +walk? The explanation appeals to me, without satisfying me fully. +Except in the case of a sudden alarm, every Spider maintains a sober +gait and a wary pace. When all is said, the scientific term is +composed of a misconception and a worthless epithet. How difficult +it is to name animals rationally! Let us be indulgent to the nomenclator: +the dictionary is becoming exhausted and the constant flood that requires +cataloguing mounts incessantly, wearing out our combinations of syllables.</p> +<p>As the technical name tells the reader nothing, how shall he be informed? +I see but one means, which is to invite him to the May festivals, in +the waste-lands of the South. The murderess of the Bees is of +a chilly constitution; in our parts, she hardly ever moves away from +the olive-districts. Her favourite shrub is the white-leaved rock-rose +(<i>Cistus albidus</i>), with the large, pink, crumpled, ephemeral blooms +that last but a morning and are replaced, next day, by fresh flowers, +which have blossomed in the cool dawn. This glorious efflorescence +goes on for five or six weeks.</p> +<p>Here, the Bees plunder enthusiastically, fussing and bustling in +the spacious whorl of the stamens, which beflour them with yellow. +Their persecutrix knows of this affluence. She posts herself in +her watch-house, under the rosy screen of a petal. Cast your eyes +over the flower, more or less everywhere. If you see a Bee lying +lifeless, with legs and tongue out-stretched, draw nearer: the Thomisus +will be there, nine times out of ten. The thug has struck her +blow; she is draining the blood of the departed.</p> +<p>After all, this cutter of Bees’ throats is a pretty, a very +pretty creature, despite her unwieldy paunch fashioned like a squat +pyramid and embossed on the base, on either side, with a pimple shaped +like a camel’s hump. The skin, more pleasing to the eye +than any satin, is milk-white in some, in others lemon-yellow. +There are fine ladies among them who adorn their legs with a number +of pink bracelets and their back with carmine arabesques. A narrow +pale-green ribbon sometimes edges the right and left of the breast. +It is not so rich as the costume of the Banded Epeira, but much more +elegant because of its soberness, its daintiness and the artful blending +of its hues. Novice fingers, which shrink from touching any other +Spider, allow themselves to be enticed by these attractions; they do +not fear to handle the beauteous Thomisus, so gentle in appearance.</p> +<p>Well, what can this gem among Spiders do? In the first place, +she makes a nest worthy of its architect. With twigs and horse-hair +and bits of wool, the Goldfinch, the Chaffinch and other masters of +the builder’s art construct an aerial bower in the fork of the +branches. Herself a lover of high places, the Thomisus selects +as the site of her nest one of the upper twigs of the rock-rose, her +regular hunting-ground, a twig withered by the heat and possessing a +few dead leaves, which curl into a little cottage. This is where +she settles with a view to her eggs.</p> +<p>Ascending and descending with a gentle swing in more or less every +direction, the living shuttle, swollen with silk, weaves a bag whose +outer casing becomes one with the dry leaves around. The work, +which is partly visible and partly hidden by its supports, is a pure +dead-white. Its shape, moulded in the angular interval between +the bent leaves, is that of a cone and reminds us, on a smaller scale, +of the nest of the Silky Epeira.</p> +<p>When the eggs are laid, the mouth of the receptacle is hermetically +closed with a lid of the same white silk. Lastly, a few threads, +stretched like a thin curtain, form a canopy above the nest and, with +the curved tips of the leaves, frame a sort of alcove wherein the mother +takes up her abode.</p> +<p>It is more than a place of rest after the fatigues of her confinement: +it is a guard-room, an inspection-post where the mother remains sprawling +until the youngsters’ exodus. Greatly emaciated by the laying +of her eggs and by her expenditure of silk, she lives only for the protection +of her nest.</p> +<p>Should some vagrant pass near by, she hurries from her watch-tower, +lifts a limb and puts the intruder to flight. If I tease her with +a straw, she parries with big gestures, like those of a prize-fighter. +She uses her fists against my weapon. When I propose to dislodge +her in view of certain experiments, I find some difficulty in doing +so. She clings to the silken floor, she frustrates my attacks, +which I am bound to moderate lest I should injure her. She is +no sooner attracted outside than she stubbornly returns to her post. +She declines to leave her treasure.</p> +<p>Even so does the Narbonne Lycosa struggle when we try to take away +her pill. Each displays the same pluck and the same devotion; +and also the same denseness in distinguishing her property from that +of others. The Lycosa accepts without hesitation any strange pill +which she is, given in exchange for her own; she confuses alien produce +with the produce of her ovaries and her silk-factory. Those hallowed +words, maternal love, were out of place here: it is an impetuous, an +almost mechanical impulse, wherein real affection plays no part whatever. +The beautiful Spider of the rock-roses is no more generously endowed. +When moved from her nest to another of the same kind, she settles upon +it and never stirs from it, even though the different arrangement of +the leafy fence be such as to warn her that she is not really at home. +Provided that she have satin under her feet, she does not notice her +mistake; she watches over another’s nest with the same vigilance +which she might show in watching over her own.</p> +<p>The Lycosa surpasses her in maternal blindness. She fastens +to her spinnerets and dangles, by way of a bag of eggs, a ball of cork +polished with my file, a paper pellet, a little ball of thread. +In order to discover if the Thomisus is capable of a similar error, +I gathered some broken pieces of silk-worm’s cocoon into a closed +cone, turning the fragments so as to bring the smoother and more delicate +inner surface outside. My attempt was unsuccessful. When +removed from her home and placed on the artificial wallet, the mother +Thomisus obstinately refused to settle there. Can she be more +clear-sighted than the Lycosa? Perhaps so. Let us not be +too extravagant with our praise, however; the imitation of the bag was +a very clumsy one.</p> +<p>The work of laying is finished by the end of May, after which, lying +flat on the ceiling of her nest, the mother never leaves her guard-room, +either by night or day. Seeing her look so thin and wrinkled, +I imagine that I can please her by bringing her a provision of Bees, +as I was wont to do. I have misjudged her needs. The Bee, +hitherto her favourite dish, tempts her no longer. In vain does +the prey buzz close by, an easy capture within the cage: the watcher +does not shift from her post, takes no notice of the windfall. +She lives exclusively upon maternal devotion, a commendable but unsubstantial +fare. And so I see her pining away from day to day, becoming more +and more wrinkled. What is the withered thing waiting for, before +expiring? She is waiting for her children to emerge; the dying +creature is still of use to them.</p> +<p>When the Banded Epeira’s little ones issue from their balloon, +they have long been orphans. There is none to come to their assistance; +and they have not the strength to free themselves unaided. The +balloon has to split automatically and to scatter the youngsters and +their flossy mattress all mixed up together. The Thomisus’ +wallet, sheathed in leaves over the greater part of its surface, never +bursts; nor does the lid rise, so carefully is it sealed down. +Nevertheless, after the delivery of the brood, we see, at the edge of +the lid, a small, gaping hole, an exit-window. Who contrived this +window, which was not there at first?</p> +<p>The fabric is too thick and tough to have yielded to the twitches +of the feeble little prisoners. It was the mother, therefore, +who, feeling her offspring shuffle impatiently under the silken ceiling, +herself made a hole in the bag. She persists in living for five +or six weeks, despite her shattered health, so as to give a last helping +hand and open the door for her family. After performing this duty, +she gently lets herself die, hugging her nest and turning into a shrivelled +relic.</p> +<p>When July comes, the little ones emerge. In view of their acrobatic +habits, I have placed a bundle of slender twigs at the top of the cage +in which they were born. All of them pass through the wire gauze +and form a group on the summit of the brushwood, where they swiftly +weave a spacious lounge of criss-cross threads. Here they remain, +pretty quietly, for a day or two; then foot-bridges begin to be flung +from one object to the next. This is the opportune moment.</p> +<p>I put the bunch laden with beasties on a small table, in the shade, +before the open window. Soon, the exodus commences, but slowly +and unsteadily. There are hesitations, retrogressions, perpendicular +falls at the end of a thread, ascents that bring the hanging Spider +up again. In short much ado for a poor result.</p> +<p>As matters continue to drag, it occurs to me, at eleven o’clock, +to take the bundle of brushwood swarming with the little Spiders, all +eager to be off, and place it on the window-sill, in the glare of the +sun. After a few minutes of heat and light, the scene assumes +a very different aspect. The emigrants run to the top of the twigs, +bustle about actively. It becomes a bewildering rope-yard, where +thousands of legs are drawing the hemp from the spinnerets. I +do not see the ropes manufactured and sent floating at the mercy of +the air; but I guess their presence.</p> +<p>Three or four Spiders start at a time, each going her own way in +directions independent of her neighbours’. All are moving +upwards, all are climbing some support, as can be perceived by the nimble +motion of their legs. Moreover, the road is visible behind the +climber, it is of double thickness, thanks to an added thread. +Then, at a certain height, individual movement ceases. The tiny +animal soars in space and shines, lit up by the sun. Softly it +sways, then suddenly takes flight.</p> +<p>What has happened? There is a slight breeze outside. +The floating cable has snapped and the creature has gone off, borne +on its parachute. I see it drifting away, showing, like a spot +of light, against the dark foliage of the near cypresses, some forty +feet distant. It rises higher, it crosses over the cypress-screen, +it disappears. Others follow, some higher, some lower, hither +and thither.</p> +<p>But the throng has finished its preparations; the hour has come to +disperse in swarms. We now see, from the crest of the brushwood, +a continuous spray of starters, who shoot up like microscopic projectiles +and mount in a spreading cluster. In the end, it is like the bouquet +at the finish of a pyrotechnic display, the sheaf of rockets fired simultaneously. +The comparison is correct down to the dazzling light itself. Flaming +in the sun like so many gleaming points, the little Spiders are the +sparks of that living firework. What a glorious send-off! What +an entrance into the world! Clutching its aeronautic thread, the +minute creature mounts in an apotheosis.</p> +<p>Sooner or later, nearer or farther, the fall comes. To live, +we have to descend, often very low, alas! The Crested Lark crumbles +the mule-droppings in the road and thus picks up his food, the oaten +grain which he would never find by soaring in the sky, his throat swollen +with song. We have to descend; the stomach’s inexorable +claims demand it. The Spiderling, therefore, touches land. +Gravity, tempered by the parachute, is kind to her.</p> +<p>The rest of her story escapes me. What infinitely tiny Midges +does she capture before possessing the strength to stab her Bee? +What are the methods, what the wiles of atom contending with atom? +I know not. We shall find her again in spring, grown quite large +and crouching among the flowers whence the Bee takes toll.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX: THE GARDEN SPIDERS: BUILDING THE WEB</h2> +<p>The fowling-snare is one of man’s ingenious villainies. +With lines, pegs and poles, two large, earth-coloured nets are stretched +upon the ground, one to the right, the other to the left of a bare surface. +A long cord, pulled, at the right moment, by the fowler, who hides in +a brushwood hut, works them and brings them together suddenly, like +a pair of shutters.</p> +<p>Divided between the two nets are the cages of the decoy-birds—Linnets +and Chaffinches, Greenfinches and Yellowhammers, Buntings and Ortolans—sharp-eared +creatures which, on perceiving the distant passage of a flock of their +own kind, forthwith utter a short calling note. One of them, the +<i>Sambé</i>, an irresistible tempter, hops about and flaps his +wings in apparent freedom. A bit of twine fastens him to his convict’s +stake. When, worn with fatigue and driven desperate by his vain +attempts to get away, the sufferer lies down flat and refuses to do +his duty, the fowler is able to stimulate him without stirring from +his hut. A long string sets in motion a little lever working on +a pivot. Raised from the ground by this diabolical contrivance, +the bird flies, falls down and flies up again at each jerk of the cord.</p> +<p>The fowler waits, in the mild sunlight of the autumn morning. +Suddenly, great excitement in the cages. The Chaffinches chirp +their rallying-cry:</p> +<p>‘Pinck! Pinck!’</p> +<p>There is something happening in the sky. The <i>Sambé</i>, +quick! They are coming, the simpletons; they swoop down upon the +treacherous floor. With a rapid movement, the man in ambush pulls +his string. The nets close and the whole flock is caught.</p> +<p>Man has wild beast’s blood in his veins. The fowler hastens +to the slaughter. With his thumb, he stifles the beating of the +captives’ hearts, staves in their skulls. The little birds, +so many piteous heads of game, will go to market, strung in dozens on +a wire passed through their nostrils.</p> +<p>For scoundrelly ingenuity the Epeira’s net can bear comparison +with the fowler’s; it even surpasses it when, on patient study, +the main features of its supreme perfection stand revealed. What +refinement of art for a mess of Flies! Nowhere, in the whole animal +kingdom, has the need to eat inspired a more cunning industry. +If the reader will meditate upon the description that follows, he will +certainly share my admiration.</p> +<p>First of all, we must witness the making of the net; we must see +it constructed and see it again and again, for the plan of such a complex +work can only be grasped in fragments. To-day, observation will +give us one detail; to-morrow, it will give us a second, suggesting +fresh points of view; as our visits multiply, a new fact is each time +added to the sum total of the acquired data, confirming those which +come before or directing our thoughts along unsuspected paths.</p> +<p>The snow-ball rolling over the carpet of white grows enormous, however +scanty each fresh layer be. Even so with truth in observational +science: it is built up of trifles patiently gathered together. +And, while the collecting of these trifles means that the student of +Spider industry must not be chary of his time, at least it involves +no distant and speculative research. The smallest garden contains +Epeirae, all accomplished weavers.</p> +<p>In my enclosure, which I have stocked carefully with the most famous +breeds, I have six different species under observation, all of a useful +size, all first-class spinners. Their names are the Banded Epeira +(<i>Epeira fasciata</i>, WALCK.), the Silky Epeira (<i>E. sericea</i>, +WALCK.), the Angular Epeira (<i>E. angulata</i>, WALCK.), the Pale-tinted +Epeira (<i>E. pallida</i>, OLIV.), the Diadem Epeira, or Cross Spider +(<i>E. diadema</i>, CLERK.), and the Crater Epeira (<i>E. cratera</i>, +WALCK.).</p> +<p>I am able, at the proper hours, all through the fine season, to question +them, to watch them at work, now this one, anon that, according to the +chances of the day. What I did not see very plainly yesterday +I can see the next day, under better conditions, and on any of the following +days, until the phenomenon under observation is revealed in all clearness.</p> +<p>Let us go every evening, step by step, from one border of tall rosemaries +to the next. Should things move too slowly, we will sit down at +the foot of the shrubs, opposite the rope-yard, where the light falls +favourably, and watch with unwearying attention. Each trip will +be good for a fact that fills some gap in the ideas already gathered. +To appoint one’s self, in this way, an inspector of Spiders’ +webs, for many years in succession and for long seasons, means joining +a not overcrowded profession, I admit. Heaven knows, it does not +enable one to put money by! No matter: the meditative mind returns +from that school fully satisfied.</p> +<p>To describe the separate progress of the work in the case of each +of the six Epeirae mentioned would be a useless repetition: all six +employ the same methods and weave similar webs, save for certain details +that shall be set forth later. I will, therefore, sum up in the +aggregate the particulars supplied by one or other of them.</p> +<p>My subjects, in the first instance, are young and boast but a slight +corporation, very far removed from what it will be in the late autumn. +The belly, the wallet containing the rope-works, hardly exceeds a peppercorn +in bulk. This slenderness on the part of the spinstresses must +not prejudice us against their work: there is no parity between their +skill and their years. The adult Spiders, with their disgraceful +paunches, can do no better.</p> +<p>Moreover, the beginners have one very precious advantage for the +observer: they work by day, work even in the sun, whereas the old ones +weave only at night, at unseasonable hours. The first show us +the secrets of their looms without much difficulty; the others conceal +them from us. Work starts in July, a couple of hours before sunset.</p> +<p>The spinstresses of my enclosure then leave their daytime hiding-places, +select their posts and begin to spin, one here, another there. +There are many of them; we can choose where we please. Let us +stop in front of this one, whom we surprise in the act of laying the +foundations of the structure. Without any appreciable order, she +runs about the rosemary-hedge, from the tip of one branch to another +within the limits of some eighteen inches. Gradually, she puts +a thread in position, drawing it from her wire-mill with the combs attached +to her hind-legs. This preparatory work presents no appearance +of a concerted plan. The Spider comes and goes impetuously, as +though at random; she goes up, comes down, goes up again, dives down +again and each time strengthens the points of contact with intricate +moorings distributed here and there. The result is a scanty and +disordered scaffolding.</p> +<p>Is disordered the word? Perhaps not. The Epeira’s +eye, more experienced in matters of this sort than mine, has recognized +the general lie of the land; and the rope-fabric has been erected accordingly: +it is very inaccurate in my opinion, but very suitable for the Spider’s +designs. What is it that she really wants? A solid frame +to contain the network of the web. The shapeless structure which +she has just built fulfils the desired conditions: it marks out a flat, +free and perpendicular area. This is all that is necessary.</p> +<p>The whole work, for that matter, is now soon completed; it is done +all over again, each evening, from top to bottom, for the incidents +of the chase destroy it in a night. The net is as yet too delicate +to resist the desperate struggles of the captured prey. On the +other hand, the adults’ net, which is formed of stouter threads, +is adapted to last some time; and the Epeira gives it a more carefully-constructed +framework, as we shall see elsewhere.</p> +<p>A special thread, the foundation of the real net, is stretched across +the area so capriciously circumscribed. It is distinguished from +the others by its isolation, its position at a distance from any twig +that might interfere with its swaying length. It never fails to +have, in the middle, a thick white point, formed of a little silk cushion. +This is the beacon that marks the centre of the future edifice, the +post that will guide the Epeira and bring order into the wilderness +of twists and turns.</p> +<p>The time has come to weave the hunting-snare. The Spider starts +from the centre, which bears the white signpost, and, running along +the transversal thread, hurriedly reaches the circumference, that is +to say, the irregular frame enclosing the free space. Still with +the same sudden movement, she rushes from the circumference to the centre; +she starts again backwards and forwards, makes for the right, the left, +the top, the bottom; she hoists herself up, dives down, climbs up again, +runs down and always returns to the central landmark by roads that slant +in the most unexpected manner. Each time, a radius or spoke is +laid, here, there, or elsewhere, in what looks like mad disorder.</p> +<p>The operation is so erratically conducted that it takes the most +unremitting attention to follow it at all. The Spider reaches +the margin of the area by one of the spokes already placed. She +goes along this margin for some distance from the point at which she +landed, fixes her thread to the frame and returns to the centre by the +same road which she has just taken.</p> +<p>The thread obtained on the way in a broken line, partly on the radius +and partly on the frame, is too long for the exact distance between +the circumference and the central point. On returning to this +point, the Spider adjusts her thread, stretches it to the correct length, +fixes it and collects what remains on the central signpost. In +the case of each radius laid, the surplus is treated in the same fashion, +so that the signpost continues to increase in size. It was first +a speck; it is now a little pellet, or even a small cushion of a certain +breadth.</p> +<p>We shall see presently what becomes of this cushion whereon the Spider, +that niggardly housewife, lays her saved-up bits of thread; for the +moment, we will note that the Epeira works it up with her legs after +placing each spoke, teazles it with her claws, mats it into felt with +noteworthy diligence. In so doing, she gives the spokes a solid +common support, something like the hub of our carriage-wheels.</p> +<p>The eventual regularity of the work suggests that the radii are spun +in the same order in which they figure in the web, each following immediately +upon its next neighbour. Matters pass in another manner, which +at first looks like disorder, but which is really a judicious contrivance. +After setting a few spokes in one direction, the Epeira runs across +to the other side to draw some in the opposite direction. These +sudden changes of course are highly logical; they show us how proficient +the Spider is in the mechanics of rope-construction. Were they +to succeed one another regularly, the spokes of one group, having nothing +as yet to counteract them, would distort the work by their straining, +would even destroy it for lack of a stabler support. Before continuing, +it is necessary to lay a converse group which will maintain the whole +by its resistance. Any combination of forces acting in one direction +must be forthwith neutralized by another in the opposite direction. +This is what our statics teach us and what the Spider puts into practice; +she is a past mistress of the secrets of rope-building, without serving +an apprenticeship.</p> +<p>One would think that this interrupted and apparently disordered labour +must result in a confused piece of work. Wrong: the rays are equidistant +and form a beautifully-regular orb. Their number is a characteristic +mark of the different species. The Angular Epeira places 21 in +her web, the Banded Epeira 32, the Silky Epeira 42. These numbers +are not absolutely fixed; but the variation is very slight.</p> +<p>Now which of us would undertake, off-hand, without much preliminary +experiment and without measuring-instruments, to divide a circle into +a given quantity of sectors of equal width? The Epeirae, though +weighted with a wallet and tottering on threads shaken by the wind, +effect the delicate division without stopping to think. They achieve +it by a method which seems mad according to our notions of geometry. +Out of disorder they evolve order.</p> +<p>We must not, however, give them more than their due. The angles +are only approximately equal; they satisfy the demands of the eye, but +cannot stand the test of strict measurement. Mathematical precision +would be superfluous here. No matter, we are amazed at the result +obtained. How does the Epeira come to succeed with her difficult +problem, so strangely managed? I am still asking myself the question.</p> +<p>The laying of the radii is finished. The Spider takes her place +in the centre, on the little cushion formed of the inaugural signpost +and the bits of thread left over. Stationed on this support, she +slowly turns round and round. She is engaged on a delicate piece +of work. With an extremely thin thread, she describes from spoke +to spoke, starting from the centre, a spiral line with very close coils. +The central space thus worked attains, in the adults’ webs, the +dimensions of the palm of one’s hand; in the younger Spiders’ +webs, it is much smaller, but it is never absent. For reasons +which I will explain in the course of this study, I shall call it, in +future, the ‘resting-floor.’</p> +<p>The thread now becomes thicker. The first could hardly be seen; +the second is plainly visible. The Spider shifts her position +with great slanting strides, turns a few times, moving farther and farther +from the centre, fixes her line each time to the spoke which she crosses +and at last comes to a stop at the lower edge of the frame. She +has described a spiral with coils of rapidly-increasing width. +The average distance between the coils, even in the structures of the +young Epeirae, is one centimetre. <a name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29">{29}</a></p> +<p>Let us not be misled by the word ‘spiral,’ which conveys +the notion of a curved line. All curves are banished from the +Spiders’ work; nothing is used but the straight line and its combinations. +All that is aimed at is a polygonal line drawn in a curve as geometry +understands it. To this polygonal line, a work destined to disappear +as the real toils are woven, I will give the name of the ‘auxiliary +spiral.’ Its object is to supply cross-bars, supporting +rungs, especially in the outer zone, where the radii are too distant +from one another to afford a suitable groundwork. Its object is +also to guide the Epeira in the extremely delicate business which she +is now about to undertake.</p> +<p>But, before that, one last task becomes essential. The area +occupied by the spokes is very irregular, being marked out by the supports +of the branch, which are infinitely variable. There are angular +niches which, if skirted too closely, would disturb the symmetry of +the web about to be constructed. The Epeira needs an exact space +wherein gradually to lay her spiral thread. Moreover, she must +not leave any gaps through which her prey might find an outlet.</p> +<p>An expert in these matters, the Spider soon knows the corners that +have to be filled up. With an alternating movement, first in this +direction, then in that, she lays, upon the support of the radii, a +thread that forms two acute angles at the lateral boundaries of the +faulty part and describes a zigzag line not wholly unlike the ornament +known as the fret.</p> +<p>The sharp corners have now been filled with frets on every side; +the time has come to work at the essential part, the snaring-web for +which all the rest is but a support. Clinging on the one hand +to the radii, on the other to the chords of the auxiliary spiral, the +Epeira covers the same ground as when laying the spiral, but in the +opposite direction: formerly, she moved away from the centre; now she +moves towards it and with closer and more numerous circles. She +starts from the base of the auxiliary spiral, near the frame.</p> +<p>What follows is difficult to observe, for the movements are very +quick and spasmodic, consisting of a series of sudden little rushes, +sways and bends that bewilder the eye. It needs continuous attention +and repeated examination to distinguish the progress of the work however +slightly.</p> +<p>The two hind-legs, the weaving implements, keep going constantly. +Let us name them according to their position on the work-floor. +I call the leg that faces the centre of the coil, when the animal moves, +the ‘inner leg;’ the one outside the coil the ‘outer +leg.’</p> +<p>The latter draws the thread from the spinneret and passes it to the +inner leg, which, with a graceful movement, lays it on the radius crossed. +At the same time, the first leg measures the distance; it grips the +last coil placed in position and brings within a suitable range that +point of the radius whereto the thread is to be fixed. As soon +as the radius is touched, the thread sticks to it by its own glue. +There are no slow operations, no knots: the fixing is done of itself.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, turning by narrow degrees, the spinstress approaches the +auxiliary chords that have just served as her support. When, in +the end, these chords become too close, they will have to go; they would +impair the symmetry of the work. The Spider, therefore, clutches +and holds on to the rungs of a higher row; she picks up, one by one, +as she goes along, those which are of no more use to her and gathers +them into a fine-spun ball at the contact-point of the next spoke. +Hence arises a series of silky atoms marking the course of the disappearing +spiral.</p> +<p>The light has to fall favourably for us to perceive these specks, +the only remains of the ruined auxiliary thread. One would take +them for grains of dust, if the faultless regularity of their distribution +did not remind us of the vanished spiral. They continue, still +visible, until the final collapse of the net.</p> +<p>And the Spider, without a stop of any kind, turns and turns and turns, +drawing nearer to the centre and repeating the operation of fixing her +thread at each spoke which she crosses. A good half-hour, an hour +even among the full-grown Spiders, is spent on spiral circles, to the +number of about fifty for the web of the Silky Epeira and thirty for +those of the Banded and the Angular Epeira.</p> +<p>At last, at some distance from the centre, on the borders of what +I have called the resting-floor, the Spider abruptly terminates her +spiral when the space would still allow of a certain number of turns. +We shall see the reason of this sudden stop presently. Next, the +Epeira, no matter which, young or old, hurriedly flings herself upon +the little central cushion, pulls it out and rolls it into a ball which +I expected to see thrown away. But no: her thrifty nature does +not permit this waste. She eats the cushion, at first an inaugural +landmark, then a heap of bits of thread; she once more melts in the +digestive crucible what is no doubt intended to be restored to the silken +treasury. It is a tough mouthful, difficult for the stomach to +elaborate; still, it is precious and must not be lost. The work +finishes with the swallowing. Then and there, the Spider instals +herself, head downwards, at her hunting-post in the centre of the web.</p> +<p>The operation which we have just seen gives rise to a reflection. +Men are born right-handed. Thanks to a lack of symmetry that has +never been explained, our right side is stronger and readier in its +movements than our left. The inequality is especially noticeable +in the two hands. Our language expresses this supremacy of the +favoured side in the terms dexterity, adroitness and address, all of +which allude to the right hand.</p> +<p>Is the animal, on its side, right-handed, left-handed, or unbiased? +We have had opportunities of showing that the Cricket, the Grasshopper +and many others draw their bow, which is on the right wing-case, over +the sounding apparatus, which is on the left wing-case. They are +right-handed.</p> +<p>When you and I take an unpremeditated turn, we spin round on our +right heel. The left side, the weaker, moves on the pivot of the +right, the stronger. In the same way, nearly all the Molluscs +that have spiral shells roll their coils from left to right. Among +the numerous species in both land and water fauna, only a very few are +exceptional and turn from right to left.</p> +<p>It would be interesting to try and work out to what extent that part +of the zoological kingdom which boasts a two-sided structure is divided +into right-handed and left-handed animals. Can dissymetry, that +source of contrasts, be a general rule? Or are there neutrals, +endowed with equal powers of skill and energy on both sides? Yes, +there are; and the Spider is one of them. She enjoys the very +enviable privilege of possessing a left side which is no less capable +than the right. She is ambidextrous, as witness the following +observations.</p> +<p>When laying her snaring-thread, every Epeira turns in either direction +indifferently, as a close watch will prove. Reasons whose secret +escapes us determine the direction adopted. Once this or the other +course is taken, the spinstress does not change it, even after incidents +that sometimes occur to disturb the progress of the work. It may +happen that a Gnat gets caught in the part already woven. The +Spider thereupon abruptly interrupts her labours, hastens up to the +prey, binds it and then returns to where she stopped and continues the +spiral in the same order as before.</p> +<p>At the commencement of the work, gyration in one direction being +employed as well as gyration in the other, we see that, when making +her repeated webs, the same Epeira turns now her right side, now her +left to the centre of the coil. Well, as we have said, it is always +with the inner hind-leg, the leg nearer the centre, that is to say, +in some cases the right and in some cases the left leg, that she places +the thread in position, an exceedingly delicate operation calling for +the display of exquisite skill, because of the quickness of the action +and the need for preserving strictly equal distances. Any one +seeing this leg working with such extreme precision, the right leg to-day, +the left to-morrow, becomes convinced that the Epeira is highly ambidextrous.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X: THE GARDEN SPIDERS: MY NEIGHBOUR</h2> +<p>Age does not modify the Epeira’s talent in any essential feature. +As the young worked, so do the old, the richer by a year’s experience. +There are no masters nor apprentices in their guild; all know their +craft from the moment that the first thread is laid. We have learnt +something from the novices: let us now look into the matter of their +elders and see what additional task the needs of age impose upon them.</p> +<p>July comes and gives me exactly what I wish for. While the +new inhabitants are twisting their ropes on the rosemaries in the enclosure, +one evening, by the last gleams of twilight, I discover a splendid Spider, +with a mighty belly, just outside my door. This one is a matron; +she dates back to last year; her majestic corpulence, so exceptional +at this season, proclaims the fact. I know her for the Angular +Epeira (<i>Epeira angulata</i>, WALCK.), clad in grey and girdled with +two dark stripes that meet in a point at the back. The base of +her abdomen swells into a short nipple on either side.</p> +<p>This neighbour will certainly serve my turn, provided that she do +not work too late at night. Things bode well: I catch the buxom +one in the act of laying her first threads. At this rate my success +need not be won at the expense of sleep. And, in fact, I am able, +throughout the month of July and the greater part of August, from eight +to ten o’clock in the evening, to watch the construction of the +web, which is more or less ruined nightly by the incidents of the chase +and built up again, next day, when too seriously dilapidated.</p> +<p>During the two stifling months, when the light fails and a spell +of coolness follows upon the furnace-heat of the day, it is easy for +me, lantern in hand, to watch my neighbour’s various operations. +She has taken up her abode, at a convenient height for observation, +between a row of cypress-trees and a clump of laurels, near the entrance +to an alley haunted by Moths. The spot appears well-chosen, for +the Epeira does not change it throughout the season, though she renews +her net almost every night.</p> +<p>Punctually as darkness falls, our whole family goes and calls upon +her. Big and little, we stand amazed at her wealth of belly and +her exuberant somersaults in the maze of quivering ropes; we admire +the faultless geometry of the net as it gradually takes shape. +All agleam in the lantern-light, the work becomes a fairy orb, which +seems woven of moonbeams.</p> +<p>Should I linger, in my anxiety to clear up certain details, the household, +which by this time is in bed, waits for my return before going to sleep:</p> +<p>‘What has she been doing this evening?’ I am asked. +‘Has she finished her web? Has she caught a Moth?’</p> +<p>I describe what has happened. To-morrow, they will be in a +less hurry to go to bed: they will want to see everything, to the very +end. What delightful, simple evenings we have spent looking into +the Spider’s workshop!</p> +<p>The journal of the Angular Epeira, written up day by day, teaches +us, first of all, how she obtains the ropes that form the framework +of the building. All day invisible, crouching amid the cypress-leaves, +the Spider, at about eight o’clock in the evening, solemnly emerges +from her retreat and makes for the top of a branch. In this exalted +position, she sits for some time laying her plans with due regard to +the locality; she consults the weather, ascertains if the night will +be fine. Then, suddenly, with her eight legs wide-spread, she +lets herself drop straight down, hanging to the line that issues from +her spinnerets. Just as the rope-maker obtains the even output +of his hemp by walking backwards, so does the Epeira obtain the discharge +of hers by falling. It is extracted by the weight of her body.</p> +<p>The descent, however, has not the brute speed which the force of +gravity would give it, if uncontrolled. It is governed by the +action of the spinnerets, which contract or expand their pores, or close +them entirely, at the faller’s pleasure. And so, with gentle +moderation she pays out this living plumb-line, of which my lantern +clearly shows me the plumb, but not always the line. The great +squab seems at such times to be sprawling in space, without the least +support.</p> +<p>She comes to an abrupt stop two inches from the ground; the silk-reel +ceases working. The Spider turns round, clutches the line which +she has just obtained and climbs up by this road, still spinning. +But, this time, as she is no longer assisted by the force of gravity, +the thread is extracted in another manner. The two hind-legs, +with a quick alternate action, draw it from the wallet and let it go.</p> +<p>On returning to her starting-point, at a height of six feet or more, +the Spider is now in possession of a double line, bent into a loop and +floating loosely in a current of air. She fixes her end where +it suits her and waits until the other end, wafted by the wind, has +fastened its loop to the adjacent twigs.</p> +<p>The desired result may be very slow in coming. It does not +tire the unfailing patience of the Epeira, but it soon wears out mine. +And it has happened to me sometimes to collaborate with the Spider. +I pick up the floating loop with a straw and lay it on a branch, at +a convenient height. The foot-bridge erected with my assistance +is considered satisfactory, just as though the wind had placed it. +I count this collaboration among the good actions standing to my credit.</p> +<p>Feeling her thread fixed, the Epeira runs along it repeatedly, from +end to end, adding a fibre to it on each journey. Whether I help +or not, this forms the ‘suspension-cable,’ the main piece +of the framework. I call it a cable, in spite of its extreme thinness, +because of its structure. It looks as though it were single, but, +at the two ends, it is seen to divide and spread, tuft-wise, into numerous +constituent parts, which are the product of as many crossings. +These diverging fibres, with their several contact-points, increase +the steadiness of the two extremities.</p> +<p>The suspension-cable is incomparably stronger than the rest of the +work and lasts for an indefinite time. The web is generally shattered +after the night’s hunting and is nearly always rewoven on the +following evening. After the removal of the wreckage, it is made +all over again, on the same site, cleared of everything except the cable +from which the new network is to hang.</p> +<p>The laying of this cable is a somewhat difficult matter, because +the success of the enterprise does not depend upon the animal’s +industry alone. It has to wait until a breeze carries the line +to the pier-head in the bushes. Sometimes, a calm prevails; sometimes, +the thread catches at an unsuitable point. This involves great +expenditure of time, with no certainty of success. And so, when +once the suspension-cable is in being, well and solidly placed, the +Epeira does not change it, except on critical occasions. Every +evening, she passes and repasses over it, strengthening it with fresh +threads.</p> +<p>When the Epeira cannot manage a fall of sufficient depth to give +her the double line with its loop to be fixed at a distance, she employs +another method. She lets herself down and then climbs up again, +as we have already seen; but, this time, the thread ends suddenly in +a filmy hair-pencil, a tuft, whose parts remain disjoined, just as they +come from the spinneret’s rose. Then this sort of bushy +fox’s brush is cut short, as though with a pair of scissors, and +the whole thread, when unfurled, doubles its length, which is now enough +for the purpose. It is fastened by the end joined to the Spider; +the other floats in the air, with its spreading tuft, which easily tangles +in the bushes. Even so must the Banded Epeira go to work when +she throws her daring suspension-bridge across a stream.</p> +<p>Once the cable is laid, in this way or in that, the Spider is in +possession of a base that allows her to approach or withdraw from the +leafy piers at will. From the height of the cable, the upper boundary +of the projected works, she lets herself slip to a slight depth, varying +the points of her fall. She climbs up again by the line produced +by her descent. The result of the operation is a double thread +which is unwound while the Spider walks along her big foot-bridge to +the contact-branch, where she fixes the free end of her thread more +or less low down. In this way, she obtains, to right and left, +a few slanting cross-bars, connecting the cable with the branches.</p> +<p>These cross-bars, in their turn, support others in ever-changing +directions. When there are enough of them, the Epeira need no +longer resort to falls in order to extract her threads; she goes from +one cord to the next, always wire-drawing with her hind-legs and placing +her produce in position as she goes. This results in a combination +of straight lines owning no order, save that they are kept in one, nearly +perpendicular plane. They mark a very irregular polygonal area, +wherein the web, itself a work of magnificent regularity, shall presently +be woven.</p> +<p>It is unnecessary to go over the construction of the masterpiece +again; the younger Spiders have taught us enough in this respect. +In both cases, we see the same equidistant radii laid, with a central +landmark for a guide; the same auxiliary spiral, the scaffolding of +temporary rungs, soon doomed to disappear; the same snaring-spiral, +with its maze of closely-woven coils. Let us pass on: other details +call for our attention.</p> +<p>The laying of the snaring-spiral is an exceedingly delicate operation, +because of the regularity of the work. I was bent upon knowing +whether, if subjected to the din of unaccustomed sounds, the Spider +would hesitate and blunder. Does she work imperturbably? +Or does she need undisturbed quiet? As it is, I know that my presence +and that of my light hardly trouble her at all. The sudden flashes +emitted by my lantern have no power to distract her from her task. +She continues to turn in the light even as she turned in the dark, neither +faster nor slower. This is a good omen for the experiment which +I have in view.</p> +<p>The first Sunday in August is the feast of the patron saint of the +village, commemorating the Finding of St. Stephen. This is Tuesday, +the third day of the rejoicings. There will be fireworks to-night, +at nine o’clock, to conclude the merry-makings. They will +take place on the high-road outside my door, at a few steps from the +spot where my Spider is working. The spinstress is busy upon her +great spiral at the very moment when the village big-wigs arrive with +trumpet and drum and small boys carrying torches.</p> +<p>More interested in animal psychology than in pyrotechnical displays, +I watch the Epeira’s doings, lantern in hand. The hullabaloo +of the crowd, the reports of the mortars, the crackle of Roman candles +bursting in the sky, the hiss of the rockets, the rain of sparks, the +sudden flashes of white, red or blue light: none of this disturbs the +worker, who methodically turns and turns again, just as she does in +the peace of ordinary evenings.</p> +<p>Once before, the gun which I fired under the plane-trees failed to +trouble the concert of the Cicadae; to-day, the dazzling light of the +fire-wheels and the splutter of the crackers do not avail to distract +the Spider from her weaving. And, after all, what difference would +it make to my neighbour if the world fell in! The village could +be blown up with dynamite, without her losing her head for such a trifle. +She would calmly go on with her web.</p> +<p>Let us return to the Spider manufacturing her net under the usual +tranquil conditions. The great spiral has been finished, abruptly, +on the confines of the resting-floor. The central cushion, a mat +of ends of saved thread, is next pulled up and eaten. But, before +indulging in this mouthful, which closes the proceedings, two Spiders, +the only two of the order, the Banded and the Silky Epeira, have still +to sign their work. A broad, white ribbon is laid, in a thick +zigzag, from the centre to the lower edge of the orb. Sometimes, +but not always, a second band of the same shape and of lesser length +occupies the upper portion, opposite the first.</p> +<p>I like to look upon these odd flourishes as consolidating-gear. +To begin with, the young Epeirae never use them. For the moment, +heedless of the future and lavish of their silk, they remake their web +nightly, even though it be none too much dilapidated and might well +serve again. A brand-new snare at sunset is the rule with them. +And there is little need for increased solidity when the work has to +be done again on the morrow.</p> +<p>On the other hand, in the late autumn, the full-grown Spiders, feeling +laying-time at hand, are driven to practise economy, in view of the +great expenditure of silk required for the egg-bag. Owing to its +large size, the net now becomes a costly work which it were well to +use as long as possible, for fear of finding one’s reserves exhausted +when the time comes for the expensive construction of the nest. +For this reason, or for others which escape me, the Banded and the Silky +Epeirae think it wise to produce durable work and to strengthen their +toils with a cross-ribbon. The other Epeirae, who are put to less +expense in the fabrication of their maternal wallet—a mere pill—are +unacquainted with the zigzag binder and, like the younger Spiders, reconstruct +their web almost nightly.</p> +<p>My fat neighbour, the Angular Epeira, consulted by the light of a +lantern, shall tell us how the renewal of the net proceeds. As +the twilight fades, she comes down cautiously from her day-dwelling; +she leaves the foliage of the cypresses for the suspension-cable of +her snare. Here she stands for some time; then, descending to +her web, she collects the wreckage in great armfuls. Everything—spiral, +spokes and frame—is raked up with her legs. One thing alone +is spared and that is the suspension-cable, the sturdy piece of work +that has served as a foundation for the previous buildings and will +serve for the new after receiving a few strengthening repairs.</p> +<p>The collected ruins form a pill which the Spider consumes with the +same greed that she would show in swallowing her prey. Nothing +remains. This is the second instance of the Spiders’ supreme +economy of their silk. We have seen them, after the manufacture +of the net, eating the central guide-post, a modest mouthful; we now +see them gobbling up the whole web, a meal. Refined and turned +into fluid by the stomach, the materials of the old net will serve for +other purposes.</p> +<p>As goon as the site is thoroughly cleared, the work of the frame +and the net begins on the support of the suspension-cable which was +respected. Would it not be simpler to restore the old web, which +might serve many times yet, if a few rents were just repaired? +One would say so; but does the Spider know how to patch her work, as +a thrifty housewife darns her linen? That is the question.</p> +<p>To mend severed meshes, to replace broken threads, to adjust the +new to the old, in short, to restore the original order by assembling +the wreckage would be a far-reaching feat of prowess, a very fine proof +of gleams of intelligence, capable of performing rational calculations. +Our menders excel in this class of work. They have as their guide +their sense, which measures the holes, cuts the new piece to size and +fits it into its proper place. Does the Spider possess the counterpart +of this habit of clear thinking?</p> +<p>People declare as much, without, apparently, looking into the matter +very closely. They seem able to dispense with the conscientious +observer’s scruples, when inflating their bladder of theory. +They go straight ahead; and that is enough. As for ourselves, +less greatly daring, we will first enquire; we will see by experiment +if the Spider really knows how to repair her work.</p> +<p>The Angular Epeira, that near neighbour who has already supplied +me with so many documents, has just finished her web, at nine o’clock +in the evening. It is a splendid night, calm and warm, favourable +to the rounds of the Moths. All promises good hunting. At +the moment when, after completing the great spiral, the Epeira is about +to eat the central cushion and settle down upon her resting-floor, I +cut the web in two, diagonally, with a pair of sharp scissors. +The sagging of the spokes, deprived of their counter-agents, produces +an empty space, wide enough for three fingers to pass through.</p> +<p>The Spider retreats to her cable and looks on without being greatly +frightened. When I have done, she quietly returns. She takes +her stand on one of the halves, at the spot which was the centre of +the original orb; but, as her legs find no footing on one side, she +soon realizes that the snare is defective. Thereupon, two threads +are stretched across the breach, two threads, no more; the legs that +lacked a foothold spread across them; and henceforth the Epeira moves +no more, devoting her attention to the incidents of the chase.</p> +<p>When I saw those two threads laid, joining the edges of the rent, +I began to hope that I was to witness a mending-process:</p> +<p>‘The Spider,’ said I to myself, ‘will increase +the number of those cross-threads from end to end of the breach; and, +though the added piece may not match the rest of the work, at least +it will fill the gap and the continuous sheet will be of the same use +practically as the regular web.’</p> +<p>The reality did not answer to my expectation. The spinstress +made no further endeavour all night. She hunted with her riven +net, for what it was worth; for I found the web next morning in the +same condition wherein I had left it on the night before. There +had been no mending of any kind.</p> +<p>The two threads stretched across the breach even must not be taken +for an attempt at repairing. Finding no foothold for her legs +on one side, the Spider went to look into the state of things and, in +so doing, crossed the rent. In going and returning, she left a +thread, as is the custom with all the Epeirae when walking. It +was not a deliberate mending, but the mere result of an uneasy change +of place.</p> +<p>Perhaps the subject of my experiment thought it unnecessary to go +to fresh trouble and expense, for the web can serve quite well as it +is, after my scissor-cut: the two halves together represent the original +snaring-surface. All that the Spider, seated in a central position, +need do is to find the requisite support for her spread legs. +The two threads stretched from side to side of the cleft supply her +with this, or nearly. My mischief did not go far enough. +Let us devise something better.