THE HALICTI
Do you know the Halicti? Perhaps not. There is no great harm done: it is quite possible to enjoy the few pleasures of life without knowing the Halicti. Nevertheless, when questioned with persistence, those humble creatures with no history can tell us some very singular things; and their acquaintance is not to be disdained if we desire to enlarge our ideas a little upon the bewildering rabble of this world. Since we have nothing better to do, let us look into these Halicti. They are worth the trouble.
How shall we recognize them? They are manufacturers of honey, generally slimmer and slenderer than the Bee of our hives. They constitute a numerous group that varies greatly in size and colouring. Some there are that exceed the dimensions of the Common Wasp; others might be compared with the Domestic Fly, or are even smaller. In the midst of this variety, which forms the despair of the novice, one characteristic remains invariable. Every Halictus carries the plainly-legible certificate of her guild.
Look at the last ring, at the tip of the belly, on the dorsal surface. If your capture be an Halictus, there will be here a smooth and shiny line, a narrow groove along which the sting slides up and down when the insect is [[200]]on the defensive. This slide for the unsheathed weapon denotes some member of the Halictus tribe, without distinction of size or colour. No elsewhere, in the sting-bearing order, is this original sort of groove in use. It is the distinctive mark, the blazon of the family.
The works begin in April, discreetly and betrayed only by tiny mounds of fresh earth. There is no animation in the work-yards. The labourers show themselves very seldom, so busy are they at the bottom of their pits. At moments, here and there, the summit of a mole-hill moves and tumbles down the slopes of the cone: it is a worker coming up with her armful of rubbish and shooting it outside, without showing herself in the open. Nothing more for the moment.
May arrives, gay with flowers and sunshine. The navvies of April have turned themselves into harvesters. At every moment, I see them settling, all befloured with yellow, atop of the mole-hills turned into craters. The largest is Halictus Zebrus (Walck), whom I often see building her nest in the walks of my garden. Let us watch her closely. When provisioning-time begins, a parasite arrives, coming I know not whence. She will make us witness an unbridled act of brigandage.
In May, I visit my most populous colony daily, at ten o’clock in the morning, when the victualling-operations are in full swing. Seated on a low chair in the sun, with my back bent and my arms upon my knees, I watch, without moving, until dinner-time. What attracts me is a parasite, a trumpery Gnat, the daring tyrant of the Halictus.
Has the jade a name? I like to think so, without, however, caring to waste my time in enquiries that can have little interest for the reader. Facts clearly stated [[201]]are preferable to the dry minutiæ of nomenclature. Let me content myself with giving a brief description of the culprit. She is a Dipteron five millimetres long.[1] Eyes, dark red; face, white. Corselet, ashy grey, with five rows of fine black dots, which are the roots of stiff bristles pointing backwards. Greyish belly, pale below. Black legs.
She abounds in the colony under observation. Crouching in the sun, near a burrow, she waits. As soon as the Halictus arrives from the harvest, her legs yellow with pollen, she darts forth and pursues her, keeping behind her in all the turns of her wavering flight. At last, the Hymenopteron suddenly dives indoors. No less suddenly, the other settles on the mole-hill, quite close to the entrance. Motionless, with her head turned towards the front-door, she waits for the Bee to finish her business. The latter reappears at last and, for a few seconds, stands on the threshold of her dwelling, with her head and thorax outside the hole. The Gnat, on her side, does not stir.
Often, they are face to face, separated by a space no wider than a finger’s breadth. Neither of them shows the least excitement. The Halictus—judging, at least, by her tranquillity—takes no notice of the parasite lying in wait for her; the parasite, on the other hand, displays no fear of being punished for her audacity. She remains imperturbable, she, the dwarf, in the presence of the colossus who could crush her with a blow of one of her legs.
In vain I peer to discover some sign of apprehension on either side: nothing in the Halictus points to a knowledge of the danger run by her family; nor does anything in the Dipteron betray the dread of a severe correction. [[202]]Plunderer and plundered stare at each other for a moment; and that is all.
If she liked, the genial giantess could rip up with her claw the little bandit that ruins her home; she could crunch her with her mandibles, pink her with her stiletto. She does nothing of the sort, but leaves the brigand in peace, to sit quite close, motionless, with her red eyes fixed on the threshold of the house. Why this fatuous clemency?
