The Queen’s Husband
The first political act in which I took part made so deep an impression on me, that I attribute the strange vicissitudes of my life to its influence. Permit me to begin my narrative without further introduction.
I had reached maturity and become a citizen of the hive, when one morning I was roused by a knocking at the partition, and some one calling on me by name.
“What is wanted?” I inquired.
“Come out at once!” was the instant rejoinder. “You are wanted. Monsieur is about to be executed, and you are required as one of the guards of honour.”
These awful words, which I scarcely comprehended, filled me with horror. I was, for all that, aware beforehand of the impending doom of Monsieur, but had no notion that my services would be required at the ghastly ceremony.
“Here I am!” I exclaimed, and finishing my toilet in all haste, precipitated myself outside the hive, a prey to the strongest emotion. I was not pale, but green! Monsieur was one of the finest drones in the hive, rather stout, but, withal, well made; his physiognomy was full of a pleasing, wistful, and yet proudly aristocratic expression—as novelists would say—I had often seen him accompany the queen in her daily rounds of inspection, tormenting her with his jokes, helping her with his foot, sharing with her the prestige of sovereignty, and altogether appearing to be the happiest of princes, and most beloved of husbands. The people loved him little, but feared him much, he had the queen’s ear, the queen had publicly kissed his forehead, and it was reported by one of the chamber maids that Monsieur was soon to be a father. This important news spread around, and filled each cell with joy. We saw ourselves transformed into nurses surrounded by groups of children, giving food to this one, rocking that one. Already in each chamber a soft couch was prepared to receive the new comer, and in the evening before going to sleep, certain flowers had been pointed out as those containing the sugar which would yield the most delicate honey, as food for the youngsters when they made their appearance.
Our expectations were confirmed. Our beloved queen laid ten thousand twin eggs, all so beautiful that it was impossible to choose between them. The prince was radiant with joy, and spent his whole time in kissing the eggs one after the other. I had witnessed all this, had beheld him in his glory, and now, I was rudely awakened to see him dragged to his doom. More than that, oh horror! I was chosen to be his executioner. The prince, under the dreadful circumstances, showed decided reluctance to yield up his life. This seemed all the more pitiable as nature had deprived him of either offensive or defensive weapons. He was completely in our power.
“What have I done to deserve this doom? Oh, my queen, grant me but one hour!” he cried, kneeling before her, “but half an hour, nay, five minutes. I have revelations, confessions...”
“Make haste!” said the queen, striving to conceal her emotion; “we must abide by the law. Away with him; put an end to him; he is now worse than useless.”
The queen retired to her chamber, still full of souvenirs of the prince, and in an instant he was pierced by a thousand darts. Should I live a century, I shall never forget the scene. I pretended to share in the outrage, yet never moved my sting from its sheath. Even among the most advanced communities there are barbarous laws. Poor Messieurs, poor Messieurs!
Of these Messieurs, vulgarly called Drones, there are from five to six hundred in one hive, each one to be called upon to mount the steps of the throne, and to pay with his life for the excess of honour thus accorded to him. The prospect of a tragic end gave many of them sad looks, which contrasted with the natural gaiety of their fellows. One could mark them crawling listlessly along among the thousands of orderly workers that thronged the streets, alleys, and cells of the city, dejected and oppressed by their coming glory. At the slightest noise they turned round tremblingly. “Is the queen calling us?” they would inquire, and speedily they hid themselves away among the crowd, and, escaping from the hive, sought the freedom of fields and flowers.
There are many troubles which fall to the lot of those in high positions. The fat, overfed idlers who strut about, are most of them merely servants and dependants, unworthy of the vulgar admiration lavished on them by the working class. This sentiment of aristocracy worship is a common folly to which I myself have been subject, and which it ill befits me to condemn. Shall I confess it? I madly loved a Drone. Yes, I loved him. He was handsome beyond description. When he entered the corolla of a flower, I trembled lest the contact with its petals should spoil his beauty. I was mad. Platonic love; for Nature permitted us only the ideal, impossible love of the poet, the dream of the artist. I loved this creature simply for his beauty.
