CHAP. XII. OBSERVATIONS ON THOSE INSECTS THAT LIVE IN REPUBLICS.

Although we have yet much to learn respecting the manners and habits of insects; we may still, I think, from the observations which have been brought together, attempt their distribution according to the developement of their instinct, so as to be enabled to rectify mistakes, when subsequent discoveries shall have adduced fresh information.

This classification does not exactly answer to the chain in which Bonnet has ranged all living beings, by tracing resemblances between their organization: still less does it correspond with those systematic divisions, established by distinguished naturalists; it, however, serves to show us the true plan of nature, in proving, that she is not always subject to that material order which strikes our senses; that she has varied ad infinitum her combinations; and that there are general rules founded upon moral characters, divisions and subdivisions in the intellectual, as well as in the physical part of creation, which, I hope, one day, fully to demonstrate. I shall detach from this plan only a few opinions, having reference to those insects which live in society; they form a separate class, of which we have not yet well ascertained the nature and the relation. Pre-eminence, if such exists between these republics, cannot be determined, until we have compared with much care and attention, the spirit, labours, character, and laws of each.

To assign as nearly as possible, the place they occupy in the class of insects, let us set aside those animals, whose size, strength, usefulness, and even ferocity, impose upon our judgment; let us suppose for a moment, that man himself did not exist, and let us see what part these different colonies would then act upon this globe, (whose members are associated for one common interest,) in the midst of that crowd of isolated beings, which display only a limited instinct, having habitudes rather than manners, subjected to rules rather than laws, and unconscious of either country or family.

In the first rank would appear those societies of industrious flies, which are established in hollow trees, and in the crevices of our rocks: they feed upon the nectar of flowers, and secrete honey and wax; they never employ their arms but to defend their country, the treasures they have accumulated, and the young they are rearing; the outside of their habitation presents nothing grand or imposing, but the interior is formed upon a regular plan, uniting elegant proportions with the most rigid œconomy.

That family whose colouring is more brilliant, lives by carnage and rapine: its empire extends over every insect it can pierce with its sting, and every kind of fruit that its teeth enable it to penetrate; its dwelling, like to a balloon, is sometimes suspended in the air, from the branches of a tree; at another time, resembles a fortress, of which nothing indicates the existence without, hidden in the earth, and tenanted by a highly dreaded race.

At length come those colonies which cover the surface of the earth, and whose republics are so numerous, that the globe would not suffice them, had not Nature set just limits to their production. A multitude of insects become their prey. The small size of the individuals is compensated by their number; but force is not their principal reliance. Neither the flowers nor fruits furnish them with their ordinary food; this is the object of a taste more refined. The colonies of which we are now speaking, go and collect it from certain pacific beings, which live in societies, and bestow upon them, unconstrained, the juices they extract from plants. These colonies possess the art of making themselves understood, of assembling these insects in their habitation, and of defending them against the attacks of their enemies.

Those insects which live in republics, yield doubtless to many others in size, strength, and swiftness. Nature, in a lower degree, produces its monsters: the spider, dung-chafer, rove-beetle, scorpion, like so many ferocious beasts, retired to their covert, await the passage of flies, worms, butterflies, caterpillars, which they attack and destroy, experiencing no kind of resistance. Our astonishment is again excited at the gigantic proportions of those dung and stag-beetles, whose peaceable dispositions strongly contrast with the arms with which they are provided. Here the diversity of the production arrests our attention; this insect lives in corrupted matter, that insect dwells on the body of another animal; these have but an ephemeral existence, those pass their life in idleness, flitting by thousands from flower to flower, without being conscious either of an habitation or a single relation. Shall we compare to insects, organised in a republic, those processionary caterpillars, whose sole talent consists in their knowing how to spin, in common, a web, in which they undergo their transformation, and in their leaving behind them in their march, threads which serve to guide their companions, or those swarms of crane-flies, collected in the air, by the sole attraction of the sexes, or those myriads of ephemeræ, which have but one day, one hour, to quit the waters, congregate, and die? Or shall we place in the same rank those clouds of locusts, without laws, without police, whose assembling appears to have no other object than the devastation of the countries they traverse, and those regular societies that know how to establish a common abode, adapted to the rearing of their young, and their own safety? If these wandering insects inspire us with any interest, it cannot be by placing at their side objects, whose comparison would be disadvantageous to them; let us, therefore, return to the parallel of those, whose manners and habits announce a certain degree of civilization.

