have to pass through a swarm of Bees; and then...look out for stings!
There is nothing for it but to prove, once and for all, that the
danger does not exist, that mine is a most peaceable Bee, incapable of
stinging so long as she is not startled. I bring my face close to one
of the clay nests, so as almost to touch it, while it is black with
Masons at work; I let my fingers wander through the ranks, I put a few
Bees on my hand, I stand in the thick of the whirling crowd and never
a prick do I receive. I have long known their peaceful character. Time
was when I used to share the common fears, when I hesitated before
venturing into a swarm of Anthophorae or Chalicodomae; nowadays, I
have quite got over those terrors. If you do not tease the insect, the
thought of hurting you will never occur to it. At the worst, a single
specimen, prompted by curiosity rather than anger, will come and hover
in front of your face, examining you with some persistency, but
employing a buzz as her only threat. Let her be: her scrutiny is quite
friendly.

After a few demonstrations, my household were reassured: all, old and
young, moved in and out of the arch as though there were nothing
unusual about it. My Bees, far from remaining an object of dread,
became an object of diversion; every one took pleasure in watching the
progress of their ingenious work. I was careful not to divulge the
secret to strangers. If any one, coming on business, passed outside
the arch while I was standing before the hanging nests, some such
brief dialogue as the following would take place:

'So they know you; that's why they don't sting you?'

'They certainly know me.'