The Life of the Fly 



treated in time, the wound proves fatal. The 

 dead has killed the living. This also reminds 

 us of the so-called Carbuncle-flies, the lancet 

 of whose mouth-parts, contaminated with the 

 sanies of corpses, produces such terrible 

 accidents. 



My dealings as against insects are, when all 

 is said, nothing but dissecting-room wounds 

 and Carbuncle-flies' stings. In addition to the 

 gangrene that soon impairs and blackens the 

 tissues, I obtain convulsions similar to those 

 produced by the Scorpion's sting. In its con- 

 vulsive effects, the venomous fluid emitted by 

 the sting bears a close resemblance to the mus- 

 cular infusions with which I fill my injector. 

 We are entitled, therefore, to ask ourselves if 

 poisons, generally speaking, are not themselves 

 a produce of demolition, a casting of the or- 

 ganism perpetually renewed, waste matter, in 

 short, which, instead of being gradually ex- 

 pelled, is stored for purposes of attack and de- 

 fence. The animal, in that case, would arm 

 itself with its own refuse in the same way 

 as it sometimes builds itself a home with its 

 intestinal recrement. Nothing is wasted; 

 life's detritus is used for self-defence. 



All things considered, my preparations are 

 meat-extracts. If I replace the flesh of the 



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