ufacture
nets for catching game. Without springs or snares, she lies in ambush,
among the flowers, and awaits the arrival of the quarry, which she kills
by administering a scientific stab in the neck. The Thomisus, in
particular, the subject of this chapter, is passionately addicted to the
pursuit of the Domestic Bee. I have described the contests between the
victim and her executioner, at greater length, elsewhere.

The Bee appears, seeking no quarrel, intent upon plunder. She tests the
flowers with her tongue; she selects a spot that will yield a good
return. Soon she is wrapped up in her harvesting. While she is filling
her baskets and distending her crop, the Thomisus, that bandit lurking
under cover of the flowers, issues from her hiding-place, creeps round
behind the bustling insect, steals up close and, with a sudden rush, nabs
her in the nape of the neck. In vain, the Bee protests and darts her
sting at random; the assailant does not let go.

Besides, the bite in the neck is paralysing, because the cervical nerve-
centres are affected. The poor thing's legs stiffen; and all is over in
a second. The murderess now sucks the victim's blood at her ease and,
when she has done, scornfully flings the drained corpse aside. She hides
herself once more, ready to bleed a second gleaner should the occasion
offer.

This slaughter of the Bee engaged in the hallowed delights of labour has
always revolted me. Why should there be workers to feed idlers, why
sweated to keep sweaters in luxury? Why should so many admirable lives
be sacrificed to the greater prosperity of brigandage? These hateful
discords amid the general harmony perplex the thinker, all the more as we
shall see the cruel vampire become a model of devotion where her family
is concerned.

The ogre loved his children; he ate the children of others. Under the
tyranny of the stomach, we are all of us, beasts and men alike, ogres.
The dignity of labour, the joy of life, maternal affection, the terrors
of death: all these do not count, in others; the main point is that
morsel the be tender and savoury.

According to the etymology of her name--[Greek text], a cord--the
Thomisus should be like the ancient lictor, who bound the sufferer to the
stake. The comparison is not inappropriate as regards many Spiders who
tie their prey with a thread to subdue it and consume it at their ease;
but it just happens that the Thomisus is at variance with her label.