(_From a continuation of "the Indicator," by Leigh Hunt._)
It has been thought, that of all animated creation, the bees present the
greatest moral likeness to man; not only because they labour and lay up
stores, and live in communities, but because they have a form of
government and a monarchy. Virgil immortalized them after a human
fashion. A writer in the time of Elizabeth, probably out of compliment
to the Virgin Queen, rendered them _dramatis personae_, and gave them a
whole play to themselves. Above all, they have been held up to us, not
only as a likeness, but as "a great moral lesson;" and this, not merely
with regard to the duties of occupation, but the form of their polity. A
monarchical government, it is said, is natural to man, because it is an
instinct of nature: the very bees have it.
It may be worth while to inquire a moment into the value of this
argument; not as affecting the right and title of our Sovereign Lord
King William the Fourth (whom, with the greatest sincerity, we hope God
will preserve!), but for its own sake, as well as for certain little
collateral deductions. And, in the first place, we cannot but remark how
unfairly the animal creation are treated, with reference to the purposes
of moral example. We degrade or exalt them, as it suits the lesson we
desire to inculcate. If we rebuke a drunkard or a sensualist, we think
we can say nothing severer to him than to recommend him not to make "a
beast of himself;" which is very unfair towards the beasts, who are no
drunkards, and behave themselves as nature intended. A horse has no
habit of drinking; he does not get a red face with it. The stag does not
go reeling home to his wives. On the other hand, we are desired to be as
faithful as a dog, as bold as a lion, as tender as a dove; as if the
qualities denoted by these epithets were not to be found among
ourselves. But above all, the bee is the argument. Is not the honey-bee,
we are asked, a wise animal?--We grant it.--"Doth he not improve each
passing hour?"--He is pretty busy, it must be owned--as much occupied at
eleven, twelve, and one o'clock, as if his life depended on it:--Does he
not lay up stores?--He does.--Is he not social? Does he not live in
communities?--There can be no doubt of it.--Well, then, he has a
monarchical government; and does not that clearly show that a monarchy
is the instinct of nature? Does it prove, by an unerring rule, that the
only form of government in request among the obeyers of instinct, is the
only one naturally fitted for man?
In answering the spirit of this question, we shall not stop to inquire
how far it is right as to the letter, or how many different forms of
polity are to be found among other animals, such as the crows, the
beavers, the monkeys; neither shall we examine how far instinct is
superior to reason, nor why the example of man himself is to go for
nothing. We will take for granted, that the bee is the wisest animal of
all, and that it is a judicious thing to consider his manners and
customs, with reference to their adoption by his inferiors, who keep him
in hives. This naturally leads us to inquire, whether we could not frame
all our systems of life after the same fashion. We are busy, like the
bee; we are gregarious, like him; we make provision against a rainy day;
we are fond of flowers and the country; we occasionally sting, like him;
and we make a great noise about what we do. Now, if we resemble the bee
in so many points, and his political instinct is so admirable, let us
reflect what we ought to become in other respects, in order to attain to
the full benefit of his example.
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But we have not yet got half through the wonders, which are to modify
human conduct by the example of this wise, industrious, and
monarch-loving people. Marvellous changes must be effected, before we
have any general pretension to resemble them, always excepting in the
aristocratic particular. For instance, the aristocrats of the hive,
however unmasculine in their ordinary mode of life, are the only males.
The working-classes, like the sovereign, are all females! How are we to
manage this? We must convert, by one sudden meta-morphosis, the whole
body of our agricultural and manufacturing population into women! Mrs.
Cobbett must displace her husband, and tell us all about Indian corn.
There must be not a man in Nottingham, except the Duke of Newcastle; and
he trembling lest the Queen should send for him. The tailors, bakers,
carpenters, gardeners, must all be Mrs. Tailors and Mrs. Bakers. The
very name of John Smith must go out. The Directory must be Amazonian.
This commonalty of women must also be, at one and the same time, the
operatives, the soldiers, the virgins, and the legislators of the
country! They must make all we want, fight all our enemies, and even get
up a Queen for us when necessary; for the sovereigns of the hive are
often of singular origin, being manufactured! literally "made to order,"
and that too by dint of their eating! They are fed and stuffed into
royalty! The receipt is, to take any ordinary female bee in its infancy,
put it into a royal cradle or cell, and feed it with a certain kind of
jelly; upon which its shape alters into that of sovereignty, and her
Majesty issues forth, royal by the grace of stomach. This is no fable,
as the reader may see on consulting any good history of bees. In
general, several Queen-bees are made at a time, in case of accidents;
but each, on emerging from her apartment, seeks to destroy the other,
and one only remains living in one hive. The others depart at the head
of colonies, like Dido.
To sum up then the conditions of human society were it to be re-modelled
after the example of the bee, let us conclude with drawing a picture of
the state of our beloved country, so modified. Imprimis, all our working
people would be females, wearing swords, never marrying, and
occasionally making queens. They would grapple with their work in a
prodigious manner, and make a great noise. Secondly, our aristocracy
would be all males, never working, never marrying, (except when sent
for,) always eating or sleeping, and annually having their throats cut.
The bee-massacre takes place in July; when accordingly all our nobility
and gentry would be out of town, with a vengeance! The women would draw
their swords, and hunt and stab them all about the West end, till
Brompton and Bayswater would be choked with slain.
Thirdly, her Majesty the Queen would either succeed to a quiet throne,
or, if manufactured, would have to eat a prodigious quantity of jelly in
her infancy; and so alter growing into proper sovereign condition, would
issue forth, and begin her reign either with killing her royal sisters,
or leading forth a colony to America or New South Wales. She would then
take to husband some noble lord for the space of one calendar hour, and
dismissing him to his dullness, proceed to lie in of 12,000 little royal
highnesses in the course of the eight following weeks, with others too
numerous to mention; all which princely generation with little
exception, would forthwith give up their title, and divide themselves
into lords or working-women as it happened; and so the story would go
round to the end of the chapter, bustling, working, and massacring:--and
here ends the sage example of the Monarchy of the Bees.
We must observe nevertheless, before we conclude, that however ill and
tragical the example of the bees may look for human imitation, we are
not to suppose that the fact is anything like so melancholy to
themselves. Perhaps it is no evil at all, or only so for the moment. The
drones, it is true, seem to have no fancy for being massacred; but we
have no reason to suppose, that they, or any of the rest concerned in
this extraordinary instinct, are aware of the matter beforehand; and the
same is to be said of the combats between the Queen-bees; they appear to
be the result of an irresistible impulse, brought about, by the sudden
pressure of a necessity. Bees appear to be very happy, during far the
greater portion of their existence. A modern writer, of whom it is to be
lamented that a certain want of refinement stopped short his
perceptions, and degraded his philosophy from the finally expedient into
what was fugitively so, has a passage on this point, as agreeable as
what he is speaking of. "A bee among the flowers in spring," says Dr.
Paley, "is one of the cheerfullest objects that can be looked upon. Its
life appears to be all enjoyment, _so busy and so pleased_."--_Abridged
from the New Monthly Magazine_.
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