The Adventures of Maya the Bee - Waldemar Bonsels E-Book

Waldemar Bonsels

• Herausgeber: Phoemixx Classics Ebooks
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 187

Beschreibung

The Adventures of Maya the Bee by Waldemar BonselsA little bee is born in a large and busy hive. At that time, the hive is going through a period of unrest and there are fears that it will become subdivided into separate colonies. The little new-born, Maya, is under the care of a strict but loving teacher. One day, driven by curiosity and rebellion, Maya escapes from the safe environs of the hive and flies into the forest. Here, she encounters all sorts of interesting, exciting, frightening and funny things. The Adventures of Maya the Bee is the story of the intriguing days that follow.While she echoed the romantic natural themes of her times, her style was much more free and irregular, causing many to criticize her and editors to correct her. In the early 20th century, when poetic style had become much looser, new audiences learned to appreciate her work. Here collected are many of her most contemplative, most rebellious, and dark works, expressing her frustrations with the behavioral confines of her times, and the confines of being human and unknowing of eternity.Anthony Hope, or Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins, to give his real name, was an extremely prolific British novelist and playwright. However, he is almost always associated only with his most famous book, The Prisoner of Zenda, published in 1893. He did write one sequel entitled Rupert of Hentzau in 1894. The amazing success of the books allowed him to retire and devote himself to writing full time. Readers thoroughly enjoyed the fast-paced style of writing, the witty and irreverent young hero and the touch of tragedy at the end of both books. Hope went on to write several books of historical fiction, set in various European kingdoms, both big and small.Besides novels, Alger wrote poetry, essays and articles for various magazines. His work in rehabilitation and assistance to the underprivileged kids of New York is well-known. He left several unfinished books which were completed according to his last will and testament by Edward Stratemeyer, the creator of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew series.The story sets into motion when a young shepherd boy discovers a dragon residing in a cave near his family home and village. Having read many stories concerning dragons, the young boy has adopted an open-minded attitude toward the feared creature, and quickly befriends the dragon. Moreover, the dragon demonstrates a love for poetry which confirms his intelligence and civility, and also gives an account of his life. However, the townspeople soon learn of the dragons dwelling and things quickly escalate, as they perceive him as a danger to them all and a problem that needs to be dealt with accordingly. Although the young boy welcomes him with open arms, the townspeople, on the other hand, are not convinced of its harmless intentions and unanimously agree that the beast should be vanquished. Subsequently, St. George arrives and is appointed the task of ridding the town of its unwelcome guest. So, St. George, the dragon, and the shepherd boy are thrown into a thrilling predicament, as they must join forces and come up with a solution that will fulfill everyones wishes.This ebook include the original and unabridged content.

Leseprobe

Waldemar Bonsels

The Adventures of Maya the Bee

CHAPTER I - FIRST FLIGHT

T

he

elderly lady-bee who helped the baby-bee Maya when she awoke to life and slipped from her cell was called Cassandra and commanded great respect in the hive. Those were exciting days. A rebellion had broken out in the nation of bees, which the queen was unable to suppress.

While the experienced Cassandra wiped Maya’s large bright eyes and tried as best she could to arrange her delicate wings, the big hive hummed and buzzed like a threatening thunderstorm, and the baby-bee found it very warm and said so to her companion.

Cassandra looked about troubled, without replying. It astonished her that the child so soon found something to criticize. But really the child was right: the heat and the pushing and crowding were almost unbearable. Maya saw an endless succession of bees go by in such swarming haste that sometimes one climbed up and over another, or several rolled past together clotted in a ball.

Once the queen-bee approached. Cassandra and Maya were jostled aside. A drone, a friendly young fellow of immaculate appearance, came to their assistance. He nodded to Maya and stroked the shining hairs on his breast rather nervously with his foreleg. (The bees use their forelegs as arms and hands.)

“The crash will come,” he said to Cassandra. “The revolutionists will leave the city. A new queen has already been proclaimed.”

Cassandra scarcely noticed him. She did not even thank him for his help, and Maya felt keenly conscious that the old lady was not a bit nice to the young gentleman. The child was a little afraid to ask questions, the impressions were coming so thick and fast; they threatened to overwhelm her. The general excitement got into her blood, and she set up a fine, distinct buzzing.