</p> +<p>Next day, the web is renewed, after the old one has been swallowed. +When the work is done and the Epeira seated motionless at her central +post, I take a straw and, wielding it dexterously, so as to respect +the resting-floor and the spokes, I pull and root up the spiral, which +dangles in tatters. With its snaring-threads ruined, the net is +useless; no passing Moth would allow herself to be caught. Now +what does the Epeira do in the face of this disaster? Nothing +at all. Motionless on her resting-floor, which I have left intact, +she awaits the capture of the game; she awaits it all night in vain +on her impotent web. In the morning, I find the snare as I left +it. Necessity, the mother of invention, has not prompted the Spider +to make a slight repair in her ruined toils.</p> +<p>Possibly this is asking too much of her resources. The silk-glands +may be exhausted after the laying of the great spiral; and to repeat +the same expenditure immediately is out of the question. I want +a case wherein there could be no appeal to any such exhaustion. +I obtain it, thanks to my assiduity.</p> +<p>While I am watching the rolling of the spiral, a head of game rushes +fun tilt into the unfinished snare. The Epeira interrupts her +work, hurries to the giddy-pate, swathes him and takes her fill of him +where he lies. During the struggle, a section of the web has torn +under the weaver’s very eyes. A great gap endangers the +satisfactory working of the net. What will the spider do in the +presence of this grievous rent?</p> +<p>Now or never is the time to repair the broken threads: the accident +has happened this very moment, between the animal’s legs; it is +certainly known and, moreover, the rope-works are in full swing. +This time there is no question of the exhaustion of the silk-warehouse.</p> +<p>Well, under these conditions, so favourable to darning, the Epeira +does no mending at all. She flings aside her prey, after taking +a few sips at it, and resumes her spiral at the point where she interrupted +it to attack the Moth. The torn part remains as it is. The +machine-shuttle in our looms does not revert to the spoiled fabric; +even so with the Spider working at her web.</p> +<p>And this is no case of distraction, of individual carelessness; all +the large spinstresses suffer from a similar incapacity for patching. +The Banded Epeira and the Silky Epeira are noteworthy in this respect. +The Angular Epeira remakes her web nearly every evening; the other two +reconstruct theirs only very seldom and use them even when extremely +dilapidated. They go on hunting with shapeless rags. Before +they bring themselves to weave a new web, the old one has to be ruined +beyond recognition. Well, I have often noted the state of one +of these ruins and, the next morning, I have found it as it was, or +even more dilapidated. Never any repairs; never; never. +I am sorry, because of the reputation which our hard-pressed theorists +have given her, but the Spider is absolutely unable to mend her work. +In spite of her thoughtful appearance, the Epeira is incapable of the +modicum of reflexion required to insert a piece into an accidental gap.</p> +<p>Other Spiders are unacquainted with wide-meshed nets and weave satins +wherein the threads, crossing at random, form a continuous substance. +Among this number is the House Spider (<i>Tegenaria domestica</i>, LIN.). +In the corners of our rooms, she stretches wide webs fixed by angular +extensions. The best-protected nook at one side contains the owner’s +secret apartment. It is a silk tube, a gallery with a conical +opening, whence the Spider, sheltered from the eye, watches events. +The rest of the fabric, which exceeds our finest muslins in delicacy, +is not, properly speaking, a hunting-implement: it is a platform whereon +the Spider, attending to the affairs of her estate, goes her rounds, +especially at night. The real trap consists of a confusion of +lines stretched above the web.</p> +<p>The snare, constructed according to other rules than in the case +of the Epeirae, also works differently. Here are no viscous threads, +but plain toils, rendered invisible by the very number. If a Gnat +rush into the perfidious entanglement, he is caught at once; and the +more he struggles the more firmly is he bound. The snareling falls +on the sheet-web. <i>Tegenaria</i> hastens up and bites him in +the neck.</p> +<p>Having said this, let us experiment a little. In the web of +the House Spider, I make a round hole, two fingers wide. The hole +remains yawning all day long; but next morning it is invariably closed. +An extremely thin gauze covers the breach, the dark appearance of which +contrasts with the dense whiteness of the surrounding fabric. +The gauze is so delicate that, to make sure of its presence, I use a +straw rather than my eyes. The movement of the web, when this +part is touched, proves the presence of an obstacle.</p> +<p>Here, the matter would appear obvious. The House Spider has +mended her work during the night; she has put a patch in the torn stuff, +a talent unknown to the Garden Spiders. It would be greatly to +her credit, if a mere attentive study did not lead to another conclusion.</p> +<p>The web of the House Spider is, as we were saying, a platform for +watching and exploring; it is also a sheet into which the insects caught +in the overhead rigging fall. This surface, a domain subject to +unlimited shocks, is never strong enough, especially as it is exposed +to the additional burden of little bits of plaster loosened from the +wall. The owner is constantly working at it; she adds a new layer +nightly.</p> +<p>Every time that she issues from her tubular retreat or returns to +it, she fixes the thread that hangs behind her upon the road covered. +As evidence of this work, we have the direction of the surface-lines, +all of which, whether straight or winding, according to the fancies +that guide the Spider’s path, converge upon the entrance of the +tube. Each step taken, beyond a doubt, adds a filament to the +web.</p> +<p>We have here the story of the Processionary of the Pine, <a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30">{30}</a> +whose habits I have related elsewhere. When the caterpillars leave +the silk pouch, to go and browse at night, and also when they enter +it again, they never fail to spin a little on the surface of their nest. +Each expedition adds to the thickness of the wall.</p> +<p>When moving this way or that upon the purse which I have split from +top to bottom with my scissors, the Processionaries upholster the breach +even as they upholster the untouched part, without paying more attention +to it than to the rest of the wall. Caring nothing about the accident, +they behave in the same way as on a non-gutted dwelling. The crevice +is closed, in course of time, not intentionally, but solely by the action +of the usual spinning.</p> +<p>We arrive at the same conclusion on the subject of the House Spider. +Walking about her platform every night, she lays fresh courses without +drawing a distinction between the solid and the hollow. She has +not deliberately put a patch in the torn texture; she has simply gone +on with her ordinary business. If it happen that the hole is eventually +closed, this fortunate result is the outcome not of a special purpose, +but of an unvarying method of work.</p> +<p>Besides, it is evident that, if the Spider really wished to mend +her web, all her endeavours would be concentrated upon the rent. +She would devote to it all the silk at her disposal and obtain in one +sitting a piece very like the rest of the web. Instead of that, +what do we find? Almost nothing: a hardly visible gauze.</p> +<p>The thing is obvious: the Spider did on that rent what she did every +elsewhere, neither more nor less. Far from squandering silk upon +it, she saved her silk so as to have enough for the whole web. +The gap will be better mended, little by little, afterwards, as the +sheet is strengthened all over with new layers. And this will +take long. Two months later, the window—my work—still +shows through and makes a dark stain against the dead-white of the fabric.</p> +<p>Neither weavers nor spinners, therefore, know how to repair their +work. Those wonderful manufacturers of silk-stuffs lack the least +glimmer of that sacred lamp, reason, which enables the stupidest of +darning-women to mend the heel of an old stocking. The office +of inspector of Spiders’ webs would have its uses, even if it +merely succeeded in ridding us of a mistaken and mischievous idea.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI: THE GARDEN SPIDERS: THE LIME-SNARE</h2> +<p>The spiral network of the Epeirae possesses contrivances of fearsome +cunning. Let us give our attention by preference to that of the +Banded Epeira or that of the Silky Epeira, both of which can be observed +at early morning in all their freshness.</p> +<p>The thread that forms them is seen with the naked eye to differ from +that of the framework and the spokes. It glitters in the sun, +looks as though it were knotted and gives the impression of a chaplet +of atoms. To examine it through the lens on the web itself is +scarcely feasible, because of the shaking of the fabric, which trembles +at the least breath. By passing a sheet of glass under the web +and lifting it, I take away a few pieces of thread to study, pieces +that remain fixed to the glass in parallel lines. Lens and microscope +can now play their part.</p> +<p>The sight is perfectly astounding. Those threads, on the borderland +between the visible and the invisible, are very closely twisted twine, +similar to the gold cord of our officers’ sword-knots. Moreover, +they are hollow. The infinitely slender is a tube, a channel full +of a viscous moisture resembling a strong solution of gum arabic. +I can see a diaphanous trail of this moisture trickling through the +broken ends. Under the pressure of the thin glass slide that covers +them on the stage of the microscope, the twists lengthen out, become +crinkled ribbons, traversed from end to end, through the middle, by +a dark streak, which is the empty container.</p> +<p>The fluid contents must ooze slowly through the side of those tubular +threads, rolled into twisted strings, and thus render the network sticky. +It is sticky, in fact, and in such a way as to provoke surprise. +I bring a fine straw flat down upon three or four rungs of a sector. +However gentle the contact, adhesion is at once established. When +I lift the straw, the threads come with it and stretch to twice or three +times their length, like a thread of India-rubber. At last, when +over-taut, they loosen without breaking and resume their original form. +They lengthen by unrolling their twist, they shorten by rolling it again; +lastly, they become adhesive by taking the glaze of the gummy moisture +wherewith they are filled.</p> +<p>In short, the spiral thread is a capillary tube finer than any that +our physics will ever know. It is rolled into a twist so as to +possess an elasticity that allows it, without breaking, to yield to +the tugs of the captured prey; it holds a supply of sticky matter in +reserve in its tube, so as to renew the adhesive properties of the surface +by incessant exudation, as they become impaired by exposure to the air. +It is simply marvellous.</p> +<p>The Epeira hunts not with springs, but with lime-snares. And +such lime-snares! Everything is caught in them, down to the dandelion-plume +that barely brushes against them. Nevertheless, the Epeira, who +is in constant touch with her web, is not caught in them. Why?</p> +<p>Let us first of all remember that the Spider has contrived for herself, +in the middle of her trap, a floor in whose construction the sticky +spiral thread plays no part. We saw how this thread stops suddenly +at some distance from the centre. There is here, covering a space +which, in the larger webs, is about equal to the palm of one’s +hand, a fabric formed of spokes and of the commencement of the auxiliary +spiral, a neutral fabric in which the exploring straw finds no adhesiveness +anywhere.</p> +<p>Here, on this central resting-floor, and here only, the Epeira takes +her stand, waiting whole days for the arrival of the game. However +close, however prolonged her contact with this portion of the web, she +runs no risk of sticking to it, because the gummy coating is lacking, +as is the twisted and tubular structure, throughout the length of the +spokes and throughout the extent of the auxiliary spiral. These +pieces, together with the rest of the framework, are made of plain, +straight, solid thread.</p> +<p>But, when a victim is caught, sometimes right at the edge of the +web, the Spider has to rush up quickly, to bind it and overcome its +attempts to free itself. She is walking then upon her network; +and I do not find that she suffers the least inconvenience. The +lime-threads are not even lifted by the movements of her legs.</p> +<p>In my boyhood, when a troop of us would go, on Thursdays, <a name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31">{31}</a> +to try and catch a Goldfinch in the hemp-fields, we used, before covering +the twigs with glue, to grease our fingers with a few drops of oil, +lest we should get them caught in the sticky matter. Does the +Epeira know the secret of fatty substances? Let us try.</p> +<p>I rub my exploring straw with slightly oiled paper. When applied +to the spiral thread of the web, it now no longer sticks to it. +The principle is discovered. I pull out the leg of a live Epeira. +Brought just as it is into contact with the lime-threads, it does not +stick to them any more than to the neutral cords, whether spokes or +parts of the framework. We were entitled to expect this, judging +by the Spider’s general immunity.</p> +<p>But here is something that wholly alters the result. I put +the leg to soak for a quarter of an hour in disulphide of carbon, the +best solvent of fatty matters. I wash it carefully with a brush +dipped in the same fluid. When this washing is finished, the leg +sticks to the snaring-thread quite easily and adheres to it just as +well as anything else would, the unoiled straw, for instance.</p> +<p>Did I guess aright when I judged that it was a fatty substance that +preserved the Epeira from the snares of her sticky Catherine-wheel? +The action of the carbon disulphide seems to say yes. Besides, +there is no reason why a substance of this kind, which plays so frequent +a part in animal economy, should not coat the Spider very slightly by +the mere act of perspiration. We used to rub our fingers with +a little oil before handling the twigs in which the Goldfinch was to +be caught; even so the Epeira varnishes herself with a special sweat, +to operate on any part of her web without fear of the lime-threads.</p> +<p>However, an unduly protracted stay on the sticky threads would have +its drawbacks. In the long run, continual contact with those threads +might produce a certain adhesion and inconvenience the Spider, who must +preserve all her agility in order to rush upon the prey before it can +release itself. For this reason, gummy threads are never used +in building the post of interminable waiting.</p> +<p>It is only on her resting-floor that the Epeira sits, motionless +and with her eight legs outspread, ready to mark the least quiver in +the net. It is here, again, that she takes her meals, often long-drawn-out, +when the joint is a substantial one; it is hither that, after trussing +and nibbling it, she drags her prey at the end of a thread, to consume +it at her ease on a non-viscous mat. As a hunting-post and refectory, +the Epeira has contrived a central space, free from glue.</p> +<p>As for the glue itself, it is hardly possible to study its chemical +properties, because the quantity is so slight. The microscope +shows it trickling from the broken threads in the form of a transparent +and more or less granular streak. The following experiment will +tell us more about it.</p> +<p>With a sheet of glass passed across the web, I gather a series of +lime-threads which remain fixed in parallel lines. I cover this +sheet with a bell-jar standing in a depth of water. Soon, in this +atmosphere saturated with humidity, the threads become enveloped in +a watery sheath, which gradually increases and begins to flow. +The twisted shape has by this time disappeared; and the channel of the +thread reveals a chaplet of translucent orbs, that is to say, a series +of extremely fine drops.</p> +<p>In twenty-four hours, the threads have lost their contents and are +reduced to almost invisible streaks. If I then lay a drop of water +on the glass, I get a sticky solution, similar to that which a particle +of gum arabic might yield. The conclusion is evident: the Epeira’s +glue is a substance that absorbs moisture freely. In an atmosphere +with a high degree of humidity, it becomes saturated and percolates +by sweating through the side of the tubular threads.</p> +<p>These data explain certain facts relating to the work of the net. +The full-grown Banded and Silky Epeirae weave at very early hours, long +before dawn. Should the air turn misty, they sometimes leave that +part of the task unfinished: they build the general framework, they +lay the spokes, they even draw the auxiliary spiral, for all these parts +are unaffected by excess of moisture; but they are very careful not +to work at the lime-threads, which, if soaked by the fog, would dissolve +into sticky shreds and lose their efficacy by being wetted. The +net that was started will be finished to-morrow, if the atmosphere be +favourable.</p> +<p>While the highly-absorbent character of the snaring-thread has its +drawbacks, it also has compensating advantages. Both Epeirae, +when hunting by day, affect those hot places, exposed to the fierce +rays of the sun, wherein the Crickets delight. In the torrid heats +of the dog-days, therefore, the lime-threads, but for special provisions, +would be liable to dry up, to shrivel into stiff and lifeless filaments. +But the very opposite happens. At the most scorching times of +the day, they continue supple, elastic and more and more adhesive.</p> +<p>How is this brought about? By their very powers of absorption. +The moisture of which the air is never deprived penetrates them slowly; +it dilutes the thick contents of their tubes to the requisite degree +and causes it to ooze through, as and when the earlier stickiness decreases. +What bird-catcher could vie with the Garden Spider in the art of laying +lime-snares? And all this industry and cunning for the capture +of a Moth!</p> +<p>Then, too, what a passion for production! Knowing the diameter +of the orb and the number of coils, we can easily calculate the total +length of the sticky spiral. We find that, in one sitting, each +time that she remakes her web, the Angular Epeira produces some twenty +yards of gummy thread. The more skilful Silky Epeira produces +thirty. Well, during two months, the Angular Epeira, my neighbour, +renewed her snare nearly every evening. During that period, she +manufactured something like three-quarters of a mile of this tubular +thread, rolled into a tight twist and bulging with glue.</p> +<p>I should like an anatomist endowed with better implements than mine +and with less tired eyesight to explain to us the work of the marvellous +rope-yard. How is the silky matter moulded into a capillary tube? +How is this tube filled with glue and tightly twisted? And how +does this same wire-mill also turn out plain threads, wrought first +into a framework and then into muslin and satin; next, a russet foam, +such as fills the wallet of the Banded Epeira; next, the black stripes +stretched in meridian curves on that same wallet? What a number +of products to come from that curious factory, a Spider’s belly! +I behold the results, but fail to understand the working of the machine. +I leave the problem to the masters of the microtome and the scalpel.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII: THE GARDEN SPIDERS: THE TELEGRAPH-WIRE</h2> +<p>Of the six Garden Spiders that form the object of my observations, +two only, the Banded and the silky Epeira, remain constantly in their +webs, even under the blinding rays of a fierce sun. The others, +as a rule, do not show themselves until nightfall. At some distance +from the net, they have a rough and ready retreat in the brambles, an +ambush made of a few leaves held together by stretched threads. +It is here that, for the most part, they remain in the daytime, motionless +and sunk in meditation.</p> +<p>But the shrill light that vexes them is the joy of the fields. +At such times, the Locust hops more nimbly than ever, more gaily skims +the Dragon-fly. Besides, the limy web, despite the rents suffered +during the night, is still in serviceable condition. If some giddy-pate +allow himself to be caught, will the Spider, at the distance whereto +she has retired, be unable to take advantage of the windfall? +Never fear. She arrives in a flash. How is she apprised? +Let us explain the matter.</p> +<p>The alarm is given by the vibration of the web, much more than by +the sight of the captured object. A very simple experiment will +prove this. I lay upon a Banded Epeira’s lime-threads a +Locust that second asphyxiated with carbon disulphide. The carcass +is placed in front, or behind, or at either side of the Spider, who +sits moveless in the centre of the net. If the test is to be applied +to a species with a daytime hiding-place amid the foliage, the dead +Locust is laid on the web, more or less near the centre, no matter how.</p> +<p>In both cases, nothing happens at first. The Epeira remains +in her motionless attitude, even when the morsel is at a short distance +in front of her. She is indifferent to the presence of the game, +does not seem to perceive it, so much so that she ends by wearing out +my patience. Then, with a long straw, which enables me to conceal +myself slightly, I set the dead insect trembling.</p> +<p>That is quite enough. The Banded Epeira and the Silky Epeira +hasten to the central floor; the others come down from the branch; all +go to the Locust, swathe him with tape, treat him, in short, as they +would treat a live prey captured under normal conditions. It took +the shaking of the web to decide them to attack.</p> +<p>Perhaps the grey colour of the Locust is not sufficiently conspicuous +to attract attention by itself. Then let us try red, the brightest +colour to our retina and probably also to the Spiders’. +None of the game hunted by the Epeirae being clad in scarlet, I make +a small bundle out of red wool, a bait of the size of a Locust. +I glue it to the web.</p> +<p>My stratagem succeeds. As long as the parcel is stationary, +the Spider is not roused; but, the moment it trembles, stirred by my +straw, she runs up eagerly.</p> +<p>There are silly ones who just touch the thing with their legs and, +without further enquiries, swathe it in silk after the manner of the +usual game. They even go so far as to dig their fangs into the +bait, following the rule of the preliminary poisoning. Then and +then only the mistake is recognized and the tricked Spider retires and +does not come back, unless it be long afterwards, when she flings the +cumbersome object out of the web.</p> +<p>There are also clever ones. Like the others, these hasten to +the red-woollen lure, which my straw insidiously keeps moving; they +come from their tent among the leaves as readily as from the centre +of the web; they explore it with their palpi and their legs; but, soon +perceiving that the thing is valueless, they are careful not to spend +their silk on useless bonds. My quivering bait does not deceive +them. It is flung out after a brief inspection.</p> +<p>Still, the clever ones, like the silly ones, run even from a distance, +from their leafy ambush. How do they know? Certainly not +by sight. Before recognizing their mistake, they have to hold +the object between their legs and even to nibble at it a little. +They are extremely short-sighted. At a hand’s-breadth’s +distance, the lifeless prey, unable to shake the web, remains unperceived. +Besides, in many cases, the hunting takes place in the dense darkness +of the night, when sight, even if it were good, would not avail.</p> +<p>If the eyes are insufficient guides, even close at hand, how will +it be when the prey has to be spied from afar! In that case, an intelligence-apparatus +for long-distance work becomes indispensable. We have no difficulty +in detecting the apparatus.</p> +<p>Let us look attentively behind the web of any Epeira with a daytime +hiding-place: we shall see a thread that starts from the centre of the +network, ascends in a slanting line outside the plane of the web and +ends at the ambush where the Spider lurks all day. Except at the +central point, there is no connection between this thread and the rest +of the work, no interweaving with the scaffolding-threads. Free +of impediment, the line runs straight from the centre of the net to +the ambush-tent. Its length averages twenty-two inches. +The Angular Epeira, settled high up in the trees, has shown me some +as long as eight or nine feet.</p> +<p>There is no doubt that this slanting line is a foot-bridge which +allows the Spider to repair hurriedly to the web, when summoned by urgent +business, and then, when her round is finished, to return to her hut. +In fact, it is the road which I see her follow, in going and coming. +But is that all? No; for, if the Epeira had no aim in view but +a means of rapid transit between her tent and the net, the foot-bridge +would be fastened to the upper edge of the web. The journey would +be shorter and the slope less steep.</p> +<p>Why, moreover, does this line always start in the centre of the sticky +network and nowhere else? Because that is the point where the +spokes meet and, therefore, the common centre of vibration. Anything +that moves upon the web sets it shaking. All then that is needed +is a thread issuing from this central point to convey to a distance +the news of a prey struggling in some part or other of the net. +The slanting cord, extending outside the plane of the web, is more than +a foot-bridge: it is, above all, a signalling-apparatus, a telegraph-wire.</p> +<p>Let us try experiment. I place a Locust on the network. +Caught in the sticky toils, he plunges about. Forthwith, the Spider +issues impetuously from her hut, comes down the foot-bridge, makes a +rush for the Locust, wraps him up and operates on him according to rule. +Soon after, she hoists him, fastened by a line to her spinneret, and +drags him to her hiding-place, where a long banquet will be held. +So far, nothing new: things happen as usual.