The Life of the Scorpion

by Jean-Henri Fabre

Lowly among the lowliest, the Kermes of the oak has invented something even better: the mother, transformed into an unassailable fortress, bequeaths to her family, as its cradle, her skin, toughened into an ebony bastion.

In May let us patiently examine, in sunny corners, the slender twigs of the holm-oak or evergreen oak. Let us also inspect that cross-grained shrub with small prickly leaves, known to the Provençal peasant as the avaus, and to botanists as the kermes oak. This wretched brushwood, which one can pass over in a single stride, is really an oak, a genuine oak, as is proved by its handsome acorns, set in their rough, prickly cups. We will gather our harvest here as well as on the holm-oak. But we shall pass by the ordinary or English oak; we should find on it nothing in the least like what we [[313]]are seeking to-day. Only the two species first mentioned will repay exploration.

On these we shall see, a few here and a few there, but never in abundance, certain globules of a glossy black, about the bigness of a moderate-sized pea. Here we have the Kermes, one of the strangest of insects. But is this an insect? Is it of the animal kingdom? The uninitiated would never suspect such a thing; he would take the object for a berry, some species of black current. The mistake is all the more natural in that the globule, if bitten into, cracks, and yields a sweetish flavour, offset by a slight bitterness.

And this all but delicious fruit, we are told, is of the animal kingdom; it is an insect. Let us look at the creature closely, through the pocket microscope. We look for a head, an abdomen, and legs. There is absolutely not a vestige of a head, nor of an abdomen, nor of legs; all there is to be seen is a sort of large bead, fit for that cheap jewellery which is made of jet. Is there not at least that division into segments, which is the documentary proof of the insect? No! A pebble is not more lifeless.

Perhaps we shall find on the under surface [[314]]of the globule, in the part in contact with the twig, some trace of animal structure? The bead comes away easily and without breaking, like a berry. The base is slightly flattened and powdered with a white waxy substance which acts as a cement and causes the bead to adhere to the twig. Soaked in alcohol for twenty-four hours this substance dissolves and leaves uncovered the part to be examined.

Careful examination with the lens fails to reveal on the base of the bead the legs, or claws, however minute, which would serve to establish the fact of animal life. Nor does it reveal the sucker which, implanted in the bark, would imbibe the sap, that indispensable aliment. Although less smooth than the back, this portion is as bare as the rest. One would say, in fact, that the Kermes adheres to the twig because it is cemented to it, but has no other connection with it.

This cannot be the case. The black bead feeds itself; it grows; and without cessation it pours forth a product which might be the work of the distiller. To make up for such expenditure it must at least possess a rostrum to perforate the juicy bark. It assuredly [[315]]does possess such an organ, but so small that my worn eyes are powerless to detect it.

At the very moment of detaching the Kermes from its support the implement of suction may possibly withdraw itself, shrinking into itself to the point of becoming invisible.

In that half of the sphere which lies toward the base of the twig, the globule is traversed by a wide furrow which occupies the greater part of the half-meridian. At the lower edge of this furrow, on the confines of the supporting base, is a narrow opening, in the shape of a button-hole. By this opening only is the Kermes in touch with the outer world. It is a gate which serves many functions, and first of all, that of a fountain of syrup.

Let us cull a few twigs of evergreen oak peopled by Kermes and place the cut ends in a glass of water. The foliage will remain fresh for some time—a condition which will suffice to ensure the insects’ welfare. We shall see, ere long, a colourless, transparent fluid which, in the course of a couple of days, collects itself into a drop equal in volume to [[316]]the flask from which it oozes. If it becomes too heavy the drop falls, but without flowing over the Kermes, for the outlet is as it were a postern gate. Another drop at once begins to form. The spring is not intermittent, but perpetual; uninterrupted it sheds its solitary tears.