How has this change been brought about? I should like to picture the Halictus gaining wisdom from the misfortunes of spring and capable thenceforth of looking out for danger; I would gladly credit her with having learnt in the stern school of experience the advantages of a guard. I must give up the idea. If, by dint of gradual little acts of progress, the Bee has gradually achieved the glorious invention of a portress, how comes it that the fear of thieves is intermittent? It is true that, alone, in May, she cannot stand permanently at her door: the business of the house takes precedence of everything. But she ought, at least, as soon as her offspring are persecuted, to know the parasite and give chase when, at every moment, she finds her almost under her feet and even in her house. Yet she pays no attention to her.
The harsh trials of the ancestors, therefore, have bequeathed naught to her of a nature to alter her placid character; and her own tribulations have nothing to say to the sudden awakening of her vigilance in July. Like ourselves, the animal has its joys and its troubles. It uses the former eagerly; it bothers but little about the latter, which is, when all is said, the best way of realizing an animal enjoyment of life. To mitigate these troubles and protect the progeny there is the inspiration of the instinct, which is able to give a portress to the Halictus without the counsels of experience. [[220]]
When the victualling is finished, when the Halicti no longer sally forth on harvesting intent nor return all floured over with their burden, the old Bee is still at her post, as vigilant as ever. The final preparations for the brood are made below; the cells are closed. The door is kept until everything is finished. Then grandmother and mothers leave the house. Exhausted by the performance of their duty, they go, somewhere or other, to die.
In September appears the second generation, comprising both males and females. [[221]]
THE LANGUEDOCIAN SCORPION
[[223]]
CHAPTER XVII
THE LANGUEDOCIAN SCORPION
The Scorpion is an uncommunicative insect, occult in his manners and unpleasant to deal with, so much so that his history, apart from the findings of anatomy, is reduced to little or nothing. The scalpel of the masters has made us acquainted with his organic structure; but, so far as I know, no observer has thought of interviewing him, with any sort of persistence, on the subject of his private habits. Ripped up, after a preliminary maceration in alcohol, he is very well-known indeed; acting within the domain of his instincts, he is hardly known at all. And yet none of the segmented animals were more deserving of a detailed biography. He has at all times struck the popular imagination, even to the point of being numbered among the signs of the zodiac.