</p> +<p>I leave the Spider to mind her own affairs for some days, before +I interfere with her. I again propose to give her a Locust; but, +this time, I first cut the signalling-thread with a touch of the scissors, +without shaking any part of the edifice. The game is then laid +on the web. Complete success: the entangled insect struggles, +sets the net quivering; the Spider, on her side, does not stir, as though +heedless of events.</p> +<p>The idea might occur to one that, in this business, the Epeira stays +motionless in her cabin since she is prevented from hurrying down, because +the foot-bridge is broken. Let us undeceive ourselves: for one +road open to her there are a hundred, all ready to bring her to the +place where her presence is now required. The network is fastened +to the branches by a host of lines, all of them very easy to cross. +Well, the Epeira embarks upon none of them, but remains moveless and +self-absorbed.</p> +<p>Why? Because her telegraph, being out of order, no longer tells +her of the shaking of the web. The captured prey is too far off +for her to see it; she is all unwitting. A good hour passes, with +the Locust still kicking, the Spider impassive, myself watching. +Nevertheless, in the end, the Epeira wakes up: no longer feeling the +signalling-thread, broken by my scissors, as taut as usual under her +legs, she comes to look into the state of things. The web is reached, +without the least difficulty, by one of the lines of the framework, +the first that offers. The Locust is then perceived and forthwith +enswathed, after which the signalling-thread is remade, taking the place +of the one which I have broken. Along this road the Spider goes +home, dragging her prey behind her.</p> +<p>My neighbour, the mighty Angular Epeira, with her telegraph-wire +nine feet long, has even better things in store for me. One morning, +I find her web, which is now deserted, almost intact, a proof that the +night’s hunting has not been good. The animal must be hungry. +With a piece of game for a bait, I hope to bring her down from her lofty +retreat.</p> +<p>I entangle in the web a rare morsel, a Dragon-fly, who struggles +desperately and sets the whole net a-shaking. The other, up above, +leaves her lurking-place amid the cypress-foliage, strides swiftly down +along her telegraph-wire, comes to the Dragon-fly, trusses her and at +once climbs home again by the same road, with her prize dangling at +her heels by a thread. The final sacrifice will take place in +the quiet of the leafy sanctuary.</p> +<p>A few days later, I renew my experiment under the same conditions, +but, this time, I first cut the signalling-thread. In vain I select +a large Dragon-fly, a very restless prisoner; in vain I exert my patience: +the Spider does not come down all day. Her telegraph being broken, +she receives no notice of what is happening nine feet below. The +entangled morsel remains where it lies, not despised, but unknown. +At nightfall, the Epeira leaves her cabin, passes over the ruins of +her web, finds the Dragon-fly and eats her on the spot, after which +the net is renewed.</p> +<p>One of the Epeirae whom I have had the opportunity of examining simplifies +the system, while retaining the essential mechanism of a transmission-thread. +This is the Crater Epeira (<i>Epeira cratera</i>, WALCK.), a species +seen in spring, at which time she indulges especially in the chase of +the Domestic Bee, upon the flowering rosemaries. At the leafy +end of a branch, she builds a sort of silken shell, the shape and size +of an acorn-cup. This is where she sits, with her paunch contained +in the round cavity and her forelegs resting on the ledge, ready to +leap. The lazy creature loves this position and rarely stations +herself head downwards on the web, as do the others. Cosily ensconced +in the hollow of her cup, she awaits the approaching game.</p> +<p>Her web, which is vertical, as is the rule among the Epeirae, is +of a fair size and always very near the bowl wherein the Spider takes +her ease. Moreover, it touches the bowl by means of an angular +extension; and the angle always contains one spoke which the Epeira, +seated, so to speak, in her crater, has constantly under her legs. +This spoke, springing from the common focus of the vibrations from all +parts of the network, is eminently fitted to keep the Spider informed +of whatsoever happens. It has a double office: it forms part of +the Catherine-wheel supporting the lime-threads and it warns the Epeira +by its vibrations. A special thread is here superfluous.</p> +<p>The other snarers, on the contrary, who occupy a distant retreat +by day, cannot do without a private wire that keeps them in permanent +communication with the deserted web. All of them have one, in +point of fact, but only when age comes, age prone to rest and to long +slumbers. In their youth, the Epeirae, who are then very wide-awake, +know nothing of the art of telegraphy. Besides, their web, a short-lived +work whereof hardly a trace remains on the morrow, does not allow of +this kind of industry. It is no use going to the expense of a +signalling-apparatus for a ruined snare wherein nothing can now be caught. +Only the old Spiders, meditating or dozing in their green tent, are +warned from afar, by telegraph, of what takes place on the web.</p> +<p>To save herself from keeping a close watch that would degenerate +into drudgery and to remain alive to events even when resting, with +her back turned on the net, the ambushed Spider always has her foot +upon the telegraph-wire. Of my observations on this subject, let +me relate the following, which will be sufficient for our purpose.</p> +<p>An Angular Epeira, with a remarkably fine belly, has spun her web +between two laurestine-shrubs, covering a width of nearly a yard. +The sun beats upon the snare, which is abandoned long before dawn. +The Spider is in her day manor, a resort easily discovered by following +the telegraph-wire. It is a vaulted chamber of dead leaves, joined +together with a few bits of silk. The refuge is deep: the Spider +disappears in it entirely, all but her rounded hind-quarters, which +bar the entrance to the donjon.</p> +<p>With her front half plunged into the back of her hut, the Epeira +certainly cannot see her web. Even if she had good sight, instead +of being purblind, her position could not possibly allow her to keep +the prey in view. Does she give up hunting during this period, +of bright sunlight? Not at all. Look again.</p> +<p>Wonderful! One of her hind-legs is stretched outside the leafy +cabin; and the signalling-thread ends just at the tip of that leg. +Whoso has not seen the Epeira in this attitude, with her hand, so to +speak, on the telegraph-receiver, knows nothing of one of the most curious +instances of animal cleverness. Let any game appear upon the scene; +and the slumberer, forthwith aroused by means of the leg receiving the +vibrations, hastens up. A Locust whom I myself lay on the web +procures her this agreeable shock and what follows. If she is +satisfied with her bag, I am still more satisfied with what I have learnt.</p> +<p>The occasion is too good not to find out, under better conditions +as regards approach, what the inhabitant of the cypress-trees has already +shown me. The next morning, I cut the telegraph-wire, this time +as long as one’s arm and held, like yesterday, by one of the hind-legs +stretched outside the cabin. I then place on the web a double +prey, a Dragon-fly and a Locust. The latter kicks out with his +long, spurred shanks; the other flutters her wings. The web is +tossed about to such an extent that a number of leaves, just beside +the Epeira’s nest, move, shaken by the threads of the framework +affixed to them.</p> +<p>And this vibration, though so close at hand, does not rouse the Spider +in the least, does not make her even turn round to enquire what is going +on. The moment that her signalling-thread ceases to work, she +knows nothing of passing events. All day long, she remains without +stirring. In the evening, at eight o’clock, she sallies +forth to weave the new web and at last finds the rich windfall whereof +she was hitherto unaware.</p> +<p>One word more. The web is often shaken by the wind. The +different parts of the framework, tossed and teased by the eddying air-currents, +cannot fail to transmit their vibration to the signalling-thread. +Nevertheless, the Spider does not quit her hut and remains indifferent +to the commotion prevailing in the net. Her line, therefore, is +something better than a bell-rope that pulls and communicates the impulse +given: it is a telephone capable, like our own, of transmitting infinitesimal +waves of sound. Clutching her telephone-wire with a toe, the Spider +listens with her leg; she perceives the innermost vibrations; she distinguishes +between the vibration proceeding from a prisoner and the mere shaking +caused by the wind.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII: THE GARDEN SPIDERS: PAIRING AND HUNTING</h2> +<p>Notwithstanding the importance of the subject, I shall not enlarge +upon the nuptials of the Epeirae, grim natures whose loves easily turn +to tragedy in the mystery of the night. I have but once been present +at the pairing and for this curious experience I must thank my lucky +star and my fat neighbour, the Angular Epeira, whom I visit so often +by lantern-light. Here you have it.</p> +<p>It is the first week of August, at about nine o’clock in the +evening, under a perfect sky, in calm, hot weather. The Spider +has not yet constructed her web and is sitting motionless on her suspension-cable. +The fact that she should be slacking like this, at a time when her building-operations +ought to be in full swing, naturally astonishes me. Can something +unusual be afoot?</p> +<p>Even so. I see hastening up from the neighbouring bushes and +embarking on the cable a male, a dwarf, who is coming, the whipper-snapper, +to pay his respects to the portly giantess. How has he, in his +distant corner, heard of the presence of the nymph ripe for marriage? +Among the Spiders, these things are learnt in the silence of the night, +without a summons, without a signal, none knows how.</p> +<p>Once, the Great Peacock, <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32">{32}</a> +apprised by the magic effluvia, used to come from miles around to visit +the recluse in her bell-jar in my study. The dwarf of this evening, +that other nocturnal pilgrim, crosses the intricate tangle of the branches +without a mistake and makes straight for the rope-walker. He has +as his guide the infallible compass that brings every Jack and his Jill +together.</p> +<p>He climbs the slope of the suspension-cord; he advances circumspectly, +step by step. He stops some distance away, irresolute. Shall +he go closer? Is this the right moment? No. The other +lifts a limb and the scared visitor hurries down again. Recovering +from his fright, he climbs up once more, draws a little nearer. +More sudden flights, followed by fresh approaches, each time nigher +than before. This restless running to and fro is the declaration +of the enamoured swain.</p> +<p>Perseverance spells success. The pair are now face to face, +she motionless and grave, he all excitement. With the tip of his +leg, he ventures to touch the plump wench. He has gone too far, +daring youth that he is! Panic-stricken, he takes a header, hanging +by his safety-line. It is only for a moment, however. Up +he comes again. He has learnt, from certain symptoms, that we +are at last yielding to his blandishments.</p> +<p>With his legs and especially with his palpi, or feelers, he teases +the buxom gossip, who answers with curious skips and bounds. Gripping +a thread with her front tarsi, or fingers, she turns, one after the +other, a number of back somersaults, like those of an acrobat on the +trapeze. Having done this, she presents the under-part of her +paunch to the dwarf and allows him to fumble at it a little with his +feelers. Nothing more: it is done.</p> +<p>The object of the expedition is attained. The whipper-snapper +makes off at full speed, as though he had the Furies at his heels. +If he remained, he would presumably be eaten. These exercises +on the tight-rope are not repeated. I kept watch in vain on the +following evenings: I never saw the fellow again.</p> +<p>When he is gone, the bride descends from the cable, spins her web +and assumes the hunting-attitude. We must eat to have silk, we +must have silk to eat and especially to weave the expensive cocoon of +the family. There is therefore no rest, not even after the excitement +of being married.</p> +<p>The Epeirae are monuments of patience in their lime-snare. +With her head down and her eight legs wide-spread, the Spider occupies +the centre of the web, the receiving-point of the information sent along +the spokes. If anywhere, behind or before, a vibration occur, +the sign of a capture, the Epeira knows about it, even without the aid +of sight. She hastens up at once.</p> +<p>Until then, not a movement: one would think that the animal was hypnotized +by her watching. At most, on the appearance of anything suspicious, +she begins shaking her nest. This is her way of inspiring the +intruder with awe. If I myself wish to provoke the singular alarm, +I have but to tease the Epeira with a bit of straw. You cannot +have a swing without an impulse of some sort. The terror-stricken +Spider, who wishes to strike terror into others, has hit upon something +much better. With nothing to push her, she swings with her floor +of ropes. There is no effort, no visible exertion. Not a +single part of the animal moves; and yet everything trembles. +Violent shaking proceeds from apparent inertia. Rest causes commotion.</p> +<p>When calm is restored, she resumes her attitude, ceaselessly pondering +the harsh problem of life:</p> +<p>‘Shall I dine to-day, or not?’</p> +<p>Certain privileged beings, exempt from those anxieties, have food +in abundance and need not struggle to obtain it. Such is the Gentle, +who swims blissfully in the broth of the putrefying adder. Others—and, +by a strange irony of fate, these are generally the most gifted—only +manage to eat by dint of craft and patience.</p> +<p>You are of their company, O my industrious Epeirae! So that +you may dine, you spend your treasures of patience nightly; and often +without result. I sympathize with your woes, for I, who am as +concerned as you about my daily bread, I also doggedly spread my net, +the net for catching ideas, a more elusive and less substantial prize +than the Moth. Let us not lose heart. The best part of life +is not in the present, still less in the past; it lies in the future, +the domain of hope. Let us wait.</p> +<p>All day long, the sky, of a uniform grey, has appeared to be brewing +a storm. In spite of the threatened downpour, my neighbour, who +is a shrewd weather-prophet, has come out of the cypress-tree and begun +to renew her web at the regular hour. Her forecast is correct: +it will be a fine night. See, the steaming-pan of the clouds splits +open; and, through the apertures, the moon peeps, inquisitively. +I too, lantern in hand, am peeping. A gust of wind from the north +clears the realms on high; the sky becomes magnificent; perfect calm +reigns below. The Moths begin their nightly rounds. Good! +One is caught, a mighty fine one. The Spider will dine to-day.</p> +<p>What happens next, in an uncertain light, does not lend itself to +accurate observation. It is better to turn to those Garden Spiders +who never leave their web and who hunt mainly in the daytime. +The Banded and the Silky Epeira, both of whom live on the rosemaries +in the enclosure, shall show us in broad day-light the innermost details +of the tragedy.</p> +<p>I myself place on the lime-snare a victim of my selecting. +Its six legs are caught without more ado. If the insect raises +one of its tarsi and pulls towards itself, the treacherous thread follows, +unwinds slightly and, without letting go or breaking, yields to the +captive’s desperate jerks. Any limb released only tangles +the others still more and is speedily recaptured by the sticky matter. +There is no means of escape, except by smashing the trap with a sudden +effort whereof even powerful insects are not always capable.</p> +<p>Warned by the shaking of the net, the Epeira hastens up; she turns +round about the quarry; she inspects it at a distance, so as to ascertain +the extent of the danger before attacking. The strength of the +snareling will decide the plan of campaign. Let us first suppose +the usual case, that of an average head of game, a Moth or Fly of some +sort. Facing her prisoner, the Spider contracts her abdomen slightly +and touches the insect for a moment with the end of her spinnerets; +then, with her front tarsi, she sets her victim spinning. The +Squirrel, in the moving cylinder of his cage, does not display a more +graceful or nimbler dexterity. A cross-bar of the sticky spiral +serves as an axis for the tiny machine, which turns, turns swiftly, +like a spit. It is a treat to the eyes to see it revolve.</p> +<p>What is the object of this circular motion? See, the brief +contact of the spinnerets has given a starting-point for a thread, which +the Spider must now draw from her silk-warehouse and gradually roll +around the captive, so as to swathe him in a winding-sheet which will +overpower any effort made. It is the exact process employed in +our wire-mills: a motor-driven spool revolves and, by its action, draws +the wire through the narrow eyelet of a steel plate, making it of the +fineness required, and, with the same movement, winds it round and round +its collar.</p> +<p>Even so with the Epeira’s work. The Spider’s front +tarsi are the motor; the revolving spool is the captured insect; the +steel eyelet is the aperture of the spinnerets. To bind the subject +with precision and dispatch nothing could be better than this inexpensive +and highly-effective method.</p> +<p>Less frequently, a second process is employed. With a quick +movement, the Spider herself turns round about the motionless insect, +crossing the web first at the top and then at the bottom and gradually +placing the fastenings of her line. The great elasticity of the +lime-threads allows the Epeira to fling herself time after time right +into the web and to pass through it without damaging the net.</p> +<p>Let us now suppose the case of some dangerous game: a Praying Mantis, +for instance, brandishing her lethal limbs, each hooked and fitted with +a double saw; an angry Hornet, darting her awful sting; a sturdy Beetle, +invincible under his horny armour. These are exceptional morsels, +hardly ever known to the Epeirae. Will they be accepted, if supplied +by my stratagems?</p> +<p>They are, but not without caution. The game is seen to be perilous +of approach and the Spider turns her back upon it, instead of facing +it; she trains her rope-cannon upon it. Quickly, the hind-legs +draw from the spinnerets something much better than single cords. +The whole silk-battery works at one and the same time, firing a regular +volley of ribbons and sheets, which a wide movement of the legs spreads +fan-wise and flings over the entangled prisoner. Guarding against +sudden starts, the Epeira casts her armfuls of bands on the front-and +hind-parts, over the legs and over the wings, here, there and everywhere, +extravagantly. The most fiery prey is promptly mastered under +this avalanche. In vain, the Mantis tries to open her saw-toothed +arm-guards; in vain, the Hornet makes play with her dagger; in vain, +the Beetle stiffens his legs and arches his back: a fresh wave of threads +swoops down and paralyses every effort.</p> +<p>These lavished, far-flung ribbons threaten to exhaust the factory; +it would be much more economical to resort to the method of the spool; +but, to turn the machine, the Spider would have to go up to it and work +it with her leg. This is too risky; and hence the continuous spray +of silk, at a safe distance. When all is used up, there is more +to come.</p> +<p>Still, the Epeira seems concerned at this excessive outlay. +When circumstances permit, she gladly returns to the mechanism of the +revolving spool. I saw her practise this abrupt change of tactics +on a big Beetle, with a smooth, plump body, which lent itself admirably +to the rotary process. After depriving the beast of all power +of movement, she went up to it and turned her corpulent victim as she +would have done with a medium-sized Moth.</p> +<p>But with the Praying Mantis, sticking out her long legs and her spreading +wings, rotation is no longer feasible. Then, until the quarry +is thoroughly subdued, the spray of bandages goes on continuously, even +to the point of drying up the silk-glands. A capture of this kind +is ruinous. It is true that, except when I interfered, I have +never seen the Spider tackle that formidable provender.</p> +<p>Be it feeble or strong, the game is now neatly trussed, by one of +the two methods. The next move never varies. The bound insect +is bitten, without persistency and without any wound that shows. +The Spider next retires and allows the bite to act, which it soon does. +She then returns.</p> +<p>If the victim be small, a Clothes-moth, for instance, it is consumed +on the spot, at the place where it was captured. But, for a prize +of some importance, on which she hopes to feast for many an hour, sometimes +for many a day, the Spider needs a sequestered dining-room, where there +is naught to fear from the stickiness of the network. Before going +to it, she first makes her prey turn in the converse direction to that +of the original rotation. Her object is to free the nearest spokes, +which supplied pivots for the machinery. They are essential factors +which it behoves her to keep intact, if need be by sacrificing a few +cross-bars.</p> +<p>It is done; the twisted ends are put back into position. The +well-trussed game is at last removed from the web and fastened on behind +with a thread. The Spider then marches in front and the load is +trundled across the web and hoisted to the resting-floor, which is both +an inspection-post and a dining-hall. When the Spider is of a +species that shuns the light and possesses a telegraph-line, she mounts +to her daytime hiding-place along this line, with the game bumping against +her heels.</p> +<p>While she is refreshing herself, let us enquire into the effects +of the little bite previously administered to the silk-swathed captive. +Does the Spider kill the patient with a view to avoiding unseasonable +jerks, protests so disagreeable at dinner-time? Several reasons +make me doubt it. In the first place, the attack is so much veiled +as to have all the appearance of a mere kiss. Besides, it is made +anywhere, at the first spot that offers. The expert slayers <a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33">{33}</a> +employ methods of the highest precision: they give a stab in the neck, +or under the throat; they wound the cervical nerve-centres, the seat +of energy. The paralyzers, those accomplished anatomists, poison +the motor nerve-centres, of which they know the number and position. +The Epeira possesses none of this fearsome knowledge. She inserts +her fangs at random, as the Bee does her sting. She does not select +one spot rather than another; she bites indifferently at whatever comes +within reach. This being so, her poison would have to possess +unparalleled virulence to produce a corpse-like inertia no matter which +the point attacked. I can scarcely believe in instantaneous death +resulting from the bite, especially in the case of insects, with their +highly-resistant organisms.</p> +<p>Besides, is it really a corpse that the Epeira wants, she who feeds +on blood much more than on flesh? It were to her advantage to +suck a live body, wherein the flow of the liquids, set in movement by +the pulsation of the dorsal vessel, that rudimentary heart of insects, +must act more freely than in a lifeless body, with its stagnant fluids. +The game which the Spider means to suck dry might very well not be dead. +This is easily ascertained.</p> +<p>I place some Locusts of different species on the webs in my menagerie, +one on this, another on that. The Spider comes rushing up, binds +the prey, nibbles at it gently and withdraws, waiting for the bite to +take effect. I then take the insect and carefully strip it of +its silken shroud. The Locust is not dead, far from it; one would +even think that he had suffered no harm. I examine the released +prisoner through the lens in vain; I can see no trace of a wound.</p> +<p>Can he be unscathed, in spite of the sort of kiss which I saw given +to him just now? You would be ready to say so, judging by the +furious way in which he kicks in my fingers. Nevertheless, when +put on the ground, he walks awkwardly, he seems reluctant to hop. +Perhaps it is a temporary trouble, caused by his terrible excitement +in the web. It looks as though it would soon pass.</p> +<p>I lodge my Locusts in cages, with a lettuce-leaf to console them +for their trials; but they will not be comforted. A day elapses, +followed by a second. Not one of them touches the leaf of salad; +their appetite has disappeared. Their movements become more uncertain, +as though hampered by irresistible torpor. On the second day, +they are dead, every one irrecoverably dead.</p> +<p>The Epeira, therefore, does not incontinently kill her prey with +her delicate bite; she poisons it so as to produce a gradual weakness, +which gives the blood-sucker ample time to drain her victim, without +the least risk, before the rigor mortis stops the flow of moisture.</p> +<p>The meal lasts quite twenty-four hours, if the joint be large; and +to the very end the butchered insect retains a remnant of life, a favourable +condition for the exhausting of the juices. Once again, we see +a skilful method of slaughter, very different from the tactics in use +among the expert paralyzers or slayers. Here there is no display +of anatomical science. Unacquainted with the patient’s structure, +the Spider stabs at random. The virulence of the poison does the +rest.</p> +<p>There are, however, some very few cases in which the bite is speedily +mortal. My notes speak of an Angular Epeira grappling with the +largest Dragon-fly in my district (<i>AEshna grandis</i>, LIN.). +I myself had entangled in the web this head of big game, which is not +often captured by the Epeirae. The net shakes violently, seems +bound to break its moorings.