Chaps. 16-29.

Chap. 16.—The Reproduction of Bees.

How bees generate their young has been a subject of great and subtle research among the learned; seeing that no one has ever witnessed [It takes place while they are on the wing.] any sexual intercourse among these insects. Many persons have expressed an opinion that they must be produced from flowers, aptly and artistically arranged by Nature; while others, again, suppose that they are produced from an intercourse with the one which is to be found in every swarm, and is usually called the king. This one, they say, is the only male [The only prolific female, in reality.] in the hive, and is endowed with such extraordinary proportions, that it may not become exhausted in the performance of its duties. Hence it is, that no offspring can be produced without it, all the other bees being females, [Some unprolific females and some males, in reality.] and attending it in its capacity of a male, and not as their leader. This opinion, however, which is otherwise not improbable, is sufficiently refuted by the generation of the drones. For on what grounds could it possibly happen that the same intercourse should produce an offspring part of which is perfect, and part in an imperfect state? The first surmise which I have mentioned would appear, indeed, to be much nearer the truth, were it not the case that here another difficulty meets us—the circumstance that sometimes, at the extremity of the combs, there are produced bees of a larger size, which put the others to flight. This noxious bee bears the name of œstrus, [Cuvier thinks that either hornets, or else the drones, must be alluded to. Virgil, Georg. B. iv. l. 197, et seq., is one of those who think that bees are produced from flowers.] and how is it possible that it should ever be produced, if it is the fact that the bees themselves form their progeny? [I. e. from flowers.]

A fact, however, that is well ascertained, is, that bees sit, [They arrange the eggs in the cells, but they cannot be said to sit.] like the domestic fowl, that which is hatched by them at first having the appearance of a white maggot, and lying across and adhering so tenaciously to the wax as to seem to be part of it. The king, however, from the earliest moment, is of the colour of honey, just as though he were made of the choicest flowers, nor has he at any time the form of a grub, but from the very first is provided with wings. [This is not the fact. The queen bee commences as a larva, and that the larva of a working bee, Cuvier says, which, placed in a larger cell, and nurtured in a different manner, developes its sex and becomes the queen of the new swarm.] The rest of the bees, as soon as they begin to assume a shape, have the name of nymphæ, [They are then in the chrysalis state.] while the drones are called sirenes, or cephenes. If a person takes off the head of either kind before the wings are formed, the rest of the body is considered a most choice morsel by the parents. In process of time the parent bees instil nutriment into them, and sit upon them, making on this occasion a loud humming noise, for the purpose, it is generally supposed, of generating that warmth which is so requisite for hatching the young. At length the membrane in which each of them is enveloped, as though it lay in an egg, bursts asunder, and the whole swarm comes to light.

This circumstance was witnessed at the suburban retreat of a man of consular dignity near Rome, whose hives were made of transparent lantern horn: the young were found to be developed in the space of forty-five days. In some combs, there is found what is known by the name of “nail” wax; [“Clavus.”] it is bitter and hard, and is only met with when the bees have failed to hatch their young, either from disease or a natural sterility, it is the abortion, in fact, of the bees. The young ones, the moment they are hatched, commence working with their parents, as though in a course of training, and the newly-born king is accompanied by a multitude of his own age.

That the supply may not run short, each swarm rears several kings; but afterwards, when this progeny begins to arrive at a mature age, with one accord [It is the first hatched queen that puts the others to death.] they put to death the inferior ones, lest they should create discord in the swarm. [In consequence, really, of their pregnancy.] There are two sorts of king bees; those of a reddish colour are better than the black and mottled ones. The kings have always a peculiar form of their own, and are double the size of any of the rest; their wings are shorter [The greater size of the abdomen makes the wings look shorter.] than those of the others, their legs are straight, their walk more upright, and they have a white spot on the forehead, which bears some resemblance to a diadem: they differ, too, very much from the rest of the community, in their bright and shining appearance.

Chap. 17. (17.)—The Mode of Government of the Bees.

