CHAPTER VII
THE LANGUEDOCIAN SCORPION: THE FAMILY
Book-knowledge is a poor resource in the problems of life; assiduous study with the facts is preferable in this connection to the best stocked library. In many cases, ignorance is a good thing: the mind retains its freedom of investigation and does not stray along the roads leading nowhither, suggested by one’s reading. I have proved the truth of this once more.
An anatomical monograph had told me that the Languedocian Scorpion is big with young in September. Although it was written by a master’s hand, how much better should I have done not to consult it! The family sees the light of day long before this season, at least in my climate; and, as the rearing lasts but a short time, I should have seen nothing had I delayed until September. A third year of observation, tiresome to wait for, would have become necessary, in [[154]]order at last to witness a sight which I foresaw to be of the highest interest. But for exceptional circumstances, I should have allowed the fleeting opportunity to pass, and should have lost a year and perhaps even abandoned the subject.
Yes, ignorance may have its advantages; the new is found far from the beaten track. One of our most illustrious masters, little suspecting the lesson he was giving me, taught me that some time ago. One fine day, Pasteur[1] rang unexpectedly at my front-door: the very same man who was soon to acquire such world-wide celebrity. His name was familiar to me. I had read the scholar’s fine work on the dissymmetry of tartaric acid; I had followed with the greatest interest his researches on the theory of spontaneous generation.
Each period has its scientific crotchet: to-day, it is evolution; in those days, it was spontaneous generation. With his glass bulbs made sterile or fertile at will, with his experiments which were magnificent in their severity and simplicity, Pasteur gave the [[155]]death-blow to the lunacy which professed to see life springing from a chemical conflict in the seat of putrefaction.
At this time, the dispute, which was to be so triumphantly elucidated, was at its height. I welcomed my distinguished visitor to the best of my ability. The scientist had come to me before all others for certain particulars. I owed this signal honour to my quality of fellow physicist and chemist. Such a poor, obscure, fellow scientist!
Pasteur’s tour through the Avignon region had sericiculture for its object. For some years, the Silk-worm-nurseries had been in confusion, ravaged by unknown plagues. The worms, for no appreciable reason, were falling into a putrid deliquescence, and then hardening, so to speak, into plaster sugar-plums. The downcast peasant saw one of his chief crops disappearing; after great trouble and expense, he had to fling his nurseries on the dust-heap.
A few words were exchanged on the prevailing blight; and then, without further preamble, my visitor said:
“I should like to see some cocoons. I [[156]]have never seen any; I know them only by name. Could you get me some?”