</p> +<p>The Spider rushes from her leafy villa, runs boldly up to the giantess, +flings a single bundle of ropes at her and, without further precautions, +grips her with her legs, tries to subdue her and then digs her fangs +into the Dragon-fly’s back. The bite is prolonged in such +a way as to astonish me. This is not the perfunctory kiss with +which I am already familiar; it is a deep, determined wound. After +striking her blow, the Spider retires to a certain distance and waits +for her poison to take effect.</p> +<p>I at once remove the Dragon-fly. She is dead, really and truly +dead. Laid upon my table and left alone for twenty-four hours, +she makes not the slightest movement. A prick of which my lens +cannot see the marks, so sharp-pointed are the Epeira’s weapons, +was enough, with a little insistence, to kill the powerful animal. +Proportionately, the Rattlesnake, the Horned Viper, the Trigonocephalus +and other ill-famed serpents produce less paralysing effects upon their +victims.</p> +<p>And these Epeirae, so terrible to insects, I am able to handle without +any fear. My skin does not suit them. If I persuaded them +to bite me, what would happen to me? Hardly anything. We +have more cause to dread the sting of a nettle than the dagger which +is fatal to Dragon-flies. The same virus acts differently upon +this organism and that, is formidable here and quite mild there. +What kills the insect may easily be harmless to us. Let us not, +however, generalize too far. The Narbonne Lycosa, that other enthusiastic +insect-huntress, would make us pay clearly if we attempted to take liberties +with her.</p> +<p>It is not uninteresting to watch the Epeira at dinner. I light +upon one, the Banded Epeira, at the moment, about three o’clock +in the afternoon, when she has captured a Locust. Planted in the +centre of the web, on her resting-floor, she attacks the venison at +the joint of a haunch. There is no movement, not even of the mouth-parts, +as far as I am able to discover. The mouth lingers, close-applied, +at the point originally bitten. There are no intermittent mouthfuls, +with the mandibles moving backwards and forwards. It is a sort +of continuous kiss.</p> +<p>I visit my Epeira at intervals. The mouth does not change its +place. I visit her for the last time at nine o’clock in +the evening. Matters stand exactly as they did: after six hours’ +consumption, the mouth is still sucking at the lower end of the right +haunch. The fluid contents of the victim are transferred to the +ogress’ belly, I know not how.</p> +<p>Next morning, the Spider is still at table. I take away her +dish. Naught remains of the Locust but his skin, hardly altered +in shape, but utterly drained and perforated in several places. +The method, therefore, was changed during the night. To extract +the non-fluent residue, the viscera and muscles, the stiff cuticle had +to be tapped here, there and elsewhere, after which the tattered husk, +placed bodily in the press of the mandibles, would have been chewed, +rechewed and finally reduced to a pill, which the sated Spider throws +up. This would have been the end of the victim, had I not taken +it away before the time.</p> +<p>Whether she wound or kill, the Epeira bites her captive somewhere +or other, no matter where. This is an excellent method on her +part, because of the variety of the game that comes her way. I +see her accepting with equal readiness whatever chance may send her: +Butterflies and Dragon-flies, Flies and Wasps, small Dung-beetles and +Locusts. If I offer her a Mantis, a Bumble-bee, an Anoxia—the +equivalent of the common Cockchafer—and other dishes probably +unknown to her race, she accepts all and any, large and small, thin-skinned +and horny-skinned, that which goes afoot and that which takes winged +flight. She is omnivorous, she preys on everything, down to her +own kind, should the occasion offer.</p> +<p>Had she to operate according to individual structure, she would need +an anatomical dictionary; and instinct is essentially unfamiliar with +generalities: its knowledge is always confined to limited points. +The Cerceres know their Weevils and their Buprestis-beetles absolutely; +the Sphex their Grasshoppers, their Crickets and their Locusts; the +Scoliae <a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34">{34}</a> their +Cetonia- and Oryctes-grubs. Even so the other paralyzers. +Each has her own victim and knows nothing of any of the others.</p> +<p>The same exclusive tastes prevail among the slayers. Let us +remember, in this connection, <i>Philanthus apivorus</i> <a name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35">{35}</a> +and, especially, the Thomisus, the comely Spider who cuts Bees’ +throats. They understand the fatal blow, either in the neck or +under the chin, a thing which the Epeira does not understand; but, just +because of this talent, they are specialists. Their province is +the Domestic Bee.</p> +<p>Animals are a little like ourselves: they excel in an art only on +condition of specializing in it. The Epeira, who, being omnivorous, +is obliged to generalize, abandons scientific methods and makes up for +this by distilling a poison capable of producing torpor and even death, +no matter what the point attacked.</p> +<p>Recognizing the large variety of game, we wonder how the Epeira manages +not to hesitate amid those many diverse forms, how, for instance, she +passes from the Locust to the Butterfly, so different in appearance. +To attribute to her as a guide an extensive zoological knowledge were +wildly in excess of what we may reasonably expect of her poor intelligence. +The thing moves, therefore it is worth catching: this formula seems +to sum up the Spider’s wisdom.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV: THE GARDEN SPIDERS: THE QUESTION OF PROPERTY</h2> +<p>A dog has found a bone. He lies in the shade, holding it between +his paws, and studies it fondly. It is his sacred property, his +chattel. An Epeira has woven her web. Here again is property; +and owning a better title than the other. Favoured by chance and +assisted by his scent, the Dog has merely had a find; he has neither +worked nor paid for it. The Spider is more than a casual owner, +she has created what is hers. Its substance issued from her body, +its structure from her brain. If ever property was sacrosanct, +hers is.</p> +<p>Far higher stands the work of the weaver of ideas, who tissues a +book, that other Spider’s web, and out of his thought makes something +that shall instruct or thrill us. To protect our ‘bone,’ +we have the police, invented for the express purpose. To protect +the book, we have none but farcical means. Place a few bricks +one atop the other; join them with mortar; and the law will defend your +wall. Build up in writing an edifice of your thoughts; and it +will be open to any one, without serious impediment, to abstract stones +from it, even to take the whole, if it suit him. A rabbit-hutch +is property; the work of the mind is not. If the animal has eccentric +views as regards the possessions of others, we have ours as well.</p> +<p>‘Might always has the best of the argument,’ said La +Fontaine, to the great scandal of the peace-lovers. The exigencies +of verse, rhyme and rhythm, carried the worthy fabulist further than +he intended: he meant to say that, in a fight between mastiffs and in +other brute conflicts, the stronger is left master of the bone. +He well knew that, as things go, success is no certificate of excellence. +Others came, the notorious evil-doers of humanity, who made a law of +the savage maxim that might is right.</p> +<p>We are the larvae with the changing skins, the ugly caterpillars +of a society that is slowly, very slowly, wending its way to the triumph +of right over might. When will this sublime metamorphosis be accomplished? +To free ourselves from those wild-beast brutalities, must we wait for +the ocean-plains of the southern hemisphere to flow to our side, changing +the face of continents and renewing the glacial period of the Reindeer +and the Mammoth? Perhaps, so slow is moral progress.</p> +<p>True, we have the bicycle, the motor-car, the dirigible airship and +other marvellous means of breaking our bones; but our morality is not +one rung the higher for it all. One would even say that, the farther +we proceed in our conquest of matter, the more our morality recedes. +The most advanced of our inventions consists in bringing men down with +grapeshot and explosives with the swiftness of the reaper mowing the +corn.</p> +<p>Would we see this might triumphant in all its beauty? Let us +spend a few weeks in the Epeira’s company. She is the owner +of a web, her work, her most lawful property. The question at +once presents itself: Does the Spider possibly recognize her fabric +by certain trademarks and distinguish it from that of her fellows?</p> +<p>I bring about a change of webs between two neighbouring Banded Epeirae. +No sooner is either placed upon the strange net than she makes for the +central floor, settles herself head downwards and does not stir from +it, satisfied with her neighbour’s web as with her own. +Neither by day nor by night does she try to shift her quarters and restore +matters to their pristine state. Both Spiders think themselves +in their own domain. The two pieces of work are so much alike +that I almost expected this.</p> +<p>I then decide to effect an exchange of webs between two different +species. I move the Banded Epeira to the net of the Silky Epeira +and vice versa. The two webs are now dissimilar; the Silky Epeira’s +has a limy spiral consisting of closer and more numerous circles. +What will the Spiders do, when thus put to the test of the unknown? +One would think that, when one of them found meshes too wide for her +under her feet, the other meshes too narrow, they would be frightened +by this sudden change and decamp in terror. Not at all. +Without a sign of perturbation, they remain, plant themselves in the +centre and await the coming of the game, as though nothing extraordinary +had happened. They do more than this. Days pass and, as +long as the unfamiliar web is not wrecked to the extent of being unserviceable, +they make no attempt to weave another in their own style. The +Spider, therefore, is incapable of recognizing her web. She takes +another’s work for hers, even when it is produced by a stranger +to her race.</p> +<p>We now come to the tragic side of this confusion. Wishing to +have subjects for study within my daily reach and to save myself the +trouble of casual excursions, I collect different Epeirae whom I find +in the course of my walks and establish them on the shrubs in my enclosure. +In this way, a rosemary-hedge, sheltered from the wind and facing the +sun, is turned into a well-stocked menagerie. I take the Spiders +from the paper bags wherein I had put them separately, to carry them, +and place them on the leaves, with no further precaution. It is +for them to make themselves at home. As a rule, they do not budge +all day from the place where I put them: they wait for nightfall before +seeking a suitable site whereon to weave a net.</p> +<p>Some among them show less patience. A little while ago, they +possessed a web, between the reeds of a brook or in the holm-oak copses; +and now they have none. They go off in search, to recover their +property or seize on some one else’s: it is all the same to them. +I come upon a Banded Epeira, newly imported, making for the web of a +Silky Epeira who has been my guest for some days now. The owner +is at her post, in the centre of the net. She awaits the stranger +with seeming impassiveness. Then suddenly they grip each other; +and a desperate fight begins. The Silky Epeira is worsted. +The other swathes her in bonds, drags her to the non-limy central floor +and, in the calmest fashion, eats her. The dead Spider is munched +for twenty-four hours and drained to the last drop, when the corpse, +a wretched, crumpled ball, is at last flung aside. The web so +foully conquered becomes the property of the stranger, who uses it, +if it have not suffered too much in the contest.</p> +<p>There is here a shadow of an excuse. The two Spiders were of +different species; and the struggle for life often leads to these exterminations +among such as are not akin. What would happen if the two belonged +to the same species? It is easily seen. I cannot rely upon +spontaneous invasions, which may be rare under normal conditions, and +I myself place a Banded Epeira on her kinswoman’s web. A +furious attack is made forthwith. Victory, after hanging for a +moment in the balance, is once again decided in the stranger’s +favour. The vanquished party, this time a sister, is eaten without +the slightest scruple. Her web becomes the property of the victor.</p> +<p>There it is, in all its horror, the right of might: to eat one’s +like and take away their goods. Man did the same in days of old: +he stripped and ate his fellows. We continue to rob one another, +both as nations and as individuals; but we no longer eat one another: +the custom has grown obsolete since we discovered an acceptable substitute +in the mutton-chop.</p> +<p>Let us not, however, blacken the Spider beyond her deserts. +She does not live by warring on her kith and kin; she does not of her +own accord attempt the conquest of another’s property. It +needs extraordinary circumstances to rouse her to these villainies. +I take her from her web and place her on another’s. From +that moment, she knows no distinction between <i>meum</i> and <i>tuum</i>: +the thing which the leg touches at once becomes real estate. And +the intruder, if she be the stronger, ends by eating the occupier, a +radical means of cutting short disputes.</p> +<p>Apart from disturbances similar to those provoked by myself, disturbances +that are possible in the everlasting conflict of events, the Spider, +jealous of her own web, seems to respect the webs of others. She +never indulges in brigandage against her fellows except when dispossessed +of her net, especially in the daytime, for weaving is never done by +day: this work is reserved for the night. When, however, she is +deprived of her livelihood and feels herself the stronger, then she +attacks her neighbour, rips her open, feeds on her and takes possession +of her goods. Let us make allowances and proceed.</p> +<p>We will now examine Spiders of more alien habits. The Banded +and the Silky Epeira differ greatly in form and colouring. The +first has a plump, olive-shaped belly, richly belted with white, bright-yellow +and black; the second’s abdomen is flat, of a silky white and +pinked into festoons. Judging only by dress and figure, we should +not think of closely connecting the two Spiders.</p> +<p>But high above shapes tower tendencies, those main characteristics +which our methods of classification, so particular about minute details +of form, ought to consult more widely than they do. The two dissimilar +Spiders have exactly similar ways of living. Both of them prefer +to hunt by day and never leave their webs; both sign their work with +a zigzag flourish. Their nets are almost identical, so much so +that the Banded Epeira uses the Silky Epeira’s web after eating +its owner. The Silky Epeira, on her side, when she is the stronger, +dispossesses her belted cousin and devours her. Each is at home +on the other’s web, when the argument of might triumphant has +ended the discussion.</p> +<p>Let us next take the case of the Cross Spider, a hairy beast of varying +shades of reddish-brown. She has three large white spots upon +her back, forming a triple-barred cross. She hunts mostly at night, +shuns the sun and lives by day on the adjacent shrubs, in a shady retreat +which communicates with the lime-snare by means of a telegraph-wire. +Her web is very similar in structure and appearance to those of the +two others. What will happen if I procure her the visit of a Banded +Epeira?</p> +<p>The lady of the triple cross is invaded by day, in the full light +of the sun, thanks to my mischievous intermediary. The web is +deserted; the proprietress is in her leafy hut. The telegraph-wire +performs its office; the Cross Spider hastens down, strides all round +her property, beholds the danger and hurriedly returns to her hiding-place, +without taking any measures against the intruder.</p> +<p>The latter, on her side, does not seem to be enjoying herself. +Were she placed on the web of one of her sisters, or even on that of +the Silky Epeira, she would have posted herself in the centre, as soon +as the struggle had ended in the other’s death. This time +there is no struggle, for the web is deserted; nothing prevents her +from taking her position in the centre, the chief strategic point; and +yet she does not move from the place where I put her.</p> +<p>I tickle her gently with the tip of a long straw. When at home, +if teased in this way, the Banded Epeira—like the others, for +that matter—violently shakes the web to intimidate the aggressor. +This time, nothing happens: despite my repeated enticements, the Spider +does not stir a limb. It is as though she were numbed with terror. +And she has reason to be: the other is watching her from her lofty loop-hole.</p> +<p>This is probably not the only cause of her fright. When my +straw does induce her to take a few steps, I see her lift her legs with +some difficulty. She tugs a bit, drags her tarsi till she almost +breaks the supporting threads. It is not the progress of an agile +rope-walker; it is the hesitating gait of entangled feet. Perhaps +the lime-threads are stickier than in her own web. The glue is +of a different quality; and her sandals are not greased to the extent +which the new degree of adhesiveness would demand.</p> +<p>Anyhow, things remain as they are for long hours on end: the Banded +Epeira motionless on the edge of the web; the other lurking in her hut; +both apparently most uneasy. At sunset, the lover of darkness +plucks up courage. She descends from her green tent and, without +troubling about the stranger, goes straight to the centre of the web, +where the telegraph-wire brings her. Panic-stricken at this apparition, +the Banded Epeira releases herself with a jerk and disappears in the +rosemary-thicket.</p> +<p>The experiment, though repeatedly renewed with different subjects, +gave me no other results. Distrustful of a web dissimilar to her +own, if not in structure, at least in stickiness, the bold Banded Epeira +shows the white feather and refuses to attack the Cross Spider. +The latter, on her side, either does not budge from her day shelter +in the foliage, or else rushes back to it, after taking a hurried glance +at the stranger. She here awaits the coming of the night. +Under favour of the darkness, which gives her fresh courage and activity, +she reappears upon the scene and puts the intruder to flight by her +mere presence, aided, if need be, by a cuff or two. Injured right +is the victor.</p> +<p>Morality is satisfied; but let us not congratulate the Spider therefore. +If the invader respects the invaded, it is because very serious reasons +impel her. First, she would have to contend with an adversary +ensconced in a stronghold whose ambushes are unknown to the assailant. +Secondly, the web, if conquered, would be inconvenient to use, because +of the lime-threads, possessing a different degree of stickiness from +those which she knows so well. To risk one’s skin for a +thing of doubtful value were twice foolish. The Spider knows this +and forbears.</p> +<p>But let the Banded Epeira, deprived of her web, come upon that of +one of her kind or of the Silky Epeira, who works her gummy twine in +the same manner: then discretion is thrown to the winds; the owner is +fiercely ripped open and possession taken of the property.</p> +<p>Might is right, says the beast; or, rather, it knows no right. +The animal world is a rout of appetites, acknowledging no other rein +than impotence. Mankind, alone capable of emerging from the slough +of the instincts, is bringing equity into being, is creating it slowly +as its conception grows clearer. Out of the sacred rushlight, +so flickering as yet, but gaining strength from age to age, man will +make a flaming torch that will put an end, among us, to the principles +of the brutes and, one day, utterly change the face of society.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV: THE LABYRINTH SPIDER</h2> +<p>While the Epeirae, with their gorgeous net-tapestries, are incomparable +weavers, many other Spiders excel in ingenious devices for filling their +stomachs and leaving a lineage behind them: the two primary laws of +living things. Some of them are celebrities of long-standing renown, +who are mentioned in all the books.</p> +<p>Certain Mygales <a name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36">{36}</a> +inhabit a burrow, like the Narbonne Lycosa, but of a perfection unknown +to the brutal Spider of the waste-lands. The Lycosa surrounds +the mouth of her shaft with a simple parapet, a mere collection of tiny +pebbles, sticks and silk; the others fix a movable door to theirs, a +round shutter with a hinge, a groove and a set of bolts. When +the Mygale comes home, the lid drops into the groove and fits so exactly +that there is no possibility of distinguishing the join. If the +aggressor persist and seek to raise the trap-door, the recluse pushes +the bolt, that is to say, plants her claws into certain holes on the +opposite side to the hinge, props herself against the wall and holds +the door firmly.</p> +<p>Another, the Argyroneta, or Water Spider, builds herself an elegant +silken diving-bell, in which she stores air. Thus supplied with +the wherewithal to breathe, she awaits the coming of the game and keeps +herself cool meanwhile. At times of scorching heat, hers must +be a regular sybaritic abode, such as eccentric man has sometimes ventured +to build under water, with mighty blocks of stone and marble. +The submarine palaces of Tiberius are no more than an odious memory; +the Water Spider’s dainty cupola still flourishes.</p> +<p>If I possessed documents derived from personal observation, I should +like to speak of these ingenious workers; I would gladly add a few unpublished +facts to their life-history. But I must abandon the idea. +The Water Spider is not found in my district. The Mygale, the +expert in hinged doors, is found there, but very seldom. I saw +one once, on the edge of a path skirting a copse. Opportunity, +as we know, is fleeting. The observer, more than any other, is +obliged to take it by the forelock. Preoccupied as I was with +other researches, I but gave a glance at the magnificent subject which +good fortune offered. The opportunity fled and has never returned.</p> +<p>Let us make up for it with trivial things of frequent encounter, +a condition favourable to consecutive study. What is common is +not necessarily unimportant. Give it our sustained attention and +we shall discover in it merits which our former ignorance prevented +us from seeing. When patiently entreated, the least of creatures +adds its note to the harmonies of life.</p> +<p>In the fields around, traversed, in these days, with a tired step, +but still vigilantly explored, I find nothing so often as the Labyrinth +Spider (<i>Agelena labyrinthica</i>, CLERCK.). Not a hedge but +shelters a few at its foot, amidst grass, in quiet, sunny nooks. +In the open country and especially in hilly places laid bare by the +wood-man’s axe, the favourite sites are tufts of bracken, rock-rose, +lavender, everlasting and rosemary cropped close by the teeth of the +flocks. This is where I resort, as the isolation and kindliness +of the supports lend themselves to proceedings which might not be tolerated +by the unfriendly hedge.</p> +<p>Several times a week, in July, I go to study my Spiders on the spot, +at an early hour, before the sun beats fiercely on one’s neck. +The children accompany me, each provided with an orange wherewith to +slake the thirst that will not be slow in coming. They lend me +their good eyes and supple limbs. The expedition promises to be +fruitful.</p> +<p>We soon discover high silk buildings, betrayed at a distance by the +glittering threads which the dawn has converted into dewy rosaries. +The children are wonderstruck at those glorious chandeliers, so much +so that they forget their oranges for a moment. Nor am I, on my +part, indifferent. A splendid spectacle indeed is that of our +Spider’s labyrinth, heavy with the tears of the night and lit +up by the first rays of the sun. Accompanied as it is by the Thrushes’ +symphony, this alone is worth getting up for.</p> +<p>Half an hour’s heat; and the magic jewels disappear with the +dew. Now is the moment to inspect the webs. Here is one +spreading its sheet over a large cluster of rock-roses; it is the size +of a handkerchief. A profusion of guy-ropes, attached to any chance +projection, moor it to the brushwood. There is not a twig but +supplies a contact-point. Entwined on every side, surrounded and +surmounted, the bush disappears from view, veiled in white muslin.</p> +<p>The web is flat at the edges, as far as the unevenness of the support +permits, and gradually hollows into a crater, not unlike the bell of +a hunting-horn. The central portion is a cone-shaped gulf, a funnel +whose neck, narrowing by degrees, dives perpendicularly into the leafy +thicket to a depth of eight or nine inches.</p> +<p>At the entrance to the tube, in the gloom of that murderous alley, +sits the Spider, who looks at us and betrays no great excitement at +our presence. She is grey, modestly adorned on the thorax with +two black ribbons and on the abdomen with two stripes in which white +specks alternate with brown. At the tip of the belly, two small, +mobile appendages form a sort of tail, a rather curious feature in a +Spider.</p> +<p>The crater-shaped web is not of the same structure throughout. +At the borders, it is a gossamer weft of sparse threads; nearer the +centre, the texture becomes first fine muslin and then satin; lower +still, on the narrower part of the opening, it is a network of roughly +lozenged meshes. Lastly, the neck of the funnel, the usual resting-place, +is formed of solid silk.</p> +<p>The Spider never ceases working at her carpet, which represents her +investigation-platform. Every night she goes to it, walks over +it, inspecting her snares, extending her domain and increasing it with +new threads. The work is done with the silk constantly hanging +from the spinnerets and constantly extracted as the animal moves about. +The neck of the funnel, being more often walked upon than the rest of +the dwelling, is therefore provided with a thicker upholstery. +Beyond it are the slopes of the crater, which are also much-frequented +regions. Spokes of some regularity fix the diameter of the mouth; +a swaying walk and the guiding aid of the caudal appendages have laid +lozengy meshes across these spokes. This part has been strengthened +by the nightly rounds of inspection. Lastly come the less-visited +expanses, which consequently have a thinner carpet.