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}}</ref> This opinion was echoed a&nbsp;century and a&nbsp;half later by an anonymous Gaulish monk who praised the country of the Slavs as abounding in "``milky cows", "``fishy waters", "``wooly sheep" and "``honey-flowing forests".<ref>{{Cyt

}}</ref> Was this a&nbsp;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 did), made their living by hunting, gathering and herding? Hard to tell; perhaps it was a&nbsp;little bit 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 ''krambambula''.

While doing some research about the importance of these insects in the history of Poland, I came across the following little story in an "``encyclopedia" of sweets:

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

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 Vladislaus 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 as the "``king of bees". So how did he earn this moniker?

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 similë. But are we sure that Vladislaus IV was the same as the king in the election-by-bees story? Not really; neither the surname nor the first name check out. And even though Poland has never had a&nbsp;king by the name "``Wiscionsky", it did have one whose first name was Michael.

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

[[File:PL Gloger-Encyklopedja staropolska ilustrowana T.2 133-1.jpg|thumb|upright|Ground plan of the royal election field. The Senate, made up of bishops, ministers, palatines and castellans, convened in a special shed (''szopa''), while elected 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).]]

Where two are fighting, the third wins, as a&nbsp;Polish proverb goes. Eventually, the nobility got tired of the endless bickering among the senators and decided to take up the idea advocated by Crown Underchancellor Andrzej Olszowski to elect a&nbsp;so-called "``Piast". House Piast had been Poland’s first royal dynasty, back when the throne was still hereditary and not elective, but the idea was not to elect someone with actual Piast roots in his family tree (if this had been the case, then Charles Leopold would have stood a&nbsp;better chance, thanks to Cymburgis of Masovia, a&nbsp;Piast duchess who was his great<sup>8</sup>-grandmother in two different lines; besides, the last actual Piast, George William of Brieg, was still alive). The idea was simply to elect a&nbsp;native Pole rather than any of the foreign princes. The only question was, who specifically was to become this "``Piast" king?

It’s curious that the Palatine of Podolia purportedly made the association between the bees and "``Piast's own apiary", expecting his listeners to recognize the reference. Today, most Poles would be more likely to identify Piast, the legendary progenitor of Poland’s native royal dynasty, as a&nbsp;wheelwright, rather than an apiarist. But let’s see what old chronicles have to say about Piast’s actual profession.

"``Piast the Wheelwright" would eventually prevail over "``Piast the Honey Hunter" in popular imagination, but during the royal election of 1669, the reference to Piast’s apiary wouldn’t have risen an eyebrow (even though an apiary is not the same thing as a&nbsp;wild-bee nest). A&nbsp;misconception that is still quite alive, though, is that ancient Slavs drank mead, or honey wine, on an everyday basis. In fact, mead has always been a&nbsp;luxury beverage, available only to the affluent and reserved for special occasions. It was beer, as in the original Piast story, that was the everyday thirst-quencher of the common folk.

Who knows, maybe if Condé had become king of Poland, then Vatel would have lived longer? Maybe he would have made his career at the Polish royal court and the invention he is traditionally credited for – sweetened whipped cream – would have been known as ''crème Varsovie'' rather than ''crème Chantilly''? Perhaps he would have met Stanisław Czerniecki (pronounced: {{pron|stah|nee|sWahf}} {{pron|cheR|nyets|kee}}), whom historian Karol Estreicher has dubbed "``the Polish Vatel"? Czerniecki, author of the first cookbook printed in Polish, had served Prince Michael Wiśniowiecki for some time, before getting a&nbsp;job as the head chef to the Princes Lubomirski. The political rivalry between the Grand Condé and Prince Michael is one thing, but imagine how much more fascinating a&nbsp;culinary duel between Vatel and Czerniecki would have been!

History took a&nbsp;different course, though. It was Michael who got the job as king of Poland, but not for long. He happened to be one of those Polish monarchs who loved to eat and drink well (and in copious amounts). Kochowski wrote that Michael was "``unrestrained in his consumption, {{...}} he drunk much more beer than wine, with salt, sugar and ginger."<ref>{{Cyt

}}, own translation</ref> It was even said that when he got one thousand "``Chinese apples" (oranges) as a&nbsp;gift from the city of Danzig (Gdańsk), he sampled one, he liked it, so he had another one, then another, because why not, and suddenly it turned out that he had devoured the whole thousand by himself.<ref>{{Cyt

We’ve still got the diamond-bee puzzle to figure out. You know, the diamond bee said to have decorated the crown of Polish kings "``to remind them that all virtues are to be found in the bee-state."<ref>Ransome, ''op. cit.'', p. 174</ref> Somehow, this peculiar ornament isn’t mentioned by any expert on Polish crown jewels.<ref>{{Cyt

But are there any Polish sources that mention the insect-shaped crown element? Not many, but here’s an excerpt from an article sent in from an anonymous "``apiarist from the Eastern Borderlands" to the interwar magazine ''The Polish Beekeeper''. It mentions both Piast the Wheelwright-''cum''-Beekeeper and the diamond bee:

While looking for any other references to a&nbsp;diamond bee, I found something slightly different – a&nbsp;bee on the diamond dress of Our Lady of Częstochowa (pronounced: {{pron|chen|staw|Haw|vah}}). Also known as the Black Madonna, Our Lady of Częstochowa is Poland’s most sacred Catholic icon. For centuries it has been decorated with so-called "``dresses", or specially-cut metal screens covered with bejeweled cloth. The two oldest of such screens that have been preserved to our times are known as the ruby and the diamond dresses. The jewels that are sewn onto them are votive offerings gathered over the centuries at the Pauline monastery of Częstochowa, where the painting is kept. Many of these jewels are actually quite secular personal accessories that had been worn by kings, queens and aristocrats before they donated them to the Black Madonna. They come in many different shapes and sizes, including a&nbsp;few butterflies and one honey bee.

If you’d like to give it a&nbsp;closer look, then you’ve got a&nbsp;unique occasion to do so only until 4 August. For the first time in history, the diamond dress has left the confines of the monastery and you can admire it at the [https://arch.zamek-krolewski.pl/zamek-krolewski.pl/en/your-visit/archives/Jewels.html "``To Rule And To Dazzle"] exhibition at the Royal Castle of Warsaw.