I admired the blue Dragon-fly with his silken wings, as I watched him skimming over the grass at the close of the day. I had, indeed, an eye for everything beautiful, and above all, for my superb Drone.
One day I found him half drunk with honey, lying fast asleep in the heart of a lily; his face, though smeared with yellow pollen, still retained its noble expression. He was snoring in a most majestic and regular manner. I stood for a moment, quite rooted to the spot by the glorious spectacle. This then, I thought, is a future husband of our queen! I at last approached him, foolishly curious to examine the details of his figure, and gently touched him, when, yawning, he said—
“What does your Majesty want now?”
Then looking at me, he perceived his mistake, and added smiling—
“I am not in your way, my child, so proceed with your work, and permit me to rest in peace.”
There must have been a subtle odour in this flower which stole into my head, for I instantly forgot my work, and remained looking at him dreamily. What are we? I thought. Only miserable workers, makers of honey, moulders of wax, and neuter nurses to the children of those magnificent idlers who spend their days in sleeping in the heart of flowers, and dreaming that they hear the silvery tones of the queen’s voice calling them. I own myself ashamed of my humble, laborious calling. How could he love such a simple drudge? Were I even a Wasp, scouring lanes and hedgerows, and annoying wayfarers—careless, coquettish, unkind—always armed, offensive and useless; perhaps then he might love me. Is not fear the beginning of love? Hence is it not a means of seduction? Such thoughts, and a thousand others, were buzzing in my brain; still my admiration only became all the more intense, and I exclaimed, in spite of myself—
“O Prince, most handsome Prince, you are exceedingly beautiful!”
“All right,” replied the Prince, “I know it; my position requires it. Pray do not disturb my repose; go away, like a good fellow.”
This strange language to a neuter disturbed me not a little. He evidently did not even know my sex, far less my love for him. That which charmed me most was—I scarce dare write it—his glorious idleness, the helplessness of his fine body, and insolent coolness of his fine language. I scorned and yet loved him. I knew he was accustomed to snore daily when in this perfumed spot; I therefore got through with my work quickly, and made the flower my resort, after dressing the little ones confided to my care, and nearly choking them with hasty meals, so that I might go and prepare his place, and sweep away with my wings any yellow powder that would soil his coat. If a few drops of water had gathered in the corolla, I pierced it with my stings and left, so that my master might repose there without fear of rheumatism.
He was none the more thankful; his requirements only increased and kept pace with my love and care for him. He would smile, blissfully stretching himself, and request me to mount guard outside the flower, so that no common insect might trouble his dreams. It tried my temper, yet I watched. One day I saw him coming; he was very pale, but his walk was steadier than usual.
“What is the matter, Prince?” I inquired anxiously.
“Go away, little one. I have need of air, and the sun will not mind seeing me face to face to-day.”
I trembled for the misfortune that seemed to have overtaken him.
“To-morrow! to-morrow!!” he cried, making gestures which denoted the trouble of his mind. “To-morrow I shall be the queen’s husband!”
A mist obscured my eyes; deep resentment filled my heart. I was mad with jealousy.
“From to-day till to-morrow many things may happen!” I exclaimed.
“Silence! how dare you in my presence proclaim your seditions?”
“No,” I said, “you shall never wear the crown!” I flew at him, and profiting by a momentary turn of his head, pierced him to the heart with my sting. Hardly had he breathed his last, when I burst into remorseful tears.
I returned to the hive to find everything in the greatest disorder. The entire community, a prey to the deepest agitation, were jostling and knocking each other about.
“What has happened?” I inquired of the first Bee I met.
“What happened?” he replied. “Why, one of the Drones is missing.
“How is that known?” I continued with much fear.
“At the evening call there were only five hundred and ninety-nine Drones present. The queen has had a nervous attack, and one is lost in conjecture as to what will be the result.”
“A dreadful affair!” I replied, and hastened to mingle with the crowd.
The queen was inconsolable, and so was I myself, for the space of two whole days.