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BRAMBLE-BEES AND OTHERS

By THE SAME AUTHOR

THE LIFE OF THE SPIDER
THE LIFE OF THE FLY
THE MASON-BEES
BRAMBLE-BEES AND OTHERS

—— =
Sy = aS ey ea,
SS

7 Be ctr. BEES AND
OTHERS

BY
J. HENRI FABRE

_ TRANSLATED BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS

FELLOW OF THB ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
I9t5

CONTENTS

BRAMSEATOR S .NOBE 6. ge ego, OEE
CHAPTER
EPBRAMBLE DWELLERS 2° .0 08 Jy I
TRPRATE “OSNUURE hh oe oes a oh? SE

III THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE SEXES.. 89
IV THE MOTHER DECIDES THE SEX OF

EHESEGG tes. UsucAMii.. Gas Mui Oe

V PERMUTATIONS OF SEX . ~~ . 155
VI INSTINCT AND DISCERNMENT. . 192
VII ECONOMY OF ENERGY. . . . 213
Will CHE LEAR-CULTERS © *2) 0. |) %) 4. 294
Pe SE, COTTON-BEES( A 203 |e) 2 eg
Se SHY RESIN-BEES( 29%: 2) nl ZOR
XI THE POISON OF THE BEE. . . 339
XII THE HALICTI: A PARASITE . . 365
XIII THE HALICTI: THE PORTRESS . . 393

XIV THE HALICTI: PARTHENOGENESIS . 422
“Se ae ee PTE

“id

Oh Tea
RN

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE

N THIS volume I have collected all the
essays on Wild Bees scattered through the
Souvenirs entomologiques, with the exception
of those on the Mason-bees, which form the
contents of a separate volume bearing that
title.

The first two essays on the Halicti (Chap-
ters XII. and XIII.) have already appeared
in an abbreviated form in The Life and Love
of the Insect, translated by myself and pub-
lished by Messrs. A. & C. Black (in America
by the Macmillan Co.) in 1911. With the
greatest courtesy and kindness, Messrs. Black
have given me their permission to include
these three chapters in the present volume;
they did so without fee or consideration of
any kind, merely on my representation that
it would be a great pity if this uniform edi-
tion of Fabre’s Works should be rendered in-
complete because certain essays formed part
of volumes of extracts previously published
in this country. Their generosity is almost
unparalleled in my experience; and I wish to

vill

Translator’s Note

thank them publicly for it in the name of the
author, of the French publishers and of the
English and American publishers, as well as
in my own.

Of the remaining chapters, one or two have
appeared in the English Review or other
magazines; but most of them now see the
light in English for the first time.

I have once more, as in the case of The
Mason-bees, to thank Miss Frances Rodwell
for the help which she has given me in the
work of translation and research; and I am
also grateful for much kind assistance received
from the staff of the Natural History Mu-
seum, South Kensington, and from Mr.
Geoffrey Meade-Waldo in particular.

ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTos.
CHELSEA, 1915.

Vili

CHAPTER I

BRAMBLE-DWELLERS

5 ls HE peasant, as he trims his hedge, whose

riotous tangle threatens to encroach
upon the road, cuts the trailing stems of the
bramble a foot or two from the ground and
leaves the root-stock, which soon dries up.
These bramble-stumps, sheltered and_ pro-
tected by the thorny brushwood, are in great
demand among a host of Hymenoptera who
have families to settle. The stump, when dry,
offers to any one who knows how to make use
of it a hygienic dwelling, where there is no
fear of damp from the sap; its soft and
abundant pith lends itself to easy work; and
the top offers a weak spot which makes it pos-
sible for the insect to reach the vein of least
resistance at once without cutting a way
through the hard, ligneous wall. To many,
therefore, of the Bee and Wasp tribe, whether
honey-gatherers or hunters, one of these dry
stalks is a valuable discovery, when its diamet-
er matches the size of its would-be inhabit-

Bramble-Dwellers

ants; and it is also an interesting subject of
study to the entomologist who, in the winter,
pruning-shears in hand, can gather in the
hedge-rows a faggot rich in small industrial
wonders. Visiting the bramble-bushes has
long been one of my favourite pastimes during
the enforced leisure of the winter-time; and it
is seldom but some new discovery, some un-
expected fact makes up to me for my torn
fingers.

My list, which is still far from being com-
plete, already numbers nearly thirty species of
bramble-dwellers in the neighbourhood of my
house; other observers, more assiduous than
I, exploring another region and one covering
a wider range, have counted as many as fifty.
I give at foot an inventory of the species
which I have noted.

1Bramble-dwelling insects in the neighbourhood of
Sérignan (Vaucluse) :

1. MELLIFEROUS HYMENOPTERA.—Osmia _ tri-
dentata, Du¥F. and PER.—Osmia detrita, PE&REz.—Anthi-
dium scapulare, Latr.—Heriades rubicola, PEREZ.—
Prosopis confusa, SCHENCK.—Ceratina chalcites, GERM.—
Ceratina albilabris, Fas.—Ceratina callosa, FaB.—Cera-
tina caerulea, VILLERS.

2, HUNTING HYMENOPTERA.—Solenius vagus,
FAB. (provisions, Diptera).—Solenius lapidarius, Lep.
(provisions, Spiders?).—Cemonus unicolor, PANz. (pro-
visions, Plant-lice).—Psen atratus (provisions, Black

Bramble-bees and Others

They include members of very diverse cor-
porations. Some, more industrious and
equipped with better tools, remove the pitch
from the dry stem and thus obtain a vertical
cylindrical gallery, the length of which may
be nearly a cubit. This sheath is next divided,
by partitions, into more or less numerous
storeys, each of which forms the cell of a larva.
Others, less well-endowed with strength and
implements, avail themselves of the old gal-
leries of other insects, galleries that have been
abandoned after serving as a home for their
builder’s family. Their only work is to make
some slight repairs in the ruined tenement, to

Plant-lice).—Tripoxylon figulus, Lin. (provisions, Spid-
ers).—A Pompilus unknown (provisions, Spiders).—Ody-
nerus delphinalis, GIRAUD.

3. PARASITICAL HYMENOPTERA.—A Leucospis,
unknown (parasite of Anthidium scapulare)—A_ small
Scoliid, unknown (parasite of Solenius vagus).—Omalus
auratus (parasite of various bramble-dwellers).—Cryptus
bimaculatus, Grav. (parasite of Tripoxylon figulus).—
Ephialtes divinator, Rosst (parasite of Cemonus uni-
color).—Ephialtes mediator, GRAV. (parasite of Psen atra-
tus).—Faenus pyrenaicus, GUERIN.—Euritoma rubicola, J.
GIRAUD (parasite of Osmia detrita).

4. COLEOPTERA.—Zonitis mutica, Fas. (parasite of
Osmia tridentata).

Most of these insects have been submitted to a learned
expert, Professor Jean Pérez, of Bordeaux. I take this
opportunity of renewing my thanks for his kindness in
identifying them for me——Author’s Note.

Bramble-Dwellers

clear the channel of its lumber, such as the re-
mains of cocoons and the litter of shattered
ceilings, and, lastly, to build new partitions,
either with a plaster made of clay or with a
concrete formed of pith-scrapings cemented
with a drop of saliva.

We can tell these borrowed dwellings by
the unequal size of the storeys. When the
worker has herself bored the channel, she
economizes her space: she knows how costly it
is. ‘The cells, in that case, are all alike, the
proper size for the tenant, neither too large
nor too small. In this box, which has cost
weeks of labour, the insect has to house the
largest possible number of larve, while allot-
ting the necessary amount of room to each.
Method in the superposition of the floors and
economy of space are here the absolute rule.

But there is evidence of waste when the
insect makes use of a bramble hollowed by
another. This is the case with Tripoxylon
figulus. ‘To obtain the store-rooms wherein to
deposit her scanty stock of Spiders, she divides
her borrowed cylinder into very unequal cells,
by means of slender clay partitions. Some are
a centimetre’ deep, the proper size for an in-

1.39 inch.—Translator’s Note,

Bramble-bees and Others

sect; others are as much as two inches. These
spacious rooms, out of all proportion to the
occupier, reveal the reckless extravagance of a
casual proprietress whose title-deeds have cost
her nothing.

But, whether they be the original builders
or labourers touching up the work of others,
they all alike have their parasites, who consti-
tute the third class of bramble-dwellers.
These have neither galleries to excavate nor
victuals to provide; they lay their egg in a
strange cell; and their grub feeds either on
the provisions of the lawful owner’s larva or
on that larva itself.

At the head of this population, as regards
both the finish and the magnitude of the struc-
ture, stands the Three-pronged Osmia (Osmia
tridentata, Dur. and PER.), to whom this
chapter shall be specially devoted. Her gal-
lery, which has the diameter of a lead pencil,
sometimes descends to a depth of twenty
inches. It is at first almost exactly cylindical;
but, in the course of the victualling, changes
occur which modify it slightly at geometrically
determined distances. The work of boring
possesses no great interest. In the month of

Bramble-Dwellers

July, we see the insect, perched on a bramble-
stump, attack the pith and dig itself a well.
When this is deep enough, the Osmia goes
down, tears off a few particles of pith and
comes up again to fling her load outside. This
monotonous labour continues until the Bee
deems the gallery long enough, or until, as
often happens, she finds herself stopped by an
impassable knot.

Next comes the ration of honey, the laying
of the egg and the partitioning, the last a deli-
cate operation to which the insect proceeds by
degrees from the base to the top. At the bot-
tom of the gallery, a pile of honey is placed
and an egg laid upon the pile; then a partition
is built to separate this cell from the next, for
each larva must have its special chamber,
about a centimetre and a half* long, having no
communication with the chambers adjoining.
The materials employed for this partition are
bramble-sawdust, glued into a paste with the
insect’s saliva. Whence are these materials
obtained? Does the Osmia go outside, to
gather on the ground the rubbish which she
flung out when boring the cylinder? On the

1.58 inch.—Translator’s Note.
6

Bramble-bees and Others

contrary, she is frugal of her time and has bet-
ter things to do than to pick up the scattered
particles from the soil. The channel, as I said,
is at first uniform in size, almost cylindrical;
its sides still retain a thin coating of pitch.
These are the reserves which the Osmia, as a
provident builder, has economized wherewith
to construct the partitions. So she scrapes
away with her mandibles, keeping within a
certain radius, a radius that corresponds
with the dimensions of the cell which she is
going to build next; moreover, she conducts
her work in such a way as to hollow out more
in the middle and leave the two ends con-
tracted. In this manner, the cylindrical chan-
nel of the start is succeeded, in the worked
portion, by an ovoid cavity flattened at both
ends, a space resembling a little barrel. This
space will form the second cell.

As for the rubbish, it is utilized on the spot
for the lid or cover that serves as a ceiling
for one cell and a floor for the next. Our own
master-builders could not contrive more suc-
cessfully to make the best use of their la-
bourer’s time. On the floor thus obtained, a
second ration of honey is placed; and an egg
is laid on the surface of the paste, Lastly, at

Bramble-Dwellers

the upper end of the little barrel, a partition
is built with the scrapings obtained in the
course of the final work on the third cell,
which cell itself is shaped like a flattened
ovoid.

And so the work goes on, cell upon cell,
each supplying the materials for the partition
separating it from the one below. On reaching
the end of the cylinder, the Osmia closes up
the case with a thick layer of the same mortar.
Then that bramble-stump is done with; the
Bee will not return to it. If her ovaries are
not yet exhausted, other dry stems will be ex-
ploited in the same fashion.

The number of cells varies greatly, accord-
ing to the qualities of the stalk. If the bram-
ble-stump be long, regular and smooth, we
may count as many as fifteen: that, at least,
is the highest figure which my observations
have supplied. To obtain a good idea of the
internal distribution, we must split the stalk
lengthwise, in the winter, when the provisions
have long been consumed and when the larve
are wrapped in their cocoons. We then see
that, at regular intervals, the case becomes
slightly narrower; and in each of the necks
thus formed a circular disk is fixed, a partition

Bramble-bees and Others

one or two millimetres thick.t_ The rooms
separated by these partitions form so many
little barrels or kegs, each compactly filled
with a reddish, transparent cocoon, through
which the larva shows, bent into a fish-hook.
The whole suggests a string of rough, oval
amber beads, touching at their amputated
ends.

In this string of cocoons, which is the old-
est, which the youngest? The oldest is ob-
viously the bottom one, the one whose cell
was the first built; the youngest is the one at
the top of the row, the one in the cell last
built. The oldest of the larve starts the pile,
down at the bottom of the gallery; the latest
arrival ends it at the top; and those in between
follow upon one another, according to age,
from base to apex.

Let us next observe that there is no room,
in the shaft, for two Osmiz at a time on the
same level, for each cocoon fills up the storey,
the keg that belongs to it, without leaving any
vacant space; let us also remark that,. when
they attain the stage of perfection, the Osmiz
must all emerge from the shaft by the only

1,939 to .079 inch.—Translator’s Note.
9

Bramble-Dwellers

orifice which the bramble-stem beasts, the ori-
fice at the top. There is here but one obstacle,
easy to overcome: a plug of glued pith, of
which the insect’s mandibles make short work.
Down below, the stalk offers no ready outlet;
besides, it is prolonged underground indefi-
nitely by the roots. Every elsewhere is the
ligneous fence, generally too hard and thick to
break through. It is inevitable therefore that
all the Osmiz, when the time comes to quit
their dwelling, should go out by the top; and,
as the narrowness of the shaft bars the pas-
sage of the preceding insect so long as the
next one, the insect above it, remains in its
position, the removal must begin at the top,
extend from cell to cell and end at the bottom.
Consequently, the order of exit-is the converse
to the order of birth: the younger Osmiz
leave the nest first, their elders leave it last.
The oldest, that is to say, the bottom one,
was the first to finish her supply of honey and
to spin her cocoon. Taking precedence of all
her sisters in the whole series of her actions,
she was the first to burst her silken bag and
to destroy the ceiling that closes her room; at
least, that is what the logic of the situation
takes for granted. In her anxiety to get out,
10

Bramble-bees and Others

how will she set about her release? The way
is blocked by the nearest cocoons, as yet intact.
To clear herself a passage through the string
of those cocoons would mean to exterminate
the remainder of the brood; the deliverance of
one would mean the destruction of all the rest.
Insects are notoriously obstinate in their ac-
tions and unscrupulous in their methods. If
the Bee at the bottom of the shaft wants to
leave her lodging, will she spare those who bar
her road?

The difficulty is great, obviously; it seems
insuperable. ‘Thereupon we become suspi-
cious: we begin to wonder if the emergence
from the cocoon, that is to say, the hatching,
really takes place in the order of primogeni-
ture. Might it not be—by a very singular ex-
ception, it is true, but one which is necessary in
such circumstances—that the youngest of the
Osmiz bursts her cocoon first and the oldest
last; in short, that the hatching proceeds from
one chamber to the next in the inverse direc-
tion to that which the age of the occupants
would lead us to presume? In that case, the
whole difficulty would be removed: each Os-
mia, as she rent her silken prison, would find

a clear road in front of her, the Osmiz nearer
It

Bramble-Dwellers

the outlet having gone out before her. But
is this really how things happen? Our theo-
ries very often do not agree with the insect’s
practice; even where our reasoning seems most
logical, we should be more prudent to see what
happens before venturing on any positive
statements. Léon Dufour was not so prudent
when he, the first in the field, took this little
problem in hand. He describes to us the
habits of an Odynerus (Odynerus rubicolus,
Dur.) who piles up clay cells in the shaft of
a dry bramble-stalk; and, full of enthusiasm
for his industrious protégée, he goes on to
say:

“Picture a string of eight cement shells,
placed end to end and closely wedged inside a
wooden sheath. The lowest was undeniably
made first and consequently contains the first-
laid egg, which, according to rules, should
give birth to the first winged insect. How do
you imagine that the larva in that first shell
was bidden to waive its right of primogeniture
and only to complete its metamorphosis after
all its juniors? What are the conditions
brought into play to produce a result appar-
ently so contrary to the laws of nature? Hum-

Bramble-bees and Others

ble yourself in the presence of the reality and
confess your ignorance, rather than attempt
to hide your embarrassment under vain ex-
planations !

“Tf the first egg laid by the busy mother
were destined to be the first-born of the Ody-
neri, that one, in order to see the light imme-
diately after achieving wings, would have had
the option either of breaking through the
double walls of his prison or of perforating,
from bottom to top, the seven shells ahead of
him, in order to emerge through the truncate
end of the bramble-stem. Now nature, while
refusing any way of escape laterally, was also
bound to veto any direct invasion, the brutal
gimlet-work which would inevitably have
sacrificed seven members of one family for the
safety of an only son. Nature is as ingenious
in design as she is fertile in resource and she
must have foreseen and forestalled every diff-
culty. She decided that the last-built cradle
should yield the first-born child; that this one
should clear the road for his next oldest
brother, the second brother for the third and
so on. And this is the order in which the
birth of our Odyneri of the Brambles actually
takes place.”

Bramble-Dwellers

Yes, my revered master, I will admit with-
out hesitation that the bramble-dwellers leave
their sheath in the converse order to that of
their ages: the youngest first, the oldest last;
if not invariably, at least very often. But
does the hatching, by which I mean the emer-
gence from the cocoon, take place in the same
order? Does the evolution of the elder wait
upon that of the younger, so that each may
give those who would bar his passage time to
effect their deliverance and to leave the road
clear? I very much fear that logic has car-
ried your deductions beyond the bounds of
reality. Rationally speaking, my dear sir,
nothing could be more accurate than your in-
ferences; and yet we must forego the theory
of the strange inversion which you suggest.
None of the Bramble-bees with whom I have
experimented behaves after that fashion. I
know nothing personal about Odynerus rubi-
colus, who appears to be a stranger in my dis-
trict; but, as the method of leaving must be
almost the same when the habitation is ex-
actly similar, it is enough, I think, to experi-
ment with some of the bramble-dwellers in
order to learn the history of the rest.

My studies will, by preference, bear upon

Bramble-bees and Others

the Three-pronged Osmia, who lends herself
more readily to laboratory experiment, both
because she is stronger and because the same
stalk will contain a goodly number of her cells.
The first fact to be ascertained is the order of
hatching. I take a glass tube, closed at one
end, open at the other and of a diameter simi-
lar to that of the Osmia’s tunnel. In this, I
place one above the other, exactly in their
natural order, the ten cocoons, or thereabouts,
which I extract from a stump of bramble.
The operation is performed in winter. The
larve, at that time, have long been enveloped
in their silken case. To separate the cocoons
from one another, I employ artificial parti-
tions consisting of little round disks of sor-
ghum, or Indian millet, about half a centimet-
re thick. This is a white pith, divested of its
fibrous wrapper and easy for the Osmia’s
mandibles to attack. My diaphragms are
much thicker than the natural partitions; this
is an advantage, as we shall see. In any case,
I could not well use thinner ones, for these
disks must be able to withstand the pressure
of the rammer which places them in position

1About one-fifth of an inch—Translator’s Note.
15

Bramble-Dwellers

in the tube. On the other hand, the experi-
ment showed me that the Osmia makes short
work of the material when it is a case of drill-
ing a hole through it.

To keep out the light, which would disturb
my insects destined to spend their larval life in
complete darkness, I cover the tube with a
thick paper sheath, easy to remove and replace
when the time comes for observation. Lastly,
the tubes thus prepared and containing either
Osmiz or other bramble-dwellers are hung
vertically, with the opening at the top, in a
snug corner of my study. Each of these ap-
pliances fulfils the natural conditions pretty
satisfactorily: the cocoons from the same
bramble-stick are stacked in the same order
which they occupied in the native shaft, the
oldest at the bottom of the tube and the young-
est close to the orifice; they are isolated by
means of partitions; they are placed vertically,
heads upwards; moreover, my device has the
advantage of substituting for the opaque wall
of the bramble a transparent wall which will |
enable me to follow the hatching day by day,
at any moment which I think opportune.

The male Osmia splits his cocoon at the
end of June and the female at the beginning

Bramble-bees and Others

of July. When this time comes, we must re-
double our watch and inspect the tubes several
times a day if we would obtain exact statistics
of the births. Well, during the six years that
I have studied this question, I have seen and
seen again, ad nauseam; and | am ina position
to declare that there is no order governing the
sequence of hatchings, absolutely none. The
first cocoon to burst may be the one at the bot-
tom of the tube, the one at the top, the one in
the middle, or in any other part, indifferently.
The second to be split may adjoin the first or
it may be removed from it by a number of
spaces, either above or below. Sometimes,
several hatchings occur on the same day,
within the same hour, some farther back in the
row of cells, some farther forward; and this
without any apparent reason for the simul-
taneity. In short, the hatchings follow upon
one another, I will not say haphazard—for
each of them has its appointed place in time,
determined by impenetrable causes—but at
any rate contrary to our calculations, based on
this or the other consideration.

Had we not been deceived by our too shal-
low logic, we might have foreseen this result.
The eggs are laid in their respective cells at

Bramble-Dwellers

intervals of a few days, of a few hours. How
can this slight difference in age affect the total
evolution, which lasts a year? Mathematical
accuracy has nothing to do with the case.
Each germ, each grub has its individual
energy, determined we know not how and
varying in each germ or grub. This excess
of vitality belongs to the egg before it leaves
the ovary. Might it not, at the moment of
hatching, be the cause why this or that larva
takes precedence of its elders or its juniors,
chronology being altogether a secondary con-
sideration? When the hen sits upon her eggs,
is the oldest always the first to hatch? In the
same way, the oldest larva, lodged in the bot-
tom storey, need not necessarily reach the per-
fect state first.

A second argument, had we reflected more
deeply on the matter, would have shaken our
faith in any strict mathematical sequence.
The same brood forming the string of cocoons
in a bramble-stem contains both males and fe-
males; and the two sexes are divided in the
series indiscriminately. Now it is the rule
among the Bees for the males to issue from
the cocoon a little earlier than the females. In
the case of the Three-pronged Osmia, the

Bramble-bees and Others

male has about a week’s start. Consequently,
in a populous gallery, there is always a certain
number of males, who are hatched seven or
eight days before the females and who are dis-
tributed here and there over the series. This
would be enough to make any regular hatch-
ing-sequence impossible in either direction.
These surmises accord with the facts: the
chronological sequence of the cells tells us
nothing about the chronological sequence of
the hatchings, which take place without any
definite order. ‘There is, therefore, no sur-
render of rights of primogeniture, as Léon
Dufour thought: each insect, regardless of
the others, bursts its cocoon when its time
comes; and this time is determined by causes
which escape our notice and which, no doubt,
depend upon the potentialities of the egg it-
self. It is the case with the other bramble-
dwellers which I have subjected to the same
test (Osmia detrita, Anthidium scapulare, So-
lenius vagus, etc.) ; and it must also be the
case with Odynerus rubicol: so the most stri-
king analogies inform us. Therefore the sin-
gular exception which made such an impres-
sion on Dufour’s mind is a sheer logical

delusion,
19

Bramble-Dwellers

An error removed is tantamount to a truth
gained; and yet, if it were to end here, the
result of my experiment would possess but
slight value. After destruction, let us turn
to construction; and perhaps we shall find the
wherewithal to compensate us for a lost il-
lusion. Let us begin by watching the exit.

The first Osmia to leave her cocoon, no
matter what place she occupies in the series,
forthwith attacks the ceiling separating her
from the floor above. She cuts a fairly clean
hole in it, shaped like a truncate cone, having
its larger base on the side where the Bee is
and its smaller base opposite. This conform-
ation of the exit-door is a characteristic of
the work. When the insect tries to attack
the diaphragm, it first digs more or less at
random; then, as the boring progresses, the
action is concentrated upon an area which
narrows until it presents no more than just
the necessary passage. Nor is the cone-
shaped aperture special to the Osmia: I have
seen it made by the other bramble-dwellers
through my thick disks of sorghum-pith. Un-
der natural conditions, the partitions, which,
for that matter, are very thin, are destroyed
absolutely, for the contraction of the cell at

Bramble-bees and Others

the top leaves barely the width which the in-
sect needs. The truncate, cone-shaped breach
has often been of great use to me. Its wide
base made it possible for me, without being
present at the work, to judge which of the
two neighbouring Osmiz had pierced the par-
tition; it told me the direction of a nocturnal
migration which I had been unable to wit-
ness.

The first-hatched Osmia, wherever she may
be, has made a hole in her ceiling. She is
now in the presence of the next cocoon, with
her head at the opening of the hole. In front
of her sister’s cradle, she usually stops, con-
sumed with shyness; she draws back into her
cell, flounders among the shreds of the cocoon
and the wreckage of the ruined ceiling; she
waits a day, two days, three days, more if
necessary. Should impatience gain the upper
hand, she tries to slip between the wall of the
tunnel and the cocoon that blocks the way.
She even undertakes the laborious work of
gnawing at the wall, so as to widen the in-
terval, if possible. We find these attempts,
in the shaft of a bramble, at places where the
pith is removed down to the very wood,
where the wood itself is gnawed to some

Bramble-Dwellers

depth. I need hardly say that, although these
lateral inroads are perceptible after the event,
they escape the eye at the moment when they
are being made.

If we would witness them, we must slightly
modify the glass apparatus. I line the inside
of the tube with a thick piece of whity-brown
packing-paper, but only over one half of the
circumference; the other half is left bare, so
that I may watch the Osmia’s attempts.
Well, the captive insect fiercely attacks this
lining, which to its eyes represents the pithy
layer of its usual abode; it tears it away by
tiny particles and strives to cut itself a road
between the cocoon and the glass wall. The
males, who are a little smaller, have a better
chance of success than the females. Flatten-
ing themselves, making themselves thin,
slightly spoiling the shape of the cocoon,
which, however, thanks to its elasticity, soon
recovers its first condition, they slip through
the narrow passage and reach the next cell.
The females, when in a hurry to get out, do
as much, if they find the tube at all amenable
to the process. But no sooner is the first par-
tition passed than a second presents itself.
This is pierced in its turn. In the same way

Bramble-bees and Others

will the third be pierced and others after that,
if the insect can manage them, as long as its
strength holds out. Too weak for these re-
peated borings, the males do not go far
through my thick plugs. If they contrive to
cut through the first, it is as much as they can
do; and, even so, they are far from always
succeeding. But, in the conditions presented
by the native stalk, they have only feeble tis-
sues to overcome; and then, slipping, as I
have said, between the cocoon and the wall,
which is slightly worn owing to the circum-
stances described, they are able to pass
through the remaining occupied chambers and
to reach the outside first, whatever their origi-
nal place in the stack of cells. It is just pos-
sible that their early eclosion forces this
method of exit upon them, a method which,
though often attempted, does not always suc-
ceed. The females, furnished with stronger
tools, make greater progress in my tubes. I
see some who pierce three or four partitions,
one after the other, and are so many stages
ahead before those whom they have left be-
hind are even hatched. While they are en-
gaged in this long and toilsome operation,
others, nearer to the orifice, have cleared a
23

Bramble-Dwellers

passage whereof those from a distance will
avail themselves. In this way, it may happen
that, when the width of the tube permits, an
Osmia in a back row will nevertheless be one
of the first to emerge.

In the bramble-stem, which is of exactly
the same diameter as the cocoon, this escape
by the side of the column appears hardly
practicable, except to a few males; and even
these have to find a wall which has so much
pith that by taking it away they can effect a
passage. Let us then imagine a tube so nar-
row as to prevent any exit save in the natural
sequence of the cells. What will happen? A
very simple thing. The newly-hatched Osmia,
after perforating his partition, finds himself
faced with an unbroken cocoon that obstructs
the road. He makes a few attempts upon
the sides and, realizing his impotence, retires
into his cell, where he waits for days and
days, until his neighbour bursts her cocoon
in her turn. His patience is inexhaustible.
However, it is not put to an over-long test,
for within a week, more or less, the whole
string of females is hatched.

When two neighbouring Osmiz are re-
leased at the same time, mutual visits are paid

Bramble-bees and Others

through the aperture between the two rooms:
the one above goes down to the floor below;
the one below goes up to the floor above;
sometimes both of them are in the same cell
together. Might not this intercourse tend to
cheer them and encourage them to patience?
Meanwhile, slowly, doors are opening here
and there through the separating walls; the
road is cleared by sections; and a moment ar-
rives when the leader of the file walks out.
The others follow, if ready; but there are al-
ways laggards who keep the rear-ranks wait-
ing until they are gone.

. To sum up, first, the hatching of the larve
takes place without any order; secondly, the
exodus proceeds regularly from summit to
base, but only in consequence of the insect’s
inability to move forward so long as the up-
per cells are not vacated. We have here not
an exceptional evolution, in the inverse ratio
to age, but the simple impossibility of emer-
ging otherwise. If the chance occurs of going
out before its turn, the insect does not fail to
seize it, as we can see by the lateral move-
ments which send the impatient ones a few
ranks ahead and even release the more fa-
voured altogether. The only remarkable

Bramble-Dwellers

thing that I perceive is the scrupulous respect
shown to the as yet unopened neighbouring
cocoon. However eager to come out, the
Osmia is most careful not to touch it with his
mandibles: it is taboo. He will demolish the
partition, he will gnaw the side-wall fiercely,
even though there be nothing left but wood,
he will reduce everything around him to dust;
but touch a cocoon that obstructs his way?
Never! He will not make himself an outlet
by breaking up his sisters’ cradles.

It may happen that the Osmia’s patience is
in vain and that the barricade that blocks the
way never disappears at all. Sometimes, the
egg in a cell does not mature; and the uncon-
sumed provisions dry up and become a com-
pact, sticky, mildewed plug, through which
the occupants of the floors below could never
clear themselves a passage. Sometimes, again,
a grub dies in its cocoon; and the cradle of the
deceased, now turned into a coffin, forms an
everlasting obstacle. How shall the insect
cope with such grave circumstances ?

Among the many bramble-stumps which I
have collected, some few have presented a re-
markable peculiarity. In addition to the ori-
fice at the top, they had at the side one and

Bramble-bees and Others

sometimes two round apertures that looked as
though they had been punched out with an in-
strument. On opening these stalks, which
were old, deserted nests, I discovered the cause
of these very exceptional windows. Above
each of them was a cell full of mouldy honey.
The egg had perished and the provisions re-
mained untouched: hence the impossibility of
getting out by the ordinary road. Walled in
by the insurmountable obstacle, the Osmia on
the floor below had contrived an outlet
through the side of the shaft; and those in the
lower storeys had benefited by this ingenious
innovation. The usual door being inaccessi-
ble, a side-window had been opened by means
of the insect’s jaws. The cocoons, torn, but
still in position, in the lower rooms, left no
doubt as to this eccentric mode of exit. The
same fact, moreover, was repeated, in several
bramble-sticks, in the case of Osmia trident-
ata; it was likewise repeated in the case of
Anthidium scapulare. The observation was
worth confirming by experiment.

I select a bramble-stem with the thinnest
rind possible, so as to facilitate the Osmiz’s
work. I split it in half, thus obtaining a
smooth-sided trough which will enable me to

Bramble-Dwellers

judge better of future exits. The cocoons are
next laid out in one of the troughs. I sepa-
rate them with disks of sorghum, covering
both surfaces of the disk with a generous layer
of sealing-wax, a material which the Osmia’s
mandibles are not able to attack. The two
troughs are then placed together and fastened.
A little putty does away with the joint and
prevents the least ray of light penetrating.
Lastly, the apparatus is hung up perpendicu-
larly, with the cocoons’ heads up. We have
now only to wait. None of the Osmiz can
get out in the usual manner, because each of
them is confined between two partitions coated
with sealing-wax. There is but one resource
left to them if they would emerge into the
light of day, that is, for each of them to open
a side-window, provided always that they pos-
sess the instinct and the power to do so.

In July, the result is as follows: of twenty
Osmiz thus immured, six succeed in boring a
round hole through the wall and making their
way out; the others perish in their cells, with-
out managing to release themselves. But,
when I open the cylinder, when I separate the
two wooden troughs, I realize that all have
attempted to escape through the side, for the

Bramble-bees and Others

wall of each cell bears traces of gnawing con-
centrated upon one spot. All, therefore, have
acted in the same way as their more fortunate
sisters; they did not succeed, because their
strength failed them. Lastly, in my glass
tubes, part-lined with a thick piece of packing-
paper, I often see attempts at making a win-
dow in the side of the cell: the paper is pierced
right through with a round hole.

This then is yet another result which I am
glad to record in the history of the bramble-
dwellers. When the Osmia, the Anthidium
and probably others are unable to emerge
through the customary outlet, they take an
heroic decision and perforate the side of the
shaft. It is the last resource, resolved upon
after other methods have been tried in vain.
The brave, the strong succeed; the weak pe-
rish in the attempt.

Supposing that all the Osmiz possessed the
necessary strength of jaw as well as the in-
_stinct for this sideward boring, it is clear that
egress from each cell through a special win-
dow would be much more advantageous than
egress through the common door. The Bee
could attend to his release as soon as he was
hatched, instead of postponing it until after

Bramble-Dwellers

the emancipation of those who come before
him; he would thus escape long waits, which
too often prove fatal. In point of fact, it is
no uncommon thing to find bramble-stalks in
which several Osmiz have died in their cells,
because the upper storeys were not vacated in
time. Yes, there would be a precious advant-
age in that lateral opening, which would not
leave each occupant at the mercy of his en-
vironment: many die that would not die. All
the Osmiz, when compelled by circumstances,
resort to this supreme method; all have the in-
stinct for lateral boring; but very few are able
to carry the work through. Only the favour-
ites of fate succeed, those more generously
endowed with strength and perseverance.

If the famous law of natural selection,
which is said to govern and transform the
world, had any sure foundation; if really the
fittest removed the less fit from the scene; if
the future were to the strongest, to the most
industrious, surely the race of Osmiz, which
has been perforating bramble-stumps for ages,
should by this time have allowed its weaker
members, who go on obstinately using the com-
mon outlet, to die out and should have re-
placed them, down to the very last one, by the

Bramble-bees and Others

stalwart drillers of side-openings. There is
an opportunity here for immense progress; the
insect is on the verge of it and is unable to
cross the narrow intervening line. Selection
has had ample time to make its choice; and
yet, though there be a few successes, the fail-
ures exceed them in a very large measure.
The race of the strong has not abolished the
race of the weak: it remains inferior in num-
bers, as doubtless it has been since all time.
The law of natural selection impresses me
with the vastness of its scope; but, whenever
I try to apply it to actual facts, it leaves me
whirling in space, with nothing to help me to
interpret realities. It is magnificent in theory,
but it is a mere gas-bubble in the face of
existing conditions. It is majestic, but sterile.
Then where is the answer to the riddle of the
world? Who knows? Who will ever know?

Let us waste no more time in this darkness,
which our vain theories will not dispel; let us
return to facts, humble facts, the only ground
that does not give way under our feet. The
Osmia respects her neighbour’s cocoon and
her scruples are so great that, after vainly
trying to slip between that cocoon and the
wall, or else to open a lateral outlet, she lets

Bramble-Dwellers

herself die in her cell rather than effect an
egress by forcing her way through the occu-
pied cells. When the cocoon that blocks the
way contains a dead instead of a live grub,
will the result be the same?

In my glass tubes, I let Osmia-cocoons con-
taining a live grub alternate with Osmia-
cocoons in which the grub has been asphyxi-
ated by the fumes of sulphocarbonic acid. As
usual, the storeys are separated by disks of
sorghum. ‘The anchorites, when hatched, do
not hesitate long. Once the partition is
pierced, they attack the dead cocoons, go
right through them, reducing the dead grub,
now dry and shrivelled, to dust, and at last
emerge, after wrecking everything in their
path. The dead cocoons, therefore, are not
spared; they are treated as would be any
other obstacle capable of attack by the mandi-
bles. The Osmia looks upon them as a mere
barricade to be ruthlessly overturned. How
is she apprised that the cocoon, which has un-
dergone no outward change, contains a dead
and not a live grub? It is certainly not by
sight. Can it be by sense of smell? I am
always a little suspicious of that sense of
smell, of which we do not know the seat and

Bramble-bees and Others

which we introduce on the slightest provoca-
tion as a convenient explanation of that which
may transcend our explanatory powers.

My next test is made with a string of live
cocoons. Of course, I cannot take all these
from the same species, for then the experi-
ment would not differ from the one which we
have already witnessed; I take them from two
different species which leave their bramble-
stem at separate periods. Moreover, these
cocoons must have nearly the same diameter
to allow of their being stacked in a tube with-
out leaving an empty space between them and
the wall. The two species adopted are Sole-
nius vagus, who quits the bramble at the end
of June, and Osmia detrita, who comes a lit-
tle earlier, in the first fortnight of the same
month. I therefore alternate Osmia-cocoons
and Solenius-cocoons, with the latter at the
top of the series, either in glass tubes or be-
tween two bramble-troughs joined into a cylin-
der.

The result of this promiscuity is strik-
ing. The Osmiaz, who mature earlier,
emerge; and the Solenius-cocoons, as well as
their inhabitants, who by this time have
reached the perfect stage, are reduced to

Bramble-Dwellers

shreds, to dust, wherein it is impossible for me
to recognize a vestige, save perhaps here and
there a head, of the exterminated unfortu-
nates. The Osmia, therefore, has not re-
spected the live cocoons of a foreign species:
she has passed out over the bodies of the in-
tervening Solenii. Did I say passed over their
bodies? She has passed through them,
crunched the laggards between her jaws,
treated them as cavalierly as she treats my
disks. And yet those barricades were alive.
No matter, when her hour came, the Osmia
went ahead, destroying everything upon her
road. Here, at any rate, is a law on which we
can rely: the supreme indifference of the ani-
mal to all that does not form part of itself
and its race.

And what of the sense of smell, distinguish-
ing the dead from the living? Here, all are
alive; and the Bee pierces her way as through
a row of corpses. If I am told that the smell
of the Solenii may differ from that of the
Osmiz, I shall reply that such extreme sub-
tlety in the insect’s olfactory apparatus seems
to me a rather far-fetched supposition. Then
what is my explanation of the two facts? The
explanation? I have none to give! I am

Bramble-bees and Others

quite content to know that I do not know,
which at least spares me many vain lucubra-
tions. And so I do not know how the Osmia,
in the dense darkness of her tunnel, distin-
guishes between a live cocoon and a dead co-
coon of the same species; and I know just as
little how she succeeds in recognizing a strange
cocoon. Ah, how clearly this confession of
ignorance proves that I am behind the times!
I am deliberately missing a glorious oppor-
tunity of stringing big words together and ar-
riving at nothing.

The bramble-stump is perpendicular, or
nearly so; its opening is at the top. This is
the rule under natural conditions. My arti-
fices are able to alter that state of things: I
can place the tube vertically or horizontally;
turn its one orifice either up or down; lastly,
I can leave the channel open at both ends,
which will give two outlets. What will hap-
pen under these several conditions? That is
what we shall examine with the Three-
pronged Osmia.

The tube is hung perpendicularly, but
closed at the top and open at the bottom; in
fact, it represents a bramble-stump turned up-
side down. To vary and complicate the ex-

Bramble-Dwellers

periment, the strings of cocoons are arranged
differently in different tubes. In some of them,
the heads of the cocoons are turned down-
wards, towards the opening; in others, they
are turned upwards, towards the closed end;
in others again, the cocoons alternate in direc-
tion, that is to say, they are placed head to
head and rear to rear, turn and turn about.
I need not say that the separating floors are
of sorghum.

The result is identical in all these tubes. If
the Osmiz have their heads pointing upwards,
they attack the partition above them, as hap-
pens under normal conditions ; if their heads
point downwards, they turn round in their
cells and set to work as usual. In short, the
general outward trend is towards the top, in
whatever position the cocoon be placed.

We here see manifestly at work the in-
fluence of gravity, which warns the insect of
its reversed position and makes it turn round,
even as it would warn us if we ourselves hap-
pened to be hanging head downwards. In
natural conditions, the insect has but to follow
the counsels of gravity, which tells it to dig
upwards, and it will infallibly reach the exit-
door situated at the upper end. But, in my

Bramble-bees and Others

apparatus, these same counsels betray it: it
goes towards the top, where there is no outlet.
Thus misled by my artifices, the Osmia per-
ish, heaped up on the higher floors and buried
in the ruins.

It nevertheless happens that attempts are
made to clear a road downwards. But it is.
rare for the work to lead to anything in this
direction, especially in the case of the middle
or upper cells. The insect is little inclined for
this progress, the opposite to that to which it
is accustomed; besides, a serious difficulty
arises in the course of this reversed boring. As
the Bee flings the excavated materials behind
her, these fall back of their own weight under
her mandibles; the clearance has to be begun
anew. Exhausted by her Sisyphean task, dis-
trustful of this new and unfamiliar method,
the Osmia resigns herself and expires in her
cell. I am bound to add, however, that the
Osmiz in the lower storeys, those nearest the
exit—sometimes one, sometimes two or three
—do succeed in escaping. In that case, they
unhesitatingly attack the partitions below
them, while their companions, who form the
great majority, persist and perish in the upper
cells.

Bramble-Dwellers

It was easy to repeat the experiment with-
out changing anything in the natural condi-
tions, except the direction of the cocoons: all
that I had to do was to hang up some bram-
ble-stumps as I found them, vertically, but
with the opening downwards. Out of two
stalks thus arranged and peopled with Osmia,
not one of the insects succeeded in emerging.
All the Bees died in the shaft, some turned
upwards, others downwards. On the other
hand, three stems occupied by Anthidia dis-
charged their population safe and sound.
The outgoing was effected at the bottom,
from first to last, without the least impedi-
ment. Must we take it that the two sorts of
Bees are not equally sensitive to the influences
of gravity? Can the Anthidium, built to pass
through the difficult obstacle of her cotton
wallets, be better-adapted than the Osmia to
make her way through the wreckage that
keeps falling under the worker’s feet; or,
rather, may not this very cotton-waste put a
stop to those cataracts of rubbish which must
naturally drive the insect back? This is all
quite possible; but I can say nothing for cert-
ain.

Let us now experiment with vertical tubes

Bramble-bees and Others

open at both ends. The arrangements, save
for the upper orifice, are the same as before.
The cocoons, in some of the tubes, have their
heads turned down; others, up; in others
again, their positions alternate. The result is
similar to what we have seen above. A few
Osmiz, those nearest the bottom orifice, take
the lower road, whatever the direction first oc-
cupied by the cocoon; the others, composing
by far the larger number, take the higher
road, even when the cocoon is placed upside
down. As both doors are free, the outgoing
is effected at either end with success.

What are we to conclude from all these ex-
periments? First, that gravity guides the
insect towards the top, where the natural door
is, and makes it turn in its cell when the co-
coon has been reversed. Secondly, I seem to
suspect an atmospheric influence and, in any
case, some second cause that sends the insect
to the outlet. Let us admit that this cause
is the proximity of the outer air acting upon
the anchorite through the partitions.

The animal then is subject, on the one
hand, to the promptings of gravity; and this
to an equal degree for all, whatever the storey
inhabited. Gravity is the common guide of

Bramble-Dwellers

the whole series from base to top. But those
in the lower boxes have a second guide, when
the bottom end is open. This is the stimulus
of the adjacent air, a more powerful stimulus
than that of gravity. The access of the air
from without is very slight, because of the
partitions; while it can be felt in the nether-
most cells, it must decrease rapidly as the
storeys ascend. Wherefore the bottom insects,
very few in number, obeying the preponderant
influence, that of the atmosphere, make for
the lower outlet and reverse, if necessary,
their original position; those above, on the
contrary, who form the great majority, being
guided only by gravity, in the case where the
upper end is closed, make for that upper end.
It goes without saying that, if the upper end
be open at the same time as the other, the oc-
cupants of the top storeys will have a double
incentive to take the ascending path, though
this will not prevent the dwellers on the lower
floors from obeying, by preference, the call
of the adjacent air and adopting the down-
ward road.

I have one means left whereby to judge of
the value of my explanation, namely, to ex-
periment with tubes open at both ends and

Bramble-bees and Others

lying horizontally. The horizontal position
has a twofold advantage. In the first place, it
removes the insect from the influence of
gravity, inasmuch as it leaves it indifferent to
the direction to be taken, the right or the left.
In the second place, it does away with the
descent of the rubbish which, falling under
the worker’s feet when the boring is done
from below, sooner or later discourages her
and makes her abandon her enterprise.

There are a few precautions to be observed
for the successful conduct of the experiment;
I recommend them to any who might care to
make the attempt. It is even advisable to re-
member them in the case of the tests which I
have already described. The males, those
puny creatures, not built for work, are sorry
labourers when confronted with my stout
disks. Most of them perish miserably in their
glass cells, without succeeding in piercing their
partition right through. Moreover, instinct
has been less generous to them than to the fe-
males. ‘Their corpses, interspersed here and
there in the series of the cells, are disturbing
causes, which it is wise to eliminate. I there-
fore choose the larger, more powerful-looking
cocoons. ‘These, except for an occasional un-

Bramble-Dwellers

avoidable error, belong to females. I pack
them in tubes, sometimes varying their posi-
tion in every way, sometimes giving them all
a like arrangement. It does not matter
whether the whole series comes from one
and the same bramble-stump or from several :
we are free to choose where we please; the
result will not be altered.

The first time that I prepared one of these
horizontal tubes open at both ends, I was
greatly struck by what happened. The series
consisted of ten cocoons. It was divided into
two equal batches. The five on the left went
out on the left, the five on the right went out
on the right, reversing, when necessary, their
original direction in the cell. It was very re-
markable from the point of view of sym-
metry; moreover, .it was a very unlikely ar-
rangement among the total number of possi-
ble arrangements, as mathematics will show
us.

Let us take to represent the number of
Osmiez. Each of them, once gravity ceases
to interfere and leaves the insect indifferent to
either end of the tube, is capable of two posi-
tions according as she chooses the exit on the
right or on the left. With each of the two

Bramble-bees and Others

positions of this first Osmia can be combined
each of the two positions of the second, giving
us, in all, 2 xX 2 = 2? arrangements. Each
of these 2* arrangements can be combined, in
its turn, with each of the two positions of the
third Osmia. We thus obtain2z « 2 KX 2= 2
arrangements with three Osmiz; and so on,
each additional insect multiplying the previous
result by the factor 2. With x Osmiz, there-
fore, the total number of arrangements is 2".
But note that these arrangements are sym-
metrical, two by two: a given arrangement to-
wards the right corresponds with a similar ar-
rangement towards the left; and this sym-
metry implies equality, for, in the problem in
hand, it is a matter of indifference whether a
fixed arrangement corresponds with the
right or left of the tube. The previous num-
ber, therefore, must be divided by 2. Thus,
n Osmiz, according as each of them turns her
head to the right or left in my horizontal tube,
are able to adopt 2”* arrangements. If » =
10, as in my first experiment, the number of
arrangements becomes 2° = 512.
Consequently, out of 512 ways which my
ten insects can adopt for their outgoing posi-
tion, there resulted one of those in which the
43

Bramble-Dwellers

symmetry was most striking. And observe
that this was not an effect obtained by repeated
attempts, by haphazard experiments. Each
Osmia in the left half had bored to the left,
without touching the partition on the right;
each Osmia in the right half had bored to the
right, without touching the partition on the
left. The shape of the orifices and the sur-
face condition of the partition showed this,
if proof were necessary. There had been a
spontaneous decision, one half in favour of
the exit on the left, one half in favour of
that on the right.

The arrangement presents another merit,
one superior to that of symmetry: it has the
merit of corresponding with the minimum ex-
penditure of force. To admit of the exit of
the whole series, if the string consists of x
cells, there are originally » partitions to be
perforated. There might even be one more,
owing to a complication which I disregard.
There are, I say, at least partitions to be
perforated. Whether each Osmia pierces her
own, or whether the same Osmia pierces sev-
eral, thus relieving her neighbours, does not
matter to us: the sum total of the force ex-
pended by the string of Bees will be in pro-

Bramble-bees and Others

portion to the number of those partitions, in
whatever manner the exit be effected.

But there is another task which we must
take seriously into consideration, because it is
often more troublesome than the boring of
the partition: I mean the work of clearing a
road through the wreckage. Let us suppose
the partitions pierced and the several cham-
bers blocked by the resulting rubbish and by
that rubbish only, since the horizontal position
precludes any mixing of the contents of differ-
ent chambers. To open a passage for itself
through these rubbish-heaps, each insect will
have the smallest effort to make if it passes
through the smallest possible number of cells,
in short, if it makes for the opening nearest
to it. These smallest individual efforts
amount, in the aggregate, to the smallest total
effort. Therefore, by proceeding as they did
in my experiment, the Osmiz effect their exit
with the least expenditure of energy. It is
curious to see an insect apply the “principle of
least action,” so often postulated in mechanics.

An arrangement which satisfies this prin-
ciple, which conforms to the law of symmetry
and which possess but one chance in 512 is cer-
tainly no fortuitous result. It is determined

Bramble-Dwellers

by a cause; and, as this cause acts invariably,
the same arrangement must be reproduced if
I renew the experiment. I renewed it, there-
fore, in the years that followed, with as many
appliances as I could find bramble-stumps;
and, at each new test, I saw once more what
I had seen with such interest on the first oc-
casion. If the number be even—and my col-
umn at that time consisted usually of ten—
one half goes out on the right, the other on
the left. If the number be odd—eleven, for
instance—the Osmia in the middle goes out
indiscriminately by the right or left exit. As
the number of cells to be traversed is the same
on both sides, her expenditure of energy does
not vary with the direction of the exit; and the
principle of least action is still observed.

It was important to discover if the Three-
pronged Osmia shared her capacity, in the
first place, with the other bramble-dwellers
and, in the second, with Bees differently
housed, but also destined laboriously to cut a
new road for themselves when the hour comes
to quit the nest. Well, apart from a few ir-
regularities, due either to cocoons whose larva
perished in my tubes before developing, or to
those inexperienced workers, the males, the

Bramble-bees and Others

result was the same in the case of Anthidium
scapulare. The insects divided themselves
into two equal batches, one going to the right,
the other to the left. Tripoxylon figulus left
me undecided. This feeble insect is not ca-
pable of perforating my partitions; it nibbles
at them a little; and I had to judge the
direction from the marks of its mandibles.
These marks, which are not always very plain,
do not yet allow me to pronounce an opinion.
Solenius vagus, who is a skilful borer, be-
haved differently from the Osmia. In a col-
umn of ten, the whole exodus was made in
one direction.

On the other hand, I tested the Mason-bee
of the Sheds, who, when emerging under na-
tural conditions, has only to pierce her cement
ceiling and is not confronted with a series of
cells. Though a stranger to the environment
which I created for her, she gave me a most
positive answer. Of a column of ten laid in
a horizontal tube open at both ends, five made
their way to the right and five to the left.
Dioxys cincta, a parasite in the buildings of
both species of Mason-bees, the Chalicodoma
of the Sheds and the Chalicodoma of the
Walls, provided me with no precise result.

Bramble-Dwellers

The Leaf-cutting Bee (Megachile apicalis,
SPIN.), who builds her leafy cups in the old
cells of the Chalicodoma of the Walls, acts
like the Solenius and directs her whole column
towards the same outlet.

Incomplete as it is, this symmetry shows us
how unwise it were to generalize from the
conclusions to which the Three-pronged Osmia
leads us. Whereas some Bees, such as the
Anthidium and the Chalicodoma, share the
Osmia’s talent for using the twofold exit,
others, such as the Solenius and the Leaf-cut-
ter, behave like a flock of sheep and follow
the first that goes out. ‘The entomological
world is not all of a piece; its gifts are very
various: what one is capable of doing another
cannot do; and penetrating indeed would be
the eyes that saw the causes of these differ-
ences. Be this as it may, increased research
will certainly show us a larger number of
species qualified to use the double outlet. For
the moment, we know of three; and that is
enough for our purpose.

I will add that, when the horizontal tube
has one of its ends closed, the whole string of
Osmiz makes for the open end, turning round
to do so, if need be.

Bramble-bees and Others

Now that the facts are set forth, let us, if
possible, trace the cause. In a horizontal
tube, gravity no longer acts to determine the
direction which the insect will take. Is it to
attack the partition on the right or that on the
left? How shall it decide? The more I look
into the matter, the more do my suspicions
fall upon the atmospheric influence which is
felt through the two open ends. Of what
does this influence consist? Is it an effect of
pressure, of hygrometry, of electrical condi-
tions, of properties that escape our coarser
physical attunement? He were a bold man
who should undertake to decide. Are not we
ourselves, when the weather is about to
alter, subject to subtle impressions, to sensa-
tions which we are unable to explain? And
yet this vague sensitiveness to atmospheric
changes would not be of much help to us in
circumstances similar to those of my anchor-
ites. Imagine ourselves in the darkness and
the silence of a prison-cell, preceded and fol-
lowed by other similar cells. We possess im-
plements wherewith to pierce the walls; but
where are we to strike to reach the final outlet
and to reach it with the least delay? Atmos-

Bramble-Dwellers

pheric influence would certainly never guide
us.

And yet it guides the insect. Feeble though
it be, through the multiplicity of partitions,
it is exercised on one side more than on the
other, because the obstacles are fewer; and the
insect, sensible to the difference between those
two uncertainties, unhesitatingly attacks the
partition which is nearer to the open air.
Thus is decided the division of the column into
two converse sections, which accomplish the
total liberation with the least aggregate of
work. In short, the Osmia and her rivals
“feel” the free space. This is yet one more
sensory faculty which evolution might well
have left us, for our greater advantage. As
it has not done so, are we then really, as many
contend, the highest expression of the progress
accomplished, throughout the ages, by the first
atom of glair expanded into a cell?

eee

CHAPTER II
THE OSMIAE

EBRUARY has its sunny days, heralding
spring, to which rude winter will reluct-
antly yield place. In snug corners, among
the rocks, the great spurge of our district, the
characias of the Greeks, the jusclo of the
Provengals, begins to lift its drooping inflor-
escence and discreetly opens a few sombre
flowers. Here the first Midges of the year
will come to slake their thirst. By the time
that the tip of the stalks reaches the perpend-
icular, the worst of the cold weather will
be over.

Another eager one, the Almond-tree, risk-
ing the loss of its fruit, hastens to echo these
preludes to the festival of the sun, preludes

‘which are too often treacherous. A few days
of soft skies and it becomes a glorious dome
of white flowers, each twinkling with a roseate
eye. [The country, which still lacks green,
seems dotted everywhere with white-satin pa-

Bramble-bees and Others

vilions. ’ITwould be a callous heart indeed
that could resist the magic of this awakening.

The insect nation is represented at these
rites by a few of its more zealous members.
There is first of all the Honey-bee, the sworn
enemy of strikes, who profits by the least lull
of winter to find out if some rosemary is not
beginning to open somewhere near the hive.
The droning of the busy swarm fills the flow-
ery vault, while a snow of petals falls softly
to the foot of the tree.

Together with the population of harvest-
ers there mingles another, less numerous, of
mere drinkers, whose nesting-time has not yet
begun. This is the colony of the Osmia, with
their copper-coloured skin and_ bright-red
fleece. Two species have come hurrying up to
take part in the joys of the almond-tree: first,
the Horned Osmia, clad in black velvet on the
head and breast and in red velvet on the ab-
domen; and, a little later, the Three-horned
Osmia, whose livery must be red and red only.
These are the first delegates dispatched by the
pollen-gleaners to ascertain the state of the
season and attend the festival of the early
blooms. ’Tis but a moment since they burst
their cocoon, the winter abode; they have left

The Osmiae

their retreats in the crevices of the old walls;
should the north-wind blow and set the al-
mond-tree shivering, they will hasten to re-
turn to them. MHail to you, O my dear
Osmiz, who yearly, from the far end of the
harmas, opposite snow-capped Ventoux, bring
me the first tidings of the awakening of the
insect world! I am one of your friends; let
us talk about you a little.

Most of the Osmie of my region have
none of the industry of their kinswomen of
the brambles, that is to say, they do not them-
selves prepare the dwelling destined for the
laying. They want ready-made lodgings, such
as the old cells and old galleries of Antho-
phore and Chalicodome. If these favourite
haunts are lacking, then a hiding-place in the
wall, a round hole in some bit of wood, the
tube of a reed, the spiral of a dead Snail under
a heap of stones are adopted, according to the
tastes of the several species. The retreat se-
lected is divided into chambers by partition-
walls, after which the entrance to the dwell-
ing receives a massive seal. That is the sum
total of the building done.

For this plasterer’s rather than mason’s

work, the Horned and the Three-horned Os-
53

Bramble-bees and Others

mia employ soft earth. ‘This material is dif-
ferent from the Mason-bee’s cement, which
will withstand wind and weather for many
years on an exposed pebble; it is a sort of
dried mud, which turns to pap on the addition
of a drop of water. The Mason-bee gathers
her cementing-dust in the most frequented and
driest portions of the road; she wets it with
a saliva which, in drying, gives it the consist-
ency of stone. The two Osmiz who are the
almond-tree’s early visitors are no chemists:
they know nothing of the making and mixing
of hydraulic mortar; they limit themselves to
gathering natural soaked earth, mud in short,
which they allow to dry without any special
preparation on their part; and so they need
deep and well-sheltered retreats, into which
the rain cannot penetrate, or the work would
fall to pieces.

