Part 4 (2/2)
”There is much about it I don't want to learn,” muttered Nuova.
”There is much you must learn,” replied Saggia sternly, but kindly. ”And some of it you must learn now. When I say you cannot love, I mean exactly that; not that you ought not or must not, because other bees do not, but simply that you cannot. Bee loving is not just liking and sighing and laughing and dancing and crying, and being always happy and unhappy at once, but it is becoming the mother of babies, many babies, and that only Princesses can become. And when they are the mothers of babies, they are Queens. In bee land to be a mother is to be a Queen, and to be a Queen is only to be a mother.”
Nuova was silent. She felt compelled to believe Saggia, who surely knew about the life of bees if any one did, and who had always spoken truthfully to her. And yet she had a feeling within her that seemed some way to contradict Saggia's knowledge.
”Well, then, Saggia,” she said slowly, ”I haven't loved, but I have wished to love.” And she added in a whisper, ”I want to love!”
”You cannot love,” repeated Saggia firmly. ”Only Princesses can love. You should not think of it any more.”
Nuova looked up into the sky. And when she spoke it was as if she were speaking in a dream. ”I want to love and I cannot love! Only a Princess can love. And I am not a Princess. What can I do? Clean floors?” She turned to Saggia and smiled sadly. ”No, I cannot clean floors, either,” she said softly. ”I am an unfortunate sort of bee, Saggia, a worthless sort. A new bee, but not new enough to love, and too new to clean floors. Just a bee to lie under the heliotrope bush.”
Just then Beffa, who had come hopping and gently humming up to them unperceived by either, and who had overheard Nuova's last words, began to sing: ”A heliotrope or a rose-bush, A pale-blue flower or pink, But a dead bee sees no colors Nor smells sweet smells, I think. An old world for old bees, A new world for the new, And, ah, who knows the real truth? The untrue may be true.”
Nuova was delighted, in her sadness, to see Beffa again. ”Beffa, you dear, funny Beffa!” she cried. ”But how did you get out here in the garden?”
”He couldn't come, And so he came. Can or cannot, All's a name,”
sang Beffa in reply, hopping about more vigorously than ever.
As Beffa finished, Saggia saw some of the other bees looking scowlingly toward them. She touched Nuova with an antenna.
”Nuova,” she said in a low voice, ”we must get to work. The other bees are noticing us. We are idling. We must go to work. Beffa can sit here in the suns.h.i.+ne and watch us.” She moved off toward a flower.
Nuova looked after her a moment, and then she turned to Beffa.
”Good old Saggia,” she said. ”She is an example of industry, isn't she? But I don't like her to work just because others are noticing us. That makes me want not to work.” She stood loitering by him.
Beffa deliberately stretched himself, with a yawn, and settling down comfortably near a dandelion, he hummed, as if half-asleep already: ”Some work because others talk; Some talk because others work; The wisest bee keeps wisest way, He--goes--to--sleep!”
And as he finished he closed his eyes.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Beffa settled down comfortably]
Nuova saw through Beffa's transparent means of sending her off to work, and was as much amused as vexed. ”Oh,” she said, ”I much prefer working to talking with bees whose wisdom might put me to sleep, too. Good-bye.” She made a mocking curtsy and went off slowly to a small group of flowers which was hidden by a large bush from the rest of the bees.
As soon as she had started, Beffa opened one eye to spy on her, and as she disappeared behind the bush he slowly straightened up, very much awake and evidently strongly possessed by some idea. He let his eyes roam over all of the garden he could see, and he even scanned the air in all directions. Apparently not finding what he sought, he remained quiet, but alert, on the flat dandelion leaf. The bees at the flowers worked industriously. The garden was fragrant and quiet in the sun.
CHAPTER XI.
Hero finds Nuova in the Garden.
Saggia had joined a group of foragers at work, among whom were Uno and Tre. These two bees at first moved away a little as Saggia came over, but in their foraging work they gradually came close to her again. Pretty soon Uno, after glancing toward Beffa sitting quietly by the dandelion, spoke to Saggia.
”The garden is not a place for jesting,” she said sharply; ”nor for listening to jesting. Beffa is not a good example for bees who work.” As she said this she looked significantly at Saggia, and several of the other bees, overhearing her, smiled maliciously.