The Bee departs. Forthwith, the Gnat walks in, with no more ceremony than if she were entering her own place. She now chooses among the victualled cells at her ease, for they are all open; she leisurely settles her eggs. No one will disturb her until the Bee’s return. To dust one’s legs with pollen, to distend one’s crop with syrup is a work that takes long a-doing; and the intruder, therefore, has time to spare wherein to commit her felony. Moreover, her chronometer is well-regulated and gives the exact measure of the length of absence. When the Halictus comes back from the fields, the Gnat has decamped. In some favourable spot, not far from the burrow, she awaits the opportunity for a fresh misdeed.
What would happen if a parasite were surprised in her work by the Bee? Nothing serious. I have seen them, greatly daring, follow the Halictus right into the cave and remain there for some time while the mixture of pollen and honey is being prepared. Unable to make use of the paste so long as the harvester is kneading it, they go back to the open air and wait on the threshold for the Bee to come out. They return to the sunlight, unflustered, with calm steps: a clear proof that they have suffered no unpleasantness in the depths where the Halictus works. [[203]]
A tap on the Gnat’s neck if she become too enterprising in the neighbourhood of the cake: that is all that the lady of the house seems to allow herself, to drive away the intruder. There is no serious affray between the robber and the robbed. This is apparent from the bold and undamaged aspect of the dwarf who returns from visiting the giantess engaged down in the burrow.
The Bee, when she comes home, whether laden with provisions or not, hesitates for a while; in a series of rapid zigzags, she moves backwards and forwards, to and fro, at a short distance from the ground. This intricate flight at first suggests the idea that the Hymenopteron is trying to lead her persecutress astray by means of an inextricable net-work of marches and counter-marches. That would certainly be a prudent move on her part; but so much wisdom appears to be denied her.
Her perturbation does not concern the enemy, but rather the difficulty of finding her dwelling, amid the confusion of the mole-hills encroaching one upon the other and the disorder of the lanes of the hamlet, which, owing to landslips of fresh rubbish, alter in appearance from one day to the next. Her hesitation is manifest, for she often blunders and alights at the entrance to a burrow that is not hers. The mistake is at once perceived from the petty details of the doorway.
The investigation is resumed with the same flight in swing-like curves, intermingled with sudden excursions to a distance. At last, the burrow is recognized. The Halictus dives into it with a rush; but, however prompt her disappearance underground, the Gnat is there, perched on the threshold, with her eyes turned to the entrance, waiting for the Bee to come out, so that she may visit the honey-jars in her turn. [[204]]
When the house-owner ascends, the other draws back a little, just enough to leave a free passage and no more. Why should she put herself out? The meeting is so peaceful that, short of further information, one would not suspect the presence face to face of a destroyer and destroyed. Far from being intimidated by the sudden arrival of the Halictus, the Gnat pays hardly any attention; and, in the same way, the Halictus takes no notice of her persecutress, unless the bandit pursue her and worry her on the wing. Then, with a sudden bend, the Hymenopteron makes off.
The parasite of the Halictus is in a difficult position. The homing Bee has her booty of honey in her crop and her harvest of flour on the brushes of her legs: the first is inaccessible to the thief; the second is in the form of powder and devoid of stable support. And even then it is quite insufficient. To collect the wherewithal to knead the round loaf, the journeys have to be repeated. When the necessary amount is obtained, the Halictus will pound it with the tip of her mandibles and shape it with her feet into a globule. The Dipteron’s egg, were it present among the materials, would certainly be in danger during this manipulation.
The alien egg, therefore, must be laid on the made bread; and, as the preparation takes place underground, the parasite is under the forced necessity of going down to the Halictus. With inconceivable daring, she does go down, even when the Bee is there. Whether through cowardice or foolish indulgence, the dispossessed insect lets the other have its way.
The object of the Gnat, with her tenacious lying-in-wait and her reckless burglaries, is not to feed herself at the harvester’s expense: she could find the wherewithal to live [[205]]on in the flowers, with much less trouble than her thieving trade involves. The most, I think, that she can allow herself to do in the Halictus’ cellars is demurely to taste the victuals, in order to ascertain their quality. Her great, her sole business is to settle her family. The stolen goods are not for herself, but for her sons.