While exploiting, in friendly rivalry with
the Three-horned Osmia, the galleries which
the Mason-bee of the Sheds good-naturedly
surrenders to both, Latreille’s Osmia uses dif-
ferent materials for her partitions and her
doors. She chews the leaves of some mucila-
ginous plant, some mallow perhaps, and then
prepares a sort of green putty with which she

The Osmiae

builds her partitions and finally closes the en-
trance to the dwelling. When she settles in
the spacious cells of the Masked Anthophora
(Anthophora personata, ILLIG.), the entrance
to the gallery, which is wide enough to admit
one’s finger, is closed with a voluminous plug
of this vegetable paste. On the earthy banks,
hardened by the sun, the home is then be-
trayed by the gaudy colour of the lid. It is
as though the authorities had closed the door
and afhixed to it their great seals of green wax.
So far then as their building-materials are
concerned, the Osmie whom I have been
able to observe are divided into two classes:
one building compartments with mud, the
other with a green-tinted vegetable putty.
The first section includes the Horned Osmia
and the Three-horned Osmia, both so remark-
able for the horny tubercles on their faces.
The great reed of the south, the Arundo
donax, is often used, in the country, for rough
garden-shelters against the mistral or just for
fences. These reeds, the ends of which are
chopped off to make them all the same length,
are planted perpendicularly in the earth. I
have often explored them in the hope of find-
ing Osmia-nests, My search has very seldom
55

Bramble-bees and Others

succeeded; but the failure is easily explained.
The partitions and the closing-plug of the
Horned and of the Three-horned Osmia are
made, as we have seen, of a sort of mud which
water instantly reduces to pap. With the
upright position of the reeds, the stopper of
the opening would receive the rain and would
become diluted; the ceilings of the storeys
would fall in and the family would perish by
drowning. Therefore the Osmia, who knew
of these drawbacks before I did, refuses the
reeds when they are placed perpendicularly.
The same reed is used for a second pur-
pose. We make canisses of it, that is to say,
hurdles, which, in spring, serve for the rear-
ing of silkworms and, in autumn, for the dry-
ing of figs. At the end of April and during
May, which is the time when the Osmiz work,
the canisses are indoors, in the silk-worm
nurseries, where the Bee cannot take possession
of them; in autumn, they are outside, expos-
ing their layers of figs and peeled peaches to
the sun; but by that time the Osmiz have long
disappeared. If, however, during the spring,
an old, disused hurdle is left out of doors,
in a horizontal position, the Three-horned
Osmia often takes possession of it and makes
56

The Osmiae

use of the two ends, where the reeds lie trun-
cated and open.

There are other quarters that suit the
Three-horned Osmia, who is not particular,
it seems to me, and will make shift with any
hiding-place, so long as it has the requisite
conditions of diameter, solidity, sanitation and
kindly darkness. The most original dwellings
that I know her to occupy are disused Snail-
shells, especially the house of the Common
Snail (Helix aspersa). Let us go to the slope
of the hills thick with olive-trees and inspect
the little supporting-walls which are built of
dry stones and face the south. In the crevices
of this insecure masonry, we shall reap a har-
vest of old Snail-shells, plugged with earth
right up to the orifice. The family of the
Three-horned Osmia is settled in the spiral of
these shells, which is subdivided into cham-
bers by mud partitions.

Let us inspect the stone-heaps, especially
those which come from the quarry-works.
Here we often find the Field-mouse sitting on
a grass mattress, nibbling acorns, almonds,
olive-stones and apricot-stones. The Rodent
varies his diet: to oily and farinaceous foods

he adds the Snail. When he is gone, he has
57

Bramble-bees and Others

left behind him, under the overhanging stones,
mixed up with the remains of other victuals,
an assortment of empty shells, sometimes
plentiful enough to remind me of the heap of
Snails which, cooked with spinach and eaten
country-fashion on Christmas Eve, are flung
away next day by the housewife. This gives
the Three-horned Osmia a handsome collec-

tion of tenements; and she does not fail to ~

profit by them. Then again, even if the Field-
mouse’s conchological museum be lacking, the
same broken stones serve as a refuge for
Garden Snails who come to live there and end
by dying there. When we see Three-horned
Osmiz enter the crevices of old walls and of
stone-heaps, there is no doubt about their oc-
cupation: they are getting free lodgings out
of the old Snail-shells of those labyrinths.

The Horned Osmia, who is less common,
might easily also be less ingenious, that is to
say, less rich in varieties of houses. She
seems to scorn empty shells. The only homes
that I know her to inhabit are the reeds of
the hurdles and the deserted cells of the
Masked Anthophora.

All the other Osmia whose method of nest-
building I know work with green putty, a

‘
ee

The Osmiae

paste made of some crushed leaf or other;
and none of them, except Latreille’s Osmia, is
provided with the horned or tubercled armour
of the mud-kneaders. I should like to know
what plants are used in making the putty;
probably each species has its own preferences
and its little professional secrets; but hitherto
observation has taught me nothing concern-
ing these details. Whatever worker prepare
it, the putty is very much the same in appear-
ance. When fresh, it is always a clear dark-
green. Later, especially in the parts exposed
to the air, it changes, no doubt through fer-
mentation, to the colour of dead leaves, to
brown, to dull-yellow; and the leafy cha-
racter of its origin is no longer apparent.
But uniformity in the materials employed
must not lead us to believe in uniformity
in the lodging; on the contrary, this
lodging varies greatly with the different
species, though there is a marked predi-
lection in favour of empty shells. Thus
Latreille’s Osmia, together with the Three-
horned Osmia, uses the spacious structures of
the Mason-bee of the Sheds; she likes the
magnificent cells of the Masked Anthophora;
and she is always ready to establish herself

Bramble-bees and Others

in the cylinder of any reed lying flat on the
ground.

I have already spoken of an Osmia (O.
cyanoxantha, PEREZ) who elects to make her
home in the old nests of the Mason-bee of the
Pebbles. Her closing-plug is made of a stout
concrete, consisting of fair-sized bits of
gravel sunk in the green paste; but for the
inner partitions she employs only unalloyed
putty. As the outer door, situated on the
curve of an unprotected dome, is exposed to
the inclemencies of the weather, the mother
has to think of fortifying it. Danger, no
doubt, is the originator of that gritty concrete.

The Golden Osmia (O. aurulenta, LATR.)
absolutely insists on an empty Snail-shell as
her residence. The Brown or Girdled Snail,
the Garden Snail and especially the Common
Snail, who has a more spacious spiral, all scat-
tered at random in the grass, at the foot of the
walls and of the sun-swept rocks, furnish her
with her usual dwelling-house. Her dried
putty is a kind of felt full of short white
hairs. It must come from some hairy-leaved
plant, one of the Boraginez perhaps, rich both
in mucilage and the necessary bristles.

The Red Osmia (O. rufo-hirta, LATR.)

os a

The Osmiae

has a weakness for the Brown Snail and the
Garden Snail, in whose shells I find her taking
refuge in April when the north-wind blows.
I am not yet much acquainted with her work,
which should resemble that of the Golden
Osmia.

The Green Osmia (O. viridana, Mora-
wiTz) takes up her quarters, tiny creature
that she is, in the spiral staircase of Bulimulus
radiatus. It is a very elegant, but very small
lodging, to say nothing of the fact that a con-
siderable portion is taken up with the green-
putty plug. There is just room for two.

The Andrenoid Osmia (O. andrenoides,
LatR.), who is so curious with her naked red
abdomen, appears to build her nest in the
shell of the Common Snail, where I discover
her refuged.

The Variegated Osmia (O. versicolor,
Latr.) settles in the Garden Snail’s shell,
almost right at the bottom of the spiral.

The Blue Osmia (O. cyanea, KirB.) seems
to me to accept many different quarters. I
have extracted her from old nests of the
Mason-bee of the Pebbles, from the galleries
dug in a roadside bank by the Colletes’ and

1A short-tongued Burrowing-bee known also as the Me-
litta—Translator’s Note. 6,

Bramble-bees and Others

lastly from the cavities made by some digger
or other in the decayed trunk of a willow-
tree.

Morawitz’ Osmia (O. Morawitzi, PEREZ)
is not uncommon in the old nests of
the Mason-bee of the Pebbles, but I
suspect her of favouring other lodgings
besides.

The Three-pronged Osmia (O. tridentata,
Dur. and PER.) creates a home of her own,
digging herself a channel with her mandibles
in dry bramble and sometimes in danewort.
It mixes a few scrapings of perforated pith
with the green paste. Its habits are shared
by the Ragged Osmia (O. detrita, PEREZ)
and by the Tiny Osmia (O. parvula, DuF.).

The Chalicodoma works in broad daylight,
on a tile, on a pebble, on a branch in the
hedge; none of her trade-practices is kept a
secret from the observer’s curiosity. ‘The
Osmia loves mystery. She wants a dark re-
treat, hidden from the eye. I would like,
nevertheless, to watch her in the privacy of
her home and to witness her work with the
same facility as if she were nest-building in
the open air. Perhaps there are some inter-
esting characteristics to be picked up in the

The Osmiae

depths of her retreats. It remains to be seen
whether my wish can be realized by some arti-
fice or other.

When studying the insect’s mental capacity,
especially its very retentive memory for
places, I was led to ask myself whether it
would not be possible to make a properly
chosen Bee build in any place that I wished,
even in my study. And I wanted, for an ex-
periment of this sort, not an individual but a
numerous colony. My preference leaned to-
ward the Three-horned Osmia, who is very
plentiful in my neighbourhood, where, to-
gether with Latreille’s Osmia, she frequents
in particular the monstrous nests of the Chali-
codoma of the Sheds. I therefore thought
out a scheme for making the Three-horned
Osmia accept my study as her settlement and
build her nests in glass tubes, through which
I could easily watch the process. To these
crystal galleries, which might well inspire a
certain distrust, were to be added more natu-
ral retreats: reeds of every length and thick-
ness and disused Chalicodoma-cells, taken
from among the biggest and the smallest. A
scheme like this sounds mad, I admit it,
while mentioning that perhaps none ever suc-

Bramble-bees and Others

ceeded so well with me. We shall see as
much presently.

My method is extremely simple. All I ask
is that the birth of my insects, that is to say,
their first seeing the light, their emerging
from the cocoon, should take place on the
spot where I propose to make them settle.
Here there must be retreats of no matter what
nature, but of a shape similar to that in which
the Osmia delights. The first impressions of
sight, which are the most long-lived of any,
shall bring back my insects to the place of
their birth. And not only will the Osmie
return, through the always open windows, but
they will also nidify on the natal spot if they
find something like the necessary conditions.

And so, all through the winter, I collect
Osmia-cocoons, picked up in the nests of the
Mason-bee of the Sheds; I go to Carpentras
to glean a more plentiful supply in the nests
of the Hairy-footed Anthophora, that old
acquaintance whose wonderful cities I used to
undermine when I was studying the history
of the Oil-beetles.t_ Later, at my request, a
pupil and intimate friend of mine, M. Henri

1This study is not yet translated into English; but cf.
The Life of the Fly: chaps. ii. and iv—Translator’s Note.

The Osmiae

Devillario, president of the civil court at
Carpentras, sends me a case of fragments
broken off the banks frequented by the Hairy-
footed Anthophora and the Anthophora of
the Walls, useful clods which furnish a hand-
some adjunct to my collection. Indeed, at the
end, I find myself with handfuls of cocoons
of the Three-horned Osmia. To count them
would weary my patience without serving
any particular purpose.

I spread out my stock in a large open box
on a table which receives a bright diffused
light, but not the direct rays of the sun. The
table stands between two windows facing
south and overlooking the garden. When
the moment of hatching comes, those two
windows will always remain open to give the
swarm entire liberty to go in and out as it
pleases. The glass tubes and the reed-stumps
are laid here and there, in fine disorder, close
to the heap of cocoons and all in a horizontal
position, for the Osmia will have nothing to
do with upright reeds. The hatching of some
of the Osmiz will therefore take place under
cover of the galleries destined to be the build-
ing-yard later; and the site will be all the
more deeply impressed on their memory.

Bramble-bees and Others

When I have made these comprehensive ar-
rangements, there is nothing more to be done;
and I wait patiently for the building-season
to open.

My Osmiz leave their cocoons in the sec-
ond half of April. Under the immediate rays
of the sun, in well-sheltered nooks, the hatch-
ing would occur a month earlier, as we can
see from the mixed population of the snowy
almond-tree. ‘The constant shade in my study
has delayed the awakening, without, however,
making any change in the nesting-period,
which synchronizes with the flowering of the
thyme. We now have, around my working-
table, my books, my jars and my various ap-
paratus, a buzzing crowd that goes in and
out of the windows at every moment. I en-
join the household henceforth not to touch a
thing in the insects’ laboratory, to do no more
sweeping, no more dusting. They might dis-
turb the swarm and make it think that my
hospitality was not to be trusted. I suspect
that the maid, wounded in her self-esteem at
seeing so much dust accumulating in the mas-
ter’s study, did not always respect my prohi-
bitions and came in stealthily, now and again,
to give a little sweep of the broom. At any

The Osmiae

rate, I came across a number of Osmiez who
appear to have been crushed under foot while
taking a sun-bath on the floor in front of the
window. Perhaps it was I myself who com-
mitted the misdeed in a heedless moment.
There is no great harm done, for the popula-
tion is a numerous one; and, notwithstanding
those crushed by inadvertence, notwithstand-
ing the parasites wherewith many of the co-
coons are infested, notwithstanding those who
may have come to grief outside or been unable
to find their way back, notwithstanding the
deduction of one-half which we must make for
the males: notwithstanding all this, during
four or five weeks I witness the work of a
number of Osmiz which is much too large to
allow of my watching their operations indi-
vidually. I content myself with a few, whom
I mark with different-coloured spots, to
distinguish them; and I take no notice of the
others, whose finished work will have my at-
tention later.

The first to appear are the males. If the
sun is bright, they flutter around the heap
of tubes as if to take careful note of the lo-
cality; blows are exchanged and the rival
swains indulge in mild skirmishing on the

Bramble-bees and Others

floor, then shake the dust off their wings and
fly away. I find them, opposite my window,
in the refreshment-bar of the _ lilac-bush,
whose branches are bending with the weight
of their scented panicles. Here they get
drunk with sunshine and draughts of honey.
Those who have had their fill come home and
fly assiduously from tube to tube, placing their
heads in the orifices to see if some female
will at long last make up her mind to emerge.

One does, in point of fact. She is cov-
ered with dust and has the disordered toilet
that is inseparable from the hard work of the
deliverance. A lover has seen her, so has a
second, likewise a third. All crowd around
her. The lady responds to their advances by
clashing her mandibles, which open and shut
rapidly, several times in succession. The
suitors forthwith fall back; and they also, no
doubt to keep up their dignity, execute sa-
vage mandibular grimaces. Then the beauty
retires into the arbour and her wooers resume
their places on the threshold. A: fresh ap-
pearance of the female, who repeats the play
with her jaws; a fresh retreat of the males,
who do the best they can to flourish their own
pincers. The Osmiz have a strange way of

The Osmiae

declaring their passion: with that fearsome
gnashing of their mandibles, the lovers look
as though they meant to devour each other.
It suggests the thumps affected by our yokels
in their moments of gallantry.

The ingenuous idyll is soon over. By turns
greeting and greeted with a clash of jaws,
the female leaves her gallery and begins im-
passively to polish her wings. The rivals
rush forward, hoist themselves on top of one
another and form a pyramid of which each
struggles to occupy the base by toppling over
the favoured lover. He, however, is careful
not to let go; he waits for the strife overhead
to calm down; and, when the supernumeraries
realize that they are wasting their time and
throw up the game, the couple fly away far
from the turbulent rivals. This is all that I
have been able to gather about the Osmia’s
nuptials.

The females, who grow more numerous
from day to day, inspect the premises; they
buzz outside the glass galleries and the reed
dwellings; they go in, stay for a while, come
out, go in again and then fly away briskly into
the garden. They return, first one, then an-
other. They halt outside, in the sun, on the

Bramble-bees and Others

shutters fastened back against the wall; they
hover in the window-recess, come inside, go
to the reeds and give a glance at them, only to
set off again and to return soon after. Thus
do they learn to know their home, thus do
they fix their birth-place in their memory. The
village of our childhood is always a cherished
spot, never to be effaced from our recollec-
tion. The Osmia’s life endures for a month;
and she acquires a lasting remembrance of her
hamlet in a couple of days. ’Iwas there that
she was born, ’twas there that she loved; ’tis
there that she will return. Dulces reminisct-
tur Argos.’

At last each has made her choice. The
work of construction begins; and my expecta-
tions are fulfilled far beyond my wishes. The
Osmiz build nests in all the retreats which I
have placed at their disposal. The glass
tubes, which I cover with a sheet of paper to
produce the shade and mystery favourable to
concentrated toil, do wonderfully well. All,
from first to last, are occupied. The Osmie
quarrel for the possession of these crystal

palaces, hitherto unknown to their race. The

1“Now falling by another’s wound, his eyes
He casts to heaven, on Argos thinks and dies.”
—/Eneid, book x, Dryden’s translation.

The Osmiae

reeds and the paper tubes likewise do wonder-
fully. The number provided is too small;
and I hasten to increase it. Snail-shells are
recognized as excellent abodes, though de-
prived of the shelter of the stone-heap; old
Chalicodoma-nests, down to those of the
Chalicodoma of the Shrubs,? whose cells are
so small, are eagerly occupied. The late-
comers, finding nothing else free, go and set-
tle in the locks of my table-drawers. There
are daring ones who make their way into half-
open boxes containing ends of glass tubes in
which I have stored my most recent acquisi-
tions: grubs, pupe and cocoons of all kinds,
whose evolution I wished to study. When-
ever these receptacles have an atom of free
space, they claim the right to build there,
whereas I formally oppose the claim. I
hardly reckoned on such a success, which
obliges me to put some order into the inva-
sion with which I am threatened. I seal up
the locks, I shut my boxes, I close my various
receptacles for old nests, in short I remove
from the building-yard any retreat of which
I do not approve. And now, O my Osmia,
I leave you a free field!

1Cf. The Mason-bees: chaps. iv. and x.—Translator’s
Note.

Bramble-bees and Others

The work begins with a thorough spring-
cleaning of the home. Remnants of cocoons,
dirt consisting of spoilt honey, bits of plaster
from broken partitions, remains of dried mol-
lusc at the bottom of a shell: these and much
other insanitary refuse must first of all disap-
pear. Violently the Osmia tugs at the offend-
ing object and tears it out; and then off she
goes, in a desperate hurry, to dispose of it far
away from the study. They are all alike, these
ardent sweepers: in their excessive zeal, they.
fear lest they should block up the place with
a speck of dust which they might drop in
front of the new house. The glass tubes,
which I myself have rinsed under the tap, are
not exempt from a scrupulous cleaning. The
Osmia dusts them, brushes them thoroughly
with her tarsi and then sweeps them out back-
wards. What does she pick up? Not a thing.
It makes no difference: as a conscientious
housewife, she gives the place a touch of the
broom nevertheless.

Now for the provisions and the partition-
walls. Here the order of the work changes
according to the diameter of the cylinder.
My glass tubes vary greatly in dimensions.
The largest have an inner width of a dozen

The Osmiae

millimetres; the narrowest measure six or
seven.”

In the latter, if the bottom suit her, the
Osmia sets to work bringing pollen and
honey. If the bottom do not suit her, if the
sorghum-pith plug with which I have closed
the rear-end of the tube be too irregular and
badly-joined, the Bee coats it with a little mor-
tar. When this small repair is made, the
harvesting begins.

In the wider tubes, the work proceeds quite
differently. At the moment when the Osmia
disgorges her honey and especially at the mo- |
ment when, with her hind-tarsi, she rubs the
pollen-dust from her ventral brush, she needs
a narrow aperture, just big enough to allow
of her passage. I imagine that, in a strait-
ened gallery, the rubbing of her whole body
against the sides gives the harvester a sup-
port for her brushing-work. In a spacious
cylinder, this support fails her; and the Osmia
starts with creating one for herself, which she
does by narrowing the channel. Whether it
be to facilitate the storing of the victuals or
for any other reason, the fact remains that the

1Nearly half an inch.—Translator’s Note.
2About a quarter of an inch—Translator’s Note.
73

Bramble-bees and Others

Osmia housed in a wide tube begins with the
partitioning.

Her division is made by a dab of clay
placed at right angles to the axis of the cylin-
der, at a distance from the bottom which is
fixed by the ordinary length of a cell. This
wad is not a complete round; it is more cres-
cent-shaped, leaving a circular space between
it and one side of the tube. Fresh layers are
swiftly added to the dab of clay; and soon
the tube is divided by a partition which has a
circular opening at the side of it, a sort of
dog-hole through which the Osmia will pro-
ceed to knead the Bee-bread. When the vic-
tualling is finished and the egg laid upon the
heap, the hole is closed and the filled-up par-
tition becomes the bottom of the next cell.
Then the same method is repeated, that is to
say, in front of the just completed ceiling a
second partition is built, again with a side
passage, which is stouter, owing to its distance
from the centre, and better able to withstand
the numerous comings and goings of the
housewife than a central orifice, deprived of
the direct support of the wall, could hope to
be. When this partition is ready, the provi-
sioning of the second cell is effected; and so it

The Osmiae

goes on until the wide cylinder is completely
stocked.

The building of this preliminary party-
wall, with a narrow, round dog-hole, for a
chamber to which the victuals will not be
brought until later is not restricted to the
Three-horned Osmia; it is also frequently
found in the case of the Horned Osmia and
Latreille’s Osmia. Nothing could be pret-
tier than the work of the last-named, who
goes to the plants for her material and fash-
ions a delicate sheet in which she cuts a grace-
ful arch. The Chinaman partitions his house
with paper screens; Latreille’s Osmia divides
hers with disks of thin green cardboard per-
forated with a serving-hatch which remains
until the room is completely furnished. When
we have no glass houses at our disposal, we
can see these little architectural refinements in
the reeds of the hurdles, if we open them at
the right season.

By splitting the bramble-stumps in the
course of July, we perceive also that the
Three-pronged Osmia, notwithstanding her
narrow gallery, follows the same practice as
Latreille’s Osmia, with a difference. She does
not build a party-wall, which the diameter of

Bramble-bees and Others

the cylinder would not permit; she confines
herself to putting up a frail circular pad of
green putty, as though to limit, before any
attempt at harvesting, the space to be occu-
pied by the Bee-bread, whose depth could not
be calculated afterwards if the insect did not
first mark out its confines. Can there really be
an act of measuring? ‘That would be super-
latively clever. Let us consult the Three-
horned Osmia in her glass tubes.

The Osmia is working at her big partition,
with her body outside the cell which she is
preparing. From time to time, with a pellet
of mortar in her mandibles, she goes in and
touches the previous ceiling with her forehead,
while the tip of her abdomen quivers and
feels the pad in course of construction. One
might well say that she is using the length of
her body as a measure, in order to fix the
next ceiling at the proper distance. Then she
resumes her work. Perhaps the measure was
not correctly taken; perhaps her memory, a
few seconds old, has already become muddled.
The Bee once more ceases laying her plaster
and again goes and touches the front wall
with her forehead and the back wall with the
tip of her abdomen. Looking at that body

The Osmiae

trembling with eagerness, extended to its full
length to touch the two ends of the room, how
can we fail to grasp the architect’s grave pro-
blem? The Osmia is measuring; and her
measure is her body. Has she quite done, this
time? Ohdearno! Ten times, twenty times,
at every moment, for the least particle of
mortar which she lays, she repeats her mensu-
ration, never being quite certain that her
trowel is going just where it should.
Meanwhile, amid these frequent interrup-
tions, the work progresses and the partition
gains in width. The worker is bent into a
hook, with her mandibles on the inner sur-
face of the wall and the tip of her abdomen
on the outer surface. The soft masonry
stands between the two points of purchase.
The insect thus forms a sort of rolling-press,
in which the mud wall is flattened and
shaped. The mandibles tap and furnish mor-
tar; the end of the abdomen also pats and
gives brisk trowel-touches. This anal ex-
tremity is a builder’s tool; I see it facing the
mandibles on the other side of the partition,
kneading and smoothing it all over and flat-
tening out the little lump of clay. It is a sin-
gular tool, which I should never have ex-
77

Bramble-bees and Others

pected to see used for this purpose. It takes
an insect to conceive such an original idea,
to do mason’s work with its behind! During
this curious performance, the only function of
the legs is to keep the worker steady, by
spreading out and clinging to the walls of the
tunnel.

The partition with the hole in it is fin-
ished. Let us go back to the measuring of
which the Osmia was so lavish. What a mag-
nificent argument in favour of the reasoning-
power of animals! To find geometry, the
surveyor’s art, in an Osmia’s tiny brain! An
insect that begins by taking the measurements
of the room to be constructed, just as any
master-builder might do! Why, it’s splendid,
it’s enough to cover with confusion those hor-
rible sceptics who persist in refusing to admit
the animal’s ‘“‘continuous little flashes of atoms
of reason!”

O common-sense, veil your face! It is
with this gibberish about continuous flashes
of atoms of reason that men pretend to build
up science to-day! Very well, my masters;
the magnificent argument with which I am
supplying you lacks but one little detail, the
merest trifle: truth! Not that I have not

The Osmiae

seen and plainly seen all that I am relating;
but measuring has nothing to do with the
case. And I can prove it by facts.

If, in order to see the Osmia’s nest as a
whole, we split a reed lengthwise, taking care
not to disturb its contents; or, better still, if
we select for examination the string of cells
built in a glass tube, we are struck straightway
by one detail, namely the uneven distances
between the partitions, which are placed al-
most at right angles to the axis of the cylin-
der. It is these distances which fix the size
of the chambers, which, with a similar base,
have different heights and consequently un-
equal holding-capacities. The bottom parti-
tions, the oldest, are farther apart; those of
the front part, near the orifice, are closer to-
gether. Moreover, the provisions are plenti-
ful in the loftier cells, whereas they are nig-
gardly and reduced to one-half or even one-
third in the cells of lesser height.

Here are a few examples of these inequali-
ties. A glass tube with a diameter of 12
millimetres,’ inside measurement, contains
ten cells, The five lower ones, beginning with

1.468 inch.—Translator’s Note.

Bramble-bees and Others

the bottommost, have as the respective dis-
stances between their partitions, in milli-
metres:

LEAT? VlOu Ug iT tes

The five upper ones measure between their
partitions:
ole erator es
A reed-stump 11 millimetres® across the in-
side contains fifteen cells; and the respective
distances between the partitions of those cells,
starting from the bottom, are:

RIAN ANCOR FS Gu pte natasener Baer ay FAL e yO Oy tree

When the diameter of the tunnel is less, the
partitions can be still farther apart, though
they retain the general characteristic of being
closer to one another the nearer they are to
the orifice. A reed of 5 millimetres® in dia-
meter, gives me the following distances, al-
ways starting from the bottom:

DI NIAN IO. 20s) 12, Ass

1.429, .468, .624, .507, -429 inch.—Translator’s Note.
2.273, .273, -195, -234, -273 inch—Translator’s Note.
3.429 inch.—Translator’s Note.

4.507, 468, .468, .351, .351, 429, .312, .312, .273, .273,

273) -234, -234, -234, .273 inch.—Translator’s Note.
5.195 inch.—Translator’s Note.
6.858, .858, .78, .78, .468, .546 inch.—Translator’s Note.
80

The Osmiae

Another, of 9 millimetres,’ gives me:
NS, 24, 1¥; EO," FO, 6, ro.”

A glass tube of 8 millimetres’ yields:
TS, 14,:20,) 20; 10.10."

I could fill pages and pages with such
figures, if I cared to print all my notes. Do
they prove that the Osmia is a geometrician,
employing a strict measure based on the
length of her body? Certainly not, because
many of those figures exceed the length of the
insect; because sometimes a higher number
follows suddenly upon a lower; because the
same string contains a figure of one value
and another figure of but half that value.
They prove only one thing: the marked tend-
ency of the insect to shorten the distance
between the party-walls as the work proceeds.
We shall see later that the large cells are
destined for the females and the small ones
for the males.

Is there not at least a measuring adapted to

1.351 inch.—Translator’s Note.

2.585, -546, -429, .39, -39, .351, .39 inch—Translator’s

ote.

8.312 inch.—Translator’s Note.

4.585, .546, .78, .39, .39, .39 inch—Translator’s Note.
81

Bramble-bees and Others

each sex? Again, not so; for in the first
series, where the females are housed, instead
of the interval of 11 millimetres, which oc-
curs at the beginning and the end, we find,
in the middle of the series, an interval of 16
millimetres, while, in the second series, re-
served for the males, instead of the interval
of 7 millimetres at the beginning and the
end, we have an interval of 5 millimetres in
the middle. It is the same with the other
series, each of which shows a striking dis-
crepancy in its figures. If the Osmia really
studied the dimensions of her chambers and
measured them with the compasses of her
body, how could she, with her delicate
mechanism, fail to notice mistakes of 5 milli-
metres, almost half her own length?

Besides, all idea of geometry vanishes if
we consider the work in a tube of moderate
width. Here, the Osmia does not fix the
front partition in advance; she does not even
lay its foundation. Without any boundary-
pad, with no guiding mark for the capacity
of the cell, she busies herself straightway with
the provisioning. When the heap of Bee-
bread is judged sufficient, that is, I imagine,
when her tired body tells her that she has

The Osmiae

done enough harvesting, she closes up the
chamber. In this case, there is no measuring;
and yet the capacity of the cell and the quant-
ity of the victuals fulfil the regular require-
ments of one or the other sex.

Then what does the Osmia do when she
repeatedly stops to touch the front partition
with her forehead and the back partition, the
one in the course of building, with the tip of
her abdomen? I have no idea what she does
or what she has in view. I leave the interpre-
tation of this performance to others, more
venturesome than I. Plenty of theories are
based on equally shaky foundations. Blow
on them; and they sink into the quagmire of
oblivion.

The laying is finished, or perhaps the cylin-
der is full. A final partition closes the last
cell. A rampart is now built, at the orifice
of the tube itself, to forbid the ill-disposed
all access to the home. This is a thick plug,
a massy work of fortification, whereon the
Osmia spends enough mortar to partition off
any number of cells. A whole day is not too
Jong for making this barricade, especially in
view of the minute finishing-touches, when the
Osmia fills up with putty every chink through

Bramble-bees and Others

which the least atom could slip. The mason
finishing a wall smoothes his plaster and
brings it to a fine surface while it is still wet;
the Osmia does the same, or almost. With
little taps of the mandibles and a continual
shaking of her head, a sign of her zest for
the work, she smoothes and polishes the sur-
face of the lid for hours at a time. After
such pains, what foe could be expected to visit
the dwelling?

And yet there is one, an Anthrax, Anthrax
sinuata,’ who will come later, in the height
of summer, and succeed, invisible bit of
thread that she is, in making her way to the
grub through the thickness of the door and
the web of the cocoon. In many cells, mis-
chief of another kind has already been done.
During the progress of the works, an impu-
dent Midge, one of the Tachina-flies, who
feeds her family on the victuals amassed by
the Bee, hovers in front of the galleries.
Does she penetrate to the cells and lay her
eggs there in the mother’s absence? I could
never catch the sneak in the act. Does she,
like that other Tachina who ravages cells

1Cf. The Life of the Fly: chaps. ii. and iv.—Translat-
or’s Note.

The Osmiae

stocked with game,’ nimbly deposit her eggs
on the Osmia’s harvest at the moment when
the Bee is going indoors? It is possible,
though I cannot say for certain. The fact
remains that we soon see the Midge’s grub-
worms swarming around the larva, the daugh-
ter of the house. There are ten, fifteen,
twenty or more of them gnawing with their
pointed mouths at the common dish and turn-
ing the food into a heap of fine, orange-
coloured vermicelli. The Bee’s grub dies of
starvation. It is life, life in all its ferocity
even in these tiny creatures. What an ex-
penditure of ardent labour, of delicate cares,
of wise precautions, to arrive at . . . what?
Her offspring sucked and drained dry by the
hateful Anthrax; her family sweated and
starved by the infernal Tachina.

The victuals consist mostly of yellow flour.
In the centre of the heap, a little honey is
disgorged, which turns the pollen-dust into a
firm, reddish paste. On this paste the egg is
laid, not flat, but upright, with the fore-end
free and the hind-end lightly held and fixed
in the plastic mass. When hatched, the young

1The cells of the Hunting Wasps.—Translator’s Note.
85

Bramble-bees and Others

grub, kept in its place by its rear-end, need
only bend its neck a little to find the honey-
soaked paste under its mouth. When it grows
stronger, it will release itself from its support
and eat up the surrounding flour.

All this is touching, in its maternal logic.
For the new-born, dainty bread-and-honey;
for the adolescent, just plain dry bread.
In cases where the provisions are all
of a kind, these delicate precautions are
superfluous. The victuals of the Antho-
phore and the Chalicodome consist of
flowing honey, the same throughout. The
egg is then laid at full length on the
surface, without any particular arrangement,
thus compelling the new-born grub to take its
first mouthfuls at random. This has no
drawback, as the food is of the same quality
throughout. But, with the Osmia’s provi-
sions—dry powder on the edges, jam in the
centre—the grub would be in danger if its
first meal were not regulated in advance. To
begin with pollen not seasoned with honey
would be fatal to its stomach. Having no
choice of its mouthfuls because of its immo-
bility and being obliged to feed on the spot
where it was hatched, the young grub must

The Osmiae

needs be born on the central mass, where it
has only to bend its head a little way in order
to find what its delicate stomach calls for.
The place of the egg, therefore, fixed upright
by its base in the middle of the red jam, is
most judiciously chosen. What a contrast
between this exquisite maternal forethought
and the horrible destruction by the Anthrax
and the Midge!

The egg is rather large for the size of the
Osmia. It is cylindrical, slightly curved,
rounded at both ends and transparent. It
soon becomes cloudy, while remaining dia-
phanous at each extremity. Fine lines, hardly
perceptible to the most penetrating lens, show
themselves in transverse circles. “These are
the first signs of segmentation. A contraction
appears in the front hyaline part, marking
the head. An extremely thin, opaque thread
runs down either side. This is the cord of
tracheez communicating between one breath-
ing-hole and another. At last, the segments
show distinctly, with their lateral pads. The
grub is born.

At first one would think that there was
no hatching in the proper sense of the word,
that is to say, no bursting and casting of a

Bramble-bees and Others

wrapper. The most minute attention is neces-
sary to show that appearances are deceptive
and that actually a fine membrane is thrown
off from front to back. This infinitesimal
shred is the shell of the egg.

The grub is born. Fixed by its base, it
curves into an arc and bends its head, until
now held erect, down to the red mass. ‘The
meal begins. Soon a yellow cord occupying
the front two-thirds of the body proclaims
that the digestive apparatus is swelling out
with food. For a fortnight, consume your
provender in peace, my child; then spin your
cocoon: you are now safe from the Tachina.
Shall you be safe from the Anthrax’ sucker
later on? Alack!

CHAPTER III
THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE SEXES

OES the insect know beforehand the sex
of the egg which it is about to lay?
When examining the stock of food in the
cells just now, we began to suspect that
it does, for each little heap of provisions is
carefully proportioned to the needs at one
time of a male and at another of a female.
What we have to do is to turn this suspicion
into a certainty demonstrated by experiment.
And first let us find out how the sexes are ar-
ranged.

It is not possible to ascertain the chronolo-
gical order of a laying, except by going to
suitably-chosen species. Digging up the bur-
rows of Cerceris-, Bembex- or Philanthus-
wasps will never tell us that this grub has
taken precedence of that in point of time nor
enable us to decide whether one cocoon in a
colony belongs to the same family as another.
To compile a register of births is absolutely
impossible here. Fortunately there are a few

Bramble-bees and Others

species in which we do not find this difficulty:
these are the Bees who keep to one gallery
and build their cells in storeys. Among the
number are the different inhabitants of the
bramble-stumps, notably the Three-pronged
Osmiz, who form an excellent subject for ob-
servation, partly because they are of imposing
size—bigger than any other bramble-dwellers
in my neighbourhood—partly because they
are so plentiful.

Let us briefly recall the Osmia’s habits.
Amid the tangle of a hedge, a bramble-stalk
is selected, still standing, but a mere withered
stump. In this the insect digs a more or less
deep tunnel, an easy piece of work owing to
the abundance of soft pith. Provisions are
heaped up right at the bottom of the tunnel
and an egg is laid on the surface of the food:
that is the first-born of the family. At a
height of some twelve millimetres,’ a parti-
tion is fixed, formed of bramble saw-dust and
of a green paste obtained by masticating part-
icles of the leaves of some plant that has not
yet been identified. This gives a second
storey, which in its turn receives provisions

1About half an inch—Translator’s Note.
90

The Distribution of the Sexes

and an egg, the second in order of primogeni-
ture. And so it goes on, storey by storey, un-
til the cylinder is full. Then a thick plug of
the same green material of which the parti-
tions are formed closes the home and keeps
out marauders.

In this common cradle, the chronological
order of births is perfectly clear. The first-
born of the family is at the bottom of the
series; the last-born is at the top, near the
closed door. The others follow from bot-
tom to top in the same order in which they
followed in point of time. The laying is num-
bered automatically: each cocoon tells us its
respective age by the place which it occupies.

To know the sexes, we must wait for the
month of June. But it would be unwise to
postpone our investigations until that period.
Osmia-nests are not so common that we can
hope to pick one up each time that we go out
with that object; besides, if we wait for the
hatching-period before examining the bram-
bles, it may happen that the order has been
disturbed through some insects having tried
to make their escape as soon as possible after
bursting their cocoons; it may happen that
the male Osmiz, who are more forward than

Bramble-bees and Others

the females, are already gone. I therefore
go to work a long time beforehand and de-
vote my spare time in winter to these investi-
gations.

The bramble-sticks are split and the co-
coons taken out one by one and methodically
transferred to glass tubes, of approximately
the same diameter as the native cylinder.
These cocoons are arranged one on top of
the other in exactly the same order that they
occupied in the bramble; they are separated
from one another by a cotton plug, an insu-
perable obstacle to the future insect. There
is thus no fear that the contents of the cells
may become mixed or transposed; and I am
saved the trouble of keeping a laborious
watch. Each insect can hatch at its own time,
in my presence or not: I am sure of always
finding it in its place, in its proper order, held
fast fore and aft by the cotton barrier. A
cork or sorghum-pith partition would not ful-
fil the same purpose: the insect would perfor-
ate it and the register of births would be
muddled by changes of position. Any reader
wishing to undertake similar investigations
will excuse these practical details, which may
facilitate his work.

The Distribution of the Sexes

We do not often come upon complete series,
comprising the whole laying, from the first-
born to the youngest. As a rule, we find part
of a laying, in which the number of cocoons
varies greatly, sometimes falling as low as
two, or even one. The mother has not
deemed it advisable to confide her whole
family to a single bramble-stump; in order
to make the exit less toilsome, or else for
reasons which escape me, she has left the first
home and elected to make a second home, per-
haps a third or more.

We also find series with breaks in them.
Sometimes, in cells distributed at random, the
egg has not developed and the provisions have
remained untouched, but mildewed; some-
times, the larva has died before spinning its
cocoon, or after spinning it. Lastly, there
are parasites, such as the Unarmed Zonitis*
and the Spotted Sapyga,? who interrupt the
series by substituting themselves for the
original occupant. All these disturbing factors
make it necessary to examine a large number
of nests of the Three-pronged Osmia, if we
would obtain a definite result.

1Zonitis mutica, one of the Oil-beetles—Translator’s
Note.
2A Digget-wasp.—Translator’s Note.

Bramble-bees and Others

I have been studying the bramble-dwellers
for seven or eight years and I could not say
how many strings of cocoons have passed
through my hands. During a recent winter,
in view particularly of the distribution of the
sexes, I collected some forty of this Osmia’s
nests, transferred their contents into glass
tubes and made a careful summary of the
sexes. I give some of my results. The figures
start in their order from the bottom of
the tunnel dug in the bramble and proceed
upwards to the orifice. The figure 1 there-
fore denotes the first-born of the series, the
oldest in date; the highest figure denotes the
last-born. The letter M, placed under the
corresponding figure, represents the male and
the letter F the female sex.

L203 ae Se On 7s on O OWT TO aks
FFMFMFMMFF F FMEM

This is the longest series that I have ever
been able to procure. It is also complete, in-
asmuch as it comprises the entire laying of the
Osmia. My statement requires explaining,
otherwise it would seem impossible to know
whether a mother whose acts one has not
watched, nay more, whom one has never seen,

The Distribution of the Sexes

has or has not finished laying her eggs. The
bramble-stump under consideration leaves a
free space of nearly four inches above the
continuous string of cocoons. Beyond it, at
the actual orifice, is the terminal stopper, the
thick plug which closes the entrance to the
gallery. In this empty portion of the tunnel
there is ample accommodation for numerous
cocoons. The fact that the mother has not
made use of it proves that her ovaries were
exhausted; for it is exceedingly unlikely that
she has abandoned first-rate lodgings to go
laboriously digging a new gallery elsewhere
and there continue her laying.

You may say that, if the unoccupied space
marks the end of the laying, nothing tells us
that the beginning is actually at the bottom
of the cul-de-sac, at the other end of the tun-
nel. You may also say that the laying is done
in shifts, separated by intervals of rest. The
space left empty in the channel would mean
that one of these shifts was finished and not
that there were no more eggs ripe for hatch-
ing. In answer to these very plausible ex-
planations, I will say that, the sum of my ob-
servations—and they have been extremely
numerous—is that the total number of eggs

Bramble-bees and Others

laid not only by the Osmiz but by a host of
other Bees fluctuates round about fifteen.

Besides, when we consider that the active
life of these insects lasts hardly a month;
when we remember that this period of act-
ivity is disturbed by dark, rainy or very
windy days, during which all work is sus-
pended; when lastly we ascertain, as I have
done ad nauseam in the case of the Three-
horned Osmia, the time required for build-
ing and victualling a cell, it becomes obvious
that the total laying must be kept within nar-
row bounds and that the mother has no time
to lose if she wishes to get fifteen cells satis-
factorily built in three or four weeks inter-
rupted by compulsory rests. I shall give some
facts later which will dispel your doubts, if
any remain.

I assume, therefore, that a number of eggs
in the neighbourhood of fifteen represents the
entire family of an Osmia as it does of many
other Bees.

Let us consult some other complete series.
Here are two:

1 OM es ye OTK) oberg tae Olas FOP nes tee sc) |
BF .M) BM BoM FR BioiMes
BoMi BORE MOR oi MR SM

The Distribution of the Sexes

In both cases, the laying is taken as com-
plete for the same reasons as those given
above.

We will end with some series that appear
to me incomplete, in view of the small num-
ber of cells and the absence of any free space
above the pile of cocoons:

Nenenesn
Se he ei
7) SZ rr x] Teo
Keke Keo
oS
essa

<<~

These examples are more than sufficient.
It is quite evident that the distribution of the
sexes is not governed by any rule. All that
I can say on consulting the whole of my notes,
which contain a good many instances of com-
plete layings—most of them, unfortunately,
spoilt through gaps caused by parasites, the
death of the larva, the failure of the egg to
hatch and other accidents—all that I can say
in general is that the complete series begins
with females and nearly always ends with

Bramble-bees and Others

males. The incomplete series can teach us
nothing in this respect, for they are only frag-
ments starting we know not whence; and it
is impossible to tell whether they should be
ascribed to the beginning, to the end or to an
intermediate period of the laying. To sum
up: in the laying of the Three-pronged Os-
mia, no absolute order governs the succession
of the sexes; only, the series has a marked
tendency to begin with females and to finish
with males.

The brambles, in my district, harbour two
other Osmiz, both of much smaller size: O.
detrita, PEREZ, and O. parvula, Dur.
The first is very common, the second very
rare; and until now I have found only one
of her nests, placed above a nest of O.
detrita, in the same bramble. Here, instead
of the lack of order in the distribution of the
sexes which we find with O. tridentata, we
have an order remarkable for consistency and
simplicity. I have before me the list of the
series of O. detrita collected last winter.
Here are some of them:

1. A series of twelve: seven females, be-
ginning with the bottom of the tunnel, and
then five males.

The Distribution of the Sexes

2. A series of nine: three females first,
then six males.

3. A series of eight: five females followed
by three males.

4. A series of eight: seven females fol-
lowed by one male.

5. A series of eight: one female followed
by seven males.

6. A series of seven: six females followed
by one male.

The first series might very well be com-
plete. The second and fifth appear to be the
end of layings, of which the beginning has
taken place elsewhere, in another bramble-
stump. The males predominate and finish
off the series. Nos. 3, 4 and 6, on the other
hand, look like the beginning of layings: the
females predominate and are at the head of
the series. Even if these interpretations
should be open to doubt, one result at least
is certain: with O. detrita, the laying is
divided into two groups, with no interming-
ling of the sexes; the first group laid
yields nothing but females, the second or more
recent yields nothing but males.

What was only a sort of attempt with the
Three-pronged Osmia—whao, it is true, begins

Bramble-bees and Others

with females and ends with males, but mud-
dles up the order and mixes the two sexes
anyhow between the extreme points—becomes
a regular law with her kinswoman. The
mother occupies herself at the start with the
stronger sex, the more necessary, the better-
gifted, the female sex, to which she devotes
the first flush of her laying and the fullness
of her vigour; later, when she is perhaps al-
ready at the end of her strength, she bestows
what remains of her maternal solicitude upon
the weaker sex, the less-gifted, almost negli-
gible male sex.

O. parvula, of whom, unfortunately, I
possess but one series, repeats what the pre-
vious witness has just shown us. This series,
one of nine cocoons, comprises five females
followed by four males, without any mixing
of the sexes.

Next to these disgorgers of honey and
gleaners of pollen-dust, it would be well to
consult other Hymenoptera, Wasps who de-
vote themselves to the chase and pile their
cells one after the other in a row, showing
the relative age of the cocoons. The bram-
bles house several of these: Solenius vagus,
who stores up Flies; Psen atratus, who pro-

I0o

The Distribution of the Sexes

vides her grubs with a heap of Plant-lice;
Trypoxylon figulus, who feeds them with
Spiders.

Solenius vagus digs her gallery in a bram-
ble-stick that is lopped short, but still fresh
and green. The house of this Fly-huntress,
therefore, suffers from damp, as the sap enters,
especially on the lower floors. This seems
to me rather insanitary. To avoid the hu-
midity, or for other reasons which escape me,
the Solenius does not dig very far into her
bramble-stump and consequently can only
stack a small number of cells in it. A series
of five cocoons gives me first four females
and then one male; another series, also of five,
contains first three females, with two males
following. These are the most complete that
I have for the moment.

I reckoned on the Black Psen, or Psen atra-
tus, whose series are pretty long; it is a pity
that they are nearly always greatly interfered
with by a parasite called Ephialtes mediator.*
I obtained only three series free from gaps:
one of eight cocoons, comprising only fe-
males; one of six, likewise consisting wholly
of females; lastly, one of eight, formed ex-

1Cf. The Life of the Fly: chap. ii—Translator’s Note.
101

Bramble-bees and Others

clusively of males. These instances seem to
show that the Psen arranges her laying in a
succession of females and a succession of
males; but they tell us nothing of the rela-
tive order of the two series.

From the Spider-huntress, Trypoxylon fi-
gulus, 1 learned nothing decisive. She ap-
peared to me to rove about from one bramble
to the next, utilizing galleries which she has
not dug herself. Not troubling to be eco-
nomical with a lodging which it has cost her
nothing to acquire, she carelessly builds a few
partitions at very unequal heights, stuffs three
or four compartments with Spiders and passes
on to another bramble-stump, with no reason,
so far as I know, for abandoning the first.
Her cells, therefore, occur in series that are
too short to give us any useful information.

This is all that the bramble-dwellers have
to tell us; I have enumerated the list of the
principal ones in my district. We will now
look into some other Bees who arrange
their cocoons in single files: the Mega-
chiles, who cut disks out of leaves and fashion
the disks into thimble-shaped receptacles; the
Anthidia, who weave their honey-wallets out
of cotton-wool and arrange their cells one

102

The Distribution of the Sexes

after the other in some cylindrical gallery.
In most cases, the home is the produce of
neither the one nor the other. A tunnel in
the upright, earthy banks, the old work of
some Anthophora, is the usual dwelling.
There is no great depth to these retreats; and
all my searches, zealously prosecuted during a
number of winters, procured me only series
containing a small number of cocoons, four or
five at most, often one alone. And, what is
quite as serious, nearly all these series are
spoilt by parasites and allow me to draw no
well-founded deductions.

I remembered finding, at rare intervals,
nests of both Anthidium and Megachile in
the hollows of the cut reeds. I thereupon
installed some hives of a new kind on the
sunniest walls of my enclosure. They con-
sisted of stumps of the great reed of the
south, open at one end, closed at the other by
the natural knot and gathered into a sort of
enormous pan-pipe, such as Polyphemus
might have employed. The invitation was
accepted: Osmia, Anthidia and Megachiles
came in fairly large numbers, especially the
first, to benefit by the queer installation.

In this way I obtained some magnificent

103

Bramble-bees and Others

series of Anthidia and Megachiles, running up
to a dozen. There was a melancholy side to
this success. All my series, with not one ex-
ception, were ravaged by parasites. Those
of the Megachile (M. sericans, FONSCOL),
who fashions her goblets with robinia-,
holm- and terebinth-leaves, were inhabited by
Calioxys octodentata,;* those of the Anthi-
dium (A. florentinum, LATR.) were occu-
pied by a Leucospis. Both kinds were
swarming with a colony of pigmy para-
sites whose name I have not yet been able to
discover. In short, my pan-pipe hives, though
very useful to me from other points of view,
taught me nothing about the order of the
sexes among the Leaf-cutters and the cotton-
weavers.

I was more fortunate with three Osmiz
(O. tricornis, LATR., O: cornuta, LATR.,
and O. Latreillii, Spin.), all of whom gave
me splendid results, with reed-stumps ar-
ranged either against the walls of my garden,
as I have just said, or near their customary
abode, the huge nests of the Mason-bee of the
Sheds. One of them, the Three-horned Os-

1A Parasitic Bee.—Translator’s Note.
104

The Distribution of the Sexes

mia, did better still: as I have described, she
‘built her nests in my study, as plentifully as
I could wish, using reeds, glass tubes and
other retreats of my selecting for her galle-
ries. |

We will consult this last, who has fur-
nished me with documents beyond my fond-
est hopes, and begin by asking her of how
many eggs her average laying consists. Of
the whole heap of colonized tubes in my study,
or else out of doors, in the hurdle-reeds and
the pan-pipe appliances, the best-filled con-
tains fifteen cells, with a free space above the
series, a space showing that the laying is
ended, for, if the mother had any more eggs
available, she would have lodged them in the
room which she leaves unoccupied. This
string of fifteen appears to be rare; it was the
only one that I found. My attempts at in-
door rearing, pursued during two years with
glass tubes or reeds, taught me that the
Three-horned Osmia is not much addicted to
long series. As though to decrease the diff-
culties of the coming deliverance, she prefers
short galleries, in which only a part of the
laying is stacked. We must then follow the
same mother in her migrations from one

105

Bramble-bees and Others

dwelling to the next if we would obtain a
complete census of her family. A spot of
colour, dropped on the Bee’s thorax with a.
paint-brush while she is absorbed in closing
up the mouth of the tunnel, enables
us to recognize the Osmia in her various
homes.

In this way, the swarm that resided in my
study furnished me, in the first year, with an
average of twelve cells. Next year, the sum-
mer appeared to be more favourable and the
average became rather higher, reaching fif-
teen. ‘The most numerous laying performed
under my eyes, not in a tube, but in a succes-
sion of Snail-shells, reached the figure of
twenty-six. On the other hand, layings of
between eight and ten are not uncommon.
Lastly, taking all my records together, the
result is that the family of the Osmia fluc-
tuates round about fifteen in number.

I have already spoken of the great differ-
ences in size apparent in the cells of one and
the same series. ‘The partitions, at first
widely spaced, draw gradually nearer to one
another as they come closer to the aperture,
which implies roomy cells at the back and
narrow cells in front. The contents of these

106

The Distribution of the Sexes

compartments is no less uneven between one
portion and another of the string. Without
any exception known to me, the large cells,
those with which the series starts, have more
abundant provisions than the straitened cells
with which the series ends. The heap of
honey and pollen in the first is twice or even
thrice as large as that in the second. In the
last cells, the most recent in date, the victuals
are but a pinch of pollen, so niggardly in
amount that we wonder what will become of
the. larva with that meagre ration.

One would think that the Osmia, when
nearing the end of the laying, attaches no im-
portance to her last-born, to whom she doles
out space and food so sparingly. The first-
born get the benefit of her early enthusiasm:
theirs is the well-spread table, theirs the spa-
cious apartments. The work has begun to
pall by the time that the last eggs are laid;
and the lastcomers have to put up with a
meagre portion of food and a tiny corner.

The difference shows itself in another way
after the cocoons are spun. The large cells,
those at the back, receive the bulky cocoons;
the small ones, those in front, have cocoons
only a half or a third as big. Before open-

107

Bramble-bees and Others

ing them and ascertaining the sex of the Os-
mia inside, let us wait for the transformation
into the perfect insect, which will take place
towards the end of summer. If impatience
gets the better of us, we can open them at the
end of July or in August. The insect is then
in the nymphal stage; and it is easy, under this
form, to distinguish the two sexes by the
length of the antenna, which are larger in the
males, and by the glassy protuberances on the
forehead, the sign of the future armour of
the females. Well, the small cocoons, those
in the narrow front cells, with their scanty
store of provisions, all belong to males; the
big cocoons, those in the spacious and well-
stocked cells at the back, all belong to females.

The conclusion is definite: the laying of the
Three-horned Osmia consists of two distinct
groups, first a group of females and then a
group of males.

With my pan-pipe apparatus displayed on
the walls of my enclosure and with old hur-
dle-reeds left lying flat out of doors, I ob-
tained the Horned Osmia in fair quantities.
I persuaded Latreille’s Osmia to build her |
nest in reeds, which she did with a zeal which
I was far from expecting. All that I had to

108

The Distribution of the Sexes

do was to lay some reed-stumps horizontally
within her reach, in the immediate neighbour-
hood of her usual haunts, namely, the nests
of the Mason-bee of the Sheds. Lastly, I
succeeded without difficulty in making her
build her nests in the privacy of my study,
with glass tubes for a house. The result sur-
passed my hopes.

With both these Osmiz, the division of
the gallery is the same as with the Three-
horned Osmia. At the back are large cells
with plentiful provisions and widely-spaced
partitions; in front, small cells, with scanty
provisions and partitions close together. Also,
the larger cells supplied me with big cocoons
and females; the smaller cells gave me lit-
tle cocoons and males. ‘The conclusion there-
fore is exactly the same in the case of all
three Osmiz.

Before dismissing the Osmiz, let us devote
a moment to their cocoons, a comparison of
which, in the matter of bulk, will furnish us
with fairly accurate evidence as to the relative
size of the two sexes, for the thing contained,
the perfect insect, is evidently proportionate
to the silken wrapper in which it is enclosed.
These cocoons are oval-shaped and may be

109

Bramble-bees and Others

regarded as ellipsoids formed by a revolution
around the major axis. The volume of one
of these solids is expressed in the following
formula:
arab
in which 24 is the major axis and 2b the
minor axis.

Now, the average dimensions of the co-
coons of the Three-horned Osmia are as fol-
lows:

24 = 13mm.,’ 2) = 7 mm.’ in the females;
24—= 9mm.,*° 2)— 5 mm.‘ in the males.

Whe) ratio therefore between 13, <7 7
== 637 and. 9></5 >@ 5 =-22 5 will bewmore.or
less the ratio between the sizes of the two
sexes, This ratio is somewhere between 2 tor
and 3 to 1. The females therefore are two
or three times larger than the males, a propor-
tion already suggested by a comparison of the
mass of provisions, estimated simply by the
eye.

1.507 inch.—Translator’s Note.

2.273 inch.—Translator’s Note.

3.351 inch—Translator’s Note.
4.195 inch.—Translator’s Note.

Ito

The Distribution of the Sexes

The Horned Osmia gives us the following
average dimensions:

2a = 15 mm.,1 2b = 9 mm.” in the females;
2a = 12 mm.,° 2b = 7 mm.* in the males.

Once again, the ratio between 15 X 9 X
9 = 1215 and12 X 7 X 7 = 588 lies be-
tween 2 to 1 and 3 to I.

Besides the Bees who arrange their laying
in a row, I have consulted others whose cells
are grouped in a way that makes it possible
to ascertain the relative order of the two
sexes, though not quite so precisely. One of
these is the Mason-bee of the Walls. I need
not describe again her dome-shaped nest, built
on a pebble, which is so well-known to us.*

Each mother chooses her stone and works
on it in solitude. She is an ungracious land-
owner and guards her site jealously, driving
away any Mason who even looks as though
she might alight on it. The inhabitants of
the same nest are therefore always brothers
and sisters; they are the family of one mother.

1.585 inch.—Translator’s Note.
2.351 inch.—Translator’s Note.
8.468 inch.—Translator’s Note.
4.273 inch—Translator’s Note.
SCf. The Mason-bees: chap. i—Translator’s Note.

I1r

Bramble-bees and Others

Moreover, if the stone presents a large
enough surface—a condition easily fulfilled
—the Mason-bee has no reason to leave the
support on which she began her laying and
go in search of another whereon to deposit
the rest of her eggs. She is too thrifty of
her time and of her mortar to involve her-
self in such expenditure except for grave rea-
sons. Consequently, each nest, at least when
it is new, when the Bee herself has laid the
first foundations, contains the entire laying.
It is a different thing when an old nest is
restored and made into a place for depositing
the eggs. I shall come back later to such
houses.

A newly-built nest then, with rare excep-
tions, contains the entire laying of one fe-
male. Count the cells and we shall have the
total list of the family. ‘Their maximum
number fluctuates round about fifteen. The
most luxuriant series will occasionally reach
as many as eighteen, though these are very
scarce.

