As I lifted the latch2 of the garden-gate, the sharp click brought a stooping figure erect3 in the midst of the hives; and the bee-master came down the red-tiled winding4 path to meet me. He carried a box full of some yellowish powdery substance in one hand, and a big pitcher5 of water in the other; and as usual, his shirt-sleeves were tucked up to the shoulder, baring his weather-browned arms to the morning sun.
“When do we begin the year’s bee-work?” he said, repeating my question amusedly. “Why, we began on New Year’s morning. And last year’s work was finished on Old Year’s night. If you go with the times, every day in the year has its work on a modern bee-farm, either indoors or out.”
“But it is on these first warm days of spring,” he continued, as I followed him into the thick of the hives, “that outdoor work for the bee-man starts in earnest. The bees began long ago. January was not out before the first few eggs were laid right in the centre of the brood-combs. And from now on, if only we manage properly, each bee-colony will go on increasing until, in the height of the season, every queen will be laying from two thousand to three thousand eggs a day.”
He stopped and set down his box and his pitcher.
“If we manage properly. But there’s the rub. Success in bee-keeping is all a question of numbers. The more worker-bees there are when the honey-flow begins, the greater will be the honey-harvest. The whole art of the bee-keeper consists in maintaining a steady increase in population from the first moment the queens begin to lay in January, until the end of May brings on the rush of the white clover, and every bee goes mad with work from morning to night. Of course, in countries where the climate is reasonable, and the year may be counted on to warm up steadily6 month by month, all this is fairly easy; but with topsy-turvy weather, such as we get in England, it is a vastly different matter. Just listen to the bees now! And this is only February!’”
A deep vibrating murmur7 was upon the air. It came from all sides of us; it rose from under foot, where the crocuses were blooming; it seemed to fill the blue sky above with an ocean of sweet sound. The sunlight was alive with scintillating8 points of light, like cast handfuls of diamonds, as the bees darted9 hither and thither10, or hovered11 in little joyous12 companies round every hive. They swept to and fro between us; gambolled13 about our heads; came with a sudden shrill14 menacing note and scrutinised our mouths, our ears, our eyes, or p. 26settled on our hands and faces, comfortably, and with no apparent haste to be gone. The bee-master noted15 my growing uneasiness, not to say trepidation16.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “It is only their companionableness. They won’t sting—at least, not if you give them their way. But now come and see what we are doing to help on the queens in their work.”
At different stations in the garden I had noticed some shallow wooden trays standing17 among the hives. The old bee-man led the way to one of these. Here the humming was louder and busier than ever. The tray was full of fine wood-shavings, dusted over with the yellow powder from the bee-master’s box; and scores of bees were at work in it, smothering18 themselves from head to foot, and flying off like golden millers19 to the hives.
“This is pea-flour,” explained the master, “and it takes the place of pollen20 as food for the young bees, until the spring flowers open and the natural supply is available. This forms the first step in the bee-keeper’s work of patching up the defective21 English climate. From the beginning our policy is to deceive the queens into the belief that all is prosperity and progress outside. We keep all the hives well covered up, and contract the entrances, so that a high temperature is maintained within, and the queens imagine summer is already advancing. Then they see the pea-flour coming in plentifully22, and conclude that the fields and hillsides are covered with flowers; for they never come out of the hives except at swarming-time, and must judge of the year by what they see around them. Then in a week or two we shall put the p. 27spring-feeders on, and give each hive as much syrup23 as the bees can take down; and this, again, leads the queens into the belief that the year’s food-supply has begun in earnest. The result is that the winter lethargy in the hive is soon completely overthrown24, the queens begin to lay unrestrictedly, and the whole colony is forging on towards summer strength long before there is any natural reason for it.”
We were stooping down, watching the bees at the nearest hive. A little cloud of them was hovering25 in the sunshine, heads towards the entrance, keeping up a shrill jovial26 contented27 note as they flew. Others were roving round with a vagrant28, workless air, singing a low desultory29 song as they trifled about among the crocuses, passing from gleaming white to rich purple, then to gold, and back again to white, just as the mood took them. In the hive itself there was evidently a kind of spring-cleaning well in progress. Hundreds of the bees were bringing out minute sand-coloured particles, which accumulated on the alighting-board visibly as we watched. Now and again a worker came backing out, dragging a dead bee laboriously30 after her. Instantly two or three others rushed to help in the task, and between them they tumbled the carcass over the edge of the footboard down among the grass below. Sometimes the burden was of a pure white colour, like the ghost of a bee, perfect in shape, with beady black eyes, and its colourless wings folded round it like a cerecloth. Then it seemed to be less weighty, and its carrier usually shouldered the gruesome thing, and flew away with it high up into the sunshine, and swiftly out of view.