</p> +<p>At the bottom of the passage dipping into the brushwood, we might +expect to find a secret cabin, a wadded cell where the Spider would +take refuge in her hours of leisure. The reality is something +entirely different. The long funnel-neck gapes at its lower end, +where a private door stands always ajar, allowing the animal, when hard-pushed, +to escape through the grass and gain the open.</p> +<p>It is well to know this arrangement of the home, if you wish to capture +the Spider without hurting her. When attacked from the front, +the fugitive runs down and slips through the postern-gate at the bottom. +To look for her by rummaging in the brushwood often leads to nothing, +so swift is her flight; besides, a blind search entails a great risk +of maiming her. Let us eschew violence, which is but seldom successful, +and resort to craft.</p> +<p>We catch sight of the Spider at the entrance to her tube. If +practicable, squeeze the bottom of the tuft, containing the neck of +the funnel, with both hands. That is enough; the animal is caught. +Feeling its retreat cut off, it readily darts into the paper bag held +out to it; if necessary, it can be stimulated with a bit of straw. +In this way, I fill my cages with subjects that have not been demoralized +by contusions.</p> +<p>The surface of the crater is not exactly a snare. It is just +possible for the casual pedestrian to catch his legs in the silky carpets; +but giddy-pates who come here for a walk must be very rare. What +is wanted is a trap capable of securing the game that hops or flies. +The Epeira has her treacherous limed net; the Spider of the bushes has +her no less treacherous labyrinth.</p> +<p>Look above the web. What a forest of ropes! It might +be the rigging of a ship disabled by a storm. They run from every +twig of the supporting shrubs, they are fastened to the tip of every +branch. There are long ropes and short ropes, upright and slanting, +straight and bent, taut and slack, all criss-cross and a-tangle, to +the height of three feet or so in inextricable disorder. The whole +forms a chaos of netting, a labyrinth which none can pass through, unless +he be endowed with wings of exceptional power.</p> +<p>We have here nothing similar to the lime-threads used by the Garden +Spiders. The threads are not sticky; they act only by their confused +multitude. Would you care to see the trap at work? Throw +a small Locust into the rigging. Unable to obtain a steady foothold +on that shaky support, he flounders about; and the more he struggles +the more he entangles his shackles. The Spider, spying on the +threshold of her abyss, lets him have his way. She does not run +up the shrouds of the mast-work to seize the desperate prisoner; she +waits until his bonds of threads, twisted backwards and forwards, make +him fall on the web.</p> +<p>He falls; the other comes and flings herself upon her prostrate prey. +The attack is not without danger. The Locust is demoralized rather +than tied up; it is merely bits of broken thread that he is trailing +from his legs. The bold assailant does not mind. Without +troubling, like the Epeirae, to bury her capture under a paralysing +winding-sheet, she feels it, to make sure of its quality, and then, +regardless of kicks, inserts her fangs.</p> +<p>The bite is usually given at the lower end of a haunch: not that +this place is more vulnerable than any other thin-skinned part, but +probably because it has a better flavour. The different webs which +I inspect to study the food in the larder show me, among other joints, +various Flies and small Butterflies and carcasses of almost-untouched +Locusts, all deprived of their hind-legs, or at least of one. +Locusts’ legs often dangle, emptied of their succulent contents, +on the edges of the web, from the meat-hooks of the butcher’s +shop. In my urchin-days, days free from prejudices in regard to +what one ate, I, like many others, was able to appreciate that dainty. +It is the equivalent, on a very small scale, of the larger legs of the +Crayfish.</p> +<p>The rigging-builder, therefore, to whom we have just thrown a Locust +attacks the prey at the lower end of a thigh. The bite is a lingering +one: once the Spider has planted her fangs, she does not let go. +She drinks, she sips, she sucks. When this first point is drained, +she passes on to others, to the second haunch in particular, until the +prey becomes an empty hulk without losing its outline.</p> +<p>We have seen that Garden Spiders feed in a similar way, bleeding +their venison and drinking it instead of eating it. At last, however, +in the comfortable post-prandial hours, they take up the drained morsel, +chew it, rechew it and reduce it to a shapeless ball. It is a +dessert for the teeth to toy with. The Labyrinth Spider knows +nothing of the diversions of the table; she flings the drained remnants +out of her web, without chewing them. Although it lasts long, +the meal is eaten in perfect safety. From the first bite, the +Locust becomes a lifeless thing; the Spider’s poison has settled +him.</p> +<p>The labyrinth is greatly inferior, as a work of art, to that advanced +geometrical contrivance, the Garden Spider’s net; and, in spite +of its ingenuity, it does not give a favourable notion of its constructor. +It is hardly more than a shapeless scaffolding, run up anyhow. +And yet, like the others, the builder of this slovenly edifice must +have her own principles of beauty and accuracy. As it is, the +prettily-latticed mouth of the crater makes us suspect this; the nest, +the mother’s usual masterpiece, will prove it to the full.</p> +<p>When laying-time is at hand, the Spider changes her residence; she +abandons her web in excellent condition; she does not return to it. +Whoso will can take possession of the house. The hour has come +to found the family-establishment. But where? The Spider +knows right well; I am in the dark. Mornings are spent in fruitless +searches. In vain I ransack the bushes that carry the webs: I +never find aught that realizes my hopes.</p> +<p>I learn the secret at last. I chance upon a web which, though +deserted, is not yet dilapidated, proving that it has been but lately +quitted. Instead of hunting in the brushwood whereon it rests, +let us inspect the neighbourhood, to a distance of a few paces. +If these contain a low, thick cluster, the nest is there, hidden from +the eye. It carries an authentic certificate of its origin, for +the mother invariably occupies it.</p> +<p>By this method of investigation, far from the labyrinth-trap, I become +the owner of as many nests as are needed to satisfy my curiosity. +They do not by a long way come up to my idea of the maternal talent. +They are clumsy bundles of dead leaves, roughly drawn together with +silk threads. Under this rude covering is a pouch of fine texture +containing the egg-casket, all in very bad condition, because of the +inevitable tears incurred in its extrication from the brushwood. +No, I shall not be able to judge of the artist’s capacity by these +rags and tatters.</p> +<p>The insect, in its buildings, has its own architectural rules, rules +as unchangeable as anatomical peculiarities. Each group builds +according to the same set of principles, conforming to the laws of a +very elementary system of aesthetics; but often circumstances beyond +the architect’s control—the space at her disposal, the unevenness +of the site, the nature of the material and other accidental causes—interfere +with the worker’s plans and disturb the structure. Then +virtual regularity is translated into actual chaos; order degenerates +into disorder.</p> +<p>We might discover an interesting subject of research in the type +adopted by each species when the work is accomplished without hindrances. +The Banded Epeira weaves the wallet of her eggs in the open, on a slim +branch that does not get in her way; and her work is a superbly artistic +jar. The Silky Epeira also has all the elbow-room she needs; and +her paraboloid is not without elegance. Can the Labyrinth Spider, +that other spinstress of accomplished merit, be ignorant of the precepts +of beauty when the time comes for her to weave a tent for her offspring? +As yet, what I have seen of her work is but an unsightly bundle. +Is that all she can do?</p> +<p>I look for better things if circumstances favour her. Toiling +in the midst of a dense thicket, among a tangle of dead leaves and twigs, +she may well produce a very inaccurate piece of work; but compel her +to labour when free from all impediment: she will then—I am convinced +of it beforehand—apply her talents without constraint and show +herself an adept in the building of graceful nests.</p> +<p>As laying-time approaches, towards the middle of August, I instal +half-a-dozen Labyrinth Spiders in large wire-gauze cages, each standing +in an earthen pan filled with sand. A sprig of thyme, planted +in the centre, will furnish supports for the structure, together with +the trellis-work of the top and sides. There is no other furniture, +no dead leaves, which would spoil the shape of the nest if the mother +were minded to employ them as a covering. By way of provision, +Locusts, every day. They are readily accepted, provided they be +tender and not too large.</p> +<p>The experiment works perfectly. August is hardly over before +I am in possession of six nests, magnificent in shape and of a dazzling +whiteness. The latitude of the workshop has enabled the spinstress +to follow the inspiration of her instinct without serious obstacles; +and the result is a masterpiece of symmetry and elegance, if we allow +for a few angularities demanded by the suspension-points.</p> +<p>It is an oval of exquisite white muslin, a diaphanous abode wherein +the mother must make a long stay to watch over the brood. The +size is nearly that of a Hen’s egg. The cabin is open at +either end. The front-entrance broadens into a gallery; the back-entrance +tapers into a funnel-neck. I fail to see the object of this neck. +As for the opening in front, which is wider, this is, beyond a doubt, +a victualling-door. I see the Spider, at intervals, standing here +on the look-out for the Locust, whom she consumes outside, taking care +not to soil the spotless sanctuary with corpses.</p> +<p>The structure of the nest is not without a certain similarity to +that of the home occupied during the hunting-season. The passage +at the back represents the funnel-neck, that ran almost down to the +ground and afforded an outlet for flight in case of grave danger. +The one in front, expanding into a mouth kept wide open by cords stretched +backwards and forwards, recalls the yawning gulf into which the victims +used to fall. Every part of the old dwelling is repeated: even +the labyrinth, though this, it is true, is on a much smaller scale. +In front of the bell-shaped mouth is a tangle of threads wherein the +passers-by are caught. Each species, in this way, possesses a +primary architectural model which is followed as a whole, in spite of +altered conditions. The animal knows its trade thoroughly, but +it does not know and will never know aught else, being incapable of +originality.</p> +<p>Now this palace of silk, when all is said, is nothing more than a +guard-house. Behind the soft, milky opalescence of the wall glimmers +the egg-tabernacle, with its form vaguely suggesting the star of some +order of knighthood. It is a large pocket, of a splendid dead-white, +isolated on every side by radiating pillars which keep it motionless +in the centre of the tapestry. These pillars are about ten in +number and are slender in the middle, expanding at one end into a conical +capital and at the other into a base of the same shape. They face +one another and mark the position of the vaulted corridors which allow +free movement in every direction around the central chamber. The +mother walks gravely to and fro under the arches of her cloisters, she +stops first here, then there; she makes a lengthy auscultation of the +egg-wallet; she listens to all that happens inside the satin wrapper. +To disturb her would be barbarous.</p> +<p>For a closer examination, let us use the dilapidated nests which +we brought from the fields. Apart from its pillars, the egg-pocket +is an inverted conoid, reminding us of the work of the Silky Epeira. +Its material is rather stout; my pincers, pulling at it, do not tear +it without difficulty. Inside the bag there is nothing but an +extremely fine, white wadding and, lastly, the eggs, numbering about +a hundred and comparatively large, for they measure a millimetre and +a half. <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37">{37}</a> +They are very pale amber-yellow beads, which do not stick together and +which roll freely as soon as I remove the swan’s-down shroud. +Let us put everything into a glass-tube to study the hatching.</p> +<p>We will now retrace our steps a little. When laying-time comes, +the mother forsakes her dwelling, her crater into which her falling +victims dropped, her labyrinth in which the flight of the Midges was +cut short; she leaves intact the apparatus that enabled her to live +at her ease. Thoughtful of her natural duties, she goes to found +another establishment at a distance. Why at a distance?</p> +<p>She has still a few long months to live and she needs nourishment. +Were it not better, then, to lodge the eggs in the immediate neighbourhood +of the present home and to continue her hunting with the excellent snare +at her disposal? The watching of the nest and the easy acquisition +of provender would go hand in hand. The Spider is of another opinion; +and I suspect the reason.</p> +<p>The sheet-net and the labyrinth that surmounts it are objects visible +from afar, owing to their whiteness and the height whereat they are +placed. Their scintillation in the sun, in frequented paths, attracts +Mosquitoes and Butterflies, like the lamps in our rooms and the fowler’s +looking-glass. Whoso comes to look at the bright thing too closely +dies the victim of his curiosity. There is nothing better for +playing upon the folly of the passer-by, but also nothing more dangerous +to the safety of the family.</p> +<p>Harpies will not fail to come running at this signal, showing up +against the green; guided by the position of the web, they will assuredly +find the precious purse; and a strange grub, feasting on a hundred new-laid +eggs, will ruin the establishment. I do not know these enemies, +not having sufficient materials at my disposal for a register of the +parasites; but, from indications gathered elsewhere, I suspect them.</p> +<p>The Banded Epeira, trusting to the strength of her stuff, fixes her +nest in the sight of all, hangs it on the brushwood, taking no precautions +whatever to hide it. And a bad business it proves for her. +Her jar provides me with an Ichneumon <a name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38">{38}</a> +possessed of the inoculating larding-pin: a <i>Cryptus</i> who, as a +grub, had fed on Spiders’ eggs. Nothing but empty shells +was left inside the central keg; the germs were completely exterminated. +There are other Ichneumon-flies, moreover, addicted to robbing Spiders’ +nests; a basket of fresh eggs is their offspring’s regular food.</p> +<p>Like any other, the Labyrinth Spider dreads the scoundrelly advent +of the pickwallet; she provides for it and, to shield herself against +it as far as possible, chooses a hiding-place outside her dwelling, +far removed from the tell-tale web. When she feels her ovaries +ripen, she shifts her quarters; she goes off at night to explore the +neighbourhood and seek a less dangerous refuge. The points selected +are, by preference, the low brambles dragging along the ground, keeping +their dense verdure during the winter and crammed with dead leaves from +the oaks hard by. Rosemary-tufts, which gain in thickness what +they lose in height on the unfostering rock, suit her particularly. +This is where I usually find her nest, not without long seeking, so +well is it hidden.</p> +<p>So far, there is no departure from current usage. As the world +is full of creatures on the prowl for tender mouthfuls, every mother +has her apprehensions; she also has her natural wisdom, which advises +her to establish her family in secret places. Very few neglect +this precaution; each, in her own manner, conceals the eggs she lays.</p> +<p>In the case of the Labyrinth Spider, the protection of the brood +is complicated by another condition. In the vast majority of instances, +the eggs, once lodged in a favourable spot, are abandoned to themselves, +left to the chances of good or ill fortune. The Spider of the +brushwood, on the contrary, endowed with greater maternal devotion, +has, like the Crab Spider, to mount guard over hers until they hatch.</p> +<p>With a few threads and some small leaves joined together, the Crab +Spider builds, above her lofty nest, a rudimentary watch-tower where +she stays permanently, greatly emaciated, flattened into a sort of wrinkled +shell through the emptying of her ovaries and the total absence of food. +And this mere shred, hardly more than a skin that persists in living +without eating, stoutly defends her egg-sack, shows fight at the approach +of any tramp. She does not make up her mind to die until the little +ones are gone.</p> +<p>The Labyrinth Spider is better treated. After laying her eggs, +so far from becoming thin, she preserves an excellent appearance and +a round belly. Moreover, she does not lose her appetite and is +always prepared to bleed a Locust. She therefore requires a dwelling +with a hunting-box close to the eggs watched over. We know this +dwelling, built in strict accordance with artistic canons under the +shelter of my cages.</p> +<p>Remember the magnificent oval guard-room, running into a vestibule +at either end; the egg-chamber slung in the centre and isolated on every +side by half a score of pillars; the front-hall expanding into a wide +mouth and surmounted by a network of taut threads forming a trap. +The semi-transparency of the walls allows us to see the Spider engaged +in her household affairs. Her cloister of vaulted passages enables +her to proceed to any point of the star-shaped pouch containing the +eggs. Indefatigable in her rounds, she stops here and there; she +fondly feels the satin, listens to the secrets of the wallet. +If I shake the net at any point with a straw, she quickly runs up to +enquire what is happening. Will this vigilance frighten off the +Ichneumon and other lovers of omelettes? Perhaps so. But, +though this danger be averted, others will come when the mother is no +longer there.</p> +<p>Her attentive watch does not make her overlook her meals. One +of the Locusts whereof I renew the supply at intervals in the cages +is caught in the cords of the great entrance-hall. The Spider +arrives hurriedly, snatches the giddy-pate and disjoints his shanks, +which she empties of their contents, the best part of the insect. +The remainder of the carcass is afterwards drained more or less, according +to her appetite at the time. The meal is taken outside the guard-room, +on the threshold, never indoors.</p> +<p>These are not capricious mouthfuls, serving to beguile the boredom +of the watch for a brief while; they are substantial repasts, which +require several sittings. Such an appetite astonishes me, after +I have seen the Crab Spider, that no less ardent watcher, refuse the +Bees whom I give her and allow herself to die of inanition. Can +this other mother have so great a need as that to eat? Yes, certainly +she has; and for an imperative reason.</p> +<p>At the beginning of her work, she spent a large amount of silk, perhaps +all that her reserves contained; for the double dwelling—for herself +and for her offspring—is a huge edifice, exceedingly costly in +materials; and yet, for nearly another month, I see her adding layer +upon layer both to the wall of the large cabin and to that of the central +chamber, so much so that the texture, which at first was translucent +gauze, becomes opaque satin. The walls never seem thick enough; +the Spider is always working at them. To satisfy this lavish expenditure, +she must incessantly, by means of feeding, fill her silk-glands as and +when she empties them by spinning. Food is the means whereby she +keeps the inexhaustible factory going.</p> +<p>A month passes and, about the middle of September, the little ones +hatch, but without leaving their tabernacle, where they are to spend +the winter packed in soft wadding. The mother continues to watch +and spin, lessening her activity from day to day. She recruits +herself with a Locust at longer intervals; she sometimes scorns those +whom I myself entangle in her trap. This increasing abstemiousness, +a sign of decrepitude, slackens and at last stops the work of the spinnerets.</p> +<p>For four or five weeks longer, the mother never ceases her leisurely +inspection-rounds, happy at hearing the new-born Spiders swarming in +the wallet. At length, when October ends, she clutches her offspring’s +nursery and dies withered. She has done all that maternal devotion +can do; the special providence of tiny animals will do the rest. +When spring comes, the youngsters will emerge from their snug habitation, +disperse all over the neighbourhood by the expedient of the floating +thread and weave their first attempts at a labyrinth on the tufts of +thyme.</p> +<p>Accurate in structure and neat in silk-work though they be, the nests +of the caged captives do not tell us everything; we must go back to +what happens in the fields, with their complicated conditions. +Towards the end of December, I again set out in search, aided by all +my youthful collaborators. We inspect the stunted rosemaries along +the edge of a path sheltered by a rocky, wooded slope; we lift the branches +that spread over the ground. Our zeal is rewarded with success. +In a couple of hours, I am the owner of some nests.</p> +<p>Pitiful pieces of work are they, injured beyond recognition by the +assaults of the weather! It needs the eyes of faith to see in +these ruins the equivalent of the edifices built inside my cages. +Fastened to the creeping branch, the unsightly bundle lies on the sand +heaped up by the rains. Oak-leaves, roughly joined by a few threads, +wrap it all round. One of these leaves, larger than the others, +roofs it in and serves as a scaffolding for the whole of the ceiling. +If we did not see the silky remnants of the two vestibules projecting +and feel a certain resistance when separating the parts of the bundle, +we might take the thing for a casual accumulation, the work of the rain +and the wind.</p> +<p>Let us examine our find and look more closely into its shapelessness. +Here is the large room, the maternal cabin, which rips as the coating +of leaves is removed; here are the circular galleries of the guard-room; +here are the central chamber and its pillars, all in a fabric of immaculate +white. The dirt from the damp ground has not penetrated to this +dwelling protected by its wrapper of dead leaves.</p> +<p>Now open the habitation of the offspring. What is this? +To my utter astonishment, the contents of the chamber are a kernel of +earthy matters, as though the muddy rain-water had been allowed to soak +through. Put aside that idea, says the satin wall, which itself +is perfectly clean inside. It is most certainly the mother’s +doing, a deliberate piece of work, executed with minute care. +The grains of sand are stuck together with a cement of silk; and the +whole resists the pressure of the fingers.</p> +<p>If we continue to unshell the kernel, we find, below this mineral +layer, a last silken tunic that forms a globe around the brood. +No sooner do we tear this final covering than the frightened little +ones run away and scatter with an agility that is singular at this cold +and torpid season.</p> +<p>To sum up, when working in the natural state, the Labyrinth Spider +builds around the eggs, between two sheets of satin, a wall composed +of a great deal of sand and a little silk. To stop the Ichneumon’s +probe and the teeth of the other ravagers, the best thing that occurred +to her was this hoarding which combines the hardness of flint with the +softness of muslin.</p> +<p>This means of defence seems to be pretty frequent among Spiders. +Our own big House Spider, <i>Tegenaria domestica</i>, encloses her eggs +in a globule strengthened with a rind of silk and of crumbly wreckage +from the mortar of the walls. Other species, living in the open +under stones, work in the same way. They wrap their eggs in a +mineral shell held together with silk. The same fears have inspired +the same protective methods.</p> +<p>Then how comes it that, of the five mothers reared in my cages, not +one has had recourse to the clay rampart? After all, sand abounded: +the pans in which the wire-gauze covers stood were full of it. +On the other hand, under normal conditions, I have often come across +nests without any mineral casing. These incomplete nests were +placed at some height from the ground, in the thick of the brushwood; +the others, on the contrary, those supplied with a coating of sand, +lay on the ground.</p> +<p>The method of the work explains these differences. The concrete +of our buildings is obtained by the simultaneous manipulation of gravel +and mortar. In the same way, the Spider mixes the cement of the +silk with the grains of sand; the spinnerets never cease working, while +the legs fling under the adhesive spray the solid materials collected +in the immediate neighbourhood. The operation would be impossible +if, after cementing each grain of sand, it were necessary to stop the +work of the spinnerets and go to a distance to fetch further stony elements. +Those materials have to be right under her legs; otherwise the Spider +does without and continues her work just the same.</p> +<p>In my cages, the sand is too far off. To obtain it, the Spider +would have to leave the top of the dome, where the nest is being built +on its trellis-work support; she would have to come down some nine inches. +The worker refuses to take this trouble, which, if repeated in the case +of each grain, would make the action of the spinnerets too irksome. +She also refuses to do so when, for reasons which I have not fathomed, +the site chosen is some way up in the tuft of rosemary. But, when +the nest touches the ground, the clay rampart is never missing.