CHAPTER I
THE
LANGUEDOCIAN SCORPION: THE DWELLINGThe
Scorpion is an uncommunicative creature, secret in his practices
and
disagreeable to deal with, so that his history, apart from
anatomical
detail, amounts to little or nothing. The scalpel of the experts
has
made us acquainted with his organic structure; but no observer, as
far as I know, has thought of interviewing him, with any sort of
persistence, on the subject of his private habits. Ripped up, after
being steeped in spirits of wine, he is very well-known; acting
within the domain of his instincts, he is hardly known at all. And
yet none of the segmented animals is more deserving of a detailed
biography. He has at all times appealed to the popular imagination,
even to the point of figuring among the signs of the zodiac. Fear
made the gods, said Lucretius. Deified by terror,
[4]the
Scorpion is immortalized in the sky by a constellation and in the
almanac by the symbol for the month of October.I
made the acquaintance of the Languedocian Scorpion (Scorpio
occitanus, LAT)
half a century ago, in the Villeneuve hills, on the far side of the
Rhone, opposite Avignon. When the thrice-blessed Thursday1came,
from morning till night I used to turn over the stones in quest of
the Scolopendra,2the
chief subject of the thesis which I was preparing for my doctor’s
degree. Sometimes, instead of that magnificent horror, the mighty
Myriapod, I would find, under the raised stone, another and no less
unpleasant recluse. It was he. With his tail turned over his back
and
a drop of poison gleaming at the end of the sting, he lay
displaying
his pincers at the entrance to a burrow. Br-r-r-r! Have done with
the
formidable creature! The stone fell back into its place.
[5]Utterly
tired out, I used to return from my excursions rich in Scolopendræ
and richer still in those illusions which paint the future
rose-colour when we first begin to bite freely into the bread of
knowledge. Science! The witch! I used to come home with joy in my
heart: I had found some Centipedes. What more was needed to
complete
my ingenuous happiness? I carried off the Scolopendræ and left the
Scorpions behind, not without a secret feeling that a day would
come
when I should have to concern myself with them.Fifty
years have elapsed; and that day has come. It behoves me, after the
Spiders,3his
near neighbours in organization, to cross-examine my old
acquaintance, chief of the Arachnids in our district. It so happens
that the Languedocian Scorpion abounds in my neighbourhood; nowhere
have I seen him so plentiful as on the Sérignan hills, with their
sunny, rocky slopes beloved by the arbutus and the arborescent
heath.
There the chilly creature finds a sub-tropical temperature and also
a
sandy soil, easy to
[6]dig.
This is, I think, as far as he goes towards the north.His
favourite spots are the bare expanses poor in vegetation, where the
rock, outcropping in vertical strata, is baked by the sun and worn
by
the wind and rain until it ends by crumbling into flakes. He is
usually found in colonies at quite a distance from one another, as
though the members of a single family, migrating in all directions,
were becoming a tribe. It is not sociability, it is anything but
that. Excessively intolerant and passionately devoted to solitude,
they continually occupy their shelters alone. In vain do I seek
them
out: I never find two of them under the same stone; or, to be more
accurate, when there are two, one is engaged in eating the other.
We
shall have occasion to see the savage hermit ending the nuptial
festivities in this fashion.The
lodging is very rough and ready. Let us turn over the stones, which
are generally flat and fairly large. The Scorpion’s presence is
indicated by a cavity as wide as the neck of a quart bottle and a
few
inches deep. In stooping, we commonly see the master of the house
on
the threshold of his
[7]dwelling,
with his pincers outspread and his tail in the posture of defence.
At
other times, when he owns a deeper cell, the hermit is invisible.
We
have to use a small pocket-trowel to bring him out into the light
of
day. Here he is, lifting or brandishing his weapon. ’Ware
fingers!I
take him by the tail with a pair of tweezers and slip him, head
foremost, into a stout paper bag, which will isolate him from the
other prisoners. The whole of my formidable harvest goes into a tin
box. In this way both the collecting and the transport are carried
out with perfect safety.Before
housing my animals, let me briefly describe them. The common Black
Scorpion (Scorpio
europæus, LINN.)
is known to all. He frequents the dark holes and corners near our
dwelling-places; on rainy days in autumn he makes his way indoors,
sometimes even under our bed-clothes. The odious animal causes us
more fright than damage. Although not rare in my present abode, the
results of its visits are never in the least serious. The weird
beast, overrated in reputation, is repulsive rather than
dangerous.