“Those are the undertakers,” said the bee-master, ruminatively31 filling a pipe. “Their work is to carry the dead out of the hive. That last was one of the New Year’s brood, and they often die in the cell like that, especially at the beginning of the season. All that fine drift is the cell-cappings thrown down during the winter from time to time as the stores were broached32, and every warm day sees them cleaning up the hive in this way. And now watch these others—these that are coming and going straight in and out of the hive.”
I followed the pointing pipe-stem. The alighting-stage was covered with a throng33 of bees, each busily intent on some particular task. But every now and then a bee emerged from the hive with a rush, elbowed her way excitedly through the crowd, and darted straight off into the sunshine without an instant’s pause. In the same way others were returning, and as swiftly disappearing into the hive.
“Those are the water-carriers,” explained the master. “Water is a constant need in bee-life almost the whole year round. It is used to soften34 the mixture of honey and pollen with which the young grubs and newly-hatched bees are fed; and the old bees require a lot of it to dilute35 their winter stores. The river is the traditional watering-place for my bees here, and in the summer it serves very well; but in the winter hundreds are lost either through cold or drowning. And so at this time we give them a water-supply close at home.”
He took up his pitcher, and led the way to the other end of the garden. Here, on a bench, he showed me a long row of glass jars full of water, standing mouth downward, each on its separate plate of blue china. The water was oozing36 out round the edges of the jars, and scores of the bees were drinking at it side by side, like cattle at a trough.
“We give it them lukewarm,” said the old bee-man, “and always mix salt with it. If we had sea-water here, nothing would be better; seaside bees often go down to the shore to drink, as you may prove for yourself on any fine day in summer. Why are all the plates blue? Bees are as fanciful in their ways as our own women-folk, and in nothing more than on the question of colour. Just this particular shade of light blue seems to attract them more than any other. Next to that, pure white is a favourite with them; but they have a pronounced dislike to anything brilliantly red, as all the old writers about bees noticed hundreds of years ago. If I were to put some of the drinking-jars on bright red saucers now, you would not see half as many bees on them as on the pale blue.”
We moved on to the extracting-house, whence the master now fetched his smoker37, and a curious knife, with a broad and very keen-looking blade. He packed the tin nozzle of the smoker with rolled brown paper, lighted it, and, by means of the little bellows38 underneath39, soon blew it up into full strength. Then he went to one of the quietest hives, where only a few bees were wandering aimlessly about, and sent a dense40 stream of smoke into the entrance. A moment later he had taken the roof and coverings off, and was lifting out the central comb-frames one by one, with the bees clinging in thousands all about them.
“Now,” he said, “we have come to what is really the most important operation of all in the bee-keeper’s work of stimulating41 his stocks for the coming season. Here in the centre of each comb you see the young brood; but all the cells above and around it are full of honey, still sealed over and untouched by the bees. The stock is behind time. The queen must be roused at once to her responsibilities, and here is one very simple and effective way of doing it.”
He took the knife, deftly42 shaved off the cappings from the honey-cells of each comb, and as quickly returned the frames, dripping with honey, to the brood-nest. In a few seconds the hive was comfortably packed down again, and he was looking round for the next languid stock.
“All these slow, backward colonies,” said the bee-master, as he puffed43 away with his smoker, “will have to be treated after the same fashion. The work must be smartly done, or you will chill the brood; but, in uncapping the stores like this, right in the centre of the brood-nest, the effect on the stock is magical. The whole hive reeks44 with the smell of honey, and such evidence of prosperity is irresistible45. To-morrow, if you come this way, you will see all these timorous46 bee-folk as busy as any in the garden.”
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1
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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2
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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3
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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4
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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5
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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6
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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7
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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8
scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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9
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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10
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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11
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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12
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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13
gambolled
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| v.蹦跳，跳跃，嬉戏( gambol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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15
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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17
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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18
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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19
millers
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| n.（尤指面粉厂的）厂主( miller的名词复数 )；磨房主；碾磨工；铣工 | |
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20
pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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21
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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22
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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23
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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24
overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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25
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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26
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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27
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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28
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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29
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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30
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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31
ruminatively
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| adv.沉思默想地，反复思考地 | |
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32
broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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33
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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34
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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35
dilute
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| vt.稀释，冲淡；adj.稀释的，冲淡的 | |
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36
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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37
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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38
bellows
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| n.风箱；发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的名词复数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的第三人称单数 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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39
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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40
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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41
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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42
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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43
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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44
reeks
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| n.恶臭( reek的名词复数 )v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的第三人称单数 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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45
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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46
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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