So behold my two captives, each under a glass bell with her Tarantula. I am all eyes. What a drama I may expect, in a moment! I wait, anxiously.… But … but … what is this? Which of the two is the attacker? Which of the two the attacked? The characters seem inverted. The Calicurgus, unfit for climbing up the smooth walls of the bell, strides along the outer circumference of the arena. With proud, swift gait and quivering wings and antennæ, she comes and goes. She soon sets eyes upon the Lycosa, marches up to her without the least sign of fear, turns around her and seems about to seize one of her legs. But, at that moment, the Tarantula rises almost perpendicularly, using her four hind-legs to stand upon and her four front-legs erect, [[159]]outspread, ready to thrust and parry. The poison-fangs yawn wide: a drop of venom hangs from their point. The mere sight of them makes my flesh creep. In this terrible attitude, presenting her powerful chest and the black velvet of her belly to her enemy, the Arachnid overawes the Pompilus, who abruptly turns to the right-about and retreats. The Lycosa then closes her case of poisoned daggers and returns to her natural position, standing on her eight legs; but, at the least aggressive movement on the part of the Hymenopteron, she resumes her threatening posture.
Nay, she does better: suddenly, she leaps and flings herself upon the Calicurgus, grapples with her nimbly and gnaws her with her fangs. The other, without replying with her sting, releases herself and emerges unscathed from the fierce encounter. Time after time, I witness the attack; and nothing serious ever happens to the Hymenopteron, who quickly extricates herself and seems to have felt nothing. Her manœuvres are resumed as boldly and swiftly as at the start.
Does this mean that the creature escaping from the terrible fangs is invulnerable? Obviously not. A real bite would be fatal to her. Big, tough Acridians succumb: why should not she, with her delicate organization, succumb as well? The Arachnid’s daggers, therefore, make vain feints; their points do not enter the antagonist’s flesh. If the blows were real, I should see bleeding wounds, I should see the fangs closed for a moment upon the point seized, whereas all my watchfulness fails to perceive anything of the sort. Are the fangs powerless, then, to pierce the Calicurgus’ envelope? Not that either. I have seen them go through the corselet of the Acridians, which possesses much greater resisting [[160]]power and which cracks like a broken breastplate. Once more, whence comes this strange immunity of the Calicurgus between the legs and under the daggers of the Tarantula? I do not know. At a time when she is in mortal danger in front of her enemy, the Lycosa threatens her with her fangs and cannot bring herself to bite, prevented by a reluctance which I do not undertake to explain.
Seeing that I am obtaining nothing but alarms and scrimmages devoid of seriousness, I decide to alter the conditions of the prize-ring and to make it resemble more closely the natural state. My work-table is but a poor substitute for the soil; besides, the Arachnid has not her stronghold, her burrow, which maybe plays a part of some importance in both attack and defence. A stump of reed is stuck perpendicularly in a large pan filled with earth. This shall represent the Lycosa’s pit. In the middle, I plant a few heads of echinops, made appetizing with honey, as a refectory for the Pompilus; a pair of Crickets, renewed as soon as consumed, shall keep up the strength of the Tarantula. This comfortable abode, exposed to the sun, receives the two captives under a woven-wire cover, well-ventilated and suitable for a long stay.
My artifices lead to no result; the session ends without business done. A day passes, two days, three days; and still nothing. The Calicurgus is unremitting in her attentions to the honeyed thistle-heads; the Tarantula calmly nibbles away at her Cricket. If the other comes within reach of her, she quickly draws herself up and, with a gesture, orders her to be off. The artificial burrow, the reed-stump, fulfils its purpose nicely. Lycosa and Calicurgus take refuge in it by turns, but without quarrelling. [[161]]And that is all. The drama of which the prologue promised so well now seems to me indefinitely postponed.
A last resource remains; and I base great hopes upon it. This is to move my Calicurgi to the very spot of their investigations and to install them at the door of the Arachnid’s house, above the natural burrow. I take the field with an apparatus which I am dragging for the first time into the open, consisting of a glass cover, another of woven wire, together with the different instruments necessary to handle and shift my irascible and dangerous subjects. My search for burrows among the pebbles and the tufts of thyme and lavender soon meets with success.
Here is a splendid one. The insertion of a straw informs me that it is inhabited by a Tarantula of a size suited to my plans. I sweep and flatten down the neighbourhood of the orifice to receive the wire bell, under which I place a Pompilus. This is a fitting moment to light one’s pipe and wait, stretched on the pebbles.… A further disappointment! Half an hour passes and the Hymenopteron confines herself to turning round the wire, as she did in my study. Not a sign of cupidity on her part in the presence of that burrow at the bottom of which I see the Tarantula’s diamond eyes gleaming.
The wire-work enclosure is replaced by one of glass, the walls of which cannot be scaled, thus obliging the insect to remain on the ground and at last to take notice of the pit, which it seems to ignore. This time, we are more successful. After a few strolls round the circuit, the Calicurgus casts eyes upon the cavity that yawns beneath her feet. She goes down it. This boldness staggers me. I should never have dared expect as much as that. To fling yourself suddenly upon the Tarantula when she is outside her domain is all very well; but to [[162]]plunge into the lair when the terrible animal is waiting for you there with her double poisoned dagger! What will come of this temerity? A flutter of wings rises from the depths. Run to earth in her private apartments, the Lycosa is doubtless struggling with the intruder. That noise of wings is the song of victory of the Calicurgus, unless, indeed, it be her death-song. The murderer may well be the murdered. Which of the two will emerge from below alive?
It is the Lycosa, who hurriedly scampers out and takes up her stand at the entrance to the burrow in her position of defence, with her fangs open and her four front-legs outstretched. Is the other stabbed? Not at all, for she comes out forthwith, not without receiving a cuff, as she passes, from the Arachnid, who at once returns to her den. Dislodged from the basement a second and a third time, the Tarantula always comes up again without a wound, always waits for the invader on the door-sill, administers punishment and pops in again. In vain I alternate my two Pompili and change the burrow: I do not succeed in seeing anything more. Certain conditions, which my stratagems fail to realize, are lacking to the fulfilment of the drama.