“What do you mean by that?” said Cassandra. “Isn’t there noise enough as it is?”

Maya subsided at once, and looked at Cassandra questioningly.

“Come here, child, we’ll see if we cannot quiet down a bit.” Cassandra took Maya by her gleaming wings, which were still soft and new and marvelously transparent, and shoved her into an almost deserted corner beside a few honeycombs filled with honey.

Maya stood still and held on to one of the cells.

“It smells delicious here,” she observed.

Her remark seemed to fluster the old lady again.

“You must learn to wait, child,” she replied. “I have brought up several hundred young bees this spring and given them lessons for their first flight, but I haven’t come across another one that was as pert and forward as you are. You seem to be an exceptional nature.”

Maya blushed and stuck the two dainty fingers of her hand in her mouth.

“Exceptional nature—what is an exceptional nature?” she asked shyly.

“Oh, that’s not nice,” cried Cassandra, referring not to Maya’s question, which she had scarcely heeded, but to the child’s sticking her fingers in her mouth. “Now, listen. Listen very carefully to what I am going to tell you. I can devote only a short time to you. Other baby-bees have already slipped out, and the only helper I have on this floor is Turka, and Turka is dreadfully overworked and for the last few days has been complaining of a buzzing in her ears. Sit down here.”

Maya obeyed, with great brown eyes fastened on her teacher.

“The first rule that a young bee must learn,” said Cassandra, and sighed, “is that every bee, in whatever it thinks and does, must be like the other bees and must always have the good of all in mind. In our order of society, which we have held to be the right one from time immemorial and which couldn’t have been better preserved than it has been, this rule is the one fundamental basis for the well-being of the state. To-morrow you will fly out of the hive, an older bee will accompany you. At first you will be allowed to fly only short stretches and you will have to observe everything, very carefully, so that you can find your way back home again. Your companion will show you the hundred flowers and blossoms that yield the best nectar. You’ll have to learn them by heart. This is something no bee can escape doing.—Here, you may as well learn the first line right away—clover and honeysuckle. Repeat it. Say ‘clover and honeysuckle.’”

“I can’t,” said little Maya. “It’s awfully hard. I’ll see the flowers later anyway.”

Cassandra opened her old eyes wide and shook her head.

“You’ll come to a bad end,” she sighed. “I can foresee that already.”

“Am I supposed later on to gather nectar all day long?” asked Maya.

Cassandra fetched a deep sigh and gazed at the baby-bee seriously and sadly. She seemed to be thinking of her own toilsome life—toil from beginning to end, nothing but toil. Then she spoke in a changed voice, with a loving look in her eyes for the child.

“My dear little Maya, there will be other things in your life—the sunshine, lofty green trees, flowery heaths, lakes of silver, rushing, glistening waterways, the heavens blue and radiant, and perhaps even human beings, the highest and most perfect of Nature’s creations. Because of all these glories your work will become a joy. Just think—all that lies ahead of you, dear heart. You have good reason to be happy.”

“I’m so glad,” said Maya, “that’s what I want to be.”

Cassandra smiled kindly. In that instant—why, she did not know—she conceived a peculiar affection for the little bee, such as she could not recall ever having felt for any child-bee before. And that, probably, is how it came about that she told Maya more than a bee usually hears on the first day of its life. She gave her various special bits of advice, warned her against the dangers of the wicked world, and named the bees’ most dangerous enemies. At the end she spoke long of human beings, and implanted the first love for them in the child’s heart and the germ of a great longing to know them.

“Be polite and agreeable to every insect you meet,” she said in conclusion, “then you will learn more from them than I have told you to-day. But beware of the wasps and hornets. The hornets are our most formidable enemy, and the wickedest, and the wasps are a useless tribe of thieves, without home or religion. We are a stronger, more powerful nation, while they steal and murder wherever they can. You may use your sting upon insects, to defend yourself and inspire respect, but if you insert it in a warm-blooded animal, especially a human being, you will die, because it will remain sticking in the skin and will break off. So do not sting warm-blooded creatures except in dire need, and then do it without flinching or fear of death. For it is to our courage as well as our wisdom that we bees owe the universal respect and esteem in which we are held. And now good-by, Maya dear. Good luck to you. Be faithful to your people and your queen.”

