HYMENOPTERA.

The Order Hymenoptera comprises those insects which have four naked

membranous wings, lying in repose horizontally upon the body, and

intersected by a network of nerves. The name is derived from two Greek

words--[Greek: hymên], a membrane, and [Greek: pteron], a wing. The

mouth is composed of two horny mandibles, jaws, and lips adapted for

suction.

It is amongst the Hymenoptera that we meet with the most industrious

insects, some of which seem to possess real intelligence. These little

animals offer the most admirable examples of sociability. Born

architects, they construct dwellings marvellously contrived, which

serve them, at the same time, as nurseries in which to rear their

progeny, and storehouses in which to lay by their provisions. Nothing

can equal the solicitude with which they watch over their young larvæ,

still incapable of motion. They form republics, governed by immutable

laws, and make war against their enemies in order of battle. They have

predilections or antipathies for those who court their society, on

account of the material advantages they derive from them.

The Bees, the Humble Bees, the Wasps, and the Ants, are the best-known

types of this order of insects. Among a great number of the

Hymenoptera the females are armed with a sting, or lancet, a wound

from which causes great pain. All these insects undergo complete

metamorphoses. In the larva state the aculeate species are incapable

of motion and of obtaining food; but Nature has provided in different

ways for their preservation. They are often lodged and fed by the

workers of the tribe, unfruitful females, which, with a self-denial

very rare in Nature, seem to have no other vocation than to sacrifice

themselves to the welfare of the larvæ. The workers construct the nest

and bring in the provisions. This is the case with honey bees, wasps,

and ants.

Some deposit their eggs in the bodies of other insects, which die

immediately the larvæ which live in them have attained their full

development. The larvæ of the _Chalcididæ_ and of the _Ichneumonidæ_

furnish examples of Hymenoptera which inhabit the interior of the body

of another insect. Other parasitical species carry on their

depredations in a different way. They content themselves with laying

their eggs in the nests of other species of the order, which have the

advantage over them in being able to construct for themselves places

of refuge. Their larvæ live thus on their neighbours' goods,

nourishing themselves on the provisions which were laid up for others.

In this way live the _Cleptes_, the _Chrysides_, &c. Lastly, others,

such as the Gall-insects, and the _Tenthredinetæ_, or Saw-flies, live

in their first state exposed on plants, and feed upon their leaves.

We shall only here describe the principal families of the Order

Hymenoptera, which contains a considerable number of species. These

families will be--1st. The _Apiariæ_, containing the Honey Bees, the

_Melipodes_, and the Humble Bees. 2nd. The _Vespiariæ_, or Wasps. 3rd.

The _Formicariæ_, or Ants. 4th. The _Gallicolæ_, or Gall-insects.

BEES.--Man, from the very earliest age, before any civilisation

existed, knew the value of bees, and took advantage of the products of

these industrious insects. The Bible makes mention of honey bees.

Their Hebrew name is _Deborah_. The Greeks called them by the name of

_Melissa_, or _Melitta_.

Their wonderful architectural powers, their economical forethought,

the wonderful combination of their reasonings, which denote a real

intelligence, their admirable social organisation, have in all times

fixed the attention of naturalists, as they have also that of poets

and thinkers. Virgil has celebrated them. In the fourth book of his

Georgics, the Latin poet has summed up all that the ancients knew

about bees. He paints with a good deal of truth many traits in their

history, points out their enemies, and sets forth with accuracy all

the care that should be taken of them. In the words of the Mantuan

poet, they are heavenly gifts, _dona cælestia_, and their intelligence

excited his admiration:--

"His quibus signis atque hæc exempla secuti,

Esse apibus partem divinæ mentis, et haustus

Æthereos dixere." ...

Let us hasten to say, however, that all which the ancients,

naturalists or poets, Greek or Latin, relate on the subject of bees,

is a mixture of truth and error, and rests generally on mere

supposition. Aristotle knew well the three sorts of individuals which

are comprised under the title of bees, and some other principal facts

relating to their history; but these facts are not stated accurately

and precisely in his account of them, and they are, above all,

misinterpreted. The Greek philosopher understood insects in general

very badly. He made them spring from the leaves of trees, and brought

forward a multitude of errors about them, which the most simple

observation would have sufficed to dissipate. Pliny tells us that

Aristomachus of Soles consecrated fifty-eight years to the observation

of the habits of the bee, and that Philiscus of Thrace passed, for the

same motive, all his life in the forests. But this devotion to one

object does not appear to have produced much result, if one compares

the discoveries of our own age with the errors which Pliny, Aristotle,

and Columella have chronicled respecting them. Pliny says that bees

occupy the first rank among insects, and that they were created for

man, for whom their work procures honey and wax. He adds that they

form political associations, that they have councils, chiefs, and even

a code of morality and principles.

One sees by this opinion of the Roman naturalist in what high esteem

the ancients held bees. But they had the most singular ideas on the

reproduction of these little beings; and as no one had ever seen their

generation, they invented fable after fable to explain their origin.

Some pretended that bees sprang from an ox recently killed, and buried

in manure. Others added that they only sprang into existence from the

chest of a young ox killed with violence. The most courageous bees

came from the belly of a lion in a state of putrefaction. It was from

the head of this same animal, in a state of corruption, that the

_kings_ (_i.e._, the _queens_) were formed. The carcases of cows

furnished the mild and tractable bees; a calf could only furnish small

and weak ones. Other naturalists, or rather other dreamers, made these

insects spring from the calices of sweet-scented flowers. Combined and

separated in a certain manner, the flowers engendered bees. They said,

further, that the bees sought on the blossoms of the olive trees and

of the reed a seed which they rendered fit for the formation of their

larvæ.

All these fables, which sprang from the imagination of the ancients,

were developed by a writer of the Renaissance, a certain Alexander de

Montfort, author of a work entitled "Printemps de l'Abeille." If we

were to believe him, the king of the bees is formed of the juice which

the workers extract from plants. These latter are created from honey;

and the tyrants, _i.e._, the females, which do not manage to become

sovereigns of a hive, are formed only of gum. It will be seen that he

had profited only too well by what he had read in Greek and Roman

authors.

The bee was very much thought of in ancient Egypt, and is often

represented on their monuments, above the sculptured ornaments which

contain proper names, with two semicircles and a sort of sheaf, or

fasciculus. Champollion Figeac thinks that this group, taken together,

represents a title added to a proper name. According to Hor-Apollon,

another commentator on Egyptian hieroglyphics, the bee in the country

of the Pharaohs was the emblem of a people sweetly submissive to the

orders of its king. Nothing can be better than this comparison. It was

for this reason, no doubt, that Napoleon I. sprinkled the symbolical

bees over the imperial mantle which bears the arms of his dynasty.

All the fables, all the hypotheses, spread about and cherished by the

ancients respecting these industrious little insects, were dissipated

in a moment when, by the invention of glass bee-hives, first made in

the beginning of the last century by Maraldi, a mathematician of Nice,

we were enabled to observe their operations and habits. It is from

this period only that our exact knowledge of the really wonderful life

of these insects dates. Before Maraldi, the Dutch naturalist,

Swammerdam, had written an excellent "History of Bees." He died before

he had published his work, and when, a long while after his death, it

was at length printed, other investigators had already pushed on their

observations further than he had. Thanks to the invention of Maraldi,

Réaumur, John Hunter, Schirach, and Francis Huber, had unveiled, by

their admirable researches, the wonderful habits of these insects. The

discoveries of Francis Huber seem to be almost miraculous, when we

remember that this observer was blind from the age of seventeen.

Deprived of sight, Francis Huber did not the less wish to consecrate

his life to the observation and the study of Nature. He caused the

best works of his day on natural history and physics to be read to

him, his usual reader being his servant, named Francis Burnens, a

native of the Pays de Vaud. The honest Burnens took a singular

interest in all he read, and showed by his judicious reflections the

true talent of an observer, and Huber resolved to cultivate his

talent. Very soon he could place implicit reliance in his companion,

and see with another's eyes as if they were his own.

The two naturalists (we do not hesitate to give this title to the poor

peasant of the canton of Vaud who so well seconded his master in his

long hours of study) conceived a host of original experiments, which

led them to discover truths which no one up to that time had dreamt

of. The results of their researches were published, in 1789, in a

volume which produced a profound sensation among naturalists.[81]

Burnens was at a later period called back to the bosom of his family,

and invested by his fellow-citizens with important functions. Francis

Huber then continued his observations through the eyes of the

excellent wife he had married. A second volume was thus composed by

him twenty years after the appearance of the first. This volume was

published by his son, Pierre Huber, to whom we are indebted for the

admirable researches concerning ants, of which we shall have to speak

further on.

[81] "Nouvelles Observations sur les Abeilles," par François

Huber. Paris et Genève, in 8vo. 2e edition. 1814.

We will now speak of the habits of the bees. The labours of Réaumur,

of Schirach, and of Huber, have perfectly revealed them to us, and

have initiated us completely into the habits of these precious

insects, which are for us to a certain extent domestic animals. We

will begin by describing the Common Bee (_Apis mellifica_).

During the greater part of the year the population of our hives is

composed exclusively of two sorts of individuals--the female, or

mother bee, called also the queen bee; and the working bees, or

neuters, which are, properly speaking, females incompletely developed.

A third kind of individuals, the males, called also drones, are

generally not met with except from May to July.

[Illustration: Fig. 309.--Working Bee (_Apis mellifica_).]

The working bees are the people, the crowd, the _servum pecus_, the

living force, the bee community. They are recognised by their small

size, reddish brown colour, and, above all, by the palettes and

brushes with which the hind legs are furnished.

