Mason-Bees

Jean-Henri Fabre

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pubOne.info present you this new edition. This volume contains all the essays on the Chalicodomae, or Mason-bees proper, which so greatly enhance the interest of the early volumes of the "Souvenirs entomologiques. " I have also included an essay on the author's Cats and one on Red Ants- the only study of Ants comprised in the "Souvenirs"- both of which bear upon the sense of direction possessed by the Bees. Those treating of the Osmiae, who are also Mason-Bees, although not usually known by that name, will be found in a separate volume, which I have called "Bramble-bees and Others" and in which I have collected all that Fabre has written on such other Wild Bees as the Megachiles, or Leaf-cutters, the Cotton-bees, the Resin-bees and the Halicti.

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• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819943907
• Langue: English

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THE MASON-BEES
By J. Henri Fabre
Translated By Alexander Teixeira De Mattos
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
This volume contains all the essays on theChalicodomae, or Mason-bees proper, which so greatly enhance theinterest of the early volumes of the “Souvenirs entomologiques. ” Ihave also included an essay on the author's Cats and one on RedAnts— the only study of Ants comprised in the “Souvenirs”— both ofwhich bear upon the sense of direction possessed by the Bees. Thosetreating of the Osmiae, who are also Mason-Bees, although notusually known by that name, will be found in a separate volume,which I have called “Bramble-bees and Others” and in which I havecollected all that Fabre has written on such other Wild Bees as theMegachiles, or Leaf-cutters, the Cotton-bees, the Resin-bees andthe Halicti.
The essays entitled “The Mason-bees, Experiments”and “Exchanging the Nests” form the last three chapters of “InsectLife”, translated by the author of “Mademoiselle Mori” andpublished by Messrs. Macmillan, who, with the greatest courtesy andkindness have given me their permission to include a newtranslation of these chapters in the present volume. They did sowithout fee or consideration of any kind, merely on myrepresentation that it would be a great pity if this uniformedition of Fabre's Works should be rendered incomplete becausecertain essays formed part of volumes of extracts previouslypublished in this country. Their generosity is almost unparalleledin my experience; and I wish to thank them publicly for it in thename of the author, of the French publishers and of the English andAmerican publishers, as well as in my own.
Some of the chapters have appeared in England in the“Daily Mail”, the “Fortnightly Review” and the “English Review”;some in America in “Good Housekeeping” and the “Youth's Companion”;others now see the light in English for the first time.
I have again to thank Miss Frances Rodwell for theinvaluable assistance which she has given me in the work oftranslation and in the less interesting and more tedious departmentof research.
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS. Chelsea, 1914.
CHAPTER 1. THE MASON-BEES.
Reaumur (Rene Antoine Ferchault de Reaumur(1683-1757), inventor of the Reaumur thermometer and author of“Memoires pour servir a l'histoire naturelle des insectes. ”—Translator's Note. ) devoted one of his papers to the story of theChalicodoma of the Walls, whom he calls the Mason-bee. I propose togo on with the story, to complete it and especially to consider itfrom a point of view wholly neglected by that eminent observer.And, first of all, I am tempted to tell how I made this Bee'sacquaintance.
It was when I first began to teach, about 1843. Ihad left the normal school at Vaucluse some months before, with mydiploma and all the simple enthusiasm of my eighteen years, and hadbeen sent to Carpentras, there to manage the primary schoolattached to the college. It was a strange school, upon my word,notwithstanding its pompous title of 'upper'; a sort of huge cellaroozing with the perpetual damp engendered by a well backing on itin the street outside. For light there was the open door, when theweather permitted, and a narrow prison-window, with iron bars andlozenge panes set in lead. By way of benches there was a plankfastened to the wall all round the room, while in the middle was achair bereft of its straw, a black-board and a stick of chalk.
Morning and evening, at the sound of the bell, therecame rushing in some fifty young imps who, having shown themselveshopeless dunces with their Cornelius Nepos, had been relegated, inthe phrase of the day, to 'a few good years of French. ' Those whohad found mensa too much for them came to me to get a smattering ofgrammar. Children and strapping lads were there, mixed up together,at very different educational stages, but all incorrigibly agreedto play tricks upon the master, the boy master who was no olderthan some of them, or even younger.
To the little ones I gave their first lessons inreading; the intermediate ones I showed how they should hold theirpen to write a few lines of dictation on their knees; to the bigones I revealed the secrets of fractions and even the mysteries ofEuclid. And to keep this restless crowd in order, to give each mindwork in accordance with its strength, to keep attention aroused andlastly to expel dullness from the gloomy room, whose walls drippedmelancholy even more than dampness, my one resource was my tongue,my one weapon my stick of chalk.