[8]Much
more to be feared and much less well-known generally is the
Languedocian Scorpion, resident in the Mediterranean provinces. Far
from seeking our habitations, he lives apart, in the untilled
solitudes. Beside the Black Scorpion he is a giant who, when
full-grown, measures three to three and a half inches in length.
His
colouring is the yellow of faded straw.The
tail, which is really the animal’s abdomen, is a series of five
prismatic segments, shaped like little kegs whose staves meet in
undulating ridges resembling strings of beads. Similar cords cover
the arms and fore-arms of the nippers and divide them into long
facets. Others meander along the back like the joints of a cuirass
whose seams are adorned with a freakish milled edging. These
bead-like protuberances give the Scorpion’s armour a fierce and
robustious appearance which is characteristic of the Languedocian
Scorpion. It is as though the animal were fashioned out of chips
hewn
with an adze.The
tail ends in a sixth joint, which is smooth and vesicular. This is
the gourd in which the poison, a formidable fluid resembling
[9]water
in appearance, is elaborated and held in reserve. A dark, curved
and
very sharp sting completes the apparatus. A pore, visible only
under
the lens, opens at some distance from the point. Through this the
venomous liquid is injected into the puncture. The sting is very
hard
and very sharp. Holding it between my finger-tips, I can push it
through a sheet of cardboard as easily as if I were using a
needle.Owing
to its bold curve, the sting points downwards when the tail is
extended in a straight line. To make use of his weapon, therefore,
the Scorpion must raise it, turn it over and strike upwards. This,
in
fact, is his invariable practice. In order to pink the adversary
subdued by the nippers, the tail is arched over the animal’s back
and brought forward. The Scorpion, for that matter, is almost
always
in this position: whether in motion or at rest, he arches his tail
over his back. He very rarely drags it behind him, relaxed into a
straight line.The
pincers, those buccal hands recalling the claws of the Crayfish,
are
organs of battle and of information. When moving forwards, the
Scorpion holds them in front of
[10]him,
with the two fingers opened, to take stock of objects encountered
on
the way. When he wants to stab an enemy, the pincers seize the foe
and hold him motionless, while the sting is brought into play over
the assailant’s back. Lastly, when he wishes to nibble a tit-bit at
leisure, they serve as hands and hold the prey within the reach of
the mouth. They are never used for walking, for stability or for
excavation.That
is the function of the real legs. These are suddenly truncated and
end in a group of short, movable claws, faced by a short, fine
point,
which, to some extent, serves as a thumb. The stump is finished off
with rough bristles. The whole constitutes an excellent grapnel,
which explains the Scorpion’s aptitude for roaming over the
trellis-work of my wire-gauze covers, for making long halts there,
motionless and upside down, and, lastly, for scrambling along a
vertical wall, notwithstanding his clumsiness and weight.Underneath,
just behind the legs, are the combs, those strange organs, an
exclusive attribute of the Scorpions. They owe their name to their
structure, consisting of a long
[11]row
of plates, set close together like the teeth of a hair-comb. The
anatomists are inclined to ascribe to them the functions of a
clutch
intended to hold the couple bound together at the moment of
pairing.
We will leave it at that until we are better informed, provided
that
the specimens which I propose to rear tell me their secret.On
the other hand, I know of another function, which is very easily
observed when the Scorpion meanders, belly uppermost, over the wire
trellis of my dish-covers. When he is at rest, the two combs are
laid
flat on the abdomen, behind the legs. The moment he begins to walk,
they stick out on either side, at right angles to the body, like
the
naked wings of an unfledged nestling. They sway gently up and down,
reminding us of the balancing-pole of an inexperienced
rope-dancer.4If
the Scorpion stops, they are at once retracted, fall back upon the
belly and cease to move: if he resumes his walk, they are at once
extended and again begin their gentle oscillation. The
animal
[12]therefore
seems to use them at least as a balancing mechanism.The
eyes, eight in number, are divided into three groups. In the middle
of that weird segment which is at once head and thorax, two large
and
very convex eyes gleam side by side, reminding us of the
Lycosa’s5superb
lenses; they are apparently in both instances for use at close
range,
because of their great convexity. A ridge of protuberances arranged
in a wavy line serves as an eyebrow and gives them a fierce
appearance. Their axis, which is almost horizontal, can hardly
allow
them more than lateral vision.The
same remark applies to two other groups, each composed of three
eyes,
which are very small and placed much farther forward, nearly on the
edge of the sudden truncation that forms an arch above the mouth.