The three pairs of legs which are inserted in its thorax are its

tools. The two hind-legs are longer than the other pairs, and present

on the exterior a triangular depression, resembling a _palette_, which

is surrounded by stiff hairs, forming, as it were, the borders of a

sort of basket, in which the insect deposits the pollen of flowers.

The broadest part of the leg articulates with the tarsus, which is of

a square form, smooth on the exterior, and having hairs on its

interior surface, which has caused it to be named the brush. The joint

is used for gathering the pollen; it folds back on the leg (Fig. 310),

and forms with it a sort of small pair of pincers; and, finally, the

leg is terminated by four smaller articulations, the last of which is

armed with hooks. The other tools of the working bee consist of a pair

of movable mandibles, which close the mouth on its two sides, and of a

trunk or proboscis (Fig. 311), which may be considered as a sort of

tongue.

[Illustration: Fig. 310.--Leg of a Bee (magnified).]

[Illustration: Fig. 311.--Trunk of a Bee (magnified).]

With its mandibles the working bee seizes any hard substance. The

trunk serves it to collect the juice lying on the surface of the

petals, or at the bottom of the corolla of the flower. When a bee has

settled on a full-blown flower, it is seen immediately to make for the

interior of the corolla, to put out its trunk, and apply it to the

petals; it lengthens, shortens, and twists and bends it in all

directions. When the hairy surface of this organ is covered with

vegetable juice, the bee returns it to its mouth, and deposits the

booty in a conduit, whence the juice passes into the first stomach.

This trunk is then, in all respects, a tongue, with which the bee

sucks, licks, and pumps up the honey of flowers. But it also gathers

the pollen. When it enters a flower the bee covers itself with pollen

from head to foot, and then passing its brushes carefully over its

whole body, removes the dust which adheres to it in every part, and

piles it up on the triangular palettes of its hind-legs, in such a

manner as to form balls of greater or less size. If the flower is not

quite full blown, the bee makes use of its mandibles to open the

anthers, in which case the front pair of legs transmit the booty to

the second pair, which stores them in the baskets of the third. When

it has gathered as much as it can carry, the bee returns to the hive,

its legs laden with pollen.

[Illustration: Fig. 312.--Male, or Drone (_Apis mellifica_).]

[Illustration: Fig. 313.--Female, or Queen (_Apis mellifica_).]

This complete set of tools which we have just described is only to be

met with among the working bees. The males, or drones (Fig. 312),

larger and more hairy than the working bees, emitting a sonorous and

buzzing sound, have no palettes on their legs, the hairs on their

tarsi are not appropriated to the work of gathering, their mandibles

are shorter, and they have no _aculeus_, or sting, which is the

working bee's weapon.

The female, or queen (Fig. 313), is smaller than the male, and has a

longer body than the working bees, and the wings, shorter in

proportion, cover only the half of its body, whereas with the other

bees they cover it entirely. The only part she has to play is that of

laying eggs, and so she has no palettes and brushes. The sovereign is,

as suits her supreme rank, exempted from all work. She is always

escorted by a certain number of working bees, who brush her, lick her,

present honey to her with their trunks, save her every kind of

fatigue, and compose a train worthy of her feminine majesty. One very

remarkable fact is that only one queen lives in each hive. Perfect

sovereign of this tiny state, she rules over a people of some

thousands of workers. It is not rare to find 20,000 working bees in a

hive, and all submissively obey their sovereign. The number of males

is scarcely one-tenth part of that of the working bees; and they only

live about three months. The workers represent the active life of the

community.

"The exterior of a hive," says M. Victor Rendre, "gives the best idea

of this people, essentially laborious. From sunrise to sunset, all is

movement, diligence, bustle; it is an incessant series of goings and

comings, of various operations which begin, continue, and end, to be

recommenced. Hundreds of bees arrive from the fields, laden with

materials and provisions; others cross them and go in their turn into

the country. Here, cautious sentinels scrutinise every fresh arrival;

there, purveyors, in a hurry to be back at work again, stop at the

entrance to the hive, where other bees unload them of their burdens;

elsewhere it is a working bee which engages in a hand-to-hand

encounter with a rash stranger; farther on the surveyors of the hive

clear it of everything which might interfere with the traffic or be

prejudicial to health; at another point the workers are occupied in

drawing out the dead body of one of their companions; all the outlets

are besieged by a crowd of bees coming in and going out, the doors

hardly suffice for this hurrying, busy multitude. All appears disorder

and confusion at the approaches to the hive, but this tumult is only

so in appearance; an admirable order presides over this emulation in

their work, which is the distinctive feature in bees."[82] A very

simple calculation may serve to give us an idea of this prodigious

activity. The opening of a well-stocked hive gives passage to one

hundred bees a minute, which makes, from five o'clock in the morning

till seven o'clock in the evening, eighty thousand re-entrances, or

four excursions for each bee, supposing there is a population of

twenty thousand workers.

[82] "L'Intelligence des Bêtes." In 18mo. Paris, 1864.

Let us now follow their occupations from the moment in which they

establish themselves in a hive. The workers begin by stopping up all

the openings except one door, which is always to remain open. A

certain number set out to look for a resinous and sweet-scented

substance, known under the name of _propolis_, which is destined to

cover the inner surface of the hive, as its name shows, which is

derived from a Greek word signifying outskirts, or suburb. Huber

asserts that it is gathered from the buds of plants. This substance

has not yet been employed in the arts, although it possesses the same

qualities as wax, as M. de Frarière remarks in his work "On Bees and

Bee-keeping."[83] The propolis is employed in Italy for making

blisters. This gum is viscous and very adherent. The bee works it up

into balls, and carries it in this form to the hive, where other

labourers take possession of it. They seize the pellet with their

mandibles, and apply it to cracks which they have to make air-tight.

They use the propolis for another purpose still, which deserves to be

mentioned.

[83] "Sur les Abeilles et l'Apiculture." In 18mo. 2e edition.

Paris.

It happens sometimes that an enemy penetrates into their hive, and

that the bees are not strong enough to cast this intruder out of their

dwelling. What do they do? As soon as they have discovered the

invasion of their domicile, they set upon the impudent intruder, and

sting him to death. But how can they drag out the dead body, which is

often very heavy? such, for instance, as a slug. On the other hand, it

would be dangerous to abandon its carcase in the midst of the hive. A

Roman Emperor said that the dead bodies of our enemies always smelt

good. This is not the opinion of the bees. They know that if they

abandon the carcase in the hive it would infect the place, to the

great danger of their health. They therefore embalm it. They encase it

in propolis, which preserves it from putrefaction. It is said that the

art of embalming was practised for the first time by the ancient

Egyptians. It is an error: the first inventors of this art were bees.

If, instead of a slug, it is a snail whose evil genius has conducted

it into the interior of a beehive, the proceeding is more simple. The

moment he has received one sting, the snail retires under the

protecting roof of his movable house. The bees thereupon at once wall

him in by closing the opening to his shell with this material. The

shell is then cemented to the floor of the hive, and the house of the

poor mollusc, become its tomb, remains thus in the midst of the hive,

as a sort of decorative tumulus. When the sides of the hive are well

closed, the bees lay the foundations of their cells.

It was not formerly so easy to observe the details of the work done by

the bees as it is at the present day; for these insects, once in their

hives, have a great aversion to the light. If they are put into a

glazed hive, their first care is to shut up all the windows, either by

plastering them over with propolis, or by forming, by means of the

well-marshalled battalion of working bees, a sort of living curtain.

In order to be able to take them unawares, and study them at his own

convenience, Huber constructed a hive with leaves, which opened like a

book. Fig. 314, which represents the hive with leaves, which is

sometimes used, gives an idea of the plan adopted by Huber in order to

enable him at will to open the hive and surprise its inmates. Huber

had also recourse in certain cases to a glass cage placed in the

interior of the hive, and which he could easily move to the light.

Thanks to his ingenuity, Huber was able to follow the working bees in

all the various phases of their labours. When they begin to construct

their hives they divide the work among themselves. A first detachment

is employed to gather the wax, which is the building stone of our

little architects. It was thought for a long time that wax was solely

the pollen of flowers, elaborated in the stomach of bees, and then

disgorged by the mouth. It was reserved for a peasant of Lusac to be

the first to discover the true nature of this secretion. This

observer, who did not belong to any school, or at most belonged to

Nature's school, found the flakes of wax sticking between the lower

arches of the rings of the abdomen or belly of the working bee. The

wax, then, is produced by the insect by exudation, and is not simply

the pollen gathered from flowers. Huber himself states that bees

exclusively nourished on pollen do not secrete wax, and that, on the

contrary, they do furnish it when they eat saccharine matter. It is

easy to perceive the little plates of wax by slightly raising the last

rings of the bee's abdomen. Fig. 315 represents a bee very heavily

laden with this matter.

[Illustration: Fig. 314.--Bee-hive in Leaves.]

[Illustration: Fig. 315.--Bee seen through a magnifying glass at the

moment when the plates of wax appear between the segments of the

abdomen.]

[Illustration: Fig. 316.--Clusters of Bees.]

The working bees suspend themselves from the roof of the hive in such

a manner as to form festoons. The first clings to the roof with his

front legs, the second hooks himself on to the hind legs of the first,

and so on, as is shown in Fig. 316. They in this manner form chains,

fixed by the two ends to the roof, which serve as a bridge or ladder

to the bees which join this assembly.

