The Life of the Scorpion

by Jean-Henri Fabre

Scorpion lads and lasses, the one sooner, the other later, perish in the same manner in the glass cage. I scruple to replace the deceased: it would be providing fresh food for the slaughter. There were a dozen of them; and in a few days I have not one left. Without the excuse of hunger, for the regular victuals are plentiful, the females have devoured them all. Youth is certainly a beautiful thing, but it has terrible drawbacks in the society of these ogresses. [[142]]

I would gladly ascribe these massacres to the peculiar cravings often provoked by pregnancy. The future mother is suspicious and intolerant; to her everything is an enemy, to be got rid of by eating it, when strength permits. And indeed, when the quickly emancipated family is born, in the middle of August, a profound peace reigns in the menagerie. My vigilance is unable to surprise a single case of these outbreaks of cannibalism which used to occur so often.

On the other hand, the males, indifferent to the safety of the family, know nothing of these tragic frenzies. They are peaceful creatures, blunt in their manners, but in any event incapable of ripping up their fellows. We never see two rivals disputing in mortal combat, for the possession of the coveted bride. Things happen, if not mildly, at least without blows of the dagger.

Two suitors come upon the same Scorpioness. Which of the two will propose to her and take her for a walk? The point will be decided by strength of wrist.

Each takes the beauty by the hand nearest to him with the fingers of one claw. One standing on the right, the other on the left, [[143]]they pull with all their might in opposite directions. The legs, braced backwards, exert a powerful leverage; the flanks quiver; the tails sway to and fro and suddenly dart forward. Now for it! They tug at the Scorpioness by fits and starts with sudden backward runs; it is as though they meant to pull her in two and each to carry off a piece. A declaration of love implies a threat to rend her asunder.

On the other hand, there is no direct exchange of fisticuffs between them, not even a back-hander with the tail. Only the victim is ill-treated and roughly at that. To see these lunatics struggling, you would think that their arms would be torn out. Nevertheless, there are no dislocations.

Weary of an ineffectual contest, the two competitors at last take each other by the hands that remain at liberty: they form a chain of three and resume the process of jerking and tugging more violently than ever. Each of them bustles to and fro, advances, recoils and pulls his hardest till he is exhausted. Suddenly, the more fatigued of the two throws up the sponge and runs away, leaving his adversary in possession of the [[144]]object of their passions so vehemently disputed. Then, with his free claw, the victor completes the team and the stroll begins. As for the vanquished, we will not trouble about him: he will soon have found something in the crowd to make amends for his confusion.

I will give you another instance of these meek encounters between rivals. A couple are walking along. The male is of medium size, but nevertheless very eager at the game. When his companion refuses to advance, he pulls at her with jerks which send shudders along his spine. A second male, larger than the first, appears upon the scene. The lady takes his fancy; he desires her. Will he abuse his strength, fling himself on the little chap, beat him, perhaps stab him? By no means. Among Scorpions these delicate matters are not decided by force of arms.

The burly fellow leaves the dwarf alone. He goes straight to the coveted fair and seizes her by the tail. Then the two vie with each other in pulling, one in front, the other behind. A brief contest follows, leaving each of them the master of a claw. With frantic violence, one works on the [[145]]right, the other on the left, as though they wished to pull the dame to pieces. At length the smaller realizes that he is beaten; he lets go and makes off. The big one lays hold of the abandoned prey; and the team takes the road without further incident.

Thus, evening after evening, for four months, from the end of April to the beginning of September, the preludes to the pairing are indefatigably repeated. The scorching dog-days do not calm these unruly lovers; on the contrary, they inflame them with new ardour. In the spring, I used to surprise the pilgrims’ tandems singly, at long intervals; in July I observe them by threes and fours at a time, on the same evening.