THE SPIDER’S WEB
THE next day the little chickens were all hatched and doing well. The
hen had led them to the courtyard, and, scratching the soil and
clucking, she dug up small seeds which the little ones came and took
from their mother’s beak. At the slightest approach of danger, the hen
called the brood, and all ran to snuggle under her outspread wings. The
boldest soon put their heads out, their pretty little yellow heads
framed in their mother’s black feathers. The alarm over, the hen began
clucking and scratching again, and the little ones went trotting around
her once more. Completely reassured, Mother Ambroisine forever renounced
her proverb of the spider. In the evening Uncle Paul continued the story
of the epeira.
“Since it must serve as a support to the silken network, the first
thread stretched from one bank to the other must be of exceptional
firmness. The epeira begins, therefore, by fixing both ends well; then,
going and coming on the thread from one extremity to the other, always
spinning, it doubles and trebles the strands and sticks them together in
a common cable. A second similar cable is necessary, placed beneath the
first in an almost parallel direction. It is between the two that the
web must be spun.
“For this purpose, from one of the ends of the cable already constructed
the epeira lets itself fall perpendicularly, hanging by the thread that
escapes from its spinnerets. It reaches a lower branch, fastens the
thread firmly to it, and ascends to the communicating bridge by the
vertical thread it used for descending. The spider then reaches the
other bank, still spinning, but without gluing this new strand of silk
to the cable. Arrived at the other side, it lets itself slide on to a
branch conveniently placed, and there fastens the end of the thread that
it has spun on its way from one bank to the other. This second chief
piece of the framework becomes a cable by the addition of new threads.
Finally the two parallel cables are made firm at each end by divers
threads starting from it in every direction and attaching themselves to
the branches. Other threads go out from this point and that, from one
cable to the other, leaving between them, in the middle of the
construction, a large open space, almost circular, destined for the net.
“Thus far the epeira has only constructed the framework of its building,
a rough but solid framework; now begins the work of fine precision. The
net must he spun. Across the open circular space that the divers threads
of the framework leave between them, a first thread is stretched. The
epeira stations itself right in the middle of this thread, central point
of the web to be constructed. From this center numerous threads must
start at equal distances from one another and be fastened to the
circumference by the other end. They are called radiating lines.
Accordingly the epeira glues a thread to the center and, ascending by
the transverse thread already stretched, fixes the end of the line to
the circumference. That done, it returns to the center by the line that
it has just stretched; there it glues a second thread and immediately
regains the circumference, where it fastens the end of the second line a
short distance from the first one. Going thus alternately from the
center to the circumference and from the circumference to the center by
way of the last thread just stretched, the spider fills the circular
space with radiating lines so regularly spaced that you would say they
were traced with rule and compass by an expert hand.
“When the radiating lines are finished, the most delicate work of all is
still left for the spider. Each of these lines must be bound by a thread
that, starting at the circumference, twists and turns in a spiral line
around the center, where it terminates. The epeira starts from the top
of the web and, unwinding its thread, stretches it from one radiating
line to another, keeping always at an equal distance from the outside
thread. By thus circling about, always at the same distance from the
preceding thread, the spider ends at the center of the radiating lines.
The network is then finished.
“Now there must be arranged a little ambuscade from which the epeira can
survey its web, a resting-room where it finds shelter from the coolness
of the night and the heat of the day. In a little bunch of leaves close
together the spider builds itself a silk den, a sort of funnel of close
texture. That is its usual abiding place. If the weather is favorable
and the passage of game abundant, morning and evening especially, the
epeira leaves its den and posts itself, motionless, in the center of the
web, to watch events more closely and run to the game quickly enough to
prevent its escape. The spider is at its post, in the middle of the
network, its eight legs spread out wide. It does not move, pretends to
be dead. No hunter on the watch would have such patience. Let us copy
its example and await the coming of the game.”
The children were disappointed: at the moment when the story became the
most interesting, Uncle Paul broke off his narrative.
“The epeira has interested me very much, Uncle,” said Jules. “The bridge
over the stream, the cobweb with its regular radiating lines, and the
thread that twists and turns, getting nearer and nearer to the center,
the room for ambush and rest-all that is very astonishing in a creature
that does these wonderful things without having to learn how. Catching
the game ought to be still more curious.”
“Very curious indeed. Therefore, instead of telling you about the hunt,
I prefer to show it to you. Yesterday, in crossing the field, I saw an
epeira constructing its web between two trees on the little stream where
such fine crayfish are caught. Let us get up early in the morning and go
and see the chase.”
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