Let a man employ himself, forsooth, in the enquiry whether there has been only one Hercules, how many fathers Liber there have been, and all the other questions which are buried deep in the mould of antiquity! Here behold a tiny object, one to be met with at most of our country retreats, and numbers of which are always at hand, and yet, after all, it is not agreed among authors whether or not the king [The queen has a sting, like the working bees, but uses it less frequently.] is the only one among them that is provided with no sting, and is possessed of no other arms than those afforded him by his majestic office, or whether Nature has granted him a sting, and has only denied him the power of making use of it; it being a well-known fact, that the ruling bee never does use a sting. The obedience which his subjects manifest in his presence is quite surprising. When he goes forth, the whole swarm attends him, throngs about him, surrounds him, protects him, and will not allow him to be seen. At other times, when the swarm is at work within, the king is seen to visit the works, and appears to be giving his encouragement, being himself the only one that is exempt from work: around him are certain other bees which act as body-guards and lictors, the careful guardians of his authority. The king never quits the hive except when the swarm is about to depart; a thing which may be known a long time beforehand, as for some days a peculiar buzzing noise is to be heard within, which denotes that the bees are waiting for a favourable day, and making all due preparations for their departure. On such an occasion, if care is taken to deprive the king of one of his wings, the swarm will not fly away. When they are on the wing, every one is anxious to be near him, and takes a pleasure in being seen in the performance of its duty. When he is weary, they support him on their shoulders; and when he is quite tired, they carry him outright. If one of them falls in the rear from weariness, or happens to go astray, it is able to follow the others by the aid of its acuteness of smell. Wherever the king bee happens to settle, that becomes the encampment of all.

Chap. 18.—Happy Omens Sometimes Afforded by a Swarm of Bees.

And then, too, it is that they afford presages both of private and public interest, clustering, as they do, like a bunch of grapes, upon houses or temples; presages, in fact, that are often accounted for by great events. Bees settled upon the lips of Plato when still an infant even, announcing thereby the sweetness of that persuasive eloquence for which he was so noted. Bees settled, too, in the camp of the chieftain Drusus when he gained the brilliant victory at Arbalo; [A place in Germany, where Drusus, the brother of Tiberius, gained a victory over the Germans: the locality is unknown.] a proof, indeed, that the conjectures of soothsayers are not by any means infallible, seeing that they are of opinion that this is always of evil augury. When their leader is withheld from them, the swarm can always be detained; and when lost, it will disperse and take its departure to find other kings. Without a king, in fact, they cannot exist, and it is with the greatest reluctance that they put them to death when there are several; they prefer, too, to destroy the cells of the young ones, if they find reason to despair of providing food; in such case they then expel the drones. And yet, with regard to the last, I find that some doubts are entertained; and that there are some authors who are of opinion that they form a peculiar species, like that bee, the very largest among them all, which is known by the name of the “thief,” [“Fur.” A variety, probably, of the drone.] because it furtively devours the honey; it is distinguished by its black colour and the largeness of its body. It is a well-known fact, however, that the bees are in the habit of killing the drones. These last have no king of their own; but how it is that they are produced without a sting, is a matter still undetermined.

In a wet spring the young swarms are more numerous; in a dry one the honey is most abundant. If food happens to fail the inhabitants of any particular hive, the swarm makes a concerted attack upon a neighbouring one, with the view of plundering it. The swarm that is thus attacked, at once ranges itself in battle array, and if the bee-keeper should happen to be present, that side which perceives itself favoured by him will refrain from attacking him. They often fight, too, for other reasons as well, and the two generals are to be seen drawing up their ranks in battle array against their opponents. The dispute generally arises in culling from the flowers, when each, the moment that it is in danger, summons its companions to its aid. The battle, however, is immediately put an end to by throwing dust [So Virgil says— ——“Hæc certamina tanta Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescent.”— Georg. iv. 87.] among them, or raising a smoke; and if milk or honey mixed with water is placed before them, they speedily become reconciled.

Chap. 19. (18.)—The Various Kinds of Bees.

There are field bees also, and wild bees, ungainly in appearance, and much more irascible than the others, but remarkable for their laboriousness and the excellence of their work. Of domestic bees there are two sorts; the best are those with short bodies, speckled all over, and of a compact round shape. Those that are long, and resemble the wasp in appearance, are an inferior kind; and of these last, the very worst of all are those which have the body covered with hair. In Pontus there is a kind of white bee, which makes honey twice a month. On the banks of the river Thermodon there are two kinds found, one of which makes honey in the trees, the other under ground: they form a triple row of combs, and produce honey in the greatest abundance.