Can we sufficiently admire the skill the bee displays in the distribution of that ductile substance, with which it constructs its combs, in forming that double rank of hexagonal cells with pyramidal bottoms, (the base of which serves as a partition for three other cells,) those parallel streets, and those magazines, which it fills with provision for the winter, &c.? This is the insect which amasses real provision, inclosing it and guarding it with care.⁠[1]⁠

The wasp, by a particular art, is enabled to avail itself of the oldest and driest wood, in the formation of a substance similar to the finest pasteboard, with which it fabricates its nest: the cells which it constructs, are placed horizontally, suspended from each other: less skilful than the bee in measuring the angles of these cells, it does not form them in double rank, although the substance it employs is of much less value. It envelopes these cells in a common covering, which it can enlarge commensurate with its wants. By means of a juice or liquid, that proceeds from its mouth, it is enabled to unite and glue together the several particles of which its habitation is composed.

The nests of humble-bees present different appearances: here, we find these insects dwelling under a roof of moss; there, under a vault of wax. Their provisions are not collected to any extent, and are so exposed, that any may go and obtain refreshment when they like; but what is singular, the cells which contain their honey, have not been fabricated expressly for this purpose; the webs which they spin, in the first state of their existence, serves for this new use, and the coarse wax they elaborate, is employed in narrowing or lengthening these reservoirs, in constructing new cells for their young, and in forming an envelope which preserves the nest from humidity.

Let us now approach that hillock of straw, which we observe in the midst of the forest; under that inclined roof, a numerous republic finds an asylum against the injuries of the air. By a well-regulated police, the gates are closed during the night, and guarded through the day; several avenues lead to the bottom of this subterraneous city; it is found to contain numerous stories, both above and underneath the surface of the ground, and is so constructed that the water can never gain admittance.

Farther off, I observe a crowd of masons (ants) occupied in raising a building of immense size for insects so diminutive; they neither employ in its construction, like the bee, a valuable material which they have themselves formed, nor a light and thin substance resembling the finest pasteboard, such as that the wasp uses in the formation of its nest; its mortar is already prepared, the earth, rain-water, and the benefit of the sun, is all that is required in their masonry. The foundations of a new story are laid, walls are raised, ceilings are constructed, and their abode is arranged, with a view rather to convenience than regularity.

Here I observe, proceed from the trunk of a tree, a file of ants; they have hewn out in the solid wood vast chambers, a multitude of lodges and stories, corridors and colonnades, to which the air has free access.

On removing to another country, I observe a certain species of ant, availing itself of the down of a cotton-plant to shelter, more warmly and commodiously, the little ones confided to its care. No insect, indeed, presents such a variety in their dwellings; a particular talent seems to be displayed in the labours of each, indicating to them the nature and use of the several substances within reach.

Let us pass from their architecture to the cares they bestow upon the rising generation. What a contrast is there not afforded between the social insects, and those that lead a solitary existence; the latter are, for the most part, unacquainted with their family; they provide for their necessities, establish their dwelling, but very few will see the egg to which they give birth. This affixes its eggs around a branch; that trusts them to a fragile leaf; another abandons them to the current of the waters: some place them in the sand, like the ostrich, leaving them to be brought to perfection by the heat of the sun; others, the isolated mothers, prepare themselves (before laying) the food for the larvæ which will proceed from their eggs; some, furnished with an instrument for this purpose, deposit them in the body of a living fly, in the larvæ of other insects, or in the skin itself of the larger animals; others, by means of a double saw, lodge them in the bark of trees. These form subterraneous caverns, in which they arrange caterpillars near their offspring, who, on quitting the egg, find the food they require; others form a chamber in the earth, which they adorn with rose and poppy-leaves: they prepare for the nourishment of their young a paste, composed of honey and the pollen of plants; they deposit their eggs; their task is finished; they die.

The greater number of solitary insects, guided by a blind instinct, assure themselves of the existence of the succeeding generation, but they do not live sufficiently long to see the developement of their young; we cannot, therefore, refer their conduct to motives of affection.

Those insects which live in society are devoted to the care of their family; there reigns between them an intimate bond of union, from which result relations that cannot exist among the former. What an interesting scene is there not offered to us on viewing this hive of bees, that nest of humble-bees, those wasps, and, particularly, these ants. I see the humble-bee prepare a cell for its young, which it partly fills with the food necessary for their preservation, under a fear, perhaps, of not being able, alone, to satisfy their wants: if their provisions are exhausted, the mother nourishes them herself; she visits the flowers, and then returns to her nest, bestowing upon the larvæ which are disclosed the most assiduous attention: she enlarges their cell, and watches over their safety, until they become themselves real workers, capable of assisting her in taking care of those to whom she is about to give birth. A society is established between the mother and her young: each day the circle of her relations is extended, and the union is rendered more perfect.