When the surface of the stone is regular
all around the site of the first cell) when the
Mason can add to her building with the same
facility in every direction, it is obvious that

112

The Distribution of the Sexes

the groups of cells, when finished, will have
the oldest in the central portion and the more
recent in the surrounding portion. Because
of this juxtaposition of the cells, which serve
partly as a wall to those which come next,
it is possible to form some estimate of the
chronological order of the cells in the Chalico-
doma’s nests and thus to discover the sequence
of the two sexes.

In winter, by which time the Bee has long
been in the perfect state, I collect Chalico-
doma-nests, removing them bodily from their
support with a few smart sideward taps of
the hammer on the pebbles. At the base of
the mortar dome, the cells are wide agape
and display their contents. I take the cocoon
from its box, open it and take note of the sex
of the insect enclosed.

I should probably be accused of exaggera-
tion if I mentioned the total number of the
nests which I have gathered and the cells
which I have inspected by this method during
the last six or seven years. I will content
myself with saying that the harvest of a
single morning sometimes consisted of as
many as sixty nests of the Mason-bee. I had
to have help in carrying home my spoils, even

113

Bramble-bees and Others

though the nests were removed from their
pebbles on the spot.

From the enormous number of nests which
I have examined, I am able to state that, when
the cluster is regular, the female cells occupy
the centre and the male cells the edges.
Where the irregularity of the pebble has pre-
vented an even distribution around the initial
point, the same rule has been observed. A
male cell is never surrounded on every side
by female cells: either it occupies the edges
of the nest, or else it adjoins, at least on
some sides, other male cells, of which the last
form part of the exterior of the cluster. As
the surrounding cells are obviously of a later
date than the inner cells, it follows that the
Mason-bee acts like the Osmiz: she begins
her laying with females and ends it with
males, each of the sexes forming a series of
its own, independent of the other.

Some further circumstances add their tes-
timony to that of the surrounded and sur-
rounding cells. When the pebble projects
sharply and forms a sort of dihedral angle,
one of whose faces is more or less vertical
and the other horizontal, this angle is a fa-
vourite site with the Mason, who thus finds

114

The Distribution of the Sexes

greater stability for her edifice in the sup-
port given her by the double plane. These
sites appear to me to be in great request with
the Chalicodoma, considering the number of
nests which I find thus doubly supported. In
nests of this kind, all the cells, as usual, have
their foundations fixed to the horizontal sur-
face; but the first row, the row of cells first
built, stands with its back against the vertical
surface.

Well, those older cells, which occupy the
actual edge of the dihedral angle, are always
female, with the exception of those at either
end of the row, which, as they belong to the
outside, may be male cells. In front of this
first row come others. The female cells oc-
cupy the middle portion and the male the
ends. Finally, the last row, closing in the
remainder, contains only male cells. The
progress of the work is very visible here: the
Mason has begun by attending to the central
group of female cells, the first row of which
occupies the dihedral angle, and has finished
her task by distributing the male cells round
the outside.

If the perpendicular face of the dihedral
angle be high enough, it sometimes happens

IIS

Bramble-bees and Others

that a second row of cells is placed above the
first row backing on to that plane; a third
row occurs less often. The nest is then one
of several storeys. The lower storeys, the
older, contain only females; the upper, the
more recent storey contains none but males.
It goes without saying that the surface layer,
even of the lower storeys, can contain males
without invalidating the rule, for this layer
may always be looked upon as the Chalico-
doma’s last work.

Everything therefore contributes to show
that, in the Mason-bee, the females take the
lead in the order of primogeniture. Theirs
is the central and best-protected part of the
clay fortress; the outer part, that most ex-
posed to the inclemencies of the weather and
to accidents, is for the males.

The males’ cells do not differ from the
females’ only by being placed at the outside
of the cluster; they differ also in their capa-
city, which is much smaller. To estimate the
respective capacities of the two sorts of cells,
I go to work as follows: I fill the empty cell
with very fine sand and pour this sand back
into a glass tube measuring 5 millimetres! in

1.195 inch—Translator’s Note.
116

The Distribution of the Sexes

diameter. From the height of the column of
sand we can estimate the comparative capacity
of the two kinds of cells. I will take one at
random among my numerous examples of
cells thus gauged.

It comprises thirteen cells and occupies a
dihedral angle. The female cells give me
the following figures, in millimetres, as the
height of the columns of sand:

40, 44, 43, 48, 48, 46, 47,"
averaging 45.”
The male cells give me:

32, 35) 28, 39; 39; are
averaging 31.*

The ratio of the capacity of the cells for
the two sexes is therefore roughly a ratio of
4 to 3. The actual contents of the cell being
proportionate to its capacity, the above ratio
must also be more or less the ratio of pro-
visions and sizes between females and males.
These figures will assist us presently to tell

11.56, 1.71, 1.67, 1.87, 1.87, 1.79, 1.83 inches.—Translat-
or’s Note.

21.75 inches.—Translator’s Note.

37.24, 1.36, 1.09, 1.17, 1.17, 1.21 inches——Translator’s

Note.
41.21 inches.—Translator’s Note.

117

Bramble-bees and Others

whether an old cell, occupied for a second
or third time, belonged originally to a female
or a male.

The Chalicodoma of the Sheds cannot give
us any information on this matter. She builds
under the same eaves, in excessively populous
colonies; and it is impossible to follow the
labours of any single Mason, whose cells, dis-
tributed here and there, are soon covered up
with the work of her neighbours. All is mud-
dle and confusion in the individual output of
the swarming throng.

I have not watched the work of the Chali-
‘ codoma of the Shrubs with close enough at-
tention to be able to state definitely that this
Bee is a solitary builder. Her nest is a ball
of clay hanging from a bough. Sometimes,
this nest is the size of a large walnut and
then appears to be the work of one alone;
sometimes, it is the size of a man’s fist, in
which case I have no doubt that it is the
work of several. ‘These bulky nests, com-
prising more than fifty cells, can tell us
nothing exact, as a number of workers must
certainly have collaborated to produce them.

The walnut-sized nests are more trust-
worthy, for everything seems to show that

118

The Distribution of the Sexes

they were built by a single Bee. Here
females are found in the centre of the group
and males at the circumference, in somewhat
smaller cells, thus repeating what the Chali-
codoma of the Pebbles has told us.

One clear and simple rule stands out from
this collection of facts. Apart from the single
exception of the Three-pronged Osmia, who
mixes the sexes without any order, the Bees
whom I studied and probably a crowd of
others produce first a continuous series of fe-
males and then a continuous series of males,
the latter with less provisions and smaller
cells. This distribution of the sexes agrees
with what we have long known of the Hive-
bee, who begins her laying with a long se-
quence of workers, or sterile females, and
ends it with a long sequence of males. The
analogy continues down to the capacity of the
cells and the quantities of provisions. The
real females, the Queen-bees, have wax cells
incomparably more spacious than the cells of
the males and receive a much larger amount
of food. Everything therefore demonstrates
that we are here in the presence of a general
rule.

But does this rule express the whole truth ?

119

Bramble-bees and Others

Is there nothing beyond a laying in two series?
Are the Osmiz, the Chalicodome and the rest
of them fatally bound by this distribution of
the sexes into two distinct groups, the male
group following upon the female group, with-
out any mixing of the two? Is the mother
absolutely powerless to make a change in this
arrangement, should circumstances require it ?
The Three-pronged Osmia already shows
us that the problem is far from being solved.
In the same bramble-stump, the two sexes
occur very irregularly, as though at random.
Why this mixture in the series of cocoons of
a Bee closely related to the Horned Osmia
and the Three-horned Osmia, who stack theirs
methodically by separate sexes in the hollow
of a reed? What the Bee of the brambles
does cannot her kinswomen of the reeds do
too? Nothing, so far as I know, can ex-
plain this fundamental difference in a physi-
ological act of primary importance. The three
Bees belong to the same genus; they resemble
one another in general outline, internal struc-
ture and habits; and, with this close similarity,
we suddenly find a strange dissimilarity.
There is just one thing that might possibly
arouse a suspicion of the cause of this irregu-

120

The Distribution of the Sexes

larity in the Three-pronged Osmia’s laying.
If I open a bramble-stump in the winter to
examine the Osmia’s nest, I find it impossible,
in the vast majority of cases, to distinguish
positively between a female and a male
cocoon: the difference in size is so small. The
cells, moreover, have the same capacity: the
diameter of the cylinder is the same through-
out and the partitions are almost always the
same distance apart. If I open it in July,
the victualling-period, it is impossible for
me to distinguish between the provisions
destined for the males and those destined for
the females. The measurement of the column
of honey gives practically the same depth in
all the cells. We find an equal quantity of
space and food provided for both the males
and the females.

This result makes us foresee what a direct
examination of the two sexes in the adult form
tells us. The male does not differ materially
from the female in respect of size. If he is
a trifle smaller, it is scarcely noticeable,
whereas, in the Horned Osmia and the Three-
horned Osmia, the male is only half or a
third the size of the female, as we have seen
from the respective bulk of their cocoons. In

121

Bramble-bees aid Others

the Mason-bee of the Walls, there is also a
difference in size, though less pronounced.

The Three-pronged Osmia has not there-
fore to trouble about adjusting the dimensions
of the dwelling and the quantity of the food
to the sex of the egg which she is about to
lay: the measure is the same from one end of
the series to the other. It does not matter
if the sexes alternate without order: one and
all will find what they need, whatever their
position in the row. The two other Osmia,
with their great disparity in size between the
two sexes, have to be careful about the two-
fold consideration of board and lodging.
And that, I think, is why they begin with
spacious cells and generous rations for the
homes of the females and end with narrow,
scantily-provisioned cells, the homes of the
males. With this sequence, sharply defined
for the two sexes, there is less fear of mis-
takes which might give to one what belongs
to another. If this is not the explanation of
the facts, I see no other.

The more I thought about this curious
question, the more probable it appeared to
me that the irregular series of the Three-
pronged Osmia and the regular series of the

122

The Distribution of the Sexes

other Osmiz, of the Chalicodome and of the
Bees in general were all traceable to a com-
mon law. It seemed to me that the arrange-
ment in a succession first of females and then
of males did not account for everything.
There must be something more. And I was
right: that arrangement in series is only a
tiny fraction of the reality, which is remark-
able in a very different way. This is what I
am going to prove by experiment.

123

CHAPTER IV
THE MOTHER DECIDES THE SEX OF THE EGG

WILL begin with the Mason-bee of the

Pebbles. The old nests are often used,
when they are in good enough repair. Early
in the season, the mothers quarrel fiercely over
them; and, when one of the Bees has taken
possession of the coveted dome, she drives
any stranger away from it. The old house 1s
far from being a ruin, only it is perforated
with as many holes as it once had occupants.
The work of restoration is no great matter.
The earthy heap, due to the destruction of
the lid by the outgoing tenant, is taken out
of the cell and flung away at a distance, atom
by atom. The remnants of the cocoon are
also thrown away, but not always, for the
delicate silken wrapper sometimes adheres
closely to the masonry.

The victualling of the renovated cell is now
begun. Next comes the laying; and lastly
the orifice is sealed with a mortar plug. A
second cell is utilized in the same way, fol-

124

The Mother Decides the Sex

lowed by a third and so on, one after the
other, as long as any remain unoccupied and
the mother’s ovaries are not exhausted.
Finally, the dome receives, mainly over the
apertures already plugged, a coat of plaster
which makes the nest look like new. If she
has not finished her laying, the mother goes
in search of other old nests to complete it.
Perhaps she does not decide to found a new
establishment except when she can find no
second-hand dwellings, which mean a great
economy of time and labour. In short,
among the countless number of nests which
I have collected, I find many more ancient
than recent ones.

How shall we distinguish one from the
other? The outward aspect tells us nothing,
owing to the great care taken by the Mason
to restore the surface of the old dwelling
equal to new. To resist the rigours of the
winter, this surface must be impregnable.
The mother knows that and therefore repairs
the dome. Inside, it is another matter: the
old nest stands revealed at once. There are
cells whose provisions, at least a year old, are
intact, but dried up or musty, because the egg
has never developed. There are others con-

125

Bramble-bees and Others

taining a dead larva, reduced by time to a
blackened, curled-up cylinder. There are
some whence the perfect insect was never able
to issue: the Chalicodoma wore herself out
in trying to pierce the ceiling of her chamber;
her strength failed her and she perished in
the attempt. Others again and very many
are occupied by ravagers, Leucospes and
Anthrax-flies, who will come out a good deal
later, in July. Altogether, the house is far
from having every room vacant; there are
nearly always a considerable number occupied
either by parasites that were still in the egg-
stage at the time when the Mason-bee was
at work or by damaged provisions, dried
grubs or Chalicodomz in the perfect state
who have died without being able to effect
their deliverance.

Should all the rooms be available, a rare
occurrence, there still remains a method of
distinguishing between an ancient nest and a
recent one. ‘The cocoon, as I have said, ad-
heres pretty closely to the walls; and the
mother does not always take away this rem-
nant, either because she is unable to do so, or
because she considers the removal unneces-
sary. ‘Thus the base of the new cocoon is

126

The Mother Decides the Sex

set in the bottom of the old cocoon. This
double wrapper points very clearly to two gen-
erations, two separate years. I have even
found as many as three cocoons fitting one
into another at their bases. Consequently,
the nests of the Mason-bee of the Pebbles are
able to do duty for three years, if not more.
Eventually they become utter ruins, aban-
doned to the Spiders and to various smaller
Bees or Wasps, who take up their quarters
in the crumbling rooms.

As we see, an old nest is hardly ever ca-
pable of containing the Mason-bee’s entire lay-
ing, which calls for some fifteen apartments.
The number of rooms at her disposal is most
unequal, but always very small. It is say-
ing much when there are enough to receive
about half the laying. Four or five cells,
sometimes two or even one: that is what the
Mason usually finds in a nest that is not her
own work. This large reduction is explained
when we remember the numerous parasites
that live upon the unfortunate Bee.

Now, how are the sexes distributed in those
layings which are necessarily broken up be-
tween one old nest and another? ‘They are
distributed in such a way as utterly to upset

127

Bramble-bees and Others

the idea of an invariable succession first of
females and then of males, the idea which
occurs to us on examining the new nests. If
this rule were a constant one, we should be
bound to find in the old domes at one time
only females, at another only males, accord-
ing as the laying was at its first or at its
second stage. The simultaneous presence of
the two sexes would then correspond with the
transition-period between one stage and the
next and should be very unusual. On the con-
trary, it is very common; and, however few
cells there may be, we always find both fe-
males and males in the old nests, on the sole
condition that the compartments have the
regulation holding-capacity, a large capacity
for the females, a lesser for the males, as we
have seen.

The old male cells can be recognized by
their position on the outer edges and by their
capacity, measuring on an average the same as
a column of sand 31 millimetres high in a
glass tube 5 millimetres wide.t These cells
contain males of the second or third genera-
tion and none but males. In the old female
cells, those in the middle, whose capacity is

1,21 X .195 inches.—Translator’s Note.
128

The Mother Decides the Sex

measured by a similar column of sand 45
millimetres’ high, are females and none but
females.

This presence of both sexes at a time, even
when there are but two cells free, one spacious
and the other small, proves in the plainest
fashion that the regular distribution observed
in the complete nests of recent production is
here replaced by an irregular distribution,
harmonizing with the number and holding-
capacity of the chambers to be stocked. The
Mason-bee has before her, let me suppose,
only five vacant cells: two larger and three
smaller. The total space at her disposal
would do for about a third of the laying.
Well, in the two large cells, she puts females;
in the three small cells, she puts males.

As we find the same sort of thing in all
the old nests, we must needs admit that the
mother knows the sex of the egg which she
is going to lay, because that egg is placed
in a cell of the proper capacity. We can go
further and admit that the mother alters the
order of succession of the sexes at her plea-
sure, because her layings, between one old nest
and another, are broken up into small groups

11.75 inches.—Translator’s Note.
129

Bramble-bees and Others

of males and females according to the exi-
gencies of space in the actual nest which she
happens to be occupying.

Just now, in the new nest, we saw the
Mason-bee arranging her total laying into
series first of females and next of males; and
here she is, mistress of an old nest of which
she has not the power to alter the arrange-
ment, breaking up her laying into sections
comprising both sexes just as required by the
conditions imposed upon her. She therefore
decides the sex of the egg at will, for, with-
out this prerogative, she could not, in the
chambers of a nest which she owes to chance,
deposit unerringly the sex for which those
chambers were originally built; and this hap-
pens however small the number of chambers
to be filled.

When the nest is new, I think I see a reason
why the Mason-bee should seriate her laying
into females and then males. Her nest is a
half-sphere. That of the Mason-bee of the
Shrubs is very nearly a sphere. Of all shapes,
the spherical shape is the strongest. Now
these two nests require an exceptional power
of resistance. Without protection of any
kind, they have to brave the weather, one on

130

The Mother Decides the Sex

its pebble, the other on its bough. Their
spherical configuration is therefore very prac-
tical.

The nest of the Mason-bee of the Walls
consists of a cluster of upright cells backing
against one another. For the whole to take
a spherical form, the height of the chambers
must diminish from the centre of the dome to
the circumference. Their elevation is the
sine of the meridian arc starting from the
plane of the pebble. Therefore, if they are
to have any solidity, there must be large cells
in the middle and small cells at the edges.
And, as the work begins with the central
chambers and ends with those on the circum-
ference, the laying of the females, destined
for the large cells, must precede that of the
males, destined for the small cells. So the
females come first and the males at the finish.

This is all very well when the mother her-
self founds the dwelling, when she lays the
first rows of bricks. But, when she is in
the presence of an old nest, of which she
is quite unable to alter the general arrange-
ment, how is she to make use of the few va-
cant rooms, the large and the small alike,
if the sex of the egg be already irrevocably

131

’ Bramble-bees and Others

fixed? She can only do so by abandoning the
arrangement in two consecutive rows and ac-
commodating her laying to the varied ex-
igencies of the home. Either she finds it
impossible to make an economical use of the
old nest, a theory refuted by the evidence, or
else she determines at will the sex of the egg
which she is about to lay.

The Osmiz themselves will furnish the
most conclusive evidence on the latter point.
We have seen that these Bees are not gen-
erally miners, who themselves dig out the
foundation of their cells. They make use
of the old structures of others, or else of
natural retreats, such as hollow stems, the
spirals of empty shells and various hiding-
places in walls, clay or wood. Their work
is confined to repairs to the house, such as
partitions and covers. There are plenty of
these retreats; and the insect would always
find first-class ones if it thought of going any
distance to look for them. But the Osmia is
a stay-at-home: she returns to her birth-place
and clings to it with a patience which it is
extremely difficult to exhaust. It is here, in
this little familiar corner, that she prefers
to settle her progeny. But then the apart-

132°

The Mother Decides the Sex

ments are few in number and of all shapes
and sizes. ‘here are long and short ones,
spacious ones and narrow. Short of ex-
patriating herself, a Spartan course, she has
to use them all, from first to last, for she has
no choice. Guided by these considerations, I
embarked on the experiments which I will now
describe.

I have said how my study, on two separate
occasions, became a populous hive, in which
the Three-horned Osmia built her nests in
the various apparatus which I had prepared
for her. Among these apparatus, tubes,
either of glass or reed, predominated. There
were tubes of all lengths and widths. In the
long tubes, entire or almost entire layings,
with a series of females followed by a series
of males, were deposited. As I have already
referred to this result, I will not discuss it
again. The short tubes were sufficiently
varied in length to lodge one or other por-
tion of the total laying. Basing my calcula-
tions on the respective lengths of the cocoons
of the two sexes, on the thickness of the par-
titions and the final lid, I shortened some of
these to the exact dimensions required for two
cocoons only, of different sexes.

133

Bramble-bees and Others

Well, these short tubes, whether of glass
or reed, were seized upon as eagerly as the
long tubes. Moreover, they yielded this
splendid result: their contents, only a part
of the total laying, always began with female
and ended with male cocoons. This order was
invariable; what varied was the number of
cells in the long tubes and the proportion be-
tween the two sorts of cocoons, sometimes
males predominating and sometimes females.

The experiment is of paramount import-
ance; and it will perhaps make the result
clearer if I give one instance from among
a multitude of similar cases. I give the pref-
erence to this particular instance because of
the rather exceptional fertility of the laying.
An Osmia marked on the thorax is watched,
day by day, from the commencement to the
end of her work. From the Ist to the roth
of May, she occupies a glass tube in which
she lodges seven females followed by a male,
which ends the series. From the roth to the
17th of May, she colonizes a second tube, in
which she lodges first three females and then
three males. From the 17th to the 25th of
May, a third tube, with three females and
then two males. On the 26th of May, a

134

The Mother Decides the Sex

fourth tube, which she abandons, probably
because of its excessive width, after laying one
female in it. Lastly, from the 26th to the
30th of May, a fifth tube, which she colon-
izes with two females and three males.
Total: twenty-five Osmiz, including seven-
teen females and eight males. And it will
not be superfluous to observe that these un-
finished series do not in any way correspond
with periods separated by intervals of rest.
The laying is continuous, in so far as the
variable condition of the atmosphere allows.
As soon as one tube is full and closed, an-
other is occupied by the Osmia without delay.

The tubes reduced to the exact length of
two cells fulfilled my expectation in the great
majority of cases: the lower cell was occupied
by a female and the upper by a male. There
were a few exceptions. More discerning than
I in her estimate of what was strictly neces-
sary, better-versed in the economy of space,
the Osmia had found a way of lodging two
females where I had only seen room for one
female and a male.

This experiment speaks volumes. When
confronted with tubes too small to receive all
her family, she is in the same plight as the

135

Bramble-bees and Others

Mason-bee in the presence of an old nest.
She thereupon acts exactly as the Chalico-
doma does. She breaks up her laying, divides
it into series as short as the room at her dis-
posal requires; and each series begins with
females and ends with males. This break-
ing up, on the one hand, into sections in all
of which both sexes are represented and the
division, on the other hand, of the entire
laying into just two groups, one female, the
other male, when the length of the tube per-
mits, surely provide us with ample evidence
of the insect’s power to regulate the sex of
the egg according to the exigencies of space.

And besides the exigencies of space one
might perhaps venture to add those connected
with the earlier development of the males.
These burst their cocoons a couple of weeks
or more before the females; they are the first
who hasten to the sweets of the almond-tree.
In order to release themselves and emerge
into the glad sunlight without disturbing the
string of cocoons wherein their sisters are still
sleeping, they must occupy the upper end of
the row; and this, no doubt, is the reason
that makes the Osmia end each of her broken
layings with males. Being next to the door,

136

The Mother Decides the Sex

these impatient ones will leave the home with-
out upsetting the shells that are slower in
hatching.

I experimented on Latreille’s Osmia, using
short and even very short stumps of reed.
All that I had to do was to lay them just be-
side the nests of the Mason-bee of the Sheds,
nests beloved by this particular Osmia. Old,
disused hurdles supplied me with reeds in-
habited from end to end by the Horned
Osmia. In both cases I obtained the same
results and the same conclusions as with the
Three-horned Osmia.

I return to the latter, nidifying under my
eyes in some old nests of the Mason-bee of
the Walls, which I had placed within her
reach, mixed up with the tubes. Outside my
study, I had never yet seen the Three-horned
Osmia adopt that domicile. This may be
due to the fact that these nests are isolated
one by one in the fields; and the Osmia, who
loves to feel herself surrounded by her kin
and to work in plenty of company, refuses
them because of this isolation. But on my
table, finding them close to the tubes in which
the others are working, she adopts them with-
out hesitation.

137

Bramble-bees and Others

The chambers presented by those old nests
are more or less spacious according to the
thickness of the coat of mortar which the
Chalicodoma has laid over the assembled
chambers. ‘T'o leave her cell, the Mason-bee
has to perforate not only the plug, the lid
built at the mouth of the cell, but also the
thick plaster wherewith the dome is strength-
ened at the end of the work. ‘The perfora-
tion results in a vestibule which gives access
to the chamber itself. It is this vestibule
which is sometimes longer and sometimes
shorter, whereas the corresponding chamber
is of almost constant dimensions, in the case
of the same sex, of course.

We will first consider the short vestibule,
at the most large enough to receive the plug
with which the Osmia will close up the lodg-
ing. There is then nothing at her disposal
except the cell proper, a spacious apartment
in which one of the Osmia’s females will find
ample accommodation, for she is much smaller
than the original occupant of the chamber,
no matter the sex; but there is not room for
two cocoons at a time, especially in view of
the space taken up by the intervening parti-
tion. Well, in those large, well-built cham-

138

The Mother Decides the Sex

bers, formerly the homes of Chalicodome, the
Osmia settles females and none but females.

Let us now consider the long vestibule.
Here, a partition is constructed, encroach-
ing slightly on the cell proper, and the resi-
dence is divided into two unequal storeys, a
large room below, housing a female, and a
narrow cabin above, containing a male.

When the length of the vestibule permits,
allowing for the space required by the outer
stopper, a third storey is built, smaller than
the second; and another male is lodged in this
cramped corner. In this way the old nest of
the Mason-bee of the Pebbles is colonized,
cell after cell, by a single mother.

The Osmia, as we see, is very frugal of
the lodging that has fallen to her share; she
makes the best possible use of it, giving to
the females the spacious chambers of the
Mason-bee and to the males the narrow vesti-
bules, subdivided into storeys when this is fea-
sible. Economy of space is the chief consi-
deration, since her stay-at-home tastes do not
allow her to indulge in distant quests. She
has to employ the site which chance places at
her disposal just as it is, now for a male and
now for a female. Here we see displayed,

139

Bramble-bees and Others

more clearly than ever, her power of deciding
the sex of the egg, in order to adapt it ju-
diciously to the conditions of the house-room
available.

I had offered at the same time to the
Osmiz in my study some old nests of the
Mason-bee of the Shrubs, which are clay
spheroids with cylindrical cavities in them.
‘These cavities are formed, as in the old nests’
of the Mason-bee of the Pebbles, of the cell
properly so-called and of the exit-way which
the perfect insect cut through the outer coat-
ing at the time of its deliverance. Their diam-
eter is about 7 millimetres; their depth at
the centre of the heap is 23 millimetres? and
at the edge averages 14 millimetres.®

The deep central cells receive only the fe-
males of the Osmia; sometimes even the two
sexes together, with a partition in the middle,
the female occupying the lower and the male
the upper storey. True, in such cases eco-
nomy of space is strained to the utmost, the
apartments provided by the Mason-bee of the
Shrubs being very small already, despite their

1.273 inch.—-Translator’s Note.
2.897 inch—Translator’s Note.
3.546 inch—Translator’s Note.

140

The Mother Decides the Sex

entrance-halls. Lastly, the deeper cavities on
the circumference are allotted to females and
the shallower to males.

I will add that a single mother peoples
each nest and also that she proceeds from cell
to cell without troubling to ascertain the
depth. She goes from the centre to the edges,
from the edges to the centre, from a deep
cavity to a shallow cavity and vice versa,
which she would not do if the sexes were to
follow upon each other in a settled order.
For greater certainty, I numbered the cells of
one nest as each of them was closed. On open-
ing them later, I was able to see that the
sexes were not subjected to a chronological
arrangement. Females were succeeded by
males and these by females without its being
possible for me to make out any regular se-
quence. Only—and this is the essential point
—the deep cavities were allotted to the fe-
males and the shallow ones to the males.

We know that the Three-horned Osmia
prefers to haunt the habitations of the Bees
who nidify in populous colonies, such as the
Mason-bee of the Sheds and the Hairy-
footed Anthophora. Exercising the very
greatest care, | broke up some great lumps

141

Bramble-bees and Others

of earth removed from the wayside banks in-
habited by the Anthophora and sent to me
from Carpentras by my dear friend and pupil
Henri Devillario. I examined them conscien-
tiously in the quiet of my study. I found the
Osmia’s cocoons arranged in short series, in
very irregular passages, the original work
of which is due to the Anthophora. Touched
up afterwards, made larger or smaller,
lengthened or shortened, intersected with a
network of crossings by the numerous gene-
rations that had succeeded one another in
the same city, they formed an inextricable
labyrinth.

Sometimes these corridors did not com-
municate with any adjoining apartment; some-
times they gave access to the spacious cham-
ber of the Anthophora, which could be re-
cognized, in spite of its age, by its oval shape
and its coating of glazed stucco. In the lat-
ter case, the bottom cell, which once consti-
tuted, by itself, the chamber of the Antho-
phora, was always occupied by a female
Osmia. Beyond it, in the narrow corridor,
a male was lodged, not seldom two, or even
three. Of course, clay partitions, the work of
the Osmia, separated the different inhabitants,

142

The Mother Decides the Sex

each of whom had his own storey, his own
closed cell.

When the accommodation consisted of no
more than a simple cylinder, with no state-
bedroom at the end of it, a bedroom always
reserved for a female, the contents varied
with the diameter of the cylinder. The series,
of which the longest were series of four, in-
cluded, with a wider diameter, first one or
two females, then one or two males. It also
happened, though rarely, that the series was
reversed, that is to say, it began with males
and ended with females. Lastly, there were
a good many isolated cocoons, of one sex or
the other. When the cocoon was alone and
occupied the Anthophora’s cell, it invariably
belonged to a female.

I have observed the same thing in the nests
of the Mason-bee of the Sheds, but not so
easily. The series are shorter here, because
the Mason-bee does not bore galleries but
builds cell upon cell. The work of the whole
swarm thus forms a stratum of cells that
grows thicker from year to year. The cor-
ridors occupied by the Osmia are the holes
which the Mason-bee dug in order to reach
daylight from the deep layers. In these short

143

Bramble-bees and Others

series, both sexes are usually present; and, if
the Mason-bee’s chamber is at the end of the
passage, it is inhabited by a female Osmia.

We come back to what the short tubes and
the old nests of the Mason-bee of the Pebbles
have already taught us. The Osmia who, in
tubes of sufficient length, divides her whole
laying into a continuous sequence of females
and a continuous sequence of males, now
breaks it up into short series in which both
sexes are present. She adapts her sectional
layings to the exigencies of a chance lodging;
she always places a female in the sumptuous
chamber which the Mason-bee or the Antho-
phora occupied originally.

Facts even more striking are supplied by
the old nests of the Masked Anthophora
(4. personata, ILLtc.), old nests which
I have seen utilized by the Horned Osmia
and the Three-horned Osmia at the same
time. Less frequently, the same nests serve
for Latreille’s Osmia. Let us first describe
the Masked Anthophora’s nests.

In a steep bank of sandy clay, we find a set
of round, wide-open holes. ‘There are gen-
erally only a few of them, each about
half an inch in diameter. ‘They are the en-

144

The Mother Decides the Sex

trance-doors leading to the Anthophora’s
abode, doors always left open, even after the
building is finished. Each of them gives’ac-
cess to a short passage, sometimes straight,
sometimes winding, nearly horizontal, po-
lished with minute care and varnished with a
sort of white glaze. It looks as if it had
received a thin coat of whitewash. On the
inner surface of this passage, in the thickness
of the earthy bank, spacious oval niches have
been excavated, communicating with the cor-
ridor by means of a narrow bottle-neck, which
is closed, when the work is done, with a sub-
stantial mortar stopper. The Anthophora
polishes the outside of this stopper so well,
smoothes its surface so perfectly, bringing it
to the same level as that of the passage, is so
careful to give it the white tint of the rest
of the wall that, when the job is finished, it
becomes absolutely impossible to distinguish
the entrance-door corresponding with each
cell.

The cell is an oval cavity dug in the earthy
mass. ‘The wall has the same polish, the
same chalky whiteness as the general passage.
But the Anthophora does not limit herself
to digging oval niches: to make her work

145

Bramble-bees and Others

more solid, she pours over the walls of the
chamber a salivary liquid which not only
whitens and varnishes but also penetrates to
a depth of some millimetres into the sandy
earth, which it turns into a hard cement. A
similar precaution is taken with the passage;
and therefore the whole is a solid piece of
work capable of remaining in excellent con-
dition for years.

Moreover, thanks to the wall hardened by
the salivary fluid, the structure can be re-
moved from its matrix by chipping it care-
fully away. We thus obtain, at least in frag-
ments, a serpentine tube from which hangs
a single or double row of oval nodules that
look like large grapes drawn out lengthwise.
Each of these nodules is a cell, the entrance
to which, carefully hidden, opens into the
tube or passage. When she wishes to leave
her cell, in the spring, the Anthophora de-
stroys the mortar disk that closes the jar
and thus reaches the general corridor, which
is quite open to the outer air. The abandoned
nest provides a series of pear-shaped cavities,
of which the distended part is the old cell
and the contracted part the exit-neck rid of
its stopper.

146

The Mother Decides the Sex

These pear-shaped hollows form splendid
lodgings, impregnable strongholds, in which
the Osmiz find a safe and commodious re-
treat for their families. The Horned Osmia
and the Three-horned Osmia establish them-
selves there at the same time. Although it
is a little too large for her, Latreille’s Osmia
also appears very well satisfied with it.

I have examined some forty of the superb
cells utilized by each of the first two. The
great majority are divided into two storeys by
means of a transversal partition. The lower
storey includes the larger portion of the An-
thophora’s cell; the upper storey includes the
rest of the cell and a little of the bottle-neck
that surmounts it. The two-roomed dwelling
is closed, in the passage, by a shapeless, bulky
mass of dried mud. What a clumsy artist
the Osmia is, compared with the Antho-
phora! Against the exquisite work of the
Anthophora, partition and plug strike a note
as hideously incongruous as a lump of dirt
on polished marble.

The two apartments thus obtained are of a
very unequal capacity, which at once strikes
the observer. I measured them with my five-
millimetre tube. On an average, the bottom

147

Bramble-bees and Others

one is represented by a column of sand 50
millimetres! deep and the top one by a column
of 15 millimetres.?, The holding-capacity of
the one is therefore about three times as large
as that of the other. The cocoons enclosed
present the same disparity. “The bottom one
is big, the top one small. Lastly, the lower
one belongs to a female Osmia and the up-
per to a male Osmia.

Occasionally the length of the bottle-neck
allows of a fresh arrangement and the cavity
is divided into three storeys. The bottom
one, which is always the most spacious, con-
tains a female; the two above, both smaller
than the first and one smaller than the other,
contain males.

Let us keep to the first case, which is al-
ways the most frequent. The Osmia is in
the presence of one of these pear-shaped hol-
lows. It is a find that must be employed to
the best advantage: a prize of this sort is
rare and falls only to fortune’s favourites.
To lodge two females in it at once is impos-
sible; there is not sufficient room. To lodge
two males in it would be undue generosity to

11.95 inches.—Translator’s Note.
2.585 inch.—Translator’s Note.

148

The Mother Decides the Sex

a sex that is entitled to but the smallest con-
sideration. Besides, the two sexes must be
represented in almost equal numbers. The
Osmia decides upon one female, whose por-
tion shall be the better room, the lower one,
which is larger, better-protected and more
nicely polished, and one male, whose portion
shall be the upper storey, a cramped attic,
uneven and rugged in the part which en-
croaches on the bottle-neck. This decision is
proved by numerous undeniable facts. Both
Osmiz therefore can choose the sex of the
egg about to be laid, seeing that they are now
breaking up the laying into groups of two, a
female and a male, as required by the condi-
tions of the lodging.

I have only once found Latreille’s Osmia
established in the nest of the Masked Antho-
phora. She had occupied only a small num-
ber of cells, because the others were not
free, being inhabited by the Anthophora. The
cells in question were divided into three
storeys by partitions of green mortar; the
lower storey was occupied by a female, the
two others by males, with smaller cocoons.

I came to an even more remarkable ex-
ample. Two Anthidia of my district, dn-

149

Bramble-bees and Others

thidium septemdentatum, LATR., and A.
bellicosum, LEP., adopt as the home of their
offspring the empty shells of different snails:
Helix aspersa, H. algira, H. nemoralis, H.
cespitum. The first-named, the Common
Snail, is the most often used, under the stone-
heaps and in the crevices of old walls. Both
Anthidia colonize only the second whorl of
the spiral. The central part is too small and
is unoccupied. Even so with the front whorl,
the largest, which is left completely empty,
so much so that, on looking through the open-
ing, it is impossible to tell whether the shell
does or does not contain the Bee’s nest. We
have to break this last whorl if we would per-
ceive the curious nest tucked away in the
spiral.

We then find first a transversal partition,
formed of tiny bits of gravel cemented by a
putty made from resin, which is collected
in fresh drops from the oxycedrus and the
Aleppo pine. Beyond this is a stout barricade
made up of rubbish of all kinds: bits of
gravel, scraps of earth, juniper-needles, the
catkins of the conifers, small shells, dried
excretions of Snails. Next come a partition of
pure resin, a large cocoon in a roomy cham-

Iso

The Mother Decides the Sex

ber, a second partition of pure resin and,
lastly, a smaller cocoon in a narrow chamber.
The inequality of the two cells is the neces-
sary consequence of the shape of the shell,
whose inner space gains rapidly in width as
the spiral gets nearer to the orifice. Thus,
by the mere general arrangement of the home
and without any work on the Bee’s part be-
yond some slender partitions, a large room is
marked out in front and a much smaller
room at the back.

By a very remarkable exception, which I
have mentioned casually elsewhere, the males
of the genus Anthidium are generally larger
than the females; and this is the case with
the two species in particular that divide the
Snail’s spiral with resin partitions. I col-
lected some dozens of nests of both species.
In at least half the cases, the two sexes were
present together; the female, the smaller, oc-
cupied the front-cell and the male, the big-
ber, the back-cell. Other cells, which were
smaller or too much obstructed at the back
by the dried-up remains of the mollusc, con-
tained only one cell, occupied at one time by
a female and at another by a male. A few,
lastly, had both cells inhabited now by two

Ist

Bramble-bees and Others

males and now by two females. The most fre-
quent arrangement was the simultaneous
presence of both sexes, with the female in
front and the male behind. The Anthidia
who make resin-dough and live in Snail-
shells can therefore alternate the sexes regu-
larly to meet the exigencies of the spiral
dwelling-house.

One more thing and I have done. My ap-
paratus of reeds, fixed against the walls of
the garden, supplied me with a remarkable
nest of the Horned Osmia. ‘The nest is es-
tablished in a bit of reed 11 millimetres! wide
inside. It comprises thirteen cells and occu-
pies only half the cylinder although the ori-
fice is plugged with the usual stopper. The
laying therefore seems here to be complete.

Well, this laying is arranged in a most
singular fashion. ‘There is first, at a suitable
distance from the bottom or the node of the
reed, a transversal partition, perpendicular to
the axis of the tube. This marks off a cell of
unusual size, in which a female is lodged.
After that, in view of the excessive width of
the tunnel, which is too great for a series in
single file, the Osmia appears to alter her

1.429 inch.—Translator’s Note.
152

The Mother Decides the Sex

mind. She therefore builds a partition per-
pendicular to the transversal partition which
she has just constructed and thus divides the
second storey into two rooms, a larger room,
in which she lodges a female, and a smaller,
in which she lodges a male. She next builds
a second transversal partition and a second
longitudinal partition perpendicular to it.
These once more give two unequal chambers,
stocked likewise, the large one with a female,
the smaller one with a male.

From this third storey onwards, the Osmia
abandons goemetrical accuracy; the architect
seems to be a little out in her reckonings.
The transversal partitions become more and
more slanting and the work grows irregular,
but always with a sprinkling of large cham-
bers for the females and small chambers for
the males. Three females and two males are
housed in this way, the sexes alternating.

By the time that the base of the eleventh
cell is reached, the transversal partition is
once more almost perpendicular to the axis.
Here what happened at the bottom is re-
peated. There is no longitudinal partition;
and the spacious cell, covering the whole dia-
meter of the cylinder, receives a female. The

153

Bramble-bees and Others

edifice ends with two transversal partitions
and one longitudinal partition, which mark
out, on the same level, chambers twelve and
thirteen, both of which contain males.

There is nothing more curious than this
mixing of the two sexes, when we know with
what precision the Osmia separates them in
a linear series, where the narrow width of the
cylinder demands that the cells shall be set
singly, one above the other. Here, the Bee
is making use of a tube whose dmetee 1S
not suited to her work; she is constructing a
complex and difficult edifice, which perhaps
would not possess the necessary solidity if the
ceilings were too broad. ‘The Osmia there-
fore supports these ceilings with longitudinal
partitions; and the unequal chambers result-
ing from the introduction of these partitions
receive females at one time and males at an-
other, according to their capacity.

154

CHAPTER V
PERMUTATIONS OF SEX

eee sex of the egg is optional. The
choice rests with the mother, who is
guided by consideration of space and, accord-
ing to the accommodation at her disposal,
which is frequently fortuitous and incapable
of modification, places a female in this cell
and a male in that, so that both may have a
dwelling of a size suited to their unequal de-
velopment. This is the unimpeachable evi-
dence of the numerous and varied facts which
I have set forth. People unfamiliar with in-
sect anatomy—the public for whom I write—
would probably give the following explana-
tion of this marvellous prerogative of the
Bee: the mother has at her disposal a certain
number of eggs, some of which are irrevo-
cably female and the others irrevocably male;
she is able to pick out of either group the one
which she wants at the actual moment; and
her choice is decided by the holding-capacity
155

Bramble-bees and Others

of the cell that has to be stocked. Every-
thing would then be limited to a judicious se-
lection from the heap of eggs.

Should this idea occur to him, the reader
must hasten to reject it. Nothing could be
more false, as the merest reference to ana-
tomy will show. The female reproductive
apparatus of the Hymenoptera consists gen-
erally of six ovarian tubes, something like
glove-fingers, divided into bunches of three
and ending in a common canal, the oviduct,
which carries the eggs outside. Each of these
glove-fingers is fairly wide at the base but
tapers sharply towards the tip, which is
closed. It contains, arranged in a row, one
after the other, like beads on a string, a cert-
ain number of eggs, five or six for instance,
of which the lower ones are more or less de-
veloped, the middle ones half-way towards
maturity and the upper ones very rudimentary.
Every stage of evolution is here represented,
distributed regularly from bottom to top,
from the verge of maturity to the vague out-
lines of the embryo. The sheath clasps its
string of ovules so closely that any inversion
of the order is impossible. Besides, an in-
version would result in a gross absurdity: the

156

Permutations of Sex

replacing of a riper egg by another in an
earlier stage of development.

Therefore, in each ovarian tube, in each
glove-finger, the emergence of the eggs oc-
curs according to the order governing their
arrangement in the common sheath; and any
other sequence is absolutely impossible.
Moreover, at the nesting-period, the six
ovarian sheaths, one by one and each in its
turn, have at their base an egg which in a
very short time swells enormously. Some
hours or even a day before the laying, that
egg by itself represents or even exceeds in bulk
the whole of the ovigenous apparatus. This
is the egg which is on the point of being laid.
It is about to descend into the oviduct, in its
proper order, at its proper time; and the
mother has no power to make another take its
place. It is this egg, necessarily this egg and
no other, that will presently be laid upon
the provisions, whether these be a mess of
honey or a live prey; it alone is ripe, it alone
is at the entrance to the oviduct; none of
the others, since they are farther back in
the row and not at the right stage of develop-
ment, can be substituted at this crisis. Its
birth is inevitable.

157

Bramble-bees and Others

What will it yield, a male or a female?
No lodging has been prepared, no food
collected for it; and yet both food and
lodging have to be in keeping with the sex
that will proceed from it. And here is a
much more puzzling condition: the sex of
that egg, whose advent is predestined, has to
correspond with the space which the mother
happens to have found for a cell. There is
therefore no room for hesitation, strange
though the statement may appear: the egg, as
it descends from its ovarian tube, has no de-
termined sex. It is perhaps during the few
hours of its rapid development at the base of
its ovarian sheath, it is perhaps on its pass-
age through the oviduct that it receives, at
the mother’s pleasure, the final impress that
will produce, to match the cradle which it has
to fill, either a female or a male.

Thereupon the following question presents
itself. Let us admit that, when the normal
conditions remain, a laying would have
yielded m females and n males. ‘Then, if
my conclusions are correct, it must be in the
mother’s power, when the conditions are dif-
ferent, to take from the m group and increase.
the » group to the same extent; it must be

158

Permutations of Sex

possible for her laying to be represented as
m—I1, m—2, m— 3, etc. females and by
n-+ 1, -+ 2, n+ 3, etc. males, the sum of
m+n remaining constant, but one of the
sexes being partly permuted into the other.
The ultimate conclusion even cannot be dis-
regarded: we must admit a set of eggs rep-
resented by m—™m, or zero, females and of
n-t+m males, one of the sexes being com-
pletely replaced by the other. Conversely, it
must be possible for the feminine series to be
augmented from the masculine series to the
extent of absorbing it entirely. It was to
solve this question and some others connected
with it that I undertook, for the second time,
to rear the Three-horned Osmia in my study.

The problem on this occasion is a more
delicate one; but I am also better-equipped.
My apparatus consists of two small, closed
packing-cases, with the front side of each
pierced with forty holes, in which I can insert
my glass tubes and keep them in a horizontal
position. I thus obtain for the Bees the dark-
ness and mystery which suit their work and
for myself the power of withdrawing from
my hive, at any time, any tube that I wish,
with the Osmia inside, so as to carry it to the

159

Bramble-bees and Others

light and follow, if need be with the aid
of the lens, the operations of the busy worker.
My observation, however frequent and mi-
nute, in no way hinders the peaceable Bee,
who remains absorbed in her maternal duties.

I mark a plentiful number of my guests
with a variety of dots on the thorax, which
enables me to follow any one Osmia from
the beginning to the end of her laying. The
tubes and their respective holes are numbered;
a list, always lying open on my desk, enables
me to note from day to day, sometimes from
hour to hour, what happens in each tube and
particularly the actions of the Osmie whose
backs bear distinguishing marks. As soon as
one tube is filled, I replace it by another.
Moreover, I have scattered in front of
either hive a few handfuls of empty Snail-
shells, specially chosen for the object which
I have in view. Reasons which I will
explain later led me to prefer the shells of
Helix cespitum. Fach of the shells, as and
when stocked, received the date of the laying
and the alphabetical sign corresponding with
the Osmia to whom it belonged. In this way,
I spent five or six weeks in continual observa-
tion. To succeed in an enquiry, the first and

160

Permutations of Sex

foremost condition is patience. This condi-
tion I fulfilled; and it was rewarded with the
success which I was justified in expecting.
The tubes employed are of two kinds. The
first, which are cylindrical and of the same
width throughout, will be of use for confirm-
ing the facts observed in the first year of my
experiments in indoor rearing. ‘The others,
the majority, consist of two cylinders which
are of very different diameters, set end to
end. The front cylinder, the one which pro-
jects a little way outside the hive and forms
the entrance-hole, varies in width between 8
and 12 millimetres.t The second, the back
one, contained entirely within my packing-
case, is closed at its far end and is 5 to 6
millimetres? in diameter. Each of the two
parts of the double-galleried tunnel, one nar-
row and one wide, measures at most a
decimetre*® in length. I thought it advisable
to have these short tubes as the Osmia is
thus compelled to select different lodgings,
each of them being insufficient in itself to
accommodate the total laying. In this way I
shall obtain a greater variety in the distribu-

1Between .312 and .468 inch—Translator’s Note.
2.195 to .234 inch.—Translator’s Note.
$3.9 inches.—Translator’s Note.

161

Bramble-bees and Others

tion of the sexes. Lastly, at the mouth of
each tube, which projects slightly outside the
case, there is a little paper tongue, forming a
sort of perch on which the Osmia alights on
her arrival and giving easy access to the
house. With these facilities, the swarm
colonized fifty-two double-galleried tubes,
thirty-seven cylindrical tubes, seventy-eight
Snail-shells and a few old nests of the Mason-
bee of the Shrubs. From this rich mine of
material I will take what I want to prove my
case.

Every series, even when incomplete, begins
with females and ends with males. To this
rule I have not yet found an exception, at least
in galleries of normal diameter. In each new
abode, the mother busies herself first of all
with the more important sex. Bearing this
point in mind, would it be possible for me,
by maneeuvring, to obtain an inversion of this
order and make the laying begin with males?
I think so, from the results already ascert-
ained and the irresistible conclusions to be
drawn from them. The double-galleried
tubes are installed in order to put my con-
jectures to the proof.

The back gallery, 5 or 6 millimetres wide,

162

Permutations of Sex

is too narrow to serve as a lodging for norm-
ally developed females. If, therefore, the
Osmia, who is very economical of her space,
wishes to occupy them, she will be obliged to
establish males there. And her laying must
necessarily begin here, because this corner is
the rearmost part of the tube. The foremost
gallery is wide, with an entrance-door on the
front of the hive. Here, finding the condi-
tions to which she is accustomed, the mother
will go on with her laying in the order which
she prefers.

Let us now see what has happened. Of
the fifty-two double-galleried tubes, about a
third did not have their narrow passage co-
lonized. The Osmia closed its aperture com-
municating with the large passage; and the
latter alone received the eggs. ‘This waste
of space was inevitable. The female Osmia,
though nearly always larger than the males,
present marked differences among one an-
other: some are bigger, some are smaller. I
had to adjust the width of the narrow gal-
leries to Bees of average dimensions. It may
happen therefore that a gallery is too small
to admit the large-sized mothers to whom
chance allots it. When the Osmia is unable

163

Bramble-bees and Others

to enter the tube, obviously she will not colon-
ize it. She then closes the entrance to this
space which she cannot use and does her lay-
ing beyond it, in the wide tube. Had I tried
to avoid these useless apparatus by choosing
tubes of larger calibre, I should have en-
countered another drawback: the medium-
sized mothers, finding themselves almost com-
fortable, would have decided to lodge females
there. I had to be prepared for it: as each
mother selected her house at will and as I
was unable to interfere in her choice, a nar-
row tube would be colonized or not according
as the Osmia who owned it was or was not
able to make her way inside.

There remain some forty pairs of tubes
with both galleries colonized. In these there
are two things to take into consideration.
The narrow rear tubes of 5 or 5%4 milli-
metres'—and these are the most numerous—
contain males and males only, but in short
series, between one and five. The mother is
here so much hampered in her work that they
are rarely occupied from end to end; the
Osmia seems in a hurry to leave them and to
go and colonize the front tube, whose ample

1.195 to .214 inch—Translator’s Note.
164,

Permutations of Sex

space will leave her the liberty of movement
necessary for her operations. The other rear
tubes, the minority, whose diameter is about
6 millimetres,’ contain sometimes only females
and sometimes females at the back and males
towards the opening. One can see that a
tube a trifle wider and a mother slightly
smaller would account for this difference in
the results. Nevertheless, as the necessary
space for a female is barely provided in this
case, we see that the mother avoids as far as
she can a two-sex arrangement beginning with
males and that she adopts it only in the Jast
extremity. Finally, whatever the contents of
the small tube may be, those of the large one,
following upon it, never vary and consist of
females at the back and males in front.

Though incomplete, because of circum-
stances very difficult to control, the result of
the experiment is none the less very striking.
Twenty-five apparatus contain only males in
their narrow gallery, in numbers varying from
a minimum of one to a maximum of five.
After these comes the colony of the large gal-
lery, beginning with females and ending with
males. And the layings in these apparatus

1.234 inch—Translator’s Note.

165

Bramble-bees and Others

do not always belong to late summer or even
to the intermediate period: a few small tubes
contain the earliest eggs of the Osmiz. A
couple of Osmiz, more forward than the
others, set to work on the 23rd of April. Both
of them started their laying by placing males
in the narrow tubes. The meagre supply of
provisions was enough in itself to show the
sex, which proved later to be in accordance
with my anticipations. We see then that, by
my artifices, the whole swarm starts with the
converse of the normal order. This inversion
is continued, at no matter what period, from
the commencement to the conclusion of the
operations. The series which, according to
rule, would begin with females now begins
with males. Once the larger gallery is reached,
the laying is pursued in the usual order.

We have advanced one step and that no
small one: we have seen that the Osmia, when
circumstances require it, is capable of revers-
ing the sequence of the sexes. Would it be
possible, provided that the tube were long
enough, to obtain a complete inversion, in
which the entire series of the males should
occupy the narrow gallery at the back and
the entire series of the females the roomy

166

Permutations of Sex

gallery in front? I ri not; and I will tell
you why.

Long and narrow cylinders are by no
means to the Osmia’s taste, not because of
their narrowness but because of their length.
Remember that for each load of honey
brought the worker is obliged to move back-
wards twice. She enters, head first, to begin
by disgorging the honey-syrup from her crop.
Unable to turn in a passage which she blocks
entirely, she goes out backwards, crawling
rather than walking, a laborious performance
on the polished surface of the glass and a
performance which, with any other surface,
would still be very awkward, as the wings are
bound to rub against the wall with their free
end and are liable to rumple or get bent. She
goes out backwards, reaches the outside, turns
round and goes in again, but this time the
opposite way, so as to brush off the load of
pollen from her abdomen on to the heap. If
the gallery is at all long, this crawling back-
wards becomes troublesome after a time; and
the Osmia soon abandons a passage that is
too small to allow of free movement. I have
said that the narrow tubes of my apparatus
are, for the most part, only very incompletely

167

Bramble-bees and Others

colonized. The Bee, after lodging a small
number of males in them, hastens to leave
them. In the wide front-gallery, she can
stay where she is and still be able to turn
round easily, for her different manipulations;
she will avoid those two long journeys back-
wards, which are so exhausting and so bad
for her wings.

Another reason no doubt prompts her not
to make too great a use of the narrow pass-
age, in which she would establish males, fol-
lowed by females in the part where the gal-
lery widens. ‘The males have to leave their
cells a couple of weeks or more before the
females. If they occupy the back of the
house, they will die prisoners or else they will
overturn everything on their way out. This
risk is avoided by the order which the Osmia
adopts.

In my tubes with their unusual arrange-
ment, the mother might well find the dilemma
perplexing: there is the narrowness of the
space at her disposal and there is the emer-
gence later on. In the narrow tubes, the
width is insufficient for the females; on the
other hand, if she lodges males there, they
are liable to perish, since they will be pre-

168

Permutations of Sex

vented from issuing at the proper moment.
This would perhaps explain the mother’s
hesitation and her obstinacy in settling fe-
males in some of my apparatus which looked
as if they could suit none but males.

A suspicion occurs to me, a_ suspicion
aroused by my attentive examination of the
narrow tubes. All, whatever the number of
their inmates, are carefully plugged at the
Opening, just as separate tubes would be. It
might therefore be the case that the narrow
gallery at the back was looked upon by the
Osmia not as the prolongation of the large
front gallery, but as an independent tube.
The facility with which the worker turns
as soon as she reaches the wide tube,
her liberty of action, which is now as
great as in a door-way communicating with
the outer air, might well be misleading and
cause the Osmia to treat the narrow passage
at the back as though the wide passage in
front did not exist. This would account for
the placing of the female in the large tube
above the males in the small tube, an arrange-
ment contrary to her custom.

I will not undertake to decide whether the
mother really appreciates the danger of my

169

Bramble-bees and Others

snares, or whether she makes a mistake in
considering only the space at her disposal
and beginning with males. At any rate,
I perceive in her a tendency to deviate
as little as possible from the order which safe-
guards the emergence of the two sexes. This
tendency is demonstrated by her repugnance
to colonizing my narrow tubes with long
series of males. However, so far as we are
concerned, it does not matter much what
passes at such times in the Osmia’s little brain.
Enough for us to know that she dislikes nar-
row and long tubes, not because they are nar-
row, but because they are at the same time
long.

And, in fact, she does very well with a
short tube of the same diameter. Such are
the cells in the old nests of the Mason-bee of
the Shrubs and the empty shells of the Gar-
den Snail. With the short tube, the two dis-
advantages of the long tube are avoided. She
has very little of that crawling backwards to
do when she has a Snail-shell for the home
of her eggs and scarcely any when the home
is the cell of the Mason-bee. Moreover, as
the stack of cocoons numbers two or three at
most, the deliverance will be exempt from the

170

Permutations of Sex

difficulties attached to a long series. To per-
suade the Osmia to nidify in a single tube long
enough to receive the whole of her laying and
at the same time narrow enough to leave her
only just the possibility of admittance appears
to me a project without the slightest chance
of success: the Bee would stubbornly refuse
such a dwelling or would content herself with
entrusting only a very small portion of her
eggs to it. On the other hand, with narrow
but short cavities, success, without being easy,
seems to me at least quite possible. Guided by
these considerations, I embarked upon the
most arduous part of my problem: to obtain
the complete or almost complete permutation
of one sex with the other; to produce a laying
consisting only of males by offering the
mother a series of lodgings suited only to
males.

Let us in the first place consult the old nests
of the Mason-bee of the Shrubs. I have said
that these mortar spheroids, pierced all over
with little cylindrical cavities, are adopted
pretty eagerly by the Three-horned Osmia,
who colonizes them before my eyes with fe-
males in the deep cells and males in the shal-
low cells. That is how things go when the

17I

Bramble-bees and Others

old nest remains in its natural state. With a
grater, however, I scrape the outside of an-
other nest so as to reduce the depth of the .
cavities to some ten millimetres. This leaves
in each cell just room for one cocoon, sur-
mounted by the closing stopper. Of the four-
teen cavities in the nests, I leave two intact,
measuring fifteen millimetres? in depth.
Nothing could be more striking than the re-
sult of this experiment, made in the first year
of my home rearing. ‘The twelve cavities
whose depth had been reduced all received
males; the two cavities left untouched received
females.

A year passes and I repeat the experiment
with a nest of fifteen cells; but this time all
the cells are reduced to the minimum depth
with the grater. Well, the fifteen cells, from
first to last, are occupied by males. It must
be quite understood that, in each case, all the
offspring belonged to one mother, marked
with her distinguishing spot and kept in sight
as long as her laying lasted. He would in-
deed be difficult to please who would not bow
before the results of these two experiments.

1About two-fifths of an inch—Translator’s Note.
2.585 inch—Translator’s Note.

172

Permutations of Sex

If, however, he is not yet convinced, here is
something to remove his last doubts.