The result of all this is at last a cluster or swarm of bees which

hangs down to the bottom of the hive. In this attitude they remain at

first motionless, waiting till the honey in their stomachs is changed

into wax. When the wax is sufficiently elaborated in its organs, one

of them detaches itself from the group of which it forms a part. It

takes between its legs one of the flakes of wax adhering to the rings

of its abdomen, kneads it with its mandibles, moistens it with its

saliva, and gives it the appearance of a soft filament, which it

sticks on to a projecting point of the roof. To this first layer it

adds others, till it has exhausted all its wax. Then it leaves its

post, and returns to the fields; another worker--another mason, as

they are sometimes called--succeeds it, and continues the laying of

the foundations. Presently shapeless blocks of wax hang down from the

roof. It is in these blocks that other workers, with their mandibles,

hollow out and form the first cells. While the workers continue to

prolong the foundation-wall, and whilst the first cells are being

shaped, new ones are roughly sketched out or rough-hewn, and the work

advances with a marvellous rapidity.

Each cell forms a small hexagonal cup, closed on one side only by a

pyramidal base, produced by the meeting together of three rhombs. The

honeycombs are the result of two layers of cells placed back to back,

arranged in such a way that the bases of the one become the bases of

the other, the base of each little cell being formed by the union of

the bases of three opposite cells. The bees begin by forming the base

of the cell; they then add the six sides, or walls, which are to

complete the hexagonal cup. At the same time others set to work on the

opposite side of the comb, and construct little cells back to back

with the cells of the front surface. They do not finish them off at

once. The walls are at first very thick: new workers, who succeed

those who merely mark out the work, being occupied in planing down the

rough-hewn cells, and in reducing the walls to the desired thickness.

This work is accomplished with an incredible celerity, for the bees

can build as many as 4,000 cells in twenty-four hours. There is very

good reason for the hexagonal form being adopted by the bees in

constructing their cells, as it involves a question of economy, which

these insects have solved in their most admirable manner.

"When one has well examined," says Réaumur,[84] "the true shape of

each cell, when one has studied their arrangement, geometry seems to

have guided the design for the whole work, and to have presided over

its execution. One finds that all the advantages which could have been

desired are here combined. The bees seem to have had to solve a

problem containing conditions which would have made the solution

appear to be difficult to many geometricians. This problem may be thus

enunciated:--Given a quantity of matter, say of wax, it is required to

form cells which shall be equal and similar to each other, of a

determined capacity, but as large as possible in proportion to the

quantity of matter which is employed, and the cells to be so placed

that they may occupy the least possible space in the hive. To satisfy

this last condition, the cells should touch each other in such a

manner that there may remain no angular space between them, no gap to

fill up. The bees have satisfied these conditions, and at the same

time they have satisfied the first conditions of the problem in making

cells which are tubes having six equal sides, or in other words,

hexagonal tubes.... We see still further that the best thing the bees

could do to economise their space and materials, was to compose their

honeycombs of two rows of cells turned in opposite directions."

[84] "Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire des Insectes," tome

v., p. 379.

[Illustration: Fig. 317.--Cells constructed by Bees.]

This arrangement, it will be seen, enables them to economise the half

of the wax intended for making the bases of the cells. They economise

it still more by making the bases and the sides of the tubes extremely

thin; the borders only of the comb being fortified by an excess of

wax. These two-sided combs descend from the roof of the hive in

parallel series, their thickness being about half an inch. They are

fixed to the top by a sort of wax foot, and fastened to the sides by

numerous bands. The bees pass between the rows, besides excavating

circular openings, which serve as doors of communication. The form and

the general arrangement of these buildings are otherwise very varied,

according to circumstances. The bees always accommodate themselves to

the nature of the hive.

In all these operations they exhibit great judgment. It is impossible,

when one has once seen them at work, to look on them as mere organised

machines, whose instinct is their spring of action; we are forced to

concede to them intelligence.

[Illustration: Fig. 318.--The cells of a Bee-hive. A, large cell

intended for the larvæ of the _queens_. B, middling-sized cells

intended for the larvæ of the _males_. C, small cells intended for the

larvæ of the _workers_.]

The cells are of three dimensions: the small ones intended for the

larvæ of the workers, the middling-sized ones for the larvæ of the

males, and the large ones for the larvæ of the queens.

These last--that is, the _royal cells_--are generally only about

twenty in number, in a hive containing 20,000 bees. Constructed of a

mixture of wax and of propolis, resembling a rounded thimble, they

form tubes of half an inch long, turned towards the exterior, and

placed always vertically, in such a manner as to appear detached from

the comb.

The weight of a _royal cell_ is equivalent to that of a hundred other

cells. The bees spare nothing to make it comfortable and spacious. "It

is quite a Louvre," says Réaumur.

But independently of their use as cradles, these cells serve as

storehouses for honey.

A few of these are used in turn for both these purposes, but a great

number are reserved exclusively for stores of honey and pollen. This

is brought, as we have already said, in the form of pellets, in the

baskets which the hind legs form. The working bee, when it has

gathered it, pushes it into the cell, pressing it with its hind-legs.

Another then arrives, and kneads up the mass to make it adhesive. The

bee brings the honey in its first stomach, and disgorges it into one

of the cells where it is to be kept. However, it is not always by

carrying its honey into a cell that the worker is relieved of it,

often finding an opportunity to deliver it on the way.

[Illustration: Fig. 319.--Interior of a Hive.]

"When it meets," says Réaumur,[85] "any of its companions who want

food, and who have not had time to go and get any, it stops, erects

and stretches out its trunk, so that the opening by which the honey

may be taken out is a little way beyond the mandibles. It pushes the

honey towards this opening. The other bees, who know well enough that

it is from there they must take it, introduce the end of their trunks

and suck it up. The bee which has not been stopped on its road, often

goes to the places where other bees are working, that is, to those

places where other bees are occupied, either in constructing new

cells, or in polishing or bordering the cells already built; it offers

them honey, as if to prevent them from being under the necessity of

leaving their work to go and get it themselves."

[85] "Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire des Insectes," tome

v., p. 449.

The honey which fills the store cells is intended for daily

consumption, and also intended as a reserve for the period when the

flowers furnish no more. The empty cells are left open, the workers

making use of them when they want them, particularly during rainy

days, which keep them at home. But the cells which contain the honey

put by in reserve are closed. "They are," says Réaumur, "like so many

pots of jam or jelly, each one of which has its covering, and a very

solid covering it is too." This covering, composed of wax,

hermetically seals the pots containing this reserve of honey. The

object of this is to keep the honey in a certain state of liquidity,

by preventing the evaporation of the water it contains. It is a

remarkable fact that it does not run out of the cells which are open,

although their position is almost always horizontal. This is because

there are always in the sides of these narrow tubes points enough to

keep it in, and that besides this the last layer of honey is always of

greater consistency than the liquid in the interior, and upon which it

forms a sort of crust.

When the harvest has been abundant, many combs of closed cells may be

found in each hive, perfect storehouses of abundance, furnished for

the wants of the bad season. When the construction of the cells goes

on well--often on the day after the bees have installed themselves in

their hive--the queen goes out to meet the males. At the hour when

these are accustomed to disport themselves in the sun, that is to say,

from noon till five o'clock, she leaves the hive, whirls about for a

few seconds, and disappears into the air. At the end of half an hour

she returns, pregnant.

When the female returns to the hive, she is _the_ object of every

attention, the workers pressing round her, and forming quite a train.

Many approach her, and lick the surface of her body; others brush her,

caress her, and present her their trunks full of honey. Forty-eight

hours after her return to the hive the mother bee generally begins

laying.[86] Running over the honeycomb, she deposits an egg in each

empty cell, and fixes it to the bottom by means of a glutinous

secretion, in such a way that the egg is suspended in the interior of

the cell. They have the appearance of little oblong bodies, of a

bluish white. If the queen, in a hurry to lay, lets more than one egg

fall into the same cell, the workers who accompany her hasten to

carry out and destroy those that are in excess. This is often the case

when the combs have not enough cells to contain all the eggs laid. We

have said that the queen only lays worker eggs at this time; the

others are laid later. She continues to lay until the cold weather

approaches, when she ceases to do so, and does not resume her

occupation until the return of spring. This laying is very abundant.

The queen produces at least two hundred eggs a day; so that in the

space of two months she lays more than twelve thousand. Towards the

eleventh month of her existence in the perfect state, the queen begins

laying the eggs which will produce males, their number varying from

1,500 to 3,000; the deposition of these eggs occupies about a month.

[86] Not invariably, the period is often longer.--ED.

Towards the twentieth day, the workers lay the foundations of some

royal cells. When these cells have attained a certain length, the

queen deposits an egg in each, allowing, however, one or two days to

intervene between the laying of these privileged eggs, so that the

young queens to whom they are to give birth should not be hatched all

at the same time, which would cause difficulties and even wars

concerning the right of their succession to the throne. This

complication human governments have not been always able to avoid, as

history shows; but the bees have found out a way of doing so.

The distribution of the eggs in the cells is not left to chance. Each

egg, according to the sex to which it belongs, is deposited in the

cell which awaits it. The eggs of the females do not, however, differ

in any way from those of the workers. The difference in their

development depends entirely on the space and food allowed them.

We represent (Fig. 320) a portion of a comb containing the eggs placed

in the cells, as also the royal cells. The regular order of laying is

such as we have just described, but the result is quite different when

the impregnation of the queen has been retarded by an accidental

captivity of two or three weeks. The longer this delay, the greater

will be the number of male eggs. If the queen is shut up for more than

twenty days after her birth, she can then lay nothing but male eggs

during the remainder of her existence. It seems, also, that this delay

troubles her intellect; for she then often makes blunders as to the

cells. She lays the eggs of the males, or drones, in the cradles

prepared for the queens, and thus brings confusion into the future

community.

