A common bee will sting any one or anybody, but a royalty stings royalties only.A common bee will sting and kill another common bee, for cause, but when it is necessary to kill the queen other ways are employed.When a queen has grown old and slack and does not lay eggs enough one of her royal daughters is allowed to come to attack her, the rest of the bees looking on at the duel and seeing fair play.It is a duel with the curved stings.If one of the fighters gets hard pressed and gives it up and runs, she is brought back and must try again--once, maybe twice; then, if she runs yet once more for her life, judicial death is her portion; her children pack themselves into a ball around her person and hold her in that compact grip two or three days, until she starves to death or is suffocated.Meantime the victor bee is receiving royal honors and performing the one royal function--laying eggs.
As regards the ethics of the judicial assassination of the queen, that is a matter of politics, and will be discussed later, in its proper place.
During substantially the whole of her short life of five or six years the queen lives in Egyptian darkness and stately seclusion of the royal apartments, with none about her but plebeian servants, who give her empty lip-affection in place of the love which her heart hungers for; who spy upon her in the interest of her waiting heirs, and report and exaggerate her defects and deficiencies to them; who fawn upon her and flatter her to her face and slander her behind her back; who grovel before her in the day of her power and forsake her in her age and weakness.There she sits, friendless, upon her throne through the long night of her life, cut off from the consoling sympathies and sweet companionship and loving endearments which she craves, by the gilded barriers of her awful rank; a forlorn exile in her own house and home, weary object of formal ceremonies and machine-made worship, winged child of the sun, native to the free air and the blue skies and the flowery fields, doomed by the splendid accident of her birth to trade this priceless heritage for a black captivity, a tinsel grandeur, and a loveless life, with shame and insult at the end and a cruel death--and condemned by the human instinct in her to hold the bargain valuable!
Huber, Lubbock, Maeterlinck--in fact, all the great authorities--are agreed in denying that the bee is a member of the human family.I do not know why they have done this, but Ithink it is from dishonest motives.Why, the innumerable facts brought to light by their own painstaking and exhaustive experiments prove that if there is a master fool in the world, it is the bee.That seems to settle it.
But that is the way of the scientist.He will spend thirty years in building up a mountain range of facts with the intent to prove a certain theory; then he is so happy in his achievement that as a rule he overlooks the main chief fact of all--that his accumulation proves an entirely different thing.When you point out this miscarriage to him he does not answer your letters; when you call to convince him, the servant prevaricates and you do not get in.Scientists have odious manners, except when you prop up their theory; then you can borrow money of them.
To be strictly fair, I will concede that now and then one of them will answer your letter, but when they do they avoid the issue--you cannot pin them down.When I discovered that the bee was human I wrote about it to all those scientists whom I have just mentioned.For evasions, I have seen nothing to equal the answers I got.
After the queen, the personage next in importance in the hive is the virgin.The virgins are fifty thousand or one hundred thousand in number, and they are the workers, the laborers.No work is done, in the hive or out of it, save by them.The males do not work, the queen does no work, unless laying eggs is work, but it does not seem so to me.There are only two million of them, anyway, and all of five months to finish the contract in.The distribution of work in a hive is as cleverly and elaborately specialized as it is in a vast American machine-shop or factory.A bee that has been trained to one of the many and various industries of the concern doesn't know how to exercise any other, and would be offended if asked to take a hand in anything outside of her profession.She is as human as a cook; and if you should ask the cook to wait on the table, you know what will happen.Cooks will play the piano if you like, but they draw the line there.In my time I have asked a cook to chop wood, and I know about these things.Even the hired girl has her frontiers; true, they are vague, they are ill-defined, even flexible, but they are there.This is not conjecture; it is founded on the absolute.And then the butler.You ask the butler to wash the dog.It is just as I say; there is much to be learned in these ways, without going to books.Books are very well, but books do not cover the whole domain of esthetic human culture.
Pride of profession is one of the boniest bones in existence, if not the boniest.Without doubt it is so in the hive.
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CONCERNING TOBACCO
As concerns tobacco, there are many superstitions.And the chiefest is this--that there is a STANDARD governing the matter, whereas there is nothing of the kind.Each man's own preference is the only standard for him, the only one which he can accept, the only one which can command him.A congress of all the tobacco-lovers in the world could not elect a standard which would be binding upon you or me, or would even much influence us.
The next superstition is that a man has a standard of his own.
He hasn't.He thinks he has, but he hasn't.He thinks he can tell what he regards as a good cigar from what he regards as a bad one--but he can't.He goes by the brand, yet imagines he goes by the flavor.One may palm off the worst counterfeit upon him;if it bears his brand he will smoke it contentedly and never suspect.
Children of twenty-five, who have seven years experience, try to tell me what is a good cigar and what isn't.