{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_4511/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_4511","id":"gutenberg_4511","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4511","summary":null,"tags":["Animals-Wild-Insects","Bees","Category: Nature/Gardening/Animals","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Science - Biology","Nobel Prizes in Literature"],"text":"Produced by Steve Solomon\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE OF THE BEE\n\nBy Maurice Maeterlinck\n\nTranslated By Alfred Sutro\n\n\n\n\nNEW YORK\n\n1914\n\n\n\n_Published May, 1901_\n\n\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\n\n\n\nI. ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE HIVE\n\nII. THE SWARM\n\nIII. THE FOUNDATION OF THE CITY\n\nIV. THE LIFE OF THE BEE\n\nV. THE YOUNG QUEENS\n\nVI. THE NUPTIAL FLIGHT\n\nVII. THE MASSACRE OF THE MALES\n\nVIII. THE PROGRESS OF THE RACE\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI -- ON THE THRESHOLD OF THE HIVE\n\n{1}\n\nIT is not my intention to write a treatise on apiculture, or on\npractical bee-keeping. Excellent works of the kind abound in all\ncivilised countries, and it were useless to attempt another. France\nhas those of Dadant, Georges de Layens and Bonnier, Bertrand, Hamet,\nWeber, Clement, the Abbe Collin, etc. English-speaking countries\nhave Langstroth, Bevan, Cook, Cheshire, Cowan, Root, etc. Germany\nhas Dzierzon, Van Berlespoch, Pollmann, Vogel, and many others.\n\nNor is this book to be a scientific monograph on Apis Mellifica,\nLigustica, Fasciata, Dorsata, etc., or a collection of new\nobservations and studies. I shall say scarcely anything that those\nwill not know who are somewhat familiar with bees. The notes and\nexperiments I have made during my twenty years of beekeeping I shall\nreserve for a more technical work; for their interest is necessarily\nof a special and limited nature, and I am anxious not to over-burden\nthis essay. I wish to speak of the bees very simply, as one speaks\nof a subject one knows and loves to those who know it not. I do not\nintend to adorn the truth, or merit the just reproach Reaumur\naddressed to his predecessors in the study of our honey-flies, whom\nhe accused of substituting for the marvellous reality marvels that\nwere imaginary and merely plausible. The fact that the hive contains\nso much that is wonderful does not warrant our seeking to add to its\nwonders. Besides, I myself have now for a long time ceased to look\nfor anything more beautiful in this world, or more interesting, than\nthe truth; or at least than the effort one is able to make towards\nthe truth. I shall state nothing, therefore, that I have not\nverified myself, or that is not so fully accepted in the text-books\nas to render further verification superfluous. My facts shall be as\naccurate as though they appeared in a practical manual or scientific\nmonograph, but I shall relate them in a somewhat livelier fashion\nthan such works would allow, shall group them more harmoniously\ntogether, and blend them with freer and more mature reflections. The\nreader of this book will not learn therefrom how to manage a hive;\nbut he will know more or less all that can with any certainty be\nknown of the curious, profound, and intimate side of its\ninhabitants. Nor will this be at the cost of what still remains to\nbe learned. I shall pass over in silence the hoary traditions that,\nin the country and many a book, still constitute the legend of the\nhive. Whenever there be doubt, disagreement, hypothesis, when I\narrive at the unknown, I shall declare it loyally; you will find\nthat we often shall halt before the unknown. Beyond the appreciable\nfacts of their life we know but little of the bees. And the closer\nour acquaintance becomes, the nearer is our ignorance brought to us\nof the depths of their real existence; but such ignorance is better\nthan the other kind, which is unconscious, and satisfied.\n\nDoes an analogous work on the bee exist? I believe I have read\nalmost all that has been written on bees; but of kindred matter I\nknow only Michelet's chapter at the end of his book \"The Insect,\"\nand Ludwig Buchner's essay in his \"Mind in Animals.\" Michelet merely\nhovers on the fringe of his subject; Buchner's treatise is\ncomprehensive enough, but contains so many hazardous statements, so\nmuch long-discarded gossip and hearsay, that I suspect him of never\nhaving left his library, never having set forth himself to question\nhis heroines, or opened one of the many hundreds of rustling,\nwing-lit hives which we must profane before our instinct can be\nattuned to their secret, before we can perceive the spirit and\natmosphere, perfume and mystery, of these virgin daughters of toil.\nThe book smells not of the bee, or its honey; and has the defects of\nmany a learned work, whose conclusions often are preconceived, and\nwhose scientific attainment is composed of a vast array of doubtful\nanecdotes collected on every side. But in this essay of mine we\nrarely shall meet each other; for our starting-point, our aim, and\nour point of view are all very different.\n\n{2}\n\nThe bibliography of the bee (we will begin with the books so as to\nget rid of them as soon as we can and go to the source of the books)\nis very extensive. From the beginning this strange little creature,\nthat lived in a society under complicated laws and executed\nprodigious labours in the darkness, attracted the notice of men.\nAristotle, Cato, Varro, Pliny, Columella, Palladius all studied the\nbees; to say nothing of Aristomachus, who, according to Cicero,\nwatched them for fifty-eight years, and of Phyliscus, whose writings\nare lost. But these dealt rather with the legend of the bee; and all\nthat we can gather therefrom--which indeed is exceedingly little--we\nmay find condensed in the fourth book of Virgil's Georgics.\n\nThe real history of the bee begins in the seventeenth century, with\nthe discoveries of the great Dutch savant Swammerdam. It is well,\nhowever, to add this detail, but little known: before Swammerdam a\nFlemish naturalist named Clutius had arrived at certain important\ntruths, such as the sole maternity of the queen and her possession\nof the attributes of both sexes, but he had left these unproved.\nSwammerdam founded the true methods of scientific investigation; he\ninvented the microscope, contrived injections to ward off decay, was\nthe first to dissect the bees, and by the discovery of the ovaries\nand the oviduct definitely fixed the sex of the queen, hitherto\nlooked upon as a king, and threw the whole political scheme of the\nhive into most unexpected light by basing it upon maternity. Finally\nhe produced woodcuts and engravings so perfect that to this day they\nserve to illustrate many books on apiculture. He lived in the\nturbulent, restless Amsterdam of those days, regretting \"Het Zoete\nBuiten Leve \"--The Sweet Life of the Country--and died, worn-out\nwith work, at the age of forty-three. He wrote in a pious, formal\nstyle, with beautiful, simple outbursts of a faith that, fearful of\nfalling away, ascribed all things to the glory of the Creator; and\nembodied his observations and studies in his great work \"Bybel der\nNatuure,\" which the doctor Boerhave, a century later, caused to be\ntranslated from the Dutch into Latin under the title of \"Biblia\nNaturae.\" (Leyden, 1737.)\n\nThen came Reaumur, who, pursuing similar methods, made a vast number\nof curious experiments and researches in his gardens at Charenton,\nand devoted to the bees an entire volume of his \"Notes to Serve for\na History of Insects.\" One may read it with profit to-day, and\nwithout fatigue. It is clear, direct, and sincere, and possessed of\na certain hard, arid charm of its own. He sought especially the\ndestruction of ancient errors; he himself was responsible for\nseveral new ones; he partially understood the formation of swarms\nand the political establishment of queens; in a word, he discovered\nmany difficult truths, and paved the way for the discovery of more.\nHe fully appreciated the marvellous architecture of the hive; and\nwhat he said on the subject has never been better said. It is to\nhim, too, that we owe the idea of the glass hives, which, having\nsince been perfected, enable us to follow the entire private life of\nthese fierce insects, whose work, begun in the dazzling sunshine,\nreceives its crown in the darkness. To be comprehensive, one should\nmention also the somewhat subsequent works and investigations of\nCharles Bonnet and Schirach (who solved the enigma of the royal\negg); but I will keep to the broad lines, and pass at once to\nFrancois Huber, the master and classic of contemporary apiarian\nscience.\n\nHuber was born in Geneva in 1750, and fell blind in his earliest\nyouth. The experiments of Reaumur interested him; he sought to\nverify them, and soon becoming passionately absorbed in these\nresearches, eventually, with the assistance of an intelligent and\nfaithful servant, Francois Burnens, devoted his entire life to the\nstudy of the bee. In the annals of human suffering and human triumph\nthere is nothing more touching, no lesson more admirable, than the\nstory of this patient collaboration, wherein the one who saw only\nwith immaterial light guided with his spirit the eyes and hands of\nthe other who had the real earthly vision; where he who, as we are\nassured, had never with his own eyes beheld a comb of honey, was yet\nable, notwithstanding the veil on his dead eyes that rendered double\nthe veil in which nature enwraps all things, to penetrate the\nprofound secrets of the genius that had made this invisible comb; as\nthough to teach us that no condition in life can warrant our\nabandoning our desire and search for the truth. I will not enumerate\nall that apiarian science owes to Huber; to state what it does not\nowe were the briefer task. His \"New Observations on Bees,\" of which\nthe first volume was written in 1789, in the form of letters to\nCharles Bonnet, the second not appearing till twenty years later,\nhave remained the unfailing, abundant treasure into which every\nsubsequent writer has dipped. And though a few mistakes may be found\ntherein, a few incomplete truths; though since his time considerable\nadditions have been made to the micrography and practical culture of\nbees, the handling of queens, etc., there is not a single one of his\nprincipal statements that has been disproved, or discovered in\nerror; and in our actual experience they stand untouched, and indeed\nat its very foundation.\n\n{3}\n\nSome years of silence followed these revelations; but soon a German\nclergyman, Dzierzon, discovered parthenogenesis, _i. e._ the\nvirginal parturition of queens, and contrived the first hive with\nmovable combs, thereby enabling the bee-keeper henceforth to take\nhis share of the harvest of honey, without being forced to destroy\nhis best colonies and in one instant annihilate the work of an\nentire year. This hive, still very imperfect, received masterly\nimprovement at the hands of Langstroth, who invented the movable\nframe properly so called, which has been adopted in America with\nextraordinary success. Root, Quinby, Dadant, Cheshire, De Layens,\nCowan, Heddon, Howard, etc., added still further and precious\nimprovement. Then it occurred to Mehring that if bees were supplied\nwith combs that had an artificial waxen foundation, they would be\nspared the labour of fashioning the wax and constructing the cells,\nwhich costs them much honey and the best part of their time; he\nfound that the bees accepted these combs most readily, and adapted\nthem to their requirements.\n\nMajor de Hruschka invented the Honey-Extractor, which enables the\nhoney to be withdrawn by centrifugal force without breaking the\ncombs, etc. And thus, in a few years, the methods of apiculture\nunderwent a radical change. The capacity and fruitfulness of the\nhives were trebled. Great and productive apiaries arose on every\nside. An end was put to the useless destruction of the most\nindustrious cities, and to the odious selection of the least fit\nwhich was its result. Man truly became the master of the bees,\nalthough furtively, and without their knowledge; directing all\nthings without giving an order, receiving obedience but not\nrecognition. For the destiny once imposed by the seasons he has\nsubstituted his will. He repairs the injustice of the year, unites\nhostile republics, and equalises wealth. He restricts or augments\nthe births, regulates the fecundity of the queen, dethrones her and\ninstals another in her place, after dexterously obtaining the\nreluctant consent of a people who would be maddened at the mere\nsuspicion of an inconceivable intervention. When he thinks fit, he\nwill peacefully violate the secret of the sacred chambers, and the\nelaborate, tortuous policy of the palace. He will five or six times\nin succession deprive the bees of the fruit of their labour, without\nharming them, without their becoming discouraged or even\nimpoverished. He proportions the store-houses and granaries of their\ndwellings to the harvest of flowers that the spring is spreading\nover the dip of the hills. He compels them to reduce the extravagant\nnumber of lovers who await the birth of the royal princesses. In a\nword he does with them what he will, he obtains what he will,\nprovided always that what he seeks be in accordance with their laws\nand their virtues; for beyond all the desires of this strange god\nwho has taken possession of them, who is too vast to be seen and too\nalien to be understood, their eyes see further than the eyes of the\ngod himself; and their one thought is the accomplishment, with\nuntiring sacrifice, of the mysterious duty of their race.\n\n{4}\n\nLet us now, having learned from books all that they had to teach us\nof a very ancient history, leave the science others have acquired\nand look at the bees with our own eyes. An hour spent in the midst\nof the apiary will be less instructive, perhaps; but the things we\nshall see will be infinitely more stimulating and more actual.\n\nI have not yet forgotten the first apiary I saw, where I learned to\nlove the bees. It was many years ago, in a large village of Dutch\nFlanders, the sweet and pleasant country whose love for brilliant\ncolour rivals that of Zealand even, the concave mirror of Holland; a\ncountry that gladly spreads out before us, as so many pretty,\nthoughtful toys, her illuminated gables, and waggons, and towers;\nher cupboards and clocks that gleam at the end of the passage; her\nlittle trees marshalled in line along quays and canal-banks,\nwaiting, one almost might think, for some quiet, beneficent\nceremony; her boats and her barges with sculptured poops, her\nflower-like doors and windows, immaculate dams, and elaborate,\nmany-coloured drawbridges; and her little varnished houses, bright\nas new pottery, from which bell-shaped dames come forth, all\na-glitter with silver and gold, to milk the cows in the white-hedged\nfields, or spread the linen on flowery lawns, cut into patterns of\noval and lozenge, and most astoundingly green.\n\nTo this spot, where life would seem more restricted than\nelsewhere--if it be possible for life indeed to become restricted--a\nsort of aged philosopher had retired; an old man somewhat akin to\nVirgil's--\n\n     \"Man equal to kings, and approaching the gods;\"\n\nwhereto Lafontaine might have added,--\n\n     \"And, like the gods, content and at rest.\"\n\nHere had he built his refuge, being a little weary; not disgusted,\nfor the large aversions are unknown to the sage; but a little weary\nof interrogating men, whose answers to the only interesting\nquestions one can put concerning nature and her veritable laws are\nfar less simple than those that are given by animals and plants. His\nhappiness, like the Scythian philosopher's, lay all in the beauties\nof his garden; and best-loved and visited most often, was the\napiary, composed of twelve domes of straw, some of which he had\npainted a bright pink, and some a clear yellow, but most of all a\ntender blue; having noticed, long before Sir John Lubbock's\ndemonstrations, the bees' fondness for this colour.\n\nThese hives stood against the wall of the house, in the angle formed\nby one of those pleasant and graceful Dutch kitchens whose\nearthenware dresser, all bright with copper and tin, reflected\nitself through the open door on to the peaceful canal. And the\nwater, burdened with these familiar images beneath its curtain of\npoplars, led one's eyes to a calm horizon of mills and of meadows.\n\nHere, as in all places, the hives lent a new meaning to the flowers\nand the silence, the balm of the air and the rays of the sun. One\nseemed to have drawn very near to the festival spirit of nature. One\nwas content to rest at this radiant crossroad, where the aerial ways\nconverge and divide that the busy and tuneful bearers of all country\nperfumes unceasingly travel from dawn unto dusk. One heard the\nmusical voice of the garden, whose loveliest hours revealed their\nrejoicing soul and sang of their gladness. One came hither, to the\nschool of the bees, to be taught the preoccupations of all-powerful\nnature, the harmonious concord of the three kingdoms, the\nindefatigable organisation of life, and the lesson of ardent and\ndisinterested work; and another lesson too, with a moral as good,\nthat the heroic workers taught there, and emphasised, as it were,\nwith the fiery darts of their myriad wings, was to appreciate the\nsomewhat vague savour of leisure, to enjoy the almost unspeakable\ndelights of those immaculate days that revolved on themselves in the\nfields of space, forming merely a transparent globe, as void of\nmemory as the happiness without alloy.\n\n{5}\n\nIn order to follow, as simply as possible, the life of the bees\nthrough the year, we will take a hive that awakes in the spring and\nduly starts on its labours; and then we shall meet, in their natural\norder, all the great episodes, viz.: the formation and departure of\nthe swarm, the foundation of the new city, the birth, combat and\nnuptial flight of the young queens, the massacre of the males, and\nfinally, the return of the sleep of winter. With each of these\nepisodes there will go the necessary explanations as to the laws,\nhabits, peculiarities and events that produce and accompany it; so\nthat, when arrived at the end of the bee's short year, which extends\nonly from April to the last days of September, we shall have gazed\nupon all the mysteries of the palace of honey. Before we open it,\ntherefore, and throw a general glance around, we only need say that\nthe hive is composed of a queen, the mother of all her people; of\nthousands of workers or neuters who are incomplete and sterile\nfemales; and lastly of some hundreds of males, from whom one shall\nbe chosen as the sole and unfortunate consort of the queen that the\nworkers will elect in the future, after the more or less voluntary\ndeparture of the reigning mother.\n\n{6}\n\nThe first time that we open a hive there comes over us an emotion\nakin to that we might feel at profaning some unknown object, charged\nperhaps with dreadful surprise, as a tomb. A legend of menace and\nperil still clings to the bees. There is the distressful\nrecollection of her sting, which produces a pain so characteristic\nthat one knows not wherewith to compare it; a kind of destroying\ndryness, a flame of the desert rushing over the wounded limb, as\nthough these daughters of the sun had distilled a dazzling poison\nfrom their father's angry rays, in order more effectively to defend\nthe treasure they gather from his beneficent hours.\n\nIt is true that were some one who neither knows nor respects the\ncustoms and character of the bee suddenly to fling open the hive, it\nwould turn at once into a burning bush of heroism and anger; but the\nslight amount of skill needed to handle it with impunity can be most\nreadily acquired. Let but a little smoke be deftly applied, much\ncoolness and gentleness be shown, and our well-armed workers will\nsuffer themselves to be despoiled without dreaming of drawing their\nsting. It is not the fact, as some have maintained, that the bees\nrecognise their master; nor have they any fear of man; but at the\nsmell of the smoke, at the large slow gestures that traverse their\ndwellings without threatening them, they imagine that this is not\nthe attack of an enemy against whom defence is possible, but that it\nis a force or a natural catastrophe whereto they do well to submit.\n\nInstead of vainly struggling, therefore, they do what they can to\nsafeguard the future; and, obeying a foresight that for once is in\nerror, they fly to their reserves of honey, into which they eagerly\ndip in order to possess within themselves the wherewithal to start a\nnew city, immediately and no matter where, should the ancient one be\ndestroyed or they be compelled to forsake it.\n\n{7}\n\nThe first impression of the novice before whom an observation-hive*\nis opened will be one of some disappointment. He had been told that\nthis little glass case contained an unparalleled activity, an\ninfinite number of wise laws, and a startling amalgam of mystery,\nexperience, genius, calculation, science, of various industries, of\ncertitude and prescience, of intelligent habits and curious feelings\nand virtues. All that he sees is a confused mass of little reddish\ngroups, somewhat resembling roasted coffee-berries, or bunches of\nraisins piled against the glass. They look more dead than alive;\ntheir movements are slow, incoherent, and incomprehensible. Can\nthese be the wonderful drops of light he had seen but a moment ago,\nunceasingly flashing and sparkling, as they darted among the pearls\nand the gold of a thousand wide-open calyces?\n\nBy observation-hive is meant a hive of glass, furnished with black\ncurtains or shutters. The best kind have only one comb, thus\npermitting both faces to be studied. These hives can be placed in a\ndrawing-room, library, etc., without inconvenience or danger. The\nbees that inhabit the one I have in my study in Paris are able even\nin the stony desert of that great city, to find the wherewithal to\nnourish themselves and to prosper.\n\nThey appear to be shivering in the darkness, to be numbed,\nsuffocated, so closely are they huddled together; one might fancy\nthey were ailing captives, or queens dethroned, who have had their\none moment of glory in the midst of their radiant garden, and are\nnow compelled to return to the shameful squalor of their poor\novercrowded home.\n\nIt is with them as with all that is deeply real; they must be\nstudied, and one must learn how to study them. The inhabitant of\nanother planet who should see men and women coming and going almost\nimperceptibly through our streets, crowding at certain times around\ncertain buildings, or waiting for one knows not what, without\napparent movement, in the depths of their dwellings, might conclude\ntherefrom that they, too, were miserable and inert. It takes time to\ndistinguish the manifold activity contained in this inertia.\n\nAnd indeed every one of the little almost motionless groups in the\nhive is incessantly working, each at a different trade. Repose is\nunknown to any; and such, for instance, as seem the most torpid, as\nthey hang in dead clusters against the glass, are intrusted with the\nmost mysterious and fatiguing task of all: it is they who secrete\nand form the wax. But the details of this universal activity will be\ngiven in their place. For the moment we need only call attention to\nthe essential trait in the nature of the bee which accounts for the\nextraordinary agglomeration of the various workers. The bee is above\nall, and even to a greater extent than the ant, a creature of the\ncrowd. She can live only in the midst of a multitude. When she\nleaves the hive, which is so densely packed that she has to force\nher way with blows of her head through the living walls that enclose\nher, she departs from her proper element. She will dive for an\ninstant into flower-filled space, as the swimmer will dive into the\nsea that is filled with pearls, but under pain of death it behoves\nher at regular intervals to return and breathe the crowd as the\nswimmer must return and breathe the air. Isolate her, and however\nabundant the food or favourable the temperature, she will expire in\na few days not of hunger or cold, but of loneliness. From the crowd,\nfrom the city, she derives an invisible aliment that is as necessary\nto her as honey. This craving will help to explain the spirit of the\nlaws of the hive. For in them the individual is nothing, her\nexistence conditional only, and herself, for one indifferent moment,\na winged organ of the race. Her whole life is an entire sacrifice to\nthe manifold, everlasting being whereof she forms part. It is\nstrange to note that it was not always so. We find even to-day,\namong the melliferous hymenoptera, all the stages of progressive\ncivilisation of our own domestic bee. At the bottom of the scale we\nfind her working alone, in wretchedness, often not seeing her\noffspring (the Prosopis, the Colletes, etc.); sometimes living in\nthe midst of the limited family that she produces annually (as in\nthe case of the humble-bee). Then she forms temporary associations (the\nPanurgi, the Dasypodoe, the Hacliti, etc.) and at last we arrive,\nthrough successive stages, at the almost perfect but pitiless society of\nour hives, where the individual is entirely merged in the republic, and\nthe republic in its turn invariably sacrificed to the abstract and\nimmortal city of the future.\n\n{8}\n\nLet us not too hastily deduce from these facts conclusions that\napply to man. He possesses the power of withstanding certain of\nnature's laws; and to know whether such resistance be right or wrong\nis the gravest and obscurest point in his morality. But it is deeply\ninteresting to discover what the will of nature may be in a\ndifferent world; and this will is revealed with extraordinary\nclearness in the evolution of the hymenoptera, which, of all the\ninhabitants of this globe, possess the highest degree of intellect\nafter that of man. The aim of nature is manifestly the improvement\nof the race; but no less manifest is her inability, or refusal, to\nobtain such improvement except at the cost of the liberty, the\nrights, and the happiness of the individual. In proportion as a\nsociety organises itself, and rises in the scale, so does a\nshrinkage enter the private life of each one of its members. Where\nthere is progress, it is the result only of a more and more complete\nsacrifice of the individual to the general interest. Each one is\ncompelled, first of all, to renounce his vices, which are acts of\nindependence. For instance, at the last stage but one of apiarian\ncivilisation, we find the humble-bees, which are like our cannibals.\nThe adult workers are incessantly hovering around the eggs, which\nthey seek to devour, and the mother has to display the utmost\nstubbornness in their defence. Then having freed himself from his\nmost dangerous vices, each individual has to acquire a certain\nnumber of more and more painful virtues. Among the humble-bees, for\ninstance, the workers do not dream of renouncing love, whereas our\ndomestic bee lives in a state of perpetual chastity. And indeed we\nsoon shall show how much more she has to abandon, in exchange for\nthe comfort and security of the hive, for its architectural,\neconomic, and political perfection; and we shall return to the\nevolution of the hymenoptera in the chapter devoted to the progress\nof the species.\n\n\n\n\nII -- THE SWARM\n\n{9}\n\nWE will now, so as to draw more closely to nature, consider the\ndifferent episodes of the swarm as they come to pass in an ordinary\nhive, which is ten or twenty times more populous than an observation\none, and leaves the bees entirely free and untrammelled.\n\nHere, then, they have shaken off the torpor of winter. The queen\nstarted laying again in the very first days of February, and the\nworkers have flocked to the willows and nut-trees, gorse and\nviolets, anemones and lungworts. Then spring invades the earth, and\ncellar and stream with honey and pollen, while each day beholds the\nbirth of thousands of bees. The overgrown males now all sally forth\nfrom their cells, and disport themselves on the combs; and so\ncrowded does the too prosperous city become that hundreds of belated\nworkers, coming back from the flowers towards evening, will vainly\nseek shelter within, and will be forced to spend the night on the\nthreshold, where they will be decimated by the cold. Restlessness\nseizes the people, and the old queen begins to stir. She feels that\na new destiny is being prepared. She has religiously fulfilled her\nduty as a good creatress; and from this duty done there result only\ntribulation and sorrow. An invincible power menaces her\ntranquillity; she will soon be forced to quit this city of hers,\nwhere she has reigned. But this city is her work, it is she,\nherself. She is not its queen in the sense in which men use the\nword. She issues no orders; she obeys, as meekly as the humblest of\nher subjects, the masked power, sovereignly wise, that for the\npresent, and till we attempt to locate it, we will term the \"spirit\nof the hive.\" But she is the unique organ of love; she is the mother\nof the city. She founded it amid uncertainty and poverty. She has\npeopled it with her own substance; and all who move within its\nwalls--workers, males, larvae, nymphs, and the young princesses\nwhose approaching birth will hasten her own departure, one of them\nbeing already designed as her successor by the \"spirit of the\nhive\"--all these have issued from her flanks.\n\n{10}\n\nWhat is this \"spirit of the hive\"--where does it reside? It is not\nlike the special instinct that teaches the bird to construct its\nwell planned nest, and then seek other skies when the day for\nmigration returns. Nor is it a kind of mechanical habit of the race,\nor blind craving for life, that will fling the bees upon any wild\nhazard the moment an unforeseen event shall derange the accustomed\norder of phenomena. On the contrary, be the event never so\nmasterful, the \"spirit of the hive\" still will follow it, step by\nstep, like an alert and quickwitted slave, who is able to derive\nadvantage even from his master's most dangerous orders.\n\nIt disposes pitilessly of the wealth and the happiness, the liberty\nand life, of all this winged people; and yet with discretion, as\nthough governed itself by some great duty. It regulates day by day\nthe number of births, and contrives that these shall strictly accord\nwith the number of flowers that brighten the country-side. It\ndecrees the queen's deposition or warns her that she must depart; it\ncompels her to bring her own rivals into the world, and rears them\nroyally, protecting them from their mother's political hatred. So,\ntoo, in accordance with the generosity of the flowers, the age of\nthe spring, and the probable dangers of the nuptial flight, will it\npermit or forbid the first-born of the virgin princesses to slay in\ntheir cradles her younger sisters, who are singing the song of the\nqueens. At other times, when the season wanes, and flowery hours\ngrow shorter, it will command the workers themselves to slaughter\nthe whole imperial brood, that the era of revolutions may close, and\nwork become the sole object of all. The \"spirit of the hive\" is\nprudent and thrifty, but by no means parsimonious. And thus, aware,\nit would seem, that nature's laws are somewhat wild and extravagant\nin all that pertains to love, it tolerates, during summer days of\nabundance, the embarrassing presence in the hive of three or four\nhundred males, from whose ranks the queen about to be born shall\nselect her lover; three or four hundred foolish, clumsy, useless,\nnoisy creatures, who are pretentious, gluttonous, dirty, coarse,\ntotally and scandalously idle, insatiable, and enormous.\n\nBut after the queen's impregnation, when flowers begin to close\nsooner, and open later, the spirit one morning will coldly decree\nthe simultaneous and general massacre of every male. It regulates\nthe workers' labours, with due regard to their age; it allots their\ntask to the nurses who tend the nymphs and the larvae, the ladies of\nhonour who wait on the queen and never allow her out of their sight;\nthe house-bees who air, refresh, or heat the hive by fanning their\nwings, and hasten the evaporation of the honey that may be too\nhighly charged with water; the architects, masons, wax-workers, and\nsculptors who form the chain and construct the combs; the foragers\nwho sally forth to the flowers in search of the nectar that turns\ninto honey, of the pollen that feeds the nymphs and the larvae, the\npropolis that welds and strengthens the buildings of the city, or\nthe water and salt required by the youth of the nation. Its orders\nhave gone to the chemists who ensure the preservation of the honey\nby letting a drop of formic acid fall in from the end of their\nsting; to the capsule-makers who seal down the cells when the\ntreasure is ripe, to the sweepers who maintain public places and\nstreets most irreproachably clean, to the bearers whose duty it is\nto remove the corpses; and to the amazons of the guard who keep\nwatch on the threshold by night and by day, question comers and\ngoers, recognise the novices who return from their very first\nflight, scare away vagabonds, marauders and loiterers, expel all\nintruders, attack redoubtable foes in a body, and, if need be,\nbarricade the entrance.\n\nFinally, it is the spirit of the hive that fixes the hour of the\ngreat annual sacrifice to the genius of the race: the hour, that is,\nof the swarm; when we find a whole people, who have attained the\ntopmost pinnacle of prosperity and power, suddenly abandoning to the\ngeneration to come their wealth and their palaces, their homes and\nthe fruits of their labour; themselves content to encounter the\nhardships and perils of a new and distant country. This act, be it\nconscious or not, undoubtedly passes the limits of human morality.\nIts result will sometimes be ruin, but poverty always; and the\nthrice-happy city is scattered abroad in obedience to a law superior\nto its own happiness. Where has this law been decreed, which, as we\nsoon shall find, is by no means as blind and inevitable as one might\nbelieve? Where, in what assembly, what council, what intellectual\nand moral sphere, does this spirit reside to whom all must submit,\nitself being vassal to an heroic duty, to an intelligence whose eyes\nare persistently fixed on the future?\n\nIt comes to pass with the bees as with most of the things in this\nworld; we remark some few of their habits; we say they do this, they\nwork in such and such fashion, their queens are born thus, their\nworkers are virgin, they swarm at a certain time. And then we\nimagine we know them, and ask nothing more. We watch them hasten\nfrom flower to flower, we see the constant agitation within the\nhive; their life seems very simple to us, and bounded, like every\nlife, by the instinctive cares of reproduction and nourishment. But\nlet the eye draw near, and endeavour to see; and at once the least\nphenomenon of all becomes overpoweringly complex; we are confronted\nby the enigma of intellect, of destiny, will, aim, means, causes;\nthe incomprehensible organisation of the most insignificant act of\nlife.\n\n{11}\n\nOur hive, then, is preparing to swarm; making ready for the great\nimmolation to the exacting gods of the race. In obedience to\nthe order of the spirit--an order that to us may well seem\nincomprehensible, for it is entirely opposed to all our own\ninstincts and feelings--60,000 or 70,000 bees out of the 80,000 or\n90,000 that form the whole population, will abandon the maternal\ncity at the prescribed hour. They will not leave at a moment of\ndespair; or desert, with sudden and wild resolve, a home laid waste\nby famine, disease, or war. No, the exile has long been planned, and\nthe favourable hour patiently awaited. Were the hive poor, had it\nsuffered from pillage or storm, had misfortune befallen the royal\nfamily, the bees would not forsake it. They leave it only when it\nhas attained the apogee of its prosperity; at a time when, after the\narduous labours of the spring, the immense palace of wax has its\n120,000 well-arranged cells overflowing with new honey, and with the\nmany-coloured flour, known as \"bees' bread,\" on which nymphs and\nlarvae are fed.\n\nNever is the hive more beautiful than on the eve of its heroic\nrenouncement, in its unrivalled hour of fullest abundance and joy;\nserene for all its apparent excitement and feverishness.\n\nLet us endeavour to picture it to ourselves, not as it appears to\nthe bees,--for we cannot tell in what magical, formidable fashion\nthings may be reflected in the 6,000 or 7,000 facets of their\nlateral eyes and the triple cyclopean eye on their brow,--but as it\nwould seem to us, were we of their stature. From the height of a\ndome more colossal than that of St. Peter's at Rome waxen walls\ndescend to the ground, balanced in the void and the darkness;\ngigantic and manifold, vertical and parallel geometric\nconstructions, to which, for relative precision, audacity, and\nvastness, no human structure is comparable. Each of these walls,\nwhose substance still is immaculate and fragrant, of virginal,\nsilvery freshness, contains thousands of cells, that are stored with\nprovisions sufficient to feed the whole people for several weeks.\nHere, lodged in transparent cells, are the pollens, love-ferment of\nevery flower of spring, making brilliant splashes of red and yellow,\nof black and mauve. Close by, in twenty thousand reservoirs, sealed\nwith a seal that shall only be broken on days of supreme distress,\nthe honey of April is stored, most limpid and perfumed of all,\nwrapped round with long and magnificent embroidery of gold, whose\nborders hang stiff and rigid. Still lower the honey of May matures,\nin great open vats, by whose side watchful cohorts maintain an\nincessant current of air. In the centre, and far from the light\nwhose diamond rays steal in through the only opening, in the warmest\npart of the hive, there stands the abode of the future; here does it\nsleep, and wake. For this is the royal domain of the brood-cells,\nset apart for the queen and her acolytes; about 10,000 cells wherein\nthe eggs repose, 15,000 or 16,000 chambers tenanted by larvae,\n40,000 dwellings inhabited by white nymphs to whom thousands of\nnurses minister.* And finally, in the holy of holies of these partss\nare the three, four, six, or twelve sealed palaces, vast in size\ncompared with the others, where the adolescent princesses lie who\nawait their hour, wrapped in a kind of shroud, all of them\nmotionless and pale, and fed in the darkness.\n\n     *The figures given here are scrupulously exact. They are\n     those of a well-filled hive in full prosperity.\n\nOn the day, then, that the Spirit of the Hive has ordained, a\ncertain part of the population will go forth, selected in accordance\nwith sure and immovable laws, and make way for hopes that as yet are\nformless. In the sleeping city there remain the males, from whose\nranks the royal lover shall come, the very young bees that tend the\nbrood-cells, and some thousands of workers who continue to forage\nabroad, to guard the accumulated treasure, and preserve the moral\ntraditions of the hive. For each hive has its own code of morals.\nThere are some that are very virtuous and some that are very\nperverse; and a careless bee-keeper will often corrupt his people,\ndestroy their respect for the property of others, incite them to\npillage, and induce in them habits of conquest and idleness which\nwill render them sources of danger to all the little republics\naround. These things result from the bee's discovery that work among\ndistant flowers, whereof many hundreds must be visited to form one\ndrop of honey, is not the only or promptest method of acquiring\nwealth, but that it is easier to enter ill-guarded cities by\nstratagem, or force her way into others too weak for self-defence.\nNor is it easy to restore to the paths of duty a hive that has\nbecome thus depraved.\n\n{13}\n\nAll things go to prove that it is not the queen, but the spirit of\nthe hive, that decides on the swarm. With this queen of ours it\nhappens as with many a chief among men, who though he appear to give\norders, is himself obliged to obey commands far more mysterious, far\nmore inexplicable, than those he issues to his subordinates. The\nhour once fixed, the spirit will probably let it be known at break\nof dawn, or the previous night, if indeed not two nights before; for\nscarcely has the sun drunk in the first drops of dew when a most\nunaccustomed stir, whose meaning the bee-keeper rarely will fail to\ngrasp, is to be noticed within and around the buzzing city. At times\none would almost appear to detect a sign of dispute, hesitation,\nrecoil. It will happen even that for day after day a strange\nemotion, apparently without cause, will appear and vanish in this\ntransparent, golden throng. Has a cloud that we cannot see crept\nacross the sky that the bees are watching; or is their intellect\nbattling with a new regret? Does a winged council debate the\nnecessity of the departure? Of this we know nothing; as we know\nnothing of the manner in which the spirit conveys its resolution to\nthe crowd. Certain as it may seem that the bees communicate with\neach other, we know not whether this be done in human fashion. It is\npossible even that their own refrain may be inaudible to them: the\nmurmur that comes to us heavily laden with perfume of honey, the\necstatic whisper of fairest summer days that the bee-keeper loves so\nwell, the festival song of labour that rises and falls around the\nhive in the crystal of the hour, and might almost be the chant of\nthe eager flowers, hymn of their gladness and echo of their soft\nfragrance, the voice of the white carnations, the marjoram, and the\nthyme. They have, however, a whole gamut of sounds that we can\ndistinguish, ranging from profound delight to menace, distress, and\nanger; they have the ode of the queen, the song of abundance, the\npsalms of grief, and, lastly, the long and mysterious war-cries the\nadolescent princesses send forth during the combats and massacres\nthat precede the nuptial flight. May this be a fortuitous music that\nfails to attain their inward silence? In any event they seem not the\nleast disturbed at the noises we make near the hive; but they regard\nthese perhaps as not of their world, and possessed of no interest\nfor them. It is possible that we on our side hear only a fractional\npart of the sounds that the bees produce, and that they have many\nharmonies to which our ears are not attuned. We soon shall see with\nwhat startling rapidity they are able to understand each other, and\nadopt concerted measures, when, for instance, the great honey thief,\nthe huge sphinx atropos, the sinister butterfly that bears a death's\nhead on its back, penetrates into the hive, humming its own strange\nnote, which acts as a kind of irresistible incantation; the news\nspreads quickly from group to group, and from the guards at the\nthreshold to the workers on the furthest combs, the whole population\nquivers.