The characteristic attribute of this child of grace, of whom the whole multitude is enamoured, is certain beautiful long legs of gold, or rather of transparent amber, of a gilded yellow. This rich colour lends nobility to her belly, and is also found on the edge of her dorsal rings. Elegant, svelte, and noble, she is freed from the drudgery of dragging the industrial apparatus which overloads the worker,—brushes and panniers. Like all the bees, she carries a sword,—I mean the sting,—but never uses it except in a personal combat; nor has she many occasions, being so surrounded, beset, and overwhelmed with an excess of love.
This mother is very timorous, a trifle is sufficient to terrify her; at the slightest danger she takes to flight, and conceals herself at the bottom of the hive. Her head is not very large, and the unique function which so distinguishes her, is not one of those which tend to expand the brain. The others have more opportunity of acquiring knowledge and varying their accomplishments. The little gleaners gather a wide experience Of the country and of life. The bee-architects, who, moreover, attend to a thousand unforeseen domestic affairs, are compelled to think and develop their intelligence. The mother has but two duties to fulfil.
On a sunny day in spring, about three hours after noon, she issues forth, and out of a myriad males or more she selects a spouse, carries him off a moment on her wings, and then rejects him, mutilated; he does not survive his felicity. She re-enters her hive, and all is ended. She is impregnated for four years, the ordinary term of her existence. No loves can be briefer or more chaste. All her toil, by day and night, without distinction of season,—except for three months of lethargy in rigorous winters,—is to lay eggs everywhere, and without cessation. She flies from cellule to cellule, and in each deposits an egg. Nothing more is required of her. She was born for this destiny, and her people prosper in proportion to her fecundity. If she fell barren, all would languish,—as well as the activity, the labour, and the love which every one bestows upon her. The sentiment displayed towards her is not so much of a personal character as the idea of utility, of the preservation and perpetuity of the people, which very visibly prevails.
This mother, say our authors, has a somewhat giddy head. Like all individuals who have nothing to do, she is volatile and capricious. At the end of a year's incubation and sedentary life in the depths of the hive, a desire seizes her for the open air, to see a little of the world, to visit new countries. She has, nevertheless, a more serious motive than they say. She sees the spacious chambers which are being built for the young mothers who will replace her. She feels that her rivals are concealed there, and grows fiercely jealous. Incessantly she prowls around, and but for the assiduous guard which protects them, and keeps her away, she would dart her sting through the thin partitions. Conceive, then, what must be her rage when the young captives, ignorant of her fury and their danger, make imprudent efforts to escape from their cradles, hum and sing aloud their little cicala song, which is peculiar to the mother of the bees, and so clearly announces to the queen the presence of the pretenders? The foresight of the bees, which, to guard against all accidents, has thus reared up the young mothers, involves them then in difficulty. A frightful combat impends, a wholesale massacre; the old queen-mother, were she allowed, would not spare one of those odious females. Separation is preferable to civil war. The aged sovereign, agitated and distraught, runs everywhere, and seems to say: "Let those who love me, follow me." She raises a song of departure, and all labour is suspended.
Determined to follow her, numbers of the bees make the necessary preparations, and eat a supply of food which will last them several days. The excessive agitation is manifested by a sudden change of temperature; from 28° C., the heat of the hive mounts up to 30° or 32°,—a condition of things intolerable to the bees, for to respire easily is a peculiar feature of their organization. In the extreme heat they are all bathed in sweat. Therefore they must either set out or die. The mother sallies forth, and they rush headlong after her. They buzz and whirl for a moment round the abandoned home, and then dart a little further away, describing in the air the most fantastic and incredible flights. The air is darkened with them. At length some settle upon the branch of a neighbouring tree, then numerous others take their places, along with the queen. They cling to one another, and droop downwards in a large cluster. Tranquillity is re-established. The other bee communities having taken the alarm, and fearing the invasion of the fugitives, have guarded their gates, and reinforced their ordinary posts; but now, seeing them settled, they breathe freely, and return to their occupations.
Meanwhile some prudent and faithful messengers are despatched from the cluster to examine the neighbouring localities best adapted for a new establishment. M. Debeauvoys was the first to observe this act of prudence, this special and prudent mission of inspection for the information and guidance of the new colony. A hollow tree, or a cavity in the rock, protected from the north wind, and near a brook where they can conveniently drink, are the conditions which weigh most with our prudent emigrants. A hive fully prepared and already furnished with honey they do not regard with indifference. They are very decisive in their movements, being directed by an excellent sense.
Shall we affirm that they have quitted without regret the native land where they toiled so successfully? And that, having once forsaken it, they think of it no more? By no means. The mother especially,—"giddy" as they call her,—has her fancies for return, and twice—nay, thrice—persists in going back, carrying with her the too devoted colony.
What would befall if, in these home-visits, she found herself face to face with the new queen whom the non-emigrating people have substituted in her place? There would be a combat. And this, too, happens without emigration, when, spite of all the efforts that are made to prevent her, a young mother, having forced her way through the wall of her apartment, reveals to the old queen the detested object of her jealousy. A duel then infallibly takes place. However, as each knows the other to be armed with a mortal dart, their natural cowardice would moderate their fury, and limit the struggle to a few harmless shocks, and an innocent wrestle, like the pugilistic display of paid athletes. But the people who gather round and look on from a near point of view are very grave, and mean the affair to be so. Division in the community would be the greatest of all evils. Moreover, they are so economical and temperate for themselves, so parsimonious for others, that they take into consideration, I am sure, the enormous cost that would result from the establishment of a couple of queens. Each one of them, royally nourished as they are, is a serious trouble to the republic. The State would be ruined if it had to pay a double budget. Therefore one of them must die. And hence arises a strange spectacle, completely characteristic of the singular spirit of this people: the object of adoration, recently gorged, and brushed, and caressed,—if she recoil, is led back to the combat, is impelled and driven into it, until one of the two antagonists contrives to leap upon the other, and from its bended and superjacent abdomen plunges into the latter's entrails the irremissible poignard.
Unity is thus secured. The survivor, who, if conquered, would have been flung aside without regret, now that she is victorious becomes the idol and living deity of the commonwealth; but let her remember, on the express condition of perpetuating the people and proving continuously prolific.