What is the secret of that horror inspired by the centipede?... It
is but very faintly related to our knowledge that the creature is
venomous;--the results of the bite are only temporary swelling and a
brief fever;--it is less to be feared than the bite of other tropical
insects and reptiles which never inspire the same loathing by their
aspect. And the shapes of venomous creatures are not always shapes of
ugliness. The serpent has elegance of form as well as attractions
of metallic tinting;--the tarantula, or the _matoutou-falaise_, have
geometrical beauty. Lapidaries have in all ages expended rare skill
upon imitations of serpent grace in gold and gems;--a princess would not
scorn to wear a diamond spider. But what art could utilize successfully
the form of the centipede? It is a form of absolute repulsiveness,--a
skeleton-shape half defined:--the suggestion of some old reptile-spine
astir, crawling with its fragments of ribs.
No other living thing excites exactly the same feeling produced by the
sight of the centipede,--the intense loathing and peculiar fear. The
instant you see a centipede you feel it is absolutely necessary to kill
it; you cannot find peace in your house while you know that such a life
exists in it: perhaps the intrusion of a serpent would annoy and
disgust you less. And it is not easy to explain the whole reason of this
loathing. The form alone has, of course, something to do with it,--a
form that seems almost a departure from natural laws. But the form alone
does not produce the full effect, which is only experienced when you see
the creature in motion. The true horror of the centipede, perhaps, must
be due to the monstrosity of its movement,--multiple and complex, as of
a chain of pursuing and inter-devouring lives: there is something about
it that makes you recoil, as from a sudden corrupt swarming-out. It is
confusing,--a series of contractings and lengthenings and, undulations
so rapid as to allow of being only half seen: it alarms also, because
the thing seems perpetually about to disappear, and because you know
that to lose sight of it for one moment involves the very unpleasant
chance of finding it upon you the next,--perhaps between skin and
clothing.
But this is not all:--the sensation produced by the centipede is still
more complex--complex, in fact, as the visible organization of the
creature. For, during pursuit,--whether retreating or attacking, in
hiding or fleeing,--it displays a something which seems more than
instinct: calculation and cunning,--a sort of malevolent intelligence.
It knows how to delude, how to terrify;--it has marvellous skill in
feinting;--it is an abominable juggler....