Let us proceed to further examples. I have just captured an Interrupted Scolia (Colpa interrupta, LATR.), exploring the sand, doubtless in search of game. It is a matter of making the earliest possible use of her, before her spirit is chilled by the tedium of captivity. I know her prey, the larva of Anoxia australis (The Anoxia are a genus of Beetles akin to the Cockchafers.--Translator's Note.); I know, from my past excavations, the points favoured by the grub: the mounds of sand heaped up by the wind at the foot of the rosemaries on the neighbouring hill-sides. It will be a hard job to find it, for nothing is rarer than the common if one wants it then and there. I appeal for assistance to my father, an old man of ninety, still straight as a capital I. Under a sun hot enough to broil an egg, we set off, shouldering a navvy's shovel and a three-pronged luchet. (The local pitchfork of southern France.--Translator's Note.) Employing our feeble energies in turns, we dig a trench in the sand where I hope to find the Anoxia. My hopes are not disappointed. After having by the sweat of our brow--never was the expression more justified--removed and sifted two cubic yards at least of sandy soil with our fingers, we find ourselves in possession of two larvae. If I had not wanted any, I should have turned them up by the handful. But my poor and costly harvest is sufficient for the moment. To-morrow I will send more vigorous arms to continue the work of excavation.
And now let us reward ourselves for our trouble by studying the tragedy in the bell-glass. Clumsy, awkward in her movements, the Scolia slowly goes the round of the circus. At the sight of the game, her attention is aroused. The struggle is announced by the same preparations as those displayed by the Two-banded Scolia: the Wasp polishes her wings and taps the table with the tips of her antennae. And view, halloo! The attack begins. Unable to move on a flat surface, because of its short and feeble legs, deprived moreover of the Cetonia-larva's eccentric means of travelling on its back, the portly grub has no thought of fleeing; it coils itself up. The Scolia, with her powerful pincers, grips its skin now here, now elsewhere. Curved into a circle with the two ends almost touching, she strives to thrust the tip of her abdomen into the narrow opening in the coil formed by the larva. The contest is conducted calmly, without violent bouts at each varying accident. It is the determined attempt of a living split ring trying to slip one of its ends into another living split ring, which with equal determination refuses to open. The Scolia holds the victim subdued with her legs and mandibles; she tries one side, then the other, without managing to unroll the circle, which contracts still more as it feels its danger increasing. The actual circumstances make the operation more difficult: the prey slips and rolls about the table when the insect handles it too violently; there are no points of purchase and the sting cannot reach the desired spot; the fruitless efforts are continued for more than an hour, interrupted by periods of rest, during which the two adversaries represent two narrow, interlocked rings.