\n\n{14}\n\nIt was for a long time believed that when these wise bees, generally\nso prudent, so far-sighted and economical, abandoned the treasures\nof their kingdom and flung themselves upon the uncertainties of\nlife, they were yielding to a kind of irresistible folly, a\nmechanical impulse, a law of the species, a decree of nature, or to\nthe force that for all creatures lies hidden in the revolution of\ntime. It is our habit, in the case of the bees no less than our own,\nto regard as fatality all that we do not as yet understand. But now\nthat the hive has surrendered two or three of its material secrets,\nwe have discovered that this exodus is neither instinctive nor\ninevitable. It is not a blind emigration, but apparently the\nwell-considered sacrifice of the present generation in favour of the\ngeneration to come. The bee-keeper has only to destroy in their\ncells the young queens that still are inert, and, at the same time,\nif nymphs and larvae abound, to enlarge the store-houses and\ndormitories of the nation, for this unprofitable tumult\ninstantaneously to subside, for work to be at once resumed, and the\nflowers revisited; while the old queen, who now is essential again,\nwith no successor to hope for, or perhaps to fear, will renounce for\nthis year her desire for the light of the sun. Reassured as to the\nfuture of the activity that will soon spring into life, she will\ntranquilly resume her maternal labours, which consist in the laying\nof two or three thousand eggs a day, as she passes, in a methodical\nspiral, from cell to cell, omitting none, and never pausing to rest.\n\nWhere is the fatality here, save in the love of the race of to-day\nfor the race of to-morrow? This fatality exists in the human species\nalso, but its extent and power seem infinitely less. Among men it\nnever gives rise to sacrifices as great, as unanimous, or as\ncomplete. What far-seeing fatality, taking the place of this one, do\nwe ourselves obey? We know not; as we know not the being who watches\nus as we watch the bees.\n\nBut the hive that we have selected is disturbed in its history by no\ninterference of man; and as the beautiful day advances with radiant\nand tranquil steps beneath the trees, its ardour, still bathed in\ndew, makes the appointed hour seem laggard. Over the whole surface\nof the golden corridors that divide the parallel walls the workers\nare busily making preparation for the journey. And each one will\nfirst of all burden herself with provision of honey sufficient for\nfive or six days. From this honey that they bear within them they\nwill distil, by a chemical process still unexplained, the wax\nrequired for the immediate construction of buildings. They will\nprovide themselves also with a certain amount of propolis, a kind of\nresin with which they will seal all the crevices in the new\ndwelling, strengthen weak places, varnish the walls, and exclude the\nlight; for the bees love to work in almost total obscurity, guiding\nthemselves with their many-faceted eyes, or with their antennae\nperhaps, the seat, it would seem, of an unknown sense that fathoms\nand measures the darkness.\n\n{16}\n\nThey are not without prescience, therefore, of what is to befall\nthem on this the most dangerous day of all their existence. Absorbed\nby the cares, the prodigious perils of this mighty adventure, they\nwill have no time now to visit the gardens and meadows; and\nto-morrow, and after tomorrow, it may happen that rain may fall, or\nthere may be wind; that their wings may be frozen or the flowers\nrefuse to open. Famine and death would await them were it not for\nthis foresight of theirs. None would come to their help, nor would\nthey seek help of any. For one city knows not the other, and\nassistance never is given. And even though the bee-keeper deposit\nthe hive, in which he has gathered the old queen and her attendant\ncluster of bees, by the side of the abode they have but this moment\nquitted, they would seem, be the disaster never so great that shall\nnow have befallen them, to have wholly forgotten the peace and the\nhappy activity that once they had known there, the abundant wealth\nand the safety that had then been their portion; and all, one by\none, and down to the last of them, will perish of hunger and cold\naround their unfortunate queen rather than return to the home of\ntheir birth, whose sweet odour of plenty, the fragrance, indeed, of\ntheir own past assiduous labour, reaches them even in their\ndistress.\n\n{17}\n\nThat is a thing, some will say, that men would not do,--a proof that\nthe bee, notwithstanding the marvels of its organisation, still is\nlacking in intellect and veritable consciousness. Is this so\ncertain? Other beings, surely, may possess an intellect that differs\nfrom ours, and produces different results, without therefore being\ninferior. And besides, are we, even in this little human parish of\nours, such infallible judges of matters that pertain to the spirit?\nCan we so readily divine the thoughts that may govern the two or\nthree people we may chance to see moving and talking behind a closed\nwindow, when their words do not reach us? Or let us suppose that an\ninhabitant of Venus or Mars were to contemplate us from the height\nof a mountain, and watch the little black specks that we form in\nspace, as we come and go in the streets and squares of our towns.\nWould the mere sight of our movements, our buildings, machines, and\ncanals, convey to him any precise idea of our morality, intellect,\nour manner of thinking, and loving, and hoping,--in a word, of our\nreal and intimate self? All he could do, like ourselves when we gaze\nat the hive, would be to take note of some facts that seem very\nsurprising; and from these facts to deduce conclusions probably no\nless erroneous, no less uncertain, than those that we choose to form\nconcerning the bee.\n\nThis much at least is certain; our \"little black specks\" would not\nreveal the vast moral direction, the wonderful unity, that are so\napparent in the hive. \"Whither do they tend, and what is it they do?\"\nhe would ask, after years and centuries of patient watching. \"What\nis the aim of their life, or its pivot? Do they obey some God? I can\nsee nothing that governs their actions. The little things that one\nday they appear to collect and build up, the next they destroy and\nscatter. They come and they go, they meet and disperse, but one\nknows not what it is they seek. In numberless cases the spectacle\nthey present is altogether inexplicable. There are some, for\ninstance, who, as it were, seem scarcely to stir from their place.\nThey are to be distinguished by their glossier coat, and often too\nby their more considerable bulk. They occupy buildings ten or twenty\ntimes larger than ordinary dwellings, and richer, and more\ningeniously fashioned. Every day they spend many hours at their\nmeals, which sometimes indeed are prolonged far into the night. They\nappear to be held in extraordinary honour by those who approach\nthem; men come from the neighbouring houses, bringing provisions,\nand even from the depths of the country, laden with presents. One\ncan only assume that these persons must be indispensable to the\nrace, to which they render essential service, although our means of\ninvestigation have not yet enabled us to discover what the precise\nnature of this service may be. There are others, again, who are\nincessantly engaged in the most wearisome labour, whether it be in\ngreat sheds full of wheels that forever turn round and round, or\nclose by the shipping, or in obscure hovels, or on small plots of\nearth that from sunrise to sunset they are constantly delving and\ndigging. We are led to believe that this labour must be an offence,\nand punishable. For the persons guilty of it are housed in filthy,\nruinous, squalid cabins. They are clothed in some colourless hide.\nSo great does their ardour appear for this noxious, or at any rate\nuseless activity, that they scarcely allow themselves time to eat or\nto sleep. In numbers they are to the others as a thousand to one. It\nis remarkable that the species should have been able to survive to\nthis day under conditions so unfavourable to its development. It\nshould be mentioned, however, that apart from this characteristic\ndevotion to their wearisome toil, they appear inoffensive and\ndocile; and satisfied with the leavings of those who evidently are\nthe guardians, if not the saviours, of the race.\"\n\n{18}\n\nIs it not strange that the hive, which we vaguely survey from the\nheight of another world, should provide our first questioning glance\nwith so sure and profound a reply? Must we not admire the manner in\nwhich the thought or the god that the bees obey is at once revealed\nby their edifices, wrought with such striking conviction, by their\ncustoms and laws, their political and economical organisation, their\nvirtues, and even their cruelties? Nor is this god, though it be\nperhaps the only one to which man has as yet never offered serious\nworship, by any means the least reasonable or the least legitimate\nthat we can conceive. The god of the bees is the future. When we, in\nour study of human history, endeavour to gauge the moral force or\ngreatness of a people or race, we have but one standard of\nmeasurement--the dignity and permanence of their ideal, and the\nabnegation wherewith they pursue it. Have we often encountered an\nideal more conformable to the desires of the universe, more widely\nmanifest, more disinterested or sublime; have we often discovered an\nabnegation more complete and heroic?\n\n{19}\n\nStrange little republic, that, for all its logic and gravity, its\nmatured conviction and prudence, still falls victim to so vast and\nprecarious a dream! Who shall tell us, O little people that are so\nprofoundly in earnest, that have fed on the warmth and the light and\non nature's purest, the soul of the flowers, wherein matter for once\nseems to smile, and put forth it? most wistful effort towards beauty\nand happiness,--who shall tell us what problems you have resolved,\nbut we not yet, what certitudes you have acquired that we still have\nto conquer? And if you have truly resolved these problems, and\nacquired these certitudes, by the aid of some blind and primitive\nimpulse and not through the intellect, then to what enigma, more\ninsoluble still, are you not urging us on? Little city abounding in\nfaith and mystery and hope, why do your myriad virgins consent to a\ntask that no human slave has ever accepted? Another spring might be\ntheirs, another summer, were they only a little less wasteful of\nstrength, a little less self-forgetful in their ardour for toil; but\nat the magnificent moment when the flowers all cry to them, they\nseem to be stricken with the fatal ecstasy of work; and in less than\nfive weeks they almost all perish, their wings broken, their bodies\nshrivelled and covered with wounds.\n\n    \"Tantus amor florum, et generandi gloria mellis!\"\n\ncries Virgil in the fourth book of the Georgics, wherein he devotes\nhimself to the bees, and hands down to us the charming errors of the\nancients, who looked on nature with eyes still dazzled by the\npresence of imaginary gods.\n\n{20}\n\nWhy do they thus renounce sleep, the delights of honey and love,\nand the exquisite leisure enjoyed, for instance, by their winged\nbrother, the butterfly? Why will they not live as he lives? It is\nnot hunger that urges them on. Two or three flowers suffice for\ntheir nourishment, and in one hour they will visit two or three\nhundred, to collect a treasure whose sweetness they never will\ntaste. Why all this toil and distress, and whence comes this mighty\nassurance? Is it so certain, then, that the new generation whereunto\nyou offer your lives will merit the sacrifice; will be more\nbeautiful, happier, will do something you have not done? Your aim is\nclear to us, clearer far than our own; you desire to live, as long\nas the world itself, in those that come after; but what can the aim\nbe of this great aim; what the mission of this existence eternally\nrenewed?\n\nAnd yet may it not be that these questions are idle, and we who are\nputting them to you mere childish dreamers, hedged round with error\nand doubt? And, indeed, had successive evolutions installed you\nall-powerful and supremely happy; had you gained the last heights,\nwhence at length you ruled over nature's laws; nay, were you\nimmortal goddesses, we still should be asking you what your desires\nmight be, your ideas of progress; still wondering where you imagined\nthat at last you would rest and declare your wishes fulfilled. We\nare so made that nothing contents us; that we can regard no single\nthing as having its aim self-contained, as simply existing, with no\nthought beyond existence. Has there been, to this day, one god out\nof all the multitude man has conceived, from the vulgarest to the\nmost thoughtful, of whom it has not been required that he shall be\nactive and stirring, that he shall create countless beings and\nthings, and have myriad aims outside himself? And will the time ever\ncome when we shall be resigned for a few hours tranquilly to\nrepresent in this world an interesting form of material activity;\nand then, our few hours over, to assume, without surprise and\nwithout regret, that other form which is the unconscious, the\nunknown, the slumbering, and the eternal?\n\n{21}\n\nBut we are forgetting the hive wherein the swarming bees have begun\nto lose patience, the hive whose black and vibrating waves are\nbubbling and overflowing, like a brazen cup beneath an ardent sun.\nIt is noon; and the heat so great that the assembled trees would\nseem almost to hold back their leaves, as a man holds his breath\nbefore something very tender but very grave. The bees give their\nhoney and sweet-smelling wax to the man who attends them; but more\nprecious gift still is their summoning him to the gladness of June,\nto the joy of the beautiful months; for events in which bees take\npart happen only when skies are pure, at the winsome hours of the\nyear when flowers keep holiday. They are the soul of the summer, the\nclock whose dial records the moments of plenty; they are the\nuntiring wing on which delicate perfumes float; the guide of the\nquivering light-ray, the song of the slumberous, languid air; and\ntheir flight is the token, the sure and melodious note, of all the\nmyriad fragile joys that are born in the heat and dwell in the\nsunshine. They teach us to tune our ear to the softest, most\nintimate whisper of these good, natural hours. To him who has known\nthem and loved them, a summer where there are no bees becomes as sad\nand as empty as one without flowers or birds.\n\n{22}\n\nThe man who never before has beheld the swarm of a populous hive\nmust regard this riotous, bewildering spectacle with some\napprehension and diffidence. He will be almost afraid to draw near;\nhe will wonder can these be the earnest, the peace-loving,\nhard-working bees whose movements he has hitherto followed? It was\nbut a few moments before he had seen them troop in from all parts of\nthe country, as pre-occupied, seemingly, as little housewives might\nbe, with no thoughts beyond household cares. He had watched them\nstream into the hive, imperceptibly almost, out of breath, eager,\nexhausted, full of discreet agitation; and had seen the young\namazons stationed at the gate salute them, as they passed by, with\nthe slightest wave of antennae. And then, the inner court reached,\nthey had hurriedly given their harvest of honey to the adolescent\nportresses always stationed within, exchanging with these at most\nthe three or four probably indispensable words; or perhaps they\nwould hasten themselves to the vast magazines that encircle the\nbrood-cells, and deposit the two heavy baskets of pollen that depend\nfrom their thighs, thereupon at once going forth once more, without\ngiving a thought to what might be passing in the royal palace, the\nwork-rooms, or the dormitory where the nymphs lie asleep; without\nfor one instant joining in the babel of the public place in front of\nthe gate, where it is the wont of the cleaners, at time of great\nheat, to congregate and to gossip.\n\n{23}\n\nTo-day this is all changed. A certain number of workers, it is true,\nwill peacefully go to the fields, as though nothing were happening;\nwill come back, clean the hive, attend to the brood-cells, and hold\naltogether aloof from the general ecstasy. These are the ones that\nwill not accompany the queen; they will remain to guard the old\nhome, feed the nine or ten thousand eggs, the eighteen thousand\nlarvae, the thirty-six thousand nymphs and seven or eight royal\nprincesses, that to-day shall all be abandoned. Why they have been\nsingled out for this austere duty, by what law, or by whom, it is\nnot in our power to divine. To this mission of theirs they remain\ninflexibly, tranquilly faithful; and though I have many times tried\nthe experiment of sprinkling a colouring matter over one of these\nresigned Cinderellas, that are moreover easily to be distinguished\nin the midst of the rejoicing crowds by their serious and somewhat\nponderous gait, it is rarely indeed that I have found one of them in\nthe delirious throng of the swarm.\n\nAnd yet, the attraction must seem irresistible. It is the ecstasy of\nthe perhaps unconscious sacrifice the god has ordained; it is the\nfestival of honey, the triumph of the race, the victory of the\nfuture: the one day of joy, of forgetfulness and folly; the only\nSunday known to the bees. It would appear to be also the solitary\nday upon which all eat their fill, and revel, to heart's content, in\nthe delights of the treasure themselves have amassed. It is as\nthough they were prisoners to whom freedom at last had been given,\nwho had suddenly been led to a land of refreshment and plenty. They\nexult, they cannot contain the joy that is in them. They come and go\naimlessly,--they whose every movement has always its precise and\nuseful purpose--they depart and return, sally forth once again to\nsee if the queen be ready, to excite their sisters, to beguile the\ntedium of waiting. They fly much higher than is their wont, and the\nleaves of the mighty trees round about all quiver responsive. They\nhave left trouble behind, and care. They no longer are meddling and\nfierce, aggressive, suspicious, untamable, angry. Man--the unknown\nmaster whose sway they never acknowledge, who can subdue them only\nby conforming to their every law, to their habits of labour, and\nfollowing step by step the path that is traced in their life by an\nintellect nothing can thwart or turn from its purpose, by a spirit\nwhose aim is always the good of the morrow--on this day man can\napproach them, can divide the glittering curtain they form as they\nfly round and round in songful circles; he can take them up in his\nhand, and gather them as he would a bunch of grapes; for to-day, in\ntheir gladness, possessing nothing, but full of faith in the future,\nthey will submit to everything and injure no one, provided only they\nbe not separated from the queen who bears that future within her.\n\n{25}\n\nBut the veritable signal has not yet been given. In the hive there\nis indescribable confusion; and a disorder whose meaning escapes us.\nAt ordinary times each bee, once returned to her home, would appear\nto forget her possession of wings; and will pursue her active\nlabours, making scarcely a movement, on that particular spot in the\nhive that her special duties assign. But to-day they all seem\nbewitched; they fly in dense circles round and round the polished\nwalls like a living jelly stirred by an invisible hand. The\ntemperature within rises rapidly,--to such a degree, at times, that\nthe wax of the buildings will soften, and twist out of shape. The\nqueen, who ordinarily never will stir from the centre of the comb,\nnow rushes wildly, in breathless excitement, over the surface of the\nvehement crowd that turn and turn on themselves. Is she hastening\ntheir departure, or trying to delay it? Does she command, or haply\nimplore? Does this prodigious emotion issue from her, or is she its\nvictim? Such knowledge as we possess of the general psychology of\nthe bee warrants the belief that the swarming always takes place\nagainst the old sovereign's will. For indeed the ascetic workers,\nher daughters, regard the queen above all as the organ of love,\nindispensable, certainly, and sacred, but in herself somewhat\nunconscious, and often of feeble mind. They treat her like a mother\nin her dotage. Their respect for her, their tenderness, is heroic\nand boundless. The purest honey, specially distilled and almost\nentirely assimilable, is reserved for her use alone. She has an\nescort that watches over her by day and by night, that facilitates\nher maternal duties and gets ready the cells wherein the eggs shall\nbe laid; she has loving attendants who pet and caress her, feed her\nand clean her, and even absorb her excrement. Should the least\naccident befall her the news will spread quickly from group to\ngroup, and the whole population will rush to and fro in loud\nlamentation. Seize her, imprison her, take her away from the hive at\na time when the bees shall have no hope of filling her place, owing,\nit may be, to her having left no predestined descendants, or to\nthere being no larvae less than three days old (for a special\nnourishment is capable of transforming these into royal nymphs, such\nbeing the grand democratic principle of the hive, and a counterpoise\nto the prerogatives of maternal predestination), and then, her loss\nonce known, after two or three hours, perhaps, for the city is vast;\nwork will cease in almost every direction. The young will no longer\nbe cared for; part of the inhabitants will wander in every\ndirection, seeking their mother, in quest of whom others will sally\nforth from the hive; the workers engaged in constructing the comb\nwill fall asunder and scatter, the foragers no longer will visit the\nflowers, the guard at the entrance will abandon their post; and\nforeign marauders, all the parasites of honey, forever on the watch\nfor opportunities of plunder, will freely enter and leave without\nany one giving a thought to the defence of the treasure that has\nbeen so laboriously gathered. And poverty, little by little, will\nsteal into the city; the population will dwindle; and the wretched\ninhabitants soon will perish of distress and despair, though every\nflower of summer burst into bloom before them.\n\nBut let the queen be restored before her loss has become an\naccomplished, irremediable fact, before the bees have grown too\nprofoundly demoralised,--for in this they resemble men: a prolonged\nregret, or misfortune, will impair their intellect and degrade their\ncharacter,--let her be restored but a few hours later, and they will\nreceive her with extraordinary, pathetic welcome. They will flock\neagerly round her; excited groups will climb over each other in\ntheir anxiety to draw near; as she passes among them they will\ncaress her with the long antennae that contain so many organs as yet\nunexplained; they will present her with honey, and escort her\ntumultuously back to the royal chamber. And order at once is\nrestored, work resumed, from the central comb of the brood-cells to\nthe furthest annex where the surplus honey is stored; the foragers\ngo forth, in long black files, to return, in less than three minutes\nsometimes, laden with nectar and pollen; streets are swept,\nparasites and marauders killed or expelled; and the hive soon\nresounds with the gentle, monotonous cadence of the strange hymn of\nrejoicing, which is, it would seem, the hymn of the royal presence.\n\n{26}\n\nThere are numberless instances of the absolute attachment and\ndevotion that the workers display towards their queen. Should\ndisaster befall the little republic; should the hive or the comb\ncollapse, should man prove ignorant, or brutal; should they suffer\nfrom famine, from cold or disease, and perish by thousands, it will\nstill be almost invariably found that the queen will be safe and\nalive, beneath the corpses of her faithful daughters. For they will\nprotect her, help her to escape; their bodies will provide both\nrampart and shelter; for her will be the last drop of honey, the\nwholesomest food. And be the disaster never so great, the city of\nvirgins will not lose heart so long as the queen be alive. Break\ntheir comb twenty times in succession, take twenty times from them\ntheir young and their food, you still shall never succeed in making\nthem doubt of the future; and though they be starving, and their\nnumber so small that it scarcely suffices to shield their mother\nfrom the enemy's gaze, they will set about to reorganize the laws of\nthe colony, and to provide for what is most pressing; they will\ndistribute the work in accordance with the new necessities of this\ndisastrous moment, and thereupon will immediately re-assume their\nlabours with an ardour, a patience, a tenacity and intelligence not\noften to be found existing to such a degree in nature, true though\nit be that most of its creatures display more confidence and courage\nthan man.\n\nBut the presence of the queen is not even essential for their\ndiscouragement to vanish and their love to endure. It is enough that\nshe should have left, at the moment of her death or departure, the\nvery slenderest hope of descendants. \"We have seen a colony,\" says\nLangstroth, one of the fathers of modern apiculture, \"that had not\nbees sufficient to cover a comb of three inches square, and yet\nendeavoured to rear a queen. For two whole weeks did they cherish\nthis hope; finally, when their number was reduced by one-half, their\nqueen was born, but her wings were imperfect, and she was unable to\nfly. Impotent as she was, her bees did not treat her with the less\nrespect. A week more, and there remained hardly a dozen bees; yet a\nfew days, and the queen had vanished, leaving a few wretched,\ninconsolable insects upon the combs.\"\n\nThere is another instance, and one that reveals most palpably the\nultimate gesture of filial love and devotion. It arises from one of\nthe extraordinary ordeals that our recent and tyrannical\nintervention inflicts on these hapless, unflinching heroines. I, in\ncommon with all amateur bee-keepers, have more than once had\nimpregnated queens sent me from Italy; for the Italian species is\nmore prolific, stronger, more active, and gentler than our own. It\nis the custom to forward them in small, perforated boxes. In these\nsome food is placed, and the queen enclosed, together with a certain\nnumber of workers, selected as far as possible from among the oldest\nbees in the hive. (The age of the bee can be readily told by its\nbody, which gradually becomes more polished, thinner, and almost\nbald; and more particularly by the wings, which hard work uses and\ntears.) It is their mission to feed the queen during the journey, to\ntend her and guard her. I would frequently find, when the box\narrived, that nearly every one of the workers was dead. On one\noccasion, indeed, they had all perished of hunger; but in this\ninstance as in all others the queen was alive, unharmed, and full of\nvigour; and the last of her companions had probably passed away in\nthe act of presenting the last drop of honey she held in her sac to\nthe queen, who was symbol of a life more precious, more vast than\nher own.\n\n{28}\n\nThis unwavering affection having come under the notice of man, he\nwas able to turn to his own advantage the qualities to which it\ngives rise, or that it perhaps contains: the admirable political\nsense, the passion for work, the perseverance, magnanimity, and\ndevotion to the future. It has allowed him, in the course of the\nlast few years, to a certain extent to domesticate these intractable\ninsects, though without their knowledge; for they yield to no\nforeign strength, and in their unconscious servitude obey only the\nlaws of their own adoption. Man may believe, if he choose, that,\npossessing the queen, he holds in his hand the destiny and soul of\nthe hive. In accordance with the manner in which he deals with\nher--as it were, plays with her--he can increase and hasten the\nswarm or restrict and retard it; he can unite or divide colonies,\nand direct the emigration of kingdoms. And yet it is none the less\ntrue that the queen is essentially merely a sort of living symbol,\nstanding, as all symbols must, for a vaster although less\nperceptible principle; and this principle the apiarist will do well\nto take into account, if he would not expose himself to more than\none unexpected reverse. For the bees are by no means deluded. The\npresence of the queen does not blind them to the existence of their\nveritable sovereign, immaterial and everlasting, which is no other\nthan their fixed idea. Why inquire as to whether this idea be\nconscious or not? Such speculation can have value only if our\nanxiety be to determine whether we should more rightly admire the\nbees that have the idea, or nature that has planted it in them.\nWherever it lodge, in the vast unknowable body or in the tiny ones\nthat we see, it merits our deepest attention; nor may it be out of\nplace here to observe that it is the habit we have of subordinating\nour wonder to accidents of origin or place, that so often causes us\nto lose the chance of deep admiration; which of all things in the\nworld is the most helpful to us.\n\n{29}\n\nThese conjectures may perhaps be regarded as exceedingly\nventuresome, and possibly also as unduly human. It may be urged that\nthe bees, in all probability, have no idea of the kind; that their\ncare for the future, love of the race, and many other feelings we\nchoose to ascribe to them, are truly no more than forms assumed by\nthe necessities of life, the fear of suffering or death, and the\nattraction of pleasure. Let it be so; look on it all as a figure of\nspeech; it is a matter to which I attach no importance. The one\nthing certain here, as it is the one thing certain in all other\ncases, is that, under special circumstances, the bees will treat\ntheir queen in a special manner. The rest is all mystery, around\nwhich we only can weave more or less ingenious and pleasant\nconjecture. And yet, were we speaking of man in the manner wherein\nit were wise perhaps to speak of the bee, is there very much more we\ncould say? He too yields only to necessity, the attraction of\npleasure, and the fear of suffering; and what we call our intellect\nhas the same origin and mission as what in animals we choose to term\ninstinct. We do certain things, whose results we conceive to be\nknown to us; other things happen, and we flatter ourselves that we\nare better equipped than animals can be to divine their cause; but,\napart from the fact that this supposition rests on no very solid\nfoundation, events of this nature are rare and infinitesimal,\ncompared with the vast mass of others that elude comprehension; and\nall, the pettiest and the most sublime, the best known and the most\ninexplicable, the nearest and the most distant, come to pass in a\nnight so profound that our blindness may well be almost as great as\nthat we suppose in the bee.\n\n{30}\n\n\"All must agree,\" remarks Buffon, who has a somewhat amusing\nprejudice against the bee,--\"all must agree that these flies,\nindividually considered, possess far less genius than the dog, the\nmonkey, or the majority of animals; that they display far less\ndocility, attachment, or sentiment; that they have, in a word, less\nqualities that relate to our own; and from that we may conclude that\ntheir apparent intelligence derives only from their assembled\nmultitude; nor does this union even argue intelligence, for it is\ngoverned by no moral considerations, it being without their consent\nthat they find themselves gathered together. This society,\ntherefore, is no more than a physical assemblage ordained by nature,\nand independent either of knowledge, or reason, or aim. The\nmother-bee produces ten thousand individuals at a time, and in the\nsame place; these ten thousand individuals, were they a thousand\ntimes stupider than I suppose them to be, would be compelled, for\nthe mere purpose of existence, to contrive some form of arrangement;\nand, assuming that they had begun by injuring each other, they\nwould, as each one possesses the same strength as its fellow, soon\nhave ended by doing each other the least possible harm, or, in other\nwords, by rendering assistance. They have the appearance of\nunderstanding each other, and of working for a common aim; and the\nobserver, therefore, is apt to endow them with reasons and intellect\nthat they truly are far from possessing. He will pretend to account\nfor each action, show a reason behind every movement; and from\nthence the gradation is easy to proclaiming them marvels, or\nmonsters, of innumerable ideas. Whereas the truth is that these ten\nthousand individuals, that have been produced simultaneously, that\nhave lived together, and undergone metamorphosis at more or less the\nsame time, cannot fail all to do the same thing, and are compelled,\nhowever slight the sentiment within them, to adopt common habits, to\nlive in accord and union, to busy themselves with their dwelling, to\nreturn to it after their journeys, etc., etc. And on this foundation\narise the architecture, the geometry, the order, the foresight, love\nof country,--in a word, the republic; all springing, as we have\nseen, from the admiration of the observer.\" There we have our bees\nexplained in a very different fashion. And if it seem more natural\nat first, is it not for the very simple reason that it really\nexplains almost nothing? I will not allude to the material errors\nthis chapter contains; I will only ask whether the mere fact of the\nbees accepting a common existence, while doing each other the least\npossible harm, does not in itself argue a certain intelligence. And\ndoes not this intelligence appear the more remarkable to us as we\nmore closely examine the fashion in which these \"ten thousand\nindividuals\" avoid hurting each other, and end by giving assistance?\nAnd further, is this not the history of ourselves; and does not all\nthat the angry old naturalist says apply equally to every one of our\nhuman societies? And yet once again: if the bee is indeed to be\ncredited with none of the feelings or ideas that we have ascribed to\nit, shall we not very willingly shift the ground of our wonder? If\nwe must not admire the bee, we will then admire nature; the moment\nmust always come when admiration can be no longer denied us, nor\nshall there be loss to us through our having retreated, or waited.\n\nHowever these things may be, and without abandoning this conjecture\nof ours, that at least has the advantage of connecting in our mind\ncertain actions that have evident connection in fact, it is certain\nthat the bees have far less adoration for the queen herself than for\nthe infinite future of the race that she represents. They are not\nsentimental; and should one of their number return from work so\nseverely wounded as to be held incapable of further service, they\nwill ruthlessly expel her from the hive. And yet it cannot be said\nthat they are altogether incapable of a kind of personal attachment\ntowards their mother. They will recognise her from among all. Even\nwhen she is old, crippled, and wretched, the sentinels at the door\nwill never allow another queen to enter the hive, though she be\nyoung and fruitful. It is true that this is one of the fundamental\nprinciples of their polity, and never relaxed except at times of\nabundant honey, in favour of some foreign worker who shall be well\nladen with food.\n\nWhen the queen has become completely sterile, the bees will rear a\ncertain number of royal princesses to fill her place. But what\nbecomes of the old sovereign? As to this we have no precise\nknowledge; but it has happened, at times, that apiarists have found\na magnificent queen, in the flower of her age, on the central comb\nof the hive; and in some obscure corner, right at the back, the\ngaunt, decrepit \"old mistress,\" as they call her in Normandy. In\nsuch cases it would seem that the bees have to exercise the greatest\ncare to protect her from the hatred of the vigorous rival who longs\nfor her death; for queen hates queen so fiercely that two who might\nhappen to be under the same roof would immediately fly at each\nother. It would be pleasant to believe that the bees are thus\nproviding their ancient sovereign with a humble shelter in a remote\ncorner of the city, where she may end her days in peace. Here again\nwe touch one of the thousand enigmas of the waxen city; and it is\nonce more proved to us that the habits and the policy of the bees\nare by no means narrow, or rigidly predetermined; and that their\nactions have motives far more complex than we are inclined to\nsuppose.\n\n{32}\n\nBut we are constantly tampering with what they must regard as\nimmovable laws of nature; constantly placing the bees in a position\nthat may be compared to that in which we should ourselves be placed\nwere the laws of space and gravity, of light and heat, to be\nsuddenly suppressed around us. What are the bees to do when we, by\nforce or by fraud, introduce a second queen into the city? It is\nprobable that, in a state of nature, thanks to the sentinels at the\ngate, such an event has never occurred since they first came into\nthe world. But this prodigious conjuncture does not scatter their\nwits; they still contrive to reconcile the two principles that they\nappear to regard in the light of divine commands. The first is that\nof unique maternity, never infringed except in the case of sterility\nin the reigning queen, and even then only very exceptionally; the\nsecond is more curious still, and, although never transgressed,\nsusceptible of what may almost be termed a Judaic evasion. It is the\nlaw that invests the person of a queen, whoever she be, with a sort\nof inviolability. It would be a simple matter for the bees to pierce\nthe intruder with their myriad envenomed stings; she would die on\nthe spot, and they would merely have to remove the corpse from the\nhive. But though this sting is always held ready to strike, though\nthey make constant use of it in their fights among themselves,_ they\nwill never draw it against a queen;_ nor will a queen ever draw hers\non a man, an animal, or an ordinary bee. She will never unsheath her\nroyal weapon--curved, in scimeter fashion, instead of being\nstraight, like that of the ordinary bee--save only in the case of\nher doing battle with an equal: in other words, with a sister queen.\n\nNo bee, it would seem, dare take on herself the horror of direct and\nbloody regicide. Whenever, therefore, the good order and prosperity\nof the republic appear to demand that a queen shall die, they\nendeavour to give to her death some semblance of natural decease,\nand by infinite subdivision of the crime, to render it almost\nanonymous.\n\nThey will, therefore, to use the picturesque expression of the\napiarist, \"ball\" the queenly intruder; in other words, they will\nentirely surround her with their innumerable interlaced bodies. They\nwill thus form a sort of living prison wherein the captive is unable\nto move; and in this prison they will keep her for twenty-four\nhours, if need be, till the victim die of suffocation or hunger.\n\nBut if, at this moment, the legitimate queen draw near, and,\nscenting a rival, appear disposed to attack her, the living walls of\nthe prison will at once fly open; and the bees, forming a circle\naround the two enemies, will eagerly watch the strange duel that\nwill ensue, though remaining strictly impartial, and taking no share\nin it. For it is written that against a mother the sting may be\ndrawn by a mother alone; only she who bears in her flanks close on\ntwo million lives appears to possess the right with one blow to\ninflict close on two million deaths.\n\nBut if the combat last too long, without any result, if the circular\nweapons glide harmlessly over the heavy cuirasses, if one of the\nqueens appear anxious to make her escape, then, be she the\nlegitimate sovereign or be she the stranger, she will at once be\nseized and lodged in the living prison until such time as she\nmanifest once more the desire to attack her foe. It is right to add,\nhowever, that the numerous experiments that have been made on this\nsubject have almost invariably resulted in the victory of the\nreigning queen, owing perhaps to the extra courage and ardour she\nderives from the knowledge that she is at home, with her subjects\naround her, or to the fact that the bees, however impartial while\nthe fight is in progress, may possibly display some favouritism in\ntheir manner of imprisoning the rivals; for their mother would seem\nscarcely to suffer from the confinement, whereas the stranger almost\nalways emerges in an appreciably bruised and enfeebled condition.\n\n{33}\n\nThere is one simple experiment which proves the readiness with which\nthe bees will recognise their queen, and the depth of the attachment\nthey bear her. Remove her from the hive, and there will soon be\nmanifest all the phenomena of anguish and distress that I have\ndescribed in a preceding chapter. Replace her, a few hours later,\nand all her daughters will hasten towards her, offering honey. One\nsection will form a lane, for her to pass through; others, with head\nbent low and abdomen high in the air, will describe before her great\nsemicircles throbbing with sound; hymning, doubtless, the chant of\nwelcome their rites dictate for moments of supreme happiness or\nsolemn respect.\n\nBut let it not be imagined that a foreign queen may with impunity be\nsubstituted for the legitimate mother. The bees will at once detect\nthe imposture; the intruder will be seized, and immediately enclosed\nin the terrible, tumultuous prison, whose obstinate walls will be\nrelieved, as it were, till she dies; for in this particular instance\nit hardly ever occurs that the stranger emerges alive.\n\nAnd here it is curious to note to what diplomacy and elaborate\nstratagem man is compelled to resort in order to delude these little\nsagacious insects, and bend them to his will. In their unswerving\nloyalty, they will accept the most unexpected events with touching\ncourage, regarding them probably as some new and inevitable fatal\ncaprice of nature. And, indeed, all this diplomacy notwithstanding,\nin the desperate confusion that may follow one of these hazardous\nexpedients, it is on the admirable good sense of the bee that man\nalways, and almost empirically, relies; on the inexhaustible\ntreasure of their marvellous laws and customs, on their love of\npeace and order, their devotion to the public weal, and fidelity to\nthe future; on the adroit strength, the earnest disinterestedness,\nof their character, and, above all, on the untiring devotion with\nwhich they fulfil their duty. But the enumeration of such procedures\nbelongs rather to technical treatises on apiculture, and would take\nus too far.*\n\n     *The stranger queen is usually brought into the hive\n     enclosed in a little cage, with iron wires, which is hung\n     between two combs. The cage has a door made of wax and\n     honey, which the workers, their anger over, proceed to gnaw,\n     thus freeing the prisoner, whom they will often receive\n     without any ill-will. Mr. Simmins, manager of the great\n     apiary at Rottingdean, has recently discovered another\n     method of introducing a queen, which, being extremely simple\n     and almost invariably successful, bids fair to be generally\n     adopted by apiarists who value their art. It is the\n     behaviour of the queen that usually makes her introduction a\n     matter of so great difficulty. She is almost distracted,\n     flies to and fro, hides, and generally comports herself as\n     an intruder, thus arousing the suspicions of the bees, which\n     are soon confirmed by the workers' examination. Mr. Simmins\n     at first completely isolates the queen he intends to\n     introduce, and lets her fast for half an hour. He then lifts\n     a corner of the inner cover of the orphaned hive, and places\n     the strange queen on the top of one of the combs. Her former\n     isolation having terrified her, she is delighted to find\n     herself in the midst of the bees; and being famished she\n     eagerly accepts the food they offer her. The workers,\n     deceived by her assurance, do not examine her, but probably\n     imagine that their old queen has returned, and welcome her\n     joyfully. It would seem, therefore, that, contrary to the\n     opinion of Huber and all other investigators, the bees are\n     not capable of recognising their queen. In any event, the\n     two explanations, which are both equally plausible--though\n     the truth may lurk, perhaps, in a third, that is not yet\n     known to us--only prove once again how complex and obscure\n     is the psychology of the bee. And from this, as from all\n     questions that deal with life, we can draw one conclusion\n     only: that, till better obtain, curiosity still must rule in\n     our heart.