rom the front
portion, far from the poison glands. After soaking it for twenty-four
hours, I obtain a liquid whose effects are absolutely the same as those
before, when I used the joint that bears the sting. I try again with the
scorpion's claws, the contents of which consist solely of muscle. The
results are just the same. The whole of the animal's body, therefore, no
matter which fragment be submitted to the steeping process, yields the
virus that so greatly pricks my curiosity.

Every part of the Spanish fly [Cantharis or blistering beetle], inside
and out, is saturated with the blistering element; but there is nothing
like this in the scorpion, who localizes his venom in his caudal gland
and has none of it elsewhere. The cause of the effects which I observe
is therefore connected with general properties which I ought to find in
any insect, even the most harmless.

I consult Oryctes nasicornis, the peaceable rhinoceros beetle, on
this subject. To get at the exact nature of the materials, instead of
pulverizing the whole insect in a mortar, I use merely the muscular
tissue obtained by scraping the inside of the dried Oryctes' corselet.
Or else I extract the dry contents of the hind legs. I do the same with
the desiccated corpses of the cockchafer, the Capricorn, or Cerambyx
beetle, and the Cetonia, or rosechafer. Each of my gleanings, with a
little water added, is left to soften for a couple of days in a watch
glass and yields to the liquid whatever can be extracted from it by
crushing and dissolving.

This time, we take a great step forward. All my preparations, without
distinction, are horribly virulent. Let the reader judge. I select as
my first patient the sacred beetle, Scarabaeus sacer, who thanks to his
size and sturdiness, lends himself admirably to an experiment of this
kind. I operate upon a dozen, in the corselet, on the breast, on the
belly and, by preference, on one of the hind legs, far removed from the
impressionable nervous centers. No matter what part my injector attacks,
the effect produced is the same, or nearly. The insect falls as
though struck by lightning. It lies on its back and wriggles its legs,
especially the hind legs. If I set it on its feet again, I behold a sort
of St. Vitus' dance. Scarabaeus lowers his head, arches his back, draws
himself up on his twitching legs. He marks time with his feet on the
ground, moves forward a little, moves as much backward, leans to the
right, leans to