The Three-horned Osmia often settles her
family in old shells, especially those of the
Common Snail (Helix aspersa), who is so
common under the stone-heaps and in the
crevices of the little unmortared walls that
support our terraces. In this species, the
spiral is wide open, so that the Osmia, pene-
trating as far down as the helical passage per-
mits, finds, immediately above the point which
is too narrow to pass, the space necessary for
the cell of a female. This cell is succeeded
by others, wider still, always for females, ar-
ranged in a line in the same way as in a
straight tube. In the last whorl of the spiral,
the diameter would be too great for a single
row. Then longitudinal partitions are added
to the transverse partitions, the whole result-
ing in cells of unequal dimensions in which
males predominate, mixed with a few females
in the lower storeys. The sequence of the
sexes is therefore what it would be in a
straight tube and especially in a tube with a
wide bore, where the partitioning is compli-
cated by subdivisions on the same level. A
single Snail-shell contains room for some six

173

Bramble-bees and Others

to eight cells. A large, rough earthen stop-
per finishes the nest at the entrance to the
shell.

As a dwelling of this sort could show us
nothing new, I chose for my swarm the Gar-
den Snail (Helix caespitum), whose shell,
shaped like a small, swollen Ammonite,
widens by slow degrees, the diameter of the
usable portion, right up to the mouth, being
hardly greater than that required by a male
Osmia-cocoon. Moreover, the widest part, in
which a female might find room, has to re-
ceive a thick stopping-plug, below which there
will often be a free space. Under all these
conditions, the house will hardly suit any but
males arranged one after the other.

The collection of shells placed at the foot
of each hive includes specimens of different
sizes. The smallest are 18 millimetres! in
diameter and the largest 24 millimetres.’
There is room for two cocoons, or three at
most, according to their dimensions.

Now these shells were used by my visitors
without any hesitation, perhaps even with
more eagerness than the glass tubes, whose

1.7 inch—Translator’s Note.
2.936 inch—Translator’s Note.

174

Permutations of Sex

slippery sides might easily be a little annoy- |
ing to the Bee. Some of them were occupied
on the first few days of the laying; and the
Osmia who had started with a home of this
sort would pass next to a second Snail-shell,
in the immediate neighbourhood of the first,
to a third, a fourth and others still, always
close to one another, until her ovaries were
emptied. The whole family of one mother
would thus be lodged in Snail-shells which
were duly marked with the date of the lay-
ing and a description of the worker. The
faithful adherents of the Snail-shell were in
the minority. The greater number left the
tubes to come to the shells and then went
back from the shells to the tubes. All, after
filling the spiral staircase with two or three
cells, closed the house with a thick earthen
stopper on a level with the opening. It was
a long and troublesome task, in which the Os-
mia displayed all her patience as a mother
and all her talents as a plasterer. There were
even some who, scrupulous to excess, carefully
cemented the umbilicus, a hole which seemed
to inspire them with distrust as being able to
give access to the interior of the dwelling. It
was a dangerous-looking cavity, which for the
175

Bramble-bees and Others

greater safety of the family it was prudent to
block up.

When the pupe are sufficiently matured, I
proceed to examine these elegant abodes.
The contents fill me with joy: they fulfil my
anticipations to the letter. The great, the
very great majority of the cocoons turn out
to be males; here and there, in the bigger
cells, a few rare females appear. The small-
ness of the space has almost done away with
the stronger sex. ‘This result is demonstrated
by the sixty-eight Snail-shells colonized. But,
of this total number, I must use only those
series which received an entire laying and were
occupied by the same Osmia from the begin-
ning to the end of the egg-season. Here are
a few examples, taken from among the most
conclusive.

From the 6th of May, when she started
operations, to the 25th of May, the date at
which her laying ceased, the Osmia occupied
seven Snail-shells in succession. Her family
consists of fourteen cocoons, a number very
near the average; and, of these fourteen
cocoons, twelve belong to males and only two
to females. These occupy the seventh and
thirteenth places in chronological order.

176

Permutations of Sex

Another, between the 9th and 27th of
May, stocked six Snail-shells with a family of
thirteen, including ten males and three fe-
males. The places occupied by the latter in
the series were numbers 3, 4 and s.

A third, between the 2nd and 29th of May,
colonized eleven Snail-shells, a prodigious
task. This industrious one was also exceed-
ingly prolific. She supplied me with a family
of twenty-six, the largest which I have ever
obtained from one Osmia. Well, this ab-
normal progeny consisted of twenty-five males
and one female, one alone, occupying place
4:

There is no need to go on, after this mag-
nificent example, especially as the other series
would all, without exception, give us the same
result. Two facts are immediately obvious.
The Osmia is able to reverse the order of
her laying and to start with a more or less
long series of males before producing any fe-
males. In the first case, the first female ap-
pears as number 7; in the third, as number
17. There is something better still; and this
is the proposition which I was particularly
anxious to prove: the female sex can be per-
muted with the male sex and can be permuted

177

Bramble-bees and Others

to the point of disappearing altogether. We
see this especially in the third case, where the
presence of a solitary female in a family of
twenty-six is due to the somewhat larger dia-
meter of the corresponding Snail-shell and
also, no doubt, to some mistake on the
mother’s part, for the female cocoon, in a
series of two, occupies the upper storey,
the one next to the orifice, an arrangement
which the Osmia appears to me to dislike.

This result throws so much light on one
of the darkest corriers of biology that I must
attempt to corroborate it by means of even
more conclusive experiments. I propose next
year to give the Osmiz nothing but Snail-
shells for a lodging, picked out one by one,
and rigorously to deprive the swarm of any
other retreat in which the laying could be ef-
fected. Under these conditions, I ought to
obtain nothing but males, or nearly, for the
whole swarm.

There would still remain the inverse per-
mutation: to obtain only females and no
males, or very few. The first permutation
.makes the second seem very probable,
although I cannot as yet conceive a means of
realizing it. The only condition which I can

178

Permutations of Sex

regulate is the dimensions of the home. When
‘the rooms are small, the males abound and
the females tend to disappear. With gen-
erous quarters, the converse would not take
place. I should obtain females and after-
wards an equal number of males, confined in
small cells which, in case of need, would be
bounded by numerous partitions. The factor
of space does not enter into the question here.
What artifice can we then employ to provoke
this second permutation? So far, I can think
of nothing that is worth attempting.

It is time to conclude. Leading a retired
life, in the solitude of a village, having quite
enough to do with patiently and obscurely
ploughing my humble furrow, I know little
about modern scientific views. In my young
days, I had a passionate longing for books
and found it difficult to procure them; to-day,
when I could almost have them if I wanted,
I am ceasing to wish for them. It is what
usually happens as life goes on. I do not
therefore know what may have been done in
the direction whither this study of the sexes
has led us. If I am stating propositions that
are really new or at least more comprehensive
than the propositions already known, my

179°

Bramble-bees and Others

words will perhaps sound heretical. No mat-
ter: as a simple translator of facts, I do not
hesitate to make my statement, being fully
persuaded that time will turn my heresy into
orthodoxy. I will therefore recapitulate my
conclusions.

Bees lay their eggs in series of first
females and then males, when the two sexes
are of different sizes and demand an unequal
quantity of nourishment. When the two sexes
are alike in size, the same sequence may occur,
but less regularly.

This dual arrangement disappears when
the place chosen for the nest is not large
enough to contain the entire laying. We then
see broken layings, beginning with females
and ending with males.

The egg, as it issues from the ovary, has
not yet a fixed sex. The final impress that
produces the sex is given at the moment of
laying or a little before.

So as to be able to give each larva the
amount of space and food that suits it ac-
cording as it is male or female, the mother
can choose the sex of the egg which she is
about to lay. To meet the conditions of the
building, which is often the work of another

180

Permutations of Sex

or else a natural retreat that admits of little
or no alteration, she lays either a male egg
or a female egg as she pleases. The distribu-
tion of the sexes depends upon herself. Should
circumstances require it, the order of the lay-
ing can be reversed and begin with males;
lastly, the entire laying can contain only one
sex.

The same privilege is possessed by the pre-
datory Hymenoptera, the Wasps, at least by
those in whom the two sexes are of a different
size and consequently require an amount of
nourishment that is larger in the one case than
in the other. The mother must know the sex
of the egg which she is going to lay; she must
be able to choose the sex of that egg so that
each larva may obtain its proper portion of
food.

Generally speaking, when the sexes are of
different sizes, every insect that collects food
and prepares or selects a dwelling for its off-
spring must be able to choose the sex of the
egg in order to satisfy without mistake the
conditions imposed upon it.

The question remains how this optional as-
sessment of the sexes is effected. I know abso-
lutely nothing about it. If I should ever learn

Bramble-bees and Others

anything about this delicate point, I shall owe
it to some happy chance for which I must
wait, or rather watch, patiently.

Towards the end of my investigations, I
heard of a German theory which relates to
the Hive-bee and comes from Dzierzon, the
apiarist... If I understand it aright, accord-
ing to the very incomplete documents which
I have before me, the egg, as it issues from
the ovary, is said already to possess a sex,
which is always the same; it is originally
male; and it becomes female by fertilization.
The males are supposed to proceed from non-
fertilized eggs, the females from fertilized
eggs. The Queen-bee would thus lay female
eggs or male eggs according as she fertilized
them or not while they were passing into her
oviduct.

Coming from Germany, this theory cannot
but inspire me with profound distrust. As it
has been given acceptance, with rash preci-
pitancy, in standard works, I will overcome my
reluctance to devoting my attention to Teu-
tonic ideas and will submit it not to the test
of argument, which can always be met by an

1Johann Dzierzon, author of Theorie und Praxis dea
neuen Bienenfreundes.—Translator’s Note.

182

Permutations of Sex

opposite argument, but to the unanswerable
test of facts.

For this optional fertilization, determining
the sex, the mother’s organism requires a
seminal reservoir which distils its drop of
sperm upon the egg contained in the oviduct
and thus gives it a feminine character, or else
leaves it its original character, the male cha-
racter, by refusing it that baptism. ‘This re-
servoir exists in the Hive-bee. Do we find a
similar organ in the other Hymenoptera,
whether honey-gatherers or hunters? ‘The
anatomical treatises are either silent on this
point or, without further enquiry, apply to
the order as a whole the data provided by
the Hive-bee, however much she differs from
the mass of Hymenoptera owing to her social
habits, her sterile workers and especially her
tremendous fertility, extending over so long a
period.

I at first doubted the universal presence of
this spermatic receptacle, having failed to find
it under my scalpel in my former investiga-
tions into the anatomy of the Sphex-wasps and
some other game-hunters. But this organ is
so delicate and so small that it very easily
escapes the eye, especially when our attention

183

Bramble-bees and Others

is not specially directed in search of it; and,
even when we are looking for it and it only,
we do not always succeed in discovering it.
We have to find a globule attaining in many
cases hardly as much as a millimetre’ in dia-
meter, a globule hidden amidst a tangle of air-
ducts and fatty patches, of which it shares the
colour, a dull white. Then again, the merest
slip of the forceps is enough to destroy it.
My first investigations, therefore, which con-
cerned the reproductive apparatus as a whole,
might very well have allowed it to pass un-
perceived.

In order to know the rights of the matter
once and for all, as the anatomical treatises
taught me nothing, I once more fixed my
microscope on its stand and rearranged my
old dissecting-tank, an ordinary tumbler with
a cork disk covered with black satin. This
time, not without a certain strain on my eyes,
which are already growing tired, I succeeded
in finding the said organ in the Bembex-
wasps, the Halicti,? the Carpenter-bees, the
Bumble-bees, the Andrenz* and the Megach-

1About one-fiftieth of an inch—Translator’s Note.

2Cf. Chapters XXIII. to XXV. of the present volume.—
Translator’s Note.

3A species of Burrowing Bees.—Translator’s Note.

184.

Permutations of Sex

ilies. I failed in the case of the Osmiz, the
Chalicodome and the Anthophore. Is the
organ really absent? Or was there want of
skill on my part? I lean towards want of skill
and admit that all the game-hunting and
honey-gathering Hymenoptera possess a sem-
inal receptacle, which can be recognized by
its contents, a quantity of spiral spermatozoids
whirling and twisting on the slide of the mi-
croscope.

This organ once accepted, the German
theory becomes applicable to all the Bees and
all the Wasps. When copulating, the female
receives the seminal fluid and holds it stored
in her receptacle. From that moment, the
two procreating elements are present in the
mother at one and the same time: the female
element, the ovule; and the male element, the
spermatozoid. At the egg-layer’s will, the
receptacle bestows a tiny drop of its contents
upon the matured ovule, when it reaches the
oviduct, and you have a female egg; or else
it withholds its spermatozoids and you have
an egg that remains male, as it was at first.
I readily admit it: the theory is very simple,

10r Leaf-cutting Bees. Cf. Chapter XIX. of the present
volume.—Translator’s Note.

185

Bramble-bees and Others

lucid and seductive. But is it correct? That
is another question.

One might begin by reproaching it with
making a singular exception to one of the
most general rules. Which of us, casting his
eyes over the whole zoological progression,
would dare to assert that the egg is originally
male and that it becomes female by fertiliza-
tion? Do not the two sexes both call for the
assistance of the fertilizing element? If there
be one undoubted truth, it is certainly that.
We are, it is true, told very curious things
about the Hive-bee. I will not discuss them:
this Bee stands too far outside the ordinary
limits; and then the facts asserted are far
from being accepted by everybody. But the
non-social Bees and the predatory insects have
nothing special about their laying. Then why
should they escape the common rule, which
requires that every living creature, male as
well as female, should come from a fertilized
ovule? In its most solemn act, that of procrea-
tion, life is one and uniform; what it does
here it does there and there and everywhere.
What! The sporule of a scrap of moss re-
quires an antherozoid before it is fit to germi-
nate: and the ovule of a Scolia, that proud

186

Permutations of Sex

huntress, can dispense with the equivalent in
order to hatch and produce a male? These
new-fangled theories seem to me to have very
little value.

One might also bring forward the case of
the Three-pronged Osmia, who distributes the
two sexes without any order in the hollow of
her reed. What singular whim is the mother
obeying when, without decisive motive, she
opens her seminal phial at haphazard to
anoint a female egg, or else keeps it closed,
also at haphazard, to allow a male egg to
pass unfertilized? I could imagine impreg-
nation being given or withheld for periods of
some duration; but I cannot understand im-

.pregnation and non-impregnation following
upon each other anyhow, in any sort of order
or rather with no order at all. The mother
has just fertilized an egg. Why should she
refuse to fertilize the next, when neither the
provisions nor the lodgings differ in the small-
est respect from the previous provisions and
lodgings? These capricious alternations, so
unreasonable and so exceedingly erratic, are
scarcely appropriate to an act of such im-
portance.

But I promised not to argue and I find my-

187

Bramble-bees and Others

self arguing. My reasoning is too fine for
dull wits. I will pass on and come to the
brutal fact, the real sledge-hammer blow.
Towards the end of the Bee’s operations,
in the first week of June, the last acts of the
Three-horned Osmia become so exceptionally
interesting that I made her the object of re-
doubled observation. The swarm at this time
is greatly reduced in numbers. I have still
some thirty laggards, who continue very busy,
though their work is in vain. I see some very
conscientiously stopping up the entrance to a
tube or a Snail-shell in which they have laid
nothing at all. Others are closing the home
after only building a few partitions, or even
mere attempts at partitions. Some are pla-
cing at the back of a new gallery a pinch of
pollen which will benefit nobody and then
shutting up the house with an earthen stop-
per as thick, as carefully made as though the
safety of a family depended on it. Born a
worker, the Osmia must die working. When
her ovaries are exhausted, she spends the re-
mainder of her strength on useless works:
partitions, plugs, pollen-heaps, all destined to
be left unemployed. The little animal ma-
chine cannot bring itself to be inactive even
188

Permutations of Sex

when there is nothing more to be done. It
goes on working so that its last vibrations of
energy may be used up in fruitless labour. I
commend these aberrations to the staunch
supporters of reasoning-powers in the animal.

Before coming to these useless tasks, my
laggards have laid their last eggs, of which
I know the exact cells, the exact dates. These
eggs, as far as the microscopes can tell, differ
in no respect from the others, the older ones.
They have the same dimensions, the same
shape, the same glossiness, the same look of
freshness. Nor are their provisions in any
way peculiar, being very well-suited to the
males, who conclude the laying. And yet
these last eggs do not hatch: they wrinkle,
fade and wither on the pile of food. In one
case, I count three or four sterile eggs among
the last lot laid; in another, I find two or only
one. Elsewhere in the swarm, fertile eggs
have been laid right up to the end.

Those sterile eggs, stricken with death at
the moment of their birth, are too numerous
to be ignored. Why do they not hatch like
the other eggs, which outwardly they resem-
ble in every respect? They have received the
same attention from the mother and the same

189

Bramble-bees and Others

portion of food. The searching microsope
shows me nothing in them to explain the fatal
ending.

To the unprejudiced mind, the answer is
obvious. Those eggs do not hatch because
they have not been fertilized. Any animal or
vegetable egg that had not received the life-
giving impregnation would perish in the same
way. No other answer is possible. It is no
use talking of the distant period of the lay-
ing: eggs of the same period laid by other
mothers, eggs of the same date and likewise
the final ones of a laying, are perfectly fer-
tile. Once more, they do not hatch because
they were not fertilized.

And why were they not fertilized? Be-
cause the seminal receptacle, so tiny, so difh-
cult to see that it sometimes escaped me de-
spite all my scrutiny, had exhausted its con-
tents. The mothers in whom this receptacle
retained a remnant of sperm to the end had
their last eggs as fertile as the first; the
others, whose seminal reservoir was ex-
hausted too soon, had their last-born stricken
with death. All this seems to me as clear as
daylight.

If the unfertilized eggs perish without

190

Permutations of Sex

hatching, those which hatch and produce
males are therefore fertilized; and the Ger-
man theory falls to the ground.

Then what explanation shall I give of the
wonderful facts which I have set forth?
Why, none, absolutely none. I do not ex-
plain facts, I relate them. Growing daily
more sceptical of the interpretations sug-
gested to me and more hesitating as to those
which I may have to suggest myself, the more
I observe and experiment, the more clearly I
see rising out of the black mists of possibility
an enormous note of interrogation.

Dear insects, my study of you has sustained
me and continues to sustain me in my heaviest
trials. I must take leave of you for to-day.
The ranks are thinning around me and the
long hopes have fled. Shall I be able to
speak of you again?

1This is the closing paragraph of vol. iii. of the Sou-
venirs entomologiques, of which the author has lived to

publish seven more volumes, containing over 2,500 pages
and nearly 850,000 words.—Translator’s Note.

191

CHAPTER VI
INSTINCT AND DISCERNMENT

‘THE Pelopzus’ gives us a very poor idea

of her intellect when she plasters up the
spot in the wall where the nest which I have
removed used to stand, when she persists in
cramming her cell with Spiders for the bene-
fit of an egg no longer there and when she
dutifully closes a cell which my forceps has
left empty, extracting alike germ and pro-
visions. (The Mason-bees, the Caterpillar of
the Great Peacock Moth and many others,
when subjected to similar tests, are guilty of
the same illogical behaviour: they continue,
in the normal order, their series of industrious
actions, though an accident has now rendered
them all useless. 7 Just like mill-stones unable
to cease revolving though there be no corn
left to grind, let them once be given the com-
pelling power and they will continue to per-

‘A Mason-wasp forming the subject of essays which
have not yet been translated into English—Translator’s
Note.

192

Instinct and Discernment

form their task despite its futility. Are they
then machines? Far be it from me to think
anything so foolish.

It is impossible to make definite progress
on the shifting sands of contradictory facts:
each step in our interpretation may find us
embogged. And yet these facts speak so
loudly that I do not hesitate to translate their
evidence as I understand it. In insect men-
tality, we have to distinguish two very differ-
ent domains. One of these is instinct pro-
perly so-called, the unconscious impulse that
presides over the most wonderful part of what
the creature achieves. Where experience and
imitation are of absolutely no avail, instinct
lays down its inflexible law. It is instinct and
instinct alone that makes the mother build
for a family which she will never see; that
counsels the storing of provisions for the un-
known offspring; that directs the sting to-
wards the nerve-centres of the prey and skil-
fully paralyses it, so that the game may keep
good; that instigates, in fine, a host of ac-
tions wherein shrewd reason and consummate
science would have their part, were the crea-
ture acting through discernment.

This faculty is perfect of its kind from the

193

Bramble-bees and Others

outset, otherwise the insect would have no
posterity. Time adds nothing to it and takes
nothing from it. Such as it was for a definite
species, such it is to-day and such it will. re-
main, perhaps the most settled zoological
characteristic of them all. It is not free nor
conscious in its practice, any more than is
the faculty of the stomach for digestion or
that of the heart for pulsation. The phases
of its operations are predetermined, neces-
sarily entailed one by another; they suggest
a system of clock-work wherein one wheel set
in motion brings about the movement of the
next. ‘This is the mechanical side of the in-
sect, the fatum, the only thing which is able
to explain the monstrous illogicality of a
Pelopzus when misled by my artifices. Is the
Lamb when it first grips the teat a free and
conscious agent, capable of improvement in
its dificult art of taking nourishment? The
insect is no more capable of improvement in
its art, more difficult still, of giving nourish-
ment.

But, with its hide-bound science ignorant of
itself, pure instinct, if it stood alone, would
leave the insect unarmed in the perpetual con-
flict of circumstances. No two moments in

194

Instinct and Discernment

time are identical; though the background re-
main the same, the details change; the un-
expected rises on every side. In this bewilder-
ing confusion, a guide is needed to seek, ac-
cept, refuse and select; to show preference for
this and indifference to that; to turn to account,
in short, anything useful that occasion may
offer. This guide the insect undoubtedly pos-
sesses, to a very manifest degree. It is the
second province of its mentality. Here it is
conscious and capable of improvement by ex-
perience. I dare not speak of this rudi-
mentary faculty as intelligence, which is too
exalted a title: I will call it discernment. The
insect, in exercising its highest gifts, discerns,
differentiates between one thing and another,
within the sphere of its business, of course;
and that is about all.

So long as we confound acts of pure instinct
and acts of discernment under the same head,
we shall fall back into those endless discuss-
ions which embitter controversy without
bringing us one step nearer to the solution of
the problem. Is the insect conscious of what
it does? Yes andno. No, if its action is in
the province of instinct; yes, if the action is
in that of discernment. Are the habits of an

195

Bramble-bees and Others

insect capable of modification? No, decidedly
not, if the habit in question belongs to the
province of instinct; yes, if it belongs to that
of discernment. Let us state this fundamental
distinction more precisely by the aid of a few
examples.

The Pelopzus builds her cells with earth
already softened, with mud. Here we have
instinct, the unalterable characteristic of the
worker. She has always built in this way and
always will. The passing ages will never
teach her, neither the struggle for life nor the
law of selection will ever induce her to imi-
tate the Mason-bee and collect dry dust for
her mortar. This mud nest needs a shelter
against the rain. The hiding-place under a
stone suffices at first. But should she find
something better, the potter takes possession
of that something better and instals herself
in the home of man.’ There we have dis-
cernment, the source of some sort of capacity
for improvement.

The Pelopzus supplies her larve with pro-
visions in the form of Spiders. There you
have instinct. The climate, the longitude or

1The Pelopeus builds in the fire-places of houses.—
Translator’s Note.

196

Instinct and Discernment

latitude, the changing seasons, the abundance
or scarcity of game introduce no modification
into this diet, though the larva shows itself
satisfied with other fare provided by myself.
Its forebears were brought up on Spiders;
their descendants consumed similar food; and
their posterity again will know no other. Not
a single circumstance, however favourable,
will ever persuade the Pelopeus that young
Crickets, for instance, are as good as Spiders
and that her family would accept them gladly.
Instinct binds her down to the national diet.

But, should the Epeira,’ the favourite prey,
be lacking, must the Pelopzus therefore give
up foraging? She will stock her warehouses
all the same, because any Spider suits her.
There you have discernment, whose elasticity
makes up, in certain circumstances, for the
too-great rigidity of instinct. Amid the in-
numerable variety of game, the huntress is
able to discern between what is Spider and
what is not; and, in this way, she is always
prepared to supply her family, without quit-
ting the domain of her instinct.

‘The Weaving or Garden Spider. Cf. The Life of the
Spider: chaps. ix. to xiv. and appendix.—Translator’s
Note.

197

Bramble-bees and Others

' The Hairy Ammonphila gives her larva a
single Caterpillar, a large one, paralysed by as
_ many pricks of her sting as it has nervous
centres in its thorax and abdomen.- Her surgi-
cal skill in subduing the monster is instinct
displayed in a form which makes short work
of any inclination to see in it an acquired
__ habit. In an art that can leave no one to
practise it in the future unless that one be per-
fect at the outset, of what avail are happy
chances, atavistic tendencies, the mellowing
hand of time? But the grey Caterpillar,
sacrificed one day, may be succeeded on an-
other day by a green, yellow or striped Cater-
pillar. There you have discernment, which
is quite capable of recognizing the regulation
prey under very diverse garbs.

The Megachiles build their honey-jars with
disks cut out of leaves; certain Anthidia make
felted cotton wallets; others fashion pots out
of resin. There you have instinct. Will any
rash mind ever conceive the singular idea that
the Leaf-cutter might very well have started
working in cotton-wool, that the cotton-
worker once thought or will one day think of
cutting disks out of the leaves of the lilac- and
the rose-tree, that the resin-kneader began

198

Instinct and Discernment

with clay? Who would dare to indulge in any
such theories? Each Bee has her art, her
medium, to which she strictly confines herself.
The first has her leaves; the second her wad-
ding; the third her resin. None of these
guilds has ever changed trades with another;
and none ever will. There you have instinct,
keeping the workers to their specialities.
There are no innnovations in their work-
shops, no recipes resulting from experiment,
no ingenious devices, no progress from in-
different to good, from good to excellent. ‘To-
day’s method is the facsimile of yesterday’s;
and to-morrow will know no other.

But, though the manufacturing-process is
invariable, the raw material is subject to
change. The plant that supplies the cotton
differs in species according to the locality;
the bush out of whose leaves the pieces will
be cut is not the same in the various fields of
operation; the tree that provides the resinous
putty may be a pine, a cypress, a juniper, a
cedar or a spruce, all very different in appear-
ance. What will guide the insect in its glean-
ing? Discernment.

These, I think, are sufficient details of the
fundamental distinction to be drawn in the

199

Bramble-bees and Others

insect’s mentality; the distinction, that is, be-
tween instinct and discernment. If people
confuse these two provinces, as they nearly
always do, any understanding becomes impos-
sible; the last glimmer of light disappears be-
hind the clouds of interminable discussions.
From an industrial point of view, let us look
upon the insect as a worker thoroughly versed
from birth in a craft whose essential princi-
ples never vary; Jet us grant that unconscious
worker a gleam of intelligence which will per-
mit it to extricate itself from the inevitable
conflict of attendant circumstances; and I
think that we shall have come as near to the
truth as the state of our knowledge will allow
for the moment.

Having thus assigned a due share both to
instinct and the aberrations of instinct when
the course of its different phases is disturbed,
let us see what discernment is able to do in
the selection of a site for the nest and mate-
rials for building it; and, leaving the
Pelopeus, upon whom it is useless to dwell
any longer, let us consider other examples,
picked from among those richest in variations.

The Mason-Bee of the Sheds (Chali-
codoma rufitarsis, PEREZ) well deserves the

200

Instinct and Discernment

name which I have felt justified in giving her
from her habits: she settles in numerous colo-
nies in the sheds, on the lower surface of the
tiles, where she builds huge nests which en-
danger the solidity of the roof. Nowhere
does the insect display a greater zeal for work
than in one of these colossal cities, an estate
which is constantly increasing as it passes
down from one generation to another; no-
where does it find a better workshop for the
exercise of its industry. Here it has plenty
of room: a quiet resting-place, sheltered from
damp and from excess of heat or cold.

But the spacious domain under the tiles
is not within the reach of all: sheds with free
access and the proper sunny aspect are pretty
rare. These sites fall only to the favoured of
fortune. Where will the others take up their
quarters? More or less everywhere. With-
out leaving the house in which I live, I can
enumerate stone, wood, glass, metal, paint and
mortar as forming the foundation of the
nests. The green-house, with its furnace heat
in the summer and its bright light, equalling
that outside, is fairly well-frequented. The
Mason-bee hardly ever fails to build there
each year, in squads of a few dozen apiece,

201

Brarible-becsiand @daers

now on the glass panes, now on the iron bars
of the framework. Other little swarms settle
in the window-embrasures, under the project-
ing ledge of the front-door or in the cranny
between the wal! and an open shutter. Others
again, being perhaps of a morose disposition,
flee society and prefer to work in solitude,
one in the inside of a lock or of a pipe in-
tended to carry the rain-water from the leads;
another in the mouldings of the doors and
windows or in the crude ornamentation of the
stonework. In short, the house is made use
of all round, provided that the shelter be an
out-of-door one; for observe that the enter-
prising invader, unlike the Pelopzus, never
penetrates inside our dwellings. The case of
the conservatory is an exception more ap-
parent than real: the glass building, standing
wide open throughout the summer, is to the
Mason-bee but a shed a little lighter than the
others. There is nothing here to arouse the
distrust with which anything indoors or shut
up inspires her. To build on the threshold
of an outer door, or to usurp its lock, a hiding-
place to her fancy, is all that she allows her-
self; to go any farther is an adventure repug-
nant to her taste.
202

Instinct and Discernment

Lastly, in the case of all these dwellings,
the Mason-bee is man’s free tenant; her in-
dustry makes use of the products of our own
industry. Can she have no other establish-
ments? She has, beyond a doubt; she pos-
sesses some constructed on the ancient plan.
On a stone the size of a man’s fist, protected
by the shelter of a hedge, sometimes even on
a pebble in the open air, I see her building
now groups of cells as large as a walnut, now
domes emulating in size, shape and solidity
those of her rival, the Mason-bee of the
Walls.

The stone support is the most frequent,
though not the only one. I have found nests,
but sparsely inhabited it is true, on the trunks
of trees, in the seams of the rough bark of
oaks. Among those whose support was a liy-
ing plant, I will mention two that stand out
above all the others. The first was built in
the lobe of a torch-thistle as thick as my leg;
the second rested on a stalk of the opuntia,
the Indian fig. Had the fierce armour of
these two stout cactuses attracted the atten-
tion of the insect, which looked upon their
tufts of spikes as furnishing a system of de-
fence for its nest? Perhaps so. In any case,

203

Bramble-bees and Others

the attempt was not imitated; I never saw an-
other installation of the kind. There is one
definite conclusion to be drawn from my two
discoveries. Despite the oddity of their struc-
ture, which is unparalleled among the local
flora, the two American importations did not
compel the insect to go through an apprentice-
ship of groping and hesitation. ‘The one
which found itself in the presence of those
novel growths and which was perhaps the
first of its race to do so took possession of
their lobes and stalks just as it would have
done of a familiar site. From the start, the
fleshy plants from the New World suited it
quite as well as the trunk of a native tree.
The Mason-bee of the Pebbles (Chali-
codoma parietina) has none of this elasticity
in the choice of a site. In her case, the smooth
stone of the parched uplands is the almost in-
variable foundation of her structures. Else-
where, under a less clement sky, she prefers
the support of a wall, which protects the nest
against the prolonged snows. Lastly, the
Mason-bee of the Shrubs (C. rufescens,
PEREZ) fixes her ball of clay to a twig of any
ligneous plant, from the thyme, the rock-rose
and the heath to the oak, the elm and the
204

Instinct and Discernment

pine. The list of the sites that suit her would
almost form a complete catalogue of the
ligneous flora.

The variety of places wherein the insect in-
stals itself, so eloquent of the part played by
discernment in their selection, becomes still
more remarkable when it is accompanied by a
corresponding variety in the architecture of
the cells. This is more particularly the case
with the Three-horned Osmia, who, as she
uses clayey materials very easily affected by
the rain, requires, like the Pelopeus, a dry
shelter for her cells, a shelter which she finds
ready-made and which she uses just as it is,
after a few touches by way of sweeping and
cleaning. The homes which I see her adopt
are especially the shells of Snails that have
died under the stone-heaps and in the low, un-
mortared walls which support the cultivated
earth of the hills in shelves or terraces. The
use of Snail-shells is accompanied by the no
less active use of the old cells of both the ©
Mason-bee of the Sheds and of certain
Anthophore (A. pilipes, A. parietina and A.
personata).

We must not forget the reed, which is
highly appreciated when—a rare find—it ap-

205

Bramble-bees and Others

pears under the requisite conditions. In its
natural state, the plant with the mighty hol-
low cylinders is of no possible use to the
Osmia, who knows nothing of the art of per-
forating a woody wall. The gallery of an
internode has to be wide open before the in-
sect can take possession of it. Also, the clean-
cut stump must be horizontal, otherwise the
rain would soften the fragile edifice of clay
and soon lay it low; also, the stump must not
be lying on the ground and must be kept at
some distance from the dampness of the soil.
We see therefore that, without the intervention
of man, involuntary in the vast majority of
cases and deliberate only on the experimenter’s
part, the Osmia would hardly ever find a
reed-stump suited to the installation of her
family. It is to her a casual acquisition, a
home unknown to her race before men took
it into their heads to cut reeds and make them
into hurdles for drying figs in the sun.

How did the work of man’s pruning-knife
bring about the abandonment of the natural
lodging? How was the spiral staircase of
the Snail-shell replaced by the cylindrical gal-
lery of the reed? Was the change from one
kind of house to another effected by gradual

206

Instinct and Discernment

transitions, by attempts made, abandoned, re-
sumed, becoming more and more definite in
their results as generation succeeded genera-
tion? Or did the Osmia, finding the cut reed
that answered her requirements, instal her-
self there straightway, scorning her ancient
dwelling, the Snail-shell? These questions
called fora reply; and they have received one.
Let us describe how things happened.

Near Sérignan are some great quarries of
coarse limestone, characteristic of the miocene
formation of the Rhone valley. These have
been worked for many generations. The
ancient public buildings of Orange, notably
the colossal frontage of the theatre whither
all the intellectual world once flocked to hear
Sophocles’ Gidipus Tyrannus, derive most of
their material from these quarries. Other
evidence confirms what the similarity of the
hewn stone tells us. Among the rubbish that
fills up the spaces between the tiers of seats,
they occasionally discover the Marseilles obol,
a bit of silver stamped with the four-spoked
wheel, or a few bronze coins bearing the efhgy
of Augustus or Tiberius. Scattered also here
and there among the monuments of antiquity
are heaps of refuse, accumulations of broken

207

Bramble-bees and Others

stones in which various Hymenoptera, inclu-
ding the Three-horned Osmia in particular,
take possession of the dead Snail-shell.

The quarries form part of an extensive
plateau which is so arid as to be nearly de-
serted. In these conditions, the Osmia, at all
times faithful to her birth-place, has little or
no need to emigrate from her heap of stones
and leave the shell for another dwelling which
she would have to go and seek at a distance.
Since there are heaps of stone there, she prob-
ably has no other dwelling than the Snail-shell.
Nothing tells us that the present-day genera-
tions are not descended in the direct line from
the generations contemporary with the quar-
ryman who lost his as or his obol at this spot.
All the circumstances seem to point to it: the
Osmia of the quarries is an inveterate user
of Snail-shells; so far as heredity is concerned,
she knows nothing whatever of reeds. Well,
we must place her in the presence of these new
lodgings.

I collect during the winter about two dozen
well-stocked Snail-shells and instal them in a
quiet corner of my study, as I did at the time
of my enquiries into the distribution of the
sexes. The little hive with its front pierced

208

Instinct and Discernment

with forty holes has bits of reed fitted to it.
At the foot of the five rows of cylinders I
place the inhabited shells and with these I
mix a few small stones, the better to imitate
the natural conditions. I add an assortment
of empty Snail-shells, after carefully clean-
ing the interior so as to make the Osmia’s
stay more pleasant. When the time comes
for nest-building, the stay-at-home insect will
have, close beside the house of its birth, a
choice of two habitations: the cylinder, a no-
velty unknown to its race; and the spiral stair-
case, the ancient ancestral home.

The nests were finished at the end of May
and the Osmie began to answer my list of
questions. Some, the great majority, settled
exclusively in the reeds; the others remained
faithful to the Snail-shell or else entrusted
their eggs partly to the’ spirals and partly to
the cylinders. With the first, who were the
pioneers of cylindrical architecture, there was
no hesitation that I could perceive: after ex-
ploring the stump of reed for a time and
recognizing it as serviceable, the insect in-
stals itself there and, an expert from the first
touch, without apprenticeship, without gro-
ping, without any tendencies bequeathed by

209

Bramble-bees and Others

the long practice of its predecessors, builds its
straight row of cells on a very different plan
from that demanded by the spiral cavity of
the shell, which increases in size as it goes on.

_ The slow school of the ages, the gradual
acquisitions of the past, the legacies of here-
dity count for nothing, therefore, in the
Osmia’s education. Without any novitiate on
its own part or that of its forebears, the in-
sect is versed straight away in the calling
which it has to pursue; it possesses, insepara-
ble from its nature, the qualities demanded by
its craft: some which are invariable and be-
long to the province of instinct; others flexi-
ble, belonging to the domain of discernment.
To divide a free lodging into chambers by
means of mud partitions; to fill those cham-
bers with a heap of pollen-flour, with a few
sups of honey in the central part where the
egg is to lie; in short, to prepare board and
lodging for the unknown, for a family which
the mothers have never seen in the past and
will never see in the future: this, in its essen-
tial features, is the function of the Osmia’s
instinct. Here, everything is harmoniously,
inflexibly, permanently preordained; the in-
sect has but to follow its blind impulse to at-

210

Instinct and Discernment

tain the goal. But the free lodging offered
by chance varies exceedingly in hygienic con-
ditions, in shape and in capacity. Instinct,
which does not choose, which does not con-
trive, would, if it were alone, leave the insect’s
existence in peril. To help her out of her
predicament, in these complex circumstances,
the Osmia possesses her little stock of dis-
cernment, which distinguishes between the dry
and the wet, the solid and the fragile, the
sheltered and the exposed; which recognizes
the worth or the worthlessness of a site and
knows how to sprinkle it with cells according
to the size and shape of the space at disposal.
Here, slight industrial variations are neces-
sary and inevitable; and the insect excels in
them without any apprenticeship, as the ex-
periment with the native Osmia of the quar-
ries has just proved.

Animal resources have a certain elasticity,
within narrow limits. What we learn from
the animals’ industry at a given moment is
not always the full measure of their skill.
They possess latent powers held in reserve for
certain emergencies. Long generations can
succeed one another without employing them;
but, should some circumstance require it, sud-

211

Bramble-bees and Others

denly those powers burst forth, free of any
previous attempts, even as the spark poten-
tially contained in the flint flashes forth inde-
pendently of all preceding gleams. Could
one who knew nothing of the Sparrow but
her nest under the eaves suspect the ball-
shaped nest at the top of a tree? Would one
who knew nothing of the Osmia save her
home in the Snail-shell expect to see her ac-
cept as her dwelling a stump of reed, a paper
funnel, a glass tube? My neighbour the
Sparrow, impulsively taking it into her head
to leave the roof for the plane-tree, the
Osmia of the quarries, rejecting the natal
cabin, the spiral of the shell, for my cylinder,
alike show us how sudden and spontaneous
are the industrial variations of animals.

CHAPTER VII
ECONOMY OF ENERGY

ay AT stimulus does the insect obey when

it employs the reserve powers that
slumber in its race? Of what use are its in-
dustrial variations? The Osmia will yield us
her secret with no great difficulty. Let us ex-
amine her work in a cylindrical habitation. I
have described in full detail, in the foregoing
pages, the structure of her nests when the
dwelling adopted is a reed-stump or any other
cylinder; and I will content myself here with
recapitulating the essential features of that
nest-building.

We must first distinguish three classes of
reeds according to their diameter: the small,
the medium-sized and the large. I call small
those whose narrow width just allows the Os-
mia to go about her household duties without
discomfort. She must be able to turn where
she stands in order to brush her abdomen and
rub off its load of pollen, after disgorging the
honey in the centre of the heap of flour al-

213

Bramble-bees and Others

ready collected. If the width of the tube does
not admit of this operation, if the insect is
obliged to go out and then to come in again
backwards in order to place itself in a favour-
able posture for the discharge of the pollen,
the reed is too narrow and the Osmia is rather
reluctant to accept it. The middle-sized reeds
and a fortiori the large ones leave the vic-
tualler entire liberty of action; but the former
do not exceed the width of a cell, a width
agreeing with the bulk of the future cocoon,
whereas the latter, with their excessive dia-
meter, require more than one chamber on the
same floor.

When free to choose, the Osmia settles by
preference in the small reeds. Here, the work
of building is reduced to its simplest express-
ion and consists in dividing the tube by means
of earthen partitions into a straight row of
cells. Against the partition forming the back-
wall of the preceding cell, the mother places
first a heap of honey and pollen; next, when
the portion is seen to be enough, she lays an
egg in the centre of it. Then and then only
she resumes her plasterer’s work and marks
out the length of the new cell with a mud par-
tition. ‘This partition in its turn serves as the

214

Economy of Energy

rear-wall of another chamber, which is first
victualled and then closed; and so on until the
cylinder is sufficiently colonized and receives a
thick terminal stopper at its orifice. In a
word, the chief characteristic of this method
of nest-building, the roughest of all, is that the
partition in front is not undertaken so long as
the victualling is still incomplete, or, in other
words, that the provisions and the egg are
deposited before the Bee sets to work on the
partition.

At first sight, this latter detail hardly de-
serves attention: is it not right to fill the pot
before we put a lid on? The Osmia who
owns a medium-sized reed is not at all of this
opinion; and other plasterers share her views,
as we shall see when we watch the Odynerus*
building her nest. Here we have an excellent
illustration of one of those latent powers held
in reserve for exceptional occasions and sud-
denly brought into play, although often very
far removed from the insect’s regular
methods. If the reed, without being of inor-
dinate width, from the point of view of the
cocoon, is nevertheless too spacious to afford

1A genus of Mason-wasps, the essays on which have
not yet been translated into English—Translator’s Note.

215

Bramblepers and Others

the Bee a suitable purchase against the wall
at the moment when she is disgorging honey
and brushing off her load of pollen, the Os-
mia altogether changes the order of her work:
she sets up the partition first and then does
the victualling.

All round the inside of the tube she places
a ring of mud, which, as the result of her
constant visits to the mortar, ends by becom-
ing a complete diaphragm minus an orifice at
the side, a sort of round dog-hole, just large
enough for the insect to pass through. When
the cell is thus marked out and almost wholly
closed, the Osmia attends to the storing of her
provisions and the laying of her eggs.
Steadying herself against the margin of the
hole at one time with her fore-legs and at
another with her hind-legs, she is able to
empty her crop and to brush her abdomen;
by pressing against it, she obtains a foothold
for her little efforts in these various opera-
tions. When the tube was narrow, the outer
wall supplied this foothold and the earthen
partition was postponed until the heap of pro-
visions was completed and surmounted by the
egg; but in the present case the passage is too
wide and would leave the insect floundering

216

Economy of Energy

helplessly in space, so the partition with its
serving-hatch takes precedence of the victuals.
This method is a little more expensive than
the other, first in materials, because of the
diameter of the reed, and secondly in time, if
only because of the dog-hole, a delicate piece
of mortar-work which is too soft at first and
cannot be used until it has dried and become
harder. Therefore the Osmia, who is sparing
of her time and strength, accepts medium-
sized reeds only when there are no small ones
available.

The large tubes she will use only in grave
emergencies and I am unable to state exactly
what these exceptional circumstances are.
Perhaps she decides to make use of those
roomy dwellings when the eggs have to be
laid at once and there is no other shelter in
the neighbourhood. While my cylinder-hives
gave me plenty of well-filled reeds of the first
and second class, they provided me with but
half-a-dozen at most of the third, notwith-
standing my precaution to furnish the appa-
ratus with a varied assortment.

The Osmia’s repugnance to big cylinders
is quite justified. The work in fact is longer
and more costly when the tubes are wide.

217

Bramble-bees and Others

An inspection of a nest constructed under
these conditions is enough to convince us. It
now consists not of a string of chambers ob-
tained by simple transverse partitions, but of
a confused heap of clumsy many-sided com-
partments, standing back to back, with a tend-
ency to group themselves in storeys without
succeeding in doing so, because any regular
arrangement would mean that the ceilings pos-
sessed a span which it is not in the builder’s
power to achieve. The edifice is not a geo-
metrical masterpiece; and it is even less satis-
factory from the point of view of economy.
In the previous constructions, the sides of the
reed supplied the greater part of the walls and
the work was limited to one partition for each
cell. Here, except at the actual periphery,
where the tube itself supplies a foundation,
everything has to be obtained by sheer build-
ing: the floor, the ceiling, the walls of the
many-sided compartment are all made of
mortar. The structure is almost as costly in
materials as that of the Chalicodoma or the
Pelopzus.

It must be pretty difficult, too, when one
thinks of its irregularity. Fitting as best she
can the projecting angles of the new cell into

218

Economy of Energy

the recessed corners of the cell already built,
the Osmia runs up walls more or less curved,
upright or slanting, which intersect one an-
other at various points, so that each compart-
ment requires a new and complicated plan of
construction, which is very different from the
circular-partition style of architecture, with
its row of parallel dividing-disks. Moreover,
in this composite arrangement, the size of the
recesses left available by the earlier work to
some extent decides the assessment of the
sexes, for, according to the dimensions of
those recesses, the walls erected take in now
a larger space, the home of a female, and
now a smaller space, the home of a male.
Roomy quarters therefore have a double
drawback for the Osmia: they greatly increase
the outlay in materials; and they establish in
the lower layers, among the females, males
who, because of their earlier hatching, would
be much better placed near the mouth of the
nest. I am convinced of it: if the Osmia re-
fuses big reeds and accepts them only as a
last resort, when there are no others, it is
because she objects to additional labour and
to the mixture of the sexes.

The Snail-shell, then, is but an indifferent

219

Bramble-bees and Others

home for her, which she is quite ready to
abandon should a better offer. Its expanding
cavity represents an average between the fa-
vourite small cylinder and the unpopular large
cylinder, which is accepted only when there is
no other obtainable. The first whorls of the
spiral are too narrow to be of use to the Os-
mia, but the middle ones have the right dia-
meter for cocoons arranged in single file.
Here things happen as in a first-class reed, for
the helical curve in no way affects the method
of structure employed for a rectilinear series
of cells. Circular partitions are erected at
the required distances, with or without a serv-
ing-hatch, according to the diameter. These
mark out the first cells, one after the other,
which are reserved solely for the females.
Then comes the last whorl, which is much too
wide for a single row of cells; and here we ~
once more find, exactly as in a wide reed, a
costly profusion of masonry, an irregular ar-
rangement of the cells and a mixture of the
sexes.

Having said so much, let us go back to the
Osmia of the quarries. Why, when I offer
them simultaneously Snail-shells and reeds of
a suitable size, do the old frequenters of the

220

Economy of Energy

shells prefer the reeds, which in all proba-
bility have never before been utilized by their
race? Most of them scorn the ancestral
dwelling and enthusiastically accept my reeds.
Some, it is true, take up their quarters in the
Snail-shell; but even among these a goodly
number refuse my new shells and return to
their birthplace, the old Snail-shell, in order
to utilize the family property, without much
labour, at the cost of a few repairs. Whence,
I ask, comes this general preference for the
cylinder, never used hitherto? The answer
can be only this: of two lodgings at her dis-
posal the Osmia selects the one that provides
a comfortable home at a minimum outlay.
She economizes her strength when restoring
an old nest; she economizes it when replacing
the Snail-shell by the reed.

Can animal industry, like our own, obey the
law of economy, the sovran law that governs
our industrial machine even as it governs,
at least to all appearances, the sublime
machine of the universe? Let us go deeper
into the question and bring other workers into
evidence, those especially who, better-equipped
perhaps and at any rate better-fitted for hard
work, attack the difficulties of their trade

221

Bramble-bees and Others

boldly and look down upon alien establish-
ments with scorn. Of this number are the
Chalicodome, the Mason-bees proper.

The Mason-bee of the Pebbles does not
make up her mind to build a brand-new dome
unless there is a dearth of old and not quite
dilapidated nests. The mothers, sisters ap-
parently and heirs-at-law to the domain, dis-
pute fiercely for the ancestral abode. The
first who, by sheer brute force, takes possess-
ion of the dome perches upon it and, for
long hours, watches events while polishing her
wings. If some claimant puts in an appear-
ance, forthwith the other turns her out with
a volley of blows. In this way the old nests
are employed so long as they have not become
uninhabitable hovels.

Without being equally jealous of the ma-
ternal inheritance, the Mason-bee of the Sheds
eagerly uses the cells whence her generation
issued. ‘The work in the huge city under the
eaves begins thus: the old cells, of which, by
the way, the good-natured owner yields a por-
tion to Latreille’s Osmia and to the Three-
horned Osmia alike, are first made clean and
wholesome and cleared of broken plaster and
then provisioned and shut. When all the

222

Economy of Energy

accessible chambers are occupied, the actual
building begins with a new stratum of cells
upon the former edifice, which becomes more
and more massive from year to year.

The Mason-bee of the Shrubs, with her
spherical nests hardly larger than walnuts,
puzzled me at first. Does she use the old
buildings or does she abandon them for good?
To-day perplexity makes way for certainty:
she uses them very readily. I have several
times surprised her lodging her family in the
empty rooms of a nest where she was
doubtless born herself. Like her kinswoman
of the Pebbles, she returns to the native
dwelling and fights for its possession. Also,
like the dome-builder, she is an anchorite and
prefers to cultivate the lean inheritance alone.
Sometimes, however, the nest is of exceptional
size and harbours a crowd of occupants, who
live in peace, each attending to her business,
as in the colossal hives in the sheds. If the
colony is at all numerous and the estate de-
scends to two or three generations in success-
ion, with a fresh layer of masonry each year,
the normal walnut-sized nest becomes a ball
as large as a man’s two fists. I have gathered
on a pine-tree a nest of the Mason-bee of the

223

Bramble-bees and Others

Shrubs that weighed a kilogramme? and was
the size of a child’s head. A twig hardly
thicker than a straw served as its support.
The casual sight of that lump swinging over
the spot on which I had sat down made me
think of the mishap that befel Garo.? If such
nests were plentiful in the trees, any one seek-
ing the shade would run a grave risk of hay-
ing his head smashed.

After the Masons, the Carpenters. Among
the guild of wood-workers, the most powerful
is the Carpenter-bee (Xylocopa violacea)*
a very large Bee of formidable appearance,
clad in black velvet with violet-coloured
wings. The mother gives her larve as a
dwelling a cylindrical gallery which she digs
in rotten wood. Useless timber lying exposed
to the air, vine-poles, large logs of fire-wood
seasoning out of doors, heaped up in front of
the farm-house porch, stumps of trees, vine-
stocks and big branches of all kinds are her

12.205 pounds avoirdupois.—Translator’s Note.

2The hero of La Fontaine’s fable, Le Gland et la Ci-
trouille, who wondered why the acorns grew on such
tall trees and the pumpkins on such low vines, until he
fell asleep under one of the latter and a pumpkin fell
upon his nose.—Translator’s Note.

3Cf. The Life of the Spider: chap. i—Translator’s
Note.

224

Economy of Energy

favourite building-yards. A solitary and in-
dustrious worker, she bores, bit by bit, cir-
cular passages the width of one’s thumb, as
clear-cut as though they were made with an
auger. A heap of saw-dust accumulates on
the ground and bears witness to the severity
of the task. Usually, the same aperture is
the entrance to two or three parallel corri-
dors. With several galleries there is accom-
modation for the entire laying, though each
gallery is quite short; and the Bee thus avoids
those long series which always create difficult-
ies when the moment of hatching arrives.
The laggards and the insects eager to emerge
are less likely to get in each other’s way.
After obtaining the dwelling, the Carpen-
ter-bee behaves like the Osmia who is in pos-
session of a reed. Provisions are collected,
the egg is laid and the chamber is walled in
front with a saw-dust partition. The work
is pursued in this way until the two or three
passages composing the house are completely
stocked. Heaping up provisions and erecting
partitions are an invariable feature of the
Xylocopa’s programme; no circumstance can
release the mother from the duty of provi-
ding for the future of her family, in the mat-
225

Bramble-bees and Others

ter both of ready-prepared food and of sepa-
rate compartments for the rearing of each
larva. It is only in the boring of the galle-
ries, the most laborious part of the work, that
economy can occasionally be exercised by a
piece of luck. Well, is the powerful Car-
penter, all unheeding of fatigue, able to take
advantage of such fortunate occasions? Does
she know how to make use of houses which
she has not tunnelled herself? Why, yes: a
free lodging suits her just as much as it does
the various Mason-bees. She knows as well as
they the economic advantages of an old nest
that is still in good condition: she settles
down, as far as possible, in her predecessors’
galleries, after freshening up the sides with a
superficial scraping. And she does better still.
She readily accepts lodgings which have never
known a drill, no matter whose. The stout
reeds used in the trellis-work that supports
the vines are valuable discoveries, providing
as they do sumptuous galleries free of cost.
No preliminary work or next to none is re-
quired with these. Indeed, the insect does not
even trouble to make a side-opening, which
would enable it to occupy the cavity contained
within two nodes; it prefers the opening at
226

Economy of Energy

the end cut by man’s pruning-knife. If the
next partition be too near to give a chamber
of sufficient length, the Xylocopa destroys it,
which is easy work, not to be compared with
the labour of cutting an entrance through the
side. In this way, a spacious gallery, follow-
ing on the short vestibule made by the pru-
ning-knife, is obtained with the least possible
expenditure of energy.

Guided by what was happening on the trel-
lises, I offered the black Bee the hospitality
of my reed-hives. From the very beginning,
the insect gladly welcomed my advances; each
spring, I see it inspect my rows of cylinders,
pick out the best ones and instal itself there.
Its work, reduced to a minimum by my inter-
vention, is limited to the partitions, the ma-
terials for which are obtained by scraping the
inner sides of the reed.

As first-rate joiners, next to the Carpenter-
bees come the Lithurgi, of whom my district
possesses two species: L. cornutus, FAB.,
and L. chrysurus, Boy. By what aber-
ration of nomenclature was the name of
Lithurgus, a worker in stone, given to insects
which work solely in wood? I have caught
the first, the stronger of the two, digging gal-

227

Bramble-bees and Others

leries in a large block of oak that served as an
arch for my stable-door; I have always found
the second, who is more widely distributed,
settling in dead wood—mulberry, cherry, al-
mond, poplar—that was still standing. Her
work is exactly the same as the Xylocopa’s,
on a smaller scale. A single entrance-hole
gives access to three or four parallel galleries,
assembled in a serried group; and these gal-
leries are subdivided into cells by means of
saw-dust partitions. Following the example
of the big Carpenter-bee, Lithurgus chrysu-
rus knows how to avoid the laborious work
of boring, when occasion offers: I find her co-
coons lodged almost as often in old dormi-
tories as in new ones. She too has the tend-
ency to economize her strength by turning
the work of her predecessors to account. I
do not despair of seeing her adopt the reed
if, one day, when I possess a large enough
colony, I decide to try this experiment on her.
I will say nothing about Lithurgus cornutus,
whom I only once surprised at her carpenter-
ing.

The Anthophore, those children of the
precipitous earthy banks, show the same
thrifty spirit as the other members of the

228

Economy of Energy

mining corporation. Three species, 4. parie-
tina, A. personata and A. pilipes, dig long
corridors leading to the cells, which are
scattered here and there and one by one.
These passages remain open at all seasons
of the year. When spring comes, the
new colony uses them just as they are,
provided that they are well preserved,
in the clayey mass baked by the sun; it
increases their length if necessary, runs out
a few more branches, but does not decide to
start boring in new ground until the old city,
which with its many labyrinths, resembles
some monstrous sponge, is too much under-
mined for safety. The oval niches, the cells
that open on those corridors, are also profit-
ably employed. The Anthophora restores
their entrance, which has been destroyed by
the insect’s recent emergence; she smoothes
their walls with a fresh coat of whitewash,
after which the lodging is fit to receive the
heap of honey and the egg. When the old
cells, insufficient in number and moreover
partly inhabited by diverse intruders, are all
occupied, the boring of new cells begins, in
the extended sections of the galleries, and the
rest of the eggs are housed. In this way, the
229

Bramble-bees and Others

swarm finds itself settled at a minimum of
expense.

To conclude this brief account, let us
change the zoological setting and, as we have
already spoken of the Sparrow,’ see what he
can do as a builder. The simplest form of
his nest is the great round ball of straw, dead
leaves and feathers, in the fork of a few
branches. It is costly in material, but can be
set up anywhere, when the hole in the wall or
the shelter of a tile are lacking. What rea-
sons induced him to give up the spherical
edifice? To all seeming, the same reasons
that led the Osmia to abandon the Snail-shell’s
spiral, which requires a fatiguing expenditure
of clay, in favour of the economical cylinder
of the reed. By making his home in a hole
in the wall, the Sparrow escapes the greater
part of his work. Here, the dome that serves
as a protection from the rain and the thick
walls that offer resistance to the wind both
become superfluous. A mere mattress is suf-
ficient; the cavity in the wall provides the
rest. The saving is great; and the Sparrow
appreciates it quite as much as the Osmia.

1In an essay, entitled The Swallow and the Sparrow,
not yet translated into English—Translator’s Note.