Nature has provided bees with a sting, which is inserted in the abdomen of the insect. There are some who think that at the first blow which they inflict with this weapon they will instantly die, [If it is left in the wound, the insect dies, being torn asunder.] while others, again, are of opinion that such is not the case, unless the animal drives it so deep as to cause a portion of the intestines to follow; and they assert, also, that after they have thus lost their sting they become drones, [Of course this is fabulous, as the drones are males.] and make no honey, being thus castrated, so to say, and equally incapable of inflicting injury, and of making themselves useful by their labours. We have instances stated of horses being killed by bees.

They have a great aversion to bad smells, and fly away from them; a dislike which extends to artificial perfumes even. Hence it is that they will attack persons who smell of unguents. They themselves, also, are exposed to the attacks of wasps and hornets, which belong to the same class, but are of a degenerate [Though belonging to the same class, they are not of degenerate kinds.] nature; these wage continual warfare against them, as also does a species of gnat, which is known by the name of “mulio;” [The “mule-gnat.”] swallows, too, and various other birds prey upon them. Frogs lie in wait for them when in quest of water, which, in fact, is their principal occupation at the time they are rearing their young. And it is not only the frog that frequents ponds and streams that is thus injurious to them, but the bramble-frog as well, which will come to the hives even in search of them, and, crawling up to the entrance, breathe through the apertures; upon hearing which, a bee flies to the spot, and is snapped up in an instant. It is generally stated that frogs are proof against the sting of the bee. Sheep, too, are peculiarly dangerous to them, as they have the greatest difficulty in extricating themselves from the fleece. The smell of crabs, [See Virgil, Georg. B. iv. l. 27.] if they happen to be cooked in their vicinity, is fatal to them.

Chap. 20.—The Diseases of Bees.

Bees are also by nature liable to certain diseases of their own. The sign that they are diseased, is a kind of torpid, moping sadness: on such occasions, they are to be seen bringing out those that are sick before the hives, and placing them in the warm sun, while others, again, are providing them with food. Those that are dead they carry away from the hive, and attend the bodies, paying their last duties, as it were, in funeral procession. If the king should happen to be carried off by the pestilence, the swarm remains plunged in grief and listless inactivity; it collects no more food, and ceases to issue forth from its abode; the only thing that it does is to gather around the body, and to emit a melancholy humming noise. Upon such occasions, the usual plan is to disperse the swarm and take away the body; for otherwise they would continue listlessly gazing upon it, and so prolong their grief. Indeed, if due care is not taken to come to their aid, they will die of hunger. It is from their cheerfulness, in fact, and their bright and sleek appearance that we usually form an estimate as to their health.

(19) There are certain maladies, also, which affect their productions; when they do not fill their combs, the disease under which they are labouring is known by the name of claros, [The reading seems doubtful, and the meaning is probably unknown.] and if they fail to rear their young, they are suffering from the effects of that known as blapsigonia. [“Injury of the young.”]

Chap. 21.—Things That Are Noxious to Bees.