Let us dig up the pollen-loaves. We shall find them most often crumbled with no regard to economy, simply abandoned to waste. We shall see two or three maggots, with pointed mouths, moving in the yellow flour scattered over the floor of the cell. These are the Dipteron’s progeny. With them we sometimes find the lawful owner, the worm of the Halictus, but stunted and emaciated with fasting. His gluttonous companions, without otherwise molesting him, deprive him of the best of everything. The wretched starveling dwindles, shrivels and disappears with little delay. His corpse, a mere atom, blended with the remaining provisions, supplies the maggots with one mouthful the more.
And what does the mother Halictus do in this disaster? She is free to visit her grubs at any moment; she has but to put her head into the passage of the house: she cannot fail to be apprised of their distress. The squandered loaf, the disorder of swarming vermin are events easily recognized. Why does she not take the intruders by the skin of the belly? To crush them with a bite of her mandibles, to fling them out of doors were the business of a second. And the foolish creature never thinks of it, leaves the famishers in peace!
She does worse. When the time of the nymphosis comes, the Halictus mother goes to the cells rifled by the parasite and closes them with an earthen plug as carefully as she does the rest. This final barricade, an excellent [[206]]precaution when the box is occupied by an Halictus in course of metamorphosis, becomes a screaming absurdity when the Dipteron has passed that way. Instinct does not hesitate in the face of this incongruity: it seals up emptiness. I say, emptiness, because the crafty maggot hastens to decamp the instant that the victuals are consumed, as though it foresaw an insuperable obstacle for the coming Fly: it quits the cell before the Hymenopteron closes it.
To rascally guile the parasite adds prudence. All, until there is none of them left, abandon the clay homes which would be their undoing, once the entrance was plugged up. The earthy retreat, so grateful to the tender skin, thanks to its polished coating, so free from humidity, thanks to its waterproof glaze, ought, one would think, to make an excellent waiting-place. The maggots will have none of it. Lest they should find themselves walled in when they become frail Gnats, they go away and disperse in the neighbourhood of the ascending pit.
My digging operations, in fact, always reveal the pupæ outside the cells, never inside. I find them enshrined, one by one, in the body of the clayey earth, in a narrow niche which the emigrant worm has contrived to make for itself. Next spring, when the hour comes for leaving, the adult insect has but to creep through the rubbish, which is easy work.
Another and no less imperative reason compels this change of abode on the parasite’s part. In July, a second generation of the Halictus is procreated. The Dipteron, reduced, on her side, to a single brood, remains in the pupa state and awaits the spring of the following year before effecting her transformation. The honey-gatherer resumes her work in the natal hamlet; she avails herself [[207]]of the pits and cells constructed in the spring, saving no little time thereby. The whole elaborate structure has remained in good condition. It needs but a few repairs to make the old house habitable.
Now what would happen if the Bee, so intent upon cleanliness, were to find a pupa in the cell which she is sweeping? She would treat the cumbersome object as she would a piece of old plaster. It would be no more to her than any other refuse, a bit of gravel, which, seized with the mandibles, crushed perhaps, would be sent to join the rubbish-heap outside. Once removed from the soil and exposed to the inclemencies of the weather, the pupa would inevitably perish.
I admire this lucid foresight of the maggot, which foregoes the comfort of the moment for the security of the future. Two dangers threaten it: to be immured in a casket whence the Fly can never issue; or else to die out of doors, from the harsh effects of the air, when the Bee sweeps out the restored cells. To avoid this two-fold peril, it absconds before the door is closed, before the Halictus sets her house in order in July.
Let us now see what comes of the parasite’s intrusion. In the course of June, when peace is established in the Halictus’ home, I dig up my largest colony, comprising some fifty burrows, thoroughly. Not an atom of the underground distress shall escape my eye. There are four of us engaged in sifting the excavated earth through our fingers. What one has examined another takes up and examines in his turn; and then another and another yet. The returns are heart-rending. We do not succeed in finding one single nymph of the Halictus. The populous city has perished in its entirety; and its place has been taken by the Dipteron. The latter superabounds [[208]]in the form of pupæ, which I collect in order to trace their evolution.