Among bees, properly so called, an innumerable crowd of workers are produced from a single mother. If, however, maternal feelings and the delights of love are denied them, they do not the less evince their affection and solicitude for the young of their common mother; they nourish them, and defend them with a zeal and disinterestedness truly praiseworthy.

The ants carry still further this devotedness for their charge: they take care of and nurture them, even in the state of eggs, and give them mouth-provision in that of larvæ: when the latter are become pupæ, they procure for them an agreeable temperature, and when they are ready to undergo their transformation, these are the common parents, who extricate them from their cocoons, taking care of them until they are in a condition to fly, or discharge the duties to which they are respectively called.

In consequence of these attentions to them in their infancy, there arises a reciprocal affection between these insects. Hence the nature of the society which we observe among them. Thus what principally distinguishes them from those insects which live in solitude, is the attention they bestow upon the education of their young.

But what a prodigy is that in nature, of being able to receive advantage from sterility itself, to ensure the preservation of the species; of inspiring the labourers with unbounded affection for the offspring of another mother, and confiding to them the charge of their education. The mother, too fecund to rear, unassisted, all her young, finds in her society, a number of assistants, who take upon themselves the several labours: these are endowed with the highest degree of industry, activity, zeal, and courage: fecundity alone is denied them.

In what rests the secret of this organisation, incomplete as to sex, perfect as to industry? Admirable combination of an incomprehensible nature! It has been fully proved, that bees can, in time of need, elect a queen from among the youngest larvæ; that the education, nourishment, and size of the cell destined for her, give rise to her being endowed with amazing fecundity, devoted to a state of repose, and receiving the homages of a numerous republic. Had it, however, been reared, like the other larvæ, it would have participated in the labours and dangers which fall to the lot of the workers. Can we conceive how means so simple should produce such powerful effects?

From such an institution arise those intimate and mutual relations, those assiduities which the education of the young requires, that assemblage of labours, that love for the country, that language, &c. we so much admire in these colonies. Every where else, each female lives separately. The only relations between solitary insects are occasioned by difference of sex; but, regarding those who live in society, we observe, a family more or less numerous, more or less powerful; all the members of which, of whatever order they be, understand each other, and yield mutual assistance; living, in common, upon the provision the workers bring in. This constitution is one of the wonders of nature; thus has she been pleased to establish several kinds of republics upon the same principle.

Among bees and ants, a multitude of workers are born each year; but in these republics there are but a small number of females. Let us now attend to those astonishing circumstances with which their impregnation is accompanied.

The mystery of the fecundation of the queen bee, has, from time immemorial, excited the attention of naturalists; it has, therefore, been the subject of the most profound researches; their respective authors passing from error to error, from conjecture to conjecture, came to doubt of the queen’s having sexual intercourse with the male. It was reserved for a mind eminently endowed with all those qualities which constitute the philosopher and naturalist, that penetration, that logic, that extension of thought, so uncommon, of interrogating nature by the organ of another⁠[2]⁠, of, at length, decyphering those lines of the great book, which contain the surprising phenomenon, of which bees offer the only example.

At this period we observe a vast number of males in the hives; they quit them in a large body, and disperse. The young queen alone, without followers, leaves her abode, goes forth to be impregnated in the air, and returns to her numerous family, bringing back not only titles to the consideration of her subjects, but the indisputable proof, that the favoured male has lost his life in performing this last duty. A thousand curious circumstances attend this brilliant discovery.

Shall we at present speak of the combat of the queens; of their imprisonment; of the expulsion of the supernumeraries? Let us rather leave to the reader the pleasure of learning these astonishing truths in the original, and let us see what passes, under the same circumstances, with ants. In this instance, the males and females are distinguished from the unprolific race, by the faculty of flying. When the day of their departure arrives, they quit the nest in a crowd, accompanied by a numerous retinue of workers, who cannot follow them to any distance. They take flight, complete their junction in the midst of the swarms they form in the air, and never return to their original abode. The males in a short time perish; for they know not how to provide for their necessities; but the females are destined to extend the republics of their species; they are, therefore, under the necessity of going and establishing the foundations of them alone, and unassisted. One would be inclined to believe that the wings, with which they are provided, would be of advantage to them in their labours; but Supreme Intelligence has ordered it otherwise; for as soon as they are impregnated, they renounce that prerogative, which no longer agrees with their new condition, and tear away of their own accord, and with effect, those members which appear to us a gift from Heaven.

