The following is an interesting description of the naturalist’s encounter with a swarm of Bees in the “Sunken Road” while endeavouring to observe the installation of the Sitares in the cell of the Anthophora:
In front of a high expanse of earth a swarm stimulated by the sun, which floods it with light and heat, is dancing a crazy ballet. It is a hover of Anthophoræ, a few feet thick and covering an area which matches the sort of house-front formed by the perpendicular soil. From the tumultuous heart of the cloud rises a monotonous, threatening murmur, while the bewildered eye strays through the inextricable evolutions of the eager throng. With the rapidity of a lightning-flash, thousands of Anthophoræ are incessantly flying off and scattering over the country-side in search of booty; thousands of others also are incessantly arriving, laden with honey or mortar, and keeping up the formidable proportions of the swarm.
I was at that time something of a novice as regards the nature of these insects.
“Woe,” said I to myself, “woe to the reckless wight bold enough to enter the heart of this swarm and, above all, to lay a rash hand upon the dwellings under construction! Forthwith surrounded [[139]]by the furious host, he would expiate his rash attempt, stabbed by a thousand stings!”
At this thought, rendered still more alarming by the recollection of certain misadventures of which I had been the victim when seeking to observe too closely the combs of the Hornet (Vespa crabro), I felt a shiver of apprehension pass through my body.
Yet, to obtain light upon the question which brings me hither, I must needs penetrate the fearsome swarm; I must stand for whole hours, perhaps all day, watching the works which I intend to upset; lens in hand, I must scrutinise, unmoved amid the whirl, the things that are happening in the cells. The use moreover of a mask, of gloves, of a covering of any kind, is impracticable, for extreme dexterity of the fingers and complete liberty of sight are essential to the investigations which I have to make. No matter: even though I leave this wasps’-nest with a face swollen beyond recognition, I must to-day obtain a decisive solution of the problem which has preoccupied me too long.
My preparations are made at once: I button my clothes tightly, so as to afford the Bees the least possible opportunity, and I enter the heart of the swarm. A few blows of the mattock, which arouse a far from reassuring crescendo in the humming of the Anthophoræ, soon place me in possession of a lump of earth; and I beat a hasty retreat, greatly astonished to find myself still safe and sound and unpursued. But the lump of earth which I have removed is from a part too near the surface; it [[140]]contains nothing but Osmia-cells, which do not interest me for the moment. A second expedition is made, lasting longer than the first; and, though my retreat is effected without great precipitation, not an Anthophora has touched me with her sting, nor even shown herself disposed to fall upon the aggressor.
This success emboldens me. I remain permanently in front of the work in progress, continually removing lumps of earth filled with cells, spilling the liquid honey on the ground, eviscerating larvæ and crushing the Bees busily occupied in their nests. All this devastation results merely in arousing a louder hum in the swarm and is not followed by any hostile demonstration.
Thanks to this unexpected lack of spirit in the Mason-bee, I was able for hours to pursue my investigations at my leisure, seated on a stone in the midst of the murmuring and distracted swarm, without receiving a single sting, although I took no precautions whatever. Country-folk, happening to pass and beholding me seated, unperturbed in the midst of the whirl of Bees, stopped aghast to ask me whether I had bewitched them, whether I charmed them, since I appeared to have nothing to fear from them:
“Mé, moun bel ami, li-z-avé doun escounjurado què vous pougnioun pas, canèu de sort!”
My miscellaneous impediments spread over the ground, boxes, glass jars and tubes, tweezers and magnifying-glasses, were certainly regarded by these good people as the implements of my wizardry. [[141]]
I can assert to-day, after a long experience, that only the Social Hymenoptera, the Hive-bees, the Common Wasps, and the Bumble-bees know how to devise a common defence; and only they dare fall singly upon the aggressor, to wreak an individual vengeance.
But we would not leave the banks of the “Sunken Road,” which have been made classic by Fabre’s observations on the Cerceris, the Sitaris and tutti quanti, without letting the reader hear an echo of the heartfelt accents in which the now ageing scientist speaks of these spots which witnessed his first endeavours and his first achievements as an entomologist, when he returns to them thirty years later to complete his data respecting the Anthophora’s parasites:
Illustrious ravines whose banks are calcined by the sun, if I have in some small degree contributed to your fame, you, in your turn, have afforded me some happy hours of oblivion spent in the joy of learning. You, at least, have never lured me with vain hopes; all that you have promised me you have given me, often a hundredfold. You are my promised land, in which I fain would finally have pitched my observer’s tent. It has not been possible to realise my desire. Let me at least salute in passing my beloved insects of other days.
A wave of the hat to the Tuberculated Cerceris, [[142]]which I see on yonder bank busied with warehousing her Cleonus. As I saw her long ago, so I see her to-day.… Watching her at work, a younger blood flows in my veins; I scent, as it were, the fragrance of some renewal of life. But time passes; let us pass on.
Yet another greeting here. I hear rustling overhead, above that ledge, a community of Sphex-wasps, stabbing their Crickets! Let us give them a friendly glance, but no more. My acquaintances here are too numerous: I have not time to resume all my old relations.
Without stopping, a wave of the hat to the Eumenes … the Philanthus … the Tachytes.…
At last we are there![7]
This last exclamation, a cry from the heart, which reveals the object of this latest visit, is addressed to the murmuring city of the Anthophoræ, in which he had formerly made such valuable discoveries, and in which there was still something left to discover: so true is it that even in those regions which have been most fully explored the scientist worthy of the name never flatters himself that he has reached the final limits of knowledge. [[143]]
[1] Souvenirs, I., pp. 221, 240–241. The Hunting Wasps, chap. xiv., “The Bembex.” [↑]
[3] However, the audacious insect had other surprises in store for him: his notes speak of nests found more or less by chance near the still of a distillery, on the top of a steam-engine in a silk mill, on the walls and furniture of a farmhouse kitchen, and even in the interior of a gourd in which the farmer kept his shot on the chimney-piece; in a word, wherever there was warmth and not too much light. Souvenirs, IV., p. 8–12. [↑]
[4] Souvenirs, I., p. 122. The Hunting Wasps, chap. vii., “Advanced Theories.” [↑]