On
both right and left the three tiny lenses are set in a short
straight
line, their axis pointing laterally. On the whole, both the small
and
the large eyes are so arranged that
[13]it
can by no means be easy for the animal to obtain a clear view
ahead.Extremely
short-sighted and squinting outrageously, how does the Scorpion
manage to steer himself? Like a blind man, he gropes his way: he
guides himself with his hands, that is to say, his pincers, which
he
carries outstretched, with the fingers open, to sound the space
before him. Watch two Scorpions wandering in the open air in my
rearing-cages. A meeting would be disagreeable, sometimes even
dangerous for them. Nevertheless, the one behind always goes ahead
as
though he did not perceive his neighbour; but, as soon as he
touches
the other ever so little with his pincers, he at once gives a
sudden
start, a sign of surprise and uneasiness, followed at once by a
retreat and a change of direction. To recognize the irascible one
thus overhauled, he had to touch him.Let
us now instal our prisoners. I shall never learn all I want to know
by turning over stones and making chance observations on the
adjacent
hills: I must resort to keeping the animals in captivity, the only
manner of inducing them to reveal their domestic
[14]habits.
What rearing-method shall I employ? One in particular appeals to
me,
one which will leave the creature its full liberty, which will
relieve me of the cares of catering and which will enable me to
inspect my captives at any hour of the day, from year’s end to
year’s end. This seems to me an excellent means, far superior to
the others, so much so that I reckon on a magnificent
success.It
is a question of establishing within my own grounds, in the open
air,
a hamlet of Scorpions, by cunning securing for them the same
conditions of well-being which they enjoyed at home. In the first
days of January, I found my colony right at the end of the
harmas,6in
the quiet corner exposed to the sun and sheltered from the north
wind
by a thick rosemary-hedge. The ground, a mixture of pebbles and red
clayey soil, is unsuitable. Considering the temperament of my
charges, great stay-at-homes from what I can see, this is easily
remedied. For each of my colonists I dig a hole, of a gallon
or
[15]two
in capacity, and fill it with sandy earth similar to that of the
original site. I pack this earth lightly, which will give it the
consistence needed for digging without land-slips, and in it I
contrived a short entrance-passage, the beginning of the excavation
which the Scorpion will not fail to make in order to obtain a cell
in
conformity with his tastes. A wide flat stone covers and overlaps
the
whole. Opposite the passage of my own making, I scoop out a hollow:
this is the entrance-door.In
front of the hollow I place a Scorpion, taken that moment from the
paper bag in which he has just been conveyed from the mountain.
Seeing a retreat similar to those with which he is familiar, he
goes
in of his own accord and does not show himself again. In this way I
establish the hamlet, consisting of some twenty inhabitants, all
adults. The dwellings, placed at a suitable distance from one
another, to avoid the quarrels liable to occur among neighbours,
are
arranged in a row on a stretch of ground cleared with the rake. It
will be easy for me to observe events at a glance, even at night,
by
the light of a lantern. As to food, I need not trouble
[16]about
that. My guests will find their own provisions, for the spot is
quite
as well-stocked with game as that from which I brought them.The
colonies in the paddock are not enough. Certain observations call
for
minute attention which is incompatible with the disturbances out of
doors. A second menagerie is set up, this time on the large table
in
my study, a table around which I have already covered and am still
covering so many miles in pursuit of stubborn knowledge. Bring up
the
big earthenware pans, my usual apparatus! Filled with sifted sandy
earth, each receives two broad potsherds, which, half buried, form
a
ceiling and represent the refuge under the stones. The
establishment
is surrounded by the dome of a wire-gauze cover.Here
I house the Scorpions, two by two and of different sexes, as far as
I
am able to judge. No outward characteristic that I know of
distinguishes the males from the females. I take the big bellied
specimens for females and the less obese for males. As age
intervenes
with its variations of stoutness, mistakes are inevitable, unless I
first
[17]open
the subject’s paunch, a procedure which would cut short any attempt
at rearing. We will allow ourselves to be guided by size, since we
have no other means of judging, and house the Scorpions two by two,
one corpulent and brown, the other less obese and of a lighter
colour. There are certain to be some actual couples among the
number.Here
are a few details for the benefit of whoso may care one day to take
up similar studies. An animal-breeder’s trade calls for
apprenticeship; the experience of others is not unhelpful,
especially
when the animals in question are dangerous to deal with. It would
never do inadvertently to lay a hand on one of my present prisoners
who had escaped from his cage and lay skulking among the utensils
littering the table. Serious precautions must be taken by those who
propose to spend whole years in the company of such neighbours.