\n\n{34}\n\nAs regards this personal affection of which we have spoken, there is\none word more to be said. That such affection exists is certain, but\nit is certain also that its memory is exceedingly short-lived. Dare\nto replace in her kingdom a mother whose exile has lasted some days,\nand her indignant daughters will receive her in such a fashion as to\ncompel you hastily to snatch her from the deadly imprisonment\nreserved for unknown queens. For the bees have had time to transform\na dozen workers' habitations into royal cells, and the future of the\nrace is no longer in danger. Their affection will increase, or\ndwindle, in the degree that the queen represents the future. Thus we\noften find, when a virgin queen is performing the perilous ceremony\nknown as the \"nuptial flight,\" of which I will speak later, that her\nsubjects are so fearful of losing her that they will all accompany\nher on this tragic and distant quest of love. This they will never\ndo, however, if they be provided with a fragment of comb containing\nbrood-cells, whence they shall be able to rear other queens. Indeed,\ntheir affection even may turn into fury and hatred should their\nsovereign fail in her duty to that sort of abstract divinity that we\nshould call future society, which the bees would appear to regard\nfar more seriously than we. It happens, for instance, at times, that\napiarists for various reasons will prevent the queen from joining a\nswarm by inserting a trellis into the hive; the nimble and slender\nworkers will flit through it, unperceiving, but to the poor slave of\nlove, heavier and more corpulent than her daughters, it offers an\nimpassable barrier. The bees, when they find that the queen has not\nfollowed, will return to the hive, and scold the unfortunate\nprisoner, hustle and ill-treat her, accusing her of laziness,\nprobably, or suspecting her of feeble mind. On their second\ndeparture, when they find that she still has not followed, her\nill-faith becomes evident to them, and their attacks grow more\nserious. And finally, when they shall have gone forth once more, and\nstill with the same result, they will almost always condemn her, as\nbeing irremediably faithless to her destiny and to the future of the\nrace, and put her to death in the royal prison.\n\n{35}\n\nIt is to the future, therefore, that the bees subordinate all\nthings; and with a foresight, a harmonious co-operation, a skill in\ninterpreting events and turning them to the best advantage, that\nmust compel our heartiest admiration, particularly when we remember\nin how startling and supernatural a light our recent intervention\nmust present itself to them. It may be said, perhaps, that in the\nlast instance we have given, they place a very false construction\nupon the queen's inability to follow them. But would our powers of\ndiscernment be so very much subtler, if an intelligence of an order\nentirely different from our own, and served by a body so colossal\nthat its movements were almost as imperceptible as those of a\nnatural phenomenon, were to divert itself by laying traps of this\nkind for us? Has it not taken us thousands of years to invent a\nsufficiently plausible explanation for the thunderbolt? There is a\ncertain feebleness that overwhelms every intellect the moment it\nemerges from its own sphere, and is brought face to face with events\nnot of its own initiation. And, besides, it is quite possible that\nif this ordeal of the trellis were to obtain more regularly and\ngenerally among the bees, they would end by detecting the pitfall,\nand by taking steps to elude it. They have mastered the intricacies\nof the movable comb, of the sections that compel them to store their\nsurplus honey in little boxes symmetrically piled; and in the case\nof the still more extraordinary innovation of foundation wax, where\nthe cells are indicated only by a slender circumference of wax, they\nare able at once to grasp the advantages this new system presents;\nthey most carefully extend the wax, and thus, without loss of time\nor labour, construct perfect cells. So long as the event that\nconfronts them appear not a snare devised by some cunning and\nmalicious god, the bees may be trusted always to discover the best,\nnay, the only human, solution. Let me cite an instance; an event,\nthat, though occurring in nature, is still in itself wholly\nabnormal. I refer to the manner in which the bees will dispose of a\nmouse or a slug that may happen to have found its way into the hive.\nThe intruder killed, they have to deal with the body, which will\nvery soon poison their dwelling. If it be impossible for them to\nexpel or dismember it, they will proceed methodically and\nhermetically to enclose it in a veritable sepulchre of propolis and\nwax, which will tower fantastically above the ordinary monuments of\nthe city. In one of my hives last year I discovered three such tombs\nside by side, erected with party-walls, like the cells of the comb,\nso that no wax should be wasted. These tombs the prudent\ngrave-diggers had raised over the remains of three snails that a\nchild had introduced into the hive. As a rule, when dealing with\nsnails, they will be content to seal up with wax the orifice of the\nshell. But in this case the shells were more or less cracked and\nbroken; and they had considered it simpler, therefore, to bury the\nentire snail; and had further contrived, in order that circulation\nin the entrance-hall might not be impeded, a number of galleries\nexactly proportionate, not to their own girth, but to that of the\nmales, which are almost twice as large as themselves. Does not this\ninstance, and the one that follows, warrant our believing that they\nwould in time discover the cause of the queen's inability to follow\nthem through the trellis? They have a very nice sense of proportion,\nand of the space required for the movement of bodies. In the regions\nwhere the hideous death's-head sphinx, the acherontia atropos,\nabounds, they construct little pillars of wax at the entrance of the\nhive, so restricting the dimension as to prevent the passage of the\nnocturnal marauder's enormous abdomen.\n\n{36}\n\nBut enough on this point; were I to cite every instance I should\nnever have done. To return to the queen, whose position in the hive,\nand the part that she plays therein, we shall most fitly describe by\ndeclaring her to be the captive heart of the city, and the centre\naround which its intelligence revolves. Unique sovereign though she\nbe, she is also the royal servant, the responsible delegate of love,\nand its captive custodian. Her people serve her and venerate her;\nbut they never forget that it is not to her person that their homage\nis given, but to the mission that she fulfils, and the destiny she\nrepresents. It would not be easy for us to find a human republic\nwhose scheme comprised more of the desires of our planet; or a\ndemocracy that offered an independence more perfect and rational,\ncombined with a submission more logical and more complete. And\nnowhere, surely, should we discover more painful and absolute\nsacrifice. Let it not be imagined that I admire this sacrifice to\nthe extent that I admire its results. It were evidently to be\ndesired that these results might be obtained at the cost of less\nrenouncement and suffering. But, the principle once accepted,--and\nthis is needful, perhaps, in the scheme of our globe,--its\norganisation compels our wonder. Whatever the human truth on this\npoint may be, life, in the hive, is not looked on as a series of\nmore or less pleasant hours, whereof it is wise that those moments\nonly should be soured and embittered that are essential for\nmaintaining existence. The bees regard it as a great common duty,\nimpartially distributed amongst them all, and tending towards a\nfuture that goes further and further back ever since the world\nbegan. And, for the sake of this future, each one renounces more\nthan half of her rights and her joys. The queen bids farewell to\nfreedom, the light of day, and the calyx of flowers; the workers\ngive five or six years of their life, and shall never know love, or\nthe joys of maternity. The queen's brain turns to pulp, that the\nreproductive organs may profit; in the workers these organs atrophy,\nto the benefit of their intelligence. Nor would it be fair to allege\nthat the will plays no part in all these renouncements. We have seen\nthat each worker's larva can be transformed into a queen if lodged\nand fed on the royal plan; and similarly could each royal larva be\nturned into worker if her food were changed and her cell reduced.\nThese mysterious elections take place every day in the golden shade\nof the hive. It is not chance that controls them, but a wisdom whose\ndeep loyalty, gravity, and unsleeping watchfulness man alone can\nbetray: a wisdom that makes and unmakes, and keeps careful watch\nover all that happens within and without the city. If sudden flowers\nabound, or the queen grow old, or less fruitful; if population\nincrease, and be pressed for room, you then shall find that the bees\nwill proceed to rear royal cells. But these cells may be destroyed\nif the harvest fail, or the hive be enlarged. Often they will be\nretained so long as the young queen have not accomplished, or\nsucceeded in, her marriage flight,--to be at once annihilated when\nshe returns, trailing behind her, trophy-wise, the infallible sign\nof her impregnation. Who shall say where the wisdom resides that can\nthus balance present and future, and prefer what is not yet visible\nto that which already is seen? Where the anonymous prudence that\nselects and abandons, raises and lowers; that of so many workers\nmakes so many queens, and of so many mothers can make a people of\nvirgins? We have said elsewhere that it lodged in the \"Spirit of the\nHive,\" but where shall this spirit of the hive be looked for if not\nin the assembly of workers? To be convinced of its residence there,\nwe need not perhaps have studied so closely the habits of this royal\nrepublic. It was enough to place under the microscope, as Dujardin,\nBrandt, Girard, Vogel, and other entomologists have done, the little\nuncouth and careworn head of the virgin worker side by side with the\nsomewhat empty skull of the queen and the male's magnificent\ncranium, glistening with its twenty-six thousand eyes. Within this\ntiny head we should find the workings of the vastest and most\nmagnificent brain of the hive: the most beautiful and complex, the\nmost perfect, that, in another order and with a different\norganisation, is to be found in nature after that of man. Here\nagain, as in every quarter where the scheme of the world is known to\nus, there where the brain is, are authority and victory, veritable\nstrength and wisdom. And here again it is an almost invisible atom\nof this mysterious substance that organises and subjugates matter,\nand is able to create its own little triumphant and permanent place\nin the midst of the stupendous, inert forces of nothingness and\ndeath.*\n\n     *The brain of the bee, according to the calculation of\n     Dujardin, constitutes the 1-174th part of the insect's\n     weight, and that of the ant the 1-296th. On the other hand\n     the peduncular parts, whose development usually keeps pace\n     with the triumphs the intellect achieves over instinct, are\n     somewhat less important in the bee than in the ant. It would\n     seem to result from these estimates--which are of course\n     hypothetical, and deal with a matter that is exceedingly\n     obscure--that the intellectual value of the bee and the ant\n     must be more or less equal.\n\n{37}\n\nAnd now to return to our swarming hive, where the bees have already\ngiven the signal for departure, without waiting for these\nreflections of ours to come to an end. At the moment this signal is\ngiven, it is as though one sudden mad impulse had simultaneously\nflung open wide every single gate in the city; and the black throng\nissues, or rather pours forth in a double, or treble, or quadruple\njet, as the number of exits may be; in a tense, direct, vibrating,\nuninterrupted stream that at once dissolves and melts into space,\nwhere the myriad transparent, furious wings weave a tissue throbbing\nwith sound. And this for some moments will quiver right over the\nhive, with prodigious rustle of gossamer silks that countless\nelectrified hands might be ceaselessly rending and stitching; it\nfloats undulating, it trembles and flutters like a veil of gladness\ninvisible fingers support in the sky, and wave to and fro, from the\nflowers to the blue, expecting sublime advent or departure. And at\nlast one angle declines another is lifted; the radiant mantle unites\nits four sunlit corners; and like the wonderful carpet the\nfairy-tale speaks of, that flits across space to obey its master's\ncommand, it steers its straight course, bending forward a little as\nthough to hide in its folds the sacred presence of the future,\ntowards the willow, the pear-tree, or lime whereon the queen has\nalighted; and round her each rhythmical wave comes to rest, as\nthough on a nail of gold, and suspends its fabric of pearls and of\nluminous wings.\n\nAnd then there is silence once more; and, in an instant, this mighty\ntumult, this awful curtain apparently laden with unspeakable menace\nand anger, this bewildering golden hail that streamed upon every\nobject near--all these become merely a great, inoffensive, peaceful\ncluster of bees, composed of thousands of little motionless groups,\nthat patiently wait, as they hang from the branch of a tree, for the\nscouts to return who have gone in search of a place of shelter.\n\n{38}\n\nThis is the first stage of what is known as the \"primary swarm\" at\nwhose head the old queen is always to be found. They will settle as\na rule on the shrub or the tree that is nearest the hive; for the\nqueen, besides being weighed down by her eggs, has dwelt in constant\ndarkness ever since her marriage-flight, or the swarm of the\nprevious year; and is naturally reluctant to venture far into space,\nhaving indeed almost forgotten the use of her wings.\n\nThe bee-keeper waits till the mass be completely gathered together;\nthen, having covered his head with a large straw hat (for the most\ninoffensive bee will conceive itself caught in a trap if entangled\nin hair, and will infallibly use its sting), but, if he be\nexperienced, wearing neither mask nor veil; having taken the\nprecaution only of plunging his arms in cold water up to the elbow,\nhe proceeds to gather the swarm by vigorously shaking the bough from\nwhich the bees depend over an inverted hive. Into this hive the\ncluster will fall as heavily as an over-ripe fruit. Or, if the\nbranch be too stout, he can plunge a spoon into the mass; and\ndeposit where he will the living spoonfuls, as though he were\nladling out corn. He need have no fear of the bees that are buzzing\naround him, settling on his face and hands. The air resounds with\ntheir song of ecstasy, which is different far from their chant of\nanger. He need have no fear that the swarm will divide, or grow\nfierce, will scatter, or try to escape. This is a day, I repeat,\nwhen a spirit of holiday would seem to animate these mysterious\nworkers, a spirit of confidence, that apparently nothing can\ntrouble. They have detached themselves from the wealth they had to\ndefend, and they no longer recognise their enemies. They become\ninoffensive because of their happiness, though why they are happy we\nknow not, except it be because they are obeying their law. A moment\nof such blind happiness is accorded by nature at times to every\nliving thing, when she seeks to accomplish her end. Nor need we feel\nany surprise that here the bees are her dupes; we ourselves, who\nhave studied her movements these centuries past, and with a brain\nmore perfect than that of the bee, we too are her dupes, and know\nnot even yet whether she be benevolent or indifferent, or only\nbasely cruel.\n\nThere where the queen has alighted the swarm will remain; and had\nshe descended alone into the hive, the bees would have followed, in\nlong black files, as soon as intelligence had reached them of the\nmaternal retreat. The majority will hasten to her, with utmost\neagerness; but large numbers will pause for an instant on the\nthreshold of the unknown abode, and there will describe the circles\nof solemn rejoicing with which it is their habit to celebrate happy\nevents. \"They are beating to arms,\" say the French peasants. And\nthen the strange home will at once be accepted, and its remotest\ncorners explored; its position in the apiary, its form, its colour,\nare grasped and retained in these thousands of prudent and faithful\nlittle memories. Careful note is taken of the neighbouring\nlandmarks, the new city is founded, and its place established in the\nmind and the heart of all its inhabitants; the walls resound with\nthe love-hymn of the royal presence, and work begins.\n\n{39}\n\nBut if the swarm be not gathered by man, its history will not end\nhere. It will remain suspended on the branch until the return of the\nworkers, who, acting as scouts, winged quartermasters, as it were,\nhave at the very first moment of swarming sallied forth in all\ndirections in search of a lodging. They return one by one, and\nrender account of their mission; and as it is manifestly impossible\nfor us to fathom the thought of the bees, we can only interpret in\nhuman fashion the spectacle that they present. We may regard it as\nprobable, therefore, that most careful attention is given to the\nreports of the various scouts. One of them it may be, dwells on the\nadvantage of some hollow tree it has seen; another is in favour of a\ncrevice in a ruinous wall, of a cavity in a grotto, or an abandoned\nburrow. The assembly often will pause and deliberate until the\nfollowing morning. Then at last the choice is made, and approved by\nall. At a given moment the entire mass stirs, disunites, sets in\nmotion, and then, in one sustained and impetuous flight, that this\ntime knows no obstacle, it will steer its straight course, over\nhedges and cornfields, over haystack and lake, over river and\nvillage, to its determined and always distant goal. It is rarely\nindeed that this second stage can be followed by man. The swarm\nreturns to nature; and we lose the track of its destiny.\n\n\n\n\nIII -- THE FOUNDATION OF THE CITY\n\n{40}\n\nLET us rather consider the proceedings of the swarm the apiarist\nshall have gathered into his hive. And first of all let us not be\nforgetful of the sacrifice these fifty thousand virgins have made,\nwho, as Ronsard sings,--\n\n    \"In a little body bear so true a heart,--\"\n\nand let us, yet once again, admire the courage with which they begin\nlife anew in the desert whereon they have fallen. They have\nforgotten the splendour and wealth of their native city, where\nexistence had been so admirably organised and certain, where the\nessence of every flower reminiscent of sunshine had enabled them to\nsmile at the menace of winter. There, asleep in the depths of their\ncradles, they have left thousands and thousands of daughters, whom\nthey never again will see. They have abandoned, not only the\nenormous treasure of pollen and propolis they had gathered together,\nbut also more than 120 pounds of honey; a quantity representing more\nthan twelve times the entire weight of the population, and close on\n600,000 times that of the individual bee. To man this would mean\n42,000 tons of provisions, a vast fleet of mighty ships laden with\nnourishment more precious than any known to us; for to the bee honey\nis a kind of liquid life, a species of chyle that is at once\nassimilated, with almost no waste whatever.\n\nHere, in the new abode, there is nothing; not a drop of honey, not a\nmorsel of wax; neither guiding-mark nor point of support. There is\nonly the dreary emptiness of an enormous monument that has nothing\nbut sides and roof. Within the smooth and rounded walls there only\nis darkness; and the enormous arch above rears itself over\nnothingness. But useless regrets are unknown to the bee; or in any\nevent it does not allow them to hinder its action. Far from being\ncast down by an ordeal before which every other courage would\nsuccumb, it displays greater ardour than ever. Scarcely has the hive\nbeen set in its place, or the disorder allayed that ensued on the\nbees' tumultuous fall, when we behold the clearest, most unexpected\ndivision in that entangled mass. The greater portion, forming in\nsolid columns, like an army obeying a definite order, will proceed\nto climb the vertical walls of the hive. The cupola reached, the\nfirst to arrive will cling with the claws of their anterior legs,\nthose that follow hang on to the first, and so in succession, until\nlong chains have been formed that serve as a bridge to the crowd\nthat rises and rises. And, by slow degrees, these chains, as their\nnumber increases, supporting each other and incessantly\ninterweaving, become garlands which, in their turn, the\nuninterrupted and constant ascension transforms into a thick,\ntriangular curtain, or rather a kind of compact and inverted cone,\nwhose apex attains the summit of the cupola, while its widening base\ndescends to a half, or two-thirds, of the entire height of the hive.\nAnd then, the last bee that an inward voice has impelled to form\npart of this group having added itself to the curtain suspended in\ndarkness, the ascension ceases; all movement slowly dies away in the\ndome; and, for long hours, this strange inverted cone will wait, in\na silence that almost seems awful, in a stillness one might regard\nas religious, for the mystery of wax to appear.\n\nIn the meantime the rest of the bees--those, that is, that remained\ndown below in the hive--have shown not the slightest desire to join\nthe others aloft, and pay no heed to the formation of the marvellous\ncurtain on whose folds a magical gift is soon to descend. They are\nsatisfied to examine the edifice and undertake the necessary\nlabours. They carefully sweep the floor, and remove, one by one,\ntwigs, grains of sand, and dead leaves; for the bees are almost\nfanatically cleanly, and when, in the depths of winter, severe\nfrosts retard too long what apiarists term their \"flight of\ncleanliness,\" rather than sully the hive they will perish by\nthousands of a terrible bowel-disease. The males alone are incurably\ncareless, and will impudently bestrew the surface of the comb with\ntheir droppings, which the workers are obliged to sweep as they\nhasten behind them.\n\nThe cleaning over, the bees of the profane group that form no part\nof the cone suspended in a sort of ecstasy, set to work minutely to\nsurvey the lower circumference of the common dwelling. Every crevice\nis passed in review, and filled, covered over with propolis; and the\nvarnishing of the walls is begun, from top to bottom. Guards are\nappointed to take their stand at the gate; and very soon a certain\nnumber of workers will go to the fields and return with their burden\nof pollen.\n\n{41}\n\nBefore raising the folds of the mysterious curtain beneath whose\nshelter are laid the veritable foundations of the home, let us\nendeavour to form some conception of the sureness of vision, the\naccurate calculation and industry our little people of emigrants\nwill be called to display in order to adapt this new dwelling to\ntheir requirements. In the void round about them they must lay the\nplans for their city, and logically mark out the site of the\nedifices that must be erected as economically and quickly as\npossible, for the queen, eager to lay, already is scattering her\neggs on the ground. And in this labyrinth of complicated buildings,\nso far existing only in imagination, laws of ventilation must be\nconsidered, of stability, solidity; resistance of the wax must not\nbe lost sight of, or the nature of the food to be stored, or the\nhabits of the queen; ready access must be contrived to all parts,\nand careful attention be given to the distribution of stores and\nhouses, passages and streets,--this however is in some measure\npre-established, the plan already arrived at being organically the\nbest,--and there are countless problems besides, whose enumeration\nwould take too long.\n\nNow, the form of the hive that man offers to the bee knows infinite\nvariety, from the hollow tree or earthenware vessel still obtaining\nin Asia and Africa, and the familiar bell-shaped constructions of\nstraw which we find in our farmers' kitchen-gardens or beneath their\nwindows, lost beneath masses of sunflowers, phlox, and hollyhock, to\nwhat may really be termed the factory of the model apiarist of\ntoday. An edifice, this, that can contain more than three hundred\npounds of honey, in three or four stories of superposed combs\nenclosed in a frame which permits of their being removed and\nhandled, of the harvest being extracted through centrifugal force by\nmeans of a turbine, and of their being then restored to their place\nlike a book in a well-ordered library.\n\nAnd one fine day the industry or caprice of man will install a\ndocile swarm in one of these disconcerting abodes. And there the\nlittle insect is expected to learn its bearings, to find its way, to\nestablish its home; to modify the seemingly unchangeable plans\ndictated by the nature of things. In this unfamiliar place it is\nrequired to determine the site of the winter storehouses, that must\nnot extend beyond the zone of heat that issues from the half-numbed\ninhabitants; it must divine the exact point where the brood-cells\nshall concentrate, under penalty of disaster should these be too\nhigh or too low, too near to or far from the door. The swarm, it may\nbe, has just left the trunk of a fallen tree, containing one long,\nnarrow, depressed, horizontal gallery; and it finds itself now in a\ntower-shaped edifice, whose roof is lost in gloom. Or, to take a\ncase that is more usual, perhaps, and one that will give some idea\nof the surprise habitually in store for the bees: after having lived\nfor centuries past beneath the straw dome of our village hives, they\nare suddenly transplanted to a species of mighty cupboard, or chest,\nthree or four times as large as the place of their birth; and\ninstalled in the midst of a confused scaffolding of superposed\nframes, some running parallel to the entrance and some\nperpendicular; the whole forming a bewildering network that obscures\nthe surfaces of their dwelling.\n\nAnd yet, for all this, there exists not a single instance of a swarm\nrefusing its duty, or allowing itself to be baffled or discouraged\nby the strangeness of its surroundings, except only in the case of\nthe new dwelling being absolutely uninhabitable, or impregnated with\nevil odours. And even then the bees will not be disheartened or\nbewildered; even then they will not abandon their mission. The swarm\nwill simply forsake the inhospitable abode, to seek better fortune\nsome little distance away. And similarly it can never be said of\nthem that they can be induced to undertake any illogical or foolish\ntask. Their common-sense has never been known to fail them; they\nhave never, at a loss for definite decision, erected at haphazard\nstructures of a wild or heterogeneous nature. Though you place the\nswarm in a sphere, a cube, or a pyramid, in an oval or polygonal\nbasket, you will find, on visiting the bees a few days later, that\nif this strange assembly of little independent intellects has\naccepted the new abode, they will at once, and unhesitatingly and\nunanimously have known how to select the most favourable, often\nhumanly speaking the only possible spot in this absurd habitation,\nin pursuance of a method whose principles may appear inflexible, but\nwhose results are strikingly vivid.\n\nWhen installed in one of the huge factories, bristling with frames,\nthat we mentioned just now, these frames will interest them only to\nthe extent in which they provide them with a basis or point of\ndeparture for their combs; and they very naturally pay not the\nslightest heed to the desires or intentions of man. But if the\napiarist have taken the precaution of surrounding the upper lath of\nsome of these frames with a narrow fillet of wax, they will be quick\nto perceive the advantage this tempting offer presents, and will\ncarefully extract the fillet, using their own wax as solder, and\nwill prolong the comb in accordance with the indicated plan.\nSimilarly--and the case is frequent in modern apiculture--if all the\nframes of the hive into which the bees have been gathered be covered\nfrom top to bottom with leaves of foundation-wax, they will not\nwaste time in erecting buildings across or beside these, or in\nproducing useless wax, but, finding that the work is already half\nfinished, they will be satisfied to deepen and lengthen each of the\ncells designed in the leaf, carefully rectifying these where there\nis the slightest deviation from the strictest vertical. Proceeding\nin this fashion, therefore, they will possess in a week a city as\nluxurious and well-constructed as the one they have quitted;\nwhereas, had they been thrown on their own resources, it would have\ntaken them two or three months to construct so great a profusion of\ndwellings and storehouses of shining wax.\n\n{43}\n\nThis power of appropriation may well be considered to overstep the\nlimit of instinct; and indeed there can be nothing more arbitrary\nthan the distinction we draw between instinct and intelligence\nproperly so-called. Sir John Lubbock, whose observations on ants,\nbees, and wasps are so interesting and so personal, is reluctant to\ncredit the bee, from the moment it forsakes the routine of its\nhabitual labour, with any power of discernment or reasoning. This\nattitude of his may be due in some measure to an unconscious bias in\nfavour of the ants, whose ways he has more specially noted; for the\nentomologist is always inclined to regard that insect as the more\nintelligent to which he has more particularly devoted himself, and\nwe have to be on our guard against this little personal\npredilection. As a proof of his theory, Sir John cites as an\ninstance an experiment within the reach of all. If you place in a\nbottle half a dozen bees and the same number of flies, and lay the\nbottle down horizontally, with its base to the window, you will find\nthat the bees will persist, till they die of exhaustion or hunger,\nin their endeavour to discover an issue through the glass; while the\nflies, in less than two minutes, will all have sallied forth through\nthe neck on the opposite side. From this Sir John Lubbock concludes\nthat the intelligence of the bee is exceedingly limited, and that\nthe fly shows far greater skill in extricating itself from a\ndifficulty, and finding its way. This conclusion, however, would not\nseem altogether flawless. Turn the transparent sphere twenty times,\nif you will, holding now the base, now the neck, to the window, and\nyou will find that the bees will turn twenty times with it, so as\nalways to face the light. It is their love of the light, it is their\nvery intelligence, that is their undoing in this experiment of the\nEnglish savant. They evidently imagine that the issue from every\nprison must be there where the light shines clearest; and they act\nin accordance, and persist in too logical action. To them glass is a\nsupernatural mystery they never have met with in nature; they have\nhad no experience of this suddenly impenetrable atmosphere; and, the\ngreater their intelligence, the more inadmissible, more\nincomprehensible, will the strange obstacle appear. Whereas the\nfeatherbrained flies, careless of logic as of the enigma of crystal,\ndisregarding the call of the light, flutter wildly hither and\nthither, and, meeting here the good fortune that often waits on the\nsimple, who find salvation there where the wiser will perish,\nnecessarily end by discovering the friendly opening that restores\ntheir liberty to them.\n\nThe same naturalist cites yet another proof of the bees' lack of\nintelligence, and discovers it in the following quotation from the\ngreat American apiarist, the venerable and paternal Langstroth:--\n\n\"As the fly was not intended to banquet on blossoms, but on\nsubstances in which it might easily be drowned, it cautiously\nalights on the edge of any vessel containing liquid food, and warily\nhelps itself; while the poor bee, plunging in headlong, speedily\nperishes. The sad fate of their unfortunate companions does not in\nthe least deter others who approach the tempting lure from madly\nalighting on the bodies of the dying and the dead, to share the same\nmiserable end. No one can understand the extent of their infatuation\nuntil he has seen a confectioner's shop assailed by myriads of\nhungry bees. I have seen thousands strained out from the syrups in\nwhich they had perished; thousands more alighting even on the\nboiling sweets; the floors covered and windows darkened with bees,\nsome crawling, others flying, and others still so completely\nbesmeared as to be able neither to crawl nor to fly--not one in ten\nable to carry home its ill-gotten spoils, and yet the air filled\nwith new hosts of thoughtless comers.\"\n\nThis, however, seems to me no more conclusive than might be the\nspectacle of a battlefield, or of the ravages of alcoholism, to a\nsuperhuman observer bent on establishing the limits of human\nunderstanding. Indeed, less so, perhaps; for the situation of the\nbee, when compared with our own, is strange in this world. It was\nintended to live in the midst of an indifferent and unconscious\nnature, and not by the side of an extraordinary being who is forever\ndisturbing the most constant laws, and producing grandiose,\ninexplicable phenomena. In the natural order of things, in the\nmonotonous life of the forest, the madness Langstroth describes\nwould be possible only were some accident suddenly to destroy a hive\nfull of honey. But in this case, even, there would be no fatal\nglass, no boiling sugar or cloying syrup; no death or danger,\ntherefore, other than that to which every animal is exposed while\nseeking its prey.\n\nShould we be more successful than they in preserving our presence of\nmind if some strange power were at every step to ensnare our reason?\nLet us not be too hasty in condemning the bees for the folly whereof\nwe are the authors, or in deriding their intellect, which is as\npoorly equipped to foil our artifices as our own would be to foil\nthose of some superior creature unknown to us to-day, but on that\naccount not impossible. None such being known at present, we\nconclude that we stand on the topmost pinnacle of life on this\nearth; but this belief, after all, is by no means infallible. I am\nnot assuming that when our actions are unreasonable, or\ncontemptible, we merely fall into the snares that such a creature\nhas laid; though it is not inconceivable that this should one day be\nproved true. On the other hand, it cannot be wise to deny\nintelligence to the bee because it has not yet succeeded in\ndistinguishing us from the great ape or the bear. It is certain that\nthere are, in us and about us, influences and powers no less\ndissimilar whose distinction escapes us as readily.\n\nAnd finally, to end this apology, wherein I seem somewhat to have\nfallen into the error I laid to Sir John Lubbock's charge, does not\nthe capacity for folly so great in itself argue intelligence? For\nthus it is ever in the uncertain domain of the intellect, apparently\nthe most vacillating and precarious condition of matter. The same\nlight that falls on the intellect falls also on passion, whereof\nnone can tell whether it be the smoke of the flame or the wick. In\nthe case above it has not been mere animal desire to gorge\nthemselves with honey that has urged on the bees. They could do this\nat their leisure in the store-rooms at home. Watch them in an\nanalogous circumstance; follow them; you will see that, as soon as\ntheir sac is filled, they will return to the hive and add their\nspoil to the general store; and visit the marvellous vintage, and\nleave it, perhaps thirty times in an hour. Their admirable labours,\ntherefore, are inspired by a single desire: zeal to bring as much\nwealth as they can to the home of their sisters, which is also the\nhome of the future. When we discover a cause as disinterested for\nthe follies of men, we are apt to call them by another name.\n\n{44}\n\nHowever, the whole truth must be told. In the midst of the marvels\nof their industry, their policy, their sacrifice, one thing exists\nthat must always check and weaken our admiration; and this is the\nindifference with which they regard the misfortunes or death of\ntheir comrades. There is a strange duality in the character of the\nbee. In the heart of the hive all help and love each other. They are\nas united as the good thoughts that dwell in the same soul. Wound\none of them, and a thousand will sacrifice themselves to avenge its\ninjury. But outside the hive they no longer recognise each other.\nMutilate them, crush them,--or rather, do nothing of the kind; it\nwould be a useless cruelty, for the fact is established beyond any\ndoubt,--but were you to mutilate, or crush, on a piece of comb\nplaced a few steps from their dwelling, twenty or thirty bees that\nhave all issued from the same hive, those you have left untouched\nwill not even turn their heads. With their tongue, fantastic as a\nChinese weapon, they will tranquilly continue to absorb the liquid\nthey hold more precious than life, heedless of the agony whose last\ngestures almost are touching them, of the cries of distress that\narise all around. And when the comb is empty, so great is their\nanxiety that nothing shall be lost, that their eagerness to gather\nthe honey which clings to the victims will induce them tranquilly to\nclimb over dead and dying, unmoved by the presence of the first and\nnever dreaming of helping the others. In this case, therefore, they\nhave no notion of the danger they run, seeing that they are wholly\nuntroubled by the death that is scattered about them, and they have\nnot the slightest sense of solidarity or pity. As regards the\ndanger, the explanation lies ready to hand; the bees know not the\nmeaning of fear, and, with the exception only of smoke, are afraid\nof nothing in the world. Outside the hive, they display extreme\ncondescension and forbearance. They will avoid whatever disturbs\nthem, and affect to ignore its existence, so long as it come not too\nclose; as though aware that this universe belongs to all, that each\none has his place there, and must needs be discreet and peaceful.\nBut beneath this indulgence is quietly hidden a heart so sure of\nitself that it never dreams of protesting. If they are threatened,\nthey will alter their course, but never attempt to escape. In the\nhive, however, they will not confine themselves to this passive\nignoring of peril. They will spring with incredible fury on any\nliving thing, ant or lion or man, that dares to profane the sacred\nark. This we may term anger, ridiculous obstinacy, or heroism,\naccording as our mind be disposed.\n\nBut of their want of solidarity outside the hive, and even of\nsympathy within it, I can find nothing to say. Are we to believe\nthat each form of intellect possesses its own strange limitation,\nand that the tiny flame which with so much difficulty at last burns\nits way through inert matter and issues forth from the brain, is\nstill so uncertain that if it illumine one point more strongly the\nothers are forced into blacker darkness? Here we find that the bees\n(or nature acting within them) have organised work in common, the\nlove and cult of the future, in a manner more perfect than can\nelsewhere be discovered. Is it for this reason that they have lost\nsight of all the rest? They give their love to what lies ahead of\nthem; we bestow ours on what is around. And we who love here,\nperhaps, have no love left for what is beyond. Nothing varies so\nmuch as the direction of pity or charity. We ourselves should\nformerly have been far less shocked than we are to-day at the\ninsensibility of the bees; and to many an ancient people such\nconduct would not have seemed blameworthy. And further, can we tell\nhow many of the things that we do would shock a being who might be\nwatching us as we watch the bees?\n\n\n\n\nIV -- THE LIFE OF THE BEE\n\n{45}\n\nLET us now, in order to form a clearer conception of the bees'\nintellectual power, proceed to consider their methods of\ninter-communication. There can be no doubting that they understand\neach other; and indeed it were surely impossible for a republic so\nconsiderable, wherein the labours are so varied and so marvellously\ncombined, to subsist amid the silence and spiritual isolation of so\nmany thousand creatures. They must be able, therefore, to give\nexpression to thoughts and feelings, by means either of a phonetic\nvocabulary or more probably of some kind of tactile language or\nmagnetic intuition, corresponding perhaps to senses and properties\nof matter wholly unknown to ourselves. And such intuition well might\nlodge in the mysterious antennae--containing, in the case of the\nworkers, according to Cheshire's calculation, twelve thousand\ntactile hairs and five thousand \"smell-hollows,\" wherewith they\nprobe and fathom the darkness. For the mutual understanding of the\nbees is not confined to their habitual labours; the extraordinary\nalso has a name and place in their language; as is proved by the\nmanner in which news, good or bad, normal or supernatural, will at\nonce spread in the hive; the loss or return of the mother, for\ninstance, the entrance of an enemy, the intrusion of a strange\nqueen, the approach of a band of marauders, the discovery of\ntreasure, etc. And so characteristic is their attitude, so\nessentially different their murmur at each of these special events,\nthat the experienced apiarist can without difficulty tell what is\ntroubling the crowd that moves distractedly to and fro in the\nshadow.\n\nIf you desire a more definite proof, you have but to watch a bee\nthat shall just have discovered a few drops of honey on your\nwindow-sill or the corner of your table. She will immediately gorge\nherself with it; and so eagerly, that you will have time, without\nfear of disturbing her, to mark her tiny belt with a touch of paint.\nBut this gluttony of hers is all on the surface; the honey will not\npass into the stomach proper, into what we might call her personal\nstomach, but remains in the sac, the first stomach,--that of the\ncommunity, if one may so express it. This reservoir full, the bee\nwill depart, but not with the free and thoughtless motion of the fly\nor butterfly; she, on the contrary, will for some moments fly\nbackwards, hovering eagerly about the table or window, with her head\nturned toward the room.