The year runs its course; and the little russet barrels, into which the original maggots have hardened and contracted, remain stationary. They are seeds endowed with latent life. The heats of July do not rouse them from their torpor. In that month, the period of the second generation of the Halictus, there is a sort of truce of God: the parasite rests and the Bee works in peace. If hostilities were to be resumed straight away, as murderous in summer as they were in spring, the progeny of the Halictus, over-endangered, might possibly disappear. The lull of the second brood puts things in order once more.
In April, when Halictus Zebrus, in search of a good place for her burrows, wanders with a wavering flight through the garden-walks, the parasite, on its side, hastens to hatch. Oh, the precise, the terrible agreement between those two calendars, the calendar of the persecutor and the persecuted! At the very moment when the Bee comes out, here is the Gnat: her work of extermination by famine is ready to begin all over again.
Were this an isolated case, one’s thoughts would not dwell upon it: an Halictus more or less in the world makes little difference in the general balance. But, alas, brigandage in all its forms is the rule in the eternal conflict of living things! From the lowest to the highest, every producer is imposed upon by the unproductive. Man himself, whose exceptional rank ought to raise him above such pettiness, excels in this ferocious eagerness. He says to himself that business means getting hold of the money of other people, even as the Gnat says to herself that business means getting hold of the Halictus’ honey. [[209]]And, to play the brigand to better purpose, he invents war, the art of killing wholesale and of doing with glory that which, when done on a smaller scale, leads to the gallows.
Shall we never behold the realization of that sublime dream which is sung on Sundays in the smallest village church: Gloria in excelsis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis! If war affected humanity alone, perhaps the future would have peace in store for us, seeing that generous minds are working for it with might and main; but the scourge also rages in the brute, which, in its obstinate way, will never listen to reason. Once the evil is laid down as a general condition, it perhaps becomes incurable. Life in the future, there is every cause to fear, will be what it is to-day, a perpetual massacre.
Whereupon, by a desperate effort of the imagination, one pictures to one’s self a giant capable of juggling with the planets. He is irresistible strength; he is also law and justice. He knows of our battles, our butcheries, our farm-burnings, our town-burnings, our brutal triumphs; he knows our explosives, our shells, our torpedo-boats, our iron-clads and all our cunning engines of destruction; he knows as well the appalling extent of the appetites among all creatures, down to the very lowest. Well, if that just, that mighty one held the earth under his thumb, would he hesitate whether he ought to crush it?
He would not hesitate. He would let things take their course. He would say to himself:
“The old belief is right; the earth is a rotten nut, gnawed by the vermin of evil. It is a barbarous essay, a painful stage towards a kindlier destiny. Let it be: order and justice are waiting at the end.” [[210]]
[1] ·2 inch.—Translator’s Note. [↑]
CHAPTER XVI
THE HALICTI: THE PORTRESS
The home dug by the solitary Bee in early spring remains, when summer comes, the joint inheritance of the members of the family. There were ten cells, or thereabouts, underground. Now from these cells there have issued none but females. This is the rule among the three species of Halicti. They have two generations in each year. That of the spring consists of females only; that of the summer comprises both males and females, in almost equal numbers.
The household, therefore, if not reduced by accidents, especially by the famine-producing Gnat, would consist of half-a-score of sisters, nothing but sisters, all equally industrious and all capable of procreating without a nuptial partner. On the other hand, the maternal dwelling is no hovel; far from it: the entrance-gallery, the principal room of the house, will serve very well, after a few odds and ends of refuse have been swept away. This will be so much gained in time, ever precious to the Bee. The cells at the bottom, the clay cabins, are also nearly intact. To make use of them, it will be enough to freshen up the stucco with the polisher of the tongue.
Well, which of the survivors, all equally entitled to the succession, will inherit the house? There are six of [[211]]them, seven, or more, according to the chances of mortality. To whose share will the maternal dwelling fall?
There is no quarrel between the interested parties. The mansion is recognized as common property without dispute. The sister Bees come and go peacefully through the same door, attend to their business, pass and let the others pass. Down at the bottom of the pit, each has her little demesne, her group of cells dug at the cost of fresh toil, when the old ones, now insufficient in number, are occupied. In these recesses, the rights of individual property prevail: each mother works privately, jealous of her belongings and her isolation. Every elsewhere, traffic is free to all.
