Every day, at the same hour, the observer threw a fly into the vase. It was not long before he perceived that the spider, as soon as the time for its repast arrived, came out of its retreat, advanced over the web, watched for the fall of the fly, and was no more frightened at the movement, which before caused it to fly and return to its dwelling, when the provider's hand brought its dinner.
A short time later, instead of waiting until he had withdrawn, it ran immediately and with boldness to the fly, and did not even take the trouble to drag it within to eat it. Curious to know how far this familiarity might be carried, he took a fly by one of its wings and presented it to the spider. The first time it returned frightened to its nest, and remained there closely concealed; but the next day, pressed by hunger, it rushed on the fly with the speed of an arrow, seized it, and hurried away with it to the recesses of its apartments. Once and again and again, the observer repeated this trial. At the end of this time, the spider fed on the fly in the fingers of the observer. It went so far even as to come out of the vase by the help of the finger its master presented. Thus free, it ran along the wrist, the arm, and the breast of the naturalist to get a fly which he held in his other hand as far off as possible.
The observer took a lively interest in his pensioner, and loved it almost as much as Pelisson did his. He procured then some books on natural history, in order to find out to which sex the spider of the glass vase belonged. He ascertained that it was a female by the filiform pulps which were lengthened near her jaws, and by the legs of the thorax being shorter and broader than those of the abdomen. Having made this discovery, he resolved to marry the recluse, and for this purpose sought a male of handsome appearance and worthy of the tenderness of so lovely a conquest. He had little difficulty; for it was spring time, and love moved the Arachnides as well as the rest of nature.
Once in possession of a fine male with pulps well swelled, limbs long and slender, eight bright eyes, and a conquering and off-hand address, he brought it in triumph to his guest. He laid him softly on the web, at the extremity opposite the spider's nest, and withdrew to a little distance, yet so that he could still observe all that took place.
Soon he saw the coquette come out of her boudoir, and advance toward the stranger with that voluptuous movement which imparts such a lively charm to the walk of Spanish ladies, and which Fanny Ellsler reproduced with so much grace, poetry, and felicity in those days, already growing distant, when she danced at the Opera. I assure you that to see her thus, this hideous creature was beautiful, gilded by the glorious beams of her passion, and glistening with the halo of love. For his part, the male did not show himself awkward, but made proof of his fashion and gallantry his fore-feet caressed in a subduing manner the demi-curves formed by his legs; a sub-lieutenant of hussars could not put more foppery into the twisting of the conquering bends of his curled mustache. He advanced toward her at a rapid pace, stamping with his feet, strutting, fluttering; the lady recoiled and fled, but in such a manner as to let him divine that she wished to be followed. The happy lover sped on after her retreating steps. Nevertheless he began to exhibit a singular reserve and fear, the evidence of which, however, was unmistakable. On her part, the female waited for him with a cunning which gave her eyes a strange expression. At length she turned her head and walked right before him, preoccupied as it appeared, in getting rid of some threads in which her feet were caught.
Then the male bounded on her, seized her in his arms, gave her a kiss, and took to flight—she turned. It was no longer a bold coquette that walked, it was a lioness that chases her prey; it was Diana before Actæon. The male, all trembling, sought to fly; he attempted to climb the sides of the vase. Vain efforts! Margaret of Burgundy advanced to her victim; fascinated him; stopped him. The unfortunate one betook himself to a corner trembling. She, her claw high and threatening as a poinard, struck him, slew him, and, after having contemplated him, who was but ere now her husband, she devoured him.
The observer, curious to learn the motives of so much barbarity, wished to ascertain if the death of the poor male was the chastisement of a personal fault, or the result of a system of assassination. He therefore put another male into the vase. Alas! no room was left for doubt! the crime of this cruel wife was without excuse, without extenuating circumstances; the most humane jury must have condemned her with all the aggravations foreseen by the law! The second victim shared the same fate as the first. To this wretch, murder was a necessity after love. During a whole month she lived on the corpses of her husbands.
While this month rolled on she was contented with devouring nothing but the male spiders, which were thrown in. Soon after, however, she found this dish palling and insipid, refused to eat, but not to kill them, and returned to flies with an evident pleasure.
Notwithstanding so many murders, the spider continued always to lead a peaceful life, undisturbed by remorse, in her vase of glass.
One day the window of the apartment, where the vase was, was left open; a swallow entered the room, saw the spider, and with a single blow of his beak, avenged all the victims of the murderess, so well, that the vase was found and may to this day be found empty and without a guest.