230

Economy of Energy

This does not mean that the primitive art
has disappeared, lost through neglect; it re-
mains an ineffaceable characteristic of the
species, ever ready to declare itself should
circumstances demand it. The generations of
to-day are as much endowed with it as the
generations of yore; without apprenticeship,
without the example of others, they have
within themselves, in the potential state, the
industrial aptitude of their ancestors. If
aroused by the stimulus of necessity, this apti-
tude will pass suddenly from inaction to ac-
tion. When, therefore, the Sparrow still
from time to time indulges in spherical build-
ing, this is not progress on his part, as is some-
times contended; it is, on the contrary, a retro-
gression, a return to the ancient customs, so
prodigal of labour. He is behaving like the
Osmia who, in default of a reed, makes shift
with a Snail-shell, which is more difficult to
utilize but easier to find. The cylinder and
the hole in the wall stand for progress; the
spiral of the Snail-shell and the ball-shaped
nest represent the starting-point.

I have, I think, sufficiently illustrated the
inference which is borne out by the whole
mass of analogous facts. Animal industry

231

Bramble-bees and Others

manifests a tendency to achieve the es-
sential with a minimum of expenditure;
after its own fashion, the insect bears witness
to the economy of energy. On the one hand,
instinct imposes upon it a craft that is un-
changeable in its fundamental features; on
the other hand, it is left a certain latitude in
the details, so as to take advantage of fa-
vourable circumstances and attain the object
aimed at with the least possible expenditure of
time, materials and work, the three elements
of mechanical labour. The problem in higher
geometry solved by the Hive-bee is only a par-
ticular case—true, a magnificent case—of this
general law of economy which seems to go-
vern the whole animal world. The wax cells,
with their maximum capacity as against a
minimum wall-space, are the equivalent, with
the superaddition of a marvellous scientific
skill, of the Osmia’s compartments in which
the stonework is reduced to a minimum
through the selection of a reed. The artificer
in mud and the artificer in wax obey the same
tendency: they economize. Do they know
what they are doing? Who would venture
to suggest it in the case of the Bee grappling
with her transcendental problem? The others,
232

Economy of Energy

pursuing their rustic art, are no wiser. With
all of them, there is no calculation, no preme-
ditation, but simply blind obedience to the law
of general harmony.

CHAPTER VIII
THE LEAF-CUTTERS

ig IS not enough that animal industry should

be able, to a certain extent, to adapt itself
to casual exigencies when choosing the site of
a nest; if the race is to thrive, something else
is required, something which hide-bound in-
stinct is unable to provide. The Chaffinch,
for instance, introduces a great quantity of
lichen into the outer layer of his nest. This
is his method of strengthening the edifice and
making a stout framework in which to place
first the bottom mattress of moss, fine straw
and rootlets and then the soft bed of feathers,
wool and down. But, should the time-hon-
oured lichen be lacking, will the bird refrain
from building its nest? Will it forgo the
delight of hatching its brood because it has
not the wherewithal to settle its family in the
orthodox fashion?

No, the Chaffinch is not perplexed by so
small a matter; he is an expert in materials,
he understands botanical equivalents. In the

234

The Leaf-cutters

absence of the branches of the evernias, he
picks the long beards of the usneas, the wart-
like rosettes of the parmelias, the membranes
of the stictises torn away in shreds; if he can
find nothing better, he makes shift with the
bushy tufts of the cladonias. As a practical
lichenologist, when one species is rare or lack-
ing in the neighbourhood, he is able to fall
back on others, varying greatly in shape, co-
lour and texture. And, if the impossible hap-
pened and lichen failed entirely, I credit the
Chaffinch with sufficient talent to be able to
dispense with it and to build the foundations
of his nest with some coarse moss or other.

What the worker in lichens tells us the
other weavers of textile materials confirm.
Each has his favourite flora, which hardly
ever varies when the plant is easily access-
ible and which can be supplemented by plenty
of others when it is not. The bird’s botany
would be worth examining; it would be inter-
esting to draw up the industrial herbal of each
species. In this connection, I will quote just
one instance, so as not to stray too far from
the subject in hand.

The Red-backed Shrike (Lanius collurio),

the commonest variety in my district, is note-
235

Bramble-bees and Others

worthy because of his savage mania for
forked gibbets, the thorns in the hedgerows
whereon he impales the voluminous contents
of his game-bag—little half-fledged birds,
small Lizards, Grasshoppers, Caterpillars,
Beetles—and leaves them to get high. To
this passion for the gallows, which has passed
unnoticed by the country-folk, at least in my
part, he adds another, an innocent botanical
passion, which is so much in evidence that
everybody, down to the youngest bird’s-nester,
knows all about it. His nest, a massive struc-
ture, is made of hardly any other materials
than a greyish and very fluffy plant, which is
found everywhere among the corn. ‘This is
the Filago spathulata of the botanists; and
the bird also makes use, though less fre-
quently, of the Filago germanica, or common
cotton-rose. Both are known in Provencal
by the name herbo dou tarnagas, or Shrike-
herb, This popular designation tells us plainly
how faithful the bird is to its plant. To have
struck the agricultural labourer, a very indif-
ferent observer, the Shrike’s choice of ma-
terials must be remarkably persistent.

Have we here a taste that is exclusive?
Not in the least. Though cotton-roses of all

236

The Leaf-cutters

species are plentiful on level ground, they
become scarce and impossible to find on the
parched hills. The bird, on its side, is not
given to journeys of exploration and takes
what it finds to suit it in the neighbourhood
of its tree or hedge. But on arid ground, the
Micropus erectus, or upright micropus,
abounds and is a satisfactory substitute for
the Filago so far as its tiny, cottony leaves
and its little fluffy balls of flowers are con-
cerned. ‘True, it is short and does not lend
itself well to weaver’s work. A few long
sprigs of another cottony plant, the Heli-
chrysum stechas, or wild everlasting, inserted
here and there, will give body to the struc-
ture. Thus does the Shrike manage when
hard up for his favourite materials: keeping
to the same botanical family, he is able to find
and employ substitutes among the fine cotton-
clad stalks.

He is even able to leave the family of the
Composite and to go gleaning more or less
everywhere. Here is the result of my botani-
zings at the expense of his nests. We must
distinguish between two genera in the Shrike’s
rough classification: the cottony plants and
the smooth plants. Among the first, my notes

237

Bramble-bees and Others

mention the following: Convolvulus canta-
brica, or flax-leaved bindweed; Lotus sym-
metricus, or bird’s-foot trefoil; Teucrium
polium, or poly; and the flowery heads of
the Phragmites communis, or common reed.
Among the second are these: Medicago lupu-
lina, or nonesuch; Trifolium repens, or white
clover; Lathyrus pratensis, or meadow lathy-
rus; Capsella bursa pastoris, or shepherd’s
purse; Vicia peregrina, or broad-podded
vetch; Convolvulus arvensis, or small bind-
weed; Pterotheca nemausensis, a sort of
hawkweed; and Poa pratensis, or smooth-
stalked meadow-grass. When it is downy,
the plant forms almost the whole nest, as is
the case with the flax-leaved bindweed; when
smooth, it forms only the framework, de-
stined to support a crumbling mass of micro-
pus, as is the case with the small bindweed.

When making this collection, which I
am far from giving as the bird’s com-
plete herbarium, I was struck by a wholly
unexpected detail: of the various plants,
I found only the heads still in bud;
moreover, all the sprigs, though dry,
possessed the green ‘colouring of the grow-
ing plant, a sign of swift desiccation in

238

The Leaf-cutters

the sun. Save in a few cases, therefore, the
Shrike does not collect the dead and with-
ered remains: it is from the growing plants
that he reaps his harvest, mowing them down
with his beak and leaving the sheaves to dry
in the sun before using them. I caught him
one day hopping about and pecking at the
twigs of a Biscayan bindweed. He was get-
ting in his hay, strewing the ground with it.

The evidence of the Shrike, confirmed by
that of all the other workers—weavers, bas-
ket-makers or woodcutters—whom we may
care to call as witnesses, shows us what a large
part must be assigned to discernment in the
bird’s choice of materials for its nest. Is the
insect as highly gifted? When it works with
vegetable matter, is it exclusive in its tastes?
Does it know only one definite plant, its
special province? Or has it, for employment
in its manufactures, a varied flora, in which
its discernment exercises a free choice? For
answers to these questions we may look,
above all, to the Leaf-cutting Bees, the Me-
gachiles. Réaumur has told the story of
their industry in detail; and I refer the read-
er who wishes for further particulars to the
master’s Memoirs.

239

Bramble-bees and Others

The man who knows how to use his eyes in
his garden will observe, some day or other,
a number of curious holes in the leaves of his
lilac- and rose-trees, some of them round,
some oval, as if idle but skilful hands had
been at work with the pinking-iron. In some
places, there is scarcely anything but the veins
of the leaves left. The author of the mis-
chief is a grey-clad Bee, a Megachile. For
scissors, she has her mandibles; for com-
passes, producing now an oval and anon a
circle, she has her eye and the pivot of her
body. The pieces cut out are made into
thimble-shaped wallets, destined to contain
the honey and the egg: the larger, oval
pieces supply the floor and sides; the smaller,
round pieces are reserved for the lid. A row
of these thimbles, placed one on top of the
other, up to a dozen or more, though often
there are less: that is, roughly, the structure
of the Leaf-cutter’s nest.

When taken out of the recess in which the
mother has manufactured it, the cylinder of
cells seems to be an indivisible whole, a sort
of tunnel obtained by lining with leaves some
gallery dug underground. The real thing
does not correspond with its appearance: un-

240

The Leaf-cutters

der the least pressure of the fingers, the cylin-
der breaks up into equal sections, which are
so many compartments independent of their
neighbours as regards both floor and lid.
This spontaneous break-up shows us how the
work is done. The method agrees with those
adopted by the other Bees. Instead of a
general scabbard of leaves, afterwards sub-
divided into compartments by transverse par-
titions, the Megachile constructs a string of
separate wallets, each of which is finished be-
fore the next is begun.

A structure of this sort needs a sheath to
keep the pieces in place while. giving them the
proper shape. The bag of leaves, in fact, as
turned out by the worker, lacks stability; its
numerous pieces, not glued together, but sim-
ply placed one after the other, come apart
and give way as soon as they lose the support
of the tunnel that keeps them united. Later,
when it spins its cocoon, the larva infuses a
little of its fluid silk into the gaps and solders
the pieces to one another, especially the
inner ones, so much so that the insecure bag
in due course becomes a solid casket whose
component parts it is no longer possible to
separate entirely.

24%

Bramble-bees and Others

The protective sheath, which is also a
framework, is not the work of the mother.
Like the great majority of the Osmiz, the
Megachiles do not understand the art of
making themselves a home straight away:
they want a borrowed lodging, which may
vary considerably in character. The deserted
galleries of the Anthophore, the burrows of
the fat Earth-worms, the tunnels bored in the
trunks of trees by the larva of the Ceram-
byx-beetle,t the ruined dwellings of the
Mason-bee of the Pebbles, the Snail-shell
nests of the Three-horned Osmia, reed-stumps,
when these are handy, and crevices in the
walls are all so many homes for the Leaf-
cutters, who choose this or that establishment
according to the tastes of their particular
genus.

For the sake of clearness, let us cease gen-
eralizing and direct our attention to a definite
species. I first selected the White-girdled
Leaf-cutter (Megachile albocincta, PEREZ),
not on account of any exceptional peculiari-
ties, but solely because this is the Bee most
often mentioned in my notes. Her customary

1The Capricorn, the essay on whom has not yet been
published in English—Translator’s Note.

242

The Leaf-cutters

dwelling is the tunnel of an Earth-worm
opening on some clay bank. Whether per-
pendicular or slanting, this tunnel runs down
to an indefinite depth, where the climate
would be too damp for the Bee. Besides,
when the time comes for the hatching of the
adult insect, its emergence would be fraught
with peril if it had to climb up from a deep
pit through crumbling rubbish. The Leaf-
cutter, therefore, uses only the front portion
of the Worm’s gallery, two decimetres' at
most. What is to be done with the rest of
the tunnel? It is an ascending-shaft, tempt-
ing to an enemy; and some underground
ravager might come this way and destroy the
nest by attacking the row of cells at the back.

The danger is foreseen. Before fashion-
ing her first honey-bag, the Bee blocks the
passage with a strong barricade composed of
the only materials used in the Leaf-cutter’s
guild. Fragments of leaves are piled up in
no particular order, but in sufficient quanti-
ties to make a serious obstacle. It is not un-
usual to find in the leafy rampart some
dozens of pieces rolled into screws and fit-
ting into one another like a stack of cylindri-

17.8 inches.—Translator’s Note.

243

Bramble-bees and Others

cal wafers. For this work of fortification,
artistic refinement seems superfluous; at any
rate, the pieces of leaves are for the most
part irregular. You can see that the insect
has cut them out hurriedly, unmethodically
and on a different pattern from that of the
pieces intended for the cells.

I am struck with another detail in the bar-
ricade. Its constituents are taken from stout,
thick, strong-veined leaves. I recognize
young vine-leaves, pale-coloured and velvety;
the leaves of the whitish rock-rose (Cistus
albidus), lined with a hairy felt; those of the
holm-oak, selected among the young and
bristly ones; those of the hawthorn, smooth,
but tough; those of the cultivated reed, the
only one of the Monocotyledones exploited,
as far as I know, by the Megachiles. In the
construction of cells, on the other hand, I see
smooth leaves predominating, notably those
of the wild briar and of the common acacia,
the robinia. It would appear, therefore, that
the insect distinguishes between two kinds of
materials, without being an absolute purist
and sternly excluding any sort of blending.
The very much indented leaves, whose pro-
jections can be completely removed with a dex-

244

The Leaf-cutters

terous snip of the scissors, generally furnish
the various layers of the barricade; the little
robinia-leaves, with their fine texture and their
unbroken edges, are better suited to the more
delicate work of the cells.

A rampart at the back of the Earth-worm’s
shaft is a wise precaution and the Leaf-cutter
deserves all credit for it; only it is a pity for
the Megachiles’ reputation that this protect-
ive barrier often protects nothing at all.
Here we see, under a new guise, that aberra-
tion of instinct of which I gave some exam-
ples in an earlier chapter. My notes contain
memoranda of various galleries crammed
with pieces of leaves right up to the orifice,
which is on a level with the ground, and en-
tirely devoid of cells, even of an unfinished
one. These were ridiculous fortifications, of
no use whatever; and yet the Bee treated the
matter with the utmost seriousness and took
infinite pains over her futile task. One of
these uselessly barricaded galleries furnished
me with some hundred pieces of leaves ar-
ranged like a stack of wafers; another gave
me as many as a hundred and fifty. For the
defence of a tenanted nest, two dozen and
even fewer are ample. Then what was the

245

Bramble-bees and Others

exact object of the Leaf-cutter’s ridiculous
pile?

I wish I could believe that, seeing that the
place was dangerous, she made her heap big-
ger so that the rampart might be in propor-
tion to the danger. Then, perhaps, at the
moment of starting on the cells, she disap-
peared, the victim of an accident, blown out
of her course by a gust of wind. But this
line of defence is not admissible in the Mega-
chile’s case. The proof is palpable: the gal-
leries aforesaid are barricaded up to the level
of the ground; there is no room, absolutely
none, to lodge even a single egg. What was
her object, I ask again, when she persisted in
obstinately piling up her wafers? Has she
really an object?

I do not hesitate to say no, And my an-
swer is based upon what the Osmiz taught
me. I have described above how the Three-
horned Osmia, towards the end of her life,
when her ovaries are depleted, expends on
useless operations such energy as remains to
her. Born a worker, she is bored by the in-
activity of retirement; her leisure requires an
occupation. Having nothing better to do,
she sets up partitions; she divides a tunnel

246

The Leaf-cutters

into cells that will remain empty; she closes
with a thick plug reeds containing nothing.
Thus is the little strength of her last hours
exhausted in vain work. The other build-
ing Bees behave likewise. I see Anthidia
laboriously providing numerous bales of cot-
ton to stop galleries wherein never an egg was
laid; I see Mason-bees building and then re-
ligiously closing cells that will remain unvic-
tualled and uncolonized.

The long and useless barricades then be-
long to the last hours of the Megachile’s life,
when the eggs are all laid; the mother, whose
ovaries are exhausted, persists in building.
Her instinct is to cut out and heap up pieces
of leaves; obeying this impulse, she cuts out
and heaps up even when the supreme reason
for this labour ceases. The eggs are no
longer there, but some strength remains; and
that strength is expended as the safety of the
species demanded in the beginning. The
wheels of action go on turning in the absence
_ of the motives for action; they continue their
movement as though by a sort of acquired
velocity. What clearer proof can we hope to
find of the unconsciousness of the animal
stimulated by instinct ?

247

Bramble-bees and Others

Let us return to the Leaf-cutter’s work
under normal conditions. Immediately after
a protective barrier comes the row of cells,
which vary considerably in number, like those
of the Osmia in her reed. Strings of about
a.dozen are rare; the most frequent consist
of five or six. No less subject to variation
is the number of pieces joined to make a cell:
pieces of two kinds, some, the oval ones,
forming the honey-pot; the others, the round
ones, serving asa lid. I count, on an average,
eight to ten pieces of the first kind. Though
all cut on the pattern of an ellipse, they are
not equal in dimensions and come under two
categories. The larger, outside ones are each
of them almost a third of the circumference
and overlap one another slightly. Their
lower end bends into a concave curve to form
the bottom of the bag. Those inside, which
are considerably smaller, increase the thick-
ness of the sides and fill up the gaps left by
the first.

The Leaf-cutter therefore is able to use
her scissors according to the task before her:
first, the large pieces, which help the work
forward, but leave empty spaces; next, the
small pieces, which fit into the defective por-

248

The Leaf-cutters

tions. The bottom of the cell particularly
comes in for after-touches. As the natural
curve of the larger pieces is not enough to pro-
vide a cup without cracks in it, the Bee does
not fail to improve the work with two or
three small oval pieces applied to the imper-
fect joins.

Another advantage results from the snip-
pets of unequal size. The three or four outer
pieces, which are the first placed in position,
being the longest of all, project beyond the
mouth, whereas the next, being shorter, do
not come quite up to it. A brim is thus ob-
tained, a ledge on which the round disks of
the lid rest and are thus prevented from
touching the honey when the Bee presses
them into a concave cover. In other words,
at the mouth, the circumference comprises
only one row of leaves; lower down, it takes
two or three, thus restricting the diameter
and securing an hermetic closing.

The cover of the pot consists solely of
round pieces, very nearly alike and more or
less numerous. Sometimes I find only two,
sometimes I count as many as ten, closely
stacked. At times, the diameter of those
pieces is of an almost mathematical precision,

249

Bramble-bees and Others

so much so that the edges of the disk rest
upon the ledge. No better result would be
obtained had they been cut out with the aid
of compasses. At times, again, the piece pro-
jects slightly beyond the mouth, so that, to
enter, it has to be pressed down and curved
cupwise. ‘There is no variation in the dia-
meter of the first pieces placed in position,
those nearest to the honey. They are all of
the same size and thus form a flat cover which
does not encroach on the cell and will not
afterwards interfere with the larva, as a con-
vex ceiling would. The subsequent disks,
when the pile is numerous, are a little larger;
they only fit the mouth by yielding to pressure
and becoming concave. ‘The Bee seems to
make a point of this concavity, for it serves
as a mould to receive the convex bottom of
the next cell.

When the row of cells is finished, the task
still remains of blocking up the entrance to
the gallery with a safety-stopper similar to
the earthen plug with which the Osmia closes
her reeds. The Bee then returns to the free
and easy use of the scissors which we noticed
at the beginning when she was fencing off the
back part of the Earth-worm’s too-deep bur-

250

The Leaf-cutters

row; she cuts out of the foliage irregular
pieces of different shapes and sizes and often
retaining their original deeply-indented mar-
gins; and with all these pieces, very few of
which fit at all closely the orifice to be
blocked, she succeeds in making an inviolable
door, thanks to the huge number of layers.

Let us leave the Leaf-cutter to finish de-
positing her eggs in other galleries, which
will be colonized in the same manner, and
consider for a moment her skill as a cutter.
Her edifices consist of a multitude of frag-
ments belonging to three categories: oval
pieces for the sides of the cells; round pieces
for the lids; and irregular pieces for the bar-
ricades at the front and back. The last pre-
sent no difficulty: the Bee obtains them by
removing from the leaf some projecting por-
tion, as it stands, a serrate lobe which, owing
to its notches, shortens the insect’s task and
lends itself better to scissor-work. So far,
there is nothing to deserve attention: it is
unskilled labour, in which an inexperienced
apprentice might excel.

With the oval pieces, it becomes another
matter. What model has the Megachile
when cutting her neat ellipses out of the deli-

251

Bramble-bees and Others

cate material for her wallets, the robinia-
leaves? What mental pattern guides her
scissors? What system of measurement tells
her the dimensions? One would like to pic-
ture the insect as a living pair of compasses,
capable of tracing an elliptic curve by a cert-
ain natural inflexion of its body, even as our
arm traces a circle by swinging from the
shoulder. A blind mechanism, the mere out-
come of its organization, would alone be re-
sponsible for its geometry. This explanation
would tempt me if the large oval pieces were
not accompanied by much smaller ones, also
oval, which are used to fill the empty spaces.
A pair of compasses which changes its radius
of its own accord and alters the curve accord-
ing to the plan before it appears to me an
instrument somewhat difficult to believe in.
There must be something much better than
that. The circular pieces of the lid suggest it
to us.

If, by the mere flexion inherent in her
structure, the Leaf-cutter succeeds in cutting
out ovals, how does she succeed in cutting
out rounds? Can we admit the presence of
other wheels in the machinery for the new
pattern, so different in shape and size? Be-

252

The Leaf-cutters

sides, the real point of the difficulty does not
lie there. These rounds, for the most part,
fit the mouth of the jar with almost exact
precision. When the cell is finished, the Bee
flies hundreds of yards away to make the lid.
She arrives at the leaf from which the disk
is to be cut. What picture, what recollection
has she of the pot to be covered? Why, none
at all: she has never seen it; she does her
work underground, in utter darkness! At
the utmost, she can have the indications of
touch: not actual indications, of course, for
the pot is not there, but past indications, use-
less in a work of precision. And yet the disk
to be cut out must have a fixed diameter: if
it were too large, it would not go in; if too
small, it would close badly, it would slip down
on the honey and suffocate the egg. How
shall it be given its correct dimensions with-
out a pattern? The Bee does not hesitate for
a moment. She cuts out her disk with the
same celerity which she would display in de-
taching any shapeless lobe which might do
for a stopper; and that disk, without further
measurement, is of the right size to fit the
pot. Let whoso will explain this geometry,
which in my opinion is inexplicable, even
253

Bramble-bees and Others

when we allow for memory begotten of touch
and sight.

One winter evening, as we were sitting
round the fire, whose cheerful blaze unloosed
our tongues, I put the problem of the Leaf-
cutter to my family:

“Among your kitchen-utensils,” I said,
“you have a pot in daily use; but it has lost its
lid, which was knocked over and broken by
the cat playing on the shelves. To-morrow
is market-day and one of you will be going
to Orange to buy the week’s provisions.
Would she undertake, without a measure of
any kind, with the sole aid of memory, which
we would allow her to refresh by a careful
examination of the object before starting, to
bring back exactly what the pot wants, a lid
neither too large nor too small, in short the
same size as the top?”

It was admitted with one accord that no-
body would accept such a commission with-
out taking a measure with her, or at least a
bit of string giving the width. Our memory
for sizes is not accurate enough. She would
come back from the town with something
that ‘‘might do;” and it would be the merest
chance if this turned out to be the right size.

254

The Leaf-cutters

Well, the Leaf-cutter is even less well-off
than ourselves. She has no mental picture of
her pot, because she has never seen it; she is
not able to pick and choose in the crockery-
dealer’s heap, which acts as something of a
guide to our memory by comparison; she
must, without hesitation, far away from her
home, cut out a disk that fits the top of her
jar. What is impossible to us is child’s-play
to her. Where we could not do without a
measure of some kind, a bit of string, a pat-
tern or a scrap of paper with figures upon it,
the little Bee needs nothing at all. In house-
keeping matters she is cleverer than we are.

One objection was raised. Was it not pos-
sible that the Bee, when at work on the shrub,
should first cut a round piece of an approxi-
mate diameter, larger than that of the
neck of the jar, and that afterwards, on re-
turning home, she should gnaw away the su-
perfluous part until the lid exactly fitted the
pot? These alterations made with the model
in front of her would explain everything.

That is perfectly true; but are there any al-
terations? To begin with, it seems to me
hardly possible that the insect can go back
to the cutting once the piece is detached from

255

Bramble-bees and Others

the leaf: it lacks the necessary support to
gnaw the flimsy disk with any precision. A
tailor would spoil his cloth if he had not the
support of a table when cutting out the pieces
for a coat. The Megachile’s scissors, so dif-
ficult to wield on anything not firmly held,
would do equally bad work.

Besides, I have better evidence than this
for my refusal to believe in the existence of
alterations when the Bee has the cell in front
of her. The lid is composed of a pile of disks
whose number sometimes reaches half a score.
Now the bottom part of all these disks is the
under surface of the leaf, which is paler and
more strongly veined; the top part is the up-
per surface, which is smooth and greener.
In other words, the insect places them in the
position which they occupy when gathered.
Let me explain. In order to cut out a piece,
the Bee stands on the upper surface of the
leaf. The piece detached is held in the feet
and is therefore laid with its top surface
against the insect’s chest at the moment of
departure. There is no possibility of its be-
ing turned over on the way. Consequently,
the piece’ is laid as the Bee has just picked
it, with the lower surface towards the inside

256

The Leaf-cutters

of the cell and the upper surface towards the
outside. If alterations were necessary to re-
duce the lid to the diameter of the pot, the
disk would be bound to get turned over: the
piece, manipulated, set upright, turned round,
tried this way and that, would, when finally
laid in position, have its top or bottom sur-
face inside just as it happened to come. But
this is exactly what does not take place.
Therefore, as the order of stacking never
changes, the disks are cut, from the first clip
of the scissors, with their proper dimensions.
The insect excels us in practical geometry. I
look upon the Leaf-cutter’s pot and lid as an
addition to the many other marvels of instinct
that cannot be explained by mechanics; I sub-
mit it to the consideration of science; and I
pass on.

The Silky Leaf-cutter (Megachile seri-
cans, Fonscou.; M. Dufourii, Lepr.) makes
her nests in the disused galleries of the
Anthophore. I know her to occupy another
dwelling which is more elegant and affords
a more roomy installation: I mean the old
dwelling of the fat Capricorn, the denizen of
the oaks. The metamorphosis is effected in
a spacious chamber lined with soft felt.

257

Bramble-bees and Others

When the long-horned Beetle reaches the
adult stages, he releases himself and emerges
from the tree by following a vestibule which
the larva’s powerful tools have prepared be-
forehand. If the deserted cabin, owing to
its position, remains wholesome and there is
no sign of any running from its walls, no
brown stuff smelling of the tanyard, it is soon
visited by the Silky Megachile, who finds in
it the most sumptuous of the apartments in-
habited by the Leaf-cutters. It combines
every condition of comfort: perfect safety,
an even temperature, freedom from damp,
ample room; and so the mother who is fortu-
nate enough to become the possessor of such
a lodging uses it entirely, vestibule and draw-
ing-room alike. Accommodation is found for
all her family of eggs; at least, I have no-
where seen nests as populous as here.

One of them provides me with seventeen
cells, the highest number appearing in my
census of the Megachile genus. Most of
them are lodged in the nymphal chamber of
the Capricorn; and, as the spacious recess is
too wide for a single row, the cells are ar-
ranged in three parallel series. The re-
mainder, in a single string, occupy the vesti-

258

The Leaf-cutters

bule, which is completed and filled up by the
terminal barricade. In the materials em-
ployed, hawthorn- and paliurus-leaves pre-
dominate. The pieces, both in the cells and
in the stopper, vary in size. It is true that the
hawthorn-leaves, with their deep indentations,
do not lend themselves to the cutting of neat
oval pieces. ‘The insect seems to have de-
tached each morsel without troubling over-
much about the shape of the piece, so long
as it was big enough. Nor has it been very
particular about arranging the pieces accord-
ing to the nature of the leaf: after a few bits
of paliurus come bits of vine and hawthorn;
and these again are followed by bits of bram-
ble and paliurus. The Bee has collected her
pieces anyhow, taking a bit here and there,
just as her fancy dictated. Nevertheless,
paliurus is the commonest, perhaps for eco-
nomical reasons.

I notice, in fact, that the leaves of this
shrub, instead of being used piecemeal, are
employed whole, when they do not exceed the
proper dimensions. Their oval form and
their moderate size suit the insect’s require-
ments; and there is therefore no necessity to
cut them into pieces. The leaf-stalk is clipped

259

Bramble-bees and Others

with the scissors and, without more ado, the
Megachile retires the richer by a first-rate bit
of material.

Split up into their component parts, two
cells give me altogether eighty-three pieces of
leaves, whereof eighteen are smaller than the
others and of a round shape. The last-
named come from the lids. If they average
forty-two each, the seventeen cells of the nest
represent seven hundred and fourteen pieces.
These are not all: the nest ends, in the Capri-
corn’s vestibule, with a stout barricade in
which I count three hundred and fifty pieces.
The total therefore amounts to one thousand
and sixty-four. All those journeys and all that
work with the scissors to furnish the deserted
chamber of the Cerambyx! If I did not know
the Leaf-cutter’s solitary and jealous disposi-
tion, I should attribute the huge structure to
the collaboration of several mothers; but
there is no question of communism in this
case. One dauntless creature and one alone,
one solitary, inveterate worker, has produced
the whole of the prodigious mass. If work
is the best way to enjoy life, this one certainly
has not been bored during the few weeks of
her existence.

260

The Leaf-cutters

I gladly award her the most honourable
of eulogies, that due to the industrious; and
I also compliment her on her talent for clos-
ing the honey-pots. The pieces stacked into
lids are round and have nothing to suggest
those of which the cells and the final barri-
cade are made. Excepting the first, those
nearest the honey, they are perhaps cut a tri-
fle less neatly than the disks of the White-
girdled Leaf-cutter; no matter: they stop the
jar perfectly, especially when there are some
ten of them one above the other. When cut-
ting them, the Bee was as sure of her scissors
as a dressmaker guided by a pattern laid on
the stuff; and yet she was cutting without a
model, without having in front of her the
mouth to be closed. To enlarge on this in-
teresting subject would mean to repeat one’s
self. All the Leaf-cutters have the same
talent for making the lids of their pots.

A less mysterious question than this geo-
metrical problem is that of the materials.
Does each species of Megachile keep to a sin-
gle plant or has it a definite botanical domain
wherein to exercise its liberty of choice? The
little that I have already said is enough to
make us suspect that the insect is not re-

261

Bramble-bees and Others

stricted to one plant; and this is confirmed by
an examination of the separate cells, piece by
piece, when we find a variety which we were
far from imagining at first. Here is the flora
of the Megachiles in my neighbourhood, a
very incomplete flora and doubtless capable
of considerable amplification by future re-
searches.

The Silky Leaf-cutter gathers the materials
for her pots, her lids and her barricades from
the following plants: paliurus, hawthorn,
vine, wild briar, bramble, holm-oak, amelan-
chier, terebinthus, sage-leaved rock-rose. The
first three supply the greater part of the leaf-
work; the last three are represented only by
rare fragments.

The Hare-footed Leaf-cutter (Megachile
lagopoda, L1IN.), whom I see very busy in
my enclosure, though she only collects her
materials there, exploits the lilac and the rose-
tree by preference. From time to time, I see
her also cutting bits out of the robinia, the
quince-tree and the cherry-tree. In the open
country, I have found her building with the
leaves of the vine alone.

The Silvery Leaf-cutter (Megachile argen-
tata, FaB.), another of my guests, shares the

262

The Leaf-cutters

taste of the aforesaid for the lilac and the
rose, but her domain includes in addition the
pomegranate-tree, the bramble, the vine, the
common dogwood and the cornelian cherry.

The White-girdled Leaf-cutter likes the ro-
binia, to which she adds, in lavish propor-
tions, the vine, the rose and the hawthorn and
sometimes, in moderation, the reed and the
whitish-leaved rock-rose.

The Black-tipped Leaf-cutter (Megachile
apicalis, SPINOLA) has for her abode the cells
of the Mason-bee of the Pebbles and the
ruined nests of the Osmiz and the Anthidia
in the Snail-shells. I have not known her to
use any other materials than the wild briar
and the hawthorn.

Incomplete though it be, this list tells us
that the Megachiles do not have exclusive bo-
tanical tastes. Each species manages ex-
tremely well with several plants differing
greatly in appearance. The first condition to
be fulfilled by the shrub exploited is that it be
near the nest. Frugal of her time, the Leaf-
cutter declines to go on distant expeditions.
Whenever I come upon a recent Megachile-
nest, I am not long in finding in the neigh-
bourhood, without much searching, the tree

263

Bramble-bees and Others

or shrub from which the Bee has cut her
pieces.

Another main condition is a fine and supple
texture, especially for the first disks used in the
lid and for the pieces which form the lining
of the vessel. ‘The rest, less carefully exe-
cuted, allows of coarser stuff; but even then
the piece must be flexible and lend itself to
the cylindrical configuration of the tunnel.
The leaves of the rock-roses, thick and
roughly fluted, fulfil this condition unsatisfac-
torily, for which reason I see them occurring
only at very rare intervals. The insect has
gathered pieces of them by mistake and, not
finding them good to use, has ceased to visit
the unprofitable shrub. Stiffer still, the leaf
of the holm-oak in its full maturity is never
employed: the Silky Leaf-cutter uses it only
in the young state and then in moderation;
she can get her velvety pieces better from the
vine. In the lilac-bushes so zealously ex-
ploited before my eyes by the Hare-footed
Leaf-cutter occur a medley of different shrubs
which, from their size and the lustre of their
leaves, should apparently suit that sturdy
pinker. They are the shrubby hare’s-ear, the
honeysuckle, the prickly butcher’s-broom, the

264.

The Leaf-cutters -

box. What magnificent disks ought to come
from the hare’s-ear and the honeysuckle! One
could get an excellent piece, without further
labour, by merely cutting the leaf-stalk of the
box as Megachile sericans does with her
paliurus. The lilac-lover disdains them ab-
solutely. For what reason? I fancy that she
finds them too stiff. Would she think dif-
ferently if the lilac-bush were not there? Per-
haps so.

In short, apart from the questions of tex-
ture and proximity to the nest, the Mega-
chile’s choice, it seems to me, must depend
upon whether a particular shrub is plentiful
or not. This would explain the lavish use of
the vine, an object of widespread cultivation,
and of the hawthorn and the wild briar,
which form part of all our hedges. As these
are to be found everywhere, the fact that the
different Leaf-cutters make use of them is no
reflection upon a host of equivalents varying
according to the locality.

If we had to believe what people tell us
about the effects of heredity, which is said to
hand down from generation to generation,
ever more firmly established, the individual
habits of those who come before, the Mega-

265

Bramble-bees and Others

chiles of these parts, experienced in the local
flora by the long training of the centuries, but
complete novices in the presence of plants
which their race encounters for the first time,
ought to refuse as unusual and suspicious any
exotic leaves, especially when they have at
hand plenty of the leaves made familiar by
hereditary custom. ‘The question was deserv-
ing of separate study.

Two subjects of my observations, the
Hare-footed Leaf-cutter and the Silvery Leaf-
cutter, both inmates of my open-air laboratory,
gave me a definite answer. Knowing the
points frequented by the two Megachiles,
I planted in their work-yard, overgrown
with briar and lilac, two outlandish plants
which seemed to me to fulfil the re-
quired conditions of suppleness of texture,
namely, the ailantus, a native of Japan, and
the Virginian physostegia. Events justified
the selection: both Bees exploited the foreign
flora with the same assiduity as the local
flora, passing from the lilac to the ailantus,
from the briar to the physostegia, leaving the
one, going back to the other, without draw-
ing distinctions between the known and the
unknown. Inveterate habit could not have

266

The Leaf-cutters

given greater certainty, greater ease to their
scissors, though this was their first experience
of such a material.

The Silvery Leaf-cutter lent herself to an
even more conclusive test. As she readily
makes her nest in the reeds of my apparatus,
I was able, up to a certain point, to create a
landscape for her and select its vegetation
myself. I therefore moved the reed-hive to
a part of the enclosure stocked chiefly with
rosemary, whose scanty foliage is not adapted
for the Bee’s work, and near the apparatus
I arranged an exotic shrubbery in pots, in-
cluding notably the smooth lopezia, from
Mexico, and the long-fruited capsicum, an
Indian annual. Finding close at hand the
wherewithal to build her nest, the Leaf-cutter
went no farther afield. The lopezia suited
her especially, so much so that almost the
whole nest was composed of it. The rest had
been gathered from the capsicum.

Another recruit, whose cooperation I had
in no way engineered, came spontaneously to
offer me her evidence. This was the Feeble
Leaf-cutter (Megachile imbecilla, Gerr-
STACKER). ‘Nearly a quarter of a century
ago, I saw her, all through the month of

267

Bramble-bees and Others

July, cutting out her rounds and ellipses at
the expense of the petals of the Pelargonium
zonale, the common geranium. Her perse-
verance devastated—there is no other word
for it—my modest array of pots. Hardly was
a blossom out, when the ardent Megachiles
came and scalloped it into crescents. The
colour was indifferent to her: red, white or
pink, all the petals underwent the disastrous
operation. A few captures, by this time an-
cient relics of my collecting-boxes, indemnified
me for the pillage. I have not seen the un-
pleasant Bee since. With what does she build
when there are no geranium-flowers handy?
I do not know; but the fact remains that the
fragile tailoress used to attack the foreign
flower, a fairly recent acquisition from the
Cape, as though all her race had never done
anything else.

These details leave us with one obvious
conclusion, which is contrary to our original
ideas, based on the unvarying character of
insect industry. In constructing their jars,
the Leaf-cutters, each following the taste pe-
culiar to her species, do not make use of this
or that plant to the exclusion of the others;
they have no definite flora, no domain faith-

268

The Leaf-cutters

fully transmitted by heredity. Their pieces
of leaves vary according to the surrounding
vegetation; they vary in different layers of the
same cell. Everything suits them, exotic or
native, rare or common, provided that the
bit cut out be easy to employ. It is not the
general aspect of the shrub, with its fragile
or bushy branches, its large or small, green
or grey, dull or glossy leaves, that guides the
insect: such advanced botanical knowledge
does not enter into the question at all. In the
thicket chosen as a pinking-establishment, the
Megachile sees but one thing: leaves useful
for her work. The Shrike, with his passion
for plants with long, woolly sprigs, knows
where to find nicely-wadded substitutes when
his favourite growth, the cotton-rose, is lack-
ing; the Megachile has much wider re-
sources: indifferent to the plant itself, she
looks only into the foliage. If she finds
leaves of the proper size, of a dry texture
capable of defying the damp and of a supple-
ness favourable to cylindrical curving, that is
all she asks; and the rest does not matter.
She has therefore an almost unlimited field
for her labour.

These sudden and wholly unprovoked

269

Bramble-bees and Others

changes give cause for reflection. When my
geranium-flowers were devastated, how had
the obtrusive Bee, untroubled by the profound
dissimilarity between the petals, snow-white
here, bright-scarlet there, how had she learnt
her trade? Nothing tells us that she herself
was not for the first time exploiting the plant
from the Cape; and, if she really did have
predecessors, the habit had not had time to
become inveterate, considering the modern
importation of the geranium. Where again
did the Silvery Megachile, for whom I
created an exotic shrubbery, make the ac-
quaintance of the lopezia, which comes from
Mexico? She certainly is making a first start.
Never did her village or ours possess a stalk
of that chilly denizen of the hot-house. She
is making a first start; and behold her
straightway a graduate, versed in the art of
carving unfamiliar foliage.

People often talk of the long apprentice-
ships served by instinct, of its gradual ac-
quirements, of its talents, the laborious work
of the ages. The Megachiles affirm the ex-
act opposite. ‘They tell me that the animal,
though invariable in the essence of its art, is
capable of innovation in the details; but at the

270

The Leaf-cutters

same time they assure me that any such inno-
vation is sudden and not gradual. Nothing
prepares the innovations, nothing improves
them or hands them down; otherwise a
selection would long ago have been made
amid the diversity of foliage; and the shrub
recognized as the most serviceable, especially
when it is also plentiful, would alone supply
all the building-materials needed. If heredity
transmitted industrial discoveries, a Mega-
chile who thought of cutting her disks out of
pomegranate-leaves and found them satisfac-
tory ought to have instilled a liking for simi-
lar materials into her descendants; and we
should to-day find Leaf-cutters faithful to the
pomegranate-leaves, workers who remained
exclusive in their choice of the raw material.
The facts refute these theories.

People also say:

“Grant us a variation, however small, in
the insect’s industry; and that variation, ac-
centuated more and more, will produce a new
race and finally a fixed species.”’

This trifling variation is the fulcrum for
which Archimedes clamoured in order to lift
the world with his system of levers. The
Megachiles offer us one and a very great one:

27%

Bramble-bees and Others

the indefinite variation of their materials.
What will the theorists’ levers lift with this
fulcrum? Why, nothing at all! Whether
they cut the delicate petals of the geranium
or the tough leaves of the lilac-bushes, the
Leaf-cutters are and will be what they were.
This is what we learn from the persistence
of each species in its structural details, de-
spite the great variety of the foliage em-
ployed.

272

CHAPTER IX
THE COTTON-BEES

‘THE evidence of the Leaf-cutters proves
that a certain latitude is left to the in-
sect in its choice of materials for the nest; and
this is confirmed by the testimony of the
Anthidia, the cotton-manufacturers. My dis-
trict possesses five species of Cotton-bees:
Anthidium florentinum, LATR., A. diadema,
Latr., 4. manicatum, LATR., A. cingulatum,
Latr., 4. scapulare, LATR. None of them
creates the refuge in which the cotton goods
are manufactured. Like the Osmiz and
the Leaf-cutters, they are homeless va-
grants, adopting, each to her own taste,
such shelter as the work of others affords.
The Scapular Anthidium is loyal to the
dry bramble, deprived of its pith and turned
into a hollow tube by the industry of
various mining Bees, among whom figure, in
the front rank, the Ceratine, dwarf rivals
of the Xylocopa, or Carpenter-bee, that
mighty driller of rotten wood. The spacious

273

Bramble-bees and Others

galleries of the Masked Anthophora suit the
Florentine Anthidium, the foremost member
of the genus so far as size is concerned. The
Diadem Anthidium considers that she has
done very well if she inherits the vestibule of
the Hairy-footed Anthophora, or even the
ordinary burrow of the Earth-worm. Failing
anything better, she may establish herself in
the dilapidated dome of the Mason-bee of the
Pebbles. The Manicate Anthidium shares
her tastes. I have surprised the Girdled
Anthidium cohabiting with a Bembex: the
two occupants of the cave dug in the sand,
the owner and the stranger, were living in
peace, both intent upon their business; but her
usual habitation is some hole or other in the
crevices of a ruined wall. To these refuges,
the work of others, we can add the stumps
of reeds, which are as popular with the vari-
ous cotton-gatherers as with the Osmiz; and,
after we have mentioned a few most unex-
pected retreats, such as the sheath provided
by a hollow brick or the labyrinth furnished
by the lock of a gate, we shall have almost
exhausted the list of domiciles.

Like the Osmiz and the Leaf-cutters, the
Anthidium shows an urgent need of a ready-

274.

The Cotton-bees

made home. She never houses herself at her
own expense. Can we discover the reason?
Let us first consult a few hard workers who
are artificers of their own dwellings. The
Anthophora digs corridors and cells in the
banks hardened by the sun; she does not erect,
she excavates; she does not build, she clears.
Toiling away with her mandibles, atom by
atom, she manages to contrive the passages
and chambers necessary for her eggs; and a
huge business it is. She has, in addition, to
polish and glaze the rough sides of her tun-
nels. What would happen if, after obtaining
a home by dint of long-continued toil, she had
next to line it with wadding, to gather the
fibrous down from cottony plants and to felt
it into bags suitable for the honey-paste?
The hard-working Bee would not be equal to
producing all these refinements. Her mining
calls for too great an expenditure of time and
strength to leave her the leisure for luxurious
furnishing. Chambers and corridors, there-
fore, will remain bare.

The Carpenter-bee gives us the same
answer. When with her joiner’s wimble she
has patiently bored the beam to a depth of
nine inches, would she be able to cut out and

275

Bramble-bees and Others

place in position the thousand and one pieces
which the Silky Leaf-cutter employs for her
nest? Time would fail her, even as it would
fail a Megachile, who, lacking the Capri-
corn’s chamber, had herself to dig a home in
the trunk of the oak. Therefore, the Car-
penter-bee, after the tedious work of boring,
gets the installation done in the most sum-
mary fashion, simply running up a saw-dust
partition.

The two things, the laborious business of
obtaining a lodging and the artistic work of
furnishing, seem unable to go together. With
the insect as with man, he who builds the
house does not furnish it, he who furnishes
it does not build it. To each his share, be-
cause of lack of time. Division of labour,
the mother of the arts, makes the workman
excel in his department; one man for the
whole work would mean stagnation, the
worker never getting beyond his first crude
attempts. Animal industry is a little like our
own: it does not attain its perfection save with
the aid of obscure toilers, who, without know-
ing it, prepare the final masterpiece. I see
no other reason for this need of a gratuitous
lodging for the Megachiles’ leafy baskets or

276

The Cotton-bees

the Anthidia’s cotton purses. In the case of
other artists who handle delicate things that
require protection, I do not hesitate to as-
sume the existence of a ready-made home.
Thus Réaumur tells us of the Upholsterer-
bee, Anthocopa papaveris, who fashions her
cells with poppy petals. I do not know the
flower-cutter, | have never seen her; but her
art informs me plainly enough that she must
establish herself in some gallery wrought by
others, as, for instance, in an Earth-worm’s
burrow.

We have but to see the nest of a Cotton-
bee to convince ourselves that its builder can-
not at the same time be an indefatigable
navvy. When newly-felted and not yet made
sticky with honey, the wadded purse is quite
the most elegant specimen of entomological
nest-building, especially where the cotton is
of a dazzling white, as is frequently the case
in the manufactures of the Girdled An-
thidium. No bird’s-nest, however deserving
of our admiration, can vie in fineness of flock,
in gracefulness of form, in delicacy of felting
with this wonderful bag, which our fingers,
even with the aid of tools, could hardly imi-
tate, for all their dexterity. I abandon the

277

Bramble-bees and Others

attempt to understand how, with its little
bales of cotton brought up one by one, the
insect, no otherwise gifted than the kneaders
of mud and the makers of leafy baskets,
manages to mat what it has collected into a
homogeneous whole and then to work the
product into a thimble-shaped wallet. Its
tools as a master-fuller are its legs and its
mandibles, which are just like those possessed
by the mortar-kneaders and the Leaf-cutters;
and yet, despite this similarity of outfit, what
a vast difference in the results obtained!

To see the Cotton-bees’ talents in action
seems an undertaking fraught with innu-
merable difficulties: things happen at a depth
inaccessible to the eye; and to persuade the
insect to work in the open does not lie in our
power. One resource remains and I did not
fail to turn to it, though hitherto I have been
wholly unsuccessful. Three species, dAn-
thidium diadema, A. manicatum and A.
florentinum—the first-named in particular—
show themselves quite ready to take up their
abode in my reed-apparatus. All that I had
to do was to replace the reeds by glass tubes,
which would allow me to watch the work
without disturbing the insect. This stratagem

278

The Cotton-bees

had answered perfectly with the Three-
horned Osmia and Latreille’s Osmia, whose
little housekeeping-secrets I had learnt thanks
to the transparent dwelling-house. Why
should it not answer with the Cotton-bees and,
in the same way, with the Leaf-cutters? I
almost counted on success. Events betrayed
my confidence. For four years I supplied my
hives with glass tubes and not once did the
Cotton-weavers or the Leaf-cutters con-
descend to take up their quarters in the crystal
palaces. They always preferred the hovel
provided by the reed. Shall I persuade them
one day? I do not abandon all hope.
Meanwhile, let me describe the little that
I saw. More or less stocked with cells, the
reed is at last closed, right at the orifice, with
a thick plug of cotton, usually coarser than
the wadding of the honey-satchels. It is the
equivalent of the Three-horned Osmia’s barri-
cade of mud, of the leaf-putty of Latreille’s
Osmia, of the Megachiles’ barrier of leaves
cut into disks. All these free tenants are care-
ful to shut tight the door of the dwelling, of
which they have often utilized only a portion.
To watch the building of this barricade,
which is almost external work, demands only

279

Bramble-bees and Others

a little patience in waiting for the favourable
moment.

The Anthidium arrives at last, carrying the
bale of cotton for the plugging. With her
fore-legs, she tears it apart and spreads:it out;
with her mandibles, which go in closed and
come out open, she loosens the hard lumps
of flock; with her forehead, she presses each
new layer upon the one below. And that is
all. The insect flies off, returns the richer by
another bale and repeats the performance un-
til the cotton barrier reaches the level of the
opening. We have here, remember, a rough
task, in no way to be compared with the deli-
cate manufacture of the bags; nevertheless, it
may perhaps tell us something of the general
procedure of the finer work. The legs do the
carding, the mandibles the dividing, the fore-
head the pressing; and the play of these im-
plements produces the wonderful cushioned
wallet. That is the mechanism in the lump;
but what of the artistry?

Let us leave the unknown for facts within
the scope of observation. I will question the
Diadem Anthidium in particular, a frequent
inmate of my reeds. I open a reed-stump
about two decimetres long by twelve milli-

280

The Cotton-bees

metres in diameter.’ The end is occupied by
a column of cotton-wool comprising ten cells,
without any demarcation between them on the
outside, so that their whole forms a continu-
ous cylinder. Moreover, thanks to a close
felting, the different compartments are
soldered together, so much so that, when
pulled by the end, the cotton edifice does not
break into sections, but comes out all in one
piece. One would take it for a single cylinder,
whereas in reality the work is composed of a
series of chambers, each of which has been
constructed separately, independently of the
one before, except perhaps at the base.

For this reason, short of ripping up the
soft dwelling, still full of honey, it is im-
possible to ascertain the number of storeys;
we must wait until the cocoons are woven.
Then our fingers can tell the cells by count-
ing the knots that resist pressure under the
cover of wadding. This general structure is
easily explained. A cotton bag is made, with
the sheath of the reed as a mould. If this
guiding sheath were lacking, the thimble
shape would be obtained all the same, with no

1About seven and three-quarter inches by half an inch.
—Translator’s Note.

281

Bramble-bees and Others

less elegance, as is proved by the Girdled
Anthidium, who makes her nest in some
hiding-place or other in the walls or the
ground. When the purse is finished, the pro-
visions come and the egg, followed by the
closing of the cell. We do not here find the
geometrical lid of the Leaf-cutters, the pile
of disks tight-set in the mouth of the jar. The
bag is closed with a cotton sheet whose edges
are soldered by a felting-process to the edges
of the opening. The soldering is so well done
that the honey-pouch and its cover form an
indivisible whole. Immediately above it, the
second cell is constructed, having its own
base. At the beginning of this work, the in-
sect takes care to join the two storeys by felt-
ing the ceiling of the first to the floor of the
second. ‘Thus continued to the end, the work,
with its inner solderings, becomes an unbroken
cylinder, in which the beauties of the separate
wallets disappear from view. In very much
the same fashion, but with less adhesion
among the different cells, do the Leaf-cutters
act when stacking their jars in a column
without any external division into storeys.
Let us return to the reed-stump which gives
us these details. Beyond the cotton-wool
282

The Cotton-bees

cylinder wherein ten cocoons are lodged in a
row comes an empty space of half a decimetre
or more.t The Osmie and the Leaf-cutters
are also accustomed to leave these long, de-
serted vestibules. The nest ends, at the
orifice of the reed, with a strong plug of flock
coarser and less white than that of the cells.
This use of closing-materials which are less
delicate in texture but of greater resisting-
power, while not an invariable characteristic,
occurs frequently enough to make us suspect
that the insect knows how to distinguish what
is best suited now to the snug sleeping-berth
of the larve, anon to the defensive barricade
of the home.

Sometimes the choice is an exceedingly
judicious one, as is shown by the nest of
the Diadem Anthidium. Time after time,
whereas the cells were composed of the
finest grade of white cotton, gathered from
Centaurea solsticialis, or St. Barnaby’s thistle,
the barrier at the entrance, differing from
the rest of the work in its yellow colouring,
was a heap of close-set bristles supplied by the
scallop-leaved mullein. The two functions of
the wadding are here plainly marked. The

1About two inches.—Translator’s Note.
283

Bramble-bees and Others

delicate skin of the larve needs a well-padded
cradle; and the mother collects the softest
materials that the cottony plants provide.
Rivalling the bird, which furnishes the inside
of the nest with wool and strengthens the out-
side with sticks, she reserves for the grubs’
mattress the finest down, so hard to find and
collected with such patience. But, when it
becomes a matter of shutting the door against
the foe, then the entrance bristles with for-
bidding caltrops, with stiff, prickly hairs.
This ingenious system of defence is not the
only one known to the Anthidia. More dis-
trustful still, the Manicate Anthidium leaves no
space in the front part of the reed. Immedi-
ately after the column of cells, she heaps up,
in the uninhabited vestibule, a conglomeration
of rubbish, whatever chance may offer in the
neighbourhood of the nest: little pieces of
gravel, bits of earth, grains of sawdust, parti-
cles of mortar, cypress-catkins, broken leaves,
dry Snail-droppings and any other material
that comes her way. The pile, a real barri-
cade this time, blocks the reed completely to
the end, except about two centimetres’ left
for the final cotton plug. Certainly, no foe

1About three-quarters of an inch—Translator’s Note.
284

——— =

The Cotton-bees

will break in through the double rampart; but
he will make an insidious attack from the
rear. The Leucospis will come and, with her
long probe, thanks to some imperceptible fis-
sure in the tube, will insert her dread eggs
and destroy every single inhabitant of the
fortress. Thus are the Manicate Anthidi-
um’s anxious precautions outwitted.

If we had not already seen the same thing
with the Leaf-cutters, this would be the place
to enlarge upon the useless tasks undertaken
by the insect when, with its ovaries apparently
depleted, it goes on spending its strength with
no maternal object in view and for the sole
pleasure of work. I have come across several
reeds stopped up with flock though containing
nothing at all, or else furnished with one, two
or three cells devoid of provisions or eggs.
The ever-imperious instinct for gathering cot-
ton and felting it into purses and heaping it
into barricades persists, fruitlessly, until life
fails. The Lizard’s tail wriggles, curls and
uncurls after it is detached from the animal’s
body. In these reflex movements, I seem to
see not an explanation, certainly, but a rough
image of the industrious persistency of the
insect, still toiling away at its business, even

285

Bramble-bees and Others

when there is nothing useful left to do. This
worker knows no rest but death.

I have said enough about the dwelling of
the Diadem Anthidium; let us look at the in-
habitant and her provisions. ‘The honey is
pale-yellow, homogeneous and of a semifluid
consistency, which prevents it from trickling
through the porous cotton bag. The egg
floats on the surface of the heap, with the end
containing the head dipped into the paste. To
follow the larva through its progressive
stages is not without interest, especially on
account of the cocoon, which is one of the
most singular that I know. With this object
in view, I prepare a few cells that lend them-
selves to observation. I take a pair of scis-
sors, slice a piece off the side of the cotton-
wool purse, so as to lay bare both the victuals
and the consumer, and place the ripped cell
in a short glass tube. During the first few
days, nothing striking happens. ‘The little
grub, with its head still plunged in the honey,
slakes its thirst with long draughts and waxes
fat. A moment comes... But let us go
back a little farther, before broaching this
question of sanitation.

Every grub, of whatever kind, fed on pro-

286

The Cotton-bees

visions collected by the mother and placed in
a narrow cell is subject to conditions of health
unknown to the roving grub that goes where
it likes and feeds itself on what it can pick up.
The first, the recluse, is no more able than
the second, the gadabout, to solve the pro-
blem of a food which can be entirely assimi-
lated, without leaving an unclean residue.
The second gives no thought to these sordid
matters: any place suits it for getting rid of
that difficulty. But what will the other do
with its waste matter, cooped up as it is ina
tiny cell stuffed full of provisions? A most
unpleasant mixture seems inevitable. Picture
the honey-eating grub floating on liquid pro-
visions and fouling them at intervals with its
excretions! The least movement of the
hinder-part would cause the whole to amalga-
mate; and what a broth that would make for
the delicate nurseling! No, it cannot be;
those dainty epicures must have some method
of escaping these horrors.

They all have, in fact, and most original
methods at that. Some take the bull by the
horns, so to speak, and, in order not to soil
things, refrain from uncleanliness until the
end of the meal; they keep the dropping-trap

287

Bramble-bees and Others

closed as long as the victuals are unfinished.
This is a radical scheme, but not in every one’s
power, it appears. It is the course adopted,
for instance, by the Sphex-wasps and the
Anthophora-bees, who, when the whole of the
food is consumed, expel at one shot the resi-
dues amassed in the intestines since the com-
mencement of the repast.

Others, the Osmiz in particular, accept a
compromise and begin to relieve the digestive
channel when a suitable space has been made
in the cell through the gradual disappearance
of the victuals. Others again—more hur-
ried these—find means of obeying the com-
mon law pretty early by engaging in stercoral
manufactures. By a stroke of genius, they
turn the unpleasant obstruction into building-
bricks. We have already seen the art of the
Lily Beetle, who, with her soft excrement,
makes herself a coat wherein to keep cool in
spite of the sun. It is a very crude and re-
volting art, disgusting to the eye. The Dia-

1Crioceris merdigera. Fabre’s essay on this insect has
not yet been translated into English; but readers inter-
ested in the matter will find a full description in An
Introduction to Entomology, by William Kirby, Rector
of Barham, and William Spence: letter xxii—Transla-
tor’s Note.