They
are as follows:The
trellis-work dome is fitted deep into the pan and touches the
earthenware bottom. Between the two there is a circular space which
I
fill with clay soil, packed while wet. So fitted, the wire cover is
quite immovable; the apparatus runs no risk of coming to
[18]pieces
and yielding a way of escape. On the other hand, if the Scorpions
dig
deeply on the edges of the earthy space at their disposal, they
come
upon either the wire-gauze or the pottery, both of which are
insuperable obstacles. So we need have no fear of escape.But
this is not enough. While we have to see to our own safety, we must
also think of the captives’ welfare. The dwelling is hygienic and
easy to carry into the sun or the shade, as the observation of the
moment may demand; but it does not contain the victuals with which
the Scorpions, frugal though they be, cannot dispense indefinitely.
With a view to feeding them without moving the cover, the
trellis-work is pierced at the top with a small opening through
which
I slip the live game, caught from day to day as needed. After this
has been served, a plug of cotton-wool closes the buttery
hatch.My
caged specimens, soon after their installation, enable me to watch
their work as excavators even better than the occupants of the
open-air community, for whom my trowel has prepared an
entrance-passage beneath the stones. The Languedocian
[19]Scorpion
is master of craft; he knows how to house himself in a cell of his
own making. In order to establish themselves, each of my interned
prisoners has at his disposal a wide, curved potsherd, which, set
firmly in the sand, provides the foundation of a grotto, a simple
arched fissure. The Scorpion has only to dig beneath this and lodge
himself as comfortably as he can.The
excavator does not dally long, especially in the sun, whose glare
annoys him. Steadying himself on his fourth pair of legs, the
Scorpion rakes the ground with the three other pairs: he turns it
over, reducing it to a loose dust with a graceful agility that
reminds us of a Dog scratching a hole in which to bury a bone.
After
the brisk twirling of the legs comes the touch of the broom. With
his
tail laid flat and relaxed to the utmost, he pushes back the earthy
mass, making the same movement as does our elbow when thrusting an
obstacle aside. If the rubbish thus shot back be not sufficiently
out
of the way, the sweeper returns, repeats the process and finishes
the
job.Observe
that the pincers, notwithstanding their strength, never take part
in
the digging,
[20]even
to the extent of extracting a grain of sand. They are reserved for
feeding, fighting, and, above all, enquiry, and would lose the
exquisite sensitiveness of their fingers if used for that heavy
task.
In this way the legs and tail, in repeated alternations, scratch
the
soil and thrust the rubbish outside. At last the worker disappears
beneath the potsherd. A mound of sand obstructs the entrance to the
vault. At moments we see it shaking and partly slipping, signs that
the work is still going on with a further shooting of rubbish,
until
the cell attains a suitable size. When the hermit wants to go out,
he
will, without difficulty push back the crumbling barricade.The
Black Scorpion of our houses has not this capacity for making
himself
a crypt. He is found in the mortar collected at the bottom of
walls,
the woodwork disjointed by the damp, the rubbish-heaps in dark
places, but he restricts himself to using these refuges as he finds
them, being unable to improve the hiding-place by his own industry.