The exits and entrances in the working fortress provide a spectacle of the highest interest. A harvester arrives from the fields, the brushes of her legs dusted with pollen. If the door be open, the Bee at once dives underground. To tarry on the threshold would mean waste of time; and the business is urgent. Sometimes, several appear upon the scene almost at the same moment. The passage is too narrow for two, especially when they have to avoid any inopportune contact that would make the floury burden fall to the floor. The nearest to the opening enters quickly. The others, drawn up on the threshold in the order of their arrival, respectful of one another’s rights, await their turn. As soon as the first disappears, the second follows after her and is herself swiftly followed by the third and then the others, one by one.
Sometimes, again, there is a meeting between a Bee about to come out and a Bee about to go in. Then the latter draws back a little and makes way for the former. The politeness is reciprocal. I see some who, when on [[212]]the point of emerging from the pit, go down again and leave the passage free for the one who has just arrived. Thanks to this mutual spirit of accommodation, the traffic of the household proceeds without impediment.
Let us keep our eyes open. There is something better than the well-preserved order of the entrances. When an Halictus appears, returning from her round of the flowers, we see a sort of trap-door, which closed the house, suddenly fall and give a free passage. As soon as the new arrival has entered, the trap rises back into its place, almost level with the ground, and closes the door anew. The same thing happens when the Bees go out. At a request from within, the trap descends, the door opens and the Bee flies away. The outlet is closed forthwith.
What can this shutter be which, descending or ascending in the cylinder of the pit, after the fashion of a piston, opens and closes the house at each departure and at each arrival? It is an Halictus, who has become the portress of the establishment. With her large head, she makes an impassable barrier at the top of the entrance-hall. If any one belonging to the house wants to go in or out, she “pulls the cord,” that is to say, she withdraws to a spot where the gallery widens and leaves room for two. The other passes. She then at once returns to the orifice and blocks it with the top of her head. Motionless, ever on the look-out, she does not leave her post save to drive away importunate visitors.
Let us profit by her brief appearances outside. We recognize in her an Halictus similar to the others, who are now busy harvesting; but the top of her head is bald and her dress is dingy and threadbare. The handsome [[213]]striped belts, alternately brown and ruddy-brown, have almost vanished from her half-stripped back. Her old, tattered clothes, well-worn with work, explain the matter clearly.
The Bee who mounts guard and performs the office of a portress at the entrance to the burrow is older than the others. She is the foundress of the establishment, the mother of the actual workers, the grandmother of the present grubs. In the spring-time of her life, three months ago, she wore herself out in solitary works. Now that her ovaries are dried up, she takes a well-earned rest. No, rest is hardly the word. She still works, she assists the household to the best of her power. Incapable of being a mother for the second time, she becomes a portress, opens the door to the members of her family and makes strangers keep their distance.
The suspicious kid, looking through the chink, said to the wolf:
“Show me a white foot, or I shan’t open the door.”
No less suspicious, the grandmother says to each comer:
“Show me the yellow foot of an Halictus, or you won’t be let in.”
None is admitted to the dwelling unless she be recognized as a member of the family.
See for yourself. Near the burrow passes an Ant, an unscrupulous adventuress, who would not be sorry to know the meaning of the honeyed fragrance that rises from the bottom of the cellar.
“Be off, or mind yourself!” says the portress, with a movement of her neck.
As a rule, the threat suffices. The Ant decamps. Should she insist, the watcher leaves her sentry-box, [[214]]flings herself upon the saucy jade, buffets her and drives her away. The moment the punishment has been administered, she returns on guard and resumes her sentry-go.
Next comes the turn of a Leaf-cutter (Megachile Albocincta, Pérez), who, unskilled in the art of burrowing, utilizes, after the manner of her kind, the old galleries dug by others. Those of Halictus Zebrus suit her very well, when the terrible Gnat of spring has left them vacant for lack of heirs. Seeking for a home wherein to stack her robinia-leaf honey-pots, she often makes a flying inspection of my colonies of Halicti. A burrow seems to take her fancy; but, before she sets foot on earth, her buzzing is noticed by the watchwoman, who suddenly darts out and makes a few gestures on the threshold of her door. That is all. The Leaf-cutter has understood. She removes herself.