The eggs, once laid, are left to the care of the working bees, which

Réaumur called the nurses, in opposition to the wax-workers, which are

employed in works of construction. According to many bee-keepers, and

especially M. Hamet,[87] this division of duties is not positive. The

young workers are the wax-workers; the old ones, collectors of honey,

and nurses. However, when the honey-harvest is at its height, all the

workers collect the spoil. Every individual is pressed into the

service at the harvest time, as with men.

[87] "Cours d'Apiculture." In 8vo. Paris, 1864.

[Illustration: Fig. 320.--Portion of the comb, with the eggs occupying

the cells. One of the royal cells has been opened by the queen.]

The eggs are not long in being hatched. From the moment when the larva

comes out of the egg till that of its metamorphosis into a pupa, it

keeps in its cell, rolled up, motionless as an Indian idol in its

sacred temple. The working bees visit it from time to time, to see

that it wants for nothing, and to renew its provisions. They also

carefully inspect the different cells, and assure themselves of the

good condition of their nurslings. The pap which they give them as

food is whitish, and resembles paste made of flour. It is apparently a

preparation of pollen, prepared in the body of the insect. As the

larvæ increase in size, their food is made to acquire a more decided

taste of honey, and to become even slightly acid. It seems, then,

that the bees know how to graduate the food of their larvæ in such a

manner as to bring it nearer by degrees to honey.

In the space of five days the larvæ are developed; they have absorbed

all their pap, and have no need from that time of any nourishment, for

they are about now to change into pupæ. Now the nurses pay them a last

attention. They wall them up in their cells, closing the openings with

a waxen covering. The larvæ then get close to the wax covering. In

thirty-six hours they have spun for themselves a silky cocoon, in

which they undergo their transformation into pupæ. The moult, which

precedes their metamorphosis, constitutes a crisis, as with the

caterpillars of Lepidoptera.

[Illustration: Fig. 321.--Larva of the Bee (magnified).]

The perfect insect is hatched seven or eight days after its

transformation into a pupa, the organs being developed little by

little, and the young bee is then ready to appear in the broad

daylight. It breaks through the thin transparent covering in which it

is still swathed; then, with its mandibles, it pierces the operculum,

or door of its prison, and opens a way for itself by which it can

issue forth. With the assistance of its front legs it clings to the

rim of the cell, and draws itself forward, till it has set free the

whole of its body. The other bees lavish upon this newly-arrived

little stranger all possible attention, to make its entrance into the

world easy and agreeable; assisting and supporting it till it has

become quite strong. It very soon becomes strong. If it is a working

bee, it is not long in getting to work and in mixing with its

companions in labour.

This is the way in which the hatching of ordinary bees takes place,

workers and males; the first, twenty days after they are laid; the

second, twenty-four days after. The rearing and birth of the young

queens is slightly different. In proportion as the larvæ increase in

size do the workers enlarge the cells which contain them; and then

again gradually diminish their size as the moment of their last

metamorphosis approaches. A special and peculiar food is given to the

larvæ of the queens; it is quite different from that which is given to

the larvæ of the working bees, being a heavier and sweeter substance.

This special food seems to exercise such an energetic influence on the

development of the ovaries, that simple workers which have

accidentally received any of it, during their larval state, become

pregnant and lay a few eggs. But this anomalous development remains

imperfect, because the prolific food was only administered in a small

quantity. Besides which, the size of the cells is of great importance

to the development of the larvæ imprisoned in them; and so the larvæ

of working bees, having lived in the small cells, can never attain the

proportions of the queen, nor acquire her fecundity. But all this is

changed if these larvæ are moved into the large cells and fed on this

royal pabulum; they then become veritable queens. If, with us, the

coat does not make the man nor the frock the monk, it is certain that

with the bees the cradle helps materially to make the queen.

When the queen through some accident or other has perished, the

plebeian population of the hive very quickly perceive the misfortune,

and without losing time in useless regrets, apply themselves to repair

their loss. They choose the larva of a working bee, less than three

days old, on which they bestow the treatment suited to change it into

a female. The workers enlarge the cell of this grub by demolishing the

surrounding cells, and administer to it a strong dose of royal food,

to effect its transformation. This marvellous metamorphosis is

accomplished like those which one reads of in fairy tales, where so

many poor beggars are changed, by a wave of the hand, into beautiful

princesses, covered with gold and precious stones. Only here the fairy

tale is a true story; the poet's dream is a real phenomenon. According

to Francis Huber, the larva intended to produce a female has to change

its position. The workers add then to its domicile a sort of vertical

tube, into which they push and turn round the young grub which is the

hope of the community. For twelve days a bee, a sort of body-guard,

has special charge of the person of our infant. It offers it food, and

pays it many other delicate little attentions. When the moment for the

metamorphosis has come, the orifice of the tube is closed, and the

bees await the hatching of the new queen. Thus the loss of the queen

is speedily replaced. The larvæ of the queens, when they are shut up

in their cells, have the head downwards, whilst the larvæ of the males

have the head upwards. Their hatching takes place thirteen days after

the laying of the eggs.

As soon as they have quitted their cradles, the young queens are ready

to take flight. The others, workers and males, are less strongly

organised. Before they are able to take a part in the sports and

labours of the old ones they require a rest of twenty-four hours,

during which the nurses lick them, brush them, and offer them honey.

But the young workers require to undergo no apprenticeship before they

do the work which devolves upon them. They go straight to their work,

and suppress all apprenticeship. Nature is their guide and counsellor.

When the hatching has begun, each day adds some hundreds of young

bees to the population of the hive, which is not long in becoming too

small for the number of its inhabitants. It is then that those curious

emigrations of this winged people take place which are called

_swarms_. The queen leaves the hive, with a part of her subjects, and

founds a new colony elsewhere. In the climate of France the bees

generally swarm in the months of May and June. In the south very

thickly populated hives may furnish as many as four swarms in a

season, but in the north rarely more than one or two. But in some

years swarming does not take place at all, for the want of a

sufficient population. In such cases the workers do not construct

royal cells at the period when the eggs of the males are laid, and the

swarming is put off till the following spring. It occasionally happens

that a hive, although full of bees, cannot make up its mind to send

out a swarm, and also that the hives thinly populated send out

abundant swarms. There are, then, other causes than the excess of

population which exercise an influence on this annual crisis in the

life of bees. The first swarm is always led by the old queen; if other

swarms succeed, it is the young females lately hatched who lead the

way.

There are many signs which announce that a swarm is going to take

place. The appearance of the males, or drones, is one of the first

signs. Another sign, but far from being infallible, is the excess of

the population in the common home. The bees seem then to find

themselves so ill at ease in their over-crowded hive, that part of

them go out and keep outside, either on the stand upon which the hive

is placed, or upon the hive itself. Crowds of bees may be seen heaped

up on each other outside, only waiting for the signal of departure.

But the least equivocal of all the signs, that which points out the

event for the very day, says Réaumur, is when the bees of a hive do

not go into the country in as great a number as usual, although the

weather may be favourable and seem to invite them to do so. "There is

no sign," says Réaumur, "which points out so surely that a swarm is

preparing to take flight, as when, in the morning, at those hours when

the sun shines, and when the weather is favourable for work, the bees

go out in a small number from a hive from which they went out in great

quantities on the preceding days, and bring back only a little rough

wax. The fact of their acting in this manner seems to force us to

concede to bees more intelligence and foresight than many people are

inclined to allow that they possess; at any rate, it is exceedingly

puzzling to those who wish to explain all their actions by saying that

they are purely mechanical. Does it not seem proved that from the

morning all the inhabitants of a hive have been informed of the

project which will be executed not before noon, or, perhaps, not for

some hours after it?... There is a well-known story of an old

grenadier, who, being comfortably asleep while his comrades were

pitching their tents, answered to his general, M. de Turenne, when

questioned on the subject, '_that he knew very well that the army

would not remain long in the camp they were pitching_.'

"All our bees, or nearly all, seemed to have foreseen the move that

their queen was about to make, as that old soldier had foreseen the

general's order to his army."[88]

[88] "Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire des Insectes," tome

v., p. 611.

In a hive which is going to "cast," as it is called in technical

phraseology, there is often heard, in the evening, and even during the

night, a peculiar humming. All seems to be in agitation. Sometimes, to

hear the noise, it will be necessary to bring your ear close to the

hive; you then will hear nothing but clear and sharp sounds, which

seem to be produced by the flapping of the wings of one single bee.

"Those who know better than I do the language of bees," says Réaumur,

"have told marvels of these sounds. They pretend that it is the new

queen that makes this noise; that she is, perhaps, haranguing the

troops she wishes to go with her; or that, with a kind of trumpet, she

animates them to undertake the great adventure. Charles Butler, the

author of 'Female Monarchy,' attributes to this noise quite another

signification. He says that it seems as if the bee which aspires to

become queen supplicates the queen-mother, by lamentations and groans,

to grant it permission to lead a colony out from the hive; that the

queen does not yield sometimes to these touching prayers for two days;

that when she does acquiesce, she answers the suppliant in a fuller

and stronger voice; and that when you have heard the mother-bee grant

this permission, you may hope next day to have a swarm.... Butler has

determined all the modulations of the chant of the suppliant bee, the

different keys to which they are set, as also those of the chants of

the queen-mother. He pretends that it is not allowed to those who wish

to raise themselves to a superior rank to imitate the chants of the

sovereign; woe betide the young female if she should dare to do so! it

would only be in a spirit of revolt, and she would be immediately

punished by the loss of her head. The old-established queen does more

than that: at the same moment she condemns to death those bees which

had been seduced."[89] The true cause of this unusual noise is the

agitation of the wings of a great number of the bees in the middle of

the hive.