Echo, or the noise made by the reverberation of the air, is also injurious to bees, as it dismays them by its redoubled sounds; fogs, also, are noxious to them. Spiders, too, are especially hostile to bees; when they have gone so far as to build their webs within the hive, the death of the whole swarm is the result. The common and ignoble moth, [There are two kinds of hive-moth—the Phalæna tinea mellanella of Linnæus, and the Phalæna tortrix cereana. It deposits its larva in holes which it makes in the wax.] too, that is to be seen fluttering about a burning candle, is deadly to them, and that in more ways than one. It devours the wax, and leaves its ordure behind it, from which the maggot known to us as the “teredo” is produced; besides which, wherever it goes, it drops the down from off its wings, and thereby thickens the threads of the cobwebs. The teredo is also engendered in the wood of the hive, and then it proves especially destructive to the wax. Bees are the victims, also, of their own greediness, for when they glut themselves overmuch with the juices of the flowers, in the spring season more particularly, they are troubled with flux and looseness. Olive oil is fatal [In consequence of closing the stigmata, and so impeding their respiration. The same result, no doubt, is produced by the honey when smeared over their bodies.] to not only bees, but all other insects as well, and more especially if they are placed in the sun, after the head has been immersed in it. Sometimes, too, they themselves are the cause of their own destruction; as, for instance, when they see preparations being made for taking their honey, and immediately fall to devouring it with the greatest avidity. In other respects they are remarkable for their abstemiousness, and they will expel those that are inclined to be prodigal and voracious, no less than those that are sluggish and idle. Their own honey even may be productive of injury to them; for if they are smeared with it on the fore-part of the body, it is fatal to them. Such are the enemies, so numerous are the accidents—and how small a portion of them have I here enumerated!—to which a creature that proves so bountiful to us is exposed. In the appropriate place [B. xxi. c. 42.] we will treat of the proper remedies; for the present the nature of them is our subject.

Chap. 22. (20.)—How to Keep Bees to the Hive.

The clapping of the hands and the tinkling of brass afford bees great delight, and it is by these means that they are brought together; a strong proof, in fact, that they are possessed of the sense of hearing. When their work is completed, their offspring brought forth, and all their duties fulfilled, they still have certain formal exercises to perform, ranging abroad throughout the country, and soaring aloft in the air, wheeling round and round as they fly, and then, when the hour for taking their food has come, returning home. The extreme period of their life, supposing that they escape accident and the attacks of their enemies, is only seven years; a hive, it is said, never lasts more than ten. [Cuvier says that a hive has been known to last more than thirty years: but it is doubtful if bees ever live so long as ten, or, except the queen, little more than one.] There are some persons, who think that, when dead, if they are preserved in the house throughout the winter, and then exposed to the warmth of the spring sun, and kept hot all day in the ashes of fig-tree wood, they will come to life again.

Chap. 23.—Methods of Renewing the Swarm.

These persons say also, that if the swarm is entirely lost, it may be replaced by the aid of the belly [Though Virgil tells the same story, in B. iv. of the Georgics, in relation to the shepherd Aristæus, all this is entirely fabulous.] of an ox newly killed, covered over with dung. Virgil also says [Georg. B. iv. l. 284, et seq.] that this may be done with the body of a young bull, in the same way that the carcase of the horse produces wasps and hornets, and that of the ass beetles, Nature herself effecting these changes of one substance into another. But in all these last, sexual intercourse is to be perceived as well, though the characteristics of the offspring are pretty much the same as those of the bee.

Chap. 24. (21.)—Wasps and Hornets: Animals Which Appropriate What Belongs to Others.

Wasps build their nests of mud in lofty places, [Under roofs, and sometimes in the ground: hornets build in the hollows of trees.] and make wax therein: hornets, on the other hand, build in holes or under ground. With these two kinds the cells are also hexagonal, but, in other respects, though made of the bark of trees, they strongly resemble the substance of a spider’s web. Their young also are found at irregular intervals, and are of unshapely appearance; while one is able to fly, another is still a mere pupa, and a third only in the maggot state. It is in the autumn, too, and not in the spring, that all their young are produced; and they grow during the full moon more particularly. The wasp which is known as the ichneumon, [Called “Sphæx” by Linnæus.] a smaller kind than the others, kills one kind of spider in particular, known as the phalangium; after which it carries the body to its nest, covers it over with a sort of gluey substance, and then sits and hatches from it its young. [The true version is, that after killing the insect they bury it with their eggs as food for their future young.] In addition to this, they are all of them carnivorous, while on the other hand bees will touch no animal substance whatever. Wasps more particularly pursue the larger flies, and after catching them cut off the head and carry away the remaining portion of the body.