</p> +<p>Are we to see in this fact proof of an instinct capable of modification, +either making for decadence and gradually neglecting what was the ancestors’ +safeguard, or making for progress and advancing, hesitatingly, towards +perfection in the mason’s art? No inference is permissible +in either direction. The Labyrinth Spider has simply taught us +that instinct possesses resources which are employed or left latent +according to the conditions of the moment. Place sand under her +legs and the spinstress will knead concrete; refuse her that sand, or +put it out of her reach, and the Spider will remain a simple silk-worker, +always ready, however, to turn mason under favourable conditions. +The aggregate of things that come within the observer’s scope +proves that it were mad to expect from her any further innovations, +such as would utterly change her methods of manufacture and cause her, +for instance, to abandon her cabin, with its two entrance-halls and +its star-like tabernacle, in favour of the Banded Epeira’s pear-shaped +gourd.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI: THE CLOTHO SPIDER</h2> +<p>She is named Durand’s Clotho (<i>Clotho Durandi</i>, LATR.), +in memory of him who first called attention to this particular Spider. +To enter on eternity under the safe-conduct of a diminutive animal which +saves us from speedy oblivion under the mallows and rockets is no contemptible +advantage. Most men disappear without leaving an echo to repeat +their name; they lie buried in forgetfulness, the worst of graves.</p> +<p>Others, among the naturalists, benefit by the designation given to +this or that object in life’s treasure-house: it is the skiff +wherein they keep afloat for a brief while. A patch of lichen +on the bark of an old tree, a blade of grass, a puny beastie: any one +of these hands down a man’s name to posterity as effectively as +a new comet. For all its abuses, this manner of honouring the +departed is eminently respectable. If we would carve an epitaph +of some duration, what could we find better than a Beetle’s wing-case, +a Snail’s shell or a Spider’s web? Granite is worth +none of them. Entrusted to the hard stone, an inscription becomes +obliterated; entrusted to a Butterfly’s wing, it is indestructible. +‘Durand,’ therefore, by all means.</p> +<p>But why drag in ‘Clotho’? Is it the whim of a nomenclator, +at a loss for words to denote the ever-swelling tide of beasts that +require cataloguing? Not entirely. A mythological name came +to his mind, one which sounded well and which, moreover, was not out +of place in designating a spinstress. The Clotho of antiquity +is the youngest of the three Fates; she holds the distaff whence our +destinies are spun, a distaff wound with plenty of rough flocks, just +a few shreds of silk and, very rarely, a thin strand of gold.</p> +<p>Prettily shaped and clad, as far as a Spider can be, the Clotho of +the naturalists is, above all, a highly talented spinstress; and this +is the reason why she is called after the distaff-bearing deity of the +infernal regions. It is a pity that the analogy extends no further. +The mythological Clotho, niggardly with her silk and lavish with her +coarse flocks, spins us a harsh existence; the eight-legged Clotho uses +naught but exquisite silk. She works for herself; the other works +for us, who are hardly worth the trouble.</p> +<p>Would we make her acquaintance? On the rocky slopes in the +oliveland, scorched and blistered by the sun, turn over the flat stones, +those of a fair size; search, above all, the piles which the shepherds +set up for a seat whence to watch the sheep browsing amongst the lavender +below. Do not be too easily disheartened: the Clotho is rare; +not every spot suits her. If fortune smile at last upon our perseverance, +we shall see, clinging to the lower surface of the stone which we have +lifted, an edifice of a weather-beaten aspect, shaped like an over-turned +cupola and about the size of half a tangerine orange. The outside +is encrusted or hung with small shells, particles of earth and, especially, +dried insects.</p> +<p>The edge of the cupola is scalloped into a dozen angular lobes, the +points of which spread and are fixed to the stone. In between +these straps is the same number of spacious inverted arches. The +whole represents the Ishmaelite’s camel-hair tent, but upside +down. A flat roof, stretched between the straps, closes the top +of the dwelling.</p> +<p>Then where is the entrance? All the arches of the edge open +upon the roof; not one leads to the interior. The eye seeks in +vain; there is nothing to point to a passage between the inside and +the outside. Yet the owner of the house must go out from time +to time, were it only in search of food; on returning from her expedition, +she must go in again. How does she make her exits and her entrances? +A straw will tell us the secret.</p> +<p>Pass it over the threshold of the various arches. Everywhere, +the searching straw encounters resistance; everywhere, it finds the +place rigorously closed. But one of the scallops, differing in +no wise from the others in appearance, if cleverly coaxed, opens at +the edge into two lips and stands slightly ajar. This is the door, +which at once shuts again of its own elasticity. Nor is this all: +the Spider, when she returns home, often bolts herself in, that is to +say, she joins and fastens the two leaves of the door with a little +silk.</p> +<p>The Mason Mygale is no safer in her burrow, with its lid undistinguishable +from the soil and moving on a hinge, than is the Clotho in her tent, +which is inviolable by any enemy ignorant of the device. The Clotho, +when in danger, runs quickly home; she opens the chink with a touch +of her claw, enters and disappears. The door closes of itself +and is supplied, in case of need, with a lock consisting of a few threads. +No burglar, led astray by the multiplicity of arches, one and all alike, +will ever discover how the fugitive vanished so suddenly.</p> +<p>While the Clotho displays a more simple ingenuity as regards her +defensive machinery, she is incomparably ahead of the Mygale in the +matter of domestic comfort. Let us open her cabin. What +luxury! We are taught how a Sybarite of old was unable to rest, +owing to the presence of a crumpled rose-leaf in his bed. The +Clotho is quite as fastidious. Her couch is more delicate than +swan’s-down and whiter than the fleece of the clouds where brood +the summer storms. It is the ideal blanket. Above is a canopy +or tester of equal softness. Between the two nestles the Spider, +short-legged, clad in sombre garments, with five yellow favours on her +back.</p> +<p>Rest in this exquisite retreat demands perfect stability, especially +on gusty days, when sharp draughts penetrate beneath the stone. +This condition is admirably fulfilled. Take a careful look at +the habitation. The arches that gird the roof with a balustrade +and bear the weight of the edifice are fixed to the slab by their extremities. +Moreover, from each point of contact, there issues a cluster of diverging +threads that creep along the stone and cling to it throughout their +length, which spreads afar. I have measured some fully nine inches +long. These are so many cables; they represent the ropes and pegs +that hold the Arab’s tent in position. With such supports +as these, so numerous and so methodically arranged, the hammock cannot +be torn from its bearings save by the intervention of brutal methods +with which the Spider need not concern herself, so seldom do they occur.</p> +<p>Another detail attracts our attention: whereas the interior of the +house is exquisitely clean, the outside is covered with dirt, bits of +earth, chips of rotten wood, little pieces of gravel. Often there +are worse things still: the exterior of the tent becomes a charnel-house. +Here, hung up or embedded, are the dry carcasses of Opatra, Asidae and +other Tenebrionidae <a name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39">{39}</a> +that favour underrock shelters; segments of Iuli, <a name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40">{40}</a> +bleached by the sun; shells of Pupae, <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41">{41}</a> +common among the stones; and, lastly, Snail-shells, selected from among +the smallest.</p> +<p>These relics are obviously, for the most part, table-leavings, broken +victuals. Unversed in the trapper’s art, the Clotho courses +her game and lives upon the vagrants who wander from one stone to another. +Whoso ventures under the slab at night is strangled by the hostess; +and the dried-up carcass, instead of being flung to a distance, is hung +to the silken wall, as though the Spider wished to make a bogey-house +of her home. But this cannot be her aim. To act like the +ogre who hangs his victims from the castle battlements is the worst +way to disarm suspicion in the passers-by whom you are lying in wait +to capture.</p> +<p>There are other reasons which increase our doubts. The shells +hung up are most often empty; but there are also some occupied by the +Snail, alive and untouched. What can the Clotho do with a <i>Pupa +cinerea</i>, a <i>Pupa quadridens</i> and other narrow spirals wherein +the animal retreats to an inaccessible depth? The Spider is incapable +of breaking the calcareous shell or of getting at the hermit through +the opening. Then why should she collect those prizes, whose slimy +flesh is probably not to her taste? We begin to suspect a simple +question of ballast and balance. The House Spider, or <i>Tegenaria +domestica</i>, prevents her web, spun in a corner of the wall, from +losing its shape at the least breath of air, by loading it with crumbling +plaster and allowing tiny fragments of mortar to accumulate. Are +we face to face with a similar process? Let us try experiment, +which is preferable to any amount of conjecture.</p> +<p>To rear the Clotho is not an arduous undertaking; we are not obliged +to take the heavy flagstone, on which the dwelling is built, away with +us. A very simple operation suffices. I loosen the fastenings +with my pocket-knife. The Spider has such stay-at-home ways that +she very rarely makes off. Besides, I use the utmost discretion +in my rape of the house. And so I carry away the building, together +with its owner, in a paper bag.</p> +<p>The flat stones, which are too heavy to move and which would occupy +too much room upon my table, are replaced either by deal disks, which +once formed part of cheese-boxes, or by round pieces of cardboard. +I arrange each silken hammock under one of these by itself, fastening +the angular projections, one by one, with strips of gummed paper. +The whole stands on three short pillars and gives a very fair imitation +of the underrock shelter in the form of a small dolmen. Throughout +this operation, if you are careful to avoid shocks and jolts, the Spider +remains indoors. Finally, each apparatus is placed under a wire-gauze, +bell-shaped cage, which stands in a dish filled with sand.</p> +<p>We can have an answer by the next morning. If, among the cabins +swung from the ceilings of the deal or cardboard dolmens, there be one +that is all dilapidated, that was seriously knocked out of shape at +the time of removal, the Spider abandons it during the night and instals +herself elsewhere, sometimes even on the trellis-work of the wire cage.</p> +<p>The new tent, the work of a few hours, attains hardly the diameter +of a two-franc piece. It is built, however, on the same principles +as the old manor-house and consists of two thin sheets laid one above +the other, the upper one flat and forming a tester, the lower curved +and pocket-shaped. The texture is extremely delicate: the least +trifle would deform it, to the detriment of the available space, which +is already much reduced and only just sufficient for the recluse.</p> +<p>Well, what has the Spider done to keep the gossamer stretched, to +steady it and to make it retain its greatest capacity? Exactly +what our static treatises would advise her to do: she has ballasted +her structure, she has done her best to lower its centre of gravity. +From the convex surface of the pocket hang long chaplets of grains of +sand strung together with slender silken cords. To these sandy +stalactites, which form a bushy beard, are added a few heavy lumps hung +separately and lower down, at the end of a thread. The whole is +a piece of ballast-work, an apparatus for ensuring equilibrium and tension.</p> +<p>The present edifice, hastily constructed in the space of a night, +is the frail rough sketch of what the home will afterwards become. +Successive layers will be added to it; and the partition-wall will grow +into a thick blanket capable of partly retaining, by its own weight, +the requisite curve and capacity. The Spider now abandons the +stalactites of sand, which were used to keep the original pocket stretched, +and confines herself to dumping down on her abode any more or less heavy +object, mainly corpses of insects, because she need not look for these +and finds them ready to hand after each meal. They are weights, +not trophies; they take the place of materials that must otherwise be +collected from a distance and hoisted to the top. In this way, +a breastwork is obtained that strengthens and steadies the house. +Additional equilibrium is often supplied by tiny shells and other objects +hanging a long way down.</p> +<p>What would happen if one robbed an old dwelling, long since completed, +of its outer covering? In case of such a disaster, would the Spider +go back to the sandy stalactites, as a ready means of restoring stability? +This is easily ascertained. In my hamlets under wire, I select +a fair-sized cabin. I strip the exterior, carefully removing any +foreign body. The silk reappears in its original whiteness. +The tent looks magnificent, but seems to me too limp.</p> +<p>This is also the Spider’s opinion. She sets to work, +next evening, to put things right. And how? Once more with +hanging strings of sand. In a few nights, the silk bag bristles +with a long, thick beard of stalactites, a curious piece of work, excellently +adapted to maintain the web in an unvaried curve. Even so are +the cables of a suspension-bridge steadied by the weight of the superstructure.</p> +<p>Later, as the Spider goes on feeding, the remains of the victuals +are embedded in the wall, the sand is shaken and gradually drops away +and the home resumes its charnel-house appearance. This brings +us to the same conclusion as before: the Clotho knows her statics; by +means of additional weights, she is able to lower the centre of gravity +and thus to give her dwelling the proper equilibrium and capacity.</p> +<p>Now what does she do in her softly-wadded home? Nothing, that +I know of. With a full stomach, her legs luxuriously stretched +over the downy carpet, she does nothing, thinks of nothing; she listens +to the sound of earth revolving on its axis. It is not sleep, +still less is it waking; it is a middle state where naught prevails +save a dreamy consciousness of well-being. We ourselves, when +comfortably in bed, enjoy, just before we fall asleep, a few moments +of bliss, the prelude to cessation of thought and its train of worries; +and those moments are among the sweetest in our lives. The Clotho +seems to know similar moments and to make the most of them.</p> +<p>If I push open the door of the cabin, invariably I find the Spider +lying motionless, as though in endless meditation. It needs the +teasing of a straw to rouse her from her apathy. It needs the +prick of hunger to bring her out of doors; and, as she is extremely +temperate, her appearances outside are few and far between. During +three years of assiduous observation, in the privacy of my study, I +have not once seen her explore the domain of the wire cage by day. +Not until a late hour at night does she venture forth in quest of victuals; +and it is hardly feasible to follow her on her excursions.</p> +<p>Patience once enabled me to find her, at ten o’clock in the +evening, taking the air on the flat roof of her house, where she was +doubtless waiting for the game to pass. Startled by the light +of my candle, the lover of darkness at once returned indoors, refusing +to reveal any of her secrets. Only, next day, there was one more +corpse hanging from the wall of the cabin, a proof that the chase was +successfully resumed after my departure.</p> +<p>The Clotho, who is not only nocturnal, but also excessively shy, +conceals her habits from us; she shows us her works, those precious +historical documents, but hides her actions, especially the laying, +which I estimate approximately to take place in October. The sum +total of the eggs is divided into five or six small, flat, lentiform +pockets, which, taken together, occupy the greater part of the maternal +home. These capsules have each their own partition-wall of superb +white satin, but they are so closely soldered, both together and to +the floor of the house, that it is impossible to part them without tearing +them, impossible, therefore, to obtain them separately. The eggs +in all amount to about a hundred.</p> +<p>The mother sits upon the heap of pockets with the same devotion as +a brooding hen. Maternity has not withered her. Although +decreased in bulk, she retains an excellent look of health; her round +belly and her well-stretched skin tell us from the first that her part +is not yet wholly played.</p> +<p>The hatching takes place early. November has not arrived before +the pockets contain the young: wee things clad in black, with five yellow +specks, exactly like their elders. The new-born do not leave their +respective nurseries. Packed close together, they spend the whole +of the wintry season there, while the mother, squatting on the pile +of cells, watches over the general safety, without knowing her family +other than by the gentle trepidations felt through the partitions of +the tiny chambers. The Labyrinth Spider has shown us how she maintains +a permanent sitting for two months in her guard-room, to defend, in +case of need, the brood which she will never see. The Clotho does +the same during eight months, thus earning the right to set eyes for +a little while on her family trotting around her in the main cabin and +to assist at the final exodus, the great journey undertaken at the end +of a thread.</p> +<p>When the summer heat arrives, in June, the young ones, probably aided +by their mother, pierce the walls of their cells, leave the maternal +tent, of which they know the secret outlet well, take the air on the +threshold for a few hours and then fly away, carried to some distance +by a funicular aeroplane, the first product of their spinning-mill.</p> +<p>The elder Clotho remains behind, careless of this emigration which +leaves her alone. She is far from being faded indeed, she looks +younger than ever. Her fresh colour, her robust appearance suggest +great length of life, capable of producing a second family. On +this subject I have but one document, a pretty far-reaching one, however. +There were a few mothers whose actions I had the patience to watch, +despite the wearisome minutiae of the rearing and the slowness of the +result. These abandoned their dwellings after the departure of +their young; and each went to weave a new one for herself on the wire +net-work of the cage.</p> +<p>They were rough-and-ready summaries, the work of a night. Two +hangings, one above the other, the upper one flat, the lower concave +and ballasted with stalactites of grains of sand, formed the new home, +which, strengthened daily by fresh layers, promised to become similar +to the old one. Why does the Spider desert her former mansion, +which is in no way dilapidated—far from it—and still exceedingly +serviceable, as far as one can judge? Unless I am mistaken, I +think I have an inkling of the reason.</p> +<p>The old cabin, comfortably wadded though it be, possesses serious +disadvantages: it is littered with the ruins of the children’s +nurseries. These ruins are so close-welded to the rest of the +home that my forceps cannot extract them without difficulty; and to +remove them would be an exhausting business for the Clotho and possibly +beyond her strength. It is a case of the resistance of Gordian +knots, which not even the very spinstress who fastened them is capable +of untying. The encumbering litter, therefore, will remain.</p> +<p>If the Spider were to stay alone, the reduction of space, when all +is said, would hardly matter to her: she wants so little room, merely +enough to move in! Besides, when you have spent seven or eight +months in the cramping presence of those bedchambers, what can be the +reason of a sudden need for greater space? I see but one: the +Spider requires a roomy habitation, not for herself—she is satisfied +with the smallest den—but for a second family. Where is +she to place the pockets of eggs, if the ruins of the previous laying +remain in the way? A new brood requires a new home. That, +no doubt, is why, feeling that her ovaries are not yet dried up, the +Spider shifts her quarters and founds a new establishment.</p> +<p>The facts observed are confined to this change of dwelling. +I regret that other interests and the difficulties attendant upon a +long upbringing did not allow me to pursue the question and definitely +to settle the matter of the repeated layings and the longevity of the +Clotho, as I did in that of the Lycosa.</p> +<p>Before taking leave of this Spider, let us glance at a curious problem +which has already been set by the Lycosa’s offspring. When +carried for seven months on the mother’s back, they keep in training +as agile gymnasts without taking any nourishment. It is a familiar +exercise for them, after a fall, which frequently occurs, to scramble +up a leg of their mount and nimbly to resume their place in the saddle. +They expend energy without receiving any material sustenance.</p> +<p>The sons of the Clotho, the Labyrinth Spider and many others confront +us with the same riddle: they move, yet do not eat. At any period +of the nursery stage, even in the heart of winter, on the bleak days +of January, I tear the pockets of the one and the tabernacle of the +other, expecting to find the swarm of youngsters lying in a state of +complete inertia, numbed by the cold and by lack of food. Well, +the result is quite different. The instant their cells are broken +open, the anchorites run out and flee in every direction as nimbly as +at the best moments of their normal liberty. It is marvellous +to see them scampering about. No brood of Partridges, stumbled +upon by a Dog, scatters more promptly.</p> +<p>Chicks, while still no more than tiny balls of yellow fluff, hasten +up at the mother’s call and scurry towards the plate of rice. +Habit has made us indifferent to the spectacle of those pretty little +animal machines, which work so nimbly and with such precision; we pay +no attention, so simple does it all appear to us. Science examines +and looks at things differently. She says to herself:</p> +<p>‘Nothing is made with nothing. The chick feeds itself; +it consumes or rather it assimilates and turns the food into heat, which +is converted into energy.’</p> +<p>Were any one to tell us of a chick which, for seven or eight months +on end, kept itself in condition for running, always fit, always brisk, +without taking the least beakful of nourishment from the day when it +left the egg, we could find no words strong enough to express our incredulity. +Now this paradox of activity maintained without the stay of food is +realized by the Clotho Spider and others.</p> +<p>I believe I have made it sufficiently clear that the young Lycosae +take no food as long as they remain with their mother. Strictly +speaking, doubt is just admissible, for observation is needs dumb as +to what may happen earlier or later within the mysteries of the burrow. +It seems possible that the repleted mother may there disgorge to her +family a mite of the contents of her crop. To this suggestion +the Clotho undertakes to make reply.</p> +<p>Like the Lycosa, she lives with her family; but the Clotho is separated +from them by the walls of the cells in which the little ones are hermetically +enclosed. In this condition, the transmission of solid nourishment +becomes impossible. Should any one entertain a theory of nutritive +humours cast up by the mother and filtering through the partitions at +which the prisoners might come and drink, the Labyrinth Spider would +at once dispel the idea. She dies a few weeks after her young +are hatched; and the children, still locked in their satin bed-chamber +for the best part of the year, are none the less active.</p> +<p>Can it be that they derive sustenance from the silken wrapper? +Do they eat their house? The supposition is not absurd, for we +have seen the Epeirae, before beginning a new web, swallow the ruins +of the old. But the explanation cannot be accepted, as we learn +from the Lycosa, whose family boasts no silky screen. In short, +it is certain that the young, of whatever species, take absolutely no +nourishment.</p> +<p>Lastly, we wonder whether they may possess within themselves reserves +that come from the egg, fatty or other matters the gradual combustion +of which would be transformed into mechanical force. If the expenditure +of energy were of but short duration, a few hours or a few days, we +could gladly welcome this idea of a motor viaticum, the attribute of +every creature born into the world. The chick possesses it in +a high degree: it is steady on its legs, it moves for a little while +with the sole aid of the food wherewith the egg furnishes it; but soon, +if the stomach is not kept supplied, the centre of energy becomes extinct +and the bird dies. How would the chick fare if it were expected, +for seven or eight months without stopping, to stand on its feet, to +run about, to flee in the face of danger? Where would it stow +the necessary reserves for such an amount of work?</p> +<p>The little Spider, in her turn, is a minute particle of no size at +all. Where could she store enough fuel to keep up mobility during +so long a period? The imagination shrinks in dismay before the +thought of an atom endowed with inexhaustible motive oils.</p> +<p>We must needs, therefore, appeal to the immaterial, in particular +to heat-rays coming from the outside and converted into movement by +the organism. This is nutrition of energy reduced to its simplest +expression: the motive heat, instead of being extracted from the food, +is utilized direct, as supplied by the sun, which is the seat of all +life. Inert matter has disconcerting secrets, as witness radium; +living matter has secrets of its own, which are more wonderful still. +Nothing tells us that science will not one day turn the suspicion suggested +by the Spider into an established truth and a fundamental theory of +physiology.