[89] _Ibid_, tome v., pp. 616, 617.

It has been remarked, that when about to swarm the bees seem as if

mad. They lose their senses; the queen setting them the example.

Francis Huber has made the most curious remarks on this subject. Here

is, according to this immortal observer, what goes on in the hive when

an emigration is about to take place:--The queen, being angry at the

noise which the young females ready to be hatched are making in their

cells, runs about the hive, examines the cells, and endeavours to

destroy those which contain the females; but she meets with a very

firm resistance from the workers, who take upon themselves to protect

them. She endeavours here and there to lay an egg, but generally

retires without having done so. She runs, stops short, sets off again,

walks over the bodies of the workers she meets; sometimes, when she

stops, the bees near her stop also, as if to look at her. They advance

briskly towards her, strike her with their heads, and mount on her

back. She then dashes off, carrying with her some of the workers. Not

one of them offers her honey; she takes it herself from the open

cells, which are for the use of the whole hive. They no longer draw up

in line on each side of her as she moves along, her guard of honour no

longer surrounds her; she seems fallen from her high rank.

However, the first bees which were disturbed by her now follow,

running like herself, and spread alarm in their turn among the rest of

the population. The road which the queen has traversed is to be

recognised by the excitement which she has caused on her passage, and

which cannot now be calmed. Very soon she has visited every corner of

the hive, so that the fever has become general. She now no longer lays

her eggs in the cells, but lets them fall anywhere at random. She

seems to have lost her wits.

The nurses in their turn are attacked with the contagion. They pay no

attention now to their charges. Those which return from the country

have no sooner entered the hive than they take part in these

tumultuous movements, and give themselves up to the general

excitement. Not even thinking of depositing the pellets of pollen

which they carry on their legs, they run about apparently without aim.

The delirium takes possession of the whole republic. The end of all

this is a general sortie. The whole hive, with the queen at its head,

precipitates itself towards the door, and issues forth to create a

swarm. Once in the fresh air, they become quiet; their madness

subsides, and they fix themselves to a branch of a tree, and having

been captured, set to work again as usual. Francis Huber often

remarked that, in a swarm which had started, if the queen, who

directed the flight, were seized and killed, immediately all the bees

would return to the hive. It would seem that, having lost their chief,

they acknowledged themselves incapable of forming a colony.

A swarm never comes out except on a fine day, or, to speak more

accurately, at an hour of the day when the sun is shining, when the

air is calm, and the sky clear. It is generally between ten o'clock in

the morning and three o'clock in the afternoon. "We observed," says

Francis Huber, "in a hive all the signs which are the fore-runners of

a cast for a swarm--disorder and agitation--but a cloud passed before

the sun, and quiet was restored to the hive; the bees thought no more

of swarming. An hour after, the sun having shown itself again, the

tumult recommenced, increased very rapidly, and the swarm set out on

its journey."[90]

[90] In general, bees very much dislike bad weather; when they

are foraging in the country, the appearance of a single cloud

before the sun causes them to return home precipitately.

However, if the sky is uniformly dark and cloudy, and if there

are not any sudden alternations of darkness and light, they are

not easily alarmed, and the first drops of a gentle rain hardly

drive them away from their hunting-ground.

At the moment which precedes their exit, the buzzing increases in the

hive. Some of the workers go out first, as if to ascertain the state

of the atmosphere. The moment the queen has passed the threshold, the

emigrants follow in a cloud behind her; in an instant the air is

darkened with bees, which crowd together and form a thick cloud. The

swarm rises, whirling round about in the air; it poises itself for a

few minutes over the hive, to allow time to reconnoitre, and for the

laggards to join, and then goes off at full speed.

The queen does not make choice of the place where the company shall

find shelter. When a branch of a tree has been selected by a certain

number, they fix themselves on it. Many others follow them. When a

great many have collected, the queen joins the throng, and brings in

her train the rest of the troop. The group already formed becomes

larger and larger every instant. Those which are still scattered about

in the air hasten to join the majority, and very soon all together

compose one solid mass or clump of bees clinging to each other by

their legs. This cluster (Fig. 322) is sometimes spherical, sometimes

pyramidal, and occasionally attains a weight of nine pounds, and may

contain as many as 40,000 bees. From this moment, although they are

uncovered, they remain still. In a quarter of an hour everything

becomes quiet, and the bees cease to hover about the cluster more than

round an ordinary hive. Now is the moment to take possession of the

swarm in a hive prepared beforehand to receive it. If delayed too

long, the troop flies off, and establishes itself in some natural

cavity, as the hollow of a tree, &c. The bees then return to their

wild state.

Under a warm climate, where flowers abound, the hives may cast several

times in succession. The first swarm, however, is always the best. It

is more numerous, and has before it more time to provision itself. If

the weather remains favourable, it is not rare to see it send out a

swarm itself three weeks after leaving the old hive. The old queen

then leads the emigration of the second swarm, abandoning the colony

she had lately founded. If the original hive sends forth several

swarms, the interval between the first and the second is from seven to

ten days; the third and the fourth follow at shorter intervals. But

these late casts have rarely vitality enough to exist long.

[Illustration: Fig. 322.--Cluster of Bees hanging to a branch.]

A swarm never returns to a hive it has once left. It is surprising

then that a hive can furnish a second swarm after the interval of a

few days, without being too much weakened. But the old queen, in

quitting her domain, leaves behind her a considerable quantity of

brood. These larvæ are not long in re-peopling the hive, so as to

furnish a second swarm. The third and the fourth casts weaken the

population more perceptibly; but there remain still enough workers to

continue operations. In some cases the agitation of the cast is so

great as to cause all the bees to quit the hive together, leaving it

deserted; but this desertion only lasts an instant, one part of the

swarm wisely returning to their home.

All those which start away become members of the new colony. When the

general delirium we have spoken of has taken possession of them, they

precipitate themselves together, they pile themselves up all at the

same time by the door of the hive, and get so hot as to perspire

freely. Those which are in the midst of the _mêlée_ bear the weight of

the whole crowd, and seem bathed in sweat. Their wings become damp,

and they are no longer able to fly, and even if they manage to escape,

they get no further than the stand, and are not long in re-entering

the hive, instead of following the main body of the emigrants. We must

not forget that a part of the population is always out at those hours

of the day when the swarms take place, engaged in collecting

provisions; and having collected the spoil, these workers return to

the hive abandoned by the greater part of their companions, and betake

themselves to their usual occupations, as if nothing had happened.

They form the nucleus of the new population, which is soon enlarged by

the hatching of the pupæ. We have already said that the first swarm is

always led by the old queen or mother, and that it starts before the

hatching of the young females. If she had not gone out before their

birth she would have destroyed them, and the new hive would have been

unable to re-organise itself for the want of a chief.

The first swarm having set out, those bees which remain in the hive

pay particular attention to the royal cells. If the young queens make

efforts to escape from them, their guardians watch them narrowly, and

as the prisoners destroy their covers of wax the guards restore them;

but as they do not desire the death of the inmates, they pass in some

honey through the opening before they close it, so as to ameliorate

their captivity. At the appointed moment, the issue of the first egg

laid quits her cradle. Very soon she yields to the murderous instinct

which impels her to destroy her rivals, so that she may reign with

individual sway over the community. She searches for the cells in

which these are shut up, but the moment she approaches them the

workers pinch her, pull her about, drive her away, and oblige her to

move on, and, as the royal cells are numerous, she finds with

difficulty any corner in her hive where she may be at rest.

Incessantly tormented by the desire of attacking the other females,

and incessantly driven back by the guard, she becomes very much

excited, passes through the different groups of workers at a run, and

communicates to them her agitation. She leads the inmates of the hive

the same sort of dance frequently in the course of the day.

Sometimes the young queen at the end of her attempts utters a shrill

song, analogous to that of the grasshopper. This song, so unusual

among these insects, has the effect of petrifying the bees. So says

Francis Huber, speaking of a queen which had just been hatched, and

which was trying in vain to satisfy her jealous instincts. "She sang,"

says he, "twice. When we saw her producing this sound, she was

motionless, her thorax rested against the honeycomb, her wings being

crossed on her back, and she moved them about without un-crossing

them, and without opening them. Whatever cause it was that made her

choose this attitude, the bees seemed affected by it, all of them now

lowered their heads and remained motionless. Next day the hive

presented the same appearances, there remained still twenty-three

royal cells, which were all assiduously guarded by a great number of

bees. The moment the queen approached these, all the guards were in a

state of agitation, surrounded her, bit her, hustled her in every way,

and generally finished by driving her off; sometimes when this

happened she sang, resuming the attitude which I just now described;

from that moment the bees became motionless."[91] But the fever which

had seized on the young queen ended by communicating itself to her

subjects, and, at a particular moment, a new swarm set out under her

guidance.

[91] "Observations sur les Abeilles," tome i., p. 265.