For that matter, there was the same contempt in theother classes for all that was not Latin or Greek. One instancewill be enough to show how things then stood with the teaching ofphysics, the science which occupies so large a place to-day. Theprincipal of the college was a first-rate man, the worthy Abbe X. ,who, not caring to dispense beans and bacon himself, had left thecommissariat-department to a relative and had undertaken to teachthe boys physics.
Let us attend one of his lessons. The subject is thebarometer. The establishment happens to possess one, an oldapparatus, covered with dust, hanging on the wall beyond the reachof profane hands and bearing on its face, in large letters, thewords stormy, rain, fair.
'The barometer, ' says the good abbe, addressing hispupils, whom, in patriarchal fashion, he calls by their Christiannames, 'the barometer tells us if the weather will be good or bad.You see the words written on the face— stormy, rain— do you see,Bastien? '
'Yes, I see, ' says Bastien, the most mischievous ofthe lot.
He has been looking through his book and knows moreabout the barometer than his teacher does.
'It consists, ' the abbe continues, 'of a bent glasstube filled with mercury, which rises and falls according to theweather. The shorter leg of this tube is open; the other. . . theother. . . well, we'll see. Here, Bastien, you're the tallest, getup on the chair and just feel with your finger if the long leg isopen or closed. I can't remember for certain. '
Bastien climbs on the chair, stands as high as hecan on tip-toe and fumbles with his finger at the top of the longcolumn. Then, with a discreet smile spreading under the silky hairsof his dawning moustache:
'Yes, ' he says, 'that's it. The long leg is open atthe top. There, I can feel the hole. '
And Bastien, to confirm his mendacious statement,keeps wriggling his forefinger at the top of the tube, while hisfellow-conspirators suppress their enjoyment as best they can.
'That will do, ' says the unconscious abbe. 'You canget down, Bastien. Take a note of it, boys: the longer leg of thebarometer is open; take a note of it. It's a thing you mightforget; I had forgotten it myself. '
Thus was physics taught. Things improved, however: amaster came and came to stay, one who knew that the long leg of thebarometer is closed. I myself secured tables on which my pupilswere able to write instead of scribbling on their knees; and, as myclass was daily increasing in numbers, it ended by being dividedinto two. As soon as I had an assistant to look after the youngerboys, things assumed a different aspect.
Among the subjects taught, one in particularappealed to both masters and pupils. This was open-air geometry,practical surveying. The college had none of the necessary outfit;but, with my fat pay— seven hundred francs a year, if you please! —I could not hesitate over the expense. A surveyor's chain andstakes, arrows, level, square and compass were bought with mymoney. A microscopic graphometer, not much larger than the palm ofone's hand and costing perhaps five francs, was provided by theestablishment. There was no tripod to it; and I had one made. Inshort, my equipment was complete.
And so, when May came, once every week we left thegloomy school-room for the fields. It was a regular holiday. Theboys disputed for the honour of carrying the stakes, divided intobundles of three; and more than one shoulder, as we walked throughthe town, felt the reflected glory of those erudite rods. I myself—why conceal the fact? — was not without a certain satisfaction as Ipiously carried that most delicate and precious apparatus, thehistoric five-franc graphometer. The scene of operations was anuntilled, flinty plain, a harmas, as we call it in the district.(Cf. “The Life of the Fly”, by J. Henri Fabre, translated byAlexander Teixeira de Mattos: chapter 1. — Translator's Note. )Here, no curtain of green hedges or shrubs prevented me fromkeeping an eye upon my staff; here— an indispensable condition— Ihad not the irresistible temptation of the unripe apricots to fearfor my scholars. The plain stretched far and wide, covered withnothing but flowering thyme and rounded pebbles. There was amplescope for every imaginable polygon; trapezes and triangles could becombined in all sorts of ways. The inaccessible distances had ampleelbow-room; and there was even an old ruin, once a pigeon-house,that lent its perpendicular to the graphometer's performances.
Well, from the very first day, my attention wasattracted by something suspicious. If I sent one of the boys toplant a stake, I would see him stop frequently on his way, benddown, stand up again, look about and stoop once more, neglectinghis straight line and his signals. Another, who was told to pick upthe arrows, would forget the iron pin and take up a pebble instead;and a third deaf to the measurements of angles, would crumble aclod of earth between his fingers. Most of them were caught lickinga bit of straw. The polygon came to a full stop, the diagonalssuffered. What could the mystery be?
I enquired; and everything was explained. A bornsearcher and observer, the scholar had long known what the masterhad not yet heard of, namely, that there was a big black Bee whomade clay nests on the pebbles in the harmas. These nests containedhoney; and my surveyors used to open them and empty the cells witha straw. The honey, although rather strong-flavoured, was mostacceptable. I acquired a tast