288

See

The Cotton-bees

dem Anthidium belongs to another school.
With her droppings she fashions masterpieces
of marquetry and mosaic, which wholly con-
ceal their base origin from the onlooker. Let
us watch her labours through the windows of
my tubes.

When the portion of food is nearly half
consumed, there begins and goes on to the
end a frequent defecation of yellowish drop-
pings, each hardly the size of a pin’s head.
As these are ejected, the grub pushes them
back to the circumference of the cell with
a movement of its hinder-part and keeps them
there by means of a few threads of silk. The
work of the spinnerets, therefore, which is
deferred in the others until the provisions are
finished, starts earlier here and alternates with
the feeding. In this way, the excretions are
kept’at a distance, away from the honey and
without any danger of getting mixed with it.
They end by becoming so numerous as to
form an almost continuous screen around the
larva. This excremental awning, made half
of silk and half of droppings, is the rough
draft of the cocoon, or rather a sort of scaf-
folding on which the stones are deposited un-
til they are definitely placed in position.

289

Bramble-bees and Others

Pending the piecing together of the mosaic,
the scaffolding keeps the victuals free from all
contamination.

To get rid of what cannot be flung out-
side, by hanging it on the ceiling, is not bad
to begin with; but to use it for making a
work of art is better still. The honey has dis-
appeared. Now commences the final weaving
of the cocoon. The grub surrounds itself
with a wall of silk, first pure white, then tinted
reddish-brown by means of an adhesive var-
nish. Through its loose-meshed stuff, it
seizes one by one the droppings hanging from
the scaffold and inlays them firmly in the tis-
sue. The same mode of work is employed by
the Bembex-, Stizus- and Tachytes-wasps and
other inlayers, who strengthen the inadequate
woof of their cocoons with grains of sand;
only, in their cotton-wool purses, the An-
thidium’s grubs substitute for the mineral par-
ticles the only solid materials at their disposal.
For them, excrement takes the place of
pebbles.

And the work goes none the worse for it.
On the contrary: when the cocoon is finished,
any one who had not witnessed the process of
manufacture would be greatly puzzled to

290

The Cotton-bees

state the nature of the workmanship. The
colouring and the elegant regularity of the
outer wrapper of the cocoon suggest some
kind of basket-work made with tiny bits of
bamboo, or a marquetry of exotic granules.
I too let myself be caught by it in my early
days and wondered in vain what the hermit
of the cotton wallet had used to inlay her
nymphal dwelling so prettily withal. To-day,
when the secret is known to me, I admire the
ingenuity of the insect capable of obtaining
the useful and the beautiful out of the basest
materials.

The cocoon has another surprise in store
for us. The end containing the head finishes
with a short conical nipple, an apex, pierced
by a narrow shaft that establishes a commu-
nication between the inside and the out. This
architectural feature is common to all the An-
thidia, to the resin-workers who will occupy
our attention presently as well as to the
cotton-workers. It is found nowhere outside
the Anthidium group.

What is the use of this point which the
larva leaves bare instead of inlaying it like
the rest of the shell? What is the use of that
hole, left quite open or at most closed at the

291

Bramble-bees and Others

bottom by a feeble grating of silk? The in-
sect appears to attach great importance to it,
from what I see. Asa matter of fact, I watch
the careful work of the apex. ‘The grub,
whose movements the hole enables me to fol-
low, patiently perfects the lower end of the
conical channel, polishes it and gives it an
exactly circular shape; from time to time, it
inserts into the passage its two closed mandi-
bles, whose points project a little way outside;
then, opening them to a definite radius, like
a pair of compasses, it widens the aperture
and makes it regular.

I imagine, without venturing, however, to
make a categorical statement, that the per-
forated apex is a chimney to admit the air
required for breathing. Every pupa breathes
in its shell, however compact this may be,
even as the unhatched bird breathes inside the
egg. The thousands of pores with which the
shell is pierced allow the inside moisture to
evaporate and the outer air to penetrate as
and when needed. The stony caskets of the
Bembex- and Stizus-wasps are endowed, not-
withstanding their hardness, with similar
means of exchange between the vitiated and
the pure atmosphere. Can the shells of the

292

The Cotton-bees

Anthidia be air-proof, owing to some modi-
fication that escapes me? In any case, this
impermeability cannot be attributed to the ex-
cremental mosaic, which the cocoons of the
resin-working Anthidia do not boast, though
they are endowed with an apex of the very
best.

Shall we find an answer to the question in
the varnish with which the silken fabric is im-
pregnated? I hesitate to say yes and I hesi-
tate to say no, for a host of cocoons are coated
with a similar lacquer though deprived of
communication with the outside air. All said,
without being able at present to account for
its necessity, I admit that the apex of the An-
thidia is a breathing-aperture. I bequeath
to the future the task of telling us for what
reasons the collectors of both cotton and resin
leave a large pore in their shells, whereas all
the rest of the weavers close their cocoons
completely.

After these biological curiosities, it remains
for me to discuss the principal subject of this
chapter: the botanical origin of the materials
of the nest. By watching the insect when
busy at its harvesting, or else by examining
its manufactured flock under the microscope,

293

Bramble-bees and Others

I was able to learn, not without a great ex-
penditure of time and patience, that the dif-
ferent Anthidia of my neighbourhood have
recourse without distinction to any cottony
plant. Most of the wadding is supplied by
the Composite, particularly the following:
Centaurea solsticialis, or St. Barnaby’s thistle;
Centaurea paniculata, or panicled centaury;
Echinops riiro, or small globe-thistle; Ono-
pordon illyricum, or Illyrian cotton-thistle;
Helichrysum stechas, or wild everlasting;
Filago germanica, or common cotton-rose.
Next come the Labiate: Marrubium vulgare,
or common white horehound; Ballota fetida,
or stinking horehound; Calamintha. nepeta,
or lesser calamint; Salvia ethiopis, or woolly
sage. Lastly, the Solanacee: Verbascum
thapsus, or shepherd’s club; Verbascum sinua-
tum, or scollop-leaved mullein.

The Cotton-bees’ flora, we see, incomplete
as it is in my notes, embraces plants of very
different aspect. ‘There is no resemblance in
appearance between the proud candelabrum
of the cotton-thistle, with its red tufts, and the
humble stalk of the globe-thistle, with its sky-
blue capitula; between the plentiful leaves of
the mullein and the scanty foliage of the St.

294

The Cotton-bees

Barnaby’s thistle; between the rich silvery
fleece of the woolly sage and the short hairs
of the everlasting. With the Anthidium,
these clumsy botanical characteristics do not
count; one thing alone guides her: the pre-
sence of cotton. Provided that the plant be
more or less well-covered with soft wadding,
the rest is immaterial to her.

Another condition, however, has to be ful-
filled apart from the fineness of the cotton-
wool. ‘The plant, to be worth shearing, must
be dead and dry. I have never seen the har-
vesting done on fresh plants. In this way, the
Bee avoids mildew, which would make its
appearance in the mass of hairs still filled
with their sap.

Faithful to the plant recognized as yield-
ing good results, the Anthidium arrives and
resumes her gleaning on the edges of the parts
denuded by earlier harvests. Her mandibles
are hard at work scraping up and then passing
on the tiny flake to the hind-legs, which hold
the pellet pressed against the chest, mix with
it the rapidly-increasing store of down and
make the whole into a little ball. When this
is the size of a pea, it goes back into the man-
dibles; and the insect flies off, with its bale

295

Bramble-bees and Others

of cotton in its mouth. If we have the pa-
tience to wait, we shall see it return to the
same point, at intervals of a few minutes, so
long as the bag is not made. The foraging
for provisions will suspend the collecting of
cotton; then, next day or the day after, the
scraping will be resumed on the same stalk,
on the same leaf, if the fleece be not ex-
hausted. The owner of a rich crop appears
to keep to it until the closing-plug calls for
coarser materials; and even then this plug is
often manufactured with the same fine flock
as the cells.

After ascertaining the diversity of cotton-
fields among the native plants, I naturally had
to enquire whether the Cotton-bee would also
put up with exotic plants, unknown to her
race; whether the insect would show any hesi-
- tation in the presence of woolly plants offered
for the first time to the rakes of her mandi-
bles. The common clary and the Babylonian
centaury, with which I have stocked the
harmas, shall be the harvest-fields; the reaper
shall be the Diadem Anthidium, the inmate of
my reeds.

The common clary, or toute-bonne, forms
part, I know, of our French flora to-day; but

296

The Cotton-bees

it is an acclimatized foreigner. They say that
a gallant crusader, returning from Palestine
with his share of glory and bruises, brought
back the toute-bonne from the Levant to help
him cure his rheumatism and dress his
wounds. From the lordly manor, the plant
propagated itself in all directions, while re-
maining faithful to the walls under whose
shelter the noble dames of yore used to grow
it for their unguents. To this day, feudal
ruins are its favourite resorts. Crusaders and
manors disappeared; the plant remained. In
this case, the origin of the clary, whether his-
torical or legendary, is of secondary im-
portance. Even if it were of spontaneous
growth in certain parts of France, the toute-
bonne is undoubtedly a stranger in the
Vaucluse district. Only once in the course
of my long botanizing-expeditions across the
department have I come upon this plant. It
was at Caromb, in some ruins, nearly thirty
years ago. I took a cutting of it; and since
then the crusaders’ sage has accompanied
me on all my peregrinations. My present
hermitage possesses several tufts of it; but,
outside the enclosure, except at the foot of
the walls, it would be impossible to find one,

297

Bramble-bees and Others

We have, therefore, a plant that is new to the
country for many miles around, a cotton-field
which the Sérignan Cotton-bees had never
utilized before I came and sowed it.

Nor had they ever made use of the Baby-
lonian centaury, which I was the first to in-
troduce, in order to cover my ungrateful stony
soil with some little vegetation. They had
never seen anything like the colossal centaury,
imported from the region of the Euphrates.
Nothing in the local flora, not even the cotton-
thistle, had prepared them for this stalk as
thick as a child’s wrist, crowned at a height
of nine feet with a multitude of yellow balls,
nor for those great leaves spreading over the
ground in an enormous rosette. What will
they do in the presence of such a find? They
will take possession of it with no more hesi-
tation than if it were the humble St. Barna-
by’s thistle, the usual purveyor.

In fact, I place a few stalks of clary and
Babylonian centaury, duly dried, near the
reed-hives. ‘The Diadem Anthidium is not
long in discovering the rich harvest. Straight
away tne wool is recognized as being of ex-
cellent quality, so much so that, during the
three or four weeks of nest-building, I can

298

The Cotton-bees

daily witness the gleaning, now on the clary,
now on the centaury. Nevertheless, the
Babylonian plant appears to be preferred, no
doubt because of its whiter, finer and more
plentiful down. I keep a watchful eye on the
scraping of the mandibles and the work of
the legs as they prepare the pellet; and I see
nothing that differs from the operations of the
insect when gleaning on the globe-thistle and
the St. Barnaby’s thistle. The plant from the
Euphrates and the plant from Palestine are
treated like those of the district.

Thus we find what the Leaf-cutters taught
us proved, in another way, by the cotton-
gatherers. In the local flora, the insect has no
precise domain; it reaps its harvest readily
now from one species, now from another, pro-
vided that it find the materials for its manu-
factures. The exotic plant is accepted quite
as easily as that of indigenous growth.
Lastly, the change from one plant to the
other, from the common to the rare, from
the habitual to the exceptional, from the
known to the unknown, is made suddenly,
without any gradual initiations. There is no
novitiate, no training by habit in the choice
of the materials of the nest. The insect’s in-

299

Bramble-bees and Others

dustry, variable in its details by sudden, in-
dividual and non-transmissible innovations,
gives the lie to the two great factors of evo-
lution: time and heredity.

300

CHAPTER X
THE RESIN-BEES

At the time when Fabricius’ gave the genus
Anthidium its name, a name still used
in our classifications, entomologists troubled
very little about the live animal; they worked
on corpses, a dissecting-room method which
does not yet seem to be drawing to an end.
They would examine with a conscientious eye
the antenna, the mandible, the wing, the leg,
without asking themselves what use the insect
had made of those organs in the exercise of
its calling. The animal was classified very
nearly after the manner adopted in crystal-
lography. Structure was everything; life,
with its highest prerogatives, intellect, in-
stinct, did not count, was not worthy of ad-
mission into the zoological scheme.

It is true that an almost exclusively necro-
logical study is obligatory at first. To fill
one’s boxes with insects stuck on pins is an

1Johann Christian Fabricius (1745-1808), a noted
Danish entomologist, author of Systema entomologie
(1775).—Translator’s Note.

301

Bramble-bees and Others

operation within the reach of all; to watch
those same insects in their mode of life, their
work, their habits and customs is quite a dil-
ferent thing. The nomenclator who lacks the
time—and sometimes also the inclination—
takes his magnifying-glass, analyses the dead
body and names the worker without knowing
its work. Hence the number of appellations
the least of whose faults is that they are un-
pleasant to the ear, certain of them, indeed,
being gross misnomers. Have we not, for
instance, seen the name of Lithurgus, or
stone-worker, given to a Bee who works in
wood and naught but wood? Such absurd-
ities will be inevitable until the animal’s pro-
fession is sufficiently familiar to lend its aid
in the compiling of diagnoses. I trust that the
future will see this magnificent advance in
entomological science: men will reflect that
the impaled specimens in our collections once
lived and followed a trade; and anatomy will
keep its proper place and leave due room for
biology.

Fabricius did not commit himself with his
expression Anthidium, which alludes to the
love of flowers, but neither did he mention
anything characteristic: as all Bees have the

302

Pi eri

The Resin-bees

same passion in a very high degree, I see no
reason why the Anthidia should be looked
upon as more zealous looters than the others.
If he had known their cotton nests, perhaps
the Scandinavian naturalist would have given
them a more logical denomination. As for
me, in a language wherein technical parade
is out of place, I will call them the Cotton-
bees.

The term requires some limiting. To
judge by my finds in fact, the old genus An-
thidium, that of the classifying entomologists,
comprises in my district two very different
corporations. One is known to us and works
exclusively in wadding; the other, which we
are about to study, works in resin, without
ever having recourse to cotton. Faithful to
my extremely simple principle of defining the
worker, as far as possible, by his work, I will
call the members of this guild the Resin-bees.
Thus confining myself to the data supplied by
my observations, I divide the Anthidium
group into equal sections, of equal im-
portance, for which I demand special generic
titles; for it is highly illogical to call the card-
ers of wool and the kneaders of resin by the
same name. I surrender to those whom it

303

Bramble-bees and Others

concerns the honour of effecting this reform in
the orthodox fashion.

Good luck, the friend of the persevering,
made me acquainted in different parts of
Vaucluse with four Resin-bees whose singu-
lar trade no one had yet suspected. To-day
I find all four again in my own neighbour-
hood. They are the following: Anthidium
septemdentatum, LATR., A. bellicosum, LEpP.,
A. quadrilobum, Lrep., and 4. Latreillii, Ler.
The first two make their nests in deserted
Snail-shells; the other two shelter their
groups of cells sometimes in the ground, some-
times under a large stone. We will first dis-
cuss the inhabitants of the Snail-shell. I have
already made a brief reference to them
when speaking of the distribution of the sexes.
This mere allusion, suggested by a study of
a different kind, must now be amplified. I
return to it with fuller particulars.

The stone-heaps in the Roman quarries
near Sérignan, which I have so often visited
in search of the nests of the Osmia who takes
up her abode in the Snail-shells, supply me
also with the two Resin-bees installed in simi-
lar quarters. When the Field-mouse has left
behind him a rich collection of empty shells

304

The Resin-bees

scattered all round his hay mattress under the
slab, there is always a hope of finding some
Snail-shells plugged with mud and, here and
there, mixed with them, a few Snail-shells
closed with resin. The two Bees work next
door to each other, one using clay, the other
gum. The excellence of the locality is re-
sponsible for this frequent cohabitation, shel-
ter being provided by the broken stone from
the quarry and lodgings by the shells which
the House has left behind.

At places where dead Snail-shells are few
and far between, as in the crevices of rustic
walls, each Bee occupies by herself the shells
which she has found. But here, in the quar-
ries, our crop will certainly be a double or
even a treble one, for both Resin-bees frequent
the same heaps. Let us, therefore, lift the
stones and dig into the mound until the ex-
cessive dampness of the subsoil tells us that
it is useless to look lower down. Sometimes
at the moment of removing the first layer,
sometimes at a depth of eighteen inches, we
shall find the Osmia’s Snail-shell and, much
more rarely, the Resin-bee’s. Above all, pa-
tience! The job is none of the most fruitful;
nor is it exactly an agreeable one. By dint

305

Bramble-bees and Others

of turning over uncommonly jagged stones,
our finger-tips get hurt, lose their skin and
become as smooth as though we had held
them on a grindstone. After a whole after-
noon of this work, our back will be aching,
our fingers will be itching and smarting and
we shall possess a dozen Osmia-nests and per-
haps two or three Resin-bees’ nests. Let us
be content with that.

The Osmia’s shells can be recognized at
once, as being closed at the orifice with a clay
stopper. The Anthidium’s call for a special
examination, without which we should run a
great risk of filling our pockets with cumber-
some rubbish. We find a dead Snail-shell
among the stones. Is it inhabited by the
Resin-bee or is it not? The outside tells us
nothing. ‘The Anthidium’s work comes at
the bottom of the spiral, a long way from the
mouth; and, though this is wide open, the
eye cannot travel far enough along the wind-
ing stair. I hold up the doubtful shell to the
light. If it is completely transparent, I know
that it is empty and I put it back to serve for
future nests. If the second whorl is opaque,
the spiral contains something. What does it
contain? Earth washed in by the rain? Rem-

306

The Resin-bees

nants of the putrefied Snail? That remains
to be seen. With a little pocket-trowel, the
inquisitorial implement which always accom-
panies me, I make a wide window in the mid-
dle of the final whorl. If I see a gleaming
resin floor, with incrustations of gravel, the
thing is settled: I possess an Anthidium’s nest.
But, oh, the number of failures that go to
one success! The number of windows vainly
opened in shells whose bottom is stuffed with
clay or with noisome corpses! Thus picking
shells among the overturned stone-heaps, in-
specting them in the sun, breaking into them
with the trowel and nearly always rejecting
them, I manage, after repeated attempts, to
obtain my materials for this chapter.

The first to hatch is the Seven-pronged
Resin-bee (Anthidium septemdentatum). We
see her, in the month of April, lumbering
along to the rubbish-heaps in the quarries and
the low boundary-walls, in search of her
Snail-shell. She is a contemporary of the
Three-horned Osmia, who begins operations
in the last week of April, and often occupies
the same stone-heap, settling in the next shell.
She is well-advised to start work early and
to be on neighbourly terms with the Osmia

307

Bramble-bees and Others

when the latter is building; in fact, we shall
soon see the terrible: dangers to which that
same proximity exposes her dilatory rival in
resin-work, Anthidium bellicosum.

The shell adopted in the great majority of
cases is that of the Common Snail, Helix
aspersa. It is sometimes of full size, some-
times half-developed. Helix nemoralis and
Helix caspitum, which are much smaller, also
supply suitable lodgings; and this would as
surely apply to any shell of sufficient capacity,
if the places which I explore possessed others,
as witness a nest which my son Emile has sent
me from somewhere near Marseilles. ‘This
time, the Resin-bee is settled in Helix algira,
the most remarkable of our land-shells be-
cause of the width and regularity of its spiral,
which is copied from that of the Ammonites.
This magnificent nest, a perfect specimen of
both the Mollusc’s work and the Bee’s, de-
serves description before any other.

For a distance of three centimetres’ from
the mouth, the last spiral whorl contains
nothing. At this inconsiderable depth, a par-
tition is clearly seen. The moderate diameter
of the passage accounts for the Anthidium’s

1y,17 inches.—Translator’s Note.
308

The Resin-bees

choice of this site to which our eye can pene-
trate. In the common Snail-shell, whose
cavity widens rapidly, the insect establishes it-
self much farther back, so that, in order to
see the terminal partition, we must, as I have
said, make a lateral inlet. The position of
this boundary-ceiling, which may come farther
forward or farther back, depends on the vari-
able diameter of the passage. The cells of
the cocoons require a certain length and a
certain breadth, which the mother finds by
going higher up or lower down in the spiral
according to the shape of the shell. When
the diameter is suitable, the last whorl is oc-
cupied up to the orifice, where the final lid
appears, absolutely exposed to view. ‘This is
the case with the adult Garden Snail and
Helix cespitum and also with the young Com-
mon Snail. We will not linger at present
over this peculiarity, the importance of which
will become manifest shortly.

Whether in the front or at the back of the
spiral slope, the insect’s work ends in a facade
of coarse mosaic, formed of small, angular
bits of gravel, firmly cemented with a gum
the nature of which has to be ascertained. It
is an amber-coloured material, semi-trans-

309

Bramble-bees and Others

parent, brittle, soluble in spirits of wine and
burning with a sooty flame and a strong smell
of resin. From these characteristics it is evi-
dent that the Bee prepares her gum with the
resinous drops exuded by the Conifere.

I think that I am even able to name the
particular plant, though I have never caught
the insect in the act of gathering its materials.
Near the stone-heaps which I turn over for
my collections there is a plentiful supply of
brown-berried junipers. Pines are totally ab-
sent; and the cypress only appears occasion-
ally near houses. Moreover, among the vege-
table remains which we shall see assisting in
the protection of the nest, we often find the
juniper’s catkins and needles. As the resin-
insect is economical of its time and does not
fly far from the quarters familiar to it, the
gum must have been collected on the shrub
at whose foot the materials for the barricade
have been gathered. Nor is this merely a
local circumstance, for the Marseilles nest
abounds in similar remnants. I therefore
regard the juniper as the regular resin-
purveyor, without, however, excluding the
pine, the cypress and other Conifere when
the favourite shrub is absent.

310

The Resin-bees

The bits of gravel in the lid are angular
and chalky in the Marseilles nest; they are
round and flinty in most of the Sérignan nests.
In making her mosaic, the worker pays no
heed to the form or colour of its component
parts; she collects indiscriminately anything
that is hard enough and not too large. Some-
times she lights upon treasures that give her
work a more original character. The
Marseilles nest shows me, neatly encrusted
amid the bits of gravel, a tiny whole land-
shell, Pupa cineres. A nest in my own neigh-
bourhood provides me with a pretty Snail-
shell, Helix striata, forming a rose pattern
in the middle of the mosaic. These little
artistic details remind me of a certain nest of
Eumenes Amadei' which abounds in small
shells. Ornamental shell-work appears to
number its lovers among the insects.

After the lid of resin and gravel, an entire
whorl of the spiral is occupied by a barricade
of incongruous remnants, similar to that
which, in the reeds, protects the row of
cocoons of the Manicate Cotton-bee. It is
curious to see exactly the same defensive

1A Mason-wasp, the essay on whom has not yet been
published in English—Translator’s Note.

311

Bramble-bees and Others

methods employed by two builders of such
different talents, one of whom handles flock,
the other gum. The nest from Marseilles has
for its barricade bits of chalky gravel, parti-
cles of earth, fragments of sticks, a few
scraps of moss and especially juniper-catkins
and -needles. The Sérignan nests, installed
in Helix aspersa, have almost the same pro-
tective materials. I see bits of gravel, the
size of a lentil, and the catkins and needles
of the brown-berried juniper predominating.
Next come the dry excretions of the Snail and
a few rare little land-shells. A similar jum-
ble of more or less everything found near the
nest forms, as we know, the barricade of the
Manicate Cotton-bee, who is also an adept
at using the Snail’s stercoral droppings after
these have been dried in the sun. Let us ob-
serve finally that these dissimilar materials are
heaped together without any cementing, just
as the insect has picked them up. Resin plays
no part in the mass; and we have only to
pierce the lid and turn the shell upside down
for the barricade to come dribbling to the
ground. To glue the whole thing together
does not enter into the Resin-bee’s scheme.
Perhaps such an expenditure of gum is beyond
312

The Resin-bees

her means; perhaps the barricade, if hardened
into a solid block, would afterwards form an
invincible obstacle to the escape of the young-
sters; perhaps again the mass of gravel is an
accessory rampart, run up roughly as a work
of secondary importance.

Amid these doubtful matters, I see at least
that the insect does not look upon its barri-
cade as indispensable. It employs it regu-
larly in the large shells, whose last whorl, too
spacious to be used, forms an unoccupied
vestibule; it neglects it in the moderate shells,
such as Helix nemoralis, in which the resin
lid is level with the orifice. My excavations
in the stone-heaps supply me with an almost
equal number of nests with and without de-
fensive embankments. Among the Cotton-
bees, the Manicate Anthidium is not faithful
either to her fort of little sticks and stones;
I know some of her nests in which cotton
serves every purpose. With both of them,
the gravel rampart seems useful only in cert-
ain circumstances, which I am unable to
specify.

On the other side of the outworks of the
fortification, the lid and barricade, are the
cells, set more or less far down in the spiral,

313

Bramble-bees and Others

according to the diameter of the shell. They
are bounded back and front by partitions of
pure resin, without any encrustations of mi-
neral particles. Their number is exceedingly
restricted and is usually limited to two. The
front room, which is larger because the width
of the passage goes on increasing, is the abode
of a male, superior in size to the other sex;
the less spacious back room contains a female.
I have already drawn attention, in an earlier
chapter, to the wonderful problem submitted
for our consideration by this breaking-up of
the laying into couples and this alternation of
the males and females. Without calling for
other work than the transverse partitions, the
broadening stairway of the Snail-shell thus
furnishes both sexes with house-room suited
to their size.

The second Resin-bee that inhabits shells,
Anthidium bellicosum, hatches in July and
works during the fierce heat of August. Her
architecture differs in no wise from that of
her kinswoman of the springtime, so much so
that, when we find a tenanted Snail-shell in
a hole in the wall or under the stones, it is
impossible to decide to which of the two spe-
cies the nest belongs. The only way to ob-

314

The Resin-bees

tain exact information is to break the shell
and split the cocoons in February, at which
time the nests of the summer Resin-bee are
occupied by larve and those of the spring
Resin-bee by the perfect insect. If we shrink
from this brutal method, we are still in doubt
until the cocoons open, so great is the re-
semblance between the two pieces of work.

In both cases, we find the same lodging,
Snail-shells of every size and every kind, just
as they happen to come; the same resin lid, the
inside gritty with tiny bits of stone, the out-
side almost smooth and sometimes orna-
mented with little shells; the same _ barri-
cade—not always present—of various kinds
of rubbish; the same division into two rooms
of unequal size occupied by the two sexes.
Everything is identical, down to the purveyor
of the gum, the brown-berried juniper. To
say more about the nest of the summer Resin-
bee would be to repeat one’s self.

There is only one thing that requires
further investigation. I do not see the reason
that prompts the two insects to leave the
greater part of their shell empty in front, in-
stead of occupying it entirely, up to the
orifice, as the Osmia habitually does. As the

315

Bramble-bees and Others

mother’s laying is broken up into intermittent
shifts of a couple of eggs apiece, is it neces-
sary that there should be a new home for each
shift? Is the semifluid resin unsuitable for
the wide-spanned roofs which would have to
be constructed when the diameter of the heli-
cal passage exceeded certain limits? Is the
gathering of the cement too wearisome a task
to leave the Bee any strength for making the
numerous partitions which she would need if
she utilized the spacious final whorl? I find
no answer to these questions. I note the fact
without interpreting it: when the shell is a
large one, the front part, forming almost the
whole of the last whorl, remains an empty
vestibule.

For the spring Resin-bee, Anthidium sep-
temdentatum, this less than half occupied
lodging possesses no drawbacks. A contem-
porary of the Osmia, often her neighbour un-
der the same stone, the gum-worker makes
her nest at the same period as the mud-
worker; but there is no fear of mutual en-
croachments, for the two Bees, working next
door to each other, watch their respective
property with a jealous eye. If attempts at
usurpation were to be made, the owner of

316

The Resin-bees

the Snail-shell would know how to enforce her
rights as the first occupant.

For the summer Resin-bee, Anthidium belli-
cosum, the conditions are very different. At
the moment when the Osmia is building, she is
still in the larval, or at most in the nymphal
stage. Her abode, which would not be more
absolutely silent if deserted, her shell, with its
vast untenanted porch, will not tempt the
more forward Resin-bee, who herself wants
apartments right at the far end of the spiral,
but it might suit the Osmia, who knows how
to fill the shell with cells up to the mouth.
The last whorl left vacant by the Resin-bee is
a magnificent lodging which nothing prevents
the mason from occupying. The Osmia
seizes upon it, in fact, and does so too often
for the welfare of the unfortunate late-comer.
The final resin lid takes the place, for the
Osmia, of the mud stopper with which she
cuts off at the back the portion of the spiral
too narrow for her labours. Upon this lid
she builds her mass of cells in so many storeys,
after which she covers the whole with a thick
defensive plug. In short, the work is con-
ducted as though the Snail-shell contained
nothing.

317

Bramble-bees and Others |

When July arrives, this doubly-tenanted
house becomes the scene of a tragic conflict.
Those below, on attaining the adult state,
burst their swaddling-bands, demolish their
resin partitions, pass through the gravel barri-
cade and try to release themselves; those
above, larve still or budding pupz, prisoners
in their shells until the following spring, com-
pletely block the way. To force a passage
from the far-end of those catacombs is be-
yond the strength of the Resin-bee, already
weakened by the effort of breaking out of her
own nest. A few of the Osmia’s partitions
are damaged, a few cocoons receive slight in-
juries; and then, worn out with vain strug-
gles, the captives abandon hope and perish
behind the impregnable wall of earth. And
with them perish also certain parasites, even
less fit for the prodigious work of clearance:
Zonites and Chryses (Chrysis flammea), of
whom the first are consumers of provisions
and the second of grubs.

This lamentable ending of the Resin-bee,
buried alive under the Osmia’s walls, is not
a rare accident to be passed over in silence or
referred to in a few words; on the contrary,
it happens very often; and its frequency

318

The Resin-bees

brings this thought: the school which sees in
instinct an acquired habit treats the slightest
favourable occurrence in the course of the
animal’s industry as the starting-point of an
improvement which, transmitted by heredity
and becoming in time more and more accentu-
ated, at last grows into a settled characteristic
common to the whole race. ‘There is, it is
true, a total absence of positive proofs in sup-
port of this theory; but it is stated with a
wealth of hypothesis that leaves a thousand

loopholes: “Granting that . . . Supposing
that . . . It may be . . . Nothing need
prevent us from believing . . . It is quite
possible .” Thus argued the master;

and the disciples have not yet hit upon any-
thing better.

“If the sky were to fall,’”’ said Rabelais,
“the larks would all be caught.”

Yes, but the sky stays up; and the larks go
on flying.

“Tf things happened in such and such a
way, says our friend, “instinct may have un-
dergone variations and modifications.”’

Yes, but are you quite sure that things hap-
pened as you say?

I banish the word “if’ from my vocabu-

319

Bramble-bees and Others

lary. I suppose nothing, I take nothing for
granted; I pluck the brutal fact, the only thing
that can be trusted; I record it and then ask
myself what conclusion rests upon its solid
framework. From the fact which I have re-
lated we may draw the following inference:

“You say that any modification profitable
to the animal is transmitted throughout a se-
ries of favoured ones who, better equipped
with tools, better endowed with aptitudes,
abandon the ancient usages and replace the
primitive species, the victim of the struggle
for life. You declare that once, in the dim
distance of the ages, a Bee found herself by
accident in possession of a dead Snail-shell.
The safe and peaceful lodging pleased her
fancy. On and on went the hereditary liking;
and the Snail-shell proved more and more
agreeable to the insect’s descendants, who be-
gan to look for it under the stones, so that
later generations, with the aid of habit, ended
by adopting it as the ancestral dwelling.
Again by accident, the Bee happened upon a
drop of resin. It was soft, plastic, well-
suited for the partitioning of the Snail-shell;
it soon hardened into a solid ceiling. ‘The
Bee tried the resinous gum and benefited by

320

—— eS

The Resin-bees

it. Her successors also benefited by it, espe-
cially after improving it. Little by little, the
rubble-work of the lid and of the gravel bar-
ricade was invented: an enormous improve-
ment, of which the race did not fail to take
advantage. The defensive fortification was
the finishing touch to the original structure.
Here we have the origin and development
of the instinct of the Resin-bees who make
their home in Snail-shells.”

This glorious genesis of insect ways and
means lacks just one little thing: probability.
Life everywhere, even among the humble, has
two phases: its share of good and its share of
evil. Avoiding the latter and seeking the
former is the rough balance-sheet of life’s
actions. Animals, like ourselves, have their
portion of the sweet and the bitter: they are
just as anxious to reduce the second as to in-
crease the first; for, with them as with us,

De malheurs évités le bonheur se compose.’

If the Bee has so faithfully handed down
her casual invention of a resin nest built in-
side a Snail-shell, then there is no denying
that she must have just as faithfully handed

"Bad luck missed is good luck gained,
321

Bramble-bees and Others

down the means of averting the terrible
danger of belated hatchings. A few mothers,
escaping at rare intervals from the catacombs
blocked by the Osmiz, must have retained a
lively memory, a powerful impression of their
desperate struggle through the mass of earth;
they must have inspired their descendants with
a dread of those vast dwellings where the
stranger comes afterwards and builds; they
must have taught them by habit the means of
safety, the use of the medium-sized shell,
which the nest fills to the mouth. So far as
the prosperity of the race was concerned, the
discontinuance of the system of empty vesti-
bules was far more important than the in-
vention of the barricade, which is not alto-
gether indispensable: it would have saved
them from perishing miserably, behind im-
penetrable walls, and would have consider-
ably increased the numbers of their posterity.

Thousands and thousands of experiments
have been made throughout the ages with
Snail-shells of average dimensions: the thing
is certain, because I find many of them to-day.
Well, have these life-saving experiments, with
their immense importance to the race, become
general by hereditary bequest? Not at all:

322

The Resin-bees

the Resin-bee persists in using big Snail-shells
just as though her ancestors had never known
the dangers of the Osmia-blocked vestibule.
Once these facts are duly recognized, the con-
clusion is irresistible: it is obvious that, as the
insect does not hand down the casual modifi-
cation tending towards the avoidance of what
is to its disadvantage, neither does it hand
down the modification leading to the adoption
of what is to its advantage. However lively
the impression made upon the mother, the ac-
cidental leaves no trace in the offspring.
Chance plays no part in the genesis of the
instincts.

Next to these tenants of the Snail-shells we
have two other Resin-bees who never visit the
shells to seek a refuge for their nests. They
are Anthidium quadrilobum, LeEp., and A.
Latreillii, Lep., both exceedingly uncommon
in my district. If we meet them very rarely,
however, this may well be due to the dif_i-
culty of seeing them; for they lead extremely
solitary and wary lives. A warm nook
under some stone or other; the deserted
streets of an Ant-hill in a sun-baked bank;
a Beetle’s vacant burrow a few inches below
the ground; in short, a cavity of some sort,

323

Bramble-bees and Others

perhaps arranged by the Bee’s own care:
these are the only establishments which I
know them to occupy. And here, with no
other shelter than the cover of the refuge,
they build a mass of cells joined together and
grouped into a sphere, which, in the case of
the Four-lobed Resin-bee, attains the size of
a man’s fist, and, in that of Latreille’s Resin-
bee, the size of a small apple.

At first sight, we remain very uncertain as
to the nature of the strange ball. It is brown,
rather hard, slightly sticky, with a bituminous
smell. Outside are encrusted a few bits of
gravel, particles of earth, heads of large-sized
Ants. This cannibal trophy is not a sign of
barbarous customs: the Bee does not decapi-
tate Ants to adorn her hut. An inlayer, like
her colleagues of the Snail-shell, she gathers
any hard granule near at hand capable of
strengthening her work; and the dried skulls
of Ants, which are frequent round about her
abode, are in her eyes building-stones of equal
value to the pebbles. One and all employ
what they can find without much seeking.
The inhabitant of the shell, in order to con-
struct her barricade, makes shift with the dry
excrement of the nearest Snail; the denizen

324

The Resin-bees

of the flat stones and of the road-side banks
frequented by the Ants does what she can with
the heads of the defunct and, should these be
lacking, is ready to replace them with some-
thing else. Moreover, the defensive inlaying
is slight; we see that the insect attaches no
great importance to it and has every confidence
in the stout wall of the home.

The material of which the work is made
at first suggests some rustic wax, much coarser
than that of the Bumble-bees, or rather some
tar of unknown origin. We think again and
then recognize in the puzzling substance the
semitransparent fracture, the quality of be-
coming soft when exposed to heat and of
burning with a smoky flame, the solubility in
spirits of wine, in short, all the distinguishing
characteristics of resin. Here then are two
more collectors of the exudations of the
Conifere. At the points where I find their
nests are Aleppo pines, cypresses, brown-
berried junipers and common _ junipers.
Which of the four supplies the mastic?
There is nothing to tell us. Nor is there any-
thing to explain how the native amber-colour
of the resin is replaced, in the work of both
Bees, by a dark-brown hue resembling that

325

Bramble-bees and Others

of pitch. Does the insect collect resin im-
paired by the weather, soiled by the sanies of
rotten wood? When kneading it, does it mix
some dark ingredient with it? I look upon
this as possible, but not as proved, as I have
never seen the Bee collecting her resin.
While this point escapes me, another of
higher interest appears very plainly; and that
is the large amount of resinous material used
in a single nest, especially in that of An-
thidium quadrilobum, in which I have counted
as many as twelve cells. The nest of the
Mason-bee of the Pebbles is hardly more
massive. For so costly an establishment,
therefore, the Resin-bee collects her pitch on
the dead pine as copiously as the Mason-bee
collects her mortar on the macadamized road.
Her work-shop no longer shows us the nig-
gardly partitioning of a Snail-shell with two
or three drops of resin; what we see is the
whole building of the house, from the base-
ment to the roof, from the thick outer walls
to the partitions of the rooms. The cement
expended would be enough to divide hundreds
of Snail-shells, wherefore the title of Resin-
bee is due first and foremost to this master-
builder in pitch. Honourable mention should
326

The Resin-bees

be awarded to A. Latreillii, who rivals her
fellow-worker as far as her smaller stature
permits. The other manipulators of resin,
those who build partitions in Snail-shells,
occupy the third place, a very long way be-
hind.

And now, with the facts to support us, let
us philosophize a little. We have here,
recognized as of excellent standard by all the
expert classifiers, so fastidious in the arrange-
ment of their lists, a generic group, called
Anthidium, in which we find two guilds of
workers of entirely dissimilar character: the
cotton-fullers and the resin-kneaders. It is
even possible that other species, when their
habits are better known, will come and in-
crease this variety of manufactures. I con-
fine myself to the little that I know and ask
myself in what the manipulator of cotton dif-
fers from the manipulator of resin as regards
tools, that is to say, organs. Certainly, when
the genus Anthidium was set down by the
classifiers, they were not wanting in scientific
precision: they consulted, under the lens of
the microscope, the wings, the mandibles, the
legs, the harvesting-brush, in short, all the
details calculated to assist the proper delimit-

327

Bramble-bees and Others

ation of the group. After this minute ex-
amination made by the experts, if no organic
differences stand revealed, the reason is that
they do not exist. Any dissimilarity of struc-
ture could not escape the accurate eyes of our
learned taxonomists. The genus, therefore,
is indeed organically homogeneous; but in-
dustrially it is thoroughly heterogeneous.
The implements are the same and the work is
different.

That eminent Bordeaux entomologist, Pro-
fessor Jean Pérez, to whom I communicated
the misgivings aroused in me by the contra-
dictory nature of my discoveries, thinks that
he has found the solution of the difficulty in
the conformation of the mandibles. I ex-
tract the following passage from his volume,
Les Abeilles:

“The cotton-pressing females have the
edge of their mandibles cut out into five or
six little teeth, which make an instrument ad-
mirably suited for scraping and removing the
hairs from the epidermis of the plants. It
is ia ‘sort’ ‘of comb: ‘or. teasel:,) he resin-
kneading females have the edge of the mandi-
ble not toothed, but simply curved; the tip

328

The Resin-bees

alone, preceded by a notch which is pretty
clearly marked in some species, forms a real
tooth; but this tooth is blunt and does not
project. The mandible, in short, is a kind of
spoon perfectly fitted to remove the sticky
matter and to shape it into a ball.”

Nothing better could be said to explain the
two sorts of industry: in the one case, a rake
which gathers the wool; in the other, a spoon
which scoops up the resin. I should have left
it at that and felt quite content without
further investigation, if I had not had the
curiosity to open my boxes and, in my turn,
to take a good look, side by side, at the work-
ers in cement and the workers in cotton. Al-
low me, my learned master, to whisper in your
ear what I saw.

The first that I examine is Anthidium sep-
temdentatum. A spoon: yes, it is just that.
Powerful mandibles, shaped like an isosceles
triangle, flat above, hollowed out below; and
no indentations, none whatsoever. A splen-
did tool, as you say, for gathering the viscous
pellet; quite as efficacious in its kind of work
as is the rake of the toothed mandibles for
gathering cotton. Here certainly is a crea-

329

Bramble-bees and Others

ture potently-gifted, even though it be for a
poor little task, the scooping up of two or
three drops of glue.

Things are not quite so satisfactory with
the second Resin-bee of the Snail-shells,
A. bellicosum. 1 find that she has three
teeth to her mandibles. Still, they are slight
and project very little. Let us say that this
does not count, even though the work is
exactly the same. With A. quadrilobum
the whole thing breaks down. She, the
queen of Resin-bees; she, who collects a lump
of mastic the size of one’s fist, enough to
subdivide hundreds of her kinswomen’s Snail-
shells: well, she, by way of a spoon, carries a
rake! On the wide edges of her mandibles
stand four teeth, as long and pointed as those
of the most zealous cotton-gleaner. A.
florentinum, that mighty manufacturer of
cotton-goods, can hardly rival her in re-
spect of combing-tools. And _ nevertheless,
with her toothed implement, a sort of saw,
the Resin-bee collects her great heap of pitch,
load by load; and the material is carried not
rigid, but sticky, half-fluid, so that it may
amalgamate with the previous lots and be
fashioned into cells.

330

The Resin-bees

A. Latreillii, without having a very large
implement, also bears witness to the pos-
sibility of heaping up soft resin with a
rake; she arms her mandibles with three or
four sharply-cut teeth. In short, out of four
Resin-bees, the only four that I know, one is
armed with a spoon, if this expression be
really suited to the tool’s function; the three
others are armed with a rake; and it so hap-
pens that the most copious heap of resin is
just the work of the rake with the most teeth
to it, a tool suited to the cotton-reapers, ac-
cording to the views of the Bordeaux entomo-
logical expert.

No, the explanation that appealed to me
so much at first is not admissible. The mandi-
ble, whether supplied with teeth or not, does
not account at all for the two manufactures.
May we, in this predicament, have recourse
to the general structure of the insect, although
this is not distinctive enough to be of much
use to us? Not so either; for, in the same
stone-heaps where the Osmia and the two
Resin-bees of the Snail-shells work, I find
from time to time another manipulator of
mastic who bears no structural relationship
whatever to the genus Anthidium. It is a

331

Bramble-bees and Others

small-sized Odynerus-wasp, Odynerus alpe-
stris, SAuSs. She builds a very pretty nest
with resin and gravel in the shells of the
young Garden Snail, of Helix nemoralis and
sometimes of Bulimus radiatus. I will de-
scribe her masterpiece on some other occasion.
To one acquainted with the genus Odynerus,
any comparison with the Anthidia would be
an inexcusable error. In larval diet, in shape,
in habits they form two dissimilar groups,
very far removed one from the other. The
Anthidia feed their offspring on honey-bread;
the Odyneri feed it on live prey. Well, with
her slender form, her weakly frame, in which
the most clear-seeing eye would seek in vain
for a clue to the trade practised, the Alpine
Odynerus, the game-lover, uses pitch in the
same way as the stout and massive Resin-bee,
the honey-lover. She even uses it better, for
her mosaic of tiny pebbles is much prettier
than the Bee’s and no less solid. With her
mandibles, this time neither spoon nor rake,
but rather a long forceps slightly notched at
the tip, she gathers her drop of sticky mat-
ter as dexterously as do her rivals with their
very different outfit. Her case will, I think,
persuade us that neither the shape of the tool
332

The Resin-bees

nor the shape of the worker can explain the
work done.

I will go further: I ask myself in vain the
reason of this or that trade in the case of a
fixed species. The Osmiz make their parti-
tions with mud or with a paste of chewed
leaves; the Mason-bees build with cement;
the Pelopeus-wasps fashion clay pots; the
Megachiles make disks cut from leaves into
urns; the Anthidia felt cotton into purses;
the Resin-bees cement together little bits of
gravel with gum; the Carpenter-bees and the
Lithurgi bore holes in timber; the Antho-
phore tunnel the road-side slopes. Why all
these different trades, to say nothing of the
others? How are they prescribed for the in-
sect, this one rather than that?

I foresee the answer: they are prescribed
by the organization. An insect excellently
equipped for gathering and felting cotton is
ill-equipped for cutting leaves, kneading mud
or mixing resin. ‘The tool in its possession
decides its trade.

This is a very simple explanation, I admit,
and one within the scope of everybody: a
sufficient recommendation in itself for any one
who has neither the time nor the inclination

333

Bramble-bees and Others

to make a more thorough investigation. The
popularity of certain speculative views is due
entirely to the easy food which they provide
for our curiosity. They save us much long
and often irksome study; they impart a veneer -
of general knowledge. There is nothing that
achieves such immediate success as an expla-
nation of the riddle of the universe in a word
or two. The thinker does not travel so fast:
content to know little so that he may know
something, he limits his field of search and
is satisfied with a scanty harvest, provided
that the grain be of good quality. Before
agreeing that the tool determines the trade,
he wants to see things with his own eyes; and
what he observes is far from confirming the
dogmatic aphorism. Let us share his doubts
for a moment and look into matters more
closely.

Franklin left us a maxim which is much
to the point here. He said that a good work-
man should be able to plane with a saw and
to saw with a plane. The insect is too good
a workman not to follow the advice of the
sage of Boston. Its industry abounds in in-
stances where the plane takes the place of
the saw, or the saw of the plane; its dexterity

334

The Resin-bees

makes good the inadequacy of the implement.
To go no further, have we not just seen dif-
ferent artisans collecting and using pitch,
some with spoons, others with rakes, others
again with pincers? ‘Therefore, with such
equipment as it possesses, the insect would be
capable of abandoning cotton for leaves,
leaves for resin, resin for mortar, if some pre-
disposition of talent did not make it keep to
its speciality.

These few lines, which are the outcome not
of a heedless pen, but of mature reflection,
will set people talking of abominable para-
doxes. We will let them talk and we will sub-
mit the folowing proposition to our ad-
versaries: take an entomologist of the high-
est merit, a Latreille,’ for instance, versed in
all the details of the structure of insects but
utterly unacquainted with their habits. He
knows the dead insect better than anybody,
but he has never occupied himself with the
living insect. As a classifier, he is beyond
compare; and that is all. We ask him to ex-
amine a Bee, the first that comes to hand, and

1Pierre André Latreille (1762-1833), one of the
founders of modern entomological science.—Translator's
Note.

335

Bramble-bees and Others

then and there to tell us her trade from her
tools.

Come, be honest: could he? Who would
dare put him to such a test? Has personal
experience not fully convinced us that the
mere examination of the insect can give us no
information about the nature of its industry ?
The baskets on its legs and the brush on its
abdomen will certainly tell us that it collects
honey and pollen; but its special art will re-
main an absolute secret, notwithstanding all
the scrutiny of the microscope. In our own
industries, the plane denotes the joiner, the
trowel the mason, the scissors the tailor, the
needle the seamstress. Are things the same
in animal industry? Just show us, please,
the trowel that is a certain sign of the mason-
insect, the chisel that is a positive character-
istic of the carpenter-insect, the iron that is
an authentic mark of the pinking-insect; and,
as you show them, say:

“This one cuts leaves; that one bores wood;
that other mixes cement.”

And so on, naming the trade from the tool.

You cannot do it, no one can; the worker’s
speciality remains an impenetrable secret until
direct observation intervenes. Does not this

336

The Resin-bees

incapacity, even of the most expert, proclaim
loudly that animal industry, in its infinite va-
riety, is due to other causes besides the pos-
session of tools? Certainly, each of those
specialists requires implements; but they are
rough-and-ready implements, good for all
sorts of purposes, like the tool of Franklin’s
workman. ‘The same notched mandible that
reaps cotton, cuts leaves and moulds pitch
also kneads mud, scrapes decayed wood and
mixes mortar; the same tarsus that manufac-
tures cotton and disks cut out of leaves is no
less clever at the art of making earthen parti-
tions, clay turrets and gravel mosaics.

What then is the reason of these thousand
industries? In the light of facts, I can see
but one: imagination governing matter. A
primordial inspiration, a talent antecedent to
the actual form, directs the tool instead of
being subordinate to it. The instrument does
not determine the manner of. industry; the
tool does not make the workman. At the be-
ginning there is an object, a plan, in view of
which the animal acts, unconsciously. Have
we eyes to see with, or do we see because we
have eyes? Does the function create the or-
gan, or the organ the function? Of the two

337

Bramble-bees and Others

alternatives, the insect proclaims the first. It
says:

“My industry is not imposed upon me by
the implement which I possess; what I do is
to use the implement, such as it is, for the
talent with which I am gifted.”

It says to us, in its own way:

‘The function has determined the organ;
vision is the reason of the eye.”

In short, it repeats to us Virgil’s profound
reflection:

“Mens agitat molem; mind moves matter.”

338

CHAPTER XI

THE POISON OF THE BEE

I HAVE discussed elsewhere the stings ad-
ministered by the Wasps to their prey.
Now chemistry comes and puts a spoke in the
wheel of our arguments, telling us that the
poison of the Bees is not the same as that
of the Wasps. The Bees’ is complex and
formed of two elements, acid and alkaline.
The Wasps’ possess only the acid element;
and it is to this very acidity and not to the
so-called skill of the operators that the pre-
servation of the provisions is due.*

Admitting that there is a difference in the
nature of the venom, I fail to see that this has
any bearing on the matter in question. I can
inoculate with various liquids—acids, weak
nitric acid, alkalis, ammonia, neutral bodies,
spirits of wine, essence of turpentine—and

1The author’s numerous essays on the Wasps will form
the contents of later volumes. In the meantime, cf. Insect
Life: chaps. iv. to xii. and xiv. to xviii.; and The Life
and Love of the Insect: chaps. xi., xii, and xvii—Trans-
lator’s Note.

339

Bramble-bees and Others

obtain conditions similar to those of the vic-
tims of the predatory insects, that is to say,
inertia with the persistence of a dull vitality
betrayed by the movements of the mouth-
parts and antenne. I am not invariably suc-
cessful, of course, for there is neither delicacy
nor precision in my poisoned needle and the
wound which it makes does not bear compari-
son with the tiny puncture of the unerring
natural sting; but, after all, it is repeated
often enough to put the object of my experi-
ment beyond doubt. I should add that for
success we must have a subject with a con-
centrated ganglionic column, such as the Wee-
vil, the Buprestis-beetle, the Dung-beetle and
others. Paralysis is then obtained with but a
single prick, made at the point which the
Cerceris-wasp has revealed to us, where the
corselet joins the rest of the thorax. In that
case, the least possible quantity of the acrid
liquid is instilled, a quantity too small to en-
danger the patient’s life. With scattered
nervous centres, each requiring a separate
operation, this method is impracticable: the
victim would die of the excess of corrosive
fluid. I am quite ashamed to have to recall
these old experiments. Had they been re-

340

The Poison of the Bee

peated and continued by others of greater au-
thority than I, we should have escaped the
objections of chemistry.

When light is so easy to obtain, why go in
search of scientific obscurity? Why talk of
acid or alkaline reactions, which prove
nothing, when it is so simple to have recourse
to facts, which prove everything? Before de-
claring that the hunting insects’ poison has
preservative properties merely because of its
acid qualities, it would have been well to en-
quire if the sting of a Bee, with its acid and
its alkali, could not perchance produce the
same effects as that of the paralyser, whose
skill is categorically denied. Chemistry never
gave this a thought. Simplicity is not always
welcome in our laboratories. It is my duty
to repair this little omission. I propose to
enquire if the poison of the Bee, the chief of
the Apidz, is suitable for a surgery that para-
lyses without killing.

The enquiry bristles with difficulties, though
this is no reason for abandoning it. First and
foremost, I cannot possibly operate with the
Bee just as I catch her. Time after time I
make the attempt, without once succeeding;
and patience becomes exhausted. The sting

341

Bramble-bees and Others

has to penetrate at a definite point, exactly
where the Wasp’s sting would have entered.
My intractable captive tosses about angrily
and stings at random, never- where I wish.
My fingers get hurt even oftener than the pa-
tient. I have only one means of gaining a
little control of the indomitable dart; and that
is to cut off the Bee’s abdomen with my scis-
sors, to seize the stump instantly with a fine
forceps and to apply the tip at the spot where
the sting is to enter.

Everybody knows that the Bee’s abdomen
needs no orders from the head to go on draw-
ing its weapon for a few instants longer and
to avenge the deceased before being itself
overcome with death’s inertia. This vindictive
persistency serves me to perfection. There
is another circumstance in my favour: the
barbed sting remains where it is, which en-
ables me to ascertain the exact spot pierced.
A needle withdrawn as soon as inserted would
leave me doubtful. I can also, when the trans-
parency of the tissues permits, perceive the
direction of the weapon, whether perpendicu-
lar and favourable to my plans, or slanting
and therefore valueless. Those are the
advantages.

342

The Poison of the Bee

The disadvantages are these: the ampu-
tated abdomen, though more tractable than
the entire Bee, is still far from satisfying my
wishes. It gives capricious starts and unex-
pected pricks. I want it to sting here. No,
it balks my forceps and goes and stings else-
where: not very far away, I admit; but it
takes so little to miss the nerve-centre which
we wish to get at. I want it to go in perpen-
dicularly. No, in the great majority of cases,
it enters obliquely and passes only through the
epidermis. This is enough to show how many
failures are needed to make one success.

Nor is this all. I shall be telling nobody
anything new when I recall the fact that the
Bee’s sting is very painful. That of the hunt-
ing insects, on the contrary, is in most cases
insignificant. My skin, which is no less sensi-
tive than another’s, pays no attention to it: I
handle Sphex-wasps, Ammophile and Scoliz
without heeding their lancet-pricks. I have
said this before; I remind the reader of it
because of the matter in hand. In the ab-
sence of well-known chemical or other pro-
perties, we have really but one means of com-
paring the two respective poisons; and that is
the amount of pain produced. All the rest is

343

Bramble-bees and Others

mystery. Besides, no poison, not even that of
the Rattlesnake, has hitherto revealed the
cause of its dread effects.

Acting, therefore, under the instruction of
that one guide, pain, I place the Bee’s sting
far above that of the predatory insects as an
offensive weapon. A single one of its thrusts
must equal and often surpass in efficaciousness
the repeated wounds of the other. For all
these reasons—an excessive display of energy;
the variable quantity of the virus inoculated
by a wriggling abdomen which no longer mea-
sures the emission by doses; a sting which I
cannot direct as I please; a wound which may
be deep or superficial, the weapon entering
perpendicularly or obliquely, touching the
nerve-centres or affecting only the surround-
ing tissues—my experiments ought to produce
the most varied results.

I obtain, in fact, every possible kind of dis-
order: ataxy, temporary disablement, perma-
nent disablement, complete paralysis, partial
paralysis. Some of my stricken victims re-
cover; others die after a brief interval. It
would be an unnecessary waste of space to
record in this volume my hundred and one at-
tempts. The details would form tedious read-

344

The Poison of the Bee

ing and be of very little advantage, as in this
sort of study it is impossible to marshal one’s
facts with any regularity. I will, therefore,
sum them up in a few examples.

A colossal member of the Grasshopper
tribe, the most powerful in my district, Decti-
cus verrucivorus,' is pricked at the base of the
neck, on the line of the fore-legs, at the me-
dian point. The prick goes straight down.
The spot is the same as that pierced by the
sting of the slayer of Crickets and Ephip-
pigers.* The giantess, as soon as stung, kicks
furiously, flounders about, fails on her side
and is unable to get up again. The fore-legs
are paralysed; the others are capable of mov-
ing. Lying sideways, if not interfered with,
the insect in a few moments gives no signs of
life beyond a fluttering of the antenne and
palpi, a pulsation of the abdomen and a con-
vulsive uplifting of the ovipositor; but, if it
is irritated with a slight touch, it stirs its four

1This Decticus has received its specific name of verru-
civorus, or wart- -eating, because it is employed by the
peasants in Sweden and elsewhere to bite off the warts
on their fingers.—Translator’s Note.

2A species of Green Grasshopper. The Sphex para-
lyses Crickets and Grasshoppers to provide for food for
her grubs. Cf. Insect Life: chaps. vi. to xii—Transla-
tor’s Note.

345

Bramble-bees and Others

hind-legs, especially the third pair, those with
the big thighs, which kick vigorously. The
next day, the condition is much the same, with
an aggravation of the paralysis, which has
now attacked the middle-legs. On the day
after that, the legs do not move, but the
antenne, the palpi and the ovipositor con-
tinue to flutter actively. This is the condition
of the Ephippiger stabbed three times in the
thorax by the Languedocian Sphex. One
point alone is missing, a most important point:
the long persistence of a remnant of life. In
fact, on the fourth day, the Decticus is dead;
her dark colour tells me so.