When the emigration is effected, the workers which had remained at

home set free another female. This one acts in the same way as the

first. She tries to get at her rivals still imprisoned, and whom she

can smell in their cradles; but the guards repel her with vigour,

and defeat all her attempts, till she makes up her mind to emigrate

with a new swarm. This curious scene is repeated, with the same

circumstances, three or four times in the space of a fortnight, if the

weather is favourable, and the hive well peopled. In the end, the

number of bees is so much reduced, that they can no longer keep such

vigilant guard round the royal cells, and it then happens that two

females come out together from their cradles. Immediately the two

rivals look for each other, and fight, and the queen that comes

victorious out of this duel to the death reigns peaceably over the

people she has won for herself. If, in the tumult which precedes the

swarming, a female escapes from her prison, it may happen that she is

carried away in the swarm. In this case the deserters divide into two

separate bands, but the weakest in numbers are not long in breaking

up, the deserters going to swell the principal swarm. At last all the

troop is reunited, and it then contains two queens. As long as the

swarm remains fixed on its branch, all passes quietly, in spite of the

presence of a second queen. But as soon as it has become domiciled,

the affair becomes serious; a duel to the death takes place between

the two aspirants to the command. Two queens cannot exist in the same

hive. One of them is _de trop_ and must be got rid of.

Francis Huber was the first to describe these duels between the

queens. We quote an interesting account which he has left us of a

combat which he watched on the 12th of May, 1790:--"Two young queens,"

says he, "came out on that day from the cells almost at the same

moment, in one of our smallest hives. As soon as they saw each other

they dashed one against the other with every appearance of the

greatest rage, and put themselves in such a position that each one had

its antennæ seized between the teeth of its rival; the head, the

thorax, and abdomen of the one were opposite to the head, the thorax,

and abdomen of the other; they had only to bend round the posterior

extremity of their bodies, and they would reciprocally have stabbed

each other with their darts, and both engaged in the combat would have

been killed. But it seems as if Nature would not allow this duel to

end by the death of both of the combatants. One would say that she had

ordained that those queens, finding themselves in this position (that

is to say, face to face and abdomen to abdomen), should retreat that

very instant with the greatest precipitation. And so, as soon as the

two rivals felt that their posterior parts were about to meet, they

left go of each other, and each one ran away in an opposite

direction.... A few minutes after they had separated from each other

their fear ceased, and they recommenced looking for each other. Very

soon they perceived the object of their search, and we saw them

running one against the other. They seized each other, as at the

first, and put themselves in exactly the same position. The result was

the same; as soon as their abdomens approached each other they only

thought of getting free, and ran away. The working bees were very much

agitated during the whole of this time, and their tumult seemed to

increase when the two adversaries separated from each other. We saw

them on two different occasions stop the queens in their flight, seize

them by the legs, and keep them prisoners for more than a minute. At

last, in a third attack, the queen which was the most infuriated or

the strongest, rushed upon her rival at a moment when she did not see

her coming; seized her with her jaws by the base of her wing, then

mounted on to her body, and brought the extremity of her abdomen over

the last rings of her enemy, whom she was then able to pierce with her

sting very easily. She then let go the wing which she held between her

teeth, and drew back her dart. The vanquished queen dragged herself

heavily along, lost her strength, and expired soon afterwards."[92]

[92] "Observations sur les Abeilles," tome i., pp. 174-178.

These singular combats take place between young maiden queens. Francis

Huber, by introducing into a hive some queens from other hives

convinced himself that the same animosity impels the females which are

pregnant to fight with and destroy each other. From the moment when

the young queen to whom the sovereignty has fallen is pregnant, she is

anxious to destroy all the royal pupæ which still exist in the hive,

and which are then given up to her without resistance by the workers.

[Greek: Ouk agathon polykoiraniê. heis koioanos hestô,

Eis basileus....][93]

[93] "Many ruling together is not good: let there be one

ruler, one king."--_Homer's "Iliad,"_ ii. 110.

Become a mother, the female attacks one after the other the cells

which still contain females. She may be seen to throw herself with

fury on the first cell she comes to. She makes an opening in it with

her mandibles large enough to allow her to introduce her abdomen, and

then turns herself about till she has succeeded in giving a stab with

her sting to the female which it contains. She then withdraws, highly

satisfied with what she has done. The working bees, who up to this

moment have remained indifferent spectators of her efforts, take upon

themselves the rest of the business. They set to work to enlarge the

hole made by the ruling queen, and to draw out the carcase of the

victim.

In the meanwhile, the fierce and jealous sovereign throws herself on

another cell, and breaks into it with violence. If she does not find

in it a perfect insect, but only a pupa, she does not condescend to

make use of her royal weapon. The workers take on themselves to empty

the cell and destroy its contents. These executions over, the queen

can for the future occupy herself in laying, without having anything

to fear from rivals. Let us remark, in passing, that man is not much

behind these insects whose savage exploits in cruelty we have just

related. Among certain tribes of Ethiopians the first care of the

newly-crowned chief is to put in prison all his brothers, so as to

prevent wars by pretenders to the throne. Delivered from all dread of

rivals, our queen sets to work with an indefatigable zeal; and the

workers, animated by the hope of a numerous progeny, heap up

provisions around them.

But now a new tragedy is about to be enacted. The drones, that is to

say, the males, are now no longer wanted in the colony: their mission

is over. By an inexorable law of Nature they must be got rid of, and

the working bees proceed to make general massacre of them. It is in

the months of July and August that this frightful carnage takes place.

The workers may be seen furiously giving chase to the males, and

pursuing them to the extremity of the hive, where these unfortunate

insects seek a place of safety. Three or four workers dash off in the

pursuit after a male. They seize hold of him, pull him by his legs, by

his wings, by his antennæ, and kill him with their stings. This

pitiless massacre includes even the larvæ and pupæ of the males. The

executioners drag them from their cells, run them through with their

stings, greedily suck the liquids contained in their bodies, and then

cast their remains to the winds. This slaughter goes on for many days,

continuing till the males have been completely got rid of, they not

being able to defend themselves, as they have no stings.

They are allowed to live, however, when they are fortunate enough to

inhabit a hive deprived of its queen. There they even find a place of

perfect safety when they have been driven out of another hive, and may

be met with in this refuge until the month of January. In like manner

the lives of the males are spared in those hives which, instead of a

true queen, have only a female half impregnated, which lays only male

eggs; but a hive of this kind, whose active population cannot be

increased, ends by being abandoned by its inhabitants. The sterility

or absence of the queen entails the dissolution of the society. She

is, in fact, the life and soul of the hive; and without her there is

no hope, no courage, no activity. The populace, abandoned to itself,

falls into anarchy. Famine, pillage, ruin, and death are at its doors.

Having no progeny to set their hopes on, the bees live from one day to

another without a care for the morrow. They leave off working, and

live entirely on theft and rapine, and at last they disappear

entirely. It is a society become rotten and broken up for the want of

a moral tie.

If the loss of the mother bee takes place at a period at which there

still exist in the hive some larvæ of working bees of less than three

days old, the nurse (as we have already said) adopt some of these

larvæ, and make them into queens by means of the physical education

and special nourishment which they give them. In this case, then, the

evil can be repaired; the workers themselves find a remedy without

assistance. But if the hive possesses a degenerate queen, which only

lays male eggs, the intervention of man is necessary to save it, by

the substitution of a properly impregnated queen. If, indeed, a

strange queen wished to penetrate alone into a hive already containing

a sovereign, she would infallibly be stopped at the door and stifled

by the sentinels who guard the entrance to the hive. These would

surround her immediately, and keep her captive under them till she

perished, either through suffocation or hunger. They do not employ

their stings against an intruding queen, except in the case of an

attempt being made to deliver her from their clutches: they get rid of

her by stifling.

When it is wished to introduce into a hive a stranger queen, after

having removed the original sovereign, many precautions must be used

before putting her into the common home. It is only after some time

that the bees become aware of the disappearance of their queen; but

they then manifest great emotion. They run hither and thither, as

though mad, leaving off their work, and making a peculiar buzzing

sound. If you return to them their original sovereign, they recognise

her, and calm is immediately restored; but the substitution of a new

queen for the original sovereign does not produce the same effect in

every case. If you introduce the new queen half a day only after the

removal of the old queen, she is very badly received, and is at once

surrounded, the workers trying to suffocate her. Generally she sinks

under this bad treatment. But if you allow a longer interval to elapse

before you introduce the substitute, the bees, rendered more tractable

by the delay, are better disposed towards her. If you allow an

interregnum of twenty-four hours, the stranger queen is always

received with the honours due to her rank, a general buzzing

announcing the event to the whole population of the hive. They assign

to their adopted queen a train of picked attendants; they draw up in

line on her passing by; they caress her with the tips of their

antennæ; they offer her honey. A little joyful fluttering of the

escort announces that every one in the little republic is satisfied.

The labours out of doors and indoors then begin anew with more

activity than ever.

It is principally during stormy days, when the heat and the

electricity in the air are favourable to the secretion of pollen in

plants, that the bees go into the fields to make their harvest. They

heap up provisions in the hive against the cold season, not

forgetting, however, to watch over the eggs, their future hope, "spem

gentis," as Virgil calls them.