The little bee nodded yes, and returned her old monitor’s kiss and embrace. She went to bed in a flutter of secret joy and excitement and could scarcely fall asleep from curiosity. For the next day she was to know the great, wide world, the sun, the sky and the flowers.

Meanwhile the bee-city had quieted down. A large part of the younger bees had now left the kingdom to found a new city; but for a long time the droning of the great swarm could be heard outside in the sunlight. It was not from arrogance or evil intent against the queen that these had quitted; it was because the population had grown to such a size that there was no longer room for all the inhabitants, and it was impossible to store a sufficient food-supply of honey to feed them all over the winter. You see, according to a government treaty of long standing, a large part of the honey gathered in summer had to be delivered up to human beings, who in return assured the welfare of the bee-state, provided for the peace and safety of the bees, and gave them shelter against the cold in winter.

“The sun has risen!”

The joyous call sounding in Maya’s ears awoke her out of sleep the next morning. She jumped up and joined a lady working-bee.

“Delighted,” said the lady cordially. “You may fly with me.”

At the gate, where there was a great pushing and crowding, they were held up by the sentinels, one of whom gave Maya the password without which no bee was admitted into the city.

“Be sure to remember it,” he said, “and good luck to you.”

Outside the city gates, a flood of sunlight assailed the little bee, a brilliance of green and gold, so rich and warm and resplendent that she had to close her eyes, not knowing what to say or do from sheer delight.

“Magnificent! It really is,” she said to her companion. “Do we fly into that?”

“Right ahead!” answered the lady-bee.

Maya raised her little head and moved her pretty new wings. Suddenly she felt the flying-board on which she had been sitting sink down, while the ground seemed to be gliding away behind, and the large green domes of the tree-tops seemed to be coming toward her.

Her eyes sparkled, her heart rejoiced.

“I am flying,” she cried. “It cannot be anything else. What I am doing must be flying. Why, it’s splendid, perfectly splendid!”

“Yes, you’re flying,” said the lady-bee, who had difficulty in keeping up with the child. “Those are linden-trees, those toward which we are flying, the lindens in our castle park. You can always tell where our city is by those lindens. But you’re flying so fast, Maya.”

“Fast?” said Maya. “How can one fly fast enough? Oh, how sweet the sunshine smells!”

“No,” replied her companion, who was rather out of breath, “it’s not the sunshine, it’s the flowers that smell.—But please, don’t go so fast, else I’ll drop behind. Besides, at this pace you won’t observe things and be able to find your way back.”

But little Maya transported by the sunshine and the joy of living, did not hear. She felt as though she were darting like an arrow through a green-shimmering sea of light, to greater and greater splendor. The bright flowers seemed to call to her, the still, sunlit distances lured her on, and the blue sky blessed her joyous young flight.

“Never again will it be as beautiful as it is to-day,” she thought. “I can’t turn back. I can’t think of anything except the sun.”

Beneath her the gay pictures kept changing, the peaceful landscape slid by slowly, in broad stretches.

“The sun must be all of gold,” thought the baby-bee.

Coming to a large garden, which seemed to rest in blossoming clouds of cherry-tree, hawthorn, and lilacs, she let herself down to earth, dead-tired, and dropped in a bed of red tulips, where she held on to one of the big flowers. With a great sigh of bliss she pressed herself against the blossom-wall and looked up to the deep blue of the sky through the gleaming edges of the flowers.

“Oh, how beautiful it is out here in the great world, a thousand times more beautiful than in the dark hive. I’ll never go back there again to carry honey or make wax. No, indeed, I’ll never do that. I want to see and know the world in bloom. I am not like the other bees, my heart is meant for pleasure and surprises, experiences and adventures. I will not be afraid of any dangers. Haven’t I got strength and courage and a sting?”

She laughed, bubbling over with delight, and took a deep draught of nectar out of the flower of the tulip.

“Grand,” she thought. “It’s glorious to be alive.”

Ah, if little Maya had had an inkling of the many dangers and hardships that lay ahead of her, she would certainly have thought twice. But never dreaming of such things, she stuck to her resolve.

Soon tiredness overcame her, and she fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun was gone, twilight lay upon the land. A bit of alarm, after all. Maya’s heart went a little faster. Hesitatingly she crept out of the flower, which was about to close up for the night, and hid herself away under a leaf high up in the top of an old tree, where she went to sleep, thinking in the utmost confidence:

“I’m not afraid. I won’t be afraid right at the very start. The sun is coming round again; that’s certain; Cassandra said so. The thing to do is to go to sleep quietly and sleep well.”