\n\nShe is reconnoitring, fixing in her memory the exact position of the\ntreasure. Thereupon she will go to the hive, disgorge her plunder\ninto one of the provision-cells, and in three or four minutes\nreturn, and resume operations at the providential window. And thus,\nwhile the honey lasts, will she come and go, at intervals of every\nfive minutes, till evening, if need be; without interruption or\nrest; pursuing her regular journeys from the hive to the window,\nfrom the window back to the hive.\n\n{46}\n\nMany of those who have written on bees have thought fit to adorn the\ntruth; I myself have no such desire. For studies of this description\nto possess any interest, it is essential that they should remain\nabsolutely sincere. Had the conclusion been forced upon me that bees\nare incapable of communicating to each other news of an event\noccurring outside the hive, I should, I imagine, as a set-off\nagainst the slight disappointment this discovery would have\nentailed, have derived some degree of satisfaction in recognising\nonce more that man, after all, is the only truly intelligent being\nwho inhabits our globe. And there comes too a period of life when we\nhave more joy in saying the thing that is true than in saying the\nthing that merely is wonderful. Here as in every case the principle\nholds that, should the naked truth appear at the moment less\ninteresting, less great and noble than the imaginary embellishment\nit lies in our power to bestow, the fault must rest with ourselves\nwho still are unable to perceive the astonishing relation in which\nthis truth always must stand to our being, and to universal law; and\nin that case it is not the truth, but our intellect, that needs\nembellishment and ennoblement.\n\nI will frankly confess, therefore, that the marked bee often returns\nalone. Shall we believe that in bees there exists the same\ndifference of character as in men; that of them too some are\ngossips, and others prone to silence? A friend who stood by and\nwatched my experiment, declared that it was evidently mere\nselfishness or vanity that caused so many of the bees to refrain\nfrom revealing the source of their wealth, and from sharing with\nothers the glory of an achievement that must seem miraculous to the\nhive. These were sad vices indeed, which give not forth the sweet\nodour, so fragrant and loyal, that springs from the home of the many\nthousand sisters. But, whatever the cause, it often will also happen\nthat the bee whom fortune has favoured will return to the honey\naccompanied by two or three friends. I am aware that Sir John\nLubbock, in the appendix to his book on \"Ants, Bees, and Wasps,\"\nrecords the results of his investigations in long and minute tables;\nand from these we are led to infer that it is a matter of rarest\noccurrence for a single bee to follow the one who has made the\ndiscovery. The learned naturalist does not name the race of bees\nwhich he selected for his experiments, or tell us whether the\nconditions were especially unfavourable. As for myself I only can\nsay that my own tables, compiled with great care,--and every\npossible precaution having been taken that the bees should not be\ndirectly attracted by the odour of the honey,--establish that on an\naverage one bee will bring others four times out of ten.\n\nI even one day came across an extraordinary little Italian bee,\nwhose belt I had marked with a touch of blue paint. In her second\ntrip she brought two of her sisters, whom I imprisoned, without\ninterfering with her. She departed once more, and this time returned\nwith three friends, whom I again confined, and so till the end of\nthe afternoon, when, counting my prisoners, I found that she had\ntold the news to no less than eighteen bees.\n\nIn fact you will find, if you make this experiment yourself, that\ncommunication, if not general, at least is frequent. The possession\nof this faculty is so well known to American bee-hunters that they\ntrade upon it when engaged in searching for nests. Mr. Josiah Emery\nremarks on this head (quoted by Romanes in his \"Intellect of Animals\"):\n\"Going to a field or wood at a distance from tame bees with\ntheir box of honey, they gather up from the flowers and imprison one\nor more bees, and after they have become sufficiently gorged, let\nthem out to return to their home with their easily gotten load.\nWaiting patiently a longer or shorter time, according to the\ndistance of the bee-tree, the hunter scarcely ever fails to see the\nbee or bees return accompanied by other bees, which are in like\nmanner imprisoned till they in turn are filled; then one or more are\nlet out at places distant from each other, and the direction in\nwhich the bee flies noted; and thus, by a kind of triangulation, the\nposition of the bee-tree proximately ascertained.\"\n\n{47}\n\nYou will notice too in your experiments that the friends who appear\nto obey the behests of good fortune do not always fly together, and\nthat there will often be an interval of several seconds between the\ndifferent arrivals. As regards these communications, therefore, we\nmust ask ourselves the question that Sir John Lubbock has solved as\nfar as the ants are concerned.\n\nDo the comrades who flock to the treasure only follow the bee that\nfirst made the discovery, or have they been sent on by her, and do\nthey find it through following her indications, her description of\nthe place where it lies? Between these two hypotheses, that refer\ndirectly to the extent and working of the bee's intellect, there is\nobviously an enormous difference. The English savant has succeeded,\nby means of an elaborate and ingenious arrangement of gangways,\ncorridors, moats full of water, and flying bridges, in establishing\nthat the ants in such cases do no more than follow in the track of\nthe pioneering insect. With ants, that can be made to pass where one\nwill, such experiments are possible; but for the bee, whose wings\nthrow every avenue open, some other expedient must of necessity be\ncontrived. I imagined the following, which, though it gave no\ndefinite result, might yet, under more favourable conditions, and if\norganised more carefully, give rise to definite and satisfactory\nconclusions.\n\nMy study in the country is on the first floor, above a somewhat\nlofty room; sufficiently high, therefore, to be out of the ordinary\nrange of the bees' flight, except at times when the chestnuts and\nlime trees are in bloom. And for more than a week before I started\nthis experiment I had kept on my table an open comb of honey,\nwithout the perfume having attracted, or induced the visit of, a\nsingle bee. Then I went to a glass hive that was close to the house,\ntook an Italian bee, brought her to my study, set her on the comb,\nand marked her while she was feeding.\n\nWhen satisfied, she flew away and returned to the hive. I followed,\nsaw her pass over the surface of the crowd, plunge her head into an\nempty cell, disgorge her honey, and prepare to set forth again. At\nthe door of the hive I had placed a glass box, divided by a trap\ninto two compartments. The bee flew into this box; and as she was\nalone, and no other bee seemed to accompany or follow her, I\nimprisoned her and left her there. I then repeated the experiment on\ntwenty different bees in succession. When the marked bee reappeared\nalone, I imprisoned her as I had imprisoned the first. But eight of\nthem came to the threshold of the hive and entered the box\naccompanied by two or three friends. By means of the trap I was able\nto separate the marked bee from her companions, and to keep her a\nprisoner in the first compartment. Then, having marked her\ncompanions with a different colour, I threw open the second\ncompartment and set them at liberty, myself returning quickly to my\nstudy to await their arrival. Now it is evident that if a verbal or\nmagnetic communication had passed, indicating the place, describing\nthe way, etc., a certain number of the bees, having been furnished\nwith this information, should have found their way to my room. I am\ncompelled to admit that there came but a single one. Was this mere\nchance, or had she followed instructions received? The experiment\nwas insufficient, but circumstances prevented me from carrying it\nfurther. I released the \"baited\" bees, and my study soon was\nbesieged by the buzzing crowd to whom they had taught the way to the\ntreasure.\n\nWe need not concern ourselves with this incomplete attempt of mine,\nfor many other curious traits compel us to recognise the existence\namong the bees of spiritual communications that go beyond a mere\n\"yes\" or \"no,\" and that are manifest in cases where mere example or\ngesture would not be sufficient. Of such, for instance, are the\nremarkable harmony of their work in the hive, the extraordinary\ndivision of labour, the regularity with which one worker will take\nthe place of another, etc. I have often marked bees that went\nforaging in the morning, and found that, in the afternoon, unless\nflowers were specially abundant, they would be engaged in heating\nand fanning the brood-cells, or perhaps would form part of the\nmysterious, motionless curtain in whose midst the wax-makers and\nsculptors would be at work. Similarly I have noticed that workers\nwhom I have seen gathering pollen for the whole of one day, will\nbring no pollen back on the morrow, but will concern themselves\nexclusively with the search for nectar, and vice-versa.\n\n{48}\n\nAnd further, we might mention what M. Georges de Layens, the\ncelebrated French apiarist, terms the \"Distribution of Bees over\nMelliferous Plants.\" Day after day, at the first hour of sunrise,\nthe explorers of the dawn return, and the hive awakes to receive the\ngood news of the earth. \"The lime trees are blossoming to-day on the\nbanks of the canal.\" \"The grass by the roadside is gay with white\nclover.\" \"The sage and the lotus are about to open.\" \"The\nmignonette, the lilies are overflowing with pollen.\" Whereupon the\nbees must organise quickly, and arrange to divide the work. Five\nthousand of the sturdiest will sully forth to the lime trees, while\nthree thousand juniors go and refresh the white clover. Those who\nyesterday were absorbing nectar from the corollas will to-day repose\ntheir tongue and the glands of their sac, and gather red pollen from\nthe mignonette, or yellow pollen from the tall lilies; for never\nshall you see a bee collecting or mixing pollen of a different\ncolour or species; and indeed one of the chief pre-occupations of\nthe hive is the methodical bestowal of these pollens in the\nstore-rooms, in strict accordance with their origin and colour. Thus\ndoes the hidden genius issue its commands. The workers immediately\nsally forth, in long black files, whereof each one will fly straight\nto its allotted task. \"The bees,\" says De Layens, \"would seem to be\nperfectly informed as to the locality, the relative melliferous\nvalue, and the distance of every melliferous plant within a certain\nradius from the hive.\n\n\"If we carefully note the different directions in which these\nforagers fly, and observe in detail the harvest they gather from the\nvarious plants around, we shall find that the workers distribute\nthemselves over the flowers in proportion not only to the numbers of\nflowers of one species, but also to their melliferous value. Nay,\nmore--they make daily calculations as to the means of obtaining the\ngreatest possible wealth of saccharine liquid. In the spring, for\ninstance, after the willows have bloomed, when the fields still are\nbare, and the first flowers of the woods are the one resource of the\nbees, we shall see them eagerly visiting gorse and violets,\nlungworts and anemones. But, a few days later, when fields of\ncabbage and colza begin to flower in sufficient abundance, we shall\nfind that the bees will almost entirely forsake the plants in the\nwoods, though these be still in full blossom, and will confine their\nvisits to the flowers of cabbage and colza alone. In this fashion\nthey regulate, day by day, their distribution over the plants, so as\nto collect the greatest value of saccharine liquid in the least\npossible time.\n\n\"It may fairly be claimed, therefore, for the colony of bees that,\nin its harvesting labours no less than in its internal economy, it\nis able to establish a rational distribution of the number of\nworkers without ever disturbing the principle of the division of\nlabour.\"\n\n{49}\n\nBut what have we to do, some will ask, with the intelligence of the\nbees? What concern is it of ours whether this be a little less or a\nlittle more? Why weigh, with such infinite care, a minute fragment\nof almost invisible matter, as though it were a fluid whereon\ndepended the destiny of man? I hold, and exaggerate nothing, that\nour interest herein is of the most considerable. The discovery of a\nsign of true intellect outside ourselves procures us something of\nthe emotion Robinson Crusoe felt when he saw the imprint of a human\nfoot on the sandy beach of his island. We seem less solitary than we\nhad believed. And indeed, in our endeavour to understand the\nintellect of the bees, we are studying in them that which is most\nprecious in our own substance: an atom of the extraordinary matter\nwhich possesses, wherever it attach itself, the magnificent power of\ntransfiguring blind necessity, of organising, embellishing, and\nmultiplying life; and, most striking of all, of holding in suspense\nthe obstinate force of death, and the mighty, irresponsible wave\nthat wraps almost all that exists in an eternal unconsciousness.\n\nWere we sole possessors of the particle of matter that, when\nmaintained in a special condition of flower or incandescence, we\nterm the intellect, we should to some extent be entitled to look on\nourselves as privileged beings, and to imagine that in us nature\nachieved some kind of aim; but here we discover, in the hymenoptera,\nan entire category of beings in whom a more or less identical aim is\nachieved. And this fact, though it decide nothing perhaps, still\nholds an honourable place in the mass of tiny facts that help to\nthrow light on our position in this world. It affords even, if\nconsidered from a certain point of view, a fresh proof of the most\nenigmatic part of our being; for the superpositions of destinies\nthat we find in the hive are surveyed by us from an eminence loftier\nthan any we can attain for the contemplation of the destinies of\nman. There we see before us, in miniature, the large and simple\nlines that in our own disproportionate sphere we never have the\noccasion to disentangle and follow to the end. Spirit and matter are\nthere, the race and the individual, evolution and permanence, life\nand death, the past and the future; all gathered together in a\nretreat that our hand can lift and one look of our eye embrace. And\nmay we not reasonably ask ourselves whether the mere size of a body,\nand the room that it fills in time and space, can modify to the\nextent we imagine the secret idea of nature; the idea that we try to\ndiscover in the little history of the hive, which in a few days\nalready is ancient, no less than in the great history of man, of\nwhom three generations overlap a long century?\n\n{50}\n\nLet us go on, then, with the story of our hive; let us take it up\nwhere we left it; and raise, as high as we may, a fold of the\nfestooned curtain in whose midst a strange sweat, white as snow and\nairier than the down of a wing, is beginning to break over the\nswarm. For the wax that is now being born is not like the wax that\nwe know; it is immaculate, it has no weight; seeming truly to be the\nsoul of the honey, that itself is the spirit of flowers. And this\nmotionless incantation has called it forth that it may serve us,\nlater--in memory of its origin, doubtless, wherein it is one with\nthe azure sky, and heavy with perfumes of magnificence and\npurity--as the fragrant light of the last of our altars.\n\n{51}\n\nTo follow the various phases of the secretion and employment of wax\nby a swarm that is beginning to build, is a matter of very great\ndifficulty. All comes to pass in the blackest depths of the crowd,\nwhose agglomeration, growing denser and denser, produces the\ntemperature needful for this exudation, which is the privilege of\nthe youngest bees. Huber, who was the first to study these\nphenomena, bringing incredible patience to bear and exposing himself\nat times to very serious danger, devotes to them more than two\nhundred and fifty pages; which, though of considerable interest, are\nnecessarily somewhat confused. But I am not treating this subject\ntechnically; and while referring when necessary to Huber's admirable\nstudies, I shall confine myself generally to relating what is patent\nto any one who may gather a swarm into a glass hive.\n\nWe have to admit, first of all, that we know not yet by what process\nof alchemy the honey transforms itself into wax in the enigmatic\nbodies of our suspended bees. We can only say that they will remain\nthus suspended for a period extending from eighteen to twenty-four\nhours, in a temperature so high that one might almost believe that a\nfire was burning in the hollow of the hive; and then white and\ntransparent scales will appear at the opening of four little pockets\nthat every bee has underneath its abdomen.\n\nWhen the bodies of most of those who form the inverted cone have\nthus been adorned with ivory tablets, we shall see one of the bees,\nas though suddenly inspired, abruptly detach herself from the mass,\nand climb over the backs of the passive crowd till she reach the\ninner pinnacle of the cupola. To this she will fix herself solidly,\ndislodging, with repeated blows of her head, such of her neighbours\nas may seem to hamper her movements. Then, with her mouth and claws,\nshe will seize one of the eight scales that hang from her abdomen,\nand at once proceed to clip it and plane it, extend it, knead it\nwith her saliva, bend it and flatten it, roll it and straighten it,\nwith the skill of a carpenter handling a pliable panel. When at last\nthe substance, thus treated, appears to her to possess the required\ndimensions and consistency, she will attach it to the highest point\nof the dome, thus laying the first, or rather the keystone of the\nnew town; for we have here an inverted city, hanging down from the\nsky, and not rising from the bosom of earth like a city of men.\n\nTo this keystone, depending in the void, she will add other\nfragments of wax that she takes in succession from beneath her rings\nof horn; and finally, with one last lick of the tongue, one last\nwave of antennae, she will go as suddenly as she came, and disappear\nin the crowd. Another will at once take her place, continue the work\nat the point where the first one has left it, add on her own, change\nand adjust whatever may seem to offend the ideal plan of the tribe,\nthen vanish in her turn, to be succeeded by a third, a fourth, and a\nfifth, all appearing unexpectedly, suddenly, one after the other,\nnone completing the work, but each bringing her share to the task in\nwhich all combine.\n\n{52}\n\nA small block of wax, formless as yet, hangs down from the top of\nthe vault. So soon as its thickness may be deemed sufficient, we\nshall see another bee emerge from the mass, her physical appearance\ndiffering appreciably from that of the foundresses who preceded her.\nAnd her manner displays such settled conviction, her movements are\nfollowed so eagerly by all the crowd, that we almost might fancy\nthat some illustrious engineer had been summoned to trace in the\nvoid the site of the first cell of all, from which every other must\nmathematically depend. This bee belongs to the sculptor or carver\nclass of workers; she produces no wax herself and is content to deal\nwith the materials others provide. She locates the first cell,\nscoops into the block for an instant, lays the wax she has removed\nfrom the cavity on the borders around it; and then, like the\nfoundresses, abruptly departs and abandons her model. Her place is\ntaken at once by an impatient worker, who continues the task that a\nthird will finish, while others close by are attacking the rest of\nthe surface and the opposite side of the wall; each one obeying the\ngeneral law of interrupted and successive labour, as though it were\nan inherent principle of the hive that the pride of toil should be\ndistributed, and every achievement be anonymous and common to all,\nthat it might thereby become more fraternal.\n\n{53}\n\nThe outline of the nascent comb may soon be divined. In form it will\nstill be lenticular, for the little prismatic tubes that compose it\nare unequal in length, and diminish in proportion as they recede\nfrom the centre to the extremities. In thickness and appearance at\npresent it more or less resembles a human tongue whose sides might\nbe formed of hexagonal cells, contiguous, and placed back to back.\n\nThe first cells having been built, the foundresses proceed to add a\nsecond block of wax to the roof; and so in gradation a third and a\nfourth. These blocks follow each other at regular intervals so\nnicely calculated that when, at a much later period, the comb shall\nbe fully developed, there will be ample space for the bees to move\nbetween its parallel walls.\n\nTheir plan must therefore embrace the final thickness of every comb,\nwhich will be from eighty-eight to ninety-two hundredths of an inch,\nand at the same time the width of the avenues between, which must be\nabout half an inch, or in other words twice the height of a bee,\nsince there must be room to pass back to back between the combs.\n\nThe bees, however, are not infallible, nor does their certainty\nappear mechanical. They will commit grave errors at times, when\ncircumstances present unusual difficulty. They will often leave too\nmuch space, or too little, between the combs. This they will remedy\nas best they can, either by giving an oblique twist to the comb that\ntoo nearly approaches the other, or by introducing an irregular comb\ninto the gap. \"The bees sometimes make mistakes,\" Reaumur remarks on\nthis subject, \"and herein we may find yet another fact which appears\nto prove that they reason.\"\n\n{54}\n\nWe know that the bees construct four kinds of cells. First of all,\nthe royal cells, which are exceptional, and contrived somewhat in\nthe shape of an acorn; then the large cells destined for the rearing\nof males and storing of provisions when flowers super-abound; and\nthe small cells, serving as workers' cradles and ordinary\nstore-rooms, which occupy normally about four-fifths of the\nbuilt-over surface of the hive. And lastly, so as to connect in\norderly fashion the larger cells with the small, the bees will erect\na certain number of what are known as transition cells. These must\nof necessity be irregular in form; but so unerringly accurate are\nthe dimensions of the second and third types that, at the time when\nthe decimal system was established, and a fixed measure sought in\nnature to serve as a starting-point and an incontestable standard,\nit was proposed by Reaumur to select for this purpose the cell of\nthe bee.*\n\n     *It was as well, perhaps, that this standard was not\n     adopted. For although the diameter of the cells is admirably\n     regular, it is, like all things produced by a living\n     organism, not _mathematically_ invariable in the same hive.\n     Further, as M. Maurice Girard has pointed out, the apothem\n     of the cell varies among different races of bees, so that\n     the standard would alter from hive to hive, according to the\n     species of bee that inhabited it.\n\nEach of the cells is an hexagonal tube placed on a pyramidal base;\nand two layers of these tubes form the comb, their bases being\nopposed to each other in such fashion that each of the three rhombs\nor lozenges which on one side constitute the pyramidal base of one\ncell, composes at the same time the pyramidal base of three cells on\nthe other. It is in these prismatic tubes that the honey is stored;\nand to prevent its escaping during the period of maturation,--which\nwould infallibly happen if the tubes were as strictly horizontal as\nthey appear to be,--the bees incline them slightly, to an angle of 4\ndeg or 5 deg.\n\n\"Besides the economy of wax,\" says Reaumur, when considering this\nmarvellous construction in its entirety, \"besides the economy of wax\nthat results from the disposition of the cells, and the fact that\nthis arrangement allows the bees to fill the comb without leaving a\nsingle spot vacant, there are other advantages also with respect to\nthe solidity of the work. The angle at the base of each cell, the\napex of the pyramidal cavity, is buttressed by the ridge formed by\ntwo faces of the hexagon of another cell. The two triangles, or\nextensions of the hexagon faces which fill one of the convergent\nangles of the cavity enclosed by the three rhombs, form by their\njunction a plane angle on the side they touch; each of these angles,\nconcave within the cell, supports, on its convex side, one of the\nsheets employed to form the hexagon of another cell; the sheet,\npressing on this angle, resists the force which is tending to push\nit outwards; and in this fashion the angles are strengthened. Every\nadvantage that could be desired with regard to the solidity of each\ncell is procured by its own formation and its position with\nreference to the others.\"\n\n{55}\n\n\"There are only,\" says Dr. Reid, \"three possible figures of the\ncells which can make them all equal and similar, without any useless\ninterstices. These are the equilateral triangle, the square, and the\nregular hexagon. Mathematicians know that there is not a fourth way\npossible in which a plane shall be cut into little spaces that shall\nbe equal, similar, and regular, without useless spaces. Of the three\nfigures, the hexagon is the most proper for convenience and\nstrength. Bees, as if they knew this, make their cells regular\nhexagons.\n\n\"Again, it has been demonstrated that, by making the bottoms of the\ncells to consist of three planes meeting in a point, there is a\nsaving of material and labour in no way inconsiderable. The bees, as\nif acquainted with these principles of solid geometry, follow them\nmost accurately. It is a curious mathematical problem at what\nprecise angle the three planes which compose the bottom of a cell\nought to meet, in order to make the greatest possible saving, or the\nleast expense of material and labour.* This is one of the problems\nwhich belong to the higher parts of mathematics. It has accordingly\nbeen resolved by some mathematicians, particularly by the ingenious\nMaclaurin, by a fluctionary calculation which is to be found in the\nTransactions of the Royal Society of London. He has determined\nprecisely the angle required, and he found, by the most exact\nmensuration the subject would admit, that it is the very angle in\nwhich the three planes at the bottom of the cell of a honey comb do\nactually meet.\"\n\n     *Reaumur suggested the following problem to the celebrated\n     mathematician Koenig: \"Of all possible hexagonal cells with\n     pyramidal base composed of three equal and similar rhombs,\n     to find the one whose construction would need the least\n     material.\" Koenig's answer was, the cell that had for its\n     base three rhombs whose large angle was 109 deg 26', and the\n     small 70 deg 34'. Another savant, Maraldi, had measured as\n     exactly as possible the angles of the rhombs constructed by\n     the bees, and discovered the larger to be 109 deg 28', and\n     the other 70 deg 32'. Between the two solutions there was a\n     difference, therefore, of only 2'. It is probable that the\n     error, if error there be, should be attributed to Maraldi\n     rather than to the bees; for it is impossible for any\n     instrument to measure the angles of the cells, which are not\n     very clearly defined, with infallible precision.\n\nThe problem suggested to Koenig was put to another mathematician,\nCramer, whose solution came even closer to that of the bees, viz.,\n109 deg 28 1/2' for the large angle, and 70 deg 31 1/2' for the\nsmall.\n\n{56}\n\nI myself do not believe that the bees indulge in these abstruse\ncalculations; but, on the other hand, it seems equally impossible to\nme that such astounding results can be due to chance alone, or to\nthe mere force of circumstance. The wasps, for instance, also build\ncombs with hexagonal cells, so that for them the problem was\nidentical, and they have solved it in a far less ingenious fashion.\nTheir combs have only one layer of cells, thus lacking the common\nbase that serves the bees for their two opposite layers. The wasps'\ncomb, therefore, is not only less regular, but also less\nsubstantial; and so wastefully constructed that, besides loss of\nmaterial, they must sacrifice about a third of the available space\nand a quarter of the energy they put forth. Again, we find that the\ntrigonae and meliponae, which are veritable and domesticated bees,\nthough of less advanced civilisation, erect only one row of\nrearing-cells, and support their horizontal, superposed combs on\nshapeless and costly columns of wax. Their provision-cells are\nmerely great pots, gathered together without any order; and, at the\npoint between the spheres where these might have intersected and\ninduced a profitable economy of space and material, the meliponae\nclumsily insert a section of cells with flat walls. Indeed, to\ncompare one of their nests with the mathematical cities of our own\nhoney-flies, is like imagining a hamlet composed of primitive huts\nside by side with a modern town; whose ruthless regularity is the\nlogical, though perhaps somewhat charmless, result of the genius of\nman, that to-day, more fiercely than ever before, seeks to conquer\nspace, matter, and time.\n\n{57}\n\nThere is a theory, originally propounded by Buffon and now revived,\nwhich assumes that the bees have not the least intention of\nconstructing hexagons with a pyramidal base, but that their desire\nis merely to contrive round cells in the wax; only, that as their\nneighbours, and those at work on the opposite side of the comb, are\ndigging at the same moment and with the same intentions, the points\nwhere the cells meet must of necessity become hexagonal. Besides, it\nis said, this is precisely what happens to crystals, the scales of\ncertain kinds of fish, soap-bubbles, etc., as it happens in the\nfollowing experiment that Buffon suggested. \"If,\" he said, \"you fill\na dish with peas or any other cylindrical bean, pour as much water\ninto it as the space between the beans will allow, close it\ncarefully and then boil the water, you will find that all these\ncylinders have become six-sided columns. And the reason is evident,\nbeing indeed purely mechanical; each of the cylindrical beans tends,\nas it swells, to occupy the utmost possible space within a given\nspace; wherefore it follows that the reciprocal compression compels\nthem all to become hexagonal. Similarly each bee seeks to occupy the\nutmost possible space within a given space, with the necessary\nresult that, its body being cylindrical, the cells become hexagonal\nfor the same reason as before, viz., the working of reciprocal\nobstacles.\"\n\n{58}\n\nThese reciprocal obstacles, it would seem, are capable of marvellous\nachievement; on the same principle, doubtless, that the vices of man\nproduce a general virtue, whereby the human race, hateful often in\nits individuals, ceases to be so in the mass. We might reply, first\nof all, with Brougham, Kirby and Spence, and others, that\nexperiments with peas and soap-bubbles prove nothing; for the reason\nthat in both cases the pressure produces only irregular forms, and\nin no wise explains the existence of the prismatic base of the\ncells. But above all we might answer that there are more ways than\none of dealing with rigid necessity; that the wasp, the humble-bee,\nthe trigonae and meliponae of Mexico and Brazil achieve very\ndifferent and manifestly inferior results, although the\ncircumstances, and their own intentions, are absolutely identical\nwith those of the bees. It might further be urged that if the bee's\ncell does indeed follow the law that governs crystals, snow,\nsoap-bubbles, as well as Buffon's boiled peas, it also, through its\ngeneral symmetry, disposition in opposite layers, and angle of\ninclination, obeys many other laws that are not to be found in\nmatter. May we not say, too, of man that all his genius is comprised\nin his fashion of handling kindred necessities? And if it appear to\nus that his manner of treating these is the best there can possibly\nbe, the reason only can lie in the absence of a judge superior to\nourselves. But it is well that argument should make way for fact;\nand indeed, to the objection based on an experiment, the best reply\nof all must be a counter-experiment.\n\nIn order to satisfy myself that hexagonal architecture truly was\nwritten in the spirit of the bee, I cut off and removed one day a\ndisc of the size of a five-franc piece from the centre of a comb, at\na spot where there were both brood-cells and cells full of honey. I\ncut into the circumference of this disc, at the intersecting point\nof the pyramidal cells; inserted a piece of tin on the base of one\nof these sections, shaped exactly to its dimensions, and possessed\nof resistance sufficient to prevent the bees from bending or\ntwisting it. Then I replaced the slice of comb, duly furnished with\nits slab of tin, on the spot whence I had removed it; so that, while\none side of the comb presented no abnormal feature, the damage\nhaving been repaired, the other displayed a sort of deep cavity,\ncovering the space of about thirty cells, with the piece of tin as\nits base. The bees were disconcerted at first; they flocked in\nnumbers to inspect and examine this curious chasm; day after day\nthey wandered agitatedly to and fro, apparently unable to form a\ndecision. But, as I fed them copiously every evening, there came a\nmoment when they had no more cells available for the storage of\nprovisions. Thereupon they probably summoned their great engineers,\ndistinguished sculptors, and wax-workers, and invited them to turn\nthis useless cavity to profitable account.\n\nThe wax-makers having gathered around and formed themselves into a\ndense festoon, so that the necessary heat might be maintained, other\nbees descended into the hole and proceeded solidly to attach the\nmetal, and connect it with the walls of adjacent cells, by means of\nlittle waxen hooks which they distributed regularly over its\nsurface. In the upper semicircle of the disc they then began to\nconstruct three or four cells, uniting these to the hooks. Each of\nthese transition, or accommodation, cells was more or less deformed\nat the top, to allow of its being soldered to the adjoining cell on\nthe comb; but its lower portion already designed on the tin three\nvery clear angles, whence there ran three little straight lines that\ncorrectly indicated the first half of the following cell.\n\nAfter forty-eight hours, and notwithstanding the fact that only\nthree bees at a time were able to work in the cavity, the entire\nsurface of the tin was covered with outlined cells. These were less\nregular, certainly, than those of an ordinary comb; wherefore the\nqueen, having inspected them, wisely declined to lay any eggs there,\nfor the generation that would have arisen therefrom would\nnecessarily have been deformed. Each cell, however, was a perfect\nhexagon; nor did it contain a single crooked line, a single curved\nfigure or angle. And yet the ordinary conditions had all been\nchanged; the cells had neither been scooped out of a block,\naccording to Huber's description, nor had they been designed within\na waxen hood, and, from being circular at first, been subsequently\nconverted into hexagons by the pressure of adjoining cells, as\nexplained by Darwin. Neither could there be question here of\nreciprocal obstacles, the cells having been formed one by one, and\ntheir first lines traced on what practically was a bare table. It\nwould seem incontestable, therefore, that the hexagon is not merely\nthe result of mechanical necessities, but that it has its true place\nin the plans, the experience, the intellect and will of the bee. I\nmay relate here another curious instance of the workers' sagacity:\nthe cells they built on the tin had no other base than the metal\nitself. The engineers of the corps had evidently decided that the\ntin could adequately retain the honey; and had considered that, the\nsubstance being impermeable, they need not waste the material they\nvalue so highly by covering the metal with a layer of wax. But, a\nshort time after, some drops of honey having been placed in two of\nthese cells, the bees discovered, in tasting it, that the contact of\nthe metal had a deteriorating effect. Thereupon they reconsidered\nthe matter, and covered over with wax the entire surface of the tin.\n\n{59}\n\nWere it our desire to throw light upon all the secrets of this\ngeometric architecture, we should have more than one curious\nquestion still to consider; as for instance the shape of the first\ncells, which, being attached to the roof, are modified in such a\nmanner as to touch the roof at the greatest possible number of\npoints.\n\nThe design of the principal thoroughfares is determined by the\nparallelism of the combs; but we must admire the ingenious\nconstruction of alleys and gangways through and around the comb, so\nskilfully contrived as to provide short cuts in every direction and\nprevent congestion of traffic, while ensuring free circulation of\nair. And finally we should have to study the construction of\ntransition cells, wherein we see a unanimous instinct at work that\nimpels the bees at a given moment to increase the size of their\ndwellings. Three reasons may dictate this step: an extraordinary\nharvest may call for larger receptacles, the workers may consider\nthe population to be sufficiently numerous, or it may have become\nnecessary that males should be born. Nor can we in such cases\nrefrain from wondering at the ingenious economy, the unerring,\nharmonious conviction, with which the bees will pass from the small\nto the large, from the large to the small; from perfect symmetry to,\nwhere unavoidable, its very reverse, returning to ideal regularity\nso soon as the laws of a live geometry will allow; and all the time\nnot losing a cell, not suffering a single one of their numerous\nstructures to be sacrificed, to be ridiculous, uncertain, or\nbarbarous, or any section thereof to become unfit for use. But I\nfear that I have already wandered into many details that will have\nbut slender interest for the reader, whose eyes perhaps may never\nhave followed a flight of bees; or who may have regarded them only\nwith the passing interest with which we are all of us apt to regard\nthe flower, the bird or the precious stone, asking of these no more\nthan a slight superficial assurance, and forgetting that the most\ntrivial secret of the non-human object we behold in nature connects\nmore closely perhaps with the profound enigma of our origin and our\nend, than the secret of those of our passions that we study the most\neagerly and the most passionately.\n\n{60}\n\nAnd I will pass over too--in my desire that this essay shall not\nbecome too didactic--the remarkable instinct that induces the bees\nat times to thin and demolish the extremity of their combs, when\nthese are to be enlarged or lengthened; though it must be admitted\nthat in this case the \"blind building instinct\" fails signally to\naccount for their demolishing in order that they may rebuild, or\nundoing what has been done that it may be done afresh, and with more\nregularity. I will content myself also with a mere reference to the\nremarkable experiment that enables us, with the aid of a piece of\nglass, to compel the bees to start their combs at a right angle;\nwhen they most ingeniously contrive that the enlarged cells on the\nconvex side shall coincide with the reduced cells on the concave\nside of the comb.\n\nBut before finally quitting this subject let us pause, though it be\nbut for an instant, and consider the mysterious fashion in which\nthey manage to act in concert and combine their labour, when\nsimultaneously carving two opposite sides of a comb, and unable\ntherefore to see each other. Take a finished comb to the light, fix\nyour eyes on the diaphanous wax; you will see, most clearly\ndesigned, an entire network of sharply cut prisms, a whole system of\nconcordances so infallible that one might almost believe them to be\nstamped on steel.\n\nI wonder whether those who never have seen the interior of a hive\ncan form an adequate conception of the arrangement and aspect of the\ncombs. Let them imagine--we will take a peasant's hive, where the\nbee is left entirely to its own resources--let them imagine a dome\nof straw or osier, divided from top to bottom by five, six, eight,\nsometimes ten, strips of wax, resembling somewhat great slices of\nbread, that run in strictly parallel lines from the top of the dome\nto the floor, espousing closely the shape of the ovoid walls.\nBetween these strips is contrived a space of about half an inch, to\nenable the bees to stand and to pass each other. At the moment when\nthey begin to construct one of these strips at the top of the hive,\nthe waxen wall (which is its rough model, and will later be thinned\nand extended) is still very thick, and completely excludes the fifty\nor sixty bees at work on its inner face from the fifty or sixty\nsimultaneously engaged in carving the outer, so that it is wholly\nimpossible for one group to see the other, unless indeed their sight\nbe able to penetrate opaque matter. And yet there is not a hole that\nis scooped on the inner surface, not a fragment of wax that is\nadded, but corresponds with mathematical precision to a protuberance\nor cavity on the outer surface, and vice versa. How does this\nhappen? How is it that one does not dig too deep, another not deep\nenough? Whence the invariable magical coincidence between the angles\nof the lozenges? What is it tells the bees that at this point they\nmust begin, and at that point stop? Once again we must content\nourselves with the reply, that is no reply: \"It is a mystery of the\nhive.\"\n\nHuber has sought to explain this mystery by suggesting that the\npressure of the bees' hooks and teeth may possibly produce slight\nprojections, at regular intervals, on the opposite side of the comb;\nor that they may be able to estimate the thickness of the block by\nthe flexibility, elasticity, or some other physical quality of the\nwax; or again, that their antennae, which seem so well adapted for\nthe questioning of the finer, less evident side of things, may serve\nas a compass in the invisible; or, lastly, that the position of\nevery cell may derive mathematically from the arrangement and\ndimensions of the cells on the first row, and thus dispense with the\nneed for further measurement. But these explanations are evidently\ninsufficient; the first are mere hypotheses that cannot be verified,\nthe others do no more than transplant the mystery. And useful as it\nmay be to transplant mystery as often as we possibly can, it were\nnot wise to imagine that a mystery has ceased to be because we have\nshifted its home.