Wild hornets live in the holes of trees, and in winter, like other insects, keep themselves concealed; their life does not exceed two years in length. It is not unfrequently that their sting is productive of an attack of fever, and there are authors who say that thrice nine stings will suffice to kill a man. Of the other hornets, which seem not to be so noxious, there are two kinds; the working ones, which are smaller in size and die in the winter; and the parent hornets, which live two years; these last, indeed, are quite harmless. [Cuvier says that it is the males, and not the females, that have no sting.] In spring they build their nests, which have generally four entrances, and here it is that the working hornets are produced: after these have been hatched they form other nests of larger size, in which to bring forth the parents of the future generation. From this time the working hornets begin to follow their vocation, and apply themselves to supplying the others with food. The parent hornets are of larger size than the others, and it is very doubtful whether they have a sting, as it is never to be seen protruded. These races, too, have their drones. Some persons are of opinion that all these insects lose their stings in the winter. Neither hornets nor wasps have a king, nor do they ever congregate in swarms; but their numbers are recruited by fresh offspring from time to time.

Chap. 25. (22.)—The Bombyx of Assyria.

A fourth class of this kind [What modern naturalists call the “Hymenoptera.”] of insect is the bombyx, [Some kind of wasp, or, as Cuvier says, probably the mason bee.] which is a native of Assyria, and is of larger size than any of those which have been previously mentioned. They construct their nests of a kind of mud which has the appearance of salt, and then fasten them to a stone, where they become so hard, that it is scarcely possible to penetrate them with a dart even. In these nests they make wax, in larger quantities than bees, and the grub which they then produce is larger.

Chap. 26.—The Larvæ of the Silk-worm—Who First Invented Silk Cloths.

There is another class also of these insects produced in quite a different manner. These last spring from a grub of larger size, with two horns of very peculiar appearance. The larva then becomes a caterpillar, after which it assumes the state in which it is known as bombylis, then that called necydalus, and after that, in six months, it becomes a silk-worm. [Called “bombyx” also; though, as Cuvier remarks, of a kind altogether different from the preceding one.] These insects weave webs similar to those of the spider, the material of which is used for making the more costly and luxurious garments of females, known as “bombycina.” Pamphile, a woman of Cos, [The first kinds of silk dresses worn by the Roman ladies were from this island, and, as Pliny says, were known by the name of Coæ vestes. These dresses were so fine as to be transparent, and were sometimes dyed purple, and enriched with stripes of gold. They probably had their name from the early reputation which Cos acquired by its manufactures of silk.] the daughter of Platea, was the first [This account is derived from Aristotle, Hist. Anim. B. v. c. 19.] person who discovered the art of unravelling these webs and spinning a tissue therefrom; indeed, she ought not to be deprived of the glory of having discovered the art of making vestments which, while they cover a woman, at the same moment reveal her naked charms.

Chap. 27. (23.)—The Silk-worm of Cos—How the Coan Vestments Are Made.

The silk-worm, too, is said to be a native of the isle of Cos, where the vapours of the earth give new life to the flowers of the cypress, the terebinth, the ash, and the oak which have been beaten down by the showers. At first they assume the appearance of small butterflies with naked bodies, but soon after, being unable to endure the cold, they throw out bristly hairs, and assume quite a thick coat against the winter, by rubbing off the down that covers the leaves, by the aid of the roughness of their feet. This they compress into balls by carding it with their claws, and then draw it out and hang it between the branches of the trees, making it fine by combing it out as it were: last of all, they take and roll it round their body, thus forming a nest in which they are enveloped. It is in this state that they are taken; after which they are placed in earthen vessels in a warm place, and fed upon bran. A peculiar sort of down soon shoots forth upon the body, on being clothed with which they are sent to work upon another task. The cocoons [“Lanificia.”] which they have begun to form are rendered soft and pliable by the aid of water, and are then drawn out into threads by means of a spindle made of a reed. Nor, in fact, have the men even felt ashamed to make use [Early in the reign of Tiberius, as we learn from Tacitus, the senate enacted “ne vestis Serica viros fædaret”—“That men should not defile themselves by wearing garments of silk,” Ann. B. ii. c. 33.] of garments formed of this material, in consequence of their extreme lightness in summer: for, so greatly have manners degenerated in our day, that, so far from wearing a cuirass, a garment even is found to be too heavy. The produce of the Assyrian silk-worm, however, we have till now left to the women only.

Chap. 28. (24.)—Spiders; the Kinds That Make Webs; the Materials Used by Them in So Doing.

