The Sense of Smell 



of his tail; he would rub himself in it ovef 

 and over again, shaken with nervous spasms, 

 turning first on one side, then on the other. 

 It was his sachet of musk, his flask of eau-de- 

 Cologne. When scented to his liking, he 

 would get up, shake himself and trot off, 

 pleased as Punch with his pomade. Let us 

 not abuse him and, above all, let us not dis- 

 cuss the matter. There are tastes of all kinds 

 in this world. 



Why should not some of the insects that 

 dote on the smell of the dead have similar 

 habits? Dermestes and Saprini come to the 

 dragon arum; all day long they swarm in 

 throngs, although free to go away; many of 

 them die in the riot of the orgy. It is no 

 rich provender that keeps them, for the flower 

 gives them nothing to eat; it is not a question 

 of laying eggs, for they take good care not 

 to settle their grubs in that famine-stricken 

 spot. What are they doing here, the frenzied 

 ones? Apparently intoxicating themselves 

 with fetidness, just as Bull did on the carcass 

 of a Mole. 



And this intoxication of smell attracts them 

 from every part around, from very far per- 

 haps, one cannot tell. Even so the Necro- 



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