There are two conclusions to be drawn
from this experiment and it is well to em-
phasize them. First, the Bee’s poison is so
active that a single dagger-thrust aimed at
a nervous centre kills in four days one of the
largest of the Orthoptera,’ though an insect
of powerful constitution. Secondly, the
paralysis at first affects only the legs whose
ganglion is attacked; next, it spreads slowly
to the second pair; lastly, it reaches the third.

1An order of insects including the Grasshoppers, Lo-
custs, Cockroaches, Mantes and Earwigs, in addition to
the Stick- and Leaf-insects, Termites, Dragon-flies, May-
flies, Book-lice and others.—Translator’s Note.

346

The Poison of the Bee

The local effect is diffused. This diffusion,
which might well take place in the victims of
the predatory insects, plays no part in the
latter’s method of operation. The egg, which
will be laid immediately afterwards, demands
the complete inertia of the prey from the out-
set. Hence all the nerve-centres that govern
locomotion must be numbed instantaneously
by the virus.

I can now understand why the poison of
the predatory Wasps is comparatively pain-
less in its effects. If it possessed the strength
of that of the Bee, a single stab would im-
pair the vitality of the prey, while leaving it
for some days capable of violent movements
that would be very dangerous to the huntress
and especially to the egg. More moderate
in its action, it is instilled at the different
nervous centres, as is the case more particu-
larly with the Caterpillars.t In this way,
the requisite immobility is obtained at once;
and, notwithstanding the number of wounds,
the victim is not a speedy corpse. To the
marvels of the paralysers’ talent we must add

1Caterpillars are the prey of the Ammophila-wasp,
who administers a separate stab to each of the several
ganglia.—Translator’s Note.

347

Bramble-bees and Others

one more: their wonderful poison, the
strength of which is regulated by delicate
doses. The Bee revenging herself intensifies
the virulence of her poison; the Sphex putting
her grubs’ provender to sleep weakens it, re-
duces it to what is strictly necessary.

One more instance of nearly the same kind.
I prefer to take my subjects from among the
Orthoptera, who, owing to their imposing size
and the thinness of their skin at the points
to be attacked, lend themselves better than
other insects to my delicate manipulations.
The armour of a Buprestis-beetle, the fat
blubber of a Rosechafer-grub, the contortions
of a Caterpillar present almost insuperable
obstacles to the success of a sting which it is
not in my power to direct. The insect which
I now offer to the Bee’s lancet is the Great
Green Grasshopper (Locusta viridissima),
the adult female. The prick is given in the
median line of the fore-legs.

The effect is overwhelming. For two or
three seconds, the insect writhes in convulsions
and then falls on its side, motionless through-
out, save in the ovipositor and the antenne.
Nothing stirs so long as the creature is left
alone; but, if I tickle it with a hair-pencil,

348

The Poison of the Bee

the four hind-legs move sharply and grip the
point. As for the fore-legs, smitten in their
nerve-centre, they are quite lifeless. The
same condition is maintained for three days
longer. On the fifth day, the creeping paraly-
sis leaves nothing free but the antenne wav-
ing to and fro and the abdomen throbbing
and lifting up the ovipositor. On the sixth,
the Grasshopper begins to turn brown; she is
dead. Except that the vestige of life is more
persistent, the case is the same as that of the
Decticus. If we can prolong the duration,
we shall have the victim of the Sphex.

But first let us look into the effect of a prick
administered elsewhere than opposite the
thoracic ganglia. I cause a female Ephip-
piger to be stung in the abdomen, about the
middle of the lower surface. The patient
does not seem to trouble greatly about her
wound: she clambers gallantly up the sides of
the bell-jar under which I have placed her;
she goes on hopping as before. Better still,
she sets about browsing the vine-leaf which
I have given her for her consolation. A few
hours pass and the whole thing is forgotten.
She has made a rapid and complete recovery.

A second is wounded in three places on the

349

Bramble-bees and Others

abdomen: in the middle and on either side.
On the first day, the insect seems to have felt
nothing; I see no sign of stiffness in its move-
ments. No doubt it is suffering acutely; but
these stoics keep their troubles to themselves.
Next day, the Ephippiger drags her legs a
little and walks somewhat slowly. Two days
more; and, when laid on her back, she is un-
able to turn over. On the fifth day, she suc-
cumbs. This time, I have exceeded the dose;
the shock of receiving three stabs was too
much for her.

And so with the others, down to the sensi-
tive Cricket, who, pricked once in the abdo-
men, recovers in one day from the painful
experience and goes back to her lettuce-leaf.
But, if the wound is repeated a few times,
death ensues within a more or less short pe-
riod. I make an exception, among those who
pay tribute to my cruel curiosity, of the Rose-
chafer-grubs, who defy three and four needle-
thrusts. They will collapse suddenly and lie
outstretched, flabby and lifeless; and, just
when I am thinking them dead or paralysed,
the hardy creatures will recover consciousness,
move along on their backs,* bury themselves

1This is the usual mode of progression of the Cetonia-
350

The Poison of the Bee

into the mould. I can obtain no precise in-
formation from them. True, their thinly
scattered cilia and their breastplate of fat
form a palisade and a rampart against the
sting, which nearly always enters only a little
way and that obliquely.

Let us leave these unmanageable ones and
keep to the Orthopteron, which is more amen-
able to experiment. A dagger-thrust, we were
saying, kills it if directed upon the ganglia
of the thorax; it throws it into a transient
state of discomfort if directed upon another
point. It is, therefore, by its direct action
upon the nervous centres that the poison re-
veals its formidable properties.

To generalize and say that death is always
near at hand when the sting is administered
in the thoracic ganglia would be going too
far: it occurs frequently, but there are a good
many exceptions, resulting from circumstances
impossible to define. I cannot control the di-
rection of the sting, the depth attained, the
quantity of poison shed; and the stump of the
Bee is very far from making up for my short-
comings. We have here not the cunning

or Rosechafer-grubs. Cf. The Life and Love of the In-
sect: chap. xii—Translator’s Note.

35%

Bramble-bees and Others

sword-play of the predatory insect, but a
casual blow, ill-placed and ill-regulated. Any
accident is possible, therefore, from the
gravest to the mildest. Let us mention some
of the more interesting.

An adult Praying Mantis' is pricked level
with the attachment of the predatory legs.
Had the wound been in the centre, I should
have witnessed an occurrence which, although
I have seen it many times, still arouses my
liveliest emotion and surprise. ‘This is the
sudden paralysis of the warrior’s savage har-
poons. No machinery stops more abruptly
when the mainspring breaks. As a rule, the
inertia of the predatory legs attacks the others
in the course of a day or two; and the palsied
one dies in less than a week. But the present
sting is not in the exact centre. The dart has
entered near the base of the right leg, at less
than a millimetre? from the median point.
That leg is paralysed at once; the other is
not; and the insect employs it to the detriment
of my unsuspecting fingers, which are pricked

1Mantis religiosa, so-called because the toothed fore-
legs, in which it catches and kills its prey, adopt, when
folded, an attitude resembling that of prayer.—Transla-
tor’s Note.

*,039 inch.—Translator’s Note.

352

aie

The Poison of the Bee

to bleeding-point by the spike at the tip. Not
until to-morrow is the leg which wounded me
to-day rendered motionless. This time, the
paralysis goes no farther. The Mantis moves
along quite well, with her corselet proudly
raised, in her usual attitude; but the preda-
tory fore-arms, instead of being folded against
the chest, ready for attack, hang lifeless and
open. I keep the cripple for twelve days
longer, during which she refuses all nourish-
ment, being incapable of using her tongs to
seize the prey and lift it to her mouth. The
prolonged abstinence kills her.

Some suffer from locomotor ataxy. My
notes recall an Ephippiger who, pricked in
the prothorax away from the median line, re-
tained the use of her six limbs without being
able to walk or climb for lack of coordination
in her movements. A singular awkwardness
left her wavering between going back and go-
ing forward, between turning to the right and
turning to the left.

Some are smitten with semiparalysis. A
Cetonia-grub, pricked away from the centre
on a level with the fore-legs, has her right
side flaccid, spread out, incapable of contract-
ing, while the left side swells, wrinkles and

353

Bramble-bees and Others

contracts. Since the left half no longer re-
ceives the symmetrical cooperation of the
right half, the grub, instead of curling into
the normal volute, closes its spiral on one side
and leaves it wide open on the other. The
concentration of the nervous apparatus,
poisoned by the venom down one side of the
body only, a longitudinal half, explains this
condition, which is the most remarkable of all.

There is nothing to be gained by multiply-
ing these examples. We have seen pretty
clearly the great variety of results produced
by the haphazard sting of a Bee’s abdomen;
let us now come to the crux of the matter.
Can the Bee’s poison reduce the prey to the
condition required by the predatory Wasp?
Yes, I have proved it by experiment; but the
proof calls for so much patience that it seemed
to me to suffice when obtained once for each
species. In such difficult conditions, with a
poison of excessive strength, a single success
is conclusive proof; the thing is possible so
long as it occurs once.

A female Ephippiger is stung at the median
point, just a little in front of the fore-legs.
Convulsive movements lasting for a few sec-
onds are followed by a fall to one side, with

354

The Poison of the Bee

pulsations of the abdomen, flutterings of the
antenne and a few feeble movements of the
legs. The tarsi cling firmly to the hair-pencil
which I hold out to them. I place the insect
on its back. It lies motionless. Its state is
absolutely the same as that to which the
Languedocian Sphex' reduces her Ephippi-
gers. For three weeks on end, I see repeated in
all its details the spectacle to which I have been
accustomed in the victims extracted from the
burrows or taken from the huntress: the wide-
open mandibles, the quivering palpi and tarsi,
the ovipositor shuddering convulsively, the
abdomen throbbing at long intervals, the
spark of life rekindled at the touch of a pencil.
In the fourth week, these signs of life, which
have gradually weakened, disappear, but the
insect still remains irreproachably fresh. At
last a month passes; and the paralysed crea-
ture begins to turn brown. It is over; death
has come.

I have the same success with a Cricket and
also with a Praying Mantis. In all three
cases, from the point of view of long-
maintained freshness and of the signs of life
proved by slight movements, the resemblance

1Cf. Insect Life: chap. x.—Translator’s Note.
355

Bramble-bees and Others

between my victims and those of the preda-
tory insects is so great that no Sphex and no
Tachytes would have disowned the product
of my devices. My Cricket, my Ephippiger,
my Mantis had the same freshness as theirs;
they preserved it as theirs did for a period
amply sufficient to allow of the grubs’ com-
plete evolution. They proved to me, in the
most conclusive manner, they prove to all
whom it may interest that the poison of the
Bees, leaving its hideous violence on one side,
does not differ in its effects from the poison
of the predatory Wasps. Are they alkaline
or acid? ‘Jhe question is an idle one in this
connection. Both of them intoxicate, de-
range, torpify the nervous centres and thus
produce either death or paralysis, according
to the method of inoculation. For the mo-
ment, that is all. No one is yet able to say
the last word on the actions of those poisons,
so terrible in infinitesimal doses. But on the
point under discussion we need no longer be
ignorant: the Wasp owes the preservation of
her grub’s provisions not to any special quali-
ties of her poison, but to the extreme precision
of her surgery.

A last and more plausible objection is that

356

The Poison of the Bee

raised by Darwin when he said that there were
no fossil remains of instincts. And, if there
were, O master, what would they teach us?
Not very much more than what we learn from
the instincts of to-day. Does not the geologist
make the erstwhile carcases live anew in our
minds in the light of the world as we see it?
With nothing but analogy to guide them, he
describes how some saurian lived in the juras-
sic age; there are no fossil remains of habits,
but nevertheless he can tell us plenty about
them, things worthy of credence, because the
present teaches him the past. Let us do a
little as he does.

I will suppose a precursor of the Calicurgi*
dwelling in the prehistoric coal-forests. Her
prey was some hideous Scorpion, that first-
born of the Arachnida. How did the Hy-
menopteron master the terrible prey? Ana-
logy tells us, by the methods of the present
slayer of Tarantule. It disarmed the ad-
versary; it paralysed the venomous sting by
a stroke administered at a point which we
could determine for certain by the animal’s

'The Calicurgus, or Pompilus, is a Hunting Wasp,
feeding her larvz on Spiders. Cf. The Life and Love of
the Insect: chap. xii—Translator’s Note.

357

Bramble-bees and Others

anatomy. Unless this was the way it hap-
pened, the assailant must have perished, first
stabbed and then devoured by the prey.
There is no getting away from it: either the
precursor of the Calicurgi, that slaughterer
of Scorpions, knew her trade thoroughly, or
else the continuation of her race became im-
possible, even as it would be impossible to
keep up the race of the Tarantula-killer with-
out the dagger-thrust that paralyses the
Spider’s poison-fangs. ‘The first who, greatly
daring, pinked the Scorpion of the coal-seams
was already an expert fencer; the first to come
to grips with the Tarantula had an unerring
knowledge of her dangerous surgery. The
least hesitation, the slightest speculation; and
they were lost. ‘The first teacher would also
have been the last, with no disciples to take
up her work and perfect it.

But fossil instincts, they insist, would show
us intermediary stages, first, second and third
rungs; they would show us the gradual pass-
ing from the casual and very incorrect at-
tempt to the perfect practice, the fruit of the
ages; with their accidental differences, they
would give us terms of comparison wherewith
to trace matters from the simple to the com-

358

The Poison of the Bee

plex. Never mind about that, my masters:
if you want varied instincts in which to seek
the source of the complex by means of the
simple, it is not necessary to search the folia-
tions of the coal-seams and the successive lay-
ers of the rocks, those archives of the pre-
historic world; the present day affords to con-
templation an inexhaustible treasury realizing
perhaps everything that can emerge from the
limbo of possibility. In what will soon be
half a century of study, I have caught but a
tiny glimpse of a very tiny corner of the realm
of instinct; and the harvest gathered over-
whelms me with its variety: I do not yet know
two species of predatory Wasps whose me-
thods are exactly the same.

One gives a single stroke of the dagger, a
second two, a third three, a fourth nine or ten.
One stabs here and the other there; and
neither is imitated by the next, who attacks
elsewhere. This one injures the cephalic cen-
tres and produces death; that one respects
them and produces paralysis. Some squeeze
the cervical ganglia to obtain a temporary
torpor; others know nothing of the effects of
compressing the brain. A few make the prey
disgorge, lest its honey should poison the off-

359

Bramble-bees and Others

spring; the majority do not resort to pre-
ventive manipulations. Here are some that
first disarm the foe, who carries poisoned dag-
gers; yonder are others and more numerous
who have 'no precautions to take before mur-
dering the unarmed prey. In the preliminary
struggle, I know some who grab their victims ©
by the neck, by the rostrum, by the antenna,
by the caudal threads; I know some who
throw them on their backs, some who lift
them breast to breast, some who operate on
them in the vertical position, some who at-
tack them lengthwise and crosswise, some who
climb on their backs or on their abdomens,
some who press on their backs to force out
a pectoral fissure, some who open their de-
sperately contracted coil, using the tip of the
abdomen as a wedge. And so I could go on
indefinitely: every method of fencing is em-
ployed. What could I not also say about
the egg, slung pendulum-fashion by a thread
from the ceiling, when the live provisions are
wriggling underneath; laid on a scanty mouth-
ful, a solitary opening dish, when the dead
prey requires renewing from day to day; en-
trusted to the last joint stored away, when
the victuals are paralysed; fixed at a precise

360

The Poison of the Bee

spot, entailing the least danger to the con-
sumer and the game, when the corpulent prey
has to be devoured with a special art that war-
rants its freshness!

Well, how can this multitude of varied in-
stincts teach us anything about gradual trans-
formation? Will the one and only dagger-
thrust of the Cerceris and the Scolia take us
to the two thrusts of the Calicurgus, to the
three thrusts of the Sphex, to the manifold
thrust of the Ammophila? Yes, if we consider
only numerical progression. One and one are
two; two and one are three: so run the fi-
gures. But is this what we want to know?
What has arithmetic to do with the case? Is
not the whole problem subordinate to a con-
dition that cannot be translated into cyphers?
As the prey changes, the anatomy changes;
and the surgeon always operates with a com-
plete understanding of his subject. The sin-
gle dagger-thrust is administered to ganglia
collected into a common cluster; the manifold
thrusts are distributed over the scattered
ganglia; of the two thrusts of the Tarantula-
huntress, one disarms and the other paralyses.
And so with the others, that is to say, the
instinct is directed each time by the secrets of

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Bramble-bees and Others

the nervous organism. ‘There is a perfect
harmony between the operation and the pa-
tient’s anatomy.

The single stroke of the Scolia is no less
wonderful than the repeated strokes of the
Ammophila. Each has her appointed game
and each slays it by a method as rational as
any that our own science could invent. In the
presence of this consummate knowledge,
which leaves us utterly confounded, what a
poor argument is that of 1 + 1 = 2! And
what is that progress by units to us? ‘The
universe is mirrored in a drop of water; uni-
versal logic flashes into sight in a single sting.

Besides, push on the pitiful argument. One
leads to two, two lead to three. Granted
without dispute. And then? We will accept
the Scolia as the pioneer, the founder of the
first principles of the art. The simplicity of
her method justifies our supposition. She
learns her trade in some way or other, by acci-
dent; she knows supremely well how to para-
lyse her Cetonia-grub with a single dagger-
thrust driven into the thorax. One day,
through some fortuitous circumstance, or
rather by mistake, she takes it into her head
to strike two blows. As one is enough for

362

The Poison of the Bee

the Cetonia, the repetition was of no value
unless there was a change of prey. What was
the new victim submitted to the butcher’s
knife? Apparently, a large Spider, since the
Tarantula and the Epeira* call for two
thrusts. And the prentice Scolia, who used at
first to sting under the throat, had the skill,
at her first attempt, to begin by disarming
her adversary and then to go quite low down,
almost at the end of the thorax, to strike the
vital point. Iam utterly incredulous as to her
success. [ see her eaten up if her lancet
swerves and hits the wrong spot. Let us look
impossibility boldly in the face and admit that
she succeeds. I then see the offspring, which
have no recollection of the fortunate event
save through the belly—and then we are
postulating that the digestion of the car-
nivorous larva leaves a trace in the memory
of the honey-sipping insect—I see the off-
spring, I say, obliged to wait at long intervals
for that inspired double thrust and obliged
to succeed each time under pain of death for
them and their descendants. To accept this
host of impossibilities exceeds all my faculties

1The Garden Spider. Cf. The Life of the Spider:
chaps. ix. to xiv. and appendix.—Translator’s Note.

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Bramble-bees and Others

of belief. One leads to two, no doubt; the
single blow of the predatory Wasp will never
lead to the blow twice delivered.

In order to live, we all require the condi-
tions that enable us to live: this is a truth
worthy of the famous axioms of La Palice.?
The predatory insects live by their talent. If
they do not possess it to perfection, their race
is lost. Hidden in the murk of the past ages,
the argument based upon the non-existence of
fossil instinct is no better able than the others
to withstand the light of living realities; it
crumbles under the stroke of fate; it vanishes
before a La Palice platitude.

1Jacques de Chabannes, Seigneur de La Palice (circa
1470-1525), was a French captain killed at the battle
of Pavia. His soldiers made up in his honour a ballad,
two lines of which, translated, run:

Fifteen minutes before he died,
He was still alive.

Hence the French expression, une vérité de La Palice,
meaning an obvious truth.—Translator’s Note.

364

CHAPTER XII
THE HALICII: A PARASITE

D O YOU know the Halicti? Perhaps not.
There is no great harm done: it is quite
possible to enjoy the few sweets of existence
without knowing the Halicti. Nevertheless,
when questioned persistently, these humble
creatures with no history can tell us some very
singular things; and their acquaintance is not
to be disdained if we would enlarge our ideas
upon the bewildering swarm of this world.
Since we have nothing better to do, let us look
into the Halicti. They are worth the trouble.
How shall we recognize them? They are
manufacturers of honey, generally longer and
slighter than the Bee of our hives. They con-
stitute a numerous group that varies greatly
in size and colouring. Some there are that
exceed the dimensions of the Common Wasp;
others might be compared with the House-
Fly, or are even smaller. In the midst of this
variety, which is the despair of the novice,
one characteristic remains invariable. Every
365

Bramble-bees and Others

Halictus carries the clearly-written certificate
of her guild.

Examine the last ring, at the tip of the
abdomen, on the dorsal surface. If your cap-
ture be an Halictus, there will be here a
smooth and shiny line, a narrow groove along
which the sting slides up and down when the
insect is on the defensive. This slide for the
unsheathed weapon denotes some member of
the Halictus tribe, without distinction of size
or colour. No elsewhere, in the sting-bearing
order, is this original sort of groove in use.
It is the distinctive mark, the emblem of the
family.

Three Halicti will appear before you in this
biographical fragment. Two of them are my
neighbours, my familiars, who rarely fail to
settle each year in the best parts of the en-
closure. ‘They occupied the ground before
I did; and I should not dream of evicting
them, persuaded as I am that they will well
repay my indulgence. Their proximity, which
allows me to visit them daily at my leisure, is
a piece of good luck. Let us profit by it.

At the head of my three subjects is the
Zebra Halictus (H. zebrus, WALCK), who
is beautifully belted around her long ab-

366

The Halicti: a Parasite

domen with alternate black and pale-russet
scarves. Her slender shape, her size, which
equals that of the Common Wasp, her simple
and pretty dress combine to make her the chief
representative of the genus here.

She establishes her galleries in firm soil,
where there is no danger of landslips which
would interfere with the work at nesting-time.
In my garden, the well-levelled paths, made
of a mixture of tiny pebbles and red clayey
earth, suits her to perfection. Every spring
she takes possession of it, never alone, but in
gangs whose number varies greatly, amount-
ing sometimes to as many as a hundred. In
this way she founds what may be described
as small townships, each clearly marked out
and distant from the others, in which the joint
possession of the site in no way entails joint
work.

Each has her home, an inviolable manor
which none but the owner has the right to en-
ter. A sound buffeting would soon call to
order any adventuress who dared to make her
way into another’s dwelling. No such indis-
cretion is suffered among the Halicti. Let
each keep to her own place and to herself and
perfect peace will reign in this new-formed

367

Bramble-bees and Others

society, made up of neighbours and not of
fellow-workers.

Operations begin in April, most unobtru-
sively, the only sign of the underground works
being the little mounds of fresh earth. There
is no animation in the building-yards. The la-
bourers show themselves very seldom, so busy
are they at the bottom of their pits. At mo-
ments, here and there, the summit of a tiny
mole-hill begins to totter and tumbles down
the slopes of the cone: it is a worker coming
up with her armful of rubbish and shooting it
outside, without showing herself in the open.
Nothing more for the moment.

There is one precaution to be taken: the
villages must be protected against the passers-
by, who might inadvertently trample them
under foot. I surround each of them with a
palisade of reed-stumps. In the centre I plant
a danger-signal, a post with a paper flag. The
sections of the paths thus marked are forbid-
den ground; none of the household will walk
upon them.

May arrives, gay with flowers and sunshine.
The navvies of April have turned themselves
into harvesters. At every moment, I see them
settling, all befloured with yellow, atop of the

368

The Halicti: a Parasite

mole-hills now turned into craters. Let us
first look into the question of the house. The
arrangement of the home will give us some
useful information. A spade and a three-
pronged fork place the insect’s crypts before
our eyes,

A shaft as nearly vertical as possible,
straight or winding according to the exigen-
cies of a soil rich in flinty remains, descends to
a depth of between eight and twelve inches.
As it is merely a passage in which the only
thing necessary is that the Halictus should
find an easy support in coming and going,
this long entrance-hall is rough and uneven.
A regular shape and a polished surface would
be out of place here. These artistic refine-
ments are reserved for the apartments of her
young. All that the Halictus mother asks
is that the passage should be easy to go up
and down, to ascend or descend in a hurry.
And so she leaves it rugged. Its width is
about that of a thick lead-pencil.

Arranged one by one, horizontally and at
different heights, the cells occupy the basement
of the house. They are oval cavities, three-
quarters of an inch long, dug out of the clay
mass. ‘They end in a short bottle-neck that

369

Bramble-bees and Others

widens into a graceful mouth. They look like
tiny vaccine-phials laid on their sides. All of
them open into the passage.

The inside of these little cells has the gloss
and polish of a stucco which our most ex-
perienced plasterers might envy. It is dia-
pered with faint, longitudinal, diamond-
shaped marks. These are the traces of
the polishing-tool that has given the last finish
to the work. What can this polisher be?
None other than the tongue, that is obvious.
The Halictus has made a trowel of her tongue
and licked the wall daintily and methodically
in order to polish it.

This final glazing, so exquisite in its perfec-
tion, is preceded by a trimming-process. In
the cells that are not yet stocked with pro-
visions, the walls are dotted with tiny dents
like those in a thimble. Here we recognize
the work of the mandibles, which squeeze the
clay with their tips, compress it and purge it
of any grains of sand. The result is a milled
surface whereon the polished layer will find
a solid adhesive base. This layer is obtained
with a fine clay, very carefully selected by the
insect, purified, softened and then applied
atom by atom, after which the trowel of the

370

The Halicti: a Parasite

tongue steps in, diapering and polishing, while
saliva, disgorged as needed, gives pliancy to
the paste and finally dries into a waterproof
varnish.

The humidity of the subsoil, at the time of
the spring showers, would reduce the little
earthen alcove to a sort of pap. The coating
of saliva is an excellent preservative against
this danger. It is so delicate that we suspect
rather than see it; but its efficacy is none the
less evident. I fill a cell with water. The
liquid remains in it quite well, without any
trace of infiltration.

The tiny pitcher looks as if it were var-
nished with galenite. The impermeability
which the potter obtains by the brutal infusion
of his mineral ingredients the Halictus
achieves with the soft polisher of her tongue
moistened with saliva. Thus protected, the
larva will enjoy all the advantages of a dry
berth, even in rain-soaked ground.

Should the wish seize us, it is easy to de-
tach the waterproof film, at least in shreds.
Take the little shapeless lump in which a cell
has been excavated and put it in sufficient
water to cover the bottom of it. The whole
earthy mass will soon be soaked and reduced

37%

Bramble-bees and Others

to a mud which we are able to sweep with the
point of a hair-pencil. Let us have patience
and do our sweeping gently; and we shall be
able to separate from the main body the frag-
ments of a sort of extremely fine satin. This
transparent, colourless material is the uphol-
stery that keeps out the wet. The Spider’s
web, if it formed a stuff and not a net, is the
only thing that could be compared with it.
The Halictus’ nurseries are, aS we see,
structures that take much time in the making.
The insect first digs in the clayey earth a re-
cess with an oval curve to it. It has its man-
dibles for a pick-axe and its tarsi, armed with
tiny claws, for rakes. Rough though it be,
this early work has its difficulties, for the Bee
has to do her excavating in a narrow gully,
where there is only just room for her to pass.
The rubbish soon becomes cumbersome.
The insect collects it and then, moving back-
wards, with its fore-legs closed over the load,
it hoists it up through the shaft and flings it
outside, upon the mole-hill, which rises by so
much above the threshold of the burrow.
Next come the dainty finishing-touches: the
milling of the wall, the application of a glaze
of better-quality clay, the assiduous polishing
372

The Halicti: a Parasite

with the long-suffering tongue, the waterproof
coating and the jar-like mouth, a masterpiece
of pottery in which the stopping-plug will be
fixed when the time comes for locking the door
of the room. And all this has to be done with
geometrical precision.

No, because of this perfection, the grubs’
chambers could never be work done casually
from day to day, as the ripe eggs descend
from the ovaries. They are prepared long
beforehand, during the bad weather, at the
end of March and in April, when flowers are
scarce and the temperature is subject to sud-
den changes. This thankless period, often
cold, liable to hail-storms, is spent in making
ready the home. Alone at the bottom of her
shaft, which she rarely leaves, the mother
works at her children’s apartments, lavishing
upon them those finishing touches which lei-
sure allows. They are completed, or very
nearly, when May comes with its radiant sun-
shine and wealth of flowers.

We see the evidence of these long prepara-
tions in the burrows themselves, if we inspect
them before the provisions are brought. All
of them show us cells, about a dozen in num-
ber, quite finished, but still empty. To begin

373

Bramble-bees and Others

by getting all the huts built is a sensible pre-
caution: the mother will not have to turn
aside from the delicate task of harvesting and
egg-laying in order to perform rough navvy’s
work,

Everything is ready by May. The air is
balmy; the smiling lawns are gay with a thou-
sand little flowers, dandelions, rock-roses, tan-
sies and daisies, among which the harvesting
Bee rolls gleefully, covering herself with pol-
len. With her crop full of honey and the
brushes of her legs befloured, the Halictus
returns to her village. Flying very low, al-
most level with the ground, she hesitates, with
sudden turns and bewildered movements. It
seems that the weak-sighted insect finds its
way with difficulty among the cottages of its
little township.

Which is its mole-hill among the many
others near, all similar in appearance? It
cannot tell exactly save by the sign-board of
certain details known to itself alone. There-
fore, still on the wing, tacking from side to
side, it examines the locality. The home is
found at last: the Halictus alights on the
threshold of her abode and dives into it
quickly.

374

The Halicti: a Parasite

What happens at the bottom of the pit must
be the same thing that happens in the case of
the other Wild Bees. The harvester enters
a cell backwards; she first brushes herself and
drops her load of pollen; then, turning round,
she disgorges the honey in her crop upon the
floury mass. This done, the unwearied one
leaves the burrow and flies away, back to the
flowers. After many journeys, the stack of
provisions in the cell is sufficient. This is the
moment to bake the cake.

The mother kneads her flour, mingles it
sparingly with honey. The mixture is made
into a round loaf, the size of a pea. Unlike
our own loaves, this one has the crust inside
and the crumb outside. The middle part of
the roll, the ration which will be consumed
last, when the grub-has acquired some
strength, consists of almost nothing but dry
pollen. The Bee keeps the dainties in her
crop for the outside of the loaf, whence the
feeble grub-worm is to take its first mouth-
fuls. Here it is all soft crumb, a delicious
sandwich with plenty of honey. ‘The little
breakfast-roll is arranged in rings regulated
according to the age of the nurseling: first the
syrupy outside and at the very end the dry

375

Bramble-bees and Others

inside. Thus it is ordained by the economics
of the Halictus.

An egg bent like a bow is laid upon the
sphere. According to the generally-accepted
rule, it now only remains to close the cabin.
Honey-gatherers—Anthophore, Osmiz, Ma-
son-bees and many others—usually first collect
a sufficient stock of food and then, having laid
the egg, shut up the cell, to which they need
pay no more attention. The Halicti employ
a different method. The compartments, each
with its round loaf and its egg—the tenant
and ‘his provisions—are not closed up. As
they all open into the common passage of the
burrow, the mother is able, without leaving
her other occupations, to inspect them daily
and enquire tenderly into the progress of her
family. I imagine, without possessing any
certain proof, that from time to time she dis-
tributes additional provisions to the grubs, for
the original loaf appears to me a very frugal
ration compared with that served by the other
Bees.

Certain hunting Hymenoptera, the Bem-
bex-wasps, for instance, are accustomed to fur-
nish the provisions in instalments: so that the
grub may have fresh, though dead game, they

376

The Halicti: a Parasite

fill the platter each day. The Halictus mother
has not these domestic necessities, as her pro-
visions keep more easily; but still she might
well distribute a second portion of flour to the
larve, when their appetite attains its height.
I can see nothing else to explain the open
doors of the cells during the feeding-period.

At last the grubs, close-watched and fed
to repletion, have achieved the requisite de-
gree of fatness; they are on the eve of being
transformed into pupe. Then and not till
then the cells are closed: a big clay stopper is
built by the mother into the spreading mouth
of the jug. Henceforth the maternal cares
are over. The rest will come of itself.

Hitherto we have witnessed only the peace-
ful details of the housekeeping. Let us go
back a little and we shall be witnesses of ramp-
ant brigandage. In May, I visit my most
populous village daily, at about ten o’clock in
the morning, when the victualling-operations
are in full swing. Seated on a low chair in
the sun, with my back bent and my arms upon
my knees, I watch without moving, until din-
ner-time. What attracts me is a parasite, a
trumpery Gnat, the bold despoiler of the Ha-
lictus,

377

Bramble-bees and Others’

Has the jade a name? I trust so, without,
however, caring to waste my time in enquiries
that can have no interest for the reader.
Facts clearly stated are preferable to the dry
minutia of nomenclature. Let me content
myself with giving a brief description of the
culprit. She is a Dipteron, or Fly, five milli-
metres long.t Eyes, dark-red; face, white.
Corselet, pearl-grey, with five rows of fine
black dots, which are the roots of stiff bristles
pointing backwards. Greyish belly, pale be-
low. Black legs.

She abounds in the colony under observa-
tion. Crouching in the sun, near a burrow,
she waits. As soon as the Halictus arrives
from her harvesting, her legs yellow with pol-
len, she darts forth and pursues her, keeping
behind her in all the turns of her oscillating
flight. At last, the Bee suddenly dives in-
doors. No less suddenly the other settles on
the mole-hill, quite close to the entrance. Mo-
tionless, with her head turned towards the
door of the house, she waits for the Bee to fin-
ish her business. The latter reappears at
last and, for a few seconds, stands on the
threshold, with her head and thorax outside

1.95 inch.—Translator’s Note.

378

The Halicti: a Parasite

the hole. The Gnat, on her side, does not stir.

Often, they are face to face, separated by
a space no wider than a finger’s breadth.
Neither of them shows the least excitement.
The Halictus—judging, at least, by her tran-
quillity—takes no notice of the parasite lying
in wait for her; the parasite, on the other
hand, displays no fear of being punished for
her audacity. She remains imperturbable,
she, the dwarf, in the presence of the colossus
who could crush her with one blow.

In vain I watch anxiously for some sign of
apprehension on either side: nothing in the
Halictus points to a knowledge of the danger
run by her family; nor does the Gnat betray
any dread of swift retribution. Plunderer
and plundered stare at each other for a mo-
ment; and that is all.

If she liked, the amiable giantess could rip
up with her claw the tiny bandit who ruins her
home; she could crunch her with her man-
dibles, run her through with her stiletto. She
does nothing of the sort, but leaves the robber
in peace, to sit quite close, motionless, with her
red eyes fixed on the threshold of the house.
Why this fatuous clemency ?

The Bee flies off. Forthwith, the Gnat

379

Bramble-bees and Others

walks in, with no more ceremony than if she
were entering her own place. She now
chooses among the victualled cells at her ease,
for they are all open, as I have said; she lei-
surely deposits her eggs. No one will disturb
her until the Bee’s return. To flour one’s
legs with pollen, to distend one’s crop with
syrup is a task that takes long a-doing; and
the intruder, therefore, has time and to spare
wherein to commit her felony. Moreover,
her chronometer is well-regulated and gives
the exact measure of the Bee’s length of ab-
sence. When the Halictus comes back from
the fields, the Gnat has decamped. In some
favourable spot, not far from the burrow, she
awaits the opportunity for a fresh misdeed.
What would happen if a parasite were sur-
prised at her work by the Bee? Nothing seri-
ous. I see them, greatly daring, follow the
Halictus right into the cave and remain there
for some time while the mixture of pollen and
honey is being prepared. Unable to make
use of the paste so long as the harvester is
kneading it, they go back to the open air and
wait on the threshold for the Bee to come
out. They return to the sunlight, calmly,
with unhurried steps: a clear proof that no-
380

The Halicti: a Parasite

thing untoward has occurred in the depths
where the Halictus works.

A tap on the Gnat’s neck, if she become too
enterprising in the neighbourhood of the
cake: that is all that the lady of the house
seems to allow herself, to drive away the in-
truder. There is no serious affray between
the robber and the robbed. This is apparent
from the self-possessed manner and undam-
aged condition of the dwarf who returns from
visiting the giantess engaged down in the bur-
row.

The Bee, when she comes home, whether
laden with provisions or not, hesitates, as I
have said, for a while; in a series of rapid
zigzags, she moves backwards, forwards and
from side to side, at a short distance from the
ground. This intricate flight at first suggests
the idea that she is trying to lead her persecu-
tress astray by means of an inextricable tan-
gle of marches and counter-marches. That
would certainly be a prudent move on the
Bee’s part; but so much wisdom appears to be
denied her.

It is not the enemy that is disturbing her,
but rather the difficulty of finding her own
house amid the confusion of the mole-hill’s en-

381

Bramble-bees and Others

croaching one upon the other, and all the al-
leys of the little township, which, owing to
landslips of fresh rubbish, alter in appearance
from one day to the next. Her hesitation is
manifest, for she often blunders and alights
at the entrance to a burrow that is not hers.
The mistake is at once perceived from the
slight indications of the doorway.

The search is resumed with the same see-
sawing flights, mingled with sudden excursions
to a distance. At last, the burrow is recog-
nized. The Halictus dives into it with a rush;
but, however prompt her disappearance un-
derground, the Gnat is there, perched on the
threshold, with her eyes turned to the en-
trance, waiting for the Bee to come out, so
that she may visit the honey-jars in her turn.

When the owner of the house ascends, the
other draws back a little, just enough to leave
a free passage and no more. Why should
she put herself out? The meeting is so peace-
ful that, short of further information, one
would not suspect that a destroyer and de-
stroyed were face to face. Far from being
intimidated by the sudden arrival of the Ha-
lictus, the Gnat pays hardly any attention;
and, in the same way, the Halictus takes no

382

The Halicti: a Parasite

notice of her persecutress, unless the bandit
pursue her and worry her on the wing. ‘Then,
with a sudden bend, the Bee makes off.

Even so do Philanthus apivorus’ and the
other game-hunters behave when the Tachina
is at their heels seeking the chance to lay her
egg on the morsel about to be stored away.
Without jostling the parasite whom they find
hanging around the burrow, they go indoors
quite peaceably; but, on the wing, perceiving
her after them, they dart off wildly. ‘The
Tachina, however, dares not go down to the
cells where the huntress stacks her provisions;
she prudently waits at the door for the Phi-
lanthus to arrive. The crime, the laying of
the egg, is committed at the very moment
when the victim is about to vanish under-
ground.

The troubles of the parasite of the Halic-
tus are of quite another kind. The homing
Bee has her honey in her crop and her pollen
on her leg-brushes: the first is inaccessible to
the thief; the second is powdery and would
give no resting-place to the egg. Besides,
there is not enough of it yet: to collect the

1The Bee-hunting Wasp. Cf. Social Life in the Insect
World: chap. xiiii—Translator’s Note.

383

Bramble-bees and Others

wherewithal for that round loaf of hers, the
Bee will have to make repeated journeys.
When the necessary amount is obtained, she
will knead it with the tip of her mandibles and
shape it with her feet into a little ball. The
Gnat’s egg, were it present among the ma-
terials, would certainly be in danger during
this manipulation.

The alien egg, therefore, must be laid on
the finished bread; and, as the preparation
takes place underground, the parasite is needs
obliged to go down to the Halictus. With in-
conceivable daring, she does go down, even
when the Bee is there. Whether through
cowardice or silly indulgence, the dispossessed
insect lets the other have its way.

The object of the Gnat, with her tenacious
lying-in-wait and her reckless burglaries, is
not to feed herself at the harvester’s expense:
she could get her living out of the flowers with
much less trouble than her thieving trade in-
volves. The most, I think, that she can allow
herself to do in the Halictus’ cellars is to take
one morsel just to ascertain the quality of the
victuals. Her great, her sole business is to set-
tle her family. The stolen goods are not for
herself, but for her offspring.

384

The Halicti: a Parasite

Let us dig up the pollen-loaves. We shall
find them most often crumbled with no re-
gard to economy, simply frittered away. We
shall see two or three maggots, with pointed
mouths, moving in the yellow flour scattered
over the floor of the cell. These are the
Gnat’s progeny. With them we sometimes
find the lawful owner, the grub-worm of the
Halictus, but stunted and emaciated with fast-
ing. His gluttonous companions, without
otherwise molesting him, deprive him of the
best of everything. The wretched starveling
dwindles, shrivels up and soon disappears
from view. His corpse, a mere atom,
blended with the remaining provisions, sup-
plies the maggots with one mouthful the
more.

And what does the Halictus mother do in
this disaster? She is free to visit her grubs at
any moment; she has but to put her head into
the passage of the house: she cannot fail to
be apprised of their distress. The squandered
loaf, the swarming mass of vermin tell their
own tale. Why does she not take the intru-
ders by the skin of the abdomen? To grind
them to powder with her mandibles, to fling
them out of doors were the business of a sec-

385

Bramble-bees and Others

ond. And the foolish creature never thinks
of it, leaves the ravagers in peace!

She does worse. When the time of the
nymphosis comes, the Halictus mother goes
to the cells rifled by the parasite and closes
them with an earthen plug as carefully as she
does the rest. ‘This final barricade, an excel-
lent precaution when the cot is occupied by an
Halictus in course of metamorphosis, becomes
the height of absurdity when the Gnat has
passed that way. Instinct does not hesitate
in the face of this ineptitude: it seals up empti-
ness. I say, emptiness, because the crafty
maggot hastens to decamp the instant that the
victuals are consumed, as though it foresaw
an insuperable obstacle for the coming Fly:
it quits the cell before the Bee closes it.

To rascally guile the parasite adds pru-
dence. All, until there is none of them left,
abandon the clay homes which would be their
undoing once the entrance was plugged up.
The earthen niche, so grateful to the tender
skin, thanks to its polished coating, so free
from humidity, thanks to its waterproof
glaze, ought, one would think, to make an
excellent waiting-place. The maggots will
have none of it. Lest they should find them-

386

The Halicti: a Parasite

selves walled in when they become frail Gnats,
they go away and disperse in the neighbour-
hood of the ascending-shaft.

My digging-operations, in fact, always re-
veal the pup outside the cells, never inside.
I find them enshrined, one by one, in the body
of the clayey earth, in a narrow recess which
the emigrant worm has contrived to make for
itself. Next spring, when the hour comes for
leaving, the adult insect has but to creep
through the rubbish, which is easy work.

Another and no less imperative reason com-
pels this change of abode on the parasite’s
part. In July, a second generation of the
Halictus is procreated. The Gnat, reduced,
on her side, to a single brood, remains in the
pupa state and awaits the spring of the follow-
ing year before effecting her transformation.
The honey-gatherer resumes her work in her
native village; she avails herself of the pits
and cells constructed in the spring, saving no
little time thereby. The whole elaborate
structure has remained in good condition. It
needs but a few repairs to make the old house
habitable.

Now what would happen if the Bee, so
scrupulous in matters of cleanliness, were to

387

Bramble-bees and Others

find a pupa in the cell which she is sweeping?
She would treat the cumbersome object as she
would a piece of old plaster. It would be no
more to her than any other refuse, a bit of
gravel, which, seized with the mandibles,
crushed perhaps, would be sent to join the
rubbish-heap outside. Once removed from
the soil and exposed to the inclemencies of the
weather, the pupa would inevitably perish.

I admire this intelligent foresight of the
maggot, which foregoes the comfort of the
moment for the security of the future. Two
dangers threaten it: to be immured in a casket
whence the Fly can never issue; or else to die
out of doors, in the unkindly air, when the
Bee sweeps out the restored cells. To avoid
this two-fold peril, it decamps before the door
is closed, before the July Halictus sets her
house in order.

Let us now see what comes of the parasite’s
intrusion. In the course of June, when peace
is established in the Halictus’ home, I dig up
my largest village, comprising some fifty bur-
rows in all. None of the sorrows of this
underworld shall escape me. There are four
of us engaged in sifting the excavated earth
through our fingers. What one has examined

388

2 Rea

The Halicti: a Parasite

another takes up and examines; and then an-
other and another yet. The returns are heart-
rending. We do not succeed in finding one
single nymph of the Halictus. The whole
of the populous city has perished; and its place
has been taken by the Gnat. There is a glut
of that individual’s pupe. I collect them in
order to trace their evolution.

The year runs its course; and the little rus-
set kegs, into which the original maggots have
hardened and contracted, remain stationary.
They are seeds endowed with latent life. The
heats of July do not rouse them from their
torpor. In that month, the period of the sec-
ond generation of the Halictus, there is a sort
of truce of God: the parasite rests and the Bee
works in peace. If hostilities were to be re-
sumed straight away, as murderous in sum-
mer as they were in spring, the progeny of the
Halictus, too cruelly smitten, might possibly
disappear altogether. This lull readjusts the
balance.

In April, when the Zebra Halictus, in
search of a good place for her burrows, roams
up and down the garden paths with her oscil-
lating flight, the parasite, on its side, hastens
to hatch. Oh, the precise and terrible agree-

389

Bramble-bees and Others

ment between those two calendars, the calen-
dar of the persecutor and the persecuted! At
the very moment when the Bee comes out,
here is the Gnat: she is ready to begin her
deadly starving-process all over again.

Were this an isolated case, one’s mind
would not dwell upon it: an Halictus more or
less in the world makes little difference in the
general balance. But, alas, brigandage in all
its forms is the rule in the eternal conflict of
living things! From the lowest to the high-
est, every producer is exploited by the unpro-
ductive. Man himself, whose exceptional
rank ought to raise him above such baseness,
excels in this ravening lust. He says to him-
self that business means getting hold of other
people’s cash, even as the Gnat says to her-
self that business means getting hold of the
Halictus’ honey. And, to play the brigand to
better purpose, he invents war, the art of kill-
ing wholesale and of doing with glory that
which, when done on a smaller scale, leads to
the gallows.

Shall we never behold the realization of
that sublime vision which is sung on Sundays
in the smallest village-church: Gloria in ex-
celsis Deo et in terra pax hominibus bone

390

The Halicti: a Parasite

voluntatis! If war affected humanity alone,
perhaps the future would have peace in store
for us, seeing that generous minds are work-
ing for it with might and main; but the
scourge also rages among the lower animals,
which, in their obstinate way, will never listen
to reason. Once the evil is laid down as a
general condition, it perhaps becomes incur-
able. Life in the future, it is to be feared,
will be what it is to-day, a perpetual massacre.

Whereupon, by a desperate effort of the
imagination, one pictures to one’s self a giant
capable of juggling with the planets. He is
irresistible strength; he is also law and just-
ice. He knows of our battles, our butcheries,
our farm-burnings, our town-burnings, our
brutal triumphs; he knows our explosives, our
shells, our torpedo-boats, our ironclads and
all our cunning engines of destruction; he
knows as well the appalling extent of the ap-
petites among all creatures, down to the very
lowest. Well, if that just and mighty one
held the earth under his thumb, would he
hesitate whether he ought to crush it ?

He would not hesitate. . . . He would let
things take their course. He would say to

himself :
391

Bramble-bees and Others

“The old belief is right; the earth is a rot-
ten apple, gnawed by the vermin of evil. It is
a first crude attempt, a step towards a kindlier
destiny. Let it be: order and justice are wait-
ing at the end.”

392

CHAPTER XIlI
THE HALICTI: THE PORTRESS

EAVING our village is no very serious

matter when we are children. We even
Jook on it as a sort of holiday. We are go-
ing to see something new, those magic pictures
of our dreams. With age come regrets; and
the close of life is spent in stirring up old
memories. Then the beloved village reap-
pears, in the biograph of the mind, embel-
lished, transfigured by the glow of those first
impressions; and the mental image, superior
to the reality, stands out in amazingly clear
relief. The past, the far-off past was only
yesterday; we see it, we touch it.

For my part, after three-quarters of a cent-
ury, I could walk with my eyes closed
straight to the flat stone where I first heard
the soft chiming note of the Midwife Toad;
yes, I should find it to a certainty, if time,
which devastates all things, even the homes
of Toads, has not moved it or perhaps left it
in ruins,

393

Bramble-bees and Others

I see, on the margin of the brook, the exact
position of the alder-trees whose tangled roots,
deep under the water, were a refuge for the
Crayfish. I should say:

“Tt is just at the foot of that tree that I had
the unutterable bliss of catching a beauty. She
had horns so long . . . and enormous claws,
full of meat, for I got her just at the right
tite"

I should go without faltering to the ash
under whose shade my heart beat so loudly
one sunny spring morning. I had caught sight
of a sort of white, cottony ball among the
branches. Peeping from the depths of the
wadding was an anxious little head with a red
hood to it. O what unparalleled luck! That
is a Goldfinch, sitting on her eggs.

Compared with a find like this, lesser events
do not count. Let us leave them. In any
case, they pale before the memory of the pa-
ternal garden, a tiny hanging garden of some
thirty paces by ten, situated right at the top
of the village. The only spot that overlooks it
is a little esplanade on which stands the old
castle’ with the four turrets that have now be-

1The Chateau de Saint-Léons, standing just outside
and above the village of Saint-Léons, where the author

394

The Halicti: the Portress

come dovecotes. A steep path takes you up
to this open space. From my house on, it is
more like a precipice than a slope. Gardens
buttressed by walls are staged in terraces on
the sides of the funnel-shaped valley. Ours
is the highest; it is also the smallest.

There are no trees. Even a solitary apple-
tree would crowd it. There is a patch of cab-
bages, with a border of sorrel, a patch of tur-
nips and another of lettuces. That is all we
have in the way of garden-stuff; there is no
room for more. Against the upper support-
ing-wall, facing due south, is a vine-arbour
which, at intervals, when the sun is generous,
provides half a basketful of white muscatel
grapes. These are a luxury of our own,
greatly envied by the neighbours, for the vine
is unknown outside this corner, the warmest
in the village.

A hedge of currant-bushes, the only safe-
guard against a terrible fall, forms a parapet
above the next terrace. When our parents’
watchful eyes are off us, we lie flat on our
stomachs, my brother and I, and look into the
abyss at the foot of the wall bulging under

was born in 1823. Cf. The Life of the Fly: chaps. vi.
and viii—Translator’s Note.

395

Bramble-bees and Others

the thrust of the land. It is the garden of
monsieur le notaire.

There are beds with box-borders in that
garden; there are pear-trees reputed to give
pears, real pears, more or less good to eat
when they have ripened on the straw all
through the late autumn. In our imagination,
it is a spot of perpetual delight, a paradise,
but a paradise seen the wrong way up: instead
of contemplating it from below, we gaze at it
from above. How happy they must be with
so much space and all those pears!

We look at the hives, around which the
hovering Bees make a sort of russet smoke.
They stand under the shelter of a great hazel.
The tree has sprung up all of itself in a fis-
sure of the wall, almost on the level of our
currant-bushes. While it spreads its mighty
branches over the notary’s hives, its roots, at
least, are on our land. It belongstous. The
trouble is to gather the nuts.

I creep along astride the strong branches
projecting horizontally into space. If I slip
or if the support breaks, I shall come to grief
in the midst of the angry Bees. I do not slip
and the support does not break. With the
bent switch which my brother hands me, I

396

The Halicti: the Portress

bring the finest clusters within my reach. I
soon fill my pockets. Moving backwards,
still straddling my branch, I recover terra
firma. O wondrous days of litheness and as-
surance, when for a few filberts on a perilous
perch we braved the abyss!

Enough. These reminiscences, so dear to
my dreams, leave the reader indifferent. Why
stir up others? I am content to have brought
this fact into prominence: the first glimmers
of light penetrating into the dark chambers
of the mind leave an indelible impression,
which the years make fresher instead of dim-
mer.

Obscured by everyday worries, the present
is much less familiar to us, in its petty details,
than the past, with childhood’s glow upon it.
I see plainly in my memory what my pren-
tice eyes saw; and I should never succeed in
reproducing with the same accuracy what I
saw this week. I know my village thoroughly,
though I quitted it so long ago; and I know
hardly anything of the towns to which the
vicissitudes of life have brought me. An ex-
quisitely sweet link binds us to our native soil ;
we are like the plant that has to be torn away
from the spot where it put out its first roots.

397

Bramble-bees and Others

Poor though it be, I should love to see my
own village again; I should like to leave my
bones there.

Does the insect in its turn receive a lasting
impression of its earliest visions? Has it
pleasant memories of its first surroundings?
We will not speak of the majority, a world
of wandering gipsies who establish themselves
anywhere provided that certain conditions be
fulfilled; but the others, the settlers, living in
groups: do they recall their native village?
Have they, like ourselves, a special affection
for the place which saw their birth?

Yes, indeed they have: they remember, they
recognize the maternal abode, they come back
to it, they restore it, they colonize it anew.
Among many other instances, let us quote that
of the Zebra Halictus. She will show us a
splendid example of love for one’s birthplace
translating itself into deeds.

The Halictus’ spring family acquire the
adult form in a couple of months or so: they
leave the cells about the end of June. What
goes on inside these neophytes as they cross
the threshold of the burrow for the first time ?
Something, apparently, that may be compared
with our own impressions of childhood. An

398

The Halicti: the Portress

exact and indelible image is stamped on their
virgin memories. Despite the years, I still
see the stone whence came the resonant notes
of the little Toads, the parapet of currant-
bushes, the notary’s garden of Eden. These
trifles make the best part of my life. The
Halictus sees in the same way the blade of
grass whereon she rested in her first flight, the
bit of gravel which her claw touched in her
first climb to the top of the shaft. She knows
her native abode by heart just as I know my
village. The locality has become familiar to
her in one glad, sunny morning.

She flies off, seeks refreshment on the flow-
ers near at hand and visits the fields where the
coming harvests will be gathered. The dis-
tance does not lead her astray, so faithful are
her impressions of her first trip; she finds the
encampment of her tribe; among the burrows
of the village, so numerous and so closely re-
sembling one another, she knows her own. It
is the house where she was born, the beloved
house with its unforgettable memories.

But, on returning home, the Halictus is not
the only mistress of the house. The dwelling
dug by the solitary Bee in early spring re-
mains, when summer comes, the joint inherit-

399

Bramble-bees and Others

ance of the members of the family. There
are ten cells, or thereabouts, underground.
Now from these cells there have issued none
but females. This is the rule among the three
species of Halicti that concern us now and
probably also among many others, if not all.
They have two generations in each year. The
spring one consists of females only; the sum-
mer one comprises both males and females, in
almost equal numbers. We shall return to
this curious subject in our next chapter.

The household, therefore, if not reduced by
accidents, above all if not starved by the
usurping Gnat, would consist of half-a-score
of sisters, none but sisters, all equally indus-
trious and all capable of procreating without
a nuptial partner. On the other hand, the
maternal dwelling is no hovel; far from it:
the entrance-gallery, the principal room of the
house, will serve quite well, after a few odds
and ends of refuse have been swept away.
This will be so much gained in time, ever
precious to the Bee. The cells at the bottom,
the clay cabins, are also nearly intact. To
make use of them, it will be enough for the
Halictus to polish up the stucco with her
tongue.

The Halicti: the Portress

Well, which of the survivors, all equally
entitled to the succession, will inherit the
house? There are six of them, seven, or
more, according to the chances of mortality.
To whose share will the maternal dwelling
fall ?

There is no quarrel between the interested
parties. The mansion is recognized as com-
mon property without dispute. The sisters
come and go peacefully through the same
door, attend to their business, pass and let the
others pass. Down at the bottom of the pit,
each has her little demesne, her group of cells
dug at the cost of fresh toil, when the old ones,
now insufficient in number, are occupied. In
these recesses, which are private estates, each
mother works by herself, jealous of her pro-
perty and of her privacy. Every elsewhere,
traffic is free to all.

The exits and entrances in the working
fortress provide a spectacle of the highest in-
terest. A harvester arrives from the fields,
the feather-brushes of her legs powdered with
pollen. If the door be open, the Bee at once
dives underground. To tarry on the threshold
would mean waste of time; and the business
is urgent. Sometimes, several appear upon

401

Bramble-bees and Others

the scene at almost the same moment. The
passage is too narrow for two, especially when
they have to avoid any untimely contact that
would make the floury burden fall to the
floor. The nearest to the opening enters
quickly. The others, drawn up on the thresh-
old in the order of their arrival, respectful
of one another’s rights, await their turn. As
soon as the first disappears, the second follows
after her and is herself swiftly followed by
the third and then the others, one by one.
Sometimes, again, there is a meeting be-
tween a Bee about to come out and a Bee
about to go in. Then the latter draws back
a little and makes way for the former. The
politeness is reciprocal. I see some who, when
on the point of emerging from the pit, go
down again and leave the passage free for the
one who has just arrived. ‘Thanks to this
mutual spirit of accommodation, the business
of the house proceeds without impediment.
Let us keep our eyes open. ‘There is some-
thing better than the well-preserved order of
the entrances. When an Halictus appears, re-
turning from her round of the flowers, we see
a sort of trap-door, which closed the house,
suddenly fall and give a free passage. As

402

The Halicti: the Portress

soon as the new arrival has entered, the trap
rises back into its place, almost level with the
ground, and closes the entrance anew. The
same thing happens when the insects go out.
At a request from within, the trap descends,
the door opens and the Bee flies away. The
outlet is closed forthwith.

What can this valve be which, descending
or ascending in the cylinder of the pit, after
the fashion of a piston, opens and closes the
house at each departure and at each arrival?
It is an Halictus, who has become the portress
of the establishment. With her large head,
she makes an impassable barrier at the top of
the entrance-hall. If any one belonging to
the house wants to go in or out, she “‘pulls the
cord,”’ that is to say, she withdraws to a spot
where the gallery becomes wider and leaves
room for two. The other passes. She then
at once returns to the orifice and blocks it
with the top of her head. Motionless, ever
on the look-out, she does not leave her post
save to drive away importunate visitors.

Let us profit by her brief appearances out-
side to take a look at her. We recognize in
her an Halictus similar to the others, who are
now busy harvesting; but the top of her head

403

Bramble-bees and Others

is bald and her dress is dingy and threadbare.
All the nap is gone; and one can hardly make
out the handsome stripes of red and brown
which she used to have. ‘These tattered,
work-worn garments make things clear
to us.