It is by no means an absurdity to append to the silk-worm an account of the spider, a creature which is worthy of our especial admiration. There are numerous kinds of spiders, however, which it will not be necessary here to mention, from the fact of their being so well known. Those that bear the name of phalangium are of small size, with bodies spotted and running to a point; their bite is venomous, and they leap as they move from place to place. Another kind, again, is black, and the fore-legs are remarkable for their length. They have all of them three joints in the legs. The smaller kind of wolf-spider [The Aranea lupus of Linnæus.] does not make a web, but the larger ones make their holes in the earth, and spread their nets at the narrow entrance thereof. A third kind, again, is remarkable for the skill which it displays in its operations. These spin a large web, and the abdomen suffices to supply the material for so extensive a work, whether it is that, at stated periods the excrements are largely secreted in the abdomen, as Democritus thinks, or that the creature has in itself a certain faculty of secreting [As Cuvier observes, he has here guessed at the truth.] a peculiar sort of woolly substance. How steadily does it work with its claws, how beautifully rounded and how equal are the threads as it forms its web, while it employs the weight of its body as an equipoise! It begins at the middle to weave its web, and then extends it by adding the threads in rings around, like a warp upon the woof: forming the meshes at equal intervals, but continually enlarging them as the web increases in breadth, it finally unites them all by an indissoluble knot. With what wondrous art does it conceal the snares that lie in wait for its prey in its checkered nettings! How little, too, would it seem that there is any such trap laid in the compactness of its web and the tenacious texture of the woof, which would appear of itself to be finished and arranged by the exercise of the very highest art! How loose, too, is the body of the web as it yields to the blasts, and how readily does it catch all objects which come in its way! You would fancy that it had left, quite exhausted, the thrums of the upper portion of its net unfinished where they are spread across; it is with the greatest difficulty that they are to be perceived, and yet the moment that an object touches them, like the lines of the hunter’s net, they throw it into the body of the web. With what architectural skill, too, is its hole arched over, and how well defended by a nap of extra thickness against the cold! How carefully, too, it retires into a corner, and appears intent upon anything but what it really is, all the while that it is so carefully shut up from view, that it is impossible to perceive whether there is anything within or not! And then too, how extraordinary the strength of the web! When is the wind ever known to break it, or what accumulation of dust is able to weigh it down?

The spider often spreads its web right across between two trees, when plying its art and learning how to spin; and then, as to its length, the thread extends from the very top of the tree to the ground, while the insect springs up again in an instant from the earth, and travels aloft by the very self-same thread, thus mounting at the same moment and spinning its threads. When its prey falls into its net, how on the alert it is, and with what readiness it runs to seize it! Even though it should be adhering to the very edge of its web, the insect always runs instantly to the middle, as it is by these means that it can most effectually shake the web, and so successfully entangle its prey. When the web is torn, the spider immediately sets about repairing it, and that so neatly, that nothing like patching can ever be seen. The spider lies in wait even for the young of the lizard, and after enveloping the head of the animal, bites its lips; a sight by no means unworthy of the amphitheatre itself, when it is one’s good fortune to witness it. Presages also are drawn from the spider; for when a river is about to swell, it will suspend its web higher than usual. In calm weather these insects do not spin, but when it is cloudy they do, and hence it is, that a great number of cobwebs is a sure sign of showery weather. It is generally supposed that it is the female spider that spins, and the male that lies in wait for prey, thus making an equal division of their duties.

Chap. 29.—The Generation of Spiders.

Spiders couple [They copulate in a manner dissimilar to that of any other insects—the male fecundates the female by the aid of feelers, which he introduces into the vulva of the female situate beneath the anterior part of the abdomen.] backwards, and produce maggots like eggs; for I ought not to defer making some mention of this subject, seeing, in fact, that of most insects there is hardly anything else to be said. All these eggs they lay in their webs, but scattered about, as they leap from place to place while laying them. The phalangium is the only spider that lays a considerable number of them, in a hole; and as soon as ever the progeny is hatched it devours its mother, and very often the male parent as well, for that, too, aids in the process of incubation. These last produce as many as three hundred eggs, the others a smaller number. Spiders take three days to hatch their eggs. They come to their full growth in twenty-eight days.