\n\n{61}\n\nNow let us leave these dreary building grounds, this geometrical\ndesert of cells. The combs have been started, and are becoming\nhabitable. Though it be here the infinitely little that, without\napparent hope, adds itself to the infinitely little; though our eye\nwith its limited vision look and see nothing, the work of wax,\nhalting neither by day nor by night, will advance with incredible\nquickness. The impatient queen already has more than once paced the\nstockades that gleam white in the darkness; and no sooner is the\nfirst row of dwellings complete than she takes possession with her\nescort of counsellors, guardians, or servants--for we know not\nwhether she lead or be led, be venerated or supervised. When the\nspot has been reached that she, or her urgent advisers, may regard\nas favourable, she arches her back, bends forward, and introduces\nthe extremity of her long spindle-shaped abdomen into one of the\ncells; the-little eager heads of her escort meanwhile forming a\npassionate circle around her, watching her with their enormous black\neyes, supporting her, caressing her wings, and waving their feverish\nantennae as though to encourage, incite, or congratulate. You may\neasily discover the spot where the queen shall be found by the sort\nof starry cockade, or oval brooch perhaps of the imposing kind our\ngrandmothers used to wear, of which she forms the central stone. And\none may mention here the curious fact that the workers always avoid\nturning their back on the queen. No sooner has she approached a\ngroup than they will invariably arrange themselves so as to face her\nwith eyes and antennae, and to walk backwards before her. It is a\ntoken of respect, or of solicitude, that, unlikely as it may seem,\nis nevertheless constant and general. But to return to the queen.\nDuring the slight spasm that visibly accompanies the emission of an\negg, one of her daughters will often throw her arms round her and\nappear to be whispering to her, brow pressed to brow and mouth to\nmouth. But the queen, in no wise disturbed by this somewhat bold\ndemonstration, takes her time, tranquilly, calmly, wholly absorbed\nby the mission that would seem amorous delight to her rather than\nlabour. And after some seconds she will rise, very quietly, take a\nstep back, execute a slight turn on herself, and proceed to the next\ncell, into which she will first, before introducing her abdomen, dip\nher head to make sure that all is in order and that she is not\nlaying twice in the same cell; and in the meanwhile two or three of\nher escort will have plunged into the cell she has quitted to see\nwhether the work be duly accomplished, and to care for, and tenderly\nhouse, the little bluish egg she has laid.\n\nFrom this moment, up to the first frosts of autumn, she does not\ncease laying; she lays while she is being fed, and even in her\nsleep, if indeed she sleeps at all, she still lays. She represents\nhenceforth the devouring force of the future, which invades every\ncorner of the kingdom. Step by step she pursues the unfortunate\nworkers who are exhaustedly, feverishly erecting the cradles her\nfecundity demands. We have here the union of two mighty instincts;\nand their workings throw into light, though they leave unresolved,\nmany an enigma of the hive.\n\nIt will happen, for instance, that the workers will distance her,\nand acquire a certain start; whereupon, mindful of their duties as\ncareful housewives to provide for the bad days ahead, they hasten to\nfill with honey the cells they have wrested from the avidity of the\nspecies. But the queen approaches; material wealth must give way to\nthe scheme of nature; and the distracted workers are compelled with\nall speed to remove the importunate treasure.\n\nBut assume them to be a whole comb ahead, and to have no longer\nbefore them her who stands for the tyranny of days they shall none\nof them see; we find then that they eagerly, hurriedly, build a zone\nof large cells, cells for males; whose construction is very much\neasier, and far more rapid. When the queen in her turn attains this\nunthankful zone, she will regretfully lay a few eggs there, then\ncease, pass beyond, and clamour for more workers' cells. Her\ndaughters obey; little by little they reduce the cells; and then the\npursuit starts afresh, till at last the insatiable mother shall have\ntraversed the whole circumference of the hive, and have returned to\nthe first cells. These, by this time, will be empty; for the first\ngeneration will have sprung into life, soon to go forth, from their\nshadowy corner of birth, disperse over the neighbouring blossoms,\npeople the rays of the sun and quicken the smiling hours; and then\nsacrifice themselves in their turn to the new generations that are\nalready filling their place in the cradles.\n\n{62}\n\nAnd whom does the queen-bee obey? She is ruled by nourishment given\nher; for she does not take her own food, but is fed like a child by\nthe very workers whom her fecundity harasses. And the food these\nworkers deal out is nicely proportioned to the abundance of flowers,\nto the spoil brought back by those who visit the calyces. Here,\nthen, as everywhere else in the world, one part of the circle is\nwrapped in darkness; here, as everywhere, it is from without, from\nan unknown power, that the supreme order issues; and the bees, like\nourselves, obey the nameless lord of the wheel that incessantly\nturns on itself, and crushes the wills that have set it in motion.\n\nSome little time back, I conducted a friend to one of my hives of\nglass, and showed him the movements of this wheel, which was as\nreadily perceptible as the great wheel of a clock; showed him, in\nall its bareness, the universal agitation on every comb, the\nperpetual, frantic, bewildered haste of the nurses around the\nbrood-cells; the living gangways and ladders formed by the makers of\nwax, the abounding, unceasing activity of the entire population, and\ntheir pitiless, useless effort; the ardent, feverish coming and\ngoing of all, the general absence of sleep save in the cradles\nalone, around which continuous labour kept watch; the denial of even\nthe repose of death in a home which permits no illness and accords\nno grave; and my friend, his astonishment over, soon turned his eyes\naway, and in them I could read the signs of I know not what saddened\nfear.\n\nAnd truly, underlying the gladness that we note first of all in the\nhive, underlying the dazzling memories of beautiful days that render\nit the storehouse of summer's most precious jewels, underlying the\nblissful journeys that knit it so close to the flowers and to\nrunning water, to the sky, to the peaceful abundance of all that\nmakes for beauty and happiness--underlying all these exterior joys,\nthere reposes a sadness as deep as the eye of man can behold. And\nwe, who dimly gaze on these things with our own blind eyes, we know\nfull well that it is not they alone that we are striving to see, not\nthey alone that we cannot understand, but that before us there lies\na pitiable form of the great power that quickens us also.\n\nSad let it be, as all things in nature are sad, when our eyes rest\ntoo closely upon them. And thus it ever shall be so long as we know\nnot her secret, know not even whether secret truly there be. And\nshould we discover some day that there is no secret, or that the\nsecret is monstrous, other duties will then arise that, as yet,\nperhaps, have no name. Let our heart, if it will, in the meanwhile\nrepeat, \"It is sad;\" but let our reason be content to add, \"Thus it\nis.\" At the present hour the duty before us is to seek out that\nwhich perhaps may be hiding behind these sorrows; and, urged on by\nthis endeavour, we must not turn our eyes away, but steadily,\nfixedly, watch these sorrows and study them, with a courage and\ninterest as keen as though they were joys. It is right that before\nwe judge nature, before we complain, we should at least ask every\nquestion that we can possibly ask.\n\n{63}\n\nWe have seen that the workers, when free for the moment from the\nthreatening fecundity of the queen, hasten to erect cells for\nprovisions, whose construction is more economical and capacity\ngreater. We have seen, too, that the queen prefers to lay in the\nsmaller cells, for which she is incessantly clamouring. When these\nare wanting, however, or till they be provided, she resigns herself\nto laying her eggs in the large cells she finds on her road.\n\nThese eggs, though absolutely identical with those from which\nworkers are hatched, will give birth to males, or drones. Now,\nconversely to what takes place when a worker is turned into queen,\nit is here neither the form nor the capacity of the cell that\nproduces this change; for from an egg laid in a large cell and\nafterwards transferred to that of a worker (a most difficult\noperation, because of the microscopic minuteness and extreme\nfragility of the egg, but one that I have four or five times\nsuccessfully accomplished) there will issue an undeniable male,\nthough more or less atrophied. It follows, therefore, that the queen\nmust possess the power, while laying, of knowing or determining the\nsex of the egg, and of adapting it to the cell over which she is\nbending. She will rarely make a mistake. How does she contrive, from\namong the myriad eggs her ovaries contain, to separate male from\nfemale, and lower them, at will, into the unique oviduct?\n\nHere, yet again, there confronts us an enigma of the hive; and in\nthis case one of the most unfathomable. We know that the virgin\nqueen is not sterile; but the eggs that she lays will produce only\nmales. It is not till after the impregnation of the nuptial flight\nthat she can produce workers or drones at will. The nuptial flight\nplaces her permanently in possession, till death, of the spermatozoa\ntorn from her unfortunate lover. These spermatozoa, whose number Dr.\nLeuckart estimates at twenty-five millions, are preserved alive in a\nspecial gland known as the spermatheca, that is situate under the\novaries, at the entrance to the common oviduct. It is imagined that\nthe narrow aperture of the smaller cells, and the manner in which\nthe form of this aperture compels the queen to bend forward,\nexercise a certain pressure upon the spermatheca, in consequence of\nwhich the spermatozoa spring forth and fecundate the egg as it\npasses. In the large cells this pressure would not take place, and\nthe spermatheca would therefore not open. Others, again, believe\nthat the queen has perfect control over the muscles that open and\nclose the spermatheca on the vagina; and these muscles are certainly\nvery numerous, complex, and powerful. For myself, I incline to the\nsecond of these hypotheses, though I do not for a moment pretend to\ndecide which is the more correct; for indeed, the further we go and\nthe more closely we study, the more plainly is it brought home to us\nthat we merely are waifs shipwrecked on the ocean of nature; and\never and anon, from a sudden wave that shall be more transparent\nthan others, there leaps forth a fact that in an instant confounds\nall we imagined we knew. But the reason of my preferring the second\ntheory is that, for one thing, the experiments of a Bordeaux\nbee-keeper, M. Drory, have shown that in cases where all the large\ncells have been removed from the hive, the mother will not hesitate,\nwhen the moment for laying male eggs has come, to deposit these in\nworkers' cells; and that, inversely, she will lay workers' eggs in\ncells provided for males, if she have no others at her disposal.\nAnd, further, we learn from the interesting observations of M. Fabre\non the Osmiae, which are wild and olitary bees of the Gastrilegidae\nfamily, that not only does the Osmia know in advance the sex of the\negg she will lay, but that this sex is \"optional for the mother, who\ndecides it in accordance with the space of which she disposes; this\nspace being often governed by chance and not to be modified; and she\nwill deposit a male egg here and a female there.\" I shall not enter\ninto the details of the great French entomologist's experiments, for\nthey are exceedingly minute, and would take us too far. But\nwhichever be the hypothesis we prefer to accept, either will serve\nto explain the queen's inclination to lay her eggs in workers'\ncells, without it being necessary to credit her with the least\nconcern for the future.\n\nIt is not impossible that this slave-mother, whom we are inclined to\npity, may be indeed a great amorist, a great voluptuary, deriving a\ncertain enjoyment, an after-taste, as it were, of her one\nmarriage-flight, from the union of the male and female principle\nthat thus comes to pass in her being. Here again nature, never so\ningenious, so cunningly prudent and diverse, as when contriving her\nsnares of love, will not have failed to provide a certain pleasure\nas a bait in the interest of the species. And yet let us pause for a\nmoment, and not become the dupes of our own explanation. For indeed,\nto attribute an idea of this kind to nature, and regard that as\nsufficient, is like flinging a stone into an unfathomable gulf we\nmay find in the depths of a grotto, and imagining that the sounds it\ncreates as it falls shall answer our every question, or reveal to us\naught beside the immensity of the abyss.\n\nWhen we say to ourselves, \"This thing is of nature's devising;\nshe has ordained this marvel; those are her desires that we see\nbefore us!\" the fact is merely that our special attention has been\ndrawn to some tiny manifestation of life upon the boundless surface\nof matter that we deem inactive, and choose to describe, with\nevident inaccuracy, as nothingness and death. A purely fortuitous\nchain of events has allowed this special manifestation to attract\nour attention; but a thousand others, no less interesting, perhaps,\nand informed with no less intelligence, have vanished, not meeting\nwith a like good-fortune, and have lost for ever the chance of\nexciting our wonder. It were rash to affirm aught beside; and all\nthat remains, our reflections, our obstinate search for the final\ncause, our admiration and hopes--all these in truth are no more than\nour feeble cry as, in the depths of the unknown, we clash against\nwhat is more unknowable still; and this feeble cry declares the\nhighest degree of individual existence attainable for us on this\nmute and impenetrable surface, even as the flight of the condor, the\nsong of the nightingale, reveal to them the highest degree of\nexistence their species allows. But the evocation of this feeble\ncry, whenever opportunity offers, is none the less one of our most\nunmistakable duties; nor should we let ourselves be discouraged by\nits apparent futility.\n\n\n\n\nV -- THE YOUNG QUEENS\n\n{64}\n\nHERE let us close our hive, where we find that life is reassuming\nits circular movement, is extending and multiplying, to be again\ndivided as soon as it shall attain the fulness of its happiness and\nstrength; and let us for the last time reopen the mother-city, and\nsee what is happening there after the departure of the swarm.\n\nThe tumult having subsided, the hapless city, that two thirds of her\nchildren have abandoned for ever, becomes feeble, empty, moribund;\nlike a body from which the blood has been drained. Some thousands of\nbees have remained, however; and these, though a trifle languid\nperhaps, are still immovably faithful to the duty a precise destiny\nhas laid upon them, still conscious of the part that they have\nthemselves to play; they resume their labours, therefore, fill as\nbest they can the place of those who have gone, remove all trace of\nthe orgy, carefully house the provisions that have escaped pillage,\nsally forth to the flowers again, and keep scrupulous guard over the\nhostages of the future.\n\nAnd for all that the moment may appear gloomy, hope abounds wherever\nthe eye may turn. We might be in one of the castles of German\nlegend, whose walls are composed of myriad phials containing the\nsouls of men about to be born. For we are in the abode of life that\ngoes before life. On all sides, asleep in their closely sealed\ncradles, in this infinite superposition of marvellous six-sided\ncells, lie thousands of nymphs, whiter than milk, who with folded\narms and head bent forward await the hour of awakening. In their\nuniform tombs, that, isolated, become nearly transparent, they seem\nalmost like hoary gnomes, lost in deep thought, or legions of\nvirgins whom the folds of the shroud have contorted, who are buried\nin hexagonal prisms that some inflexible geometrician has multiplied\nto the verge of delirium.\n\nOver the entire area that the vertical walls enclose, and in the\nmidst of this growing world that so soon shall transform itself,\nthat shall four or five times in succession assume fresh vestments,\nand then spin its own winding-sheet in the shadow, hundreds of\nworkers are dancing and flapping their wings. They appear thus to\ngenerate the necessary heat, and accomplish some other object\nbesides that is still more obscure; for this dance of theirs\ncontains some extraordinary movements, so methodically conceived\nthat they must infallibly answer some purpose which no observer has\nas yet, I believe, been able to divine.\n\nA few days more, and the lids of these myriad urns--whereof a\nconsiderable hive will contain from sixty to eighty thousand--will\nbreak, and two large and earnest black eyes will appear, surmounted\nby antennae that already are groping at life, while active jaws are\nbusily engaged in enlarging the opening from within. The nurses at\nonce come running; they help the young bee to emerge from her\nprison, they clean her and brush her, and at the tip of their tongue\npresent the first honey of the new life. But the bee, that has come\nfrom another world, is bewildered still, trembling and pale; she\nwears the feeble look of a little old man who might have escaped\nfrom his tomb, or perhaps of a traveller strewn with the powdery\ndust of the ways that lead unto life. She is perfect, however, from\nhead to foot; she knows at once all that has to be known; and, like\nthe children of the people, who learn, as it were, at their birth,\nthat for them there shall never be time to play or to laugh, she\ninstantly makes her way to the cells that are closed, and proceeds\nto beat her wings and to dance in cadence, so that she in her turn\nmay quicken her buried sisters; nor does she for one instant pause\nto decipher the astounding enigma of her destiny, or her race.\n\n{65}\n\nThe most arduous labours will, however, at first be spared her. A\nweek must elapse from the day of her birth before she will quit the\nhive; she will then perform her first \"cleansing flight,\" and absorb\nthe air into her tracheae, which, filling, expand her body, and\nproclaim her the bride of space. Thereupon she returns to the hive,\nand waits yet one week more; and then, with her sisters born the\nsame day as herself, she will for the first time set forth to visit\nthe flowers. A special emotion now will lay hold of her; one that\nFrench apiarists term the \"soleil d'artifice,\" but which might more\nrightly perhaps be called the \"sun of disquiet.\" For it is evident\nthat the bees are afraid, that these daughters of the crowd, of\nsecluded darkness, shrink from the vault of blue, from the infinite\nloneliness of the light; and their joy is halting, and woven of\nterror. They cross the threshold and pause; they depart, they\nreturn, twenty times. They hover aloft in the air, their head\npersistently turned to the home; they describe great soaring circles\nthat suddenly sink beneath the weight of regret; and their thirteen\nthousand eyes will question, reflect, and retain the trees and the\nfountain, the gate and the walls, the neighbouring windows and\nhouses, till at last the aerial course whereon their return shall\nglide have become as indelibly stamped in their memory as though it\nwere marked in space by two lines of steel.\n\n{66}\n\nA new mystery confronts us here, which we shall do well to\nchallenge; for though it reply not, its silence still will extend\nthe field of our conscious ignorance, which is the most fertile of\nall that our activity knows. How do the bees contrive to find their\nway back to the hive that they cannot possibly see, that is hidden,\nperhaps, by the trees, that in any event must form an imperceptible\npoint in space? How is it that if taken in a box to a spot two or\nthree miles from their home, they will almost invariably succeed in\nfinding their way back?\n\nDo obstacles offer no barrier to their sight; do they guide\nthemselves by certain indications and landmarks; or do they possess\nthat peculiar, imperfectly understood sense that we ascribe to the\nswallows and pigeons, for instance, and term the \"sense of\ndirection\"? The experiments of J. H. Fabre, of Lubbock, and, above\nall, of Romanes (Nature, 29 Oct. 1886) seem to establish that it is\nnot this strange instinct that guides them. I have, on the other\nhand, more than once noticed that they appear to pay no attention to\nthe colour or form of the hive. They are attracted rather by the\nordinary appearance of the platform on which their home reposes, by\nthe position of the entrance, and of the alighting-board. But this\neven is merely subsidiary; were the front of the hive to be altered\nfrom top to bottom, during the workers' absence, they would still\nunhesitatingly direct their course to it from out the far depths of\nthe horizon; and only when confronted by the unrecognisable\nthreshold would they seem for one instant to pause. Such\nexperiments as lie in our power point rather to their guiding\nthemselves by an extraordinarily minute and precise appreciation of\nlandmarks. It is not the hive that they seem to remember, but its\nposition, calculated to the minutest fraction, in its relation to\nneighbouring objects. And so marvellous is this appreciation, so\nmathematically certain, so profoundly inscribed in their memory,\nthat if, after five months' hibernation in some obscure cellar, the\nhive, when replaced on the platform, should be set a little to right\nor to left of its former position, all the workers, on their return\nfrom the earliest flowers, will infallibly steer their direct and\nunwavering course to the precise spot that it filled the previous\nyear; and only after some hesitation and groping will they discover\nthe door which stands not now where it once had stood. It is as\nthough space had preciously preserved, the whole winter through, the\nindelible track of their flight: as though the print of their tiny,\nlaborious footsteps, still lay graven in the sky.\n\nIf the hive be displaced, therefore, many bees will lose their way;\nexcept in the case of their having been carried far from their\nformer home, and finding the country completely transformed that\nthey had grown to know perfectly within a radius of two or three\nmiles; for then, if care be taken to warn them, by means of a little\ngangway connecting with the alighting-board, at the entrance to the\nhive, that some change has occurred, they will at once proceed to\nseek new bearings and create fresh landmarks.\n\n{67}\n\nAnd now let us return to the city that is being repeopled, where\nmyriad cradles are incessantly opening, and the solid walls even\nappear to be moving. But this city still lacks a queen. Seven or\neight curious structures arise from the centre of one of the combs,\nand remind us, scattered as they are over the surface of the\nordinary cells, of the circles and protuberances that appear so\nstrange on the photographs of the moon. They are a species of\ncapsule, contrived of wrinkled wax or of inclined glands,\nhermetically sealed, which fills the place of three or four workers'\ncells. As a rule, they are grouped around the same point; and a\nnumerous guard keep watch, with singular vigilance and restlessness,\nover this region that seems instinct with an indescribable prestige.\nIt is here that the mothers are formed. In each one of these\ncapsules, before the swarm departs, an egg will be placed by the\nmother, or more probably--though as to this we have no certain\nknowledge--by one of the workers; an egg that she will have taken\nfrom some neighbouring cell, and that is absolutely identical with\nthose from which workers are hatched.\n\nFrom this egg, after three days, a small larva will issue, and\nreceive a special and very abundant nourishment; and henceforth we\nare able to follow, step by step, the movements of one of those\nmagnificently vulgar methods of nature on which, were we dealing\nwith men, we should bestow the august name of fatality. The little\nlarva, thanks to this regimen, assumes an exceptional development;\nand in its ideas, no less than in its body, there ensues so\nconsiderable a change that the bee to which it will give birth might\nalmost belong to an entirely different race of insects.\n\nFour or five years will be the period of her life, instead of the\nsix or seven weeks of the ordinary worker. Her abdomen will be twice\nas long, her colour more golden, and clearer; her sting will be\ncurved, and her eyes have seven or eight thousand facets instead of\ntwelve or thirteen thousand. Her brain will be smaller, but she will\npossess enormous ovaries, and a special organ besides, the\nspermatheca, that will render her almost an hermaphrodite. None of\nthe instincts will be hers that belong to a life of toil; she will\nhave no brushes, no pockets wherein to secrete the wax, no baskets\nto gather the pollen. The habits, the passions, that we regard as\ninherent in the bee, will all be lacking in her. She will not crave\nfor air, or the light of the sun; she will die without even once\nhaving tasted a flower. Her existence will pass in the shadow, in\nthe midst of a restless throng; her sole occupation the\nindefatigable search for cradles that she must fill. On the other\nhand she alone will know the disquiet of love. Not even twice, it\nmay be, in her life shall she look on the light--for the departure\nof the swarm is by no means inevitable; on one occasion only,\nperhaps, will she make use of her wings, but then it will be to fly\nto her lover. It is strange to see so many things--organs, ideas,\ndesires, habits, an entire destiny--depending, not on a germ, which\nwere the ordinary miracle of the plant, the animal, and man, but on\na curious inert substance: a drop of honey.*\n\n     *It is generally admitted to-day that workers and queens,\n     after the hatching of the egg, receive the same\n     nourishment,--a kind of milk, very rich in nitrogen, that a\n     special gland in the nurses' head secretes. But after a few\n     days the worker larvae are weaned, and put on a coarser diet\n     of honey and pollen; whereas the future queen, until she be\n     fully developed, is copiously fed on the precious milk known\n     as \"royal jelly.\"\n\n{68}\n\nAbout a week has passed since the departure of the old queen. The\nroyal nymphs asleep in the capsules are not all of the same age, for\nit is to the interest of the bees that the births should be nicely\ngradationed, and take place at regular intervals, in accordance with\ntheir possible desire for a second swarm, a third, or even a fourth.\nThe workers have for some hours now been actively thinning the walls\nof the ripest cell, while the young queen, from within, has been\nsimultaneously gnawing the rounded lid of her prison. And at last\nher head appears; she thrusts herself forward; and, with the help of\nthe guardians who hasten eagerly to her, who brush her, caress her,\nand clean her, she extricates herself altogether and takes her first\nsteps on the comb. At the moment of birth she too, like the workers,\nis trembling and pale, but after ten minutes or so her legs become\nstronger, and a strange restlessness seizes her; she feels that she\nis not alone, that her kingdom has yet to be conquered, that close\nby pretenders are hiding; and she eagerly paces the waxen walls in\nsearch of her rivals. But there intervene here the mysterious\ndecisions and wisdom of instinct, of the spirit of the hive, or of\nthe assembly of workers. The most surprising feature of all, as we\nwatch these things happening before us in a hive of glass, is the\nentire absence of hesitation, of the slightest division of opinion.\nThere is not a trace of discussion or discord. The atmosphere of the\ncity is one of absolute unanimity, preordained, which reigns over\nall; and every one of the bees would appear to know in advance the\nthought of her sisters. And yet this moment is the gravest, the most\nvital, in their entire history. They have to choose between three or\nfour courses whose results, in the distant future, will be totally\ndifferent; which, too, the slightest accident may render disastrous.\nThey have to reconcile the multiplication of species--which is their\npassion, or innate duty--with the preservation of the hive and its\npeople. They will err at times; they will successively send forth\nthree or four swarms, thereby completely denuding the mother-city;\nand these swarms, too feeble to organise, will succumb, it may be,\nat the approach of winter, caught unawares by this climate of ours,\nwhich is different far from their original climate, that the bees,\nnotwithstanding all, have never forgotten. In such cases they suffer\nfrom what is known as \"swarming fever;\" a condition wherein life, as\nin ordinary fever, reacting too ardently on itself, passes its aim,\ncompletes the circle, and discovers only death.\n\n{69}\n\nOf all the decisions before them there is none that would seem\nimperative; nor can man, if content to play the part of spectator\nonly, foretell in the slightest degree which one the bees will\nadopt. But that the most careful deliberation governs their choice\nis proved by the fact that we are able to influence, or even\ndetermine it, by for instance reducing or enlarging the space we\naccord them; or by removing combs full of honey, and setting up, in\ntheir stead, empty combs which are well supplied with workers'\ncells.\n\nThe question they have to consider is not whether a second or third\nswarm shall be immediately launched,--for in arriving at such a\ndecision they would merely be blindly and thoughtlessly yielding to\nthe caprice or temptation of a favourable moment,--but the\ninstantaneous, unanimous adoption of measures that shall enable them\nto issue a second swarm or \"cast\" three or four days after the birth\nof the first queen, and a third swarm three days after the departure\nof the second, with this first queen at their head. It must be\nadmitted, therefore, that we discover here a perfectly reasoned\nsystem, and a mature combination of plans extending over a period\nconsiderable indeed when compared with the brevity of the bee's\nexistence.\n\nThese measures concern the care of the youthful queens who still lie\nimmured in their waxen prisons. Let us assume that the \"spirit of\nthe hive\" has pronounced against the despatch of a second swarm. Two\ncourses still remain open. The bees may permit the first-born of the\nroyal virgins, the one whose birth we have witnessed, to destroy her\nsister-enemies; or they may elect to wait till she have performed\nthe perilous ceremony known as the \"nuptial flight,\" whereon the\nnation's future depends. The immediate massacre will be authorised\noften, and often denied; but in the latter case it is of course not\neasy for us to pronounce whether the bees' decision be due to a\ndesire for a second swarm, or to their recognition of the dangers\nattending the nuptial flight; for it will happen at times that, on\naccount of the weather unexpectedly becoming less favourable, or for\nsome other reason we cannot divine, they will suddenly change their\nmind, renounce the cast that they had decreed, and destroy the royal\nprogeny they had so carefully preserved. But at present we will\nsuppose that they have determined to dispense with a second swarm,\nand that they accept the risks of the nuptial flight. Our young\nqueen hastens towards the large cradles, urged on by her great\ndesire, and the guard make way before her. Listening only to her\nfurious jealousy, she will fling herself on to the first cell she\ncomes across, madly strip off the wax with her teeth and claws, tear\naway the cocoon that carpets the cell, and divest the sleeping\nprincess of every covering. If her rival should be already\nrecognisable, the queen will turn so that her sting may enter the\ncapsule, and will frantically stab it with her venomous weapon until\nthe victim perish. She then becomes calmer, appeased by the death\nthat puts a term to the hatred of every creature; she withdraws her\nsting, hurries to the adjoining cell, attacks it and opens it,\npassing it by should she find in it only an imperfect larva or\nnymph; nor does she pause till, at last, exhausted and breathless,\nher claws and teeth glide harmless over the waxen walls.\n\nThe bees that surround her have calmly watched her fury, have stood\nby, inactive, moving only to leave her path clear; but no sooner has\na cell been pierced and laid waste than they eagerly flock to it,\ndrag out the corpse of the ravished nymph, or the still living\nlarva, and thrust it forth from the hive, thereupon gorging\nthemselves with the precious royal jelly that adheres to the sides\nof the cell. And finally, when the queen has become too weak to\npersist in her passion, they will themselves complete the massacre\nof the innocents; and the sovereign race, and their dwellings, will\nall disappear.\n\nThis is the terrible hour of the hive; the only occasion, with that\nof the more justifiable execution of the drones, when the workers\nsuffer discord and death to be busy amongst them; and here, as often\nin nature, it is the favoured of love who attract to themselves the\nmost extraordinary shafts of violent death.\n\nIt will happen at times that two queens will be hatched\nsimultaneously, the occurrence being rare, however, for the bees\ntake special care to prevent it. But whenever this does take place,\nthe deadly combat will begin the moment they emerge from their\ncradles; and of this combat Huber was the first to remark an\nextraordinary feature. Each time, it would seem that the queens, in\ntheir passes, present their chitrinous cuirasses to each other in\nsuch a fashion that the drawing of the sting would prove mutually\nfatal; one might almost believe that, even as a god or goddess was\nwont to interpose in the combats of the Iliad, so a god or a\ngoddess, the divinity of the race, perhaps, interposes here; and the\ntwo warriors, stricken with simultaneous terror, divide and fly, to\nmeet shortly after and separate again should the double disaster\nonce more menace the future of their people; till at last one of\nthem shall succeed in surprising her clumsier or less wary rival,\nand in killing her without risk to herself. For the law of the race\nhas called for one sacrifice only.\n\nThe cradles having thus been destroyed and the rivals all slain, the\nyoung queen is accepted by her people; but she will not truly reign\nover them, or be treated as was her mother before her, until the\nnuptial flight be accomplished; for until she be impregnated the\nbees will hold her but lightly, and render most passing homage. Her\nhistory, however, will rarely be as uneventful as this, for the bees\nwill not often renounce their desire for a second swarm. In that\ncase, as before, quick with the same desires, the queen will\napproach the royal cells; but instead of meeting with docile\nservants who second her efforts, she will find her path blocked by a\nnumerous and hostile guard. In her fury, and urged on by her fixed\nidea, she will endeavour to force her way through, or to outflank\nthem; but everywhere sentinels are posted to protect the sleeping\nprincesses. She persists, she returns to the charge, to be repulsed\nwith ever increasing severity, to be somewhat roughly handled even,\nuntil at last she begins vaguely to understand that these little\ninflexible workers stand for a law before which that law must bend\nwhereby she is inspired.\n\nAnd at last she goes, and wanders from comb to comb, her unsatisfied\nwrath finding vent in a war-song, or angry complaint, that every\nbee-keeper knows; resembling somewhat the note of a distant trumpet\nof silver; so intense, in its passionate feebleness, as to be\nclearly audible, in the evening especially, two or three yards from\nthe double walls of the most carefully enclosed hive.\n\nUpon the workers this royal cry has a magical effect. It terrifies\nthem, it induces a kind of respectful stupor; and when the queen\nsends it forth, as she halts in front of the cells whose approach is\ndenied her, the guardians who have but this moment been hustling\nher, pushing her back, will at once desist, and wait, with bent\nhead, till the cry shall have ceased to resound. Indeed, some\nbelieve that it is thanks to the prestige of this cry, which the\nSphinx Atropos imitates, that the latter is able to enter the hive,\nand gorge itself with honey, without the least molestation on the\npart of the bees.\n\nFor two or three days, sometimes even for five, this indignant\nlament will be heard, this challenge that the queen addresses to her\nwell protected rivals. And as these in their turn develop, in their\nturn grow anxious to see the light, they too set to work to gnaw the\nlids of their cells. A mighty disorder would now appear to threaten\nthe republic. But the genius of the hive, at the time that it formed\nits decision, was able to foretell every consequence that might\nensue; and the guardians have had their instructions: they know\nexactly what must be done, hour by hour, to meet the attacks of a\nfoiled instinct, and conduct two opposite forces to a successful\nissue. They are fully aware that if the young queens should escape\nwho now clamour for birth, they would fall into the hands of their\nelder sister, by this time irresistible, who would destroy them one\nby one. The workers, therefore, will pile on fresh layers of wax in\nproportion as the prisoner reduces, from within, the walls of her\ntower; and the impatient princess will ardently persist in her\nlabour, little suspecting that she has to deal with an enchanted\nobstacle, that rises ever afresh from its ruin. She hears the\nwar-cry of her rival; and already aware of her royal duty and\ndestiny, although she has not yet looked upon life, nor knows what a\nhive may be, she answers the challenge from within the depths of her\nprison. But her cry is different; it is stifled and hollow, for it\nhas to traverse the walls of a tomb; and, when night is falling, and\nnoises are hushed, and high over all there reigns the silence of the\nstars, the apiarist who nears these marvellous cities and stands,\nquestioning, at their entrance, recognises and understands the\ndialogue that is passing between the wandering queen and the virgins\nin prison.\n\n{72}\n\nTo the young princesses, however, this prolonged reclusion is of\nmaterial benefit; for when they at last are freed they have grown\nmature and vigorous, and are able to fly. But during this period of\nwaiting the strength of the first queen has also increased, and is\nsufficient now to enable her to face the perils of the voyage. The\ntime has arrived, therefore, for the departure of the second swarm,\nor \"cast,\" with the first-born of the queens at its head. No sooner\nhas she gone than the workers left in the hive will set one of the\nprisoners free; and she will evince the same murderous desires, send\nforth the same cries of anger, until, at last, after three or four\ndays, she will leave the hive in her turn, at the head of the\ntertiary swarm; and so in succession, in the case of \"swarming\nfever,\" till the mother-city shall be completely exhausted.\n\nSwammerdam cites a hive that, through its swarms and the swarms of\nits swarms, was able in a single season to found no less than thirty\ncolonies.\n\nSuch extraordinary multiplication is above all noticeable after\ndisastrous winters; and one might almost believe that the bees,\nforever in touch with the secret desires of nature, are conscious of\nthe dangers that menace their race. But at ordinary times this fever\nwill rarely occur in a strong and well-governed hive. There are many\nthat swarm only once; and some, indeed, not at all.\n\nAfter the second swarm the bees, as a rule, will renounce further\ndivision, owing either to their having observed the excessive\nfeebleness of their own stock, or to the prudence urged upon them by\nthreatening skies. In that case they will allow the third queen to\nslaughter the captives; ordinary life will at once be resumed, and\npursued with the more ardour for the reason that the workers are all\nvery young, that the hive is depopulated and impoverished, and that\nthere are great voids to fill before the arrival of winter.\n\n{73}\n\nThe departure of the second and third swarms resembles that of the\nfirst, and the conditions are identical, with the exception that the\nbees are fewer in number, less circumspect, and lacking in scouts;\nand also that the young and virgin queen, being unencumbered and\nardent, will fly much further, and in the first stage lead the swarm\nto a considerable distance from the hive. The conduct of these\nsecond and third migrations will be far more rash, and their future\nmore problematical. The queen at their head, the representative of\nthe future, has not yet been impregnated. Their entire destiny\ndepends on the ensuing nuptial flight. A passing bird, a few drops\nof rain, a mistake, a cold wind--any one of these may give rise to\nirremediable disaster. Of this the bees are so well aware that when\nthe young queen sallies forth in quest of her lover, they often will\nabandon the labours they have begun, will forsake the home of a day\nthat already is dear to them, and accompany her in a body, dreading\nto let her pass out of their sight, eager, as they form closely\naround her, and shelter her beneath their myriad devoted wings, to\nlose themselves with her, should love cause her to stray so far from\nthe hive that the as yet unfamiliar road of return shall grow\nblurred and hesitating in every memory.\n\n{74}\n\nBut so potent is the law of the future that none of these\nuncertainties, these perils of death, will cause a single bee to\nwaver. The enthusiasm displayed by the second and third swarms is\nnot less than that of the first. No sooner has the mother-city\npronounced its decision than a battalion of workers will flock\naround each dangerous young queen, eager to follow her fortunes, to\naccompany her on the voyage where there is so much to lose, and so\nlittle to gain beyond the desire of a satisfied instinct. Whence do\nthey derive the energy we ourselves never possess, whereby they\nbreak with the past as though with an enemy? Who is it selects from\nthe crowd those who shall go forth, and declares who shall remain?\nNo special class divides those who stay from those who wander\nabroad; it will be the younger here and the elder there; around each\nqueen who shall never return veteran foragers jostle tiny workers,\nwho for the first time shall face the dizziness of the blue. Nor is\nthe proportionate strength of a swarm controlled by chance or\naccident, by the momentary dejection or transport of an instinct,\nthought, or feeling. I have more than once tried to establish a\nrelation between the number of bees composing a swarm and the number\nof those that remain; and although the difficulties of this\ncalculation are such as to preclude anything approaching\nmathematical precision, I have at least been able to gather that\nthis relation--if we take into account the brood-cells, or in other\nwords the forthcoming births--is sufficiently constant to point to\nan actual and mysterious reckoning on the part of the genius of the\nhive.