He does not know how to dig. This ignorance is apparently due to
his
feeble broom, his smooth, slender tail, very different from
[21]the
Languedocian’s, which is powerful and armed with knotty
protuberances.In
the open air, the colony in the enclosure finds a lodging modelled
by
my care. Under the flat stones where I have contrived to outline a
cell in the sandy earth, each of them at once disappears and
labours
to complete the work, as I perceived by the mound heaped upon the
threshold. Wait a few more days and lift the stone: at a depth of
three or four inches we see the lair, the burrow, occupied at night
and open also by day, when the weather is bad. Sometimes a sudden
bend widens the recess into a spacious chamber. In front of the
mansion, immediately under the stone, is the entrance-hall.This,
by day, in the hours of blazing sunshine, is where the solitary
prefers to be, in the blessed heat gently shaded by the stone. When
turned out of this hot bath, his supreme felicity, he brandishes
his
knotty tail and swiftly retreats indoors, out of reach of the light
and of our eyes. Replace the stone and come back fifteen minutes
later: we shall find him once more on the threshold of the cavern,
where it is so pleasant when a generous sun warms the roof.
[22]The
cold season is thus passed in a very monotonous fashion. Both in
the
hamlet of the enclosure and the menagerie of the cages, the
Scorpions
go out neither by day nor at night, as I observe by the barricade
of
sand which remains untouched at the entrance to the home. Are they
torpid? Not a bit of it! My frequent visits show them always ready
for action, with curved and threatening tails. If the weather grows
cooler, they retreat to the bottom of their burrows; if it is fine,
they return to the threshold to warm their backs by the touch of
the
sunny stone. Nothing more for the moment: the anchorite’s life is
spent in long spells of meditation, either in the cool moist crypt
or
under the porch of the house, behind the sandy barricade.In
the course of April a sudden change takes place. In the cages, the
shelter of the potsherds is abandoned. Gravely the occupants roam
around the arena, clamber up the trellis and stand there, even by
day. Several of them sleep out and do not go home again, preferring
the out-of-door distractions to soft slumbers in the alcove under
ground.
[23]In
the hamlet in the enclosure, events are more serious. Some of the
inhabitants, selected from the smaller, leave the house at night
and
go wandering without my knowing what becomes of them. I expect to
see
them return at the end of their stroll, for no other part of the
paddock has stones to suit them. Well, not one comes home; all that
have gone have disappeared for good. Soon the big ones also display
the same vagabond mood; and at last the emigration becomes so
active
that a moment is at hand when I shall have nothing left of my free
colony. Farewell to my lovingly cherished plans! The open-air
community, on which I based my fondest hopes, becomes rapidly
depopulated; its inhabitants make off, vanish I know not whither.
All
my seeking fails to recover a single one of the runaways.Great
ill calls for great remedies. I need an insuperable precinct, much
more extensive than that of the cages, which establishments do not
give scope to the pastimes of my specimens. I have a forcing-frame
in
which some fleshy plants are stored during the winter. It goes to a
depth of three feet into the ground. The brick work is plastered
and
[24]smoothed
with all the care that the mason’s trowel and wet rag can give it.
I cover the bottom with fine sand and large flat stones distributed
here and there. Having made these preparations, I instal inside the
frame, each under his own stone, the remaining Scorpions, and those
which I have captured this very morning complete my collection.
With
the aid of this vertical barrier shall I this time retain my
specimens and see what interests me so greatly?I
shall see nothing at all. Next morning, all of them, old and new,
have disappeared. There were twenty of them: and not one remains.
Had
I reflected ever so little, I should have expected this. At the
season of persistent rain, in the autumn, how often have I not
found
the Black Scorpion hiding in the crevices of the windows? Fleeing
the
dampness of his usual retreats, the dark corners of the yards, he
has
clambered up to me by scaling the front wall to the height of the
first storey. The slight roughness of the plaster was enough to
enable his grapnels to make the perpendicular ascent.Despite
his corpulence, the Languedocian is as good a climber as the Black
Scorpion.
[25]I
have a proof of it before my eyes. A barrier three feet high, as
smooth as a wash of common mortar can make it, has not stopped one
of
my captives. In a single night, the whole band has decamped from
the
frame.Rearing
in the open air, even within walls, is recognized as being
impracticable: the lack of discipline in the flock nullifies the
shepherd’s devices. One resource alone remains, that of internment
under cover. Thus the year ends, with some ten pans standing on the
large table in my study. Out of doors is prohibited: those night
prowlers, the cats, seeing something move about in my appliances,
would upset everything.On
the other hand, the population is restricted under each cover and
amounts to two or three inhabitants at most. There is no space. In
the absence of a sufficiency of neighbours and also of the violent
exposure to the sun which they enjoyed on their native hills, the
prisoners on my table seem smitten with home-sickness and hardly
respond to my expectations. Cowering under their potsherds or
hanging
to the trellis, most of them
[26]slumber,
dreaming of liberty. The small results which I obtain from my bored
specimens is far from satisfying me. I want something more than
this.
