“Once upon a time there was a king, very well known in history, named Mithridates. Being aware that he was surrounded by enemies capable of poisoning him some day, in order to obviate the danger he gradually accustomed himself to the most noxious drugs. By increasing the dose little by little he finally rendered himself immune against poison. The hedgehog is the Mithridates of the animal kingdom; but how far it surpasses the suspicious king! Without practice it dares swallow the poison of the Spanish fly and the viper’s deadly venom.
“I like to believe that the hedgehog has not received these exceptional gifts only to leave them unused. It must delight to frequent the haunts of the viper; in its nocturnal rounds in the underbrush it must occasionally come upon the reptile in its retreat and crush its head with those pointed teeth that are so well adapted to such work. What service may it not render in localities infested with this dangerous breed! And yet man rages at the hedgehog, curses it most heartily, and treats it as an unclean beast of no use but to arouse the fury of dogs, which cannot attack it because of its spines. He subjects it to the torture of an ice-cold bath to make it unroll itself; and if the animal refuses to do so he prods it with a pointed stick, goads it, disembowels it.” [[56]]
“We will never meddle with hedgehogs, Uncle Paul,” Jules assured him. “We are too much afraid of snakes to drive away this valiant defender.”
“What are the hedgehog’s spines?” asked Emile.
“Hairs, nothing else, but very coarse, and stiff, and pointed like needles. Together with other hairs, fine, soft, and silky, they cover all the upper part of the body. The under part has only a coat of soft hair; otherwise the animal would wound itself in rolling up into a ball. When the hedgehog scents danger—and it is a very wary beast—it ducks its head under its stomach, draws in its paws, and rolls itself into a ball, presenting everywhere an armor of spines to the enemy. The fox has long been famous for its many ruses; the hedgehog has only one, but it is always effective. Who would dare grapple with the creature when it has assumed its attitude of defense? The dog refuses; after a few luckless essays that make its mouth bleed it declines to go further and contents itself with barking. Sheltered under the safe cover of its spines, the hedgehog turns a deaf ear to these futile threats and remains quiet.
“But if the dog, urged on by its master, returns to the charge, the hedgehog has recourse to a last expedient of war which rarely fails of effect: it discharges its strongly offensive urine, which flows from the inside of the ball and wets the outside. Repelled by the unbearable odor of the ill-smelling [[57]]beast and pricked on the nose by its spines, even the most eager dog now abandons the attack. The enemy gone, the hedgehog slowly unrolls itself and trots off to some safe retreat.” [[58]]
[1] See “Field, Forest, and Farm.” [↑]