The non-armoured victims, vulnerable by the sting over almost their whole body, ordinary caterpillars and Looper caterpillars, Cetonia- and Anoxia-larvae, whose only means of defence, apart from their mandibles, consists of rollings and contortions, called for the testimony of another victim, the Spider, almost as ill-protected, but armed with formidable poison-fangs. How, in particular, will the Ringed Calicurgus set to work in operating on the Black-bellied Tarantula, the terrible Lycosa, who with a single bite kills the Mole or the Sparrow and endangers the life of man?
How does the bold Pompilus overcome an adversary more powerful than herself, better-equipped with virulent poison and capable of making a meal of her assailant? Of all the Hunting Wasps, none risks such unequal conflicts, in which appearances would proclaim the aggressor to be the victim and the victim the aggressor.
The problem was one deserving patient study. True, I foresaw, from the Spider's organization, a single sting in the centre of the thorax; but that did not explain the victory of the Wasp, emerging safe and sound from her tussle with such a quarry. I had to see what occurred. The chief difficulty was the scarcity of the Calicurgus. It is easy for me to obtain the Tarantula at the desired moment: the part of the plateau in my neighbourhood left untilled by the vine-growers provides me with as many as are necessary. To capture the Pompilus is another matter. I have so little hope of finding her that special quests are regarded as useless. To search for her would perhaps be just the way not to find her. Let us rely on the uncertainties of chance. Shall I get her or shall I not?
I've got her. I catch her unexpectedly on the flowers. Next day I supply myself with half a dozen Tarantulae. Perhaps I shall be able to employ them one after the other in repeated duels. As I return from my Lycosa-hunt, luck smiles upon me again and crowns my desires. A second Calicurgus offers herself to my net; she is dragging her heavy, paralysed Spider by one leg, in the dust of the highway. I attach great value to my find: the laying of the egg has become a pressing matter; and the mother, I believe, will accept a substitute for her victim without much hesitation. Here then are my two captives, each under her bell-glass with her Tarantula.
I am all eyes. What a tragedy there will be in a moment! I wait, anxiously...But...but...what is this? Which of the two is the assailed?
Which is the assailant? The characters seem to be inverted. The Calicurgus, unable to climb up the smooth glass wall, strides round the ring of the circus. With a proud and rapid gait, her wings and antennae vibrating, she goes and returns. The Lycosa is soon seen. The Calicurgus approaches her without the least sign of fear, walks round her and appears to have the intention of seizing one of her legs. But at that moment the Tarantula rises almost vertically on her four hinder legs, with her four front legs lifted and outspread, ready for the counterstroke. The poison-fangs gape widely; a drop of venom moistens their tips. The very sight of them makes my flesh creep. In this terrible attitude, presenting her powerful thorax and the black velvet of her belly to the enemy, the Spider overawes the Pompilus, who suddenly turns tail and moves away. The Lycosa then closes her bundle of poisoned daggers and resumes her natural pose, standing on her eight legs; but, at the slightest attempt at aggression on the Wasp's part, she resumes her threatening position.
She does more: suddenly she leaps and flings herself upon the Calicurgus;swiftly she clasps her and nibbles at her with her fangs. Without wielding her sting in self-defence, the other disengages herself and merges unscathed from the angry encounter. Several times in succession I witness the attack; and nothing serious ever befalls the Wasp, who swiftly withdraws from the fray and appears to have received no hurt. She resumes her marching and countermarching no less boldly and swiftly than before.
Is this Wasp invulnerable, that she thus escapes from the terrible fangs?
Evidently not. A real bite would be fatal to her. Big, sturdily built Acridians succumb (Locusts and Grasshoppers.--Translator's Note.); how is it that she, with her delicate organism, does not! The Spider's daggers, therefore, make no more than an idle feint; their points do not enter the flesh of the tight-clasped Wasp. If the strokes were real, I should see bleeding wounds, I should see the fangs close for a moment on the part seized; and with all my attention I cannot detect anything of the kind.
Then are the fangs powerless to pierce the Wasp's integuments? Not so. Ihave seen them penetrate, with a crackling of broken armour, the corselet of the Acridians, which offers a far greater resistance. Once again, whence comes this strange immunity of the Calicurgus held between the legs and assailed by the daggers of the Tarantula? I do not know. Though in mortal peril from the enemy confronting her, the Lycosa threatens her with her fangs and cannot decide to bite, owing to a repugnance which I do not undertake to explain.
Obtaining nothing more than alarums and excursions of no great seriousness, I think of modifying the gladiatorial arena and approximating it to natural conditions. The soil is very imperfectly represented by my work-table; and the Spider has not her fortress, her burrow, which plays a part of some importance both in attack and in defence. A short length of reed is planted perpendicularly in a large earthenware pan filled with sand. This will be the Lycosa's burrow. In the middle I stick some heads of globe-thistle garnished with honey as a refectory for the Pompilus; a couple of Locusts, renewed as and when consumed, will sustain the Tarantula. These comfortable quarters, exposed to the sun, receive the two captives under a wire-gauze dome, which provides adequate ventilation for a prolonged residence.