\n\n{75}\n\nWe will not follow these swarms on their numerous, and often most\ncomplicated, adventures. Two swarms, at times, will join forces; at\nothers, two or three of the imprisoned queens will profit by the\nconfusion attending the moment of departure to elude the\nwatchfulness of their guardians and join the groups that are\nforming. Occasionally, too, one of the young queens, finding herself\nsurrounded by males, will cause herself to be impregnated in the\nswarming flight, and will then drag all her people to an\nextraordinary height and distance. In the practice of apiculture\nthese secondary and tertiary swarms are always returned to the\nmother-hive. The queens will meet on the comb; the workers will\ngather around and watch their combat; and, when the stronger has\novercome the weaker they will then, in their ardour for work and\nhatred of disorder, expel the corpses, close the door on the\nviolence of the future, forget the past, return to their cells, and\nresume their peaceful path to the flowers that await them.\n\n{76}\n\nWe will now, in order to simplify matters, return to the queen whom\nthe bees have permitted to slaughter her sisters, and resume the\naccount of her adventures. As I have already stated, this massacre\nwill be often prevented, and often sanctioned, at times even when\nthe bees apparently do not intend to issue a second swarm; for we\nnotice the same diversity of political spirit in the different hives\nof an apiary as in the different human nations of a continent. But\nit is clear that the bees will act imprudently in giving their\nconsent; for if the queen should die, or stray in the nuptial\nflight, it will be impossible to fill her place, the workers' larvae\nhaving passed the age when they are susceptible of royal\ntransformation. Let us assume, however, that the imprudence has been\ncommitted; and behold our first-born, therefore, unique sovereign,\nand recognised as such in the spirit of her people. But she is still\na virgin. To become as was the mother before her, it is essential\nthat she should meet the male within the first twenty days of her\nlife. Should the event for some reason be delayed beyond this\nperiod, her virginity becomes irrevocable. And yet we have seen that\nshe is not sterile, virgin though she be. There confronts us here\nthe great mystery--or precaution--of Nature, that is known as\nparthenogenesis, and is common to a certain number of insects, such\nas the aphides, the lepidoptera of the Psyche genus, the hymenoptera\nof the Cynipede family, etc. The virgin queen is able to lay; but\nfrom all the eggs that she will deposit in the cells, be these large\nor small, there will issue males alone; and as these never work, as\nthey live at the expense of the females, as they never go foraging\nexcept on their own account, and are generally incapable of\nproviding for their subsistence, the result will be, at the end of\nsome weeks, that the last exhausted worker will perish, and the\ncolony be ruined and totally annihilated. The queen, we have said,\nwill produce thousands of drones; and each of these will possess\nmillions of the spermatozoa whereof it is impossible that a single\none can have penetrated into the organism of the mother. That may\nnot be more astounding, perhaps, than a thousand other and analogous\nphenomena; and, indeed, when we consider these problems, and more\nespecially those of generation, the marvellous and the unexpected\nconfront us so constantly--occurring far more frequently, and above\nall in far less human fashion, than in the most miraculous fairy\nstories--that after a time astonishment becomes so habitual with us\nthat we almost cease to wonder. The fact, however, is sufficiently\ncurious to be worthy of notice. But, on the other hand, how shall we\nexplain to ourselves the aim that nature can have in thus favouring\nthe valueless drones at the cost of the workers who are so\nessential? Is she afraid lest the females might perhaps be induced\nby their intellect unduly to limit the number of their parasites,\nwhich, destructive though they be, are still necessary for the\npreservation of the race? Or is it merely an exaggerated reaction\nagainst the misfortune of the unfruitful queen? Can we have here one\nof those blind and extreme precautions which, ignoring the cause of\nthe evil, overstep the remedy; and, in the endeavour to prevent an\nunfortunate accident, bring about a catastrophe? In reality--though\nwe must not forget that the natural, primitive reality is different:\nfrom that of the present, for in the original forest the colonies\nmight well be far more scattered than they are to-day--in reality\nthe queen's unfruitfulness will rarely be due to the want of males,\nfor these are very numerous always, and will flock from afar; but\nrather to the rain, or the cold, that will have kept her too long in\nthe hive, and more frequently still to the imperfect state of her\nwings, whereby she will be prevented from describing the high flight\nin the air that the organ of the male demands. Nature, however,\nheedless of these more intrinsic causes, is so deeply concerned with\nthe multiplication of males, that we sometimes find, in motherless\nhives, two or three workers possessed of so great a desire to\npreserve the race that, their atrophied ovaries notwithstanding,\nthey will still endeavour to lay; and, their organs expanding\nsomewhat beneath the empire of this exasperated sentiment, they will\nsucceed in depositing a few eggs in the cells; but from these eggs,\nas from those of the virgin mother, there will, issue only males.\n\n{77}\n\nHere we behold the active intervention of a superior though perhaps\nimprudent will, which offers irresistible obstruction to the\nintelligent will of a life. In the insect world such interventions\nare comparatively frequent, and much can be gained from their study;\nfor this world being more densely peopled and more complex than\nothers, certain special desires of nature are often more palpably\nrevealed to us there; and she may even at times be detected in the\nmidst of experiments we might almost be warranted in regarding as\nincomplete. She has one great and general desire, for instance, that\nshe displays on all sides; the amelioration of each species through\nthe triumph of the stronger. This struggle, as a rule, is most\ncarefully organised. The hecatomb of the weak is enormous, but that\nmatters little so long as the victors' reward be effectual and\ncertain. But there are cases when one might almost imagine that\nnature had not had time enough to disentangle her combinations;\ncases where reward is impossible, and the fate of the victor no less\ndisastrous than that of the vanquished. And of such, selecting an\ninstance that will not take us too far from our bees, I know of no\ninstance more striking than that of the triongulins of the _Sitaris\ncolletes._ And it will be seen that, in many details, this story is\nless foreign to the history of man than might perhaps be imagined.\n\nThese triongulins are the primary larvae of a parasite proper to a\nwild, obtuse-tongued, solitary bee, the Colletes, which builds its\nnest in subterranean galleries. It is their habit to lie in wait for\nthe bee at the approach to these galleries; and then, to the number\nof three, four, five, or often of more, they will leap on her back,\nand bury themselves in her hair. Were the struggle of the weak\nagainst the strong to take place at this moment there would be no\nmore to be said, and all would pass in accordance with universal\nlaw. But, for a reason we know not, their instinct requires, and\nnature has consequently ordained, that they should hold themselves\ntranquil so long as they remain on the back of the bee. They\npatiently bide their time while she visits the flowers, and\nconstructs and provisions her cells. But no sooner has an egg been\nlaid than they all spring upon it; and the innocent colletes\ncarefully seals down her cell, which she has duly supplied with\nfood, never suspecting that she has at the same time ensured the\ndeath of her offspring.\n\nThe cell has scarcely been closed when the triongulins grouped round\nthe egg engage in the inevitable and salutary combat of natural\nselection. The stronger, more agile, will seize its adversary\nbeneath the cuirass, and, raising it aloft, will maintain it for\nhours in its mandibles until the victim expire. But, while this\nfight is in progress, another of the triongulins, that had either no\nrival to meet, or already has conquered, takes possession of the egg\nand bursts it open. The ultimate victor has therefore this fresh\nenemy to subdue; but the conquest is easy, for the triongulin, deep\nin the satisfaction of its pre-natal hunger, clings obstinately to\nthe egg, and does not even attempt to defend itself. It is quickly\ndespatched; and the other is at last alone, and possessor of the\nprecious egg it has won so well. It eagerly plunges its head into\nthe opening its predecessor had made; and begins the lengthy repast\nthat shall transform it into a perfect insect. But nature, that has\ndecreed this ordeal of battle, has, on the other hand, established\nthe prize of victory with such miserly precision that nothing short\nof an entire egg will suffice for the nourishment of a single\ntriongulin. So that, as we are informed by M. Mayet, to whom we owe\nthe account of these disconcerting adventures, there is lacking to\nour conqueror the food its last victim consumed before death; and\nincapable therefore of achieving the first stage of its\ntransformation, it dies in its turn, adhering to the skin of the\negg, or adding itself, in the sugary liquid, to the number of the\ndrowned.\n\n{78}\n\nThis case, though rarely to be followed so closely, is not unique in\nnatural history. We have here, laid bare before us, the struggle\nbetween the conscious will of the triongulin, that seeks to live,\nand the obscure and general will of nature, that not only desires\nthat the triongulin should live, but is anxious even that its life\nshould be improved, and fortified, to a degree beyond that to which\nits own will impels it. But, through some strange inadvertence, the\namelioration nature imposes suppresses the life of even the fittest,\nand the Sitaris Colletes would have long since disappeared had not\nchance, acting in opposition to the desires of nature, permitted\nisolated individuals to escape from the excellent and far-seeing law\nthat ordains on all sides the triumph of the stronger.\n\nCan this mighty power err, then, that seems unconscious to us, but\nnecessarily wise, seeing that the life she organises and maintains\nis forever proving her to be right? Can feebleness at times overcome\nthat supreme reason, which we are apt to invoke when we have\nattained the limits of our own? And if that be so, by whom shall\nthis feebleness be set right?\n\nBut let us return to that special form of her resistless\nintervention that we find in parthenogenesis. And we shall do well\nto remember that, remote as the world may seem in which these\nproblems confront us, they do indeed yet concern ourselves very\nnearly. Who would dare to affirm that no interventions take place in\nthe sphere of man--interventions that may be more hidden, but not\nthe less fraught with danger? And in the case before us, which is\nright, in the end,--the insect, or nature? What would happen if the\nbees, more docile perhaps, or endowed with a higher intelligence,\nwere too clearly to understand the desires of nature, and to follow\nthem to the extreme; to multiply males to infinity, seeing that\nnature is imperiously calling for males? Would they not risk the\ndestruction of their species? Are we to believe that there are\nintentions in nature that it is dangerous to understand too clearly,\nfatal to follow with too much ardour; and that it is one of her\ndesires that we should not divine, and follow, all her desires? Is\nit not possible that herein there may lie one of the perils of the\nhuman race? We too are aware of unconscious forces within us, that\nwould appear to demand the reverse of what our intellect urges. And\nthis intellect of ours, that, as a rule, its own boundary reached,\nknows not whither to go--can it be well that it should join itself\nto these forces, and add to them its unexpected weight?\n\n{79}\n\nHave we the right to conclude, from the dangers of parthenogenesis,\nthat nature is not always able to proportion the means to the end;\nand that what she intends to preserve is preserved at times by means\nof precautions she has to contrive against her own precautions, and\noften through foreign circumstances she has not herself foreseen?\nBut is there anything she does foresee, anything she does intend to\npreserve? Nature, some may say, is a word wherewith we clothe the\nunknowable; and few things authorise our crediting it with\nintelligence, or with aim. That is true. We touch here the\nhermetically sealed vases that furnish our conception of the\nuniverse. Reluctant, over and over again, to label these with the\ninscription \"UNKNOWN,\" that disheartens us and compels us to\nsilence, we engrave upon them, in the degree of their size and\ngrandeur, the words \"Nature, life, death, infinite, selection,\nspirit of the race,\" and many others, even as those who went before\nus affixed the words \"God, Providence, destiny, reward,\" etc. Let it\nbe so, if one will, and no more. But, though the contents of the\nvases remain obscure, there is gain at least in the fact that the\ninscriptions to-day convey less menace to us, that we are able\ntherefore to approach them and touch them, and lay our ears close to\nthem and listen, with wholesome curiosity.\n\nBut whatever the name we attach to these vases, it is certain that\none of them, at least, and the greatest--that which bears on its\nflank the name \"Nature\"--encloses a very real force, the most real\nof all, and one that is able to preserve an enormous and marvellous\nquantity and quality of life on our globe, by means so skilful that\nthey surpass all that the genius of man could contrive. Could this\nquantity and quality be maintained by other means? Is it we who\ndeceive ourselves when we imagine that we see precautions where\nperhaps there is truly no more than a fortunate chance, that has\nsurvived a million unfortunate chances?\n\n{80}\n\nThat may be; but these fortunate chances teach us a lesson in\nadmiration as valuable as those we might learn in regions superior\nto chance. If we let our gaze travel beyond the creatures that are\npossessed of a glimmer of intellect and consciousness, beyond the\nprotozoa even, which are the first nebulous representatives of the\ndawning animal kingdom, we find, as has been abundantly proved by\nthe experiments of Mr. H. J. Carter, the celebrated microscopist,\nthat the very lowest embryos, such as the myxomycetes, manifest a\nwill and desires and preferences; and that infusoria, which\napparently have no organism whatever, give evidence of a certain\ncunning. The Amoebae, for instance, will patiently lie in wait for\nthe new-born Acinetes, as they leave the maternal ovary; being aware\nthat these must as yet be lacking their poisonous tentacles. Now,\nthe Amoebae have neither a nervous system nor distinguishable organs\nof any kind. Or if we turn to the plants, which, being motionless,\nwould seem exposed to every fatality,--without pausing to consider\ncarnivorous species like the Drusera, which really act as\nanimals,--we are struck by the genius that some of our humblest\nflowers display in contriving that the visit of the bee shall\ninfallibly procure them the crossed fertilisation they need. See the\nmarvellous fashion in which the Orchis Moris, our humble country\norchid, combines the play of its rostellum and retinacula; observe\nthe mathematical and automatic inclination and adhesion of its\npollinia; as also the unerring double seesaw of the anthers of the\nwild sage, which touch the body of the visiting insect at a\nparticular spot in order that the insect may, in its turn, touch the\nstigma of the neighbouring flower at another particular spot; watch,\ntoo, in the case of the Pedicularis Sylvatica, the successive,\ncalculated movements of its stigma; and indeed the entrance of the\nbee into any one of these three flowers sets every organ vibrating,\njust as the skilful marksman who hits the black spot on the target\nwill cause all the figures to move in the elaborate mechanisms we\nsee in our village fairs.\n\nWe might go lower still, and show, as Ruskin has shown in his\n\"Ethics of the Dust,\" the character, habits, and artifices of\ncrystals; their quarrels, and mode of procedure, when a foreign body\nattempts to oppose their plans, which are more ancient by far than\nour imagination can conceive; the manner in which they admit or\nrepel an enemy, the possible victory of the weaker over the\nstronger, as, for instance, when the all-powerful quartz submits to\nthe humble and wily epidote, and allows this last to conquer it; the\nstruggle, terrible sometimes and sometimes magnificent, between the\nrock-crystal and iron; the regular, immaculate expansion and\nuncompromising purity of one hyaline block, which rejects whatever\nis foul, and the sickly growth, the evident immorality, of its\nbrother, which admits corruption, and writhes miserably in the void;\nas we might quote also the strange phenomena of crystalline\ncicatrisation and reintegration mentioned by Claude Bernard, etc.\nBut the mystery here becomes too foreign to us. Let us keep to our\nflowers, which are the last expression of a life that has yet some\nkinship with our own. We are not dealing now with animals or\ninsects, to which we attribute a special, intelligent will, thanks\nto which they survive. We believe, rightly or wrongly, that the\nflowers possess no such will; at least we cannot discover in them\nthe slightest trace of the organs wherein will, intellect, and\ninitiative of action, are usually born and reside. It follows,\ntherefore, that all that acts in them in so admirable a fashion must\ndirectly proceed from what we elsewhere call nature. We are no\nlonger concerned with the intellect of the individual; here we find\nthe un conscious, undivided force in the act of ensnaring other\nforms of itself. Shall we on that account refuse to believe that\nthese snares are pure accidents, occurring in accordance with a\nroutine that is also incidental? We are not yet entitled to such a\ndeduction. It might be urged that these flowers, had these\nmiraculous combinations not been, would not have survived, but would\nhave had their place filled by others that stood in no need of\ncrossed fertilisation; and the non-existence of the first would have\nbeen perceived by none, nor would the life that vibrates on the\nearth have seemed less incomprehensible to us, less diverse, or less\nastounding.\n\nAnd yet it would be difficult not to admit that acts which bear all\nthe appearance of acts of intelligence and prudence produce and\nsupport these fortunate chances. Whence do they issue,--from the\nbeing itself, or from the force whence that being draws life? I will\nnot say \"it matters but little,\" for, on the contrary, to know the\nanswer were of supreme importance to us. But, in the meantime, and\ntill we shall learn whether it be the flower that endeavours to\nmaintain and perfect the life that nature has placed within it, or\nwhether it be nature that puts forth an effort to maintain and\nimprove the degree of existence the flower has assumed, or finally\nwhether it be chance that ultimately governs chance, a multitude of\nsemblances invite us to believe that something equal to our loftiest\nthoughts issues at times from a common source, that we are compelled\nto admire without knowing where it resides.\n\nThere are moments when what seems error to us comes forth from this\ncommon source. But, although we know very few things, proofs abound\nthat the seeming error was in reality an act of prudence that we at\nfirst could not grasp. In the little circle, even, that our eyes\nembrace we are constantly shown that what we regarded as nature's\nblunder close by was due to her deeming it well to adjust the\npresumed inadvertence out yonder. She has placed the three flowers\nwe mentioned under conditions of such difficulty that they are\nunable to fertilise themselves; she considers it beneficial,\ntherefore, for reasons beyond our powers of perception, that they\nshould cause themselves to be fertilised by their neighbours; and,\ninasmuch as she enhances the intelligence of her victims, she\ndisplays on our right the genius she failed to display on our left.\nThe byways of this genius of hers remain incomprehensible to us, but\nits level is always the same. It will appear to fall into\nerror--assuming that error be possible--thereupon rising again at\nonce in the organ charged to repair this error. Turn where we may,\nit towers high over our heads. It is the circular ocean, the\ntideless water, whereon our boldest and most independent thoughts\nwill never be more than mere abject bubbles. We call it Nature\nto-day; to-morrow, perhaps, we shall give it another name, softer or\nmore alarming. In the meanwhile it holds simultaneous, impartial\nsway over life and death; furnishing the two irreconcilable sisters\nwith the magnificent and familiar weapons that adorn and distract\nits bosom.\n\n{81}\n\nDoes this force take measures to maintain what may be struggling on\nits surface, or must we say, arguing in the strangest of circles,\nthat what floats on its surface must guard itself against the genius\nthat has given it life? That question must be left open. We have no\nmeans of ascertaining whether it be notwithstanding the efforts of\nthe superior will, or independently of these, or lastly because of\nthese, that a species has been able to survive.\n\nAll we can say is that such a species exists, and that, on this\npoint, therefore, nature would seem to be right. But who shall tell\nus how many others that we have not known have fallen victim to her\nrestless and forgetful intellect? Beyond this, we can recognise only\nthe surprising and occasionally hostile forms that the extraordinary\nfluid we call life assumes, in utter unconsciousness sometimes, at\nothers with a kind of consciousness: the fluid which animates us\nequally with all the rest, which produces the very thoughts that\njudge it, and the feeble voice that attempts to tell its story.\n\n\n\n\nVI -- THE NUPTIAL FLIGHT\n\nWE will now consider the manner in which the impregnation of the\nqueen-bee comes to pass. Here again nature has taken extraordinary\nmeasures to favour the union of males with females of a different\nstock; a strange law, whereto nothing would seem to compel her; a\ncaprice, or initial inadvertence, perhaps, whose reparation calls\nfor the most marvellous forces her activity knows.\n\nIf she had devoted half the genius she lavishes on crossed\nfertilisation and other arbitrary desires to making life more\ncertain, to alleviating pain, to softening death and warding off\nhorrible accidents, the universe would probably have presented an\nenigma less incomprehensible, less pitiable, than the one we are\nstriving to solve. But our consciousness, and the interest we take\nin existence, must grapple, not with what might have been, but with\nwhat is.\n\nAround the virgin queen, and dwelling with her in the hive, are\nhundreds of exuberant males, forever drunk on honey; the sole reason\nfor their existence being one act of love. But, notwithstanding the\nincessant contact of two desires that elsewhere invariably triumph\nover every obstacle, the union never takes place in the hive, nor\nhas it been possible to bring about the impregnation of a captive\nqueen.*\n\n\n     *Professor McLain has recently succeeded in causing a few\n     queens to be artificially impregnated; but this has been the\n     result of a veritable surgical operation, of the most\n     delicate and complicated nature. Moreover, the fertility of\n     the queens was restricted and ephemeral.\n\n\nWhile she lives in their midst the lovers about her know not what\nshe is. They seek her in space, in the remote depths of the horizon,\nnever suspecting that they have but this moment quitted her, have\nshared the same comb with her, have brushed against her, perhaps, in\nthe eagerness of their departure. One might almost believe that\nthose wonderful eyes of theirs, that cover their head as though with\na glittering helmet, do not recognise or desire her save when she\nsoars in the blue. Each day, from noon till three, when the sun\nshines resplendent, this plumed horde sallies forth in search of the\nbride, who is indeed more royal, more difficult of conquest, than\nthe most inaccessible princess of fairy legend; for twenty or thirty\ntribes will hasten from all the neighbouring cities, her court thus\nconsisting of more than ten thousand suitors; and from these ten\nthousand one alone will be chosen for the unique kiss of an instant\nthat shall wed him to death no less than to happiness; while the\nothers will fly helplessly round the intertwined pair, and soon will\nperish without ever again beholding this prodigious and fatal\napparition.\n\n{83}\n\nI am not exaggerating this wild and amazing prodigality of nature.\nThe best-conducted hives will, as a rule, contain four to five\nhundred males. Weaker or degenerate ones will often have as many as\nfour or five thousand; for the more a hive inclines to its ruin, the\nmore males will it produce. It may be said that, on an average, an\napiary composed of ten colonies will at a given moment send an army\nof ten thousand males into the air, of whom ten or fifteen at most\nwill have the occasion of performing the one act for which they were\nborn.\n\nIn the meanwhile they exhaust the supplies of the city; each one of\nthe parasites requiring the unceasing labour of five or six workers\nto maintain it in its abounding and voracious idleness, its activity\nbeing indeed solely confined to its jaws. But nature is always\nmagnificent when dealing with the privileges and prerogatives of\nlove. She becomes miserly only when doling out the organs and\ninstruments of labour. She is especially severe on what men have\ntermed virtue, whereas she strews the path of the most uninteresting\nlovers with innumerable jewels and favours. \"Unite and multiply;\nthere is no other law, or aim, than love,\" would seem to be her\nconstant cry on all sides, while she mutters to herself, perhaps:\n\"and exist afterwards if you can; that is no concern of mine.\" Do or\ndesire what else we may, we find, everywhere on our road, this\nmorality that differs so much from our own. And note, too, in these\nsame little creatures, her unjust avarice and insensate waste. From\nher birth to her death, the austere forager has to travel abroad in\nsearch of the myriad flowers that hide in the depths of the\nthickets. She has to discover the honey and pollen that lurk in the\nlabyrinths of the nectaries and in the most secret recesses of the\nanthers. And yet her eyes and olfactory organs are like the eyes and\norgans of the infirm, compared with those of the male. Were the\ndrones almost blind, had they only the most rudimentary sense of\nsmell, they scarcely would suffer. They have nothing to do, no prey\nto hunt down; their food is brought to them ready prepared, and\ntheir existence is spent in the obscurity of the hive, lapping honey\nfrom the comb. But they are the agents of love; and the most\nenormous, most useless gifts are flung with both hands into the\nabyss of the future. Out of a thousand of them, one only, once in\nhis life, will have to seek, in the depths of the azure, the\npresence of the royal virgin. Out of a thousand one only will have,\nfor one instant, to follow in space the female who desires not to\nescape. That suffices. The partial power flings open her treasury,\nwildly, even deliriously. To every one of these unlikely lovers, of\nwhom nine hundred and ninety-nine will be put to death a few days\nafter the fatal nuptials of the thousandth, she has given thirteen\nthousand eyes on each side of their head, while the worker has only\nsix thousand. According to Cheshire's calculations, she has provided\neach of their antennae with thirty-seven thousand eight hundred\nolfactory cavities, while the worker has only five thousand in both.\nThere we have an instance of the almost universal disproportion that\nexists between the gifts she rains upon love and her niggardly doles\nto labour; between the favours she accords to what shall, in an\necstasy, create new life, and the indifference wherewith she regards\nwhat will patiently have to maintain itself by toil. Whoever would\nseek faithfully to depict the character of nature, in accordance\nwith the traits we discover here, would design an extraordinary\nfigure, very foreign to our ideal, which nevertheless can only\nemanate from her. But too many things are unknown to man for him to\nessay such a portrait, wherein all would be deep shadow save one or\ntwo points of flickering light.\n\n{84}\n\nVery few, I imagine, have profaned the secret of the queen-bee's\nwedding, which comes to pass in the infinite, radiant circles of a\nbeautiful sky. But we are able to witness the hesitating departure\nof the bride-elect and the murderous return of the bride.\n\nHowever great her impatience, she will yet choose her day and her\nhour, and linger in the shadow of the portal till a marvellous\nmorning fling open wide the nuptial spaces in the depths of the\ngreat azure vault. She loves the moment when drops of dew still\nmoisten the leaves and the flowers, when the last fragrance of dying\ndawn still wrestles with burning day, like a maiden caught in the\narms of a heavy warrior; when through the silence of approaching\nnoon is heard, once and again, a transparent cry that has lingered\nfrom sunrise.\n\nThen she appears on the threshold--in the midst of indifferent\nforagers, if she have left sisters in the hive; or surrounded by a\ndelirious throng of workers, should it be impossible to fill her\nplace.\n\nShe starts her flight backwards; returns twice or thrice to the\nalighting-board; and then, having definitely fixed in her mind the\nexact situation and aspect of the kingdom she has never yet seen\nfrom without, she departs like an arrow to the zenith of the blue.\nShe soars to a height, a luminous zone, that other bees attain at no\nperiod of their life. Far away, caressing their idleness in the\nmidst of the flowers, the males have beheld the apparition, have\nbreathed the magnetic perfume that spreads from group to group till\nevery apiary near is instinct with it. Immediately crowds collect,\nand follow her into the sea of gladness, whose limpid boundaries\never recede. She, drunk with her wings, obeying the magnificent law\nof the race that chooses her lover, and enacts that the strongest\nalone shall attain her in the solitude of the ether, she rises\nstill; and, for the first time in her life, the blue morning air\nrushes into her stigmata, singing its song, like the blood of\nheaven, in the myriad tubes of the tracheal sacs, nourished on\nspace, that fill the centre of her body. She rises still. A region\nmust be found unhaunted by birds, that else might profane the\nmystery. She rises still; and already the ill-assorted troop below\nare dwindling and falling asunder. The feeble, infirm, the aged,\nunwelcome, ill-fed, who have flown from inactive or impoverished\ncities, these renounce the pursuit and disappear in the void. Only a\nsmall, indefatigable cluster remain, suspended in infinite opal. She\nsummons her wings for one final effort; and now the chosen of\nincomprehensible forces has reached her, has seized her, and\nbounding aloft with united impetus, the ascending spiral of their\nintertwined flight whirls for one second in the hostile madness of\nlove.\n\n{85}\n\nMost creatures have a vague belief that a very precarious hazard, a\nkind of transparent membrane, divides death from love; and that the\nprofound idea of nature demands that the giver of life should die at\nthe moment of giving. Here this idea, whose memory lingers still\nover the kisses of man, is realised in its primal simplicity. No\nsooner has the union been accomplished than the male's abdomen\nopens, the organ detaches itself, dragging with it the mass of the\nentrails; the wings relax, and, as though struck by lightning, the\nemptied body turns and turns on itself and sinks down into the\nabyss.\n\nThe same idea that, before, in parthenogenesis, sacrificed the\nfuture of the hive to the unwonted multiplication of males, now\nsacrifices the male to the future of the hive.\n\nThis idea is always astounding; and the further we penetrate into\nit, the fewer do our certitudes become. Darwin, for instance, to\ntake the man of all men who studied it the most methodically and\nmost passionately, Darwin, though scarcely confessing it to himself,\nloses confidence at every step, and retreats before the unexpected\nand the irreconcilable. Would you have before you the nobly\nhumiliating spectacle of human genius battling with infinite power,\nyou have but to follow Darwin's endeavours to unravel the strange,\nincoherent, inconceivably mysterious laws of the sterility and\nfecundity of hybrids, or of the variations of specific and generic\ncharacters. Scarcely has he formulated a principle when numberless\nexceptions assail him; and this very principle, soon completely\noverwhelmed, is glad to find refuge in some corner, and preserve a\nshred of existence there under the title of an exception.\n\nFor the fact is that in hybridity, in variability (notably in the\nsimultaneous variations known as correlations of growth), in\ninstinct, in the processes of vital competition, in geologic\nsuccession and the geographic distribution of organised beings, in\nmutual affinities, as indeed in every other direction, the idea of\nnature reveals itself, in one and the same phenomenon and at the\nvery same time, as circumspect and shiftless, niggard and prodigal,\nprudent and careless, fickle and stable, agitated and immovable, one\nand innumerable, magnificent and squalid. There lay open before her\nthe immense and virgin fields of simplicity; she chose to people\nthem with trivial errors, with petty contradictory laws that stray\nthrough existence like a flock of blind sheep. It is true that our\neye, before which these things happen, can only reflect a reality\nproportionate to our needs and our stature; nor have we any warrant\nfor believing that nature ever loses sight of her wandering results\nand causes.\n\nIn any event she will rarely permit them to stray too far, or\napproach illogical or dangerous regions. She disposes of two forces\nthat never can err; and when the phenomenon shall have trespassed\nbeyond certain limits, she will beckon to life or to death--which\narrives, re-establishes order, and unconcernedly marks out the path\nafresh.\n\n{86}\n\nShe eludes us on every side; she repudiates most of our rules and\nbreaks our standards to pieces. On our right she sinks far beneath\nthe level of our thoughts, on our left she towers mountain-high\nabove them. She appears to be constantly blundering, no less in the\nworld of her first experiments than in that of her last, of man.\nThere she invests with her sanction the instincts of the obscure\nmass, the unconscious injustice of the multitude, the defeat of\nintelligence and virtue, the uninspired morality which urges on the\ngreat wave of the race, though manifestly inferior to the morality\nthat could be conceived or desired by the minds composing the small\nand the clearer wave that ascends the other. And yet, can such a\nmind be wrong if it ask itself whether the whole truth--moral\ntruths, therefore, as well as non-moral--had not better be sought in\nthis chaos than in itself, where these truths would seem\ncomparatively clear and precise?\n\nThe man who feels thus will never attempt to deny the reason or\nvirtue of his ideal, hallowed by so many heroes and sages; but there\nare times when he will whisper to himself that this ideal has\nperhaps been formed at too great a distance from the enormous mass\nwhose diverse beauty it would fain represent. He has, hitherto,\nlegitimately feared that the attempt to adapt his morality to that\nof nature would risk the destruction of what was her masterpiece.\nBut to-day he understands her a little better; and from some of her\nreplies, which, though still vague, reveal an unexpected breadth, he\nhas been enabled to seize a glimpse of a plan and an intellect\nvaster than could be conceived by his unaided imagination; wherefore\nhe has grown less afraid, nor feels any longer the same imperious\nneed of the refuge his own special virtue and reason afford him. He\nconcludes that what is so great could surely teach nothing that\nwould tend to lessen itself. He wonders whether the moment may not\nhave arrived for submitting to a more judicious examination his\nconvictions, his principles, and his dreams.\n\nOnce more, he has not the slightest desire to abandon his human\nideal. That even which at first diverts him from this ideal teaches\nhim to return to it. It were impossible for nature to give ill\nadvice to a man who declines to include in the great scheme he is\nendeavouring to grasp, who declines to regard as sufficiently lofty\nto be definitive, any truth that is not at least as lofty as the\ntruth he himself desires. Nothing shifts its place in his life save\nonly to rise with him; and he knows he is rising when he finds\nhimself drawing near to his ancient image of good. But all things\ntransform themselves more freely in his thoughts; and he can descend\nwith impunity, for he has the presentiment that numbers of\nsuccessive valleys will lead him to the plateau that he expects.\nAnd, while he thus seeks for conviction, while his researches even\nconduct him to the very reverse of that which he loves, he directs\nhis conduct by the most humanly beautiful truth, and clings to the\none that provisionally seems to be highest. All that may add to\nbeneficent virtue enters his heart at once; all that would tend to\nlessen it remaining there in suspense, like insoluble salts that\nchange not till the hour for decisive experiment. He may accept an\ninferior truth, but before he will act in accordance therewith he\nwill wait, if need be for centuries, until he perceive the\nconnection this truth must possess with truths so infinite as to\ninclude and surpass all others.\n\nIn a word, he divides the moral from the intellectual order,\nadmitting in the former that only which is greater and more\nbeautiful than was there before. And blameworthy as it may be to\nseparate the two orders in cases, only too frequent in life, where\nwe suffer our conduct to be inferior to our thoughts, where, seeing\nthe good, we follow the worse--to see the worse and follow the\nbetter, to raise our actions high over our idea, must ever be\nreasonable and salutary; for human experience renders it daily more\nclear that the highest thought we can attain will long be inferior\nstill to the mysterious truth we seek. Moreover, should nothing of\nwhat goes before be true, a reason more simple and more familiar\nwould counsel him not yet to abandon his human ideal. For the more\nstrength he accords to the laws which would seem to set egoism,\ninjustice, and cruelty as examples for men to follow, the more\nstrength does be at the same time confer on the others that ordain\ngenerosity, justice, and pity; and these last laws are found to\ncontain something as profoundly natural as the first, the moment he\nbegins to equalise, or allot more methodically, the share he\nattributes to the universe and to himself.\n\n{87}\n\nLet us return to the tragic nuptials of the queen. Here it is\nevidently nature's wish, in the interests of crossed fertilisation,\nthat the union of the drone and the queen-bee should be possible\nonly in the open sky. But her desires blend network-fashion, and her\nmost valued laws have to pass through the meshes of other laws,\nwhich, in their turn, the moment after, are compelled to pass\nthrough the first.\n\nIn the sky she has planted so many dangers--cold winds,\nstorm-currents, birds, insects, drops of water, all of which also\nobey invincible laws--that she must of necessity arrange for this\nunion to be as brief as possible. It is so, thanks to the\nstartlingly sudden death of the male. One embrace suffices; the rest\nall enacts itself in the very flanks of the bride.\n\nShe descends from the azure heights and returns to the hive,\ntrailing behind her, like an oriflamme, the unfolded entrails of her\nlover. Some writers pretend that the bees manifest great joy at this\nreturn so big with promise--Buchner, among others, giving a detailed\naccount of it. I have many a time lain in wait for the queen-bee's\nreturn, and I confess that I have never noticed any unusual emotion\nexcept in the case of a young queen who had gone forth at the head\nof a swarm, and represented the unique hope of a newly founded and\nstill empty city. In that instance the workers were all wildly\nexcited, and rushed to meet her. But as a rule they appear to forget\nher, even though the future of their city will often be no less\nimperilled. They act with consistent prudence in all things, till\nthe moment when they authorise the massacre of the rival queens.\nThat point reached, their instinct halts; and there is, as it were,\na gap in their foresight.--They appear to be wholly indifferent.\nThey raise their heads; recognise, probably, the murderous tokens of\nimpregnation; but, still mistrustful, manifest none of the gladness\nour expectation had pictured. Being positive in their ways, and slow\nat illusion, they probably need further proofs before permitting\nthemselves to rejoice. Why endeavour to render too logical, or too\nhuman, the feelings of little creatures so different from ourselves?\nNeither among the bees nor among any other animals that have a ray\nof our intellect, do things happen with the precision our books\nrecord. Too many circumstances remain unknown to us. Why try to\ndepict the bees as more perfect than they are, by saying that which\nis not? Those who would deem them more interesting did they resemble\nourselves, have not yet truly realised what it is that should awaken\nthe interest of a sincere mind. The aim of the observer is not to\nsurprise, but to comprehend; and to point out the gaps existing in\nan intellect, and the signs of a cerebral organisation different\nfrom our own, is more curious by far than the relating of mere\nmarvels concerning it.\n\nBut this indifference is not shared by all; and when the breathless\nqueen has reached the alighting-board, some groups will form and\naccompany her into the hive; where the sun, hero of every festivity\nin which the bees take part, is entering with little timid steps,\nand bathing in azure and shadow the waxen walls and curtains of\nhoney. Nor does the new bride, indeed, show more concern than her\npeople, there being not room for many emotions in her narrow,\nbarbarous, practical brain. She has but one thought, which is to rid\nherself as quickly as possible of the embarrassing souvenirs her\nconsort has left her, whereby her movements are hampered. She seats\nherself on the threshold, and carefully strips off the useless\norgans, that are borne far away by the workers; for the male has\ngiven her all he possessed, and much more than she requires. She\nretains only, in her spermatheca, the seminal liquid where millions\nof germs are floating, which, until her last day, will issue one by\none, as the eggs pass by, and in the obscurity of her body\naccomplish the mysterious union of the male and female element,\nwhence the worker-bees are born. Through a curious inversion, it is\nshe who furnishes the male principle, and the drone who provides the\nfemale. Two days after the union she lays her first eggs, and her\npeople immediately surround her with the most particular care. From\nthat moment, possessed of a dual sex, having within her an\ninexhaustible male, she begins her veritable life; she will never\nagain leave the hive, unless to accompany a swarm; and her fecundity\nwill cease only at the approach of death.