This Bee who mounts guard and performs
the office of a portress at the entrance to the
burrow is older than the others. She is the
foundress of the establishment, the mother of
the actual workers, the grandmother of the
present grubs. In the springtime of her life,
three months ago, she wore herself out in
solitary labours. Now that her ovaries are
dried up, she takes a well-earned rest. No,
rest is hardly the word. She still works, she
assists the household to the best of her power.
Incapable of being a mother for a second
time, she becomes a portress, opens the door
to the members of her family and makes
strangers keep their distance.

The suspicious Kid,’ looking through the
chink, said to the Wolf:

“Show me a white foot, or I sha’n’t open
the door.”

1In La Fontaine’s fable, Le Loup, la Chévre et le
Chevreau.—Translator’s Note.

404 \

has Hales sake Fortes

No less suspicious, the grandmother says
to each comer:

‘Show me the yellow foot of an Halictus,
or you won't be let in.”

None is admitted to the dwelling unless she
be recognized as a member of the family.

See for yourselves. Near the burrow
passes an Ant, an unscrupulous adventuress,
who would not be sorry to know the meaning
of the honeyed fragrance that rises from the
bottom of the cellar.

“Be off, or you'll catch it!’ says the port-
ress, with a movement of her neck.

As a rule the threat suffices. The Ant de-
camps. Should she insist, the watcher leaves
her sentry-box, flings herself upon the saucy
jade, buffets her and drives her away. The
moment the punishment has been adminis-
tered, she returns to her post.

Next comes the turn of a Leaf-cutter
(Megachile albocincta, PEREZ), who, un-
skilled in the art of burrowing, utilizes, after
the manner of her kin, the old galleries dug
by others. Those of the Zebra Halictus suit
her very well, when the terrible Gnat has left
them vacant for lack of heirs. Seeking for a
home wherein to stack her robinia-leaf honey-

405

Bramble-bees and Others

pots, she often makes a flying inspection of my
colonies of Halicti. A burrow seems to take
her fancy; but, before she sets foot on earth,
her buzzing is noticed by the sentry, who sud-
denly darts out and makes a few gestures on
the threshold of her door. That is all. The
Leaf-cutter has understood. She moves on.

Sometimes, the Megachile has time to
alight and insert her head into the mouth of
the pit. In a moment, the portress is there,
comes a little higher and bars the way. Fol-
lows a not very serious contest. The stranger
quickly recognizes the rights of the first occu-
pant and, without insisting, goes to seek an
abode elsewhere.

An accomplished marauder (Celioxys cau-
data, SPINOLA), a parasite of the Megachile,
receives a sound drubbing under my eyes. She
thought, the feather-brain, that she was enter-
ing the Leaf-cutter’s establishment! She
soon finds out her mistake; she meets the port-
ress Halictus, who administers a sharp cor-
rection. She makes off at full speed. And
so with the others who, through inadvertence
or ambition, seek to enter the burrow.

The same intolerance exists among the dif-
ferent grandmothers. About the middle of

406

The Halicti: the Portress

July, when the animation of the colony is at
its height, two sets of Halicti are easily dis-
tinguishable: the young mothers and the old.
The former, much more numerous, brisk of
movement and smartly arrayed, come and go
unceasingly from the burrows to the fields and
from the fields to the burrows. The latter,
faded and dispirited, wander idly from hole
to hole. They look as though they had lost
their way and were incapable of finding their
homes. Who are these vagabonds? I see
in them afflicted ones bereft of a family
through the act of the odious Gnat. Many
burrows have been altogether exterminated.
At the awakening of summer, the mother
found herself alone. She left her empty
house and went off in search of a dwelling
where there were cradles to defend, a guard
to mount. But those fortunate nests already
have their overseer, the foundress, who, jeal-
ous of her rights, gives her unemployed neigh-
bour a cold reception. One sentry is enough;
two would merely block the narrow guard-
room.

I am privileged at times to witness a fight
between two grandmothers. When the
tramp in quest of employment appears outside

407

Bramble-bees and Others

the door, the lawful occupant does not move
from her post, does not withdraw into the
passage, as she would before an Halictus re-
turning from the fields. Far from making
way, she threatens the intruder with her feet
and mandibles. The other retaliates and tries
to force her way in notwithstanding. Blows
are exchanged. The fray ends by the defeat
of the stranger, who goes off to pick a quarrel
elsewhere.

These little scenes afford us a glimpse of
certain details of the highest interest in the
habits of the Zebra Halictus. The mother
who builds her nest in the spring no longer
leaves her home, once her works are finished.
Shut up at the bottom of the burrow, busied
with the thousand cares of housekeeping, or
else drowsing, she waits for her daughters to
come out. When, in the summer heats, the
life of the village recommences, having naught .
to do outside as a harvester, she stands sentry
at the entrance to the hall, so as to let none
in save the workers of the home, her own
daughters. She wards off evilly-disposed visit-
ors. None can enter without the door-keep-
er’s consent.

There is nothing to tell us that the watcher

408

The Halicti: the Portress

ever deserts her post. Not once do I see her
leave her house to go and seek some refresh-
ment from the flowers. Her age and her se-
dentary occupation, which involves no great
fatigue, perhaps relieve her of the need of
nourishment. Perhaps, also, the young ones
returning from their plundering may from
time to time disgorge a drop of the contents
of their crops for her benefit. Fed or unfed,
the old one no longer goes out.

But what she does need is the joys of an
active family. Many are deprived of these.
The Gnat’s burglary has destroyed the busy
household. The sorely-tried Bees abandon
the deserted burrow. It is these who, ragged
and careworn, wander through the village.
When they move, their flight is only a short
one; more often they remain motionless. It
is they who, soured in their tempers, attack
their fellows and seek to dislodge them. They
grow rarer and more languid from day to
day; then they disappear for good. What
has become of them? The little Grey Lizard
had his eye on them: they are easily snapped
up.
Those settled in their own demesne, those
who guard the honey-factory wherein their

409

Bramble-bees and Others

daughters, the heiresses of the maternal es-
tablishment, are at work, display wonderful
vigilance. The more I see of them, the more
I admire them. In the cool hours of the early
morning, when the pollen-flour is not sufh-
ciently ripened by the sun and the harvesters
are still indoors, I see them at their posts, at
the top of the gallery. Here, motionless,
their heads flush with the earth, they bar the
door to all invaders. If I look at them
closely, they retreat a little and, in the shadow,
await the indiscreet observer’s departure.

I return when the harvesting is in full
swing, between eight o’clock and twelve.
There is now, as the Halicti go in or out, a
succession of prompt withdrawals to open the
door and of ascents to close it. The portress
is in the full exercise of her functions.

In the afternoon, the heat is too great and
the workers do not go to the fields. Retiring
to the bottom of the house, they varnish the
new cells, they make the round loaf that is to
receive the egg. The grandmother is still up-
stairs, stopping the door with her bald head.
For her, there is no siesta during the stifling
hours: the safety of the household requires
her to forego it.

410

The Halicti: the Portress

I come back again at night-fall, or even
later. By the light of a lantern, I again be-
hold the overseer, as zealous and assiduous as
in the day-time. The others are resting, but
not she, for fear, apparently, of nocturnal
dangers known to herself alone. Does she
nevertheless end by descending to the quiet of
the floor below? It seems probable, so essen-
tial must rest be, after the fatigue of such a
vigil!

It is evident that, guarded in this manner,
the burrow is exempt from calamities similar
to those which, too often, depopulate it in
May. Let the Gnat come now, if she dare, to
steal the Halictus’ loaves! Let her lie in wait
as long as she will! Neither her audacity nor
her slyness will make her escape the lynx eyes
of the sentinel, who will put her to flight with
a theatening gesture or, if she persist, crush
her with her nippers. She will not come; and
we know the reason: until spring returns, she
is underground in the pupa state.

But, in her absence, there is no lack, among
the Fly rabble, of other batteners on the toil
of their fellow-insects. Whatever the job,
whatever the plunder, you will find parasites
there. And yet, for all my daily visits, I never

411

Bramble-bees and Others

catch one of these in the neighbourhood of
the summer burrows. How well the rascals
know their trade! How well:aware are they
of the guard who keeps watch at the Halictus’
door! ‘There is no foul deed possible now-
adays; and the result is that no Fly puts in an
appearance and the tribulations of last spring
are not repeated.

The grandmother who, dispensed by age
from maternal bothers, mounts guard at the
entrance of the home and watches over the
safety of the family tells us that in the gene-
sis of the instincts sudden births occur; she
shows us the existence of a spontaneous apti-
tude which nothing, either in her own past
conduct or in the actions of her daughters,
could have led us to suspect. ‘Timorous in
her prime, in the month of May, when she
lived alone in the burrow of her making, she
has become gifted, in her decline, with a su-
perb contempt of danger and dares in her
impotence what she never dared do in her
strength.

Formerly, when her tyrant, the Gnat, en-
tered the house in her presence, or, more
often, stood face to face with her at the en-
trance, the silly Bee did not stir, did not even

412

The Halicti: the Portress

threaten the red-eyed bandit, the dwarf whose
doom she could so easily have sealed. Was it
terror on her part? No, for she attended to
her duties with her usual punctiliousness; no,
for the strong do not allow themselves to be
thus paralysed by the weak. It was igno-
rance of the danger, it was sheer fecklessness.

And behold, to-day, the ignoramus of three
months ago knows the peril, knows it well,
without serving any apprenticeship. Every
stranger who appears is kept at a distance,
without distinction of size or race. If the
threatening gesture be not enough, the keeper
sallies forth and flings herself upon the per-
sistent one. Cowardice has developed into
courage.

How has this change been brought about?
I should like to picture the Halictus gaining
wisdom from the misfortunes of the spring
and capable thenceforth of looking out for
danger; I would gladly credit her with having
learned in the stern school of experience the
advantages of a patrol. I must give up the
idea. If, by dint of gradual little acts of
progress, the Bee has achieved the glorious
invention of a door-keeper, how comes it that
the fear of thieves is intermittent? It is true

413

Bramble-bees and Others

that, being by herself in May, she cannot
stand permanently at her door: the business
of the house takes precedence of everything
else. But she ought, at any rate as soon as
her offspring are victimized, to know the para-
site and give chase when, at every moment,
she finds her almost under her feet and even
in her house. Yet she pays no attention to
her.

The bitter experience of her ancestors,
therefore, has bequeathed nothing to her of a
nature to alter her placid character; nor have
her own tribulations anything to do with the
sudden awakening of her vigilance in July.
Like ourselves, animals have their joys and
their sorrows. They eagerly make the most
of the former; they fret but little about the
latter, which, when all is said, is the best way
of achieving a purely animal enjoyment of
life. To mitigate these troubles and protect
the progeny there is the inspiration of instinct,
which is able without the counsels of experi-
ence to give the Halicti a portress.

When the victualling is finished, when the
Halicti no longer sally forth on harvesting in-
tent nor return all befloured with their spoils,
the old Bee is still at her post, vigilant as

414

The Halicti: the Portress

ever. The final preparations for the brood
are made below; the cells are closed. The
door will be kept until everything is finished.
Then grandmother and mothers leave the
house. Exhausted by the performance of
their duty, they go, somewhere or other, to
die.

In September appears the second genera-
tion, comprising both males and females. I
find both sexes wassailing on the flowers, espe-
cially the Composite, the centauries and this-
tles. They are not harvesting now: they are
refreshing themselves, holding high holiday,
teasing one another. It is the wedding-time.
Yet another fortnight and the males will dis-
appear, henceforth useless. The part of the
idlers is played. Only the industrious ones re-
main, the impregnated females, who go
through the winter and set to work in April.

I do not know their exact haunt during the
inclement season. I expected them to return
to their native burrow, an excellent dwelling
for the winter, one would think. Excavations
made in January showed me my mistake. The
old homes are empty; they are falling to
pieces owing to the prolonged effect of the
rains. The Zebra Halictus has something

415

Bramble-bees and Others

better than these muddy hovels: she has snug
corners in the stone-heaps, hiding-places in the
sunny walls and many other convenient habita-
tions. And so the natives of a village become
scattered far and wide.

In April, the scattered ones reassemble
from all directions. On the well-flattened
garden-paths a choice is made of the site for
their common labours. Operations soon be-
gin. Close to the first who bores her shaft
there is soon a second one, busy with hers; a
third arrives, followed by another and others
yet, until the little mounds often touch one
another, while at times they number as many
as fifty on a surface of less than a square yard.

One would be inclined, at first sight, to say
that these groups are accounted for by the in-
sect’s recollection of its birth-place, by the
fact that the villagers, after dispersing dur-
ing the winter, return to their hamlet. But it
is not thus that things happen: the Halictus
scorns to-day the place that once suited her.
I never see her occupy the same patch of
ground for two years in succession. Each
spring, she needs new quarters. And there
are plenty of them.

Can this mustering of the Halicti be due

416

The Halicti: the Portress

to a wish to resume the old intercourse with
their friends and relations? Do the natives
of the same burrow, of the same hamlet
recognize one another? Are they inclined to
do their work among themselves rather than
in the company of strangers? There is no-
thing to prove it, nor is there anything to dis-
prove it. Either for this reason or for others,
the Halictus likes to keep with her neighbours.

This propensity is pretty frequent among
peace-lovers, who, needing little nourishment,
have no cause to fear competition. The
others, the big eaters, take possession of
estates, of hunting-grounds from which their
fellows are excluded. Ask a Wolf his opi-
nion of a brother Wolf poaching on his pre-
serves. Man himself, the chief of: con-
sumers, makes for himself frontiers armed
with artillery; he sets up posts at the foot of
which one says to the other:

““Here’s my side, there’s yours. That’s
enough: now we'll pepper each other.”

And the rattle of the latest explosives ends
the colloquy.

Happy are the peace-lovers. What do
they gain by their mustering? With them
it is not a defensive system, a concerted ef-

417

Bramble-bees and Others

fort to ward off the common foe. The Ha-
lictus does not care about her neighbour’s af-
fairs. She does not visit another’s burrow;
she does not allow others to visit hers. She
has her tribulations, which she endures alone;
she is indifferent to the tribulations of others.
She stands aloof from the strife of her fel-
lows. Let each mind her own business and
leave things at that.

But company has its attractions. He lives
twice who watches the life of others. Indi-
vidual activity gains by the sight of the gen-
eral activity; the animation of each one de-
rives fresh warmth from the fire of the uni-
versal animation. ‘To see one’s neighbours
at work stimulates one’s rivalry. And work
is the great delight, the real satisfaction that
gives some value to life. The Halictus knows
this well and assembles in her numbers that
she may work all the better.

Sometimes she assembles in such multitudes
and over such extents of ground as to suggest
our own colossal swarms, Babylon and Mem-
phis, Rome and Carthage, London and Paris,
those frantic hives, occur to our mind if we
can manage to forget comparative dimensions
and see a Cyclopean pile in a pinch of earth,

418

The Halicti: the Portress

It was in February. The almond-tree was
in blossom. A sudden rush of sap had given
the tree new life; its boughs, all black and
desolate, seemingly dead, were becoming a
glorious dome of snowy satin. I have always
loved this magic of the awakening spring, this
smile of the first flowers against the gloomy
bareness of the bark.

And so I was walking across the fields, ga-
zing at the almond-trees’ carnival. Others
were before me. An Osmia in a black-velvet
bodice and a red-woollen skirt, the Horned
Osmia, was visiting the flowers, dipping into
each pink eye in search of a honeyed tear. A
very small and very modestly-dressed Halic-
tus, much busier and in far greater numbers,
was flitting silently from blossom to blossom.
Official science calls her Halictus malachurus,
K. The pretty little Bee’s godfather strikes
me as ill-inspired. What has malachurus,
calling attention to the softness of the rump,
to do in this connection? The name of Early °
Halictus would better describe the almond-
tree’s little visitor.

None of the melliferous clan, in my neigh-
bourhood at least, is stirring as early as she
is. She digs her burrows in February, an in-

419

Bramble-bees and Others

clement month, subject to sudden returns of
frost. When none as yet, even among her
near kinswomen, dares to sally forth from
winter-quarters, she pluckily goes to work,
shine the sun ever so little. Like the Zebra
Halictus, she has two generations a year, one
in spring and one in summer; like her, too, she
settles by preference in the hard ruts of the
country-roads.

Her mole-hills, those humble mounds any
two of which would go easily into a Hen’s egg,
rise innumerous in my path, the path by the
almond-trees which is the happy hunting-
ground of my curiosity to-day. This path is
a ribbon of road three paces wide, worn into
ruts by the Mule’s hoofs and the wheels of
the farm-carts. A coppice of holm-oaks shel-
ters it from the north-wind. In this Eden
with its well-caked soil, its warmth and quiet,
the little Halictus has multiplied her mole-
hills to such a degree that I cannot take a step
without crushing some of them. ‘The acci-
dent is not serious: the miner, safe under-
ground, will be able to scramble up the crum-
bling sides of the mine and repair the thresh-
old of the trampled home.

I make a point of measuring the density of

420

The Halicti: the Portress

the population. I count from forty to sixty
mole-hills on a surface of one square yard.
The encampment is three paces wide and
stretches over nearly three-quarters of a mile.
How many Halicti are there in this Babylon?
I do not venture to make the calculation.

Speaking of the Zebra Halictus, I used the
words hamlet, village, township; and the ex-
pressions were appropriate. Here the term
city hardly meets the case. And what reason
can we allege for these innumerable clusters?
I can see but one: the charm of living to-
gether, which is the origin of society. Like
mingles with like, without the rendering of
any mutual service; and this is enough to sum-
mon the Early Halictus to the same wayside,
even as the Herring and the Sardine assemble
in the same waters.

CHAPTER XIV
THE HALICTI: PARTHENOGENESIS

‘THE Halictus opens up another question,
connected with one of life’s obscurest
problems. Let us go back five-and-twenty
years. I am living at Orange. My house
stands alone among the fields. On the other
side of the wall enclosing our yard, which
faces due south, is a narrow path overgrown
with couch-grass. The sun beats full upon
it; and the glare reflected from the whitewash
of the wall turns it into a little tropical cor-
ner, shut off from the rude gusts of the north-
west wind.

Here the Cats come to take their after-
noon nap, with their eyes half-closed; here
the children come, with Bull, the house-dog;
here also come the haymakers, at the hottest
time of the day, to sit and take their meal and
whet their scythes in the shade of the plane-
tree; here the women pass up and down with
their rakes, after the hay-harvest, to glean
what they can on the niggardly carpet of the

422

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

shorn meadow. It is therefore a very much
frequented footpath, were it only because of
the coming and going of the household: a
thoroughfare ill-suited, one would think, to
the peaceful operations of a Bee; and never-
theless it is such a very warm and sheltered
spot and the soil is so favourable that every
year I see the Cylindrical Halictus (Halictus
cylindricus, FAB.) hand down the site from
one generation to the next. It is true that
the very matutinal, even partly nocturnal
character of the work makes the insect suffer
less inconvenience from the traffic.

The burrows cover an extent of some ten
square yards; and their mounds, which often
come near enough to touch, average a distance
of four inches at the most from one another.
Their number is therefore something like a
thousand. The ground just here is very
rough, consisting of stones and dust mixed
with a little mould and held together by the
closely interwoven roots of the couch-grass.
But, owing to its nature, it is thoroughly well-
drained, a condition always in request among
Bees and Wasps that have underground cells.

Let us forget for a moment what the Zebra
Halictus and the Early Halictus have taught

423

Bramble-bees and Others

us. At the risk of repeating myself a little,
I will relate what I observed during my first
investigations. The Cylindrical Halictus
works in May. Except among the social
species, such as Common Wasps, Bumble-
bees, Ants and Hive-bees, it is the rule for
each insect that victuals its nests either with
honey or game to work by itself at construct-
ing the home of its grubs. Among insects of
the same species there is often neighbourship ;
but their labours are individual and not the
result of cooperation. The Cricket-hunters,
for instance, the Yellow-winged Sphex-wasps,
settle in gangs at the foot of a sand-stone cliff,
but each digs her own burrow and would not
suffer a neighbour to come and help in pier-
cing the home.

In the case of the Anthophora, an innumer-
able swarm takes possession of a sun-scorched
crag, each Bee digging her own gallery and
jealously excluding any of her fellows who
might venture to come to the entrance of her
hole. The Three-pronged Osmia, when bor-
ing the bramble-stalk tunnel in which her cells
are to be stacked, gives a warm reception to
any Osmia that dares set foot upon her pro-
perty.

424

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

Let none of the Odyneri’ who make their
homes in a roadside bank mistake the door
and enter her neighbour’s house: she would
have a bad time of it! Let no Megachile,
returning with her leafy disk in her legs, go
into the wrong basement: she would be very
soon dislodged! So with the others: each has
her own home, which none of the others has
the right to enter. This is the rule, even
among Bees and Wasps established in a popu-
lous colony on a common site. Close neigh-
bourhood implies no sort of intimate relation-
ship.

Great therefore is my.surprise as I watch
the Cylindrical Halictus’ operations. She
forms no society, in the entomological sense
of the word: there is no common family; and
the general interest does not engross the at-
tention of the individual. Each mother occu-
pies herself only with her own eggs, builds
cells and gathers honey only for her own
larve, without concerning herself in any way
with the upbringing of the others’ grubs. All
that they have in common is the entrance-door
and the goods-passage, which ramifies in the
ground and leads to different groups of cells,

1A species of Mason-wasps.—Translator’s Note.

425

Bramble-bees and Others

each the property of one mother. Even so,
in the blocks of flats in our large towns, one

door, one hall and one staircase lead to dif- |

ferent floors or different portions of a floor
where each family retains its isolation and its
independence.

This common right of passage is extremely
easy to perceive at the time for victualling
the nests. Let us direct our attention for a
while to the same entrance-aperture, opening
at the top of a little mound of earth freshly
thrown up, like that heaped up by the Ants
during their works. Sooner or later we shall
see the Halicti arrive with their load of pol-
len, gathered on the Cichoriacez of the neigh-
bourhood.

Usually, they come up one by one; but it is
not rare to see three, four or even more ap-
pearing at the same time at the mouth of one
burrow. They perch on the top of the mound
and, without hurrying in front of one another,
with no sign of jealousy, they dive down the
passage, each in her turn. We need but watch
their peaceful waiting, their tranquil dives, to
recognize that this indeed is a common pass-
age to which each one has as much right as
another.

426

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

When the soil is exploited for the first time
and the shaft sunk slowly from the outside
to the inside, do several Cylindrical. Halicti,
one relieving the other, take part in the work
by which they will afterwards profit equally?
I do not believe it for a moment. As the
Zebra Halictus and the Early Halictus told
me later, each miner goes to work alone and
makes herself a gallery which will be her ex-
clusive property. The common use of the
passage comes presently, when the site, tested
by experience, is handed down from one gene-
ration to another.

A first group of cells is established, we will
suppose, at the bottom of a pit dug in virgin
soil. The whole thing, cells and pit, is the
work of one insect. When the moment comes
to leave the underground dwelling, the Bees
emerging from this nest will find before them
an open road, or one at most obstructed by
crumbly matter, which offers less resistance
than the neighbouring soil, as yet untouched.
The exit-way will therefore be the primitive
way, contrived by the mother during the con-
struction of the nest. All enter upon it with-
out any hesitation, for the cells open straight
on it. All, coming and going from the cells

427

Bramble-bees and Others

to the bottom of the shaft and from the shaft
to the cells, will take part in the clearing, un-
der the stimulus of the approaching deliver-
ance,

It is quite unnecessary here to presume
among these underground prisoners a con-
certed effort to liberate themselves more easily
by working in common: each is thinking only
of herself and invariably returns, after rest-
ing, to toil at the inevitable path, the path of
least resistance, in short the passage once dug
by the mother and now more or less blocked
up.

Among the Cylindrical Halicti, any one
who wishes emerges from her cell at her own
hour, without waiting for the emergence of
the others, because the cells, grouped in small
stacks, have each their special outlet opening
into the common gallery. The result of this
arrangement is that all the inhabitants of one
burrow are able to assist, each doing her share,
in the clearing of the exit-shaft. When she
feels fatigued, the worker retires to her un-
damaged cell and another succeeds her, im-
patient to get out rather than to help the first.
At last the way is clear and the Halicti
emerge. They disperse over the flowers

428

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

around as long as the sun is hot; when the air
cools, they go back to the burrows to spend the
night there.

A few days pass and already the cares of
egg-laying are at hand. ‘The galleries have
never been abandoned. The Bees have come
to take refuge there on rainy or very windy
days; most, if not all, have returned every
evening at sunset, each doubtless making for
her own cell, which is still intact and which is
carefully impressed upon her memory. In a
word, the Cylindrical Halictus does not lead
a wandering life; she has a fixed residence.

A necessary consequence results from these
settled habits: for the purpose of her laying,
the Bee will adopt the identical burrow in
which she was born. The entrance-gallery is
ready, therefore. Should it need to be carried
deeper, to be pushed in new directions, the
builder has but to extend it at will. The old
cells even can serve again, if slightly
restored.

Thus resuming possession of the native bur-
row in view of her offspring, the Bee, notwith-
standing her instincts as a solitary worker,
achieves an attempt at social life, because there
is one entrance-door and one passage for the

429

Bramble-bees and Others

use of all the mothers returning to the original
domicile. There is thus a semblance of col-
laboration without any real cooperation for
the common weal. Everything is reduced to
a family inheritance shared equally among
the heirs.

The number of these coheirs must soon be
limited, for a too tumultuous traffic in the cor-
ridor would delay the work. Then fresh pass-
ages are opened inwards, often communica-
ting with depths already excavated, so that
the ground at last is perforated in every di-
rection with an inextricable maze of winding
tunnels,

The digging of the cells and the piercing
of new galleries take place especially at night.
A cone of fresh earth on top of the burrow
bears evidence every morning to the overnight
activity. It also shows by its volume that sev-
eral navvies have taken part in the work, for it
would be impossible for a single Halictus to
extract from the ground, convey to the surface
and heap up so large a stack of rubbish in so
short a time.

At sunrise, when the fields around are still
wet with dew, the Cylindrical Halictus leaves
her underground passages and starts on her

430

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

foraging. This is done without animation,
perhaps because of the morning coolness.
There is no joyous excitement, no humming
above the burrows. The Bees come back
again, flying low, silently and heavily, their
hind-legs yellow with pollen; they alight on
the earth-cone and at once dive down the ver-
tical chimney. Others come up the pipe and
go off to their harvesting.

This going to and fro for provisions con-
tinues until eight or nine in the morning. ‘Then
the heat begins to grow intense and is reflected
by the wall; then also the path is once more
frequented. People pass at every moment,
coming out of the house or elsewhence. The
soil is so much trodden under foot that the lit-
tle mounds of refuse surrounding each burrow
soon disappear and the site loses every sign of
underground habitation.

All day long, the Halicti remain indoors.
Withdrawing to the bottom of the galleries,
they occupy themselves probably in making
and polishing the cells. Next morning, new
cones of rubbish appear, the result of the
night’s work, and the pollen-harvest is re-
sumed for a few hours; then everything ceases
again. And so the work goes on, suspended

431

Bramble-bees and Others

by day, renewed at night and in the morning
hours, until completely finished.

The passages of the Cylindrical Halictus
descend to a depth of some eight inches and
branch into secondary corridors, each giving
access to a set of cells. ‘These number six
or eight to each set and are ranged side by
side, parallel with their main axis, which is
almost horizontal. They are oval at the base
and contracted at the neck. Their length is
nearly twenty millimetres’ and their greatest
width eight.2, They do not consist simply of
a cavity in the ground; on the contrary, they
have their own walls, so that the group can
be taken out in one piece, with a little pre-
caution, and removed neatly from the earth
in which it is contained.

The walls are formed of fairly delicate ma-
terials, which must have been chosen in the
coarse surrounding mass and kneaded with
saliva. The inside is carefully polished and
upholstered with a thin waterproof film. We
will cut short these details concerning the cells,
which the Zebra Halictus has already shown
us in greater perfection, leave the home to it-

1.78 inch.—Translator’s Note.
2.312 inch.—Translator’s Note.

432

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

self and come to the most striking feature in
the life-history of the Halicti.

The Cylindrical Halictus is at work in the
first days of May. It is a rule among the
Hymenoptera for the males never to take part
in the fatiguing work of nest-building. To
construct cells and to amass victuals are occu-
pations entirely foreign to their nature. This
rule seems to have no exceptions; and the Ha-
licti conform to it like the rest. It is there-
fore only to be expected that we should see no
males shooting the underground rubbish out-
side the galleries. ‘That is not their business.

But what does astonish us, when our atten-
tion is directed to it, is the total absence of
any males in the vicinity of the burrows. Al-
though it is the rule that the males should be
idle, it is also the rule for these idlers to keep
near the galleries in course of construction,
coming and going from door to door and ho-
vering above the work-yards to seize the mo-
ment at which the unfecundated females will
at last yield to their importunities.

Now here, despite the enormous popula-
tion, despite my careful and incessant watch, it
is impossible for me to distinguish a single
male. And yet the distinction between the

433

Bramble-bees and Others

sexes is of the simplest. It is not necessary to
take hold of the male. He can be recognized
even at a distance by his slenderer frame, by
his long, narrow abdomen, by his red sash.
They might easily suggest two different spe-
cies. ‘The female is a pale russet-brown; the
male is black, with a few red segments to his
abdomen. Well, during the May building-
operations, there is not a Bee in sight clad in
black, with a slender, red-belted abdomen, in
short, not a male.

Though the males do not come to visit the
environs of the burrows, they might be else-
where, particularly on the flowers where the
females go plundering. I did not fail to ex-
plore the fields, insect-net in hand. My search
was invariably fruitless. On the other hand,
those males, now nowhere to be found, are
plentiful later, in September, on the close-set
flowers of the eringo on the borders of the
paths.

This singular colony, reduced exclusively to
mothers, made me suspect the existence of sev-
eral generations a year, whereof one at least
must possess the other sex. I continued there-
fore, when the building-work was over, to
keep a daily watch on the establishment of

434

I
ip
ic
a
i
g
%
|
)
D

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

the Cylindrical Halictus, in order to seize the
favourable moment that would verify my sus-
picions. For six weeks, solitude reigned above
the burrows: not a single Halictus appeared;
and the path, trodden by the wayfarers, lost its
little heaps of rubbish, the only signs of the
excavations. ‘There was nothing outside to
show that the warmth down below was hatch-
ing populous swarms.

July comes and already a few little mounds
of fresh earth betoken work going on under-
ground in preparation for an exodus in the
near future. As the males, among the Hy-
menoptera, are generally further advanced
than the females and quit their natal cells
earlier, it was important that I should witness
the first exits made, so as to dispel the least
shadow of a doubt. A violent exhumation
would have a great advantage over the natural
exit: it would place the population of the bur-
rows immediately under my eyes, before the
departure of either sex. In this way, nothing
could escape me and I was dispensed from a
watch which, for all its attentiveness, was not
to be relied upon absolutely. I therefore re-
solve upon a reconnaissance with the spade.

I dig down to the full depth of the galleries

435

Bramble-bees and Others

and remove large lumps of earth which I take
in my hands and break very carefully so as to
examine all the parts that may contain cells.
Halicti in the perfect state predominate, most
of them still lodged in their unbroken cham-
bers. Though they are not quite so numerous,
there are also plenty of pupez. I collect them
of every shade of colour, from dead-white, the
sign of a recent transformation, to smoky-
brown, the mark of an approaching metamor-
phosis. Larva, in small quantities, complete
the harvest. They are in the state of torpor
that precedes the appearance of the pupa.

I prepare boxes with a bed of fresh, sifted
earth to receive the larve and pupe, which I
lodge each in a sort of half-cell formed by the
imprint of my finger. I will await the trans-
formation to decide to which sex they belong.
As for the perfect insects, they are inspected,
counted and at once released.

In the very unlikely supposition that the dis-
tribution of the sexes might vary in different
parts of the colony, I make a second excava-
tion, at a few yards’ distance from the other.
It supplies me with another collection both of
perfect insects and of pupe and larve.

When the metamorphosis of the laggards

436

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

is completed, which does not take many days,
I proceed to take a general census. It gives
me two hundred and fifty Halicti. Well, in
this number of Bees, collected in the burrow
before any have emerged, I perceive none, ab-
solutely none but females; or, to be mathe-
matically accurate, I find just one male, one
alone; and he is so small and feeble that he
dies without quite succeeding in divesting him-
self of his nymphal bands. This solitary male
is certainly accidental. A female population
of two hundred and forty-nine Halicti im-
plies other males than this abortion, or rather
implies none at all. I therefore eliminate
him as an accident of no value and conclude
that, in the Cylindrical Halictus, the July gen-
eration consists of females only.

The building-operations start again in the
second week of July. The galleries are re-
stored and lengthened; new cells are fashioned
and the old ones repaired. Follow the pro-
visioning, the laying of the eggs, the closing
of the cells; and, before July is over, there is
solitude again. Let me also say that, during
the building-period, not a male appears in
sight, a fact which adds further proof to that
already supplied by my excavations.

437

Bramble-bees and Others

With the high temperature of this time of
the year, the development of the larve makes
rapid progress: a month is sufficient for the
various stages of the metamorphosis. On the
24th of August there are once more signs of
life above the burrows of the Cylindrical Ha-
lictus, but under very different conditions.
For the first time, both sexes are present.
Males, so easily recognized by their black
livery and their slim abdomen adorned with a
red ring, hover backwards and forwards, al-
most level with the ground. They fuss about
from burrow to burrow. A few rare females
come out for a moment and then go in
again.

I proceed to make an excavation with my
spade; I gather indiscriminately whatever I
come across. Larve are very scarce; pupe
abound, as do perfect insects. ‘The list of my
captures amounts to eighty males and fifty-
eight females. The males, therefore, hitherto
impossible to discover, either on the flowers
around or in the neighbourhood of the bur-
rows, could be picked up to-day by the hun-
dred, if I wished. ‘They outnumber the fe-
males by about four to three; they are also
further developed, in accordance with the gen-

438

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

eral rule, for most of the backward pupz give
me only females.

Once the two sexes had appeared, I ex-
pected a third generation that would spend the
winter in the larval state and recommence in
May the annual cycle which I have just de-
scribed. My anticipation proved to be at
fault. Throughout September, when the sun
beats upon the burrows, I see the males flit-
ting in great numbers from one shaft to the
other. Sometimes a female appears, return-
ing from the fields, but with no pollen on her
legs. She seeks her gallery, finds it, dives
down and disappears.

The males, as though indifferent to her
arrival, offer her no welcome, do not harass
her with their amorous pursuits; they con-
tinue to visit the doors of the burrows with
a winding and oscillating flight. For two
months, I follow their evolutions. If they set
foot on earth, it is to descend forthwith into
some gallery that suits them.

It is not uncommon to see several of them
on the threshold of the same burrow. Then
each awaits his turn to enter; they are as
peaceable in their relations as the females who
are joint owners of a burrow. At other times,

439

Bramble-bees and Others

one wants to go in as a second is coming out.
This sudden encounter produces no strife.
The one leaving the hole withdraws a little to
one side to make enough room for two; the
other slips past as best he can. These peace-
ful meetings are all the more striking when we
consider the usual rivalry between males of
the same species.

No rubbish-mound stands at the mouth of
the shafts, showing that the building has not
been resumed; at the most, a few crumbs of
earth are heaped outside. And by whom,
pray? By the males and by them alone. The
lazy sex has bethought itself of working. It
turns navvy and shoots out grains of earth
that would interfere with its continual en-
trances and exits. For the first time I wit-
ness a custom which no Hymenopteron had
yet shown me: I see the males haunting the
interior of the burrows with an assiduity
equalling that of the mothers employed in
nest-building.

The cause of these unwonted operations
soon stands revealed. The females seen flit-
ting above the burrows are very rare; the ma-
jority of the feminine population remain se-
questered under ground, do not perhaps come

440

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

out once during the whole of the latter part of
summer. Those who do venture out go in
again soon, empty-handed of course and al-
ways without any amorous teasing from the
males, a number of whom are hovering above
the burrows.

On the other hand, watch as carefully as I
may, I do not discover a single act of pairing
out of doors. The weddings are clandestine,
therefore, and take place under ground. This
explains the males’ fussy visits to the doors
of the galleries during the hottest hours of the
day, their continual descents into the depths
and their continual reappearances. They are
looking for the females cloistered in the re-
tirement of the cells.

A little spade-work soon turns suspicion in-
to certainty. I unearth a sufficient number of
couples to prove to me that the sexes come to-
gether under ground. When the marriage is
consummated, the red-belted one quits the
spot and goes to die outside the burrow, after
dragging from flower to flower the bit of life
that remains to him. The other shuts herself
up in her cell, there to await the return of the
month of May.

441

Bramble-bees and Others

September is spent by the Halictus solely
in nuptial celebrations. Whenever the sky is
fine, I witness the evolutions of the males
above the burrows, with their continual en-
trances and exits; should the sun be veiled,
they take refuge down the passages. The
more impatient, half-hidden in the pit, show
their little black heads outside, as though
peeping for the least break in the clouds that
will allow them to pay a brief visit to the
flowers round about. They also spend the
night in the burrows. In the morning, I at-
tend their levee; I see them put their head to
the window, take a look at the weather and
then go in again until the sun beats on the
encampment.

The same mode of life is continued
throughout October, but the males become less
numerous from day to day as the stormy
season approaches and as fewer females re-
main to be wooed. By the time that the first
cold weather comes, in November, complete
solitude reigns over the burrows. I once more
have recourse to the spade. I find none
but females in their cells. There is not one
male left. All have vanished, all are dead,
the victims of their life of pleasure and of the

442

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

wind and rain. Thus ends the cycle of the
year for the Cylindrical Halictus.

In February, after a hard winter, when the
snow had lain on the ground for a fortnight,
I wanted once more to look into the matter
of my Halicti. I was in bed with pneumonia
and at the point of death, to all appearances.
I had little or no pain, thank God, but ex-
treme difficulty in living. With the little lu-
cidity left to me, being able to do no other
sort of observing, I observed myself dying;
I watched with a certain interest the gradual
falling to pieces of my poor machinery. Were
it not for the terror of leaving my family,
who were still young, I would gladly have de-
parted. ‘The after-life must have so many
higher and fairer truths to teach us!

My hour had not yet come. When the lit-
tle lamps of thought began to emerge, all
flickering, from the dusk of unconsciousness, I
wished to take leave of the Hymenopteron,
my fondest joy, and first of all of my neigh-
bour, the Halictus. My son Emile took the
spade and went and dug the frozen ground.
Not a male was found, of course; but there
were plenty of females, numbed with the cold
in their cells,

443

Bramble-bees and Others

A few were brought for me to see. Their
little chambers showed no efflorescence of
rime, with which all the surrounding earth
was coated. The waterproof varnish had
been wonderfully efficacious. As for the an-
chorites, roused from their torpor by the
warmth of the room, they began to wander
about my bed, where I followed them vague-
ly with my fading eyes.

May came, as eagerly awaited by the sick
man as by the Halicti. I left Orange for
Sérignan, my last stage, I expect. While I
was moving, the Bees resumed their building.
I gave them a regretful glance, for I had still
much to learn in their company. I have never
since met with such a mighty colony.

These old observations on the habits of the
Cylindrical Halictus may now be followed by
a general summary which will incorporate the
recent data supplied by the Zebra Halictus
and the Early Halictus.

The females of the Cylindrical Halictus
whom I unearth from November onwards are
evidently fecundated, as is proved by the as-
siduity of the males during the preceding two
months and most positively confirmed by the
couples discovered in the course of my exca-

444

—_ ee

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

vations. These females spend the winter in
their cells, as do many of the early-hatching
melliferous insects, such as Anthophore and
Mason-bees, who build their nests in the
spring, the larve reaching the perfect state in
the summer and yet remaining shut up in their
cells until the following May. But there is
this great difference in the case of the Cylin-
drical Halictus, that in the autumn the fe-
males leave their cells for a time to receive the
males under ground. The couples pair and
the males perish. Left alone, the females re-
turn to their cells, where they spend the in-
clement season.

The Zebra Halicti, studied first at Orange
and then, under better conditions, at Sérignan,
in my own enclosure, have not those subter-
ranean customs: they celebrate their weddings
amid the joys of the light, the sun and the
flowers. I see the first males appear in the
middle of September, on the centauries. Gen-
erally there are several of them courting the
same bride. Now one, then another, they
swoop upon her suddenly, clasp her, leave her,
seize hold of her again. Fierce brawls de-
cide who shall possess her. One is accepted
and the others decamp. With a swift and

445

Bramble-bees and Others

angular flight, they go from flower to flower,
without alighting. They hover on the wing,
looking about them, more intent on pairing
than on eating.

The Early Halictus did not supply me with
any definite information, partly through my
own fault, partly through the difficulty of ex-
cavation in a stony soil, which calls for the
pick-axe rather than the spade. I suspect her
of having the nuptial customs of the Cylin-
drical Halictus.

There is another difference, which causes
certain variations of detail in these customs.
In the autumn, the females of the Cylindrical
Halictus leave their burrows seldom or not at
all. Those who do go out invariably come
back after a brief halt upon the flowers. All
pass the winter in the natal cells. On the
other hand, those of the Zebra Halictus move
their quarters, meet the males outside and do
not return to the burrows, which my autumn
excavations always find deserted. They hi-
bernate in the first hiding-places that offer.

In the spring, the females, fecundated since
the autumn, come out, the Cylindrical Halicti
from their cells, the Zebra Halicti from their
various shelters, the Early Halicti apparently

446

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

from their chambers, like the first. They
work at their nests in the absence of any male,
as do also the Social Wasps, whose whole
brood has perished excepting a few mothers
also fecundated in the autumn. In both cases,
the assistance of the males is equally real, only
it has preceded the laying by about six months.
So far, there is nothing new in the life of
the Halicti; but here is where the unexpected
appears: in July, another generation is pro-
duced; and this time without males. ‘The
absence of masculine assistance is no longer
a mere semblance here, due to an earlier fe-
cundation: it is a reality established beyond a
doubt by the continuity of my observations
and by my excavations during the summer
season, before the emergence of the new Bees.
At this period, a little before July, if my spade
unearth the cells of any one of my three Ha-
licti, the result is always females, nothing but
females, with exceedingly rare exceptions.
True, it may be said that the second pro-
geny is due to the mothers who knew the
males in autumn and who would be able to
nidify twice a year. ‘The suggestion is not ad-
missible. The Zebra Halictus confirms what
I say. She shows us the old mothers no

447

Bramble-bees and Others

longer leaving the home but mounting guard
at the entrance to the burrows. No harvest-
ing- or pottery-work is possible with these ab-
sorbing doorkeeping-functions. ‘Therefore
there is no new family, even admitting that
the mothers’ ovaries are not depleted.

I do not know if a similar argument is valid
in the case of the Cylindrical Halictus. Has
she any general survivors? As my attention
had not yet been directed on this point in the
old days, when I had the insect at my door,
I have no records to go upon. For all that,
I am inclined to think that the portress of the
Zebra Halictus is unknown here. The reason
of this absence would be the number of work-
ers at the start.

In May, the Zebra Halictus, living by her-
self in her winter retreat, founds her house
alone. When her daughters succeed her, in
July, she is the only grandmother in the es-
tablishment and the post of portress falls to
her. With the Cylindrical Halictus, the con-
ditions are different. Here the May workers
are many in the same burrow, where they
dwell in common during the winter. Suppos-
ing that they survive when the business of the
household is finished, to whom will the office

448

The Halicti: Parthenogenesis

of overseer fall? Their number is so great
and they are all so full of zeal that disorder
would be inevitable. But we can leave this
small matter unsettled pending further in-
formation.

The fact remains that females, females ex-
clusively, have come out of the eggs laid in
May. They have descendants, of that there
is no room for doubt; they procreate though
there are no males in their time. From this
generation by a single sex, there spring, two
months later, males and females. These
mate; and the same order of things recom-
mences,

To sum up, judging by the three species
that form the subject of my investigations, the
Halicti have two generations a year: one in
the spring, issuing from the mothers who have
lived through the winter after being fecund-
ated in the autumn; the other in the summer,
the fruit of parthenogenesis, that is to say, of
reproduction by the powers of the mother
alone. Of the union of the two sexes, females
alone are born; parthenogenesis gives birth at
the same time to females and males.

When the mother, the original genitrix, has
been able once to dispense with a coadjutor,

449

Bramble-bees and Others

why does she need one later? What is the
puny idler there for? He was unnecessary.
Why does he become necessary now? Shall
we ever obtain a satisfactory answer to the
question? It is doubtful. However, without
much hope of succeeding we will one day con-
sult the Gall-fly, who is better-versed than we
in the tangled problem of the sexes.

450

INDEX

Alpine, Odynerus, 332

Amadeus’ Eumenes, 311

Ammophila (see _ also
Hairy Ammophila),
343, 3470, 361-362

Andrena, 184

Andrenoid Osmia, 61

Ant, 323-325, 405, 424,
426

Anthidium (see the vari-
eties below, Cotton-
bee, Resin-bee)

Anthidium bellicosum,
150-152, 304-307, 314-
317, 330, 332

Anthidium cingulatum
(see Girdled Anthid-
ium)

Anthidium diadema (see
Diadem Anthidium)
Anthidium florentinum
(see Florentine Anthid-

ium)

Anthidium Latreillii (see
Latreille’s Resin-bee)
Anthidium manicatum
(see Manicate Anthid-

ium)

Anthidium quadrilobum
(see Four-lobed Resin-
bee)

Anthocopa papaveris
(see Upholsterer-bee)

Anthidium scapulare
(see Scapular Anthid-
ium)

Anthidium septemdenta-
tum (see Seven-pronged
Resin-bee)

451

Anthophora (see also
Anthophora of the
Walls, Hairy-footed
Anthophora, Masked
Anthophora), 53, 86,
102, 185, 205, 242, 257,
274, 288, 333, 376, 424,

445)

Anthophora of the Walls,
65, 228-229

Anthophora parietina
(see Anthophora of the
Walls)

Anthophora pilipes (see
Hairy-footed Antho-

phora)
Anthrax (see Anthrax
sinuata)
Anthrax sinuata, 84-85,
87-88, 126
Aphis (see Plant-louse)

Archimedes, 271

Augustus, the Emperor,

207
B

Bee, passim

Beetle, 236

Bembex, 89, 184, 274,
290, 292, 376

Black, Adam and

Charles, vii
Black Plant-louse; 2”
Black Psen, 37, 100-102
Black-tipped Leaf-cutter,
48, 263
Blue Osmia, 61
Book-louse, 346”
Brown Snail, 60, 61
Bulimulus radiatus, 61,
332

Index

Bumble-bee, 184, 325, 424
C

Calicurgus (see Pompi-
lus)

Capricorn, 242, 257-258,
260, 276

Carpenter-bee, 194, 224-
228, 273, 275-276, 333
Cat, 422
Cemonus unicolor, 2n, 3n
Cerambyx (see Capri-
corn)
Ceratina (see also the
varieties below), 273
Ceratina aalbilaris, 2n
Ceratina callosa, 2n
Ceratina chalcites, 2n
Ceratina caerulea, 2n
Cerceris, 89, 340, 361

Cetonia, 350, 353-3545
362-363

Chaffinch, 234-235
Chalicodoma (see Ma-
son-bee)

Chrysis flammea, 318
Cockroach, 3462
Coelyoxis caudata, 406
Coelyoxis octodentata,

104.

Colletes, 61

Common Snail, 57, 60-61,
150-152, 173-174, 307,
308, 309, 322

Common Wasp, 365, 367,
424, 447

Cotton-bee (see also the

varieties of Anthid-
ium), 102-103, 198-
199, 247, 273-300, 303,
313, 328

Crayfish, 394

Cricket, 198, 345, 350,

355-356, 424

Crioceris merdigera (see
Lily-beetle)

Cryptus bimaculatus, 3n

Cylindrical Halictus, 422-

450

Darwin, Charles Robert,
S57

Decticus verructvorus,
345-346, 349

Devillario, Henri, 65, 142

Diadem Anthidium, 273,
274, 278-286, 288-296,
298-302

Dioxys cincta, 47

Dog, 422

Dragon-fly, 3462

Dryden, John, 7on

Dufour, Jean Marie
Léon, 12-15, 19

Dung-beetle, 340

Dzierzon, Johann, 182

Early Halictus, 419-421,
423, 427, 444, 446-450

Earth-worm, 242, 245,
250-251, 274, 277

Earwig, 3462

Epeira (see Garden
Spider)

Ephialtes divinator, 3n
Ephialtes mediator, 3n,
IOI |
Ephippiger, 345, 346, 349-
350, 353-356 }
Eumenes Amadei (see
Amadeus’ Eumenes)
Euritema rubicola, 3n
F

Fabre, Emile, the au-
thor’s son, 308, 443
Fabricius, Johann Chris-

tian, 301, 302

452

Index

Feeble Leaf-cutter, 267,
269

Field-mouse, 57-58, 304

Florentine Anthidium,
104, 273-274, 278-280,

330-332
Fly (see also House-fly),
100, 411-412
Fanus pyrenaicus, 3n
Four-lobed Resin-bee, 303,
323-327, 330
Franklin, Benjamin, 334,
337
G

Garden Snail, 58, 60, 61,
150, 160, 170, 174-178,
308, 309, 332

Garden Spider, 197, 363

Girdled Anthidium, 273-
274, 277, 282

Girdled Snail (see
Brown Snail)

Gnat, 377-392, 400, 405,
407, 409, 411-412

Golden Osmia, 60, 61

Goldfinch, 394

Grasshopper (see also
Great Green Grass-
hopper), 236, 346”

Great Green Grasshop-
per, 348-349

Great Peacock Moth, 192

Green Grasshopper (see
Ephippiger, Great
Green Grasshopper)

Green Osmia, 61

Grey Lizard, 409

H
Hairy Ammophila, 198
Hairy-footed Anthophora,
64-65, 141-144, 228-229,
274

Halictus (see also the
st a below), 184,
365-45

Halicins - cylindricus (see
Cylindrical Halictus)

Halictus malachurus (see
Early Halictus)

Halictus zeorus (see
Zebra Halictus)

Hare-footed Leaf-cutter,
262, 264-267

Helix algira, 150, 308

Helix aspersa (see Com-
mon Snail)

Helix caspitum (see Gar-
den Snail)

Helix nemoralis, 150, 308,
310, 313, 332

Helix striata, 31%

Heriades rubicola, 2n

Herring, 421

Hive-bee, 52, 119, 182-
183, 186, 232-233, 365,

396-397, 424 :
Honey-bee (see Hive-
bee)

Horned Osmia, 52-56, 58,
75, 104, YO8-11r, 120-
121, 137, 144, 147, 152-
154, 419

House- fice (see Dog)

House-fly, 365

Kid, 404
Kirby, William, 288”
L

La Fontaine, Jean de,
224, 404n

Lamb, 194

Languedocian Sphex, 346,

355
Lanius collurio (see Red-
backed Shrike)

453

Index

La Palice,
Chabannes,
de, 364

Latreille, Pierre André,

Jacques de
Seigneur

335,
Latreille’s Osmia, 54, 59,
63, 75, 104, 108, 137,
144, 147, 149, 222, 279
Latreille’s Resin-bee, 304,
323-327, 331
Leaf-cutter, Leaf-cutting
Bee (see Megachile)
Leaf-insect, 3467
Leucospis, 37, 104, 126
Lily-beetle, 288
Lithurgus (see also the
varieties below), 392,

333
Lithurgus chrysurus, 228
Lithurgus cornutus, 228
Lizard (see also Grey
Lizard), 236, 285
Locust, 3467
Locusta viridissima (see
Great Green Grass-
hopper)

Manicate Anthidium,
273-274, 284-285, 291,
311-313

Mantis, Mantis religiosa
(see Praying Mantis)

Masked Anthophora, 55,
58-59, 144-146, 149,
228-229, 274

Mason-bee (see also the
varieties below), 54,
62, 63, 71, 86, 120, 123,
185, 192, 196, 218, 222,
226, 247, 333, 376, 445

Mason-bee of the Pebbles
(see Mason-bee of the
Walls)

Mason-bee of the Sheds,
47, 59, 63-64, 104, 109,
118, 137, 141, 143, 200-
205, 222

Mason-bee of the Shrubs,

71, 118, 130, 140-141,
162, 170-172, 204, 223-
224.

Mason-bee of the Walls,
47, 60, 6%. (62) 1ER=1L7,
119, 124-131, 137, 138-
I4I, 144, 204, 222-224,
242, 263, 274, 326

May-fly, 3462

Meade-Waldo, Geoffrey,
viii

Megachile (see also the
varieties below), 102-
104, 184, 198, 242-272,
274, 276-279, 282-283,
299, 333, 425

Megachile albocincta
(see White-girdled
Leaf-cutter)

Megachile apicalis (see
Black-tipped Leaf-cut-
ter)

Megachile argentata (see
Silvery Leaf-cutter)
Megachile Dufourit (see

Silky Leaf-cutter)

Megachile imbecilla (see
Feeble Leaf-cutter)

Megachile lagopoda (see
Hare-footed Leaf-cut-
ter)

Megachile sericans
Silky Leaf-cutter)

Melitta (see Colletes)

Midge, 51, 84-85, 87

Midwife Toad, 393, 399

Morawitz’ Osmia, 62

(see

454

Index

Odynerus (see also the
varieties below), 215,

425 ;
Odynerus alpestris
Alpine Odynerus)
Odynerus delphinalis, 3n
Odynerus rubicola, 12-15,

(see

Oil-beetle, 64

Omalus auratus, 3n

Osmia, (see also the va-
rieties below), 29-30,
51-88, 132-144, 147-149,
185, 213-221, 225, 230-
232, 242, 246-248, 250,
263, 273-274, 283, 288,

304-306, 315-318, 322-
323, 33%, 376
Osmia andrenoides (see

Andrenoid Osmia)

Osmia aurulenta (see
Golden Osmia)
Osmia cornuta (see

Horned Osmia)

Osmia cyanea (see Blue
Osmia)

Osmia cyanoxantha, 61

Osmia detrita (see Rag-
ged Osmia)

Osmia Latreillii (see La-
treille's Osmia)
Osmia Morawitzi.

Morawitz’ Osmia)
Osmia parvula (see Tiny

(see

Osmia)
Osmia_ rufo-hirta (see
Red Osmia)

Osmia tricornis (see
Three-horned Osmia)
Osmia tridentata (see
Three-pronged Osmia)
Osmia_ versicolor (see

Variegated Osmia)

455

Osmia_ viridana
Green Osmia)

Pelopzus, 192, 194, 196-

197, 200, 205, 218, 333
Pérez, Professor Jean, 32

328-329, 331 i
Philanthus (see Philan-

thus apivorus)
Philanthus apivorus, 89,

(see

353

Plant-louse (see also
Black Plant-louse), 27,
101

Pompilus, 37,
361

Praying Mantis,
352-353, 355-356

Prosopis confusa, 2n

Psen atratus (see Black
Psen)

357-358,
3462,

R
Rabelais, Frangois, 319
Ragged Osmia, 2-37, 19,
33-34, 62, 98-100
Réaumur, René Antoine
Ferchault de, 239, 277
Red-backed Shrike, 235-

239

Red Osmia, 60

Resin-bee (see also the
varieties), 198-199, 264,

291, 301-338

Ringed Calicurgus (see

Pompilus)

Rodwell, Miss Frances,

viii

Rosechafer (see Cetonia)
S

Sapyga (see Spotted

Sapyga)

Sardine, 421

Index

Scapular Anthidium, 2-
3m, 19, 27-29, 38, 47,
273

Scolia, 37, 343, 361-363

Scorpion, 357-358

Seven-pronged Resin-bee,
149-151, 304-317, 329-
330, 343, 346, 348, 351,
356, 362

Shrike (see Red-backed
Shrike)

Silky Leaf-cutter, 103-
104, 257-262, 264, 276

Silvery Leaf-cutter, 262-
263, 266-267, 270

Snail (see also the va-
rieties), 53, 57, 71, 308

Social Wasp (see Com-
mon Wasp)

Solenius lapidarius, 2n

Solenius vagus, 2-3, 19,
33-34, 47, IOI

Sophocles, 207

Sparrow, 212, 230-231

Spence, William, 28872

Sphex (see also Langue-
docian Sphex, Yellow-
winged Sphex), 183,
288, 343, 345%, 348, 349,
356, 361

Spotted Sapyga, 93

Stick-insect, 3467

Stizus, 290, 292

Tachina, 84-85, 88

Tachytes, 290, 356

Tarantula, 357

Termite, 3462

Three-horned Osmia, 52-
59, 63-88, 96, 104-110,
120-123, 133-144, 147,
155-181, 188-191, 205-
212, 242, 256, 279

Three-pronged Osmia,
2m, 4M, §-11, 15-32, 34-
50, 62, 75, 93-100, I19-
123, 187, 424

Tiberius, the
207

Tiny Osmia, 62, 98, 100

Tripoxylon figulus, 3n,
4M, 47, 101-102

Unarmed Zonitis
Zonitis mutica)
Upholsterer-bee, 277

Variegated Osmia, 61
Virgil, 338

WwW

Wasp (see also Common
Wasp), 1, 127, 181, 185,
339, 342, 347, 359, 425
eaving Spider (see
Garden Spider)

Weevil, 340

White-girdled Leaf-cut-
ter, 242-257, 263, 405-
406

Wolf, 404, 417

Worm (see Earth-worm)

x
Xylocopa_ violacea
Carpenter-bee)
‘6
Yellow-winged Sphex,
424

Emperor,

(see

Z
Zebra Halictus, 366-392,
398-421, 423, 426, 432,

445-449 |
Zonitis mutica, 3%, 93, 318

456

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