These peaceful occupations are sometimes interrupted by the dire

necessities of war. It happens that the bees of an impoverished hive,

impelled by hunger, that bad counsellor, make up their mind to attack

and to pillage the treasures of a neighbouring hive which is

abundantly stocked with provisions. A savage fight then takes place

between the two battalions. Each one precipitates itself with fury

upon its adversary. Two bees press against and bite each other till

one is overcome. The victor springs upon the back of the vanquished,

squeezes it round the neck with its mandibles, and pierces it between

the rings of its abdomen with its sting. The victorious bee places

itself by the side of its fallen enemy, and resting on four of its

legs, rubs its two hind ones together proudly, as a sign of supreme

triumph. Réaumur relates a strange fact, which he says he often

observed, and which proves that the insects we are treating of do not

fight to satisfy a sanguinary and savage instinct, but (which is less

reprehensible) to satisfy their hunger. Bees attacked by a superior

force are in no danger of losing their lives if their enemies can

induce them to give up their throats--that expression conveys the

idea. Supposing three or four are furiously attacking one bee: they

are pulling it by its legs and biting it on its thorax. The

unfortunate object of this attack has then nothing better to do, to

escape alive from such a perilous situation, than to stretch out its

trunk laden with sweet-scented honey. The plunderers will come one

after the other and drink the honey; then, cloyed, satisfied, having

nothing more to demand, they go their way, leaving the bee to return

to his dwelling-place.

There are also strange fights--regular duels--between the bees of the

same hive. Very hot weather has the effect of irritating them, and

making them boil over with rage. They are then dangerous to man, whom

they attack boldly. But more often it is amongst themselves that they

quarrel. One often sees two bees which meet seize each other by the

neck in the air. It happens also that a bee, in a state of fury,

throws itself on another who is walking quietly and unsuspiciously

along the edge of its hive. When two bees are struggling in this

manner they descend to the ground, for in the air they would not be

able to get purchase enough to be sure of striking each other. They

then engage in a hand-to-hand fight, as the gladiators used formerly

to do in the circus. They are continually making stabs with their

stings, but almost always the point slips over the scales with which

they are covered. The combat is sometimes prolonged during an hour,

before one of them has found the weak point in the other's natural

cuirass, and has buried its terrible weapon in the flesh. The victor

often leaves its sting in the wound which it has made, and then dies,

in its moment of triumph, through the loss of this organ. Sometimes

the two combatants, in spite of long and savage assaults, cannot

succeed in injuring either's solid armour. In such a case they leave

each other, tired of war, and fly away, despairing of obtaining a

victory.

At the end of autumn, when the bees no longer find any flowers in the

fields to plunder, they finish rearing their eggs on the pollen, which

they keep in store, and the queen ceases to lay. Numbed by the cold of

the winter, the workers cease to go out. Crowded together they

mutually warm each other, and thus hold out, when the cold is not too

intense, against the rigour of the frosts. Huddled up between the

cakes of the honeycomb, they wait for the return of fine weather, to

recommence their labours at home and abroad. After two or three years

of this laborious existence the bee dies, but to live again in a

numerous posterity, as Virgil says:--

"At genus immortale manet, multosque per annos

Stat fortuna domus, et avi numerantur avorum!"

There has been a good deal of discussion on the question whether bees

constitute monarchies or republics. According to our opinion, theirs

is a true republic. As all the population is the issue of a common

mother, and as each bee of the female sex can become a queen--that is

to say, a mother-bee, if it receives an appropriate nourishment--it is

manifest that the title of queen has been wrongly given to the

mother-bee. After all, she is nothing more than president of a

republic. The vice-presidents, as we have already pointed out, are all

those females which at any given moment may be called by choice--that

is, by popular election--to fulfil the functions of the sovereign,

when death or accident has put an end to her existence. "There is no

such thing as a king in Nature," said Daubenton one day, in one of his

lectures at the Jardin des Plantes. The audience immediately

applauded, and cried "Bravo!" The honest _savant_ stopped, quite

disconcerted, and asked his assistant naturalist the cause of this

applause, perhaps ironical. "I must have said something stupid,"

repeated poor Daubenton between his teeth, remembering the saying of

Phocion under similar circumstances. "No," replied his assistant

naturalist, "you have said nothing but what is quite true; but,

without meaning it, you have made a political allusion. You spoke

against kings, and our young republicans thought that you were

alluding to Louis XVI." "Indeed," said the coadjutor of Buffon, "I had

no idea that I was talking politics!" The bee republic, this little

animal society, is admirably constituted, and all its citizens obey

its laws with docility.

Bees have often served as an example, proving, according to some, the

marvellous intelligence of certain little animals; according to

others, an insect wonderfully developed. For ourselves, we have never

well understood what people mean by the word _instinct_; and we

frankly grant to the bee intelligence, as we do also to many animals.

The greater number of the acts of their life seem to be the result of

an idea, a mental deliberation, a determination come to after

examination and reflection. The construction of their cells, always

uniform, is, they say, the result of instinct. However, it happens

that under particular circumstances, these little architects know how

to abandon the beaten track of routine, reserving to themselves the

power of returning, when it is useful to do so, to the traditional

principles which ensure the beauty and regularity of their

constructions. Bees have been seen, indeed, to deviate from their

ordinary habits in order to correct certain irregularities--the result

of accident or produced by the intervention of man--which had deranged

their works.

Francis Huber relates that he saw bees propping up with pillars and

flying buttresses of wax a piece of the honeycomb which had fallen

down. At the same time, put on their guard by this sad accident, they

set to work to fortify the principal framework of the other combs, and

to fasten them more securely to the roof of the hive. This took place

in the month of January, and therefore not during the working season,

and when to provide against a distant eventuality was the only

question. M. Waland has reported an analogous observation. Is there

not here, in the first place, a true and excellent reasoning, then an

act, an operation, a work, executed as the result of this reasoning?

Now, an operation which is performed as the result of reasoning, is

attributable to intelligence. Again, the bees give different sorts of

food to the different sorts of larvæ. They know how to change this

food when an accident has deprived the hive of its queen, and it is

necessary to replace her; this is another proof of intelligence.

But it is, above all, in the face of an enemy that the intellectual

faculties of these insects show themselves. There are always at the

entrance of every hive three or four bees, which have nothing else to

do but to guard the door, to keep a watch over incomers and outgoers,

and to prevent an enemy or an intruder from slipping into the

community. When one of them perceives an enemy on the borders of the

hive, it dashes forwards towards it, and by a menacing and significant

buzzing warns it to retire. If it does not understand the warning,

which is a rare occurrence--for men, horses, dogs, and animals of all

kinds know perfectly well the danger to which they expose themselves

by approaching too near a hive in full operation[94]--the bee gets a

reinforcement, and very soon returns to the combat with a determined

battalion. All this is, it seems to us, intelligence.

[94] The bee's sting may lead to very serious consequences. It

often happens that large animals, such as horses or oxen, tied

up in the neighbourhood of a beehive, and which have disturbed

the bees, die in consequence of stings received from them.

[Illustration: Fig. 323.--Sentinel Bees guarding the entrance to the

hive.]

We have just said that there are sentinels at the entrance of every

hive. They touch with their antennæ each individual that wishes to

penetrate into the house. Hornets, the Death's-head Sphinx, slugs,

&c., often try to introduce themselves into the hive. In that case, on

the appeal of the watchful porters, all the bees combine their efforts

to defend the entrance to their habitation. It would be impossible for

them, in fact, to stop the ravages of their enemies when once entered

into the interior. When a sphinx has succeeded in introducing itself

into a hive, it sits down and drinks the honey in great bumpers,

devouring all the provisions: and the unfortunate proprietors of the

house are obliged to emigrate. To stop the entrance of moths which fly

by night, the bees contract, and sometimes barricade, their door with

a mixture of wax and propolis. When a slug or any other large animal

has managed to introduce itself into the interior, they kill it and

wrap it up in a shroud of propolis, as we have already related.

However, they are quite helpless against certain microscopic parasites

which sometimes attack them. The bee-louse, which has been described

and drawn by Réaumur in one of his Memoirs,[95] and the parasite which

was described in 1866 by M. Duchemin, the _Sugar Acarus_, which is

found in the liquid honey of those hives which are attacked by the

disease called the rot (_pourriture_), are the most serious enemies of

the bee. The _Gallerias_ are also terrible enemies to them. Every hive

thus attacked is ruined. These destructive insects attack also the

wild bees, drive them from their nests, and destroy the wax of the

cakes forming the comb. The _Galleria_ impudently makes his home in

the houses of bees, wild as well as domesticated.

[95] Tome v., planche 36.

The habits of bees in their wild state, which make their nests in the

trunks of trees and other cavities, do not differ from those of

domesticated bees. Only the latter become tame with man, getting used

to those who look after them, and becoming less aggressive towards

strangers.

Apiculture, or bee-keeping, is still at the present day an important

business, although honey has lost a great deal of its utility since

the introduction of sugar into Europe. Without entering into many

details on apiculture, that is to say, on the attention it is

necessary to pay to bees, we will mention the principal duties of the

bee-keeper.

When, in the spring, the bees _font la barbe_ (as the French say),

that is, when they are getting ready to swarm, one must watch

narrowly, so as not to lose them. As soon as a swarm has settled on a

tree or on any artificial resting-place prepared on purpose in the

neighbourhood, it is approached, after having covered one's face with

a piece of transparent linen or canvas, or with a hood, and the

cluster is caused to fall into a hive turned upside down. The hive is

then turned up and again put in its place; or else, if it is only to

serve for the conveyance of the swarm to another place, shaken about

before the door of the hive which the swarm is destined to occupy. The

bees then beat to arms, and set to work to enter their new habitation

in a compact column. Fig. 324 represents the manner in which one ought

to proceed in order to gather a swarm of bees, which is fixed on a

branch of a tree, and introduce it into the hive prepared for it. Let

us listen on this subject to an experienced bee-keeper, M. Hamet: "As

soon as a swarm has fixed itself anywhere, and there are only a few

bees fluttering round the cluster, you must make your preparations for

lodging them in a hive you have got ready for the purpose. Some people

rub the hive on the inside with aromatic plants or honey, with the

object of making the bees fix themselves there more surely. This

precaution is not indispensable. What is essential is, that the hive

should be clean, and free from any bad smell. It is a good thing to

pass it beforehand over the flame of a straw fire, which destroys the

eggs of insects and insects themselves which may have lodged in it.