\n\n{88}\n\nProdigious nuptials these, the most fairylike that can be conceived,\nazure and tragic, raised high above life by the impetus of desire;\nimperishable and terrible, unique and bewildering, solitary and\ninfinite. An admirable ecstasy, wherein death supervening in all\nthat our sphere has of most limpid and loveliest, in virginal,\nlimitless space, stamps the instant of happiness in the sublime\ntransparence of the great sky; purifying in that immaculate light\nthe something of wretchedness that always hovers around love,\nrendering the kiss one that can never be forgotten; and, content\nthis time with moderate tithe, proceeding herself, with hands that\nare almost maternal, to introduce and unite, in one body, for a long\nand inseparable future, two little fragile lives.\n\nProfound truth has not this poetry, but possesses another that we\nare less apt to grasp, which, however, we should end, perhaps, by\nunderstanding and loving. Nature has not gone out of her way to\nprovide these two \"abbreviated atoms,\" as Pascal would call them,\nwith a resplendent marriage, or an ideal moment of love. Her\nconcern, as we have said, was merely to improve the race by means of\ncrossed fertilisation. To ensure this she has contrived the organ of\nthe male in such a fashion that he can make use of it only in space.\nA prolonged flight must first expand his two great tracheal sacs;\nthese enormous receptacles being gorged on air will throw back the\nlower part of the abdomen, and permit the exsertion of the organ.\nThere we have the whole physiological secret--which will seem\nordinary enough to some, and almost vulgar to others--of this\ndazzling pursuit and these magnificent nuptials.\n\n{89}\n\n\"But must we always, then,\" the poet will wonder, \"rejoice in\nregions that are loftier than the truth?\"\n\nYes, in all things, at all times, let us rejoice, not in regions\nloftier than the truth, for that were impossible, but in regions\nhigher than the little truths that our eye can seize. Should a\nchance, a recollection, an illusion, a passion,--in a word, should\nany motive whatever cause an object to reveal itself to us in a more\nbeautiful light than to others, let that motive be first of all dear\nto us. It may only be error, perhaps; but this error will not\nprevent the moment wherein this object appears the most admirable to\nus from being the moment wherein we are likeliest to perceive its\nreal beauty. The beauty we lend it directs our attention to its\nveritable beauty and grandeur, which, derived as they are from the\nrelation wherein every object must of necessity stand to general,\neternal, forces and laws, might otherwise escape observation. The\nfaculty of admiring which an illusion may have created within us\nwill serve for the truth that must come, be it sooner or later. It\nis with the words, the feelings, and ardour created by ancient and\nimaginary beauties, that humanity welcomes today truths which\nperhaps would have never been born, which might not have been able\nto find so propitious a home, had these sacrificed illusions not\nfirst of all dwelt in, and kindled, the heart and the reason\nwhereinto these truths should descend. Happy the eyes that need no\nillusion to see that the spectacle is great! It is illusion that\nteaches the others to look, to admire, and rejoice. And look as high\nas they will, they never can look too high. Truth rises as they draw\nnearer; they draw nearer when they admire. And whatever the heights\nmay be whereon they rejoice, this rejoicing can never take place in\nthe void, or above the unknown and eternal truth that rests over all\nthings like beauty in suspense.\n\n{90}\n\nDoes this mean that we should attach ourselves to falsehood, to an\nunreal and factitious poetry, and find our gladness therein for want\nof anything better? Or that in the example before us--in itself\nnothing, but we dwell on it because it stands for a thousand others,\nas also for our entire attitude in face of divers orders of\ntruths--that here we should ignore the physiological explanation,\nand retain and taste only the emotions of this nuptial flight, which\nis yet, and whatever the cause, one of the most lyrical, most\nbeautiful acts of that suddenly disinterested, irresistible force\nwhich all living creatures obey and are wont to call love? That were\ntoo childish; nor is it possible, thanks to the excellent habits\nevery loyal mind has today acquired.\n\nThe fact being incontestable, we must evidently admit that the\nexsertion of the organ is rendered possible only by the expansion of\nthe tracheal vesicles. But if we, content with this fact, did not\nlet our eyes roam beyond it; if we deduced therefrom that every\nthought that rises too high or wanders too far must be of necessity\nwrong, and that truth must be looked for only in the material\ndetails; if we did not seek, no matter where, in uncertainties often\nfar greater than the one this little explanation has solved, in the\nstrange mystery of crossed fertilisation for instance, or in the\nperpetuity of the race and life, or in the scheme of nature; if we\ndid not seek in these for something beyond the current explanation,\nsomething that should prolong it, and conduct us to the beauty and\ngrandeur that repose in the unknown, I would almost venture to\nassert that we should pass our existence further away from the truth\nthan those, even, who in this case wilfully shut their eyes to all\nsave the poetic and wholly imaginary interpretation of these\nmarvellous nuptials. They evidently misjudge the form and colour of\nthe truth, but they live in its atmosphere and its influence far\nmore than the others, who complacently believe that the entire truth\nlies captive within their two hands. For the first have made ample\npreparations to receive the truth, have provided most hospitable\nlodging within them; and even though their eyes may not see it, they\nare eagerly looking towards the beauty and grandeur where its\nresidence surely must be.\n\nWe know nothing of nature's aim, which for us is the truth that\ndominates every other. But for the very love of this truth, and to\npreserve in our soul the ardour we need for its search, it behoves\nus to deem it great. And if we should find one day that we have been\non a wrong road, that this aim is incoherent and petty, we shall\nhave discovered its pettiness by means of the very zeal its presumed\ngrandeur had created within us; and this pettiness once established,\nit will teach us what we have to do. In the meanwhile it cannot be\nunwise to devote to its search the most strenuous, daring efforts of\nour heart and our reason. And should the last word of all this be\nwretched, it will be no little achievement to have laid bare the\ninanity and the pettiness of the aim of nature.\n\n\"There is no truth for us yet,\" a great physiologist of our day\nremarked to me once, as I walked with him in the country; \"there is\nno truth yet, but there are everywhere three very good semblances of\ntruth. Each man makes his own choice, or rather, perhaps, has it\nthrust upon him; and this choice, whether it be thrust upon him, or\nwhether, as is often the case, he have made it without due\nreflection, this choice, to which he clings, will determine the form\nand the conduct of all that enters within him. The friend whom we\nmeet, the woman who approaches and smiles, the love that unlocks our\nheart, the death or sorrow that seals it, the September sky above\nus, this superb and delightful garden, wherein we see, as in\nCorneille's 'Psyche,' bowers of greenery resting on gilded statues,\nand the flocks grazing yonder, with their shepherd asleep, and the\nlast houses of the village, and the sea between the trees,--all\nthese are raised or degraded before they enter within us, are\nadorned or despoiled, in accordance with the little signal this\nchoice of ours makes to them. We must learn to select from among\nthese semblances of truth. I have spent my own life in eager search\nfor the smaller truths, the physical causes; and now, at the end of\nmy days, I begin to cherish, not what would lead me from these, but\nwhat would precede them, and, above all, what would somewhat surpass\nthem.\" We had attained the summit of a plateau in the \"pays de\nCaux,\" in Normandy, which is supple as an English park, but natural\nand limitless. It is one of the rare spots on the globe where nature\nreveals herself to us unfailingly wholesome and green. A little\nfurther to the north the country is threatened with barrenness, a\nlittle further to the south, it is fatigued and scorched by the sun.\nAt the end of a plain that ran down to the edge of the sea, some\npeasants were erecting a stack of corn. \"Look,\" he said, \"seen from\nhere, they are beautiful. They are constructing that simple and yet\nso important thing, which is above all else the happy and almost\nunvarying monument of human life taking root--a stack of corn. The\ndistance, the air of the evening, weave their joyous cries into a\nkind of song without words, which replies to the noble song of the\nleaves as they whisper over our heads. Above them the sky is\nmagnificent; and one almost might fancy that beneficent spirits,\nwaving palm-trees of fire, had swept all the light towards the\nstack, to give the workers more time. And the track of the palms\nstill remains in the sky. See the humble church by their side,\noverlooking and watching them, in the midst of the rounded lime\ntrees and the grass of the homely graveyard, that faces its native\nocean. They are fitly erecting their monument of life underneath the\nmonuments of their dead, who made the same gestures and still are\nwith them. Take in the whole picture. There are no special,\ncharacteristic features, such as we find in England, Provence, or\nHolland. It is the presentment, large and ordinary enough to be\nsymbolic, of a natural and happy life. Observe how rhythmic human\nexistence becomes in its useful moments. Look at the man who is\nleading the horses, at that other who throws up the sheaves on his\nfork, at the women bending over the corn, and the children at play.\n... They have not displaced a stone, or removed a spadeful of\nearth, to add to the beauty of the scenery; nor do they take one\nstep, plant a tree or a flower, that is not necessary. All that we\nsee is merely the involuntary result of the effort that man puts\nforth to subsist for a moment in nature; and yet those among us\nwhose desire is only to create or imagine spectacles of peace, deep\nthoughtfulness, or beatitude, have been able to find no scene more\nperfect than this, which indeed they paint or describe whenever they\nseek to present us with a picture of beauty or happiness. Here we\nhave the first semblance, which some will call the truth.\"\n\n{92}\n\n\"Let us draw nearer. Can you distinguish the song that blended so\nwell with the whispering of the leaves? It is made up of abuse and\ninsult; and when laughter bursts forth, it is due to an obscene\nremark some man or woman has made, to a jest at the expense of the\nweaker,--of the hunchback unable to lift his load, the cripple they\nhave knocked over, or the idiot whom they make their butt.\n\n\"I have studied these people for many years. We are in Normandy; the\nsoil is rich and easily tilled. Around this stack of corn there is\nrather more comfort than one would usually associate with a scene of\nthis kind. The result is that most of the men, and many of the\nwomen, are alcoholic. Another poison also, which I need not name,\ncorrodes the race. To that, to the alcohol, are due the children\nwhom you see there: the dwarf, the one with the hare-lip, the others\nwho are knock-kneed, scrofulous, imbecile. All of them, men and\nwomen, young and old, have the ordinary vices of the peasant. They\nare brutal, suspicious, grasping, and envious; hypocrites, liars,\nand slanderers; inclined to petty, illicit profits, mean\ninterpretations, and coarse flattery of the stronger. Necessity\nbrings them together, and compels them to help each other; but the\nsecret wish of every individual is to harm his neighbour as soon as\nthis can be done without danger to himself. The one substantial\npleasure of the village is procured by the sorrows of others. Should\na great disaster befall one of them, it will long be the subject of\nsecret, delighted comment among the rest. Every man watches his\nfellow, is jealous of him, detests and despises him. While they are\npoor, they hate their masters with a boiling and pent-up hatred\nbecause of the harshness and avarice these last display; should they\nin their turn have servants, they profit by their own experience of\nservitude to reveal a harshness and avarice greater even than that\nfrom which they have suffered. I could give you minutest details of\nthe meanness, deceit, injustice, tyranny, and malice that underlie\nthis picture of ethereal, peaceful toil. Do not imagine that the\nsight of this marvellous sky, of the sea which spreads out yonder\nbehind the church and presents another, more sensitive sky, flowing\nover the earth like a great mirror of wisdom and consciousness--do\nnot imagine that either sea or sky is capable of lifting their\nthoughts or widening their minds. They have never looked at them.\nNothing has power to influence or move them save three or four\ncircumscribed fears, that of hunger, of force, of opinion and law,\nand the terror of hell when they die. To show what they are, we\nshould have to consider them one by one. See that tall fellow there\non the right, who flings up such mighty sheaves. Last summer his\nfriends broke his right arm in some tavern row. I reduced the\nfracture, which was a bad and compound one. I tended him for a long\ntime, and gave him the wherewithal to live till he should be able to\nget back to work. He came to me every day. He profited by this to\nspread the report in the village that he had discovered me in the\narms of my sister-in-law, and that my mother drank. He is not\nvicious, he bears me no ill-will; on the contrary, see what a broad,\nopen smile spreads over his face as he sees me. It was not social\nanimosity that induced him to slander me. The peasant values wealth\nfar too much to hate the rich man. But I fancy my good corn-thrower\nthere could not understand my tending him without any profit to\nmyself. He was satisfied that there must be some underhand scheme,\nand he declined to be my dupe. More than one before him, richer or\npoorer, has acted in similar fashion, if not worse. It did not occur\nto him that he was lying when he spread those inventions abroad; he\nmerely obeyed a confused command of the morality he saw about him.\nHe yielded unconsciously, against his will, as it were, to the\nall-powerful desire of the general malevolence.... But why\ncomplete a picture with which all are familiar who have spent some\nyears in the country? Here we have the second semblance that some\nwill call the real truth. It is the truth of practical life. It\nundoubtedly is based on the most precise, the only, facts that one\ncan observe and test.\"\n\n{93}\n\n\"Let us sit on these sheaves,\" he continued, \"and look again. Let us\nreject not a single one of the little facts that build up the\nreality of which I have spoken. Let us permit them to depart of\ntheir own accord into space. They cumber the foreground, and yet we\ncannot but be aware of the existence behind them of a great and very\ncurious force that sustains the whole. Does it only sustain and not\nraise? These men whom we see before us are at least no longer the\nferocious animals of whom La Bruyere speaks, the wretches who talked\nin a kind of inarticulate voice, and withdrew at night to their\ndens, where they lived on black bread, water, and roots.\n\n\"The race, you will tell me, is neither as strong nor as healthy.\nThat may be; alcohol and the other scourge are accidents that\nhumanity has to surmount; ordeals, it may be, by which certain of\nour organs, those of the nerves, for instance, may benefit; for we\ninvariably find that life profits by the ills that it overcomes.\nBesides, a mere trifle that we may discover to-morrow may render\nthese poisons innocuous. These men have thoughts and feelings that\nthose of whom La Bruyere speaks had not.\" \"I prefer the simple,\nnaked animal to the odious half-animal,\" I murmured. \"You are\nthinking of the first semblance now,\" he replied, \"the semblance\ndear to the poet, that we saw before; let us not confuse it with the\none we are now considering. These thoughts and feelings are petty,\nif you will, and vile; but what is petty and vile is still better\nthan that which is not at all. Of these thoughts and feelings they\navail themselves only to hurt each other, and to persist in their\npresent mediocrity; but thus does it often happen in nature. The\ngifts she accords are employed for evil at first, for the rendering\nworse what she had apparently sought to improve; but, from this\nevil, a certain good will always result in the end. Besides, I am by\nno means anxious to prove that there has been progress, which may be\na very small thing or a very great thing, according to the place\nwhence we regard it. It is a vast achievement, the surest ideal,\nperhaps, to render the condition of men a little less servile, a\nlittle less painful; but let the mind detach itself for an instant\nfrom material results, and the difference between the man who\nmarches in the van of progress and the other who is blindly dragged\nat its tail ceases to be very considerable. Among these young\nrustics, whose mind is haunted only by formless ideas, there are\nmany who have in themselves the possibility of attaining, in a short\nspace of time, the degree of consciousness that we both enjoy. One\nis often struck by the narrowness of the dividing line between what\nwe regard as the unconsciousness of these people and the\nconsciousness that to us is the highest of all.\"\n\n\"Besides, of what is this consciousness composed, whereof we are so\nproud? Of far more shadow than light, of far more acquired ignorance\nthan knowledge; of far more things whose comprehension, we are well\naware, must ever elude us, than of things that we actually know. And\nyet in this consciousness lies all our dignity, our most veritable\ngreatness; it is probably the most surprising phenomenon this world\ncontains. It is this which permits us to raise our head before the\nunknown principle, and say to it: 'What you are I know not; but\nthere is something within me that already enfolds you. You will\ndestroy me, perhaps, but if your object be not to construct from my\nruins an organism better than mine, you will prove yourself inferior\nto what I am; and the silence that will follow the death of the race\nto which I belong will declare to you that you have been judged. And\nif you are not capable even of caring whether you be justly judged\nor not, of what value can your secret be? It must be stupid or\nhideous. Chance has enabled you to produce a creature that you\nyourself lacked the quality to produce. It is fortunate for him that\na contrary chance should have permitted you to suppress him before\nhe had fathomed the depths of your unconsciousness; more fortunate\nstill that he does not survive the infinite series of your awful\nexperiments. He had nothing to do in a world where his intellect\ncorresponded to no eternal intellect, where his desire for the\nbetter could attain no actual good.'\n\n\"Once more, for the spectacle to absorb us, there is no need of\nprogress. The enigma suffices; and that enigma is as great, and\nshines as mysteriously, in the peasants as in ourselves. As we trace\nlife back to its all-powerful principle, it confronts us on every\nside. To this principle each succeeding century has given a new\nname. Some of these names were clear and consoling. It was found,\nhowever, that consolation and clearness were alike illusory. But\nwhether we call it God, Providence, Nature, chance, life, fatality,\nspirit, or matter, the mystery remains unaltered; and from the\nexperience of thousands of years we have learned nothing more than\nto give it a vaster name, one nearer to ourselves, more congruous\nwith our expectation, with the unforeseen.\n\n\"That is the name it bears to-day, wherefore it has never seemed\ngreater. Here we have one of the numberless aspects of the third\nsemblance, which also is truth.\"\n\n\n\n\nVII -- THE MASSACRE OF THE MALES\n\n{94}\n\nIF skies remain clear, the air warm, and pollen and nectar abound in\nthe flowers, the workers, through a kind of forgetful indulgence, or\nover-scrupulous prudence perhaps, will for a short time longer\nendure the importunate, disastrous presence of the males. These\ncomport themselves in the hive as did Penelope's suitors in the\nhouse of Ulysses. Indelicate and wasteful, sleek and corpulent,\nfully content with their idle existence as honorary lovers, they\nfeast and carouse, throng the alleys, obstruct the passages, and\nhinder the work; jostling and jostled, fatuously pompous, swelled\nwith foolish, good-natured contempt; harbouring never a suspicion of\nthe deep and calculating scorn wherewith the workers regard them, of\nthe constantly growing hatred to which they give rise, or of the\ndestiny that awaits them. For their pleasant slumbers they select\nthe snuggest corners of the hive; then, rising carelessly, they\nflock to the open cells where the honey smells sweetest, and soil\nwith their excrements the combs they frequent. The patient workers,\ntheir eyes steadily fixed on the future, will silently set things\nright. From noon till three, when the purple country trembles in\nblissful lassitude beneath the invincible gaze of a July or August\nsun, the drones will appear on the threshold. They have a helmet\nmade of enormous black pearls, two lofty, quivering plumes, a\ndoublet of iridescent, yellowish velvet, an heroic tuft, and a\nfourfold mantle, translucent and rigid. They create a prodigious\nstir, brush the sentry aside, overturn the cleaners, and collide\nwith the foragers as these return laden with their humble spoil.\nThey have the busy air, the extravagant, contemptuous gait, of\nindispensable gods who should be simultaneously venturing towards\nsome destiny unknown to the vulgar. One by one they sail off into\nspace, irresistible, glorious, and tranquilly make for the nearest\nflowers, where they sleep till the afternoon freshness awake them.\nThen, with the same majestic pomp, and still overflowing with\nmagnificent schemes, they return to the hive, go straight to the\ncells, plunge their head to the neck in the vats of honey, and fill\nthemselves tight as a drum to repair their exhausted strength;\nwhereupon, with heavy steps, they go forth to meet the good,\ndreamless and careless slumber that shall fold them in its embrace\ntill the time for the next repast.\n\n{95}\n\nBut the patience of the bees is not equal to that of men. One\nmorning the long-expected word of command goes through the hive; and\nthe peaceful workers turn into judges and executioners. Whence this\nword issues, we know not; it would seem to emanate suddenly from the\ncold, deliberate indignation of the workers; and no sooner has it\nbeen uttered than every heart throbs with it, inspired with the\ngenius of the unanimous republic. One part of the people renounce\ntheir foraging duties to devote themselves to the work of justice.\nThe great idle drones, asleep in unconscious groups on the\nmelliferous walls, are rudely torn from their slumbers by an army of\nwrathful virgins. They wake, in pious wonder; they cannot believe\ntheir eyes; and their astonishment struggles through their sloth as\na moonbeam through marshy water. They stare amazedly round them,\nconvinced that they must be victims of some mistake; and the\nmother-idea of their life being first to assert itself in their dull\nbrain, they take a step towards the vats of honey to seek comfort\nthere. But ended for them are the days of May honey, the wine-flower\nof lime trees and fragrant ambrosia of thyme and sage, of marjoram\nand white clover. Where the path once lay open to the kindly,\nabundant reservoirs, that so invitingly offered their waxen and\nsugary mouths, there stands now a burning-bush all alive with\npoisonous, bristling stings. The atmosphere of the city is changed;\nin lieu of the friendly perfume of honey, the acrid odour of poison\nprevails; thousands of tiny drops glisten at the end of the stings,\nand diffuse rancour and hatred. Before the bewildered parasites are\nable to realise that the happy laws of the city have crumbled,\ndragging down in most inconceivable fashion their own plentiful\ndestiny, each one is assailed by three or four envoys of justice;\nand these vigorously proceed to cut off his wings, saw through the\npetiole that connects the abdomen with the thorax, amputate the\nfeverish antennae, and seek an opening between the rings of his\ncuirass through which to pass their sword. No defence is attempted\nby the enormous, but unarmed, creatures; they try to escape, or\noppose their mere bulk to the blows that rain down upon them. Forced\non to their back, with their relentless enemies clinging doggedly to\nthem, they will use their powerful claws to shift them from side to\nside; or, turning on themselves, they will drag the whole group\nround and round in wild circles, which exhaustion soon brings to an\nend. And, in a very brief space, their appearance becomes so\ndeplorable that pity, never far from justice in the depths of our\nheart, quickly returns, and would seek forgiveness, though vainly,\nof the stern workers who recognise only nature's harsh and profound\nlaws. The wings of the wretched creatures are torn, their antennae\nbitten, the segments of their legs wrenched off; and their\nmagnificent eyes, mirrors once of the exuberant flowers, flashing\nback the blue light and the innocent pride of summer, now, softened\nby suffering, reflect only the anguish and distress of their end.\nSome succumb to their wounds, and are at once borne away to distant\ncemeteries by two or three of their executioners. Others, whose\ninjuries are less, succeed in sheltering themselves in some corner,\nwhere they lie, all huddled together, surrounded by an inexorable\nguard, until they perish of want. Many will reach the door, and\nescape into space dragging their adversaries with them; but, towards\nevening, impelled by hunger and cold, they return in crowds to the\nentrance of the hive to beg for shelter. But there they encounter\nanother pitiless guard. The next morning, before setting forth on\ntheir journey, the workers will clear the threshold, strewn with the\ncorpses of the useless giants; and all recollection of the idle race\ndisappear till the following spring.\n\n{96}\n\nIn very many colonies of the apiary this massacre will often take\nplace on the same day. The richest, best-governed hive will give the\nsignal; to be followed, some days after, by the little and less\nprosperous republics. Only the poorest, weakest colonies--those\nwhose mother is very old and almost sterile--will preserve their\nmales till the approach of winter, so as not to abandon the hope of\nprocuring the impregnation of the virgin queen they await, and who\nmay yet be born. Inevitable misery follows; and all the\ntribe--mother, parasites, workers--collect in a hungry and closely\nintertwined group, who perish in silence before the first snows\narrive, in the obscurity of the hive.\n\nIn the wealthy and populous cities work is resumed after the\nexecution of the drones,--although with diminishing zeal, for\nflowers are becoming scarce. The great festivals, the great dramas,\nare over. The autumn honey, however, that shall complete the\nindispensable provisions, is accumulating within the hospitable\nwalls; and the last reservoirs are sealed with the seal of white,\nincorruptible wax. Building ceases, births diminish, deaths\nmultiply; the nights lengthen, and days grow shorter. Rain and\ninclement winds, the mists of the morning, the ambushes laid by a\nhastening twilight, carry off hundreds of workers who never return;\nand soon, over the whole little people, that are as eager for\nsunshine as the grasshoppers of Attica, there hangs the cold menace\nof winter.\n\nMan has already taken his share of the harvest. Every good hive has\npresented him with eighty or a hundred pounds of honey; the most\nremarkable will sometimes even give two hundred, which represent an\nenormous expanse of liquefied light, immense fields of flowers that\nhave been visited daily one or two thousand times. He throws a last\nglance over the colonies, which are becoming torpid. From the\nrichest he takes their superfluous wealth to distribute it among\nthose whom misfortune, unmerited always in this laborious world, may\nhave rendered necessitous. He covers the dwellings, half closes the\ndoors, removes the useless frames, and leaves the bees to their long\nwinter sleep. They gather in the centre of the hive, contract\nthemselves, and cling to the combs that contain the faithful urns;\nwhence there shall issue, during days of frost, the transmuted\nsubstance of summer. The queen is in the midst of them, surrounded\nby her guard. The first row of the workers attach themselves to the\nsealed cells; a second row cover the first, a third the second, and\nso in succession to the last row of all, which form the envelope.\nWhen the bees of this envelope feel the cold stealing over them,\nthey re-enter the mass, and others take their place. The suspended\ncluster is like a sombre sphere that the walls of the comb divide;\nit rises imperceptibly and falls, it advances or retires, in\nproportion as the cells grow empty to which it clings. For, contrary\nto what is generally believed, the winter life of the bee is not\narrested, although it be slackened. By the concerted beating of\ntheir wings--little sisters that have survived the flames of the\nsun--which go quickly or slowly in accordance as the temperature\nwithout may vary, they maintain in their sphere an unvarying warmth,\nequal to that of a day in spring. This secret spring comes from the\nbeautiful honey, itself but a ray of heat transformed, that returns\nnow to its first condition. It circulates in the hive like generous\nblood. The bees at the full cells present it to their neighbours,\nwho pass it on in their turn. Thus it goes from hand to hand and\nfrom mouth to mouth, till it attain the extremity of the group in\nwhose thousands of hearts one destiny, one thought, is scattered and\nunited. It stands in lieu of the sun and the flowers, till its elder\nbrother, the veritable sun of the real, great spring, peering\nthrough the half-open door, glides in his first softened glances,\nwherein anemones and violets are coming to life again; and gently\nawakens the workers, showing them that the sky once more is blue in\nthe world, and that the uninterrupted circle that joins death to\nlife has turned and begun afresh.\n\n\n\n\nVIII -- THE PROGRESS OF THE RACE\n\n{97}\n\nBEFORE closing this book--as we have closed the hive on the torpid\nsilence of winter--I am anxious to meet the objection invariably\nurged by those to whom we reveal the astounding industry and policy\nof the bees. Yes, they will say, that is all very wonderful; but\nthen, it has never been otherwise. The bees have for thousands of\nyears dwelt under remarkable laws, but during those thousands of\nyears the laws have not varied. For thousands of years they have\nconstructed their marvellous combs, whereto we can add nothing,\nwherefrom we can take nothing,--combs that unite in equal perfection\nthe science of the chemist, the geometrician, the architect, and the\nengineer; but on the sarcophagi, on Egyptian stones and papyri, we\nfind drawings of combs that are identical in every particular. Name\na single fact that will show the least progress, a single instance\nof their having contrived some new feature or modified their\nhabitual routine, and we will cheerfully yield, and admit that they\nnot only possess an admirable instinct, but have also an intellect\nworthy to approach that of man, worthy to share in one knows not\nwhat higher destiny than awaits unconscious and submissive matter.\n\nThis language is not even confined to the profane; it is made use of\nby entomologists of the rank of Kirby and Spence, in order to deny\nthe bees the possession of intellect other than may vaguely stir\nwithin the narrow prison of an extraordinary but unchanging\ninstinct. \"Show us,\" they say, \"a single case where the pressure of\nevents has inspired them with the idea, for instance, of\nsubstituting clay or mortar for wax or propolis; show us this, and\nwe will admit their capacity for reasoning.\"\n\nThis argument, that Romanes refers to as the \"question-begging\nargument,\" and that might also be termed the \"insatiable argument,\"\nis exceedingly dangerous, and, if applied to man, would take us very\nfar. Examine it closely, and you find that it emanates from the\n\"mere common-sense,\" which is often so harmful; the \"common-sense\"\nthat replied to Galileo: \"The earth does not turn, for I can see the\nsun move in the sky, rise in the morning and sink in the evening;\nand nothing can prevail over the testimony of my eyes.\" Common-sense\nmakes an admirable, and necessary, background for the mind; but\nunless it be watched by a lofty disquiet ever ready to remind it,\nwhen occasion demand, of the infinity of its ignorance, it dwindles\ninto the mere routine of the baser side of our intellect. But the\nbees have themselves answered the objection Messrs. Kirby and Spence\nadvanced. Scarcely had it been formulated when another naturalist,\nAndrew Knight, having covered the bark of some diseased trees with a\nkind of cement made of turpentine and wax, discovered that his bees\nwere entirely renouncing the collection of propolis, and exclusively\nusing this unknown matter, which they had quickly tested and\nadopted, and found in abundant quantities, ready prepared, in the\nvicinity of their dwelling.\n\nAnd indeed, one-half of the science and practice of apiculture\nconsists in giving free rein to the spirit of initiative possessed\nby the bees, and in providing their enterprising intellect with\nopportunities for veritable discoveries and veritable inventions.\nThus, for instance, to aid in the rearing of the larvae and nymphs,\nthe bee-keeper will scatter a certain quantity of flour close to the\nhive when the pollen is scarce of which these consume an enormous\nquantity. In a state of nature, in the heart of their native forests\nin the Asiatic valleys, where they existed probably long before the\ntertiary epoch, the bees can evidently never have met with a\nsubstance of this kind. And yet, if care be taken to \"bait\" some of\nthem with it, by placing them on the flour, they will touch it and\ntest it, they will perceive that its properties more or less\nresemble those possessed by the dust of the anthers; they will\nspread the news among their sisters, and we shall soon find every\nforager hastening to this unexpected, incomprehensible food, which,\nin their hereditary memory, must be inseparable from the calyx of\nflowers where their flight, for so many centuries past, has been\nsumptuously and voluptuously welcomed.\n\n{98}\n\nIt is a little more than a hundred years ago that Huber's researches\ngave the first serious impetus to our study of the bees, and\nrevealed the elementary important truths that allowed us to observe\nthem with fruitful result. Barely fifty years have passed since the\nfoundation of rational, practical apiculture was rendered possible\nby means of the movable combs and frames devised by Dzierzon and\nLangstroth, and the hive ceased to be the inviolable abode wherein\nall came to pass in a mystery from which death alone stripped the\nveil. And lastly, less than fifty years have elapsed since the\nimprovements of the microscope, of the entomologist's laboratory,\nrevealed the precise secret of the principal organs of the workers,\nof the mother, and the males. Need we wonder if our knowledge be as\nscanty as our experience? The bees have existed many thousands of\nyears; we have watched them for ten or twelve lustres. And if it\ncould even be proved that no change has occurred in the hive since\nwe first opened it, should we have the right to conclude that\nnothing had changed before our first questioning glance? Do we not\nknow that in the evolution of species a century is but as a drop of\nrain that is caught in the whirl of the river, and that millenaries\nglide as swiftly over the life of universal matter as single years\nover the history of a people?\n\n{99}\n\nBut there is no warrant for the statement that the habits of the\nbees are unchanged. If we examine them with an unbiassed eye, and\nwithout emerging from the small area lit by our actual experience,\nwe shall, on the contrary, discover marked variations. And who shall\ntell how many escape us? Were an observer of a hundred and fifty\ntimes our height and about seven hundred and fifty thousand times\nour importance (these being the relations of stature and weight in\nwhich we stand to the humble honey-fly), one who knew not our\nlanguage, and was endowed with senses totally different from our\nown; were such an one to have been studying us, he would recognise\ncertain curious material transformations in the course of the last\ntwo thirds of the century, but would be totally unable to form any\nconception of our moral, social, political, economic or religious\nevolution.\n\nThe most likely of all the scientific hypotheses will presently\npermit us to connect our domestic bee with the great tribe of the\n\"Apiens,\" which embraces all wild bees, and where its ancestors are\nprobably to be found. We shall then perceive physiological, social,\neconomic, industrial, and architectural transformations more\nextraordinary than those of our human evolution. But for the moment\nwe will limit ourselves to our domestic bee properly so called. Of\nthese sixteen fairly distinct species are known; but, essentially,\nwhether we consider the Apis Dorsata, the largest known to us, or\nthe Apis Florea, which is the smallest, the insect is always exactly\nthe same, except for the slight modifications induced by the climate\nand by the conditions whereto it has had to conform.*\n\n    *The scientific classification of the domestic bee is as follows:\n\n    Class....... Insecta\n\n    Order....... Hymenoptera\n\n    Family...... Apidae\n\n    Genus....... Apis\n\n    Species..... Mellifica\n\nThe term \"Mellifica\" is that of the Linnaean classification. It is\nnot of the happiest, for all the Apidae, with the exception of\ncertain parasites perhaps, are producers of honey. Scopoli uses the\nterm \"Cerifera \"; Reaumur \"Domestica \"; Geoffroy \"Gregaria.\" The\n\"Apis Ligustica,\" the Italian bee, is another variety of the\n\"Mellifica.\"\n\nThe difference between these various species is scarcely greater\nthan that between an Englishman and a Russian, a Japanese and a\nEuropean. In these preliminary remarks, therefore, we will confine\nourselves to what actually lies within the range of our eyes,\nrefusing the aid of hypothesis, be this never so probable or so\nimperious. We shall mention no facts that are not susceptible of\nimmediate proof; and of such facts we will only rapidly refer to\nsome of the more significant.\n\n{100}\n\nLet us consider first of all the most important and most radical\nimprovement, one that in the case of man would have called for\nprodigious labour: the external protection of the community.\n\nThe bees do not, like ourselves, dwell in towns free to the sky, and\nexposed to the caprice of rain and storm, but in cities entirely\ncovered with a protecting envelope. In a state of nature, however,\nin an ideal climate, this is not the case. If they listened only to\ntheir essential instinct, they would construct their combs in the\nopen air. In the Indies, the Apis Dorsata will not eagerly seek\nhollow trees, or a hole in the rocks. The swarm will hang from the\ncrook of a branch; and the comb will be lengthened, the queen lay\nher eggs, provisions be stored, with no shelter other than that\nwhich the workers' own bodies provide. Our Northern bees have at\ntimes been known to revert to this instinct, under the deceptive\ninfluence of a too gentle sky; and swarms have been found living in\nthe heart of a bush. But even in the Indies, the result of this\nhabit, which would seem innate, is by no means favourable. So\nconsiderable a number of the workers are compelled to remain on one\nspot, occupied solely with the maintenance of the heat required by\nthose who are moulding the wax and rearing the brood, that the Apis\nDorsata, hanging thus from the branches, will construct but a single\ncomb; whereas if she have the least shelter she will erect four or\nfive, or more, and will proportionately increase the prosperity and\nthe population of the colony. And indeed we find that all species of\nbees existing in cold and temperate regions have abandoned this\nprimitive method. The intelligent initiative of the insect has\nevidently received the sanction of natural selection, which has\nallowed only the most numerous and best protected tribes to survive\nour winters. What had been merely an idea, therefore, and opposed to\ninstinct, has thus by slow degrees become an instinctive habit. But\nit is none the less true that in forsaking the vast light of nature\nthat was so dear to them and seeking shelter in the obscure hollow\nof a tree or a cavern, the bees have followed what at first was an\naudacious idea, based on observation, probably, on experience and\nreasoning. And this idea might be almost declared to have been as\nimportant to the destinies of the domestic bee as was the invention\nof fire to the destinies of man.\n\n{101}\n\nThis great progress, not the less actual for being hereditary and\nancient, was followed by an infinite variety of details which prove\nthat the industry, and even the policy, of the hive have not\ncrystallised into infrangible formulae. We have already mentioned\nthe intelligent substitution of flour for pollen, and of an\nartificial cement for propolis. We have seen with what skill the\nbees are able to adapt to their needs the occasionally disconcerting\ndwellings into which they are introduced, and the surprising\nadroitness wherewith they turn combs of foundation-wax to good\naccount. They display extraordinary ingenuity in their manner of\nhandling these marvellous combs, which are so strangely useful, and\nyet incomplete. In point of fact, they meet man half-way. Let us\nimagine that we had for centuries past been erecting cities, not\nwith stones, bricks, and lime, but with some pliable substance\npainfully secreted by special organs of our body. One day an\nall-powerful being places us in the midst of a fabulous city. We\nrecognise that it is made of a substance similar to the one that we\nsecrete, but, as regards the rest, it is a dream, whereof what is\nlogical is so distorted, so reduced, and as it were concentrated, as\nto be more disconcerting almost than had it been incoherent. Our\nhabitual plan is there; in fact, we find everything that we had\nexpected; but all has been put together by some antecedent force\nthat would seem to have crushed it, arrested it in the mould, and to\nhave hindered its completion. The houses whose height must attain\nsome four or five yards are the merest protuberances, that our two\nhands can cover. Thousands of walls are indicated by signs that hint\nat once of their plan and material. Elsewhere there are marked\ndeviations, which must be corrected; gaps to be filled and\nharmoniously joined to the rest, vast surfaces that are unstable and\nwill need support. The enterprise is hopeful, but full of hardship\nand danger. It would seem to have been conceived by some sovereign\nintelligence, that was able to divine most of our desires, but has\nexecuted them clumsily, being hampered by its very vastness. We must\ndisentangle, therefore, what now is obscure, we must develop the\nleast intentions of the supernatural donor; we must build in a few\ndays what would ordinarily take us years; we must renounce organic\nhabits, and fundamentally alter our methods of labour. It is certain\nthat all the attention man could devote would not be excessive for\nthe solution of the problems that would arise, or for the turning to\nfullest account the help thus offered by a magnificent providence.