CHAPTER II - THE HOUSE OF THE ROSE

B

y

the time Maya awoke, it was full daylight. She felt a little chilly under her big green leaf, and stiff in her limbs, so that her first movements were slow and clumsy. Clinging to a vein of the leaf she let her wings quiver and vibrate, to limber them up and shake off the dust; then she smoothed her fair hair, wiped her large eyes clean, and crept, warily, down to the edge of the leaf, where she paused and looked around.

The glory and the glow of the morning sun were dazzling. Though Maya’s resting-place still lay in cool shadow, the leaves overhead shone like green gold.

“Oh, you glorious world,” thought the little bee.

Slowly, one by one, the experiences of the previous day came back to her—all the beauties she had seen and all the risks she had run. She remained firm in her resolve not to return to the hive. To be sure, when she thought of Cassandra, her heart beat fast, though it was not very likely that Cassandra would ever find her.—No, no, to her there was no joy in forever having to fly in and out of the hive, carrying honey and making wax. This was clear, once and for all. She wanted to be happy and free and enjoy life in her own way. Come what might, she would take the consequences.

Thus lightly thought Maya, the truth being that she had no real idea of the things that lay in store for her.

Afar off in the sunshine something glimmered red. A lurking impatience seized the little bee. Moreover, she felt hungry. So, courageously, with a loud joyous buzz, she swung out of her hiding-place into the clear, glistening air and the warm sunlight, and made straight for the red patch that seemed to nod and beckon. When she drew near she smelled a perfume so sweet that it almost robbed her of her senses, and she was hardly able to reach the large red flower. She let herself down on the outermost of its curved petals and clung to it tightly. At the gentle tipping of the petal a shining silver sphere almost as big as herself, came rolling toward her, transparent and gleaming in all the colors of the rainbow. Maya was dreadfully frightened, yet fascinated too by the splendor of the cool silver sphere, which rolled by her, balanced on the edge of the petal, leapt into the sunshine, and fell down in the grass. Oh, oh! The beautiful ball had shivered into a score of wee pearls. Maya uttered a little cry of terror. But the tiny round fragments made such a bright, lively glitter in the grass, and ran down the blades in such twinkling, sparkling little drops like diamonds in the lamplight, that she was reassured.

She turned towards the inside of the calix. A beetle, a little smaller than herself, with brown wing-sheaths and a black breastplate, was sitting at the entrance. He kept his place unperturbed, and looked at her seriously, though by no means unamiably. Maya bowed politely.

“Did the ball belong to you?” she asked, and receiving no reply added: “I am very sorry I threw it down.”

“Do you mean the dewdrop?” smiled the beetle, rather superior. “You needn’t worry about that. I had taken a drink already and my wife never drinks water, she has kidney trouble.—What are you doing here?”

“What is this wonderful flower?” asked Maya, not answering the beetle’s question. “Would you be good enough to tell me its name?”

Remembering Cassandra’s advice she was as polite as possible.

The beetle moved his shiny head in his dorsal plate, a thing he could do easily without the least discomfort, as his head fitted in perfectly and glided back and forth without a click.

“You seem to be only of yesterday?” he said, and laughed—not so very politely. Altogether there was something about him that struck Maya as unrefined. The bees had more culture and better manners. Yet he seemed to be a good-natured fellow, because, seeing Maya’s blush of embarrassment, he softened to her childish ignorance.

“It’s a rose,” he explained indulgently. “So now you know.—We moved in four days ago, and since we moved in, it has flourished wonderfully under our care.—Won’t you come in?”

Maya hesitated, then conquered her misgivings and took a few steps forward. He pressed aside a bright petal, Maya entered, and she and the beetle walked beside each other through the narrow chambers with their subdued light and fragrant walls.

“What a charming home!” exclaimed Maya, genuinely taken with the place. “The perfume is positively intoxicating.”

Maya’s admiration pleased the beetle.

“It takes wisdom to know where to live,” he said, and smiled good-naturedly. “‘Tell me where you live and I’ll tell you what you’re worth,’ says an old adage.—Would you like some nectar?”

“Oh,” Maya burst out, “I’d love some.”