For what purpose has Nature required from them this sacrifice? Did she wish, in this way, to render them more sedentary? Or was it not rather in order to prevent their return to the natal ant-hill? This latter conjecture seems to me the most plausible. What would have happened did they possess the power of returning to their original family? That the ant-hills would not have been scattered, that they would have constituted but one immense habitation, which would soon have exhausted the resources of its neighbourhood. This inconvenience would have existed with bees, who do not reject their wings, had not that wisdom which regulates the universe, guarded against it, by inspiring the queens with mutual aversion and insurmountable dread of each other; so much so, that the oldest quits her abode, and leads off with her a part of her subjects, to found a new colony.

Humble-bees and wasps have not the power of re-assembling for the purpose of forming one entire colony. Nature, without depriving them of the use of their wings, guards against their abuse by dissolving every year their republics.

What admirable variety in her productions, and in her laws! What resources! With what care does she avoid repetition! It appears, that every possible combination exists at the same time. There, the republics are permanent; here, they are renewed every year. One of these nations sends off, each year, several colonies, and the numerous swarms go to tenant the woods and rocks; the other never divides; it rests entire; allowing the departure of only a few individuals, who go forth, separately, to found new societies. It was not sufficient to multiply these societies, it was still necessary to provide for their duration. These, then, are the means employed to sustain their population, from age to age. In the case of bees, one single female reigns over a numerous colony; her size, and especially her remarkable fecundity, secure her the homage of her subjects. She keeps up the population of the hive, and suffers none to dispute her authority. However, at the period when she gives birth to males, the bees, who are aware, perhaps, that she bears also the germs of females, prepare royal cells: in these she deposits her eggs; and the larvæ, when disclosed, become queens. The mother does not regard, without aversion, these individuals, who may contend with her for pre-eminence: she endeavours to destroy the objects of her anger; but the workers prevent her reaching those cells which contain their forthcoming chiefs. The queen, agitated with the fear of seeing them quit their cells, abandons the hive, accompanied by a numerous colony, leaving behind her several females destined to be her successors, who, after having disputed the empire, or induced one part of the inhabitants to desert with them, resign to one of their rivals, the sovereignty, or, at least, the right of depositing her eggs alone, in the hive which witnessed their birth.

A constitution, widely different, obtains with ants: several females equally divide the important functions of procreation; they do not evince that hatred, nor do we perceive any of that jealousy, of which we have an example in bees; they also receive, in common, the homages of the other casts. When the young females depart, for the purpose of founding new states, the inhabitants of each city, endowed with admirable prudence, retain some few to supply the place of those about to terminate their career. It is thus the population of each republic is sustained and increased.

The terms of Queens, of Subjects, of Constitution, of Republics, must not be taken according to the strict letter. The unity or plurality of females presents but a poor image of our different forms of governments: in truth, each of these orders follows the laws of its own instinct, without being conscious of any subordination; it, notwithstanding, happens, that some few possess over the rest a certain degree of influence, independent of any authority, properly so called.

The Termites, inhabitants of southern climates, also effect their union in the air, fall upon the ground, and lose, as we are informed, their wings. But who can teach us the secrets of their astonishing society? why nature has produced amongst them four sorts of individuals?—one single mother, who, when pregnant, becomes a hundred times more bulky than at first; winged males; apterous neuters, appointed to the household management, and the construction of their gigantic edifice; and others, instructed only in the arts of war. Reaumur, De Geer, Bonnet, &c. found without going any distance, subjects worthy of exciting their attention. All our riches in this department have not been yet explored. The wars of bees, already sung by a great poet,⁠[3] would furnish their historian with a rich and brilliant subject. Hitherto, we have not been enabled to compare those in which ants engage, to those of any other species of animals.

If it be true, that war is one of the consequences of social order, what shall we be induced to think, on perceiving regular armies issuing from the gates of two rival cities, and going to the rencontre upon an eminence, where battle is given, and where equal courage and carnage are displayed on each side? What shall we say of those bodies of troops, who only wait the signal of danger, to come to the assistance of the advanced guard? of those champions, which struggle in pairs? of those chains of wrestlers, who balance their strength, and seize the favourable moment to destroy the equilibrium? of those prisoners led away to the enemy’s camp, &c.? Is not this a strong image of our serious quarrels?

