Part 26

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.

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.