\nYet that is, more or less, what the bees are doing in our modern\nhives.*\n\n     *As we are now concerned with the construction of the bee,\n     we may note, in passing, a strange peculiarity of the Apis\n     Florea. Certain walls of its cells for males are cylindrical\n     instead of hexagonal. Apparently she has not yet succeeded\n     in passing from one form to the other, and indefinitely\n     adopting the better.\n\n{102}\n\nI have said that even the policy of the bees is probably subject to\nchange. This point is the obscurest of all, and the most difficult\nto verify. I shall not dwell on their various methods of treating\nthe queens, or the laws as to swarming that are peculiar to the\ninhabitants of every hive, and apparently transmitted from\ngeneration to generation, etc.; but by the side of these facts which\nare not sufficiently established are others so precise and unvarying\nas to prove that the same degree of political civilisation has not\nbeen attained by all races of the domestic bee, and that, among some\nof them, the public spirit still is groping its way, seeking perhaps\nanother solution of the royal problem. The Syrian bee, for instance,\nhabitually rears 120 queens and often more, whereas our Apis\nMellifica will rear ten or twelve at most. Cheshire tells of a\nSyrian hive, in no way abnormal, where 120 dead queen-mothers were\nfound, and 90 living, unmolested queens. This may be the point of\ndeparture, or the point of arrival, of a strange social evolution,\nwhich it would be interesting to study more thoroughly. We may add\nthat as far as the rearing of queens is concerned, the Cyprian bee\napproximates to the Syrian. And finally, there is yet another fact\nwhich establishes still more clearly that the customs and prudent\norganisation of the hive are not the results of a primitive impulse,\nmechanically followed through different ages and climates, but that\nthe spirit which governs the little republic is fully as capable of\ntaking note of new conditions and turning these to the best\nadvantage, as in times long past it was capable of meeting the\ndangers that hemmed it around. Transport our black bee to California\nor Australia, and her habits will completely alter. Finding that\nsummer is perpetual and flowers forever abundant, she will after one\nor two years be content to live from day to day, and gather\nsufficient honey and pollen for the day's consumption; and, her\nthoughtful observation of these new features triumphing over\nhereditary experience, she will cease to make provision for the\nwinter.* In fact it becomes necessary, in order to stimulate her\nactivity, to deprive her systematically of the fruits of her labour.\n\n     *Buchner cites an analogous fact. In the Barbadoes, the bees\n     whose hives are in the midst of the refineries, where they\n     find sugar in abundance during the whole year, will entirely\n     abandon their visits to the flowers.\n\n{103}\n\nSo much for what our own eyes can see. It will be admitted that we\nhave mentioned some curious facts, which by no means support the\ntheory that every intelligence is arrested, every future clearly\ndefined, save only the intelligence and future of man.\n\nBut if we choose to accept for one moment the hypothesis of\nevolution, the spectacle widens, and its uncertain, grandiose light\nsoon attains our own destinies. Whoever brings careful attention to\nbear will scarcely deny, even though it be not evident, the presence\nin nature of a will that tends to raise a portion of matter to a\nsubtler and perhaps better condition, and to penetrate its substance\nlittle by little with a mystery-laden fluid that we at first term\nlife, then instinct, and finally intelligence; a will that, for an\nend we know not, organises, strengthens, and facilitates the\nexistence of all that is. There can be no certainty, and yet many\ninstances invite us to believe that, were an actual estimate\npossible, the quantity of matter that has raised itself from its\nbeginnings would be found to be ever increasing. A fragile remark, I\nadmit, but the only one we can make on the hidden force that leads\nus; and it stands for much in a world where confidence in life,\nuntil certitude to the contrary reach us, must remain the first of\nall our duties, at times even when life itself conveys no\nencouraging clearness to us.\n\nI know all that may be urged against the theory of evolution. In its\nfavour are numerous proofs and most powerful arguments, which yet do\nnot carry irresistible conviction. We must beware of abandoning\nourselves unreservedly to the prevailing truths of our time. A\nhundred years hence, many chapters of a book instinct to-day with\nthis truth, will appear as ancient as the philosophical writings of\nthe eighteenth century seem to us now, full as they are of a too\nperfect and non-existing man, or as so many works of the seventeenth\ncentury, whose value is lessened by their conception of a harsh and\nnarrow god.\n\nNevertheless, when it is impossible to know what the truth of a\nthing may be, it is well to accept the hypothesis that appeals the\nmost urgently to the reason of men at the period when we happen to\nhave come into the world. The chances are that it will be false; but\nso long as we believe it to be true it will serve a useful purpose\nby restoring our courage and stimulating research in a new\ndirection. It might at the first glance seem wiser, perhaps, instead\nof advancing these ingenious suppositions, simply to say the\nprofound truth, which is that we do not know. But this truth could\nonly be helpful were it written that we never shall know. In the\nmeanwhile it would induce a state of stagnation within us more\npernicious than the most vexatious illusions. We are so constituted\nthat nothing takes us further or leads us higher than the leaps made\nby our errors. In point of fact we owe the little we have learned to\nhypotheses that were always hazardous and often absurd, and, as a\ngeneral rule, less discreet than they are to-day. They were unwise,\nperhaps, but they kept alive the ardour for research. To the\ntraveller, shivering with cold, who reaches the human Hostelry, it\nmatters little whether he by whose side he seats himself, he who has\nguarded the hearth, be blind or very old. So long as the fire still\nburn that he has been watching, he has done as much as the best\ncould have done. Well for us if we can transmit this ardour, not as\nwe received it, but added to by ourselves; and nothing will add to\nit more than this hypothesis of evolution, which goads us to\nquestion with an ever severer method and ever increasing zeal all\nthat exists on the earth's surface and in its entrails, in the\ndepths of the sea and expanse of the sky. Reject it, and what can we\nset up against it, what can we put in its place? There is but the\ngrand confession of scientific ignorance, aware of its knowing\nnothing--but this is habitually sluggish, and calculated to\ndiscourage the curiosity more needful to man than wisdom--or the\nhypothesis of the fixity of the species and of divine creation,\nwhich is less demonstrable than the other, banishes for all time\nthe living elements of the problem, and explains nothing.\n\n{104}\n\nOf wild bees approximately 4500 varieties are known. It need\nscarcely be said that we shall not go through the list. Some day,\nperhaps, a profound study, and searching experiments and\nobservations of a kind hitherto unknown, that would demand more than\none lifetime, will throw a decisive light upon the history of the\nbee's evolution. All that we can do now is to enter this veiled\nregion of supposition, and, discarding all positive statement,\nattempt to follow a tribe of hymenoptera in their progress towards a\nmore intelligent existence, towards a little more security and\ncomfort, lightly indicating the salient features of this ascension\nthat is spread over many thousands of years. The tribe in question\nis already known to us; it is that of the \"Apiens,\" whose essential\ncharacteristics are so distinct and well-marked that one is inclined\nto credit all its members with one common ancestor.*\n\n     *It is important that the terms we shall successively\n     employ, adopting the classification of M. Emile Blanchard,--\n     \"APIENS, APIDAE and APITAE,--should not be confounded. The\n     tribe of the Apiens comprises all families of bees. The\n     Apidae constitute the first of these families, and are\n     subdivided into three groups: the Meliponae, the Apitae, and\n     the Bombi (humble-bees). And, finally, the Apitae include\n     all the different varieties of our domestic bees.\n\nThe disciples of Darwin, Hermann Muller among others, consider a\nlittle wild bee, the Prosopis, which is to be found all over the\nuniverse, as the actual representative of the primitive bee whence\nall have issued that are known to us to-day.\n\nThe unfortunate Prosopis stands more or less in the same relation to\nthe inhabitants of our hives as the cave-dwellers to the fortunate\nwho live in our great cities. You will probably more than once have\nseen her fluttering about the bushes, in a deserted corner of your\ngarden, without realising that you were carelessly watching the\nvenerable ancestor to whom we probably owe most of our flowers and\nfruits (for it is actually estimated that more than a hundred\nthousand varieties of plants would disappear if the bees did not\nvisit them) and possibly even our civilisation, for in these\nmysteries all things intertwine. She is nimble and attractive, the\nvariety most common in France being elegantly marked with white on a\nblack background. But this elegance hides an inconceivable poverty.\nShe leads a life of starvation. She is almost naked, whereas her\nsisters are dad in a warm and sumptuous fleece. She has not, like\nthe Apidae, baskets to gather the pollen, nor, in their default, the\ntuft of the Andrenae, nor the ventral brush of the Gastrilegidae.\nHer tiny claws must laboriously gather the powder from the calices,\nwhich powder she needs must swallow in order to take it back to her\nlair. She has no implements other than her tongue, her mouth and her\nclaws; but her tongue is too short, her legs are feeble, and her\nmandibles without strength. Unable to produce wax, bore holes\nthrough wood, or dig in the earth, she contrives clumsy galleries in\nthe tender pith of dry berries; erects a few awkward cells, stores\nthese with a little food for the offspring she never will see; and\nthen, having accomplished this poor task of hers, that tends she\nknows not whither and of whose aim we are no less ignorant, she goes\noff and dies in a corner, as solitarily as she had lived.\n\nWe shall pass over many intermediary species, wherein we may see the\ngradual lengthening of the tongue, enabling more nectar to be\nextracted from the cups of corollas, and the dawning formation\nand subsequent development of the apparatus for collecting\npollen,--hairs, tufts, brushes on the tibia, on the tarsus, and\nabdomen,--as also claws and mandibles becoming stronger, useful\nsecretions being formed, and the genius that presides over the\nconstruction of dwellings seeking and finding extraordinary\nimprovement in every direction. Such a study would need a whole\nvolume. I will merely outline a chapter of it, less than a chapter,\na page, which shall show how the hesitating endeavours of the will\nto live and be happier result in the birth, development, and\naffirmation of social intelligence.\n\nWe have seen the unfortunate Prosopis silently bearing her solitary\nlittle destiny in the midst of this vast universe charged with\nterrible forces. A certain number of her sisters, belonging to\nspecies already more skilful and better supplied with utensils, such\nas the well-clad Colletes, or the marvellous cutter of rose-leaves,\nthe Megachile Centuncularis, live in an isolation no less profound;\nand if by chance some creature attach itself to them, and share\ntheir dwelling, it will either be an enemy, or, more often, a\nparasite.\n\nFor the world of bees is peopled with phantoms stranger than our\nown; and many a species will thus have a kind of mysterious and\ninactive double, exactly similar to the victim it has selected, save\nonly that its immemorial idleness has caused it to lose one by one\nits implements of labour, and that it exists solely at the expense\nof the working type of its race.*\n\n     *The humble-bees, for instance, have the Psithyri as\n     parasites, while the Stelites live on the Anthidia. \"As\n     regards the frequent identity of the parasite with its\n     victim,\" M. J. Perez very justly remarks in his book \"The\n     Bees,\" \"one must necessarily admit that the two genera are\n     only different forms of the same type, and are united to\n     each other by the closest affinity. And to naturalists who\n     believe in the theory of evolution this relationship is not\n     purely ideal, but real. The parasitic genus must be regarded\n     as merely a branch of the foraging genus, having lost its\n     foraging organs because of its adaptation to parasitic\n     life.\"\n\nAmong the bees, however, which are somewhat too arbitrarily termed\nthe \"solitary Apidae,\" the social instinct already is smouldering,\nlike a flame crushed beneath the overwhelming weight of matter that\nstifles all primitive life. And here and there, in unexpected\ndirections, as though reconnoitring, with timid and sometimes\nfantastic outbursts, it will succeed in piercing the mass that\noppresses it, the pyre that some day shall feed its triumph.\n\nIf in this world all things be matter, this is surely its most\nimmaterial movement. Transition is called for from a precarious,\negotistic and incomplete life to a life that shall be fraternal, a\nlittle more certain, a little more happy. The spirit must ideally\nunite that which in the body is actually separate; the individual\nmust sacrifice himself for the race, and substitute for visible\nthings the things that cannot be seen. Need we wonder that the bees\ndo not at the first glance realise what we have not yet\ndisentangled, we who find ourselves at the privileged spot whence\ninstinct radiates from all sides into our consciousness? And it is\ncurious too, almost touching, to see how the new idea gropes its\nway, at first, in the darkness that enfolds all things that come to\nlife on this earth. It emerges from matter, it is still quite\nmaterial. It is cold, hunger, fear, transformed into something that\nas yet has no shape. It crawls vaguely around great dangers, around\nthe long nights, the approach of winter, of an equivocal sleep which\nalmost is death....\n\n{106}\n\nThe Xylocopae are powerful bees which worm their nest in dry wood.\nTheir life is solitary always. Towards the end of summer, however,\nsome individuals of a particular species, the Xylocopa Cyanescens,\nmay be found huddled together in a shivering group, on a stalk of\nasphodel, to spend the winter in common. Among the Xylocopae this\ntardy fraternity is exceptional, but among the Ceratinae, which are\nof their nearest kindred, it has become a constant habit. The idea\nis germinating. It halts immediately; and hitherto has not\nsucceeded, among the Xylocopae, in passing beyond this first obscure\nline of love.\n\nAmong other Apiens, this groping idea assumes other forms. The\nChalicodomae of the out-houses, which are building-bees, the\nDasypodae and Halicti, which dig holes in the earth, unite in large\ncolonies to construct their nests. But it is an illusory crowd\ncomposed of solitary units, that possess no mutual understanding,\nand do not act in common. Each one is profoundly isolated in the\nmidst of the multitude, and builds a dwelling for itself alone,\nheedless of its neighbour. \"They are,\" M. Perez remarks, \"a mere\ncongregation of individuals, brought together by similar tastes and\nhabits, but observing scrupulously the maxim of each one for itself;\nin fact, a mere mob of workers, resembling the swarm of a hive only\nas regards their number and zeal. Such assemblies merely result from\na great number of individuals inhabiting the same locality.\"\n\nBut when we come to the Panurgi, which are cousins of the Dasypodae,\na little ray of light suddenly reveals the birth of a new sentiment\nin this fortuitous crowd. They collect in the same way as the\nothers, and each one digs its own subterranean chambers; but the\nentrance is common to all, as also the gallery which leads from the\nsurface of the ground to the different cells. \"And thus,\" M. Perez\nadds, \"as far as the work of the cells is concerned, each bee acts\nas though she were alone; but all make equal use of the gallery that\nconducts to the cells, so that the multitude profit by the labours\nof an individual, and are spared the time and trouble required for\nthe construction of separate galleries. It would be interesting to\ndiscover whether this preliminary work be not executed in common, by\nrelays of females, relieving each other in turn.\"\n\nHowever this may be, the fraternal idea has pierced the wall that\ndivided two worlds. It is no longer wild and unrecognisable, wrested\nfrom instinct by cold and hunger, or by the fear of death; it is\nprompted by active life. But it halts once more; and in this\ninstance arrives no further. No matter, it does not lose courage; it\nwill seek other channels. It enters the humble-bee, and, maturing\nthere, becomes embodied in a different atmosphere, and works its\nfirst decisive miracles.\n\nThe humble-bees, the great hairy, noisy creatures that all of us\nknow so well, so harmless for all their apparent fierceness, lead a\nsolitary life at first. At the beginning of March the impregnated\nfemale who has survived the winter starts to construct her nest,\neither underground or in a bush, according to the species to which\nshe belongs. She is alone in the world, in the midst of awakening\nspring. She chooses a spot, clears it, digs it and carpets it. Then\nshe erects her somewhat shapeless waxen cells, stores these with\nhoney and pollen, lays and hatches the eggs, tends and nourishes the\nlarvae that spring to life, and soon is surrounded by a troop of\ndaughters who aid her in all her labours, within the nest and\nwithout, while some of them soon begin to lay in their turn. The\nconstruction of the cells improves; the colony grows, the comfort\nincreases. The foundress is still its soul, its principal mother,\nand finds herself now at the head of a kingdom which might be the\nmodel of that of our honeybee. But the model is still in the rough.\n\nThe prosperity of the humble-bees never exceeds a certain limit,\ntheir laws are ill-defined and ill-obeyed, primitive cannibalism and\ninfanticide reappear at intervals, the architecture is shapeless and\nentails much waste of material; but the cardinal difference between\nthe two cities is that the one is permanent, and the other\nephemeral. For, indeed, that of the humble-bee will perish in the\nautumn; its three or four hundred inhabitants will die, leaving no\ntrace of their passage or their endeavours; and but a single female\nwill survive, who, the next spring, in the same solitude and poverty\nas her mother before her, will recommence the same useless work. The\nidea, however, has now grown aware of its strength. Among the\nhumble-bees it goes no further than we have stated, but, faithful to\nits habits and pursuing its usual routine, it will immediately\nundergo a sort of unwearying metempsychosis, and re-incarnate\nitself, trembling with its last triumph, rendered all-powerful now\nand nearly perfect, in another group, the last but one of the race,\nthat which immediately precedes our domestic bee wherein it attains\nits crown; the group of the Meliponitae, which comprises the\ntropical Meliponae and Trigonae.\n\n{108}\n\nHere the organisation is as complete as in our hives. There is an\nunique mother, there are sterile workers and males. Certain details\neven seem better devised. The males, for instance, are not wholly\nidle; they secrete wax. The entrance to the hive is more carefully\nguarded; it has a door that can be closed when nights are cold, and\nwhen these are warm a kind of curtain will admit the air.\n\nBut the republic is less strong, general life less assured,\nprosperity more limited, than with our bees; and wherever these are\nintroduced, the Meliponitae tend to disappear before them. In both\nraces the fraternal idea has undergone equal and magnificent\ndevelopment, save in one point alone, wherein it achieves no further\nadvance among the Meliponitae than among the limited offspring of\nthe humble-bees. In the mechanical organisation of distributed\nlabour, in the precise economy of effort; briefly, in the\narchitecture of the city, they display manifest inferiority. As to\nthis I need only refer to what I said in section 42 of this book,\nwhile adding that, whereas in the hives of our Apitae all the cells\nare equally available for the rearing of the brood and the storage\nof provisions, and endure as long as the city itself, they serve\nonly one of these purposes among the Meliponitae, and the cells\nemployed as cradles for the nymphs are destroyed after these have\nbeen hatched.*\n\n     *It is not certain that the principle of unique royalty, or\n     maternity, is strictly observed among the Meliponitae.\n     Blanchard remarks very justly, that as they possess no sting\n     and are consequently less readily able than the mothers of\n     our own bees to kill each other, several queens will\n     probably live together in the same hive. But certainty on\n     this point has hitherto been unattainable owing to the great\n     resemblance that exists between queens and workers, as also\n     to the impossibility of rearing the Meliponitae in our\n     climate.\n\nIt is in our domestic bees, therefore, that the idea, of whose\nmovements we have given a cursory and incomplete picture, attains\nits most perfect form. Are these movements definitely, and for all\ntime, arrested in each one of these species, and does the\nconnecting-line exist in our imagination alone? Let us not be too\neager to establish a system in this ill-explored region. Let our\nconclusions be only provisional, and preferentially such as convey\nthe utmost hope, for, were a choice forced upon us, occasional\ngleams would appear to declare that the inferences we are most\ndesirous to draw will prove to be truest. Besides, let us not forget\nthat our ignorance still is profound. We are only learning to open\nour eyes. A thousand experiments that could be made have as yet not\neven been tried. If the Prosopes, for instance, were imprisoned, and\nforced to cohabit with their kind, would they, in course of time,\noverstep the iron barrier of total solitude, and be satisfied to\nlive the common life of the Dasypodae, or to put forth the fraternal\neffort of the Panurgi? And if we imposed abnormal conditions upon\nthe Panurgi, would these, in their turn, progress from a general\ncorridor to general cells? If the mothers of the humble-bees were\ncompelled to hibernate together, would they arrive at a mutual\nunderstanding, a mutual division of labour? Have combs of\nfoundation-wax been offered to the Meliponitae? Would they accept\nthem, would they make use of them, would they conform their habits\nto this unwonted architecture? Questions, these, that we put to Very\ntiny creatures; and yet they contain the great word of our greatest\nsecrets. We cannot answer them, for our experience dates but from\nyesterday. Starting with Reaumur, about a hundred and fifty years\nhave elapsed since the habits of wild bees first received attention.\nReaumur was acquainted with only a few of them; we have since then\nobserved a few more; but hundreds, thousands perhaps, have hitherto\nbeen noticed only by hasty and ignorant travellers. The habits of\nthose that are known to us have undergone no change since the author\nof the \"Memoirs\" published his valuable work; and the humble-bees,\nall powdered with gold, and vibrant as the sun's delectable murmur,\nthat in the year 1730 gorged themselves with honey in the gardens of\nCharenton, were absolutely identical with those that to-morrow, when\nApril returns, will be humming in the woods of Vincennes, but a few\nyards away. From Reaumur's day to our own, however, is but as the\ntwinkling of an eye; and many lives of men, placed end to end, form\nbut a second in the history of Nature's thought.\n\n{109}\n\nAlthough the idea that our eyes have followed attains its supreme\nexpression in our domestic bees, it must not be inferred therefrom\nthat the hive reveals no faults. There is one masterpiece, the\nhexagonal cell, that touches absolute perfection,--a perfection that\nall the geniuses in the world, were they to meet in conclave, could\nin no way enhance. No living creature, not even man, has achieved,\nin the centre of his sphere, what the bee has achieved in her own;\nand were some one from another world to descend and ask of the earth\nthe most perfect creation of the logic of life, we should needs have\nto offer the humble comb of honey.\n\nBut the level of this perfection is not maintained throughout. We\nhave already dealt with a few faults and shortcomings, evident\nsometimes and sometimes mysterious, such as the ruinous\nsuperabundance and idleness of the males, parthenogenesis, the\nperils of the nuptial flight, excessive swarming, the absence of\npity, and the almost monstrous sacrifice of the individual to\nsociety. To these must be added a strange inclination to store\nenormous masses of pollen, far in excess of their needs; for the\npollen, soon turning rancid, and hardening, encumbers the surface of\nthe comb; and further, the long sterile interregnum between the date\nof the first swarm and the impregnation of the second queen, etc.,\netc.\n\nOf these faults the gravest, the only one which in our climates is\ninvariably fatal, is the repeated swarming. But here we must bear in\nmind that the natural selection of the domestic bee has for\nthousands of years been thwarted by man. From the Egyptian of the\ntime of Pharaoh to the peasant of our own day, the bee-keeper has\nalways acted in opposition to the desires and advantages of the\nrace. The most prosperous hives are those which throw only one swarm\nafter the beginning of summer. They have fulfilled their maternal\nduties, assured the maintenance of the stock and the necessary\nrenewal of queens; they have guaranteed the future of the swarm,\nwhich, being precocious and ample in numbers, has time to erect\nsolid and well-stored dwellings before the arrival of autumn. If\nleft to themselves, it is clear that these hives and their offshoots\nwould have been the only ones to survive the rigours of winter,\nwhich would almost invariably have destroyed colonies animated by\ndifferent instincts; and the law of restricted swarming would\ntherefore by slow degrees have established itself in our northern\nraces. But it is precisely these prudent, opulent, acclimatised\nhives that man has always destroyed in order to possess himself of\ntheir treasure. He has permitted only--he does so to this day in\nordinary practice--the feeblest colonies to survive; degenerate\nstock, secondary or tertiary swarms, which have just barely\nsufficient food to subsist through the winter, or whose miserable\nstore he will supplement perhaps with a few droppings of honey. The\nresult is, probably, that the race has grown feebler, that the\ntendency to excessive swarming has been hereditarily developed, and\nthat to-day almost all our bees, particularly the black ones, swarm\ntoo often. For some years now the new methods of \"movable\"\napiculture have gone some way towards correcting this dangerous\nhabit; and when we reflect how rapidly artificial selection acts on\nmost of our domestic animals, such as oxen, dogs, pigeons, sheep and\nhorses, it is permissible to believe that we shall before long have\na race of bees that will entirely renounce natural swarming and\ndevote all their activity to the collection of honey and pollen.\n\n{110}\n\nBut for the other faults: might not an intelligence that possessed a\nclearer consciousness of the aim of common life emancipate itself\nfrom them? Much might be said concerning these faults, which emanate\nnow from what is unknown to us in the hive, now from swarming and\nits resultant errors, for which we are partly to blame. But let\nevery man judge for himself, and, having seen what has gone before,\nlet him grant or deny intelligence to the bees, as he may think\nproper. I am not eager to defend them. It seems to me that in many\ncircumstances they give proof of understanding, but my curiosity\nwould not be less were all that they do done blindly. It is\ninteresting to watch a brain possessed of extraordinary resources\nwithin itself wherewith it may combat cold and hunger, death, time,\nspace, and solitude, all the enemies of matter that is springing to\nlife; but should a creature succeed in maintaining its little\nprofound and complicated existence without overstepping the\nboundaries of instinct, without doing anything but what is ordinary,\nthat would be very interesting too, and very extraordinary. Restore\nthe ordinary and the marvellous to their veritable place in the\nbosom of nature, and their values shift; one equals the other. We\nfind that their names are usurped; and that it is not they, but the\nthings we cannot understand or explain that should arrest our\nattention, refresh our activity, and give a new and juster form to\nour thoughts and feelings and words. There is wisdom in attaching\noneself to nought beside.\n\n{111}\n\nAnd further, our intellect is not the proper tribunal before which\nto summon the bees, and pass their faults in review. Do we not find,\namong ourselves, that consciousness and intellect long will dwell in\nthe midst of errors and faults without perceiving them, longer still\nwithout effecting a remedy? If a being exist whom his destiny calls\nupon most specially, almost organically, to live and to organise\ncommon life in accordance with pure reason, that being is man. And\nyet see what he makes of it, compare the mistakes of the hive with\nthose of our own society. How should we marvel, for instance, were\nwe bees observing men, as we noted the unjust, illogical\ndistribution of work among a race of creatures that in other\ndirections appear to manifest eminent reason! We should find the\nearth's surface, unique source of all common life, insufficiently,\npainfully cultivated by two or three tenths of the whole population;\nwe should find another tenth absolutely idle, usurping the larger\nshare of the products of this first labour; and the remaining\nseven-tenths condemned to a life of perpetual half-hunger,\nceaselessly exhausting themselves in strange and sterile efforts\nwhereby they never shall profit, but only shall render more complex\nand more inexplicable still the life of the idle. We should conclude\nthat the reason and moral sense of these beings must belong to a\nworld entirely different from our own, and that they must obey\nprinciples hopelessly beyond our comprehension. But let us carry\nthis review of our faults no further. They are always present in our\nthoughts, though their presence achieves but little. From century to\ncentury only will one of them for a moment shake off its slumber,\nand send forth a bewildered cry; stretch the aching arm that\nsupported its head, shift its position, and then lie down and fall\nasleep once more, until a new pain, born of the dreary fatigue of\nrepose, awaken it afresh.\n\n{112}\n\nThe evolution of the Apiens, or at least of the Apitae, being\nadmitted, or regarded as more probable than that they should have\nremained stationary, let us now consider the general, constant\ndirection that this evolution takes. It seems to follow the same\nroads as with ourselves. It tends palpably to lessen the struggle,\ninsecurity, and wretchedness of the race, to augment authority and\ncomfort, and stimulate favourable chances. To this end it will\nunhesitatingly sacrifice the individual, bestowing general strength\nand happiness in exchange for the illusory and mournful independence\nof solitude. It is as though Nature were of the opinion with which\nThucydides credits Pericles: viz., that individuals are happier in\nthe bosom of a prosperous city, even though they suffer themselves,\nthan when individually prospering in the midst of a languishing\nstate. It protects the hardworking slave in the powerful city, while\nthose who have no duties, whose association is only precarious, are\nabandoned to the nameless, formless enemies who dwell in the minutes\nof time, in the movements of the universe, and in the recesses of\nspace. This is not the moment to discuss the scheme of nature, or to\nask ourselves whether it would be well for man to follow it; but it\nis certain that wherever the infinite mass allows us to seize the\nappearance of an idea, the appearance takes this road whereof we\nknow not the end. Let it be enough that we note the persistent care\nwith which nature preserves, and fixes in the evolving race, all\nthat has been won from the hostile inertia of matter. She records\neach happy effort, and contrives we know not what special and\nbenevolent laws to counteract the inevitable recoil. This progress,\nwhose existence among the most intelligent species can scarcely be\ndenied, has perhaps no aim beyond its initial impetus, and knows not\nwhither it goes. But at least, in a world where nothing save a few\nfacts of this kind indicates a precise will, it is significant\nenough that we should see certain creatures rising thus, slowly and\ncontinuously; and should the bees have revealed to us only this\nmysterious spiral of light in the overpowering darkness, that were\nenough to induce us not to regret the time we have given to their\nlittle gestures and humble habits, which seem so far away and are\nyet so nearly akin to our grand passions and arrogant destinies.\n\n{113}\n\nIt may be that these things are all vain; and that our own spiral of\nlight, no less than that of the bees, has been kindled for no other\npurpose save that of amusing the darkness. So, too, is it possible\nthat some stupendous incident may suddenly surge from without, from\nanother world, from a new phenomenon, and either inform this effort\nwith definitive meaning, or definitively destroy it. But we must\nproceed on our way as though nothing abnormal could ever befall us.\nDid we know that to-morrow some revelation, a message, for instance,\nfrom a more ancient, more luminous planet than ours, were to root up\nour nature, to suppress the laws, the passions, and radical truths\nof our being, our wisest plan still would be to devote the whole of\nto-day to the study of these passions, these laws, and these truths,\nwhich must blend and accord in our mind; and to remain faithful to\nthe destiny imposed on us, which is to subdue, and to some extent\nraise within and around us the obscure forces of life.\n\nNone of these, perhaps, will survive the new revelation; but the\nsoul of those who shall up to the end have fulfilled the mission\nthat is pre-eminently the mission of man, must inevitably be in the\nfront rank of all to welcome this revelation; and should they learn\ntherefrom that indifference, or resignation to the unknown, is the\nveritable duty, they will be better equipped than the others for the\ncomprehension of this final resignation and indifference, better\nable to turn these to account.\n\n{114}\n\nBut such speculations may well be avoided. Let not the possibility\nof general annihilation blur our perception of the task before us;\nabove all, let us not count on the miraculous aid of chance.\nHitherto, the promises of our imagination notwithstanding, we have\nalways been left to ourselves, to our own resources. It is to our\nhumblest efforts that every useful, enduring achievement of this\nearth is due. It is open to us, if we choose, to await the better or\nworse that may follow some alien accident, but on condition that\nsuch expectation shall not hinder our human task. Here again do the\nbees, as Nature always, provide a most excellent lesson. In the hive\nthere has truly been prodigious intervention. The bees are in the\nhands of a power capable of annihilating or modifying their race, of\ntransforming their destinies; the bees' thraldom is far more\ndefinite than our own. Therefore none the less do they perform their\nprofound and primitive duty. And, among them, it is precisely those\nwhose obedience to duty is most complete who are able most fully to\nprofit by the supernatural intervention that to-day has raised the\ndestiny of their species. And indeed, to discover the unconquerable\nduty of a being is less difficult than one imagines. It is ever to\nbe read in the distinguishing organs, whereto the others are all\nsubordinate. And just as it is written in the tongue, the stomach,\nand mouth of the bee that it must make honey, so is it written in\nour eyes, our ears, our nerves, our marrow, in every lobe of our\nhead, that we must make cerebral substance; nor is there need that\nwe should divine the purpose this substance shall serve. The bees\nknow not whether they will eat the honey they harvest, as we know\nnot who it is shall reap the profit of the cerebral substance we\nshall have formed, or of the intelligent fluid that issues therefrom\nand spreads over the universe, perishing when our life ceases or\npersisting after our death. As they go from flower to flower\ncollecting more honey than themselves and their offspring can\nneed, let us go from reality to reality seeking food for the\nincomprehensible flame, and thus, certain of having fulfilled our\norganic duty, preparing ourselves for whatever befall. Let us\nnourish this flame on our feelings and passions, on all that we see\nand think, that we hear and touch, on its own essence, which is the\nidea it derives from the discoveries, experience and observation\nthat result from its every movement. A time then will come when all\nthings will turn so naturally to good in a spirit that has given\nitself to the loyal desire of this simple human duty, that the very\nsuspicion of the possible aimlessness of its exhausting effort will\nonly render the duty the clearer, will only add more purity, power,\ndisinterestedness, and freedom to the ardour wherewith it still\nseeks.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\nTO give a complete bibliography of the bee were outside the scope of\nthis book; we shall be satisfied, therefore, merely to indicate the\nmore interesting works:--\n\n1. The Historical Development of Apiarian Science:\n\n(a) The ancient writers: Aristotle, \"History of Animals\" (Trans.\nBart. St. Hilaire); T. Varro, \"De Agricultura,\" L. III. xvi.; Pliny,\n\"Hist. Nat.,\" L. xi.; Columella, \"De Re Rustica;\" \"Palladius, \"De Re\nRustica,\" L. I. xxxvii., etc.\n\n(b) The moderns: Swammerdam, \"Biblia Naturae,\" 1737; Maraldi,\n\"Observations sur les Abeilles,\" 1712; Reaumur, \"Memoires pour\nservir a l'Histoire des Insectes,\" 1740; Ch. Bonnet, \"OEuvres\nd'Histoire Naturelle,\" 1779-1783; A. G. Schirach, \"Physikalische\nUntersuchung der bisher unbekannten aber nachher entdeckten\nErzeugung der Bienen-mutter,\" 1767; J. Hunter, \"On Bees\"\n(Philosophical Transactions, 1732); J. A. Janscha, \"Hinterlassene\nVollstandige Lehre von der Bienenzucht,\" 1773; Francois Huber,\n\"Nouvelles Observations sur les Abeilles,\" 1794, etc.\n\n2. Practical Apiculture:\n\nDzierzon, \"Theorie und Praxis des neuen Bienenfreundes;\" Langstroth,\n\"The Honeybee\"(translated into French by Ch. Dadant: \"L'Abeille et\nla Ruche,\" which corrects and completes the original); Georges de\nLayens and Bonnier, \"Cours Complet d'Apiculture;\" Frank Cheshire,\n\"Bees and Bee-keeping\" (vol. ii.--Practical); Dr. E. Bevan, \"The\nHoney-bee;\" T. W. Cowan, \"The British Bee-keeper's Guidebook;\" A.\nRoot, \"The A B C of Bee-Culture;\" Henry Alien, \"The Bee-keeper's\nHandy-book;\" L'Abbe Collin, \"Guide du Proprietaire des Abeilles;\"\nCh. Dadant, \"Petit Cours d'Apiculture Pratique;\" Ed. Bertrand,\n\"Conduite du Rucher;\" Weber, \"Manuel pratique d'Apiulture;\" Hamet,\n\"Cours Complet d'Api-culture;\" De Bauvoys, \"Guide de l'Apiculteur;\"\nPollmann, \"Die Biene und ihre Zucht;\" Jeker, Kramer, and Theiler,\n\"Der Schweizerische Bienenvater;\" S. Simmins, \"A Modern Bee Farm;\"\nF. W. Vogel, \"Die Honigbiene und die Vermehrung der Bienvolker;\"\nBaron A. Von Berlepsch, \"Die Biene und ihre Frucht,\" etc.\n\n3. General Monographs:\n\nF. Cheshire, \"Bees and Bee-keeping\" (vol. i.--Scientific); T. W.\nCowan, \"The Honey-bee;\" J. Perez, \"Les Abeilles;\" Girard, \"Manuel\nd'Apiculture\" (Les Abeilles, Organes et Fonctions); Schuckard,\n\"British Bees;\" Kirby and Spence, \"Introduction to Entomology;\"\nGirdwoyn, \"Anatomie et Physiologic de l'Abeille;\" F. Cheshire,\n\"Diagrams on the Anatomy of the Honeybee;\" Gunderach, \"Die\nNaturgeschichte der Honigbiene;\" L. Buchner, \"Geistes-leben der\nThiere;\" O. Butschli, \"Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte der Biene;\" J. D.\nHaviland, \"The Social Instincts of Bees, their Origin and Natural\nSelection.\"\n\n4. Special Monographs (Organs, Functions, Undertakings, etc.):\n\nF. Dujardin, \"Memoires sur le Systeme nerveux des Insectes;\" Dumas\nand Milne Edwards, \"Sur la Production de la Cire des Abeilles;\" E.\nBlanchard, \"Recherches anatomiques sur le Systeme nerveux des\nInsectes;\" L. R. D. Brougham, \"Observations, Demonstrations, and\nExperiences upon the Structure of the Cells of Bees;\" P. Cameron,\n\"On Parthenogenesis in the Hymenoptera\" (Transactions Natural\nSociety of Glasgow, 1888); Erichson, \"De Fabrica et Usu Antennarum\nin Insectis;\" B. T. Lowne, \"On the Simple and Compound Eyes of\nInsects \"(Philosophical Transactions, 1879); G. K. Waterhouse, \"On\nthe Formation of the Cells of Bees and Wasps;\" Dr. C. T. E. von\nSiebold, \"On a True Parthenogenesis in Moths and Bees;\" F. Leydig,\n\"Das Auge der Gliederthiere;\" Pastor Schonfeld, \"Bienen-Zeitung,\"\n1854--1883; \"Illustrierte Bienen-Zeitung,\" 1885-1890; Assmuss, \"Die\nParasiten der Honig-biene.\"\n\n5. Notes on Melliferous Hymenoptera:\n\nE. Blanchard, \"Metamorphoses, Moeurs et Instincts des Insectes;\"\nVid: \"Histoire des Insectes;\" Darwin, \"Origin of Species;\" Fabre,\n\"Souvenirs Entomologiques\" (3d series); Romanes, \"Mental Evolution\nin Animals;\" id., \"Animal Intelligence;\" Lepeletier et Fargeau,\n\"Histoire Naturelle des Hymenopteres;\" V. Mayet, \"Memoire sur les\nMoeurs et sur les Metamorphoses d'une Nouvelle Espece de la Famille\ndes Vesicants\" (Ann. Soc. Entom. de France, 1875); H. Muller, \"Ein\nBeitrag zur Lebensgeschichte der Dasypoda Hirtipes;\" E. Hoffer,\n\"Biologische Beobachtungen an Hummeln und Schmarotzerhummeln;\"\nJesse, \"Gleanings in Natural History;\" Sir John Lubbock, \"Ants,\nBees, and Wasps;\" id., \"The Senses, Instincts, and Intelligence of\nAnimals;\" Walkenaer, \"Les Haclites;\" Westwood, \"Introduction to the\nStudy of Insects;\" V. Rendu, \"De l'Intelligence des Betes;\" Espinas,\n\"Animal Communities,\" etc.","title":"The Life of the Bee","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":59839}