But how strikingly does it contrast with our manners, that the arms, courage, military skill, should, in these republics, rest with the female sex⁠[4]⁠; whilst feebleness, idleness, and exile, fall to the lot of the males. Those of bees, still worse treated, are put to death, as soon as they have fulfilled their only functions. With wasps and humble-bees, they are also destitute of arms, and show no industry; but they are not the object of the fury of the workers: the severity of the winter, as they know not, like the females, how to shelter themselves, produces, generally speaking, their death. By what art are the workers charged with the defence of the republic, enabled to reconnoitre, understand, assist, and succour each other? The subtlety of their senses, or rather that unbounded affection which exists between them teaches them to distinguish, in their contests, their companions from their enemies: a language, significant and extremely rapid, informs them of the danger of their companions, or the success of their enterprise. This language is the bond of that union, you remark in this numerous family; it is not by sounds, or visible signs, but by contact alone, that it is manifested, more particularly by the antennæ, those organs which distinguish insects from all other living beings: these serve, in those species collected in societies, the noble purpose of communicating, from one individual to another, the impressions, situation, and necessities of each: the antennal language is, without doubt, imperfect, if we compare it with our wants, but amply suffices for those of ants.

Bees also make use of signs, although they are no strangers to sounds. When the queen wishes to lead away some part of the metropolis, to found a new city, she passes from rank to rank, striking and exciting each worker she meets, to accompany her: the movement is, at length, general through the whole hive, and the swarm rush into the open air.

Should any strange animal, or insect, attempt to enter their abode, the alarm is in an instant given, and a thousand lives are ready to be sacrificed; but when their queen, as yet a prisoner, emits a shrill, piercing cry, a general stupor immediately pervades the whole of the bees, they all incline their head, and seem as if paralysed.

Wasps are also acquainted with the mode of imparting information to their companions. When a single wasp discovers a strong-hold of sugar, honey, or other article of food, it returns to its nest, and brings off, in a short time, a hundred other wasps; but we are yet ignorant, if it be by visible, or palpable signs, they are mutually informed of this discovery.

It was in the nature of things, that all those beings living in society, should have a language; but ants, who appear, in several respects, to merit the pre-eminence over other insects, extend this faculty even to the pucerons, from whom they obtain their nourishment. The art, still more surprising, of rendering them domestic, has nothing analagous in the other republics of which we have spoken: this prerogative appears to touch upon the domain of man. But the Author of all things has limited the power of these petty republics, in not permitting them to make use of other arms than those with which they are naturally provided; the inventive faculties have been denied them, notwithstanding we have witnessed a few traits, which seem to announce some species of combination. Their wants and their means have been calculated beforehand, so that their instinct is not susceptible of being brought to higher perfection.

In the number of those magnificent views of creation, which it is permitted us to observe, we perceive man, so placed in the general scale, that under the guidance of his own genius, and proud, perhaps, of his brilliant faculties, he does not see any of those minute chains by which he is surrounded. If delivered over, in some degree, to himself, he sometimes meets in his institutions, and in his arts, with the laws and proceedings nature has dictated to animals; it amounts to a certain proof of his relation with disposing Intelligence: the works of the latter, however, bear the impress of Infinite Wisdom, and the conceptions of man, the seal of imperfection. In regarding those colonies, which exist at our very feet, and where so much harmony and order prevail, I think, I perceive the Author of nature, tracing with his all-powerful hand, the laws of a republic exempt from abuse, or framing the model of those compound societies, where servitude is allied to a common interest.

The Author of nature has so willed it, that certain ants should associate in their labours other workers of an industrious species, upon whom is to devolve the office of rearing their young, and providing their subsistence; whilst they themselves, abandoned to warlike enterprise, and passing from a state of combat to one of ease, are to enjoy the industry and share the affection and attention of these strange ants. This institution, wisely combined, fulfils every desirable condition. The slaves of the Amazons, carried away in their infancy, perceiving no change in their country, attach themselves to their captors, display their usual natural activity, and, unacquainted with forced labours, and subject to no kind of oppression, have even, as we have seen, a sufficiently extensive authority in the city which has adopted them.

This great trait, in which is displayed unbounded wisdom, in calling to our mind the abuses to which a similar institution is subject, among several civilised nations, induces us to admire the mildness of those laws, by which Providence rules these colonies, of which, she has reserved to herself the entire direction; and shows us, that, in delivering man to his own guidance, she has subjected him to a great and heavy responsibility. If natural history had only served to prove this truth, it would have attained the most dignified end of which the sciences may boast—that of endeavouring to ameliorate the human species, by the examples it lays before us.