"After having covered your head with a veil, if the swarm has settled

in a difficult place, and you are afraid of being stung, you hold the

hive under the cluster of bees and make them fall into it, either by

shaking the branch to which the swarm is attached, very hard, or by

means of a small broom, or even with the hand, for then they very

rarely sting: it is hardly ever necessary to take any precautions in

approaching them, except for swarms which have been fixed for many

hours, or since the day before. When the bees have fallen in a mass to

the bottom of the hive, you turn this gently over, and place it on a

piece of linen stretched out on the ground near the place where the

swarm was, or on a tray, or simply on the ground itself, if it is dry

and clean. You will have taken care to place on this linen a little

wedge, a stick or a stone, to raise the hive a little, and to leave

room through which the bees may enter. A great part of the bees which

fall into the hive fix themselves on to its sides; but a good number

are dropped on the linen when the hive is turned. This is the manner

in which you act when it is determined to lodge the swarm; but when

the swarm is to be lodged in another hive, as we shall see farther on,

immediately that the bees recognise the lodging which is destined for

them, they set to work to beat to arms, and to enter in a compact

column their new dwelling; those which are fluttering about in the air

are summoned by this call, and are not long in alighting on the spot

where the rest of their companions are fixed. At the end of a quarter

or half an hour, at the most, all, or nearly all, have entered the

hive. A few still hover about round the place where the swarm was

fixed. If the number is considerable, and if many have stopped in this

place, you must make them quit it by placing some offensive herb, such

as celandine, horehound, field camomile, &c., on it, or project the

smoke of a rag upon them, which will drive away the bees and force

them to look for the colony or to return to the mother-hive. You may

also project smoke, but in moderate quantities, on the bees grouped

around and on the borders of the lodging which you have just given

them, and which they will not be long in entering."[96]

[96] "Cours d'Apiculture," pp. 73, 74.

[Illustration: Fig. 324.--Taking a swarm.]

[Illustration: Fig. 325.--Bell-shaped hive.]

[Illustration: Fig. 326.--English hive.]

A good swarm weighs from four to six pounds; one pound contains about

four thousand bees. The second swarm weighs rarely more than two

pounds, and the third still less. You can also form artificial swarms

by drawing off the bees of one hive into another, an operation which

is easy with bell-shaped hives. A glance at Fig. 325, which represents

the common hive of the north of France, that is to say, the

_bell-shaped_, will show how easy it is to effect that drawing off,

or pouring out of the bees, by joining together at their bases two

hives, the one empty, the other containing a swarm. In order to have

control over the bees during the operation, you must slightly stupefy

them with the smoke of a smouldering rag.

Beehives are of a thousand different shapes, each of which has its

particular advantage. They are made of wood and of straw; and the

shapes used in different countries are very various. We give as

examples, Figs. 325, 326, 327, 328, 329.

[Illustration: Fig. 327.--Swiss hive.]

The site, that is, the place where hives stand, is not a matter of

indifference. It is generally supposed that bees ought to be

established in a place fully exposed to the sun, and to the greatest

heat of the day. This is a mistake. M. de Frarière, in his work on

bees and bee-keeping, recommends the hives to be placed under trees,

in such a way that they may be kept in the shade. Fig. 330 shows the

way in which M. de Frarière recommends hives to be arranged.

Dr. Monin, author of an interesting monograph of the bee, published in

1866, after treating of the different arrangements which have been

recommended for hives, concludes thus:--"It is to satisfy all these

requirements that experienced bee-keepers so much recommend for the

hives an exposure to the ten o'clock sun; that is to say, that they

should be turned in such a manner that the sun may shine on their

entrances when it has already attained a certain height above the

horizon, and sufficiently warmed the surrounding air for the bees,

which the brightness of its rays has tempted forth, not to be seized

with cold and numbed before they have been able to return home

again."[97]

[97] "Physiologie de l'Abeille, suivie de l'art de soigner et

d'exploiter les Abeilles d'après une methode simple et facile,"

p. 94. Paris, 1866.

[Illustration: Fig. 328.--Polish hive.]

In the month of March a gathering of wax is made by cutting away the

lower part of the hives, where the cakes have grown old. The principal

honey harvest takes place towards the end of May, June, or July,

according to the place the hives are in. A larger or smaller gathering

takes place according to the quantity of honey ready, and the state of

the season. As the bees will not see the violation of their domicile

and theft of their winter provisions without anger, to get possession

of the honeycomb with which the hive is filled, you must put these

irritable insects into such a state that they are unable to injure

you. They can be rendered peaceable by smoking them. The smoke is

forced into the hive with the assistance of a pair of bellows, the

arrangement of which is shown in Fig. 331. If the fumigation is

prolonged, the bees are very soon heard to beat their wings in a

peculiar manner; they are then in what is called in French _l'état de

bruissement_, or the roaring state. When they stand up on their hind

legs and agitate their wings, you can do with them almost anything you

like--cut away the honeycomb, abstract the eggs, or take out the

honey--without their troubling themselves about it. But this state of

things must not last too long, or you may suffocate your bees. It is a

sort of anæsthesis into which the bees have been thrown; and, as with

men, this must not be prolonged.

[Illustration: Fig. 329.--Garden hive.]

Some bee-keepers, in order to collect the honey harvest, suffocate

their bees by burning sulphur matches. This is a bad practice. "Those

authors who recommend us to suffocate the bees," says M. Hamet, "under

the pretext that their colonies will become too numerous, and who

add, 'You cannot eat beef without killing the ox,' are more stupid

than the animal they have chosen for their comparison." A hive often

produces from twelve to twenty pounds of honey each year, and a

proportional quantity of wax. It may, then, furnish to the bee-keeper

an important revenue, especially as the rearing of bees gives scarcely

any trouble, and involves scarcely any labour, as it is only necessary

to select a spot with a proper exposure and well supplied with

flowers.

[Illustration: Fig. 330.--Hives under the shade of trees.]

[Illustration: Fig. 331.--Bellows used to stupefy Bees].

We possess in Europe two species or races of bees--the Common Bee

(_Apis mellifica_), and the Ligurian Bee (_Apis ligustica_), whose

abdomen is tawny, with the rings bordered with black. It is this

latter species of which Virgil sang, and which is found in Italy and

Greece. It has been remarked that the Ligurian bee pierces the

calices, at their bases, of those flowers which are too long for it to

penetrate into easily, and thus gets possession of the honey, whilst

the common bees pass these flowers over. This observation proves that

the former is the more intelligent of the two races. In Egypt a bee is

reared called the Banded Bee (_Apis fasciata_).

Ten or twelve other species of honey-bees exist in Senegal, the Cape

of Good Hope, Madagascar, East Indies at Timor (_Apis Peronii_), &c.

The European bee has been acclimatised in America, but it soon returns

to its wild state, as indeed do all our domestic animals when

transported to the other hemisphere. At the Cape of Good Hope the

Hottentots seek greedily after the nests of wild bees, a bird called

the Indicator guiding them in this chase. This bird is observed

flitting about from tree to tree, making a little significant cry.

They have only then to follow this bird-informer, for it will not be

long in stopping before some hollow tree which contains a nest of

bees. The Hottentots always acknowledge its services by leaving it a

part of the booty.

Fenimore Cooper, the novelist, tells us, in his work entitled "The

Prairie," how the bee-hunters in America discover the wild hives. They

place on a plank, covered with white paint still moist, a piece of

bread covered with sugar or honey. The bees, in plundering this bread,

get some of the paint on their bodies, and are then more easily

tracked when they return to their hives. In North America they are, as

it were, the harbingers of civilisation. When the Indians perceive a

swarm trying to establish themselves in the solitudes of their

forests, they say to one another, "The white man is approaching; he

will soon be here." True pioneers of civilisation, these insects seem

to announce to the forests and deserts of the New World that the reign

of Nature has passed away, and that now the social state has begun to

play its part--a part that will never end.

The bees peculiar to South America have no sting: these are the

_Meliponas_. These (Fig. 332) are more compactly formed than our bees,

have a more hairy body, and are smaller in size. Very numerous in the

virgin forests, they make their nests in the hollows of trees. The wax

produced by them is brown, and of an indifferent quality. Under thick

leaves of wax are found cakes, with hexagonal cells, containing the

males, females, and neuters. The cells of the larvæ are closed by the

workers, and the larvæ spin themselves a cocoon inside. All around

the cradles are large round cells, entirely different in form from the

cradles, in which the honey is stored. It is probable that the males,

the workers, and the females, live together in great harmony, and even

that there is in each nest more than one female, for the absence of

the sting must prevent any combats. If a few cakes of the _Melipona's_

honeycomb are moved into the hollow of a tree, they always found there

a new colony. We may conclude from this that the workers procure for

themselves females whenever they want them by means of a special sort

of food. The savage inhabitants of the American forests collect this

honey; but, with the carelessness of uncivilised man, they at the same

time destroy the nests of these precious insects. They have now begun

to domesticate certain species of _Meliponas_, by introducing them

into earthen pots or wooden cases. These insects have been brought to

Europe, but they have always perished in the first cold weather.

During the summer of 1863 there was, in the Museum of Natural History

of Paris, a nest of _Melipona scutellaris_ from Brazil, but it did not

prosper.

[Illustration: Fig. 332.--A species of Melipona.]