A King Bee

Bees on a honeycomb

Insects are rarely the first thing that comes to mind when we're thinking about Polish cookery. This is despite the fact that bees have played a crucial role in traditional Polish (an not only) cuisine for centuries. In the oldest known description of Poland at the dawn of its history, written by the Sephardi traveler Ibrahim ibn Yaqub, we can already read that Poland was a land full of grain, meat and honey. This opinion was echoed a century and a half later by an anonymous Gaul who praised the country of the Slavs as abounding in "mellifluous forests", "milky cows", "fishy waters" and "fleecy sheep". Was this a reference to the Biblical "land flowing with milk and honey" or mockery made of the northern savages who, rather then feed on bread, wine and olive oil (like the civilized Mediterranean farmers do), make their living by hunting, gathering and herding? Hard to tell; perhaps it was a little of both. Anyway, my point is that it's difficult to imagine Polish cuisine without honey cakes and honey-flavoured gingerbread, honey-sweetened tea, mead and honey liqueurs, such as krupnik or kramambula.

But the bees' culinary role doesn't stop at their sweet secretion. Poland is one of the world's largest producers of temperate-zone fruits largely thanks to these hard-working little fluffy workers in black-and-yellow stripes that pollinate all those Polish apple, pear, cherry, plum, peach and apricot trees, not to mention berries, buckwheat, cucumbers and canola.

Fruits and vegetables pollinated primarily by bees

While looking for some information about the importance of these insects for the history of Poland, I once came across the following little story in an "encyclopedia" of sweets:

There is an old legend about a vacancy for a Polish crown prince (apparently, the lines of inheritance for heirs were empty), and someone named Michael Wiscionsky was the chosen candidate to fill the vacancy. Why? Because a swarm of bees settled on him during the selection process (history also suggests he was not an outstanding leader nor was he remembered for much of anything but the bee story). The bees have such significance in Poland that a bee made of diamonds remains in the crown of the kings, its presence officially extolling the virtues of the bees.

— Timothy G. Roufs, Kathleen Smyth Roufs: Sweet Treats around the World: An Encyclopedia of Food and Culture, ABC-CLIO, 2014, p. 272–273

You can see at the first glance that it's one big pile of ribbish. It wasn't the heir to the throne that was (usually) elected in Poland, but a new king after the previous had died or resigned. The process was called an "election", not "selection". And whatever one might say about the actual power of Polish kings, it was still too important an office to leave the job or picking the right candidate to insects. Besides, no one in Poland has ever heard of King "Wiscionsky" or a diamond bee in any of the crowns known to have been kept in the royal treasury. Yet, someone thought the sotyr was credible enough to put in a book with the word "encyclopedia" in its title, so maybe there is a pollen grain of truth to it?

A King of Bees

Prince Vladislav Sigismund Vasa, future king of Poland (r. 1632–1648), as painted in 1624 by Peter Paul Rubens

So what's the deal with the king elected by bees? Did any of the Polish monarchs have anything to do with these critters? Well, Encyclopædia Britannica for example, in its 1911 edition, says that King Vladislav IV, the ruler under whose reign Poland reached the peak of its power (which, if you think about it, means that the realm's decline started under his watch), was known the "king of bees". How did he earn this moniker?

Wladislaus IV, who succeeded his father in 1632, was the most popular monarch who ever sat on the Polish throne. The szlachta, who had had a “King Log” in Sigismund, were determined that Wladislaus should be “a King Bee who will give us nothing but honey” – in other words they hoped to wheedle him out of even more than they had wrested from his predecessor. Wladislaus submitted to everything. He promised never to declare war or levy troops without the consent of the sejm, undertook to fill all vacancies within a certain time, and released the szlachta from the payment of income-tax, their one remaining fiscal obligation.

— William Richard Morfill: Poland, in: Encyclopædia Britannica, vol. 21, University of Cambridge, 1911, p. 913

In fact, the nobles, or szlachta, loved Vladislav so much that his election was probably the calmest and shortest in the history of Polish monarchy – nobody else bother to run against everyone's favourite candidate. But the nobles loved those kings who gave them much and required little in return. The more inactive a king, the better. It turns out that the man who first compared the nobles' darling to a lazy drone was Paweł Piasecki, Bishop of Kamieniec, who criticized his majesty in these words:

The king of Poland is in all his public functions like a king of bees, who only brings his subjects honey. […] He has no sting whatsoever, as the lives, personal freedoms and property of the nobility are are completely outside the scope of his power.

— Paweł Piasecki, cyt. w: Karol Szajnocha: Dzieła, vol. IX (Dwa lata dziejów naszych: 1646–1648, dalszy ciąg), Warszawa: Józef Ungier, 1877, p. 36–37, own translation Jest więc król polski w swoich funkcjach publicznych całkowicie jakoby królem pszczół, który tylko miody przynosi swoim poddanym. […] Żądła nie ma żadnego, gdyż życie, wolność osobista i mienie szlachty są jak najzupełniej wyjęte spod jego władzy. Original text: Jest więc król polski w swoich funkcjach publicznych całkowicie jakoby królem pszczół, który tylko miody przynosi swoim poddanym. […] Żądła nie ma żadnego, gdyż życie, wolność osobista i mienie szlachty są jak najzupełniej wyjęte spod jego władzy.

It's true that drones, or male bees, have no stings; but they don't produce honey either, so I'm not sure about the accuracy of this simile. But are we sure that Vladislav IV is the same as the king in the election-by-bees story? Not really; neither the first name nor the surname check out. And even though Poland has never had a king by the name "Wiscionsky", it did have one whose name was Michael.

Rój urojony?

