THE SWARM 67 



stout, he can plunge a spoon into the mass and deposit where 



he will the living spoonfuls, as though he were ladling out 



corn. He need have no fear of the bees that are buzzing 



around him, settling on his face and his hands. The air 



resounds with their song of ecstasy, which is different far 



from their chant of anger. He need have no fear that the 



swarm will divide, or grow fierce, will scatter, or try to 



escape. This is a day, I repeat, when a spirit of holiday 



would seem to animate these mysterious workers, a spirit of 



confidence that apparently nothing can trouble. They have 



detached themselves from the wealth they had to defend, 



and they no longer recognise their enemies. They become 



inoffensive because of their happiness, though why they are 



happy we know not, except it be because they are obeying 



their law. A moment of such blind happiness is accorded 



by nature at times to every living thing, when she seeks to 



accomplish her ends. Nor need we feel any surprise that 



here the bees are her dupes ; we ourselves, who have studied 



her movements these centuries past, and with a brain more 



perfect than that of the bee, we, too, are her dupes, and 



know not even yet whether she be benevolent or indifferent, 



or only basely cruel. 



There where the queen has alighted the swarm will 

 remain ; and had she descended alone into the hive the bees 

 would have followed, in long black files, as soon as intelligence 

 had reached them of the maternal retreat. The majority 

 will hasten to her with utmost eagerness ; but large numbers 

 will pause for an instant on the threshold of the unknown 

 abode, and there will describe the circles of solemn rejoicing 

 with which it is their habit to celebrate happy events. 