Sometimes, the Megachile has time to alight and insert her head into the mouth of the pit. In a moment, the portress is there, comes a little higher and bars the way. Follows a not very serious contest. The stranger quickly recognizes the rights of the first occupant and, without insisting, goes to seek an abode elsewhere.
A consummate marauder (Cælioxys Caudata, Spinola), a parasite of the Megachile, receives a sound drubbing under my eyes. She thought, the scatter-brain, that she was entering the Leaf-cutter’s establishment! She soon finds out her error; she meets the portress Halictus, who administers a severe correction. She makes off at full speed. And so with the others who, by mistake or ambition, seek to enter the burrow.
The same intolerance exists among grandmothers. About the middle of July, when the animation of the [[215]]colony is at its height, two categories of Halicti are easily distinguishable: the young mothers and the old. The former, much more numerous, brisk of movement and smartly arrayed, come and go unceasingly from the burrows to the fields and from the fields to the burrows. The latter, faded and dispirited, wander idly from hole to hole. They look as though they had lost their way and were incapable of finding their homes. Who are these vagabonds? I see afflicted ones bereft of a family through the act of the odious spring Gnat. Many burrows have gone under altogether. At the awakening of summer, the mother found herself alone. She left her empty house and set off in search of a dwelling where there were cradles to defend, a guard to mount. But those fortunate nests already have their overseer, the foundress, who, jealous of her rights, gives her unemployed neighbour a cold reception. One sentry is enough; two would simply block the narrow guard-room.
I am privileged at times to witness a fight between two grandmothers. When the tramp in quest of employment appears outside the door, the lawful occupant does not move from her post, does not withdraw into the passage, as she would before an Halictus returning from the fields. Far from making way, she threatens with her feet and mandibles. The other hits back, tries to enter notwithstanding. Cuffs are exchanged. The fray ends by the defeat of the stranger, who goes off to pick a quarrel elsewhere.
These little scenes afford us a glimpse of certain details of the highest interest in the manners of Halictus Zebrus. The mother who builds her nest in the spring no longer leaves her home, once her works are finished. Shut up at the bottom of the burrow, busied with the minute cares [[216]]of housekeeping, or else drowsing, she waits for her daughters to come out. When, in the summer heats, the life of the colony recommences, having naught to do outside as a harvester, she stands sentry at the entrance to the hall, so as to let none in save the workers of the home, her own daughters. She wards off the ill-intentioned. None can enter without the door-keeper’s consent.
There is nothing to tell us that the watcher at moments deserts her post. I never see her leave her house to go and refresh herself at the flowers. Her age and her sedentary occupation, which implies no great fatigue, relieve her perhaps of the need of nourishment. Perhaps, also, the young ones returning from pillage disgorge a drop of the contents of their crops for her benefit, from time to time. Fed or not, the old one no longer goes out.
But what she does need is the joys of an active family. Many are deprived of these. The Dipteron’s burglary has destroyed the household. The sorely-tried Bees then abandon the deserted burrow. It is these who, ragged and careworn, wander through the hamlet. They move in short flights; more often, they remain motionless. It is they who, embittered in their natures, offer violence to their acquaintances and seek to dislodge them. They grow rarer and more languid from day to day; then they disappear for good. What has become of them? The little grey lizard had his eye on them: they are easy mouthfuls.
Those settled in their own demesne, those who guard the honey-factory wherein their daughters, the heiresses of the maternal establishment, work display a wonderful vigilance. The more I visit them, the more I admire [[217]]them. In the cool hours of the early morning, when the harvesters, not finding the pollen-flour sufficiently ripened by the sun, remain indoors, I see the portresses at their posts, at the top of the gallery. Here, motionless, their heads flush with the earth, they bar the door to all invaders. If I look at them too closely, they retreat a little way and, in the shadow, await the indiscreet observer’s departure.
I return when the harvest is in full swing, between eight o’clock and twelve. There is now, as the Halicti go in or out, a succession of prompt descents to open the door and ascents to close it. The portress is in the busy exercise of her functions.
