The Life of the Scorpion

by Jean-Henri Fabre

THE LANGUEDOCIAN SCORPION: PRELUDES TO THE WEDDING

In April, when the Swallow returns to us and the Cuckoo sounds his first note, a revolution takes place among my hitherto peaceable Scorpions. Several whom I have established in the colony in the enclosure, leave their shelter at nightfall, go wandering about and do not return to their homes. A more serious business: often, under the same stone, are two Scorpions of whom one is in the act of devouring the other. Is this a case of brigandage among creatures of the same order, who, falling into vagabond ways when the fine weather sets in thoughtlessly enter their neighbours’ houses and there meet with their undoing unless they be the stronger? One would almost think it, so quickly is the intruder eaten up, for days at a time and in small mouthfuls, even as the usual game would be.

Now here is something to give us a hint. The Scorpions devoured are invariably of [[112]]middling size. Their lighter colouring, their less protuberant bellies, mark them as males, always males. The others, larger, more paunchy and a little darker in shade, do not end in this unhappy fashion. So these are probably not brawls between neighbours who, jealous of their solitude, would soon settle the hash of any visitor and eat him afterwards, a drastic method of putting a stop to further indiscretions; they are rather nuptial rites, tragically performed by the matron after pairing. To determine how much ground there is for this suspicion is beyond my powers until next year: I am still too badly equipped.

Spring returns once more. I have prepared the large glass cage in advance and stocked it with twenty-five inhabitants, each with his bit of crockery. From mid-April onwards, every evening, when it grows dark, between seven and nine o’clock, great animation reigns in the crystal palace. That which seemed deserted by day now becomes a scene of festivity. As soon as supper is finished, the whole household runs out to look on. A lantern hung outside the panes allows us to follow events. [[113]]

It is our distraction after the worries of the day; it is our play-house. In this theatre for simple folk, the performances are so highly interesting that, the moment the lantern is lighted, all of us, great and small alike, come and take our places in the stalls; all, down to Tom, the House-dog. Tom, it is true, indifferent to Scorpion affairs, like the true philosopher that he is, lies at our feet and dozes, but only with one eye, keeping the other always open on his friends the children.

Let me try to give the reader an idea of what happens. A numerous assembly soon gathers near the glass panes in the region discreetly lit by the lanterns. Every elsewhere, here, there, single Scorpions walk about and, attracted by the light, leave the shade and hasten to the illuminated festival. The very Moths betray no greater eagerness to flutter to the rays of our lamps. The newcomers mingle with the crowd, while others, tired of their pastimes, withdraw into the shade, snatch a few moments’ rest and then impetuously return upon the scene.

These hideous devotees of gaiety provide [[114]]a dance that is not wholly devoid of charm. Some come from afar: solemnly they emerge from the shadow; then, suddenly, with a rush as swift and easy as a slide, they join the crowd, in the light. Their agility reminds one of Mice scurrying along with their tiny steps. They seek one another and fly precipitately the moment they touch, as though they had mutually burnt their fingers. Others, after tumbling about a little with their play-fellows, make off hurriedly wildly. They take fresh courage in the dark and return.

At times, there is a violent tumult: a confused mass of swarming legs, snapping claws, tails curving and clashing, threatening or fondling, it is hard to say which. In this affray, under favourable conditions, twin specks of light flare and shine like carbuncles. One would take them for eyes that emit flashing glances; in reality they are two polished, reflecting facets, which occupy the front of the head. All, large and small alike, take part in the brawl; it might be a battle to the death, a general massacre; and it is just a wanton frolic. Even so do kittens bemaul each other. Soon, the group [[115]]disperses; all make off in all sorts of directions, without a scratch, without a sprain.

Behold the fugitives collecting once more beneath the lantern. They pass and pass again; they come and go, often meeting front to front. He who is in the greatest hurry walks over the back of the other, who lets him have his way without any protest but a movement of the body. It is no time for blows: at most, two Scorpions meeting will exchange a cuff, that is to say, a rap of the caudal staff. In their community, this friendly thump, in which the point of the sting plays no part, is a sort of a fisticuff in frequent use. There are better things than entangled legs and brandished tails; there are sometimes poses of the highest originality. Face to face, with claws drawn back, two wrestlers proceed to stand on their heads like acrobats, that is to say, resting only on the fore-quarters, they raise the whole hinder portion of the body, so much so that the chest displays the four little lung pockets uncovered. Then the tails, held vertically erect in a straight line, exchange mutual rubs, gliding one over the other, while their extremities are hooked together and repeatedly [[116]]fastened and unfastened. Suddenly, the friendly pyramid falls to pieces and each runs off hurriedly, without ceremony.

What were these two wrestlers trying to do, in their eccentric posture? Was it a set-to between two rivals? It would seem not, so peaceful is the encounter. My subsequent observations were to tell me that this was the mutual teasing of a betrothed couple. To declare his flame, the Scorpion stands on his head.