I've found the same amusing anecdote about a swarm of bees which picked the right candidate for the Polish throne, in another English-language book. This one is about bees in folklore and religious beliefs, and it's better than the one cited before in that at least it cites the source. And the source turns out to be a German-language History of Beekeeping from the late 19th century. Here's what it says on the topic:

Michael Wyscionsky [sic] received the Polish royal crown from the people, because during the royal election a swarm of bees sat on him.

— Johann Georg Bessler: Geschichte der Bienenzucht: Ein Beitrag zur Kulturgeschichte, Ludwigsburg: nakładem autora, 1885, p. 63, own translation Michael Wiscionsky erhielt vom Volke die polnische Königskrone, weil sich während der Königswahl ein Bienenschwarm auf ihn setzte. Original text: Michael Wiscionsky erhielt vom Volke die polnische Königskrone, weil sich während der Königswahl ein Bienenschwarm auf ihn setzte.

The mysterious Mr. Wisionsky appears here again! But elsewhere in the same book, you can find a more detailed version of the legend. Here, the surname of the king allegedly elected by bees is no longer butchered to the point of being unrecognizable.

When Prince Michael Korybut Wisniowiecki […] rode to the election field at Wola outside Warsaw, he was accompanied, as well as by his numerous retinue, by a mighty swarm of bees all the way to the place where the primate of Poland proclaimed him king. It was seen as a propitious portent, which would later come true.

— Ibid., s. 218, own translation Als der Fürst Michael Korybut Wisniowiecki […] auf die Königswahlstätte Wola bei Warschau ritt, begleitete ihn außer seinem zahlreichen Gefolge ein mächtiger Bienenschwarm bis zum Platze, auf welchem ihn der Primas von Polen zum Könige ausrief. Es ward dies als eine glückliche Vorbedeutung angesehen, welche sich in der Folge auch bewahrheitet hat. Original text: Als der Fürst Michael Korybut Wisniowiecki […] auf die Königswahlstätte Wola bei Warschau ritt, begleitete ihn außer seinem zahlreichen Gefolge ein mächtiger Bienenschwarm bis zum Platze, auf welchem ihn der Primas von Polen zum Könige ausrief. Es ward dies als eine glückliche Vorbedeutung angesehen, welche sich in der Folge auch bewahrheitet hat.

Michael Korybut Wiśniowiecki, King of Poland (r. 1669–1673)

So, as you may have guessed by now, "Michael Wiscionsky's" actual name was Michael Korybut Wiśniowiecki (pronounced kaw-RIH-boot veesh-nyaw-VYET-skee). His election to the Polish throne 350 years ago was quite a surprise to pretty much everyone – not least Prince Michael himself. His father, Jeremi Wiśniowiecki, Palatine of Ruthenia, owned vast swaths of land in Ukraine and became a national hero by ruthlessly quelling a Cossack rebellion, but Michael had neither his father's leadership skills nor his wealth. He wasn't even considered a candidate right up to the point when he got elected.

Let's go back 20 years, to the time after King Vladislav IV's death. Both his throne and his wife went to his half-brother (and cousin), John Casimir Vasa. John Casimir never had enough patience to keep any job for long (his CV included stints as a commander of cuirassiers, a viceroy of Portugal, a Jesuit and a cardinal), but hung on relatively long on the Polish throne and under his former sister-in-law's thumb. Until finally, grieved by Marie-Louise's death and disenchanted by the nobility's opposition to his policies, he quit and moved to France, where he holed up in a Benedictine monastery until his death.

Ground plan of the royal election field. The Senate, made up of bishops, ministers, palatines and castellans, convened in a special shed (szopa), while representatives of the nobility congregated inside a rectangular ditch known as the "circle of knights" (koło rycerskie). Other nobles remained outside, grouped by palatinates (provinces).

The Polish political scene at the time was divided into two main factions, with different ideas for Poland's foreign policy and its relations with Europe's two major powers – the Habsburg and France. The pro-French faction initially supported two candidates for the throne vacated by John Casimir's abdication – Prince Louis Bourbon, better known as the Grand Condé, and Prince Philip William Wittelsbach, Count Palatine of Neuburg. The pro-Habsburg faction, on the other hand, endorsed Duke Charles Leopold of Lorraine and Bar. The Grand Condé, famous for his skills as a military commander, was perhaps best suited for the job; which is probably why he was also the first to drop out of the race. As always in Polish politics, negative selection prevailed. It was now down to two contenders, neither of whom spared expenses needed to bribe the senators (promises to the nobility came for free).

Where two are fighting, the third wins, as a Polish proverb goes. Eventually, the nobility got tired of the lengthy election and endless bickering among the senators from both factions, and decided to take up the idea advocated by Crown Underchancellor Andrzej Olszowski to elect a so-called "Piast". House Piast was Poland's first royal dynasty, but the idea was not elect someone with actual Piast roots in his family tree (if this had been the case, then Charles Leopold would have stood a better chance, thanks to Cymburgis of Masovia, a Piast duchess who was his great⁸-grandmother in two different lines; besides, the last Piast duke, George William of Brieg, was actually still alive). The idea was simply to elect a native Pole rather than any of the foreign princes. The only question was who specifically was to become this "Piast" king?

In the crown which graced the heads of Polish kings there is a diamond bee. It is supposed to remind the rulers that all virtues are to be found in a healthy and energetic* bee state.

There was one more event, which was taken as to foretell a happy* future; during the vote, a swarm of spring bees arrived from the east and settled among the nobles of Łęczyca Palatinate. And they were so gentle that when they dispersed, they bit no one and they soon flew out of sight. It was somehting to congratulate the king for, an excitement to hope for a felicitous fate.

This swarm confirms our verdict by auspicious omen,
Of good fortune foretelling a new golden era;
For when bees industrious around your name cluster,
Your King Michael, o Poland, brings honey aplenty.