34 THE LIFE OF THE BEE 



our morality, intellect, our manner of thinking and loving 

 and hoping — in a word, of our real and intimate self? All 

 he could do, like ourselves as we gaze at the hive, would be 

 to take note of some facts that seem very surprising ; and 

 from these facts to deduce conclusions probably no less 

 erroneous, no less uncertain, than those that we choose to 

 form concerning the bee. 



This much at least is certain ; our " little black specks " 

 would not offer the vast moral direction, the wonderful unity, 

 that are so apparent in the hive. " Whither do they tend, 

 and what is it they do ? " he would ask, after years and 

 centuries of patient watching. " What is the aim of their 

 life, or its pivot ? Do they obey some god .? I can see 

 nothing that governs their actions. The little things that 

 one day they appear to collect and build up, the next they 

 destroy and scatter. They come and they go, they meet 

 and disperse, but one knows not what it is they seek. In 

 numberless cases the spectacle they present is altogether in- 

 explicable. There are some, for instance, who, as it were, 

 seem scarcely to stir from their place. They are to be dis- 

 tinguished by their glossier coat, and often, too, by their 

 more considerable bulk. They occupy buildings ten or 

 twenty times larger than ordinary dwellings, and richer, and 

 more ingeniously fashioned. Every day they spend many 

 hours at their meals, which sometimes, indeed, are prolonged 

 far into the night. They appear to be held in extraordinary 

 honour by those who approach them ; men come from the 

 neighbouring houses bringing provisions, and even from the 

 depths of the country laden with presents. One can only 

 assume that these persons must be indispensable to the race, 



