These little scenes afford us a glimpse of certain details of the highest interest in the habits of the Zebra Halictus. The mother who builds her nest in the spring no longer leaves her home, once her works are finished. Shut up at the bottom of the burrow, busied with the thousand cares of housekeeping, or else drowsing, she waits for her daughters to come out. When, in the summer heats, the life of the village recommences, having nought to do outside as a harvester, she stands sentry at the entrance to the hall, so as to let none in save the workers of the home, her own daughters. She wards off evilly-disposed visitors. None can enter without the door-keeper's consent.
There is nothing to tell us that the watcher ever deserts her post.
Not once do I see her leave her house to go and seek some refreshment from the flowers. Her age and her sedentary occupation, which involves no great fatigue, perhaps relieve her of the need of nourishment. Perhaps, also, the young ones returning from their plundering may from time to time disgorge a drop of the contents of their crops for her benefit. Fed or unfed, the old one no longer goes out.
But what she does need is the joys of an active family. Many are deprived of these. The Gnat's burglary has destroyed the busy household. The sorely-tried Bees abandon the deserted burrow. It is they who, ragged and careworn, wander through the village. When they move, their flight is only a short one; more often they remain motionless. It is they who, soured in their tempers, attack their fellows and seek to dislodge them. They grow rarer and more languid from day to day; then they disappear for good. What has become of them? The little Grey Lizard had his eye on them: they are easily snapped up.
Those settled in their own demesne, those who guard the honey-factory wherein their daughters, the heiresses of the maternal establishment, are at work, display wonderful vigilance. The more I see of them, the more I admire them. In the cool hours of the early morning, when the pollen-flour is not sufficiently ripened by the sun and while the harvesters are still indoors, I see them at their posts, at the top of the gallery. Here, motionless, their heads flush with the earth, they bar the door to all invaders. If I look at them closely, they retreat a little and, in the shadow, await the indiscreet observer's departure.
I return when the harvesting is in full swing, between eight o'clock and twelve. There is now, as the Halicti go in or out, a succession of prompt withdrawals to open the door and of ascents to close it.
The portress is in the full exercise of her functions.
In the afternoon, the heat is too great and the workers do not go to the fields. Retiring to the bottom of the house, they varnish the new cells, they make the round loaf that is to receive the egg. The grandmother is still upstairs, stopping the door with her bald head.
For her, there is no siesta during the stifling hours: the safety of the household requires her to forgo it.
I come back again at nightfall, or even later. By the light of a lantern, I again behold the overseer, as zealous and assiduous as in the day-time. The others are resting, but not she, for fear, apparently, of nocturnal dangers known to herself alone. Does she nevertheless end by descending to the quiet of the floor below? It seems probable, so essential must rest be, after the fatigue of such a vigil!
It is evident that, guarded in this manner, the burrow is exempt from calamities similar to those which, too often, depopulate it in May.
Let the Gnat come now, if she dare, to steal the Halictus' loaves!
Let her lie in wait as long as she will! Neither her audacity nor her slyness will make her escape the lynx eyes of the sentinel, who will put her to flight with a threatening gesture or, if she persist, crush her with her nippers. She will not come; and we know the reason: until spring returns, she is underground in the pupa state.
But, in her absence, there is no lack, among the Fly rabble, of other batteners on the toil of their fellow insects. Whatever the job, whatever the plunder, you will find parasites there. And yet, for all my daily visits, I never catch one of these in the neighbourhood of the summer burrows. How cleverly the rascals ply their trade! How well aware are they of the guard who keeps watch at the Halictus'
door! There is no foul deed possible nowadays; and the result is that no Fly puts in an appearance and the tribulations of last spring are not repeated.
The grandmother who, dispensed by age from maternal bothers, mounts guard at the entrance of the home and watches over the safety of the family, tells us that in the genesis of the instincts sudden births occur; she shows us the existence of a spontaneous aptitude which nothing, either in her own past conduct or in the actions of her daughters, could have led us to suspect. Timorous in her prime, in the month of May, when she lived alone in the burrow of her making, she has become gifted, in her decline, with a superb contempt of danger and dares in her impotence what she never dared do in her strength.
Formerly, when her tyrant, the Gnat, entered the house in her presence, or, more often, stood face to face with her at the entrance, the silly Bee did not stir, did not even threaten the red-eyed bandit, the dwarf whose doom she could so easily have sealed.
Was it terror on her part? No, for she attended to her duties with her usual punctiliousness; no, for the strong do not allow themselves to be thus paralysed by the weak. It was ignorance of the danger, it was sheer fecklessness.
And behold, to-day, the ignoramus of three months ago knows the peril, knows it well, without serving any apprenticeship. Every stranger who appears is kept at a distance, without distinction of size or race. If the threatening gesture be not enough, the keeper sallies forth and flings herself upon the persistent one. Cowardice has developed into courage.