Saggia said nothing at first, but busied herself at her flowers. As she changed, however, from one flower to another one near by, she said quietly: ”Beffa works harder than most of us.”
”Do you call jesting work?” asked Tre indignantly.
”I call Beffa's work hard work--for Beffa; and useful work,” Saggia replied.
”What other hive has a jester, a bee that does no work, that just hops and sings?” demanded Uno angrily.
”We are more fortunate than other hives,” said Saggia evenly. ”We have a bee who has time to think, and a clever tongue to say what he thinks.”
No one spoke for a moment, then Tre said mechanically, as if repeating by rote: ”Bees ought not to think; and if they do they ought to keep their thoughts to themselves.” Then she added maliciously: ”I think I learned that from you, Saggia.”
The other bees turned and smiled.
”One lives and learns,” said Saggia, a little confused.
”Oh, worse yet!” exclaimed Uno. ”'Bees do not learn: they know.' That also is from Saggia,” she said, turning to the other bees.
They all smiled again enjoying Saggia's discomfiture.
”Well,” said Saggia desperately, ”bees do know most things, but--not--everything.”
Just then Beffa came hopping toward them hurriedly. He was singing loudly, too, and was evidently much excited about something. As he reached the group of foraging bees he did not stop, but kept hopping right on by them singing loudly as he pa.s.sed: ”Hoptoad squats beneath the flower; Waits that pleasant fateful hour When honey-bee on food intent Comes within his leafy tent; Open! Shut! Poor bee, good-bye; An ugly, horrid way to die!”
As the bees heard this, they all became much frightened and excited, skipping about and peering in all directions.
”The Toad!” they cried. ”Where? There! I don't see him! Where, Beffa? Beffa, where?”
Beffa's movements plainly indicated the direction of danger to be toward where he had come from, and the way of safety correspondingly in the direction of his hopping. All the bees, therefore, with much buzzing and jumping about, moved along with the hopping and singing Beffa. Only Saggia seemed a little slow to take alarm or to follow him closely. She watched him curiously, and kept turning to look in the direction from which he had come. She remembered that Nuova was back there somewhere, and she could not believe that Beffa would leave her in danger in order to warn ever so many other bees. Saggia knew well poor Beffa's hopeless love for Nuova.
As a matter of fact, Beffa had seen not a toad, but something else, which, under the circ.u.mstances of bee life and tradition, was much more extraordinary, and he had come hopping over to lead off the other bees that they might not also see it.
What he had seen was something that his keen wits had told him all along he might see: in fact, he had been looking for it all the time since he had been in the garden; it was something that made him happy and unhappy at the same time. It was something that would make Nuova the happiest bee in the world, for a little while at least, though it might mean something very dreadful to her in the end. And what could make Nuova happy made him happy--even though her happiness should come from seeing somebody else who would almost make her forget that Beffa ever lived. What Beffa had seen was Hero flying slowly down into the garden near where Nuova was. It was certain that they would see each other in a moment.
In fact, Nuova, turning away from the flower which she had been slowly and listlessly rifling of nectar, saw Hero just a moment after he alighted. Her heart gave a great jump, and her first impulse was to slip away before he could see her; but when she saw how dejected and sad he seemed, she felt a great pity for him and wanted to comfort him. Just then he lifted his eyes and saw her. He started, then controlled himself and came to her. ”Nuova,” he said quietly but earnestly; ”Nuova, I am glad you are here.”
Nuova could hardly speak. She was so tense with excitement, with wonder, with happiness that they were together again. But what had happened? How could this be?
”You did not win?” she stammered. ”You are not dead?” She stared at him with painful intentness.
”I did not go on,” said Hero slowly and somberly.
Nuova did not understand. ”An accident?” she cried. ”You could not fly? Your wings were not--” she stopped, alarmed and almost in tears at her thought. ”Surely I did not hurt them when I--I--pulled them?”
Hero did not understand clearly what she meant. In fact, he was too intent on the overwhelming fact of what he had just done, of the absolute break he had just made with bee tradition, to think, for the moment, of anything else.
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