</p> +<h2>APPENDIX: THE GEOMETRY OF THE EPEIRA’S WEB</h2> +<p>I find myself confronted with a subject which is not only highly +interesting, but somewhat difficult: not that the subject is obscure; +but it presupposes in the reader a certain knowledge of geometry: a +strong meat too often neglected. I am not addressing geometricians, +who are generally indifferent to questions of instinct, nor entomological +collectors, who, as such, take no interest in mathematical theorems; +I write for any one with sufficient intelligence to enjoy the lessons +which the insect teaches.</p> +<p>What am I to do? To suppress this chapter were to leave out +the most remarkable instance of Spider industry; to treat it as it should +be treated, that is to say, with the whole armoury of scientific formulae, +would be out of place in these modest pages. Let us take a middle +course, avoiding both abstruse truths and complete ignorance.</p> +<p>Let us direct our attention to the nets of the Epeirae, preferably +to those of the Silky Epeira and the Banded Epeira, so plentiful in +the autumn, in my part of the country, and so remarkable for their bulk. +We shall first observe that the radii are equally spaced; the angles +formed by each consecutive pair are of perceptibly equal value; and +this in spite of their number, which in the case of the Silky Epeira +exceeds two score. We know by what strange means the Spider attains +her ends and divides the area wherein the web is to be warped into a +large number of equal sectors, a number which is almost invariable in +the work of each species. An operation without method, governed, +one might imagine, by an irresponsible whim, results in a beautiful +rose-window worthy of our compasses.</p> +<p>We shall also notice that, in each sector, the various chords, the +elements of the spiral windings, are parallel to one another and gradually +draw closer together as they near the centre. With the two radiating +lines that frame them they form obtuse angles on one side and acute +angles on the other; and these angles remain constant in the same sector, +because the chords are parallel.</p> +<p>There is more than this: these same angles, the obtuse as well as +the acute, do not alter in value, from one sector to another, at any +rate so far as the conscientious eye can judge. Taken as a whole, +therefore, the rope-latticed edifice consists of a series of cross-bars +intersecting the several radiating lines obliquely at angles of equal +value.</p> +<p>By this characteristic we recognize the ‘logarithmic spiral.’ +Geometricians give this name to the curve which intersects obliquely, +at angles of unvarying value, all the straight lines or ‘radii +vectores’ radiating from a centre called the ‘Pole.’ +The Epeira’s construction, therefore, is a series of chords joining +the intersections of a logarithmic spiral with a series of radii. +It would become merged in this spiral if the number of radii were infinite, +for this would reduce the length of the rectilinear elements indefinitely +and change this polygonal line into a curve.</p> +<p>To suggest an explanation why this spiral has so greatly exercised +the meditations of science, let us confine ourselves for the present +to a few statements of which the reader will find the proof in any treatise +on higher geometry.</p> +<p>The logarithmic spiral describes an endless number of circuits around +its pole, to which it constantly draws nearer without ever being able +to reach it. This central point is indefinitely inaccessible at +each approaching turn. It is obvious that this property is beyond +our sensory scope. Even with the help of the best philosophical +instruments, our sight could not follow its interminable windings and +would soon abandon the attempt to divide the invisible. It is +a volute to which the brain conceives no limits. The trained mind, +alone, more discerning than our retina, sees clearly that which defies +the perceptive faculties of the eye.</p> +<p>The Epeira complies to the best of her ability with this law of the +endless volute. The spiral revolutions come closer together as +they approach the pole. At a given distance, they stop abruptly; +but, at this point, the auxiliary spiral, which is not destroyed in +the central region, takes up the thread; and we see it, not without +some surprise, draw nearer to the pole in ever-narrowing and scarcely +perceptible circles. There is not, of course, absolute mathematical +accuracy, but a very close approximation to that accuracy. The +Epeira winds nearer and nearer round her pole, so far as her equipment, +which, like our own, is defective, will allow her. One would believe +her to be thoroughly versed in the laws of the spiral.</p> +<p>I will continue to set forth, without explanations, some of the properties +of this curious curve. Picture a flexible thread wound round a +logarithmic spiral. If we then unwind it, keeping it taut the +while, its free extremity will describe a spiral similar at all points +to the original. The curve will merely have changed places.</p> +<p>Jacques Bernouilli, <a name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42">{42}</a> +to whom geometry owes this magnificent theorem, had engraved on his +tomb, as one of his proudest titles to fame, the generating spiral and +its double, begotten of the unwinding of the thread. An inscription +proclaimed, ‘<i>Eadem mutata resurgo</i>: I rise again like unto +myself.’ Geometry would find it difficult to better this +splendid flight of fancy towards the great problem of the hereafter.</p> +<p>There is another geometrical epitaph no less famous. Cicero, +when quaestor in Sicily, searching for the tomb of Archimedes amid the +thorns and brambles that cover us with oblivion, recognized it, among +the ruins, by the geometrical figure engraved upon the stone: the cylinder +circumscribing the sphere. Archimedes, in fact, was the first +to know the approximate relation of circumference to diameter; from +it he deduced the perimeter and surface of the circle, as well as the +surface and volume of the sphere. He showed that the surface and +volume of the last-named equal two-thirds of the surface and volume +of the circumscribing cylinder. Disdaining all pompous inscription, +the learned Syracusan honoured himself with his theorem as his sole +epitaph. The geometrical figure proclaimed the individual’s +name as plainly as would any alphabetical characters.</p> +<p>To have done with this part of our subject, here is another property +of the logarithmic spiral. Roll the curve along an indefinite +straight line. Its pole will become displaced while still keeping +on one straight line. The endless scroll leads to rectilinear +progression; the perpetually varied begets uniformity.</p> +<p>Now is this logarithmic spiral, with its curious properties, merely +a conception of the geometers, combining number and extent, at will, +so as to imagine a tenebrous abyss wherein to practise their analytical +methods afterwards? Is it a mere dream in the night of the intricate, +an abstract riddle flung out for our understanding to browse upon?</p> +<p>No, it is a reality in the service of life, a method of construction +frequently employed in animal architecture. The Mollusc, in particular, +never rolls the winding ramp of the shell without reference to the scientific +curve. The first-born of the species knew it and put it into practice; +it was as perfect in the dawn of creation as it can be to-day.</p> +<p>Let us study, in this connection, the Ammonites, those venerable +relics of what was once the highest expression of living things, at +the time when the solid land was taking shape from the oceanic ooze. +Cut and polished length-wise, the fossil shows a magnificent logarithmic +spiral, the general pattern of the dwelling which was a pearl palace, +with numerous chambers traversed by a siphuncular corridor.</p> +<p>To this day, the last representative of the Cephalopoda with partitioned +shells, the Nautilus of the Southern Seas, remains faithful to the ancient +design; it has not improved upon its distant predecessors. It +has altered the position of the siphuncle, has placed it in the centre +instead of leaving it on the back, but it still whirls its spiral logarithmically +as did the Ammonites in the earliest ages of the world’s existence.</p> +<p>And let us not run away with the idea that these princes of the Mollusc +tribe have a monopoly of the scientific curve. In the stagnant +waters of our grassy ditches, the flat shells, the humble Planorbes, +sometimes no bigger than a duckweed, vie with the Ammonite and the Nautilus +in matters of higher geometry. At least one of them, <i>Planorbis +vortex</i>, for example, is a marvel of logarithmic whorls.</p> +<p>In the long-shaped shells, the structure becomes more complex, though +remaining subject to the same fundamental laws. I have before +my eyes some species of the genus Terebra, from New Caledonia. +They are extremely tapering cones, attaining almost nine inches in length. +Their surface is smooth and quite plain, without any of the usual ornaments, +such as furrows, knots or strings of pearls. The spiral edifice +is superb, graced with its own simplicity alone. I count a score +of whorls which gradually decrease until they vanish in the delicate +point. They are edged with a fine groove.</p> +<p>I take a pencil and draw a rough generating line to this cone; and, +relying merely on the evidence of my eyes, which are more or less practised +in geometric measurements, I find that the spiral groove intersects +this generating line at an angle of unvarying value.</p> +<p>The consequence of this result is easily deduced. If projected +on a plane perpendicular to the axis of the shell, the generating lines +of the cone would become radii; and the groove which winds upwards from +the base to the apex would be converted into a plane curve which, meeting +those radii at an unvarying angle, would be neither more nor less than +a logarithmic spiral. Conversely, the groove of the shell may +be considered as the projection of this spiral on a conic surface.</p> +<p>Better still. Let us imagine a plane perpendicular to the aids +of the shell and passing through its summit. Let us imagine, moreover, +a thread wound along the spiral groove. Let us unroll the thread, +holding it taut as we do so. Its extremity will not leave the +plane and will describe a logarithmic spiral within it. It is, +in a more complicated degree, a variant of Bernouilli’s ‘<i>Eadem +mutata resurgo</i>:’ the logarithmic conic curve becomes a logarithmic +plane curve.</p> +<p>A similar geometry is found in the other shells with elongated cones, +Turritellae, Spindle-shells, Cerithia, as well as in the shells with +flattened cones, Trochidae, Turbines. The spherical shells, those +whirled into a volute, are no exception to this rule. All, down +to the common Snail-shell, are constructed according to logarithmic +laws. The famous spiral of the geometers is the general plan followed +by the Mollusc rolling its stone sheath.</p> +<p>Where do these glairy creatures pick up this science? We are +told that the Mollusc derives from the Worm. One day, the Worm, +rendered frisky by the sun, emancipated itself, brandished its tail +and twisted it into a corkscrew for sheer glee. There and then +the plan of the future spiral shell was discovered.</p> +<p>This is what is taught quite seriously, in these days, as the very +last word in scientific progress. It remains to be seen up to +what point the explanation is acceptable. The Spider, for her +part, will have none of it. Unrelated to the appendix-lacking, +corkscrew-twirling Worm, she is nevertheless familiar with the logarithmic +spiral. From the celebrated curve she obtains merely a sort of +framework; but, elementary though this framework be, it clearly marks +the ideal edifice. The Epeira works on the same principles as +the Mollusc of the convoluted shell.</p> +<p>The Mollusc has years wherein to construct its spiral and it uses +the utmost finish in the whirling process. The Epeira, to spread +her net, has but an hour’s sitting at the most, wherefore the +speed at which she works compels her to rest content with a simpler +production. She shortens the task by confining herself to a skeleton +of the curve which the other describes to perfection.</p> +<p>The Epeira, therefore, is versed in the geometric secrets of the +Ammonite and the <i>Nautilus pompilus</i>; she uses, in a simpler form, +the logarithmic line dear to the Snail. What guides her? +There is no appeal here to a wriggle of some kind, as in the case of +the Worm that ambitiously aspires to become a Mollusc. The animal +must needs carry within itself a virtual diagram of its spiral. +Accident, however fruitful in surprises we may presume it to be, can +never have taught it the higher geometry wherein our own intelligence +at once goes astray, without a strict preliminary training.</p> +<p>Are we to recognize a mere effect of organic structure in the Epeira’s +art? We readily think of the legs, which, endowed with a very +varying power of extension, might serve as compasses. More or +less bent, more or less outstretched, they would mechanically determine +the angle whereat the spiral shall intersect the radius; they would +maintain the parallel of the chords in each sector.</p> +<p>Certain objections arise to affirm that, in this instance, the tool +is not the sole regulator of the work. Were the arrangement of +the thread determined by the length of the legs, we should find the +spiral volutes separated more widely from one another in proportion +to the greater length of implement in the spinstress. We see this +in the Banded Epeira and the Silky Epeira. The first has longer +limbs and spaces her cross-threads more liberally than does the second, +whose legs are shorter.</p> +<p>But we must not rely too much on this rule, say others. The +Angular Epeira, the Paletinted Epeira and the Cross Spider, all three +more or less short-limbed, rival the Banded Epeira in the spacing of +their lime-snares. The last two even dispose them with greater +intervening distances.</p> +<p>We recognize in another respect that the organization of the animal +does not imply an immutable type of work. Before beginning the +sticky spiral, the Epeirae first spin an auxiliary intended to strengthen +the stays. This spiral, formed of plain, non-glutinous thread, +starts from the centre and winds in rapidly-widening circles to the +circumference. It is merely a temporary construction, whereof +naught but the central part survives when the Spider has set its limy +meshes. The second spiral, the essential part of the snare, proceeds, +on the contrary, in serried coils from the circumference to the centre +and is composed entirely of viscous cross-threads.</p> +<p>Here we have, following one after the other merely by a sudden alteration +of the machine, two volutes of an entirely different order as regards +direction, the number of whorls and intersection. Both of them +are logarithmic spirals. I see no mechanism of the legs, be they +long or short, that can account for this alteration.</p> +<p>Can it then be a premeditated design on the part of the Epeira? +Can there be calculation, measurement of angles, gauging of the parallel +by means of the eye or otherwise? I am inclined to think that +there is none of all this, or at least nothing but an innate propensity, +whose effects the animal is no more able to control than the flower +is able to control the arrangement of its verticils. The Epeira +practises higher geometry without knowing or caring. The thing +works of itself and takes its impetus from an instinct imposed upon +creation from the start.</p> +<p>The stone thrown by the hand returns to earth describing a certain +curve; the dead leaf torn and wafted away by a breath of wind makes +its journey from the tree to the ground with a similar curve. +On neither the one side nor the other is there any action by the moving +body to regulate the fall; nevertheless, the descent takes place according +to a scientific trajectory, the ‘parabola,’ of which the +section of a cone by a plane furnished the prototype to the geometer’s +speculations. A figure, which was at first but a tentative glimpse, +becomes a reality by the fall of a pebble out of the vertical.</p> +<p>The same speculations take up the parabola once more, imagine it +rolling on an indefinite straight line and ask what course does the +focus of this curve follow. The answer comes: The focus of the +parabola describes a ‘catenary,’ a line very simple in shape, +but endowed with an algebraic symbol that has to resort to a kind of +cabalistic number at variance with any sort of numeration, so much so +that the unit refuses to express it, however much we subdivide the unit. +It is called the number <i>e</i>. Its value is represented by +the following series carried out ad infinitum:</p> +<blockquote><p>e = 1 + 1/1 + 1/(1*2) + 1/(1*2*3) + 1/(1*2*3*4) + 1/(1*2*3*4*5) ++ etc</p> +</blockquote> +<p>If the reader had the patience to work out the few initial terms +of this series, which has no limit, because the series of natural numerals +itself has none, he would find:</p> +<blockquote><p>e=2.7182818...</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With this weird number are we now stationed within the strictly defined +realm of the imagination? Not at all: the catenary appears actually +every time that weight and flexibility act in concert. The name +is given to the curve formed by a chain suspended by two of its points +which are not placed on a vertical line. It is the shape taken +by a flexible cord when held at each end and relaxed; it is the line +that governs the shape of a sail bellying in the wind; it is the curve +of the nanny-goat’s milk-bag when she returns from filling her +trailing udder. And all this answers to the number e.</p> +<p>What a quantity of abstruse science for a bit of string! Let +us not be surprised. A pellet of shot swinging at the end of a +thread, a drop of dew trickling down a straw, a splash of water rippling +under the kisses of the air, a mere trifle, after all, requires a titanic +scaffolding when we wish to examine it with the eye of calculation. +We need the club of Hercules to crush a fly.</p> +<p>Our methods of mathematical investigation are certainly ingenious; +we cannot too much admire the mighty brains that have invented them; +but how slow and laborious they appear when compared with the smallest +actualities! Will it never be given to us to probe reality in +a simpler fashion? Will our intelligence be able one day to dispense +with the heavy arsenal of formulae? Why not?</p> +<p>Here we have the abracadabric number <i>e</i> reappearing, inscribed +on a Spider’s thread. Let us examine, on a misty morning, +the meshwork that has been constructed during the night. Owing +to their hygrometrical nature, the sticky threads are laden with tiny +drops, and, bending under the burden, have become so many catenaries, +so many chaplets of limpid gems, graceful chaplets arranged in exquisite +order and following the curve of a swing. If the sun pierce the +mist, the whole lights up with iridescent fires and becomes a resplendent +cluster of diamonds. The number <i>e</i> is in its glory.</p> +<p>Geometry, that is to say, the science of harmony in space, presides +over everything. We find it in the arrangement of the scales of +a fir-cone, as in the arrangement of an Epeira’s limy web; we +find it in the spiral of a Snail-shell, in the chaplet of a Spider’s +thread, as in the orbit of a planet; it is everywhere, as perfect in +the world of atoms as in the world of immensities.</p> +<p>And this universal geometry tells us of an Universal Geometrician, +whose divine compass has measured all things. I prefer that, as +an explanation of the logarithmic curve of the Ammonite and the Epeira, +to the Worm screwing up the tip of its tail. It may not perhaps +be in accordance with latter-day teaching, but it takes a loftier flight.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> A small +or moderate-sized spider found among foliage.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> Léon +Dufour (1780-1865) was an army surgeon who served with distinction in +several campaigns and subsequently practised as a doctor in the Landes. +He attained great eminence as a naturalist.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> The Tarantula +is a Lycosa, or Wolf-spider. Fabre’s Tarantula, the Black-bellied +Tarantula, is identical with the Narbonne Lycosa, under which name the +description is continued in Chapters iii. to vi., all of which were +written at a considerably later date than the present chapter.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> Giorgio +Baglivi (1669-1707), professor of anatomy and medicine at Rome.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> ‘When +our husbandmen wish to catch them, they approach their hiding-places, +and play on a thin grass pipe, making a sound not unlike the humming +of bees. Hearing which, the Tarantula rushes out fiercely that +she may catch the flies or other insects of this kind, whose buzzing +she thinks it to be; but she herself is caught by her rustic trapper.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> Provençal +for the bit of waste ground on which the author studies his insects +in the natural state.—Translator’s note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> ‘Thanks +to the Bumble-bee.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a> Like the +Dung-beetles.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> Like the +Solitary Wasps.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a> Such +as the Hairy Ammophila, the Cerceris and the Languedocian Sphex, Digger-wasps +described in other of the author’s essays.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> The +<i>desnucador</i>, the Argentine slaughterman whose methods of slaying +cattle are detailed in the author’s essay entitled, The Theory +of Instinct.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> A family +of Grasshoppers.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{13}</a> A genus +of Beetles.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14">{14}</a> A species +of Digger-wasp.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> The +Cicada is the <i>Cigale</i>, an insect akin to the Grasshopper and found +more particularly in the South of France.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a> The +generic title of the work from which these essays are taken is Entomological +Memories, or, Studies relating to the Instinct and Habits of Insects.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a> A species +of Grasshopper.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18">{18}</a> An +insect akin to the Locusts and Crickets, which, when at rest, adopts +an attitude resembling that of prayer. When attacking, it assumes +what is known as ‘the spectral attitude.’ Its forelegs +form a sort of saw-like or barbed harpoons. Cf. Social Life in +the Insect World, by J. H. Fabre, translated by Bernard Miall: chaps. +v. to vii.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a> .39 +inch.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20">{20}</a> These +experiments are described in the author’s essay on the Mason Bees +entitled Fragments on Insect Psychology.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21">{21}</a> A species +of Wasp.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22">{22}</a> In +Chap. VIII. of the present volume.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23">{23}</a> Jules +Michelet (1798-1874), author of L’Oiseau and L’Insecte, +in addition to the historical works for which he is chiefly known. +As a lad, he helped his father, a printer by trade, in setting type.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24">{24}</a> Chapter +III. of the present volume.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25">{25}</a> A species +of Dung-beetle. Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect, by +J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap. v.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26">{26}</a> A species +of Beetle.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27">{27}</a> Cf. +Insect Life, by J. H. Fabre, translated by the author of Mademoiselle +Mori: chaps. i. and ii.; The Life and Love of the Insect, by J. Henri +Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chaps. i. to iv.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28">{28}</a> Chapter +II.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29">{29}</a> .39 +inch.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30">{30}</a> The +Processionaries are Moth-caterpillars that feed on various leaves and +march in file, laying a silken trail as they go.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31">{31}</a> The +weekly half-holiday in French schools.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32">{32}</a> Cf. +Social Life in the Insect World, by J. H. Fabre, translated by Bernard +Miall: chap. xiv.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33">{33}</a> Cf. +Insect Life, by J. H. Fabre, translated by the author of Mademoiselle +Mori: chap. v.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34">{34}</a> The +Scolia is a Digger-wasp, like the Cerceris and the Sphex, and feeds +her larvae on the grubs of the Cetonia, or Rose-chafer, and the Oryctes, +or Rhinoceros Beetle. Cf. The Life and Love of the Insect, by +J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos: chap. xi.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35">{35}</a> Cf. +Social Life in the Insect World, by J. H. Fabre, translated by Bernard +Miall. chap. xiii., in which the name is given, by a printer’s +error, as <i>Philanthus aviporus</i>.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36">{36}</a> Or +Bird Spiders, known also as the American Tarantula.—Translator’s +Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37">{37}</a> .059 +inch.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38">{38}</a> The +Ichneumon-flies are very small insects which carry long ovipositors, +wherewith they lay their eggs in the eggs of other insects and also, +more especially, in caterpillars. Their parasitic larvae live +and develop at the expense of the egg or grub attacked, which degenerates +in consequence.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39">{39}</a> One +of the largest families of Beetles, darkish in colour and shunning the +light.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40">{40}</a> The +Iulus is one of the family of Myriapods, which includes Centipedes, +etc.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41">{41}</a> A species +of Land-snail.—Translator’s Note.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42">{42}</a> Jacques +Bernouilli (1654-1705), professor of mathematics at the University of +Basel from 1687 to the year of his death. 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