The close of the year is spent in gleaning petty facts and making
plans for a better establishment.The
outcome of these plans is a glazed prison whose panes will give no
hold to the grapnels and will make climbing impossible. The joiner
builds me a frame, the glazier completes the work. I myself varnish
the woodwork, so as to make the uprights very slippery. The
structure
looks like four window-frames placed side by side and put together
to
form a rectangle. The bottom is a flooring with a layer of sand. A
lid covers it altogether when the weather is cold and especially
when
the rain threatens a flood, which would have disastrous effects on
this undrained ground. It is raised more or less high according to
the state of the day. The enclosure has ample room for two dozen
chambers, each with its potsherd and its occupant. Moreover, wide
alleys and spacious cross-roads allow long walks to be taken
without
hindrance.Well,
at the very moment when I believe
[27]myself
to have solved the housing-question satisfactorily, I perceive that
the glazed park will not retain its population long, if I do not
invent a remedy. The glass stops short any attempt at scaling: for
lack of adhesive sandals, the Scorpions cannot grip a surface of
this
kind. They flounder against the panes, it is true, and raise
themselves to their full length on the support of their tail: an
excellent buttress, but they have hardly left the ground before
they
fall back again, heavily.Things
go wrong in respect of the wooden uprights, though these are made
as
narrow as possible and varnished with particular care. The stubborn
climbers clamber little by little along these smooth tracks; they
halt from time to time, clinging to the greasy pole, and then
resume
the difficult ascent. I surprise some who have reached the top and
are on the point of escaping. My tweezers replace them in the fold.
As the ventilation of the home demands that the lid should remain
raised during the greater part of the day, the place would soon be
wholly deserted if I did not see to it.I
think of greasing the uprights with a
[28]mixture
of oil and soap. This restrains the fugitives slightly, without
succeeding in stopping them. Their delicate little claws manage to
sink into the pores of the wood through the substance coating it
and
the ascent begins anew. Let us try a non-porous obstacle. I hang
the
walls with glazed paper. This time the difficulty is insurmountable
for the big, pot-bellied ones; it is not quite so effective with
regard to the others, who, being nimbler in their gait, try to
hoist
themselves up and often succeed in doing so. I get the better of
them
only by glossing the glazed paper with soot.Henceforth
there are no more escapes, though attempts at flight continue.
Coming
after the experiment with the forcing-frames, these feats of
prowess
on slippery surfaces tell us all there is to learn about an
aptitude
which the animal’s corpulence was far from leading us to suspect.
Like his black colleague who enters our houses, the Languedocian
Scorpion is a skilled climber.Behold
me then the owner of three establishments, each possessing its
advantages and its defects: the free colony at the end of the
paddock; the wire-gauze cages in my study;
[29]and
lastly the glazed rock-garden. I shall consult them turn and turn
about, especially the last. To the evidence supplied in this manner
we will add the rare data gathered from stones turned over on the
original sites. The Scorpions’ luxurious Crystal Palace, now the
leading curiosity of my home, stands all the year round in the open
air, on a bench at a few steps from my door. Not a member of the
family passes it without a glance. Taciturn creatures, shall I
succeed in making you speak?
[30]1
Thursday is a whole holiday in the French schools. At this time the
author was a schoolmaster at Avignon. Cf.
The Life of the Fly,
by J. Henri Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos:
chaps.
xix and xx.—Translator’s
Note.↑2
Scolopendra cingulata,
the centipede.—Translator’s
Note.↑3
Cf. The Life of the
Spider, by J. Henri
Fabre, translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos:
passim.—Translator’s
Note.↑4
More recent opinion conceives the comb or picten as originally the
respiratory organ of an aquatic ancestor of
Scorpio, now
probably serving as a guide or clasper when pairing.—“B.
W.” ↑5
For the Narbonne Lycosa, or Black-bellied Tarantula, cf.
The Life of the Spider:
chaps. i and iii to vi.—Translator’s
Note.↑6
The enclosed paddock, or piece of waste land, in which the author
used to study his insects in their natural state. Cf.
The Life of the Fly:
chap. i.—Translator’s
Note.↑[
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