The beetle nodded and disappeared behind one of the walls. Maya looked about. She was happy. She pressed her cheeks and little hands against the dainty red hangings and took deep breaths of the delicious perfume, in an ecstasy of delight at being permitted to stop in such a beautiful dwelling.

“It certainly is a great joy to be alive,” she thought. “And there’s no comparison between the dingy, crowded stories in which the bees live and work and this house. The very quiet here is splendid.”

Suddenly there was a loud sound of scolding behind the walls. It was the beetle growling excitedly in great anger. He seemed to be hustling and pushing someone along roughly, and Maya caught the following, in a clear, piping voice full of fright and mortification.

“Of course, because I’m alone, you dare to lay hands on me. But wait and see what you get when I bring my associates along. You are a ruffian. Very well, I am going. But remember, I called you a ruffian. You’ll never forget that.”

The stranger’s emphatic tone, so sharp and vicious, frightened Maya dreadfully. In a few moments she heard the sound of someone running out.

The beetle returned and sullenly flung down some nectar.

“An outrage,” he said. “You can’t escape those vermin anywhere. They don’t allow you a moment’s peace.”

Maya was so hungry she forgot to thank him and took a mouthful of nectar and chewed, while the beetle wiped the perspiration from his forehead and slightly loosened his upper armor so as to catch his breath.

“Who was that?” mumbled Maya, with her mouth still full.

“Please empty your mouth—finish chewing and swallowing your nectar. One can’t understand a word you say.”

Maya obeyed, but the excited owner of the house gave her no time to repeat her question.

“It was an ant,” he burst out angrily. “Do those ants think we save and store up hour after hour only for them! The idea of going right into the pantry without a how-do-you-do or a by-your-leave! It makes me furious. If I didn’t realize that the ill-mannered creatures actually didn’t know better, I wouldn’t hesitate a second to call them—thieves!”

At this he suddenly remembered his own manners.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, turning to Maya, “I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Peter, of the family of rose-beetles.”

“My name is Maya,” said the little bee shyly. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” She looked at Peter closely; he was bowing repeatedly, and spreading his feelers like two little brown fans. That pleased Maya immensely.

“You have the most fascinating feelers,” she said, “simply sweet....”

“Well, yes,” observed Peter, flattered, “people do think a lot of them. Would you like to see the other side?”

“If I may.”

The rose-beetle turned his fan-shaped feelers to one side and let a ray of sunlight glide over them.

“Great, don’t you think?” he asked.

“I shouldn’t have thought anything like them possible,” rejoined Maya. “My own feelers are very plain.”

“Well, yes,” observed Peter, “to each his own. By way of compensation you certainly have beautiful eyes, and the color of your body, the gold of your body, is not to be sneezed at.”

Maya beamed. Peter was the first person to tell her she had any good looks. Life was great. She was happy as a lark, and helped herself to some more nectar.

“An excellent quality of honey,” she remarked.

“Take some more,” said Peter, rather amazed by his little guest’s appetite. “Rose-juice of the first vintage. One has to be careful and not spoil one’s stomach. There’s some dew left, too, if you’re thirsty.”

“Thank you so much,” said Maya. “I’d like to fly now, if you will permit me.”

The rose-beetle laughed.

“Flying, always flying,” he said. “It’s in the blood of you bees. I don’t understand such a restless way of living. There’s some advantage in staying in one place, too, don’t you think?”

Peter courteously held the red curtain aside.

“I’ll go as far as our observation petal with you,” he said. “It makes an excellent place to fly from.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Maya, “I can fly from anywhere.”

“That’s where you have the advantage over me,” replied Peter. “I have some difficulty in unfolding my lower wings.” He shook her hand and held the last curtain aside for her.

“Oh, the blue sky!” rejoiced Maya. “Good-by.”

“So long,” called Peter, remaining on the top petal to see Maya rise rapidly straight up to the sky in the golden sunlight and the clear, pure air of the morning. With a sigh he returned, pensive, to his cool rose-dwelling, for though it was still early he was feeling rather warm. He sang his morning song to himself, and it hummed in the red sheen of the petals and the radiance of the spring day that slowly mounted and spread over the blossoming earth.

Gold and green are field and tree,

Warm in summer’s glow;

All is bright and fair to see

While the roses blow.

What or why the world may be