INTELLIGENCE OF FLOWERS 



avoid any accident, the flower has made itself protenandrous, 

 that is to say, the stamens ripen before the pistil, so that, 

 when the female is fit to conceive, the males have already dis- 

 appeared. It is necessary, therefore, that some outside power 

 should intervene and accomplish the union by carrying a 

 foreign pollen to the abandoned stigma. A certain number of 

 flowers, the anemophilous flowers, leave this care to the wind. 

 But the Sage — and this is the more general case — is ento- 

 mophilous, that is to say, it loves insects and relies upon their 

 collaboration alone. Still, it is quite aware, for it knows 

 many things, that it lives in a world where it is best to expect 

 no sympathy, no charitable aid. It does not waste time, there- 

 fore, in making useless appeals to the courtesy of the bee. 

 The bee, like all that struggles against death in this world 

 of ours, exists only for herself and for her kind and is in no way 

 concerned to render a service to the flowers that feed her. 

 How, then, shall she be made in spite of herself, or at least 

 unconsciously, to fulfil her matrimonial office? Observe the 

 wonderful love-trap contrived by the Sage: right at the back 

 of its tent of violet silk, it distils a few drops of nectar ; this is 

 the bait. But, barring the access to the sugary fluid, stand two 

 parallel stalks, somewhat similar to the uprights of a Dutch 



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