In the afternoon, the heat is too great, the workers do not go to the fields. Retiring to the bottom of the house, they varnish the new cells, they bake the round loaf that is to receive the egg. The grandmother is still upstairs, stopping the door with her bald head. For her, there is no nap during the stifling hours: the general safety will not allow of it.
I come back again at night-fall, or even later. By the light of a lantern, I rebehold the overseer, as zealous and assiduous as in the day-time. The others are resting, but not she, for fear, apparently, of nocturnal dangers known to herself alone. Does she nevertheless end by descending to the quiet of the floor below? It seems probable, so essential must rest be, after the fatigue of such a watch!
It is evident that, guarded in this manner, the burrow is exempt from calamities similar to those which, too often, dispeople it in May. Let the Gnat come now, if she dare, to steal the Halictus’ loaves! Her audacity, her stubborn lurking ways will not conceal her from the watchful one, who will put her to flight with a threatening gesture or, if [[218]]she persist, crush her with her nippers. She will not come; and we know the reason: until spring returns, she is underground in the pupa state.
But, in her absence, there is no lack, among the Muscid rabble, of further sweaters of other insects’ labour. There are parasites for every sort of business, for every sort of theft. And yet my daily visits do not catch one of these in the neighbourhood of the July burrows. How well the rascals know their trade! How well-aware are they of the guard who keeps watch at the Halictus’ door! There is no foul deed possible nowadays; and the result is that no Muscid puts in an appearance and the tribulations of last spring are not repeated.
The grandmother who, dispensed by age from maternal worries, mounts guard at the entrance of the home and watches over the safety of the family tells us of sudden births in the genesis of the instincts; she shows us an immediate capacity which nothing, either in her own past conduct or in the actions of her daughters, could have led us to suspect. Timorous in her prime, in the month of May, when she lived alone in the burrow of her making, she has become gifted, in her decline, with a superb contempt of danger and dares, in her impotence, what she never dared do in her strength.
Formerly, when her tyrant, the Gnat, entered her home in her presence, or, more often, stood at the entrance, face to face with herself, the silly Bee did not stir, did not even threaten the red-eyed bandit, the dwarf whose doom she could so easily have sealed. Was it terror on her part? No, for she attended to her duties with her usual punctiliousness; no, for the strong do not allow themselves to be thus petrified by the weak. It was ignorance of the danger, it was sheer foolishness. [[219]]
And behold, to-day, the ignoramus of three months ago, without serving any apprenticeship, knows the peril, knows it well. Every stranger that appears is kept at a distance, without distinction of size or race. If the threatening gesture be not enough, the keeper sallies forth and flings herself upon the persistent one. Poltroonery has developed into courage.
How has this change been brought about? I should like to picture the Halictus gaining wisdom from the misfortunes of spring and capable thenceforth of looking out for danger; I would gladly credit her with having learnt in the stern school of experience the advantages of a guard. I must give up the idea. If, by dint of gradual little acts of progress, the Bee has gradually achieved the glorious invention of a portress, how comes it that the fear of thieves is intermittent? It is true that, alone, in May, she cannot stand permanently at her door: the business of the house takes precedence of everything. But she ought, at least, as soon as her offspring are persecuted, to know the parasite and give chase when, at every moment, she finds her almost under her feet and even in her house. Yet she pays no attention to her.
The harsh trials of the ancestors, therefore, have bequeathed naught to her of a nature to alter her placid character; and her own tribulations have nothing to say to the sudden awakening of her vigilance in July. Like ourselves, the animal has its joys and its troubles. It uses the former eagerly; it bothers but little about the latter, which is, when all is said, the best way of realizing an animal enjoyment of life. To mitigate these troubles and protect the progeny there is the inspiration of the instinct, which is able to give a portress to the Halictus without the counsels of experience. [[220]]
When the victualling is finished, when the Halicti no longer sally forth on harvesting intent nor return all floured over with their burden, the old Bee is still at her post, as vigilant as ever. The final preparations for the brood are made below; the cells are closed. The door is kept until everything is finished. Then grandmother and mothers leave the house. Exhausted by the performance of their duty, they go, somewhere or other, to die.
In September appears the second generation, comprising both males and females. [[221]]