Coming into the old garden from the glare of the dusty road, the hives themselves were the last thing to rivet4 attention. As you went up the shady moss5-grown path, perhaps the first impression you became gratefully conscious of was the slow dim quiet of the place—a quiet that had in it all the essentials of silence, and yet was really made up of a myriad6 blended sounds. Then the sheer carmine7 of the tulips, in the sunny vista8 beyond the orchard9, came upon you like a trumpet-note through the shadowy aisles10 of the trees; and after this, in turn, the flaming amber11 of the marigolds, broad zones of forget-me-nots like strips of the blue sky fallen, snow-drifts of arabis and starwort, purple pansy-spangles veering12 to every breeze. And last of all you became gradually aware that every bright nook or shade-dappled corner round you had its nestling bee-skep, half hidden in the general riot of blossom, yet marked by the steadier, deeper song of the homing bees.
To stand here, in the midst of the hives, of a fine May morning, side by side with the old bee-man, and watch with him for the earliest swarms14 of the year, was an experience that took one back far into another and a kindlier century. There were certain hives in the garden, grey with age and smothered15 in moss and lichen16, that were the traditional mother-colonies of all the rest. The old bee-keeper treasured them as relics17 of his sturdy manhood, just as he did the percussion18 fowling-piece over his mantel; and pointed19 to one in particular as being close on thirty years old. Nowadays remorseless science has proved that the individual life of the honey-bee extends to four or five months at most; but the old bee-keeper firmly believed that some at least of the original members of this colony still flourished in green old age deep in the sombre corridors of the ancient skep. Bending down, he would point out to you, among the crowd on the alighting-board, certain bees with polished thorax and ragged21 wings worn almost to a stump22. While the young worker-bees were charging in and out of the hive at breakneck speed, these superannuated23 amazons doddered about in the sunlight, with an obvious and pathetic assumption of importance. They were really the last survivors24 of the bygone winter’s brood. Their task of hatching the new spring generation was p. 46over; and now, the power of flight denied to them, they busied themselves in the work of sentinels at the gate, or in grooming25 the young bees as they came out for their first adventure into the far world of blossoming clover under the hill.
For modern apiculture, with its interchangeable comb-frames and section-supers, and American notions generally, the old bee-keeper harboured a fine contempt. In its place he had an exhaustless store of original bee-knowledge, gathered throughout his sixty odd years of placid26 life among the bees. His were all old-fashioned hives of straw, hackled and potsherded just as they must have been any time since Saxon Alfred burned the cakes. Each bee-colony had its separate three-legged stool, and each leg stood in an earthen pan of water, impassable moat for ants and “wood-li’s,” and such small honey-thieves. Why the hives were thus dotted about in such admired but inconvenient27 disorder28 was a puzzle at first, until you learned more of ancient bee-traditions. Wherever a swarm13 settled—up in the pink-rosetted apple-boughs, under the eaves of the old thatched cottage, or deep in the tangle29 of the hawthorn hedge—there, on the nearest open ground beneath, was its inalienable, predetermined home. When, as sometimes happened, the swarm went straight away out of sight over the meadows, or sailed off like a pirouetting grey cloud over the roof of the wood, the old bee-keeper never sought to reclaim31 it for the garden.
“’Tis gone to the shires fer change o’ air,” he would say, shielding his bleak32 blue eyes with his hand, as he gazed after it. “’Twould be agen natur’ to hike ’em back here along. An’ naught33 but ill-luck an’ worry wi’out end.”
He never observed the skies for tokens of to-morrow’s weather, as did his neighbours of the countryside. The bees were his weather-glass and thermometer in one. If they hived very early after noon, though the sun went down in clear gold and the summer night loomed34 like molten amethyst35 under the starshine, he would prophesy36 rain before morning. And sure enough you were wakened at dawn by a furious patter on the window, and the booming of the south-west wind in the pine-clad crest37 of the hill. But if the bees loitered afield far into the gusty38 crimson39 gloaming, and the loud darkness that followed seemed only to bring added intensity40 to the busy labour-note within the hives, no matter how the wind keened or the griddle of black storm-cloud threatened, he would go on with his evening task of watering his garden, sure of a morrow of cloudless heat to come.
He knew all the sources of honey for miles around; and, by taste and smell, could decide at once the particular crop from which each sample had been gathered. He would discriminate41 between that from white clover or sainfoin; the produce of the yellow charlock wastes; or the orchard-honey, wherein it seemed the fragrance42 of cherry-bloom was always to be differentiated43 from that of apple or damson or pear. He would tell you when good honey had been spoilt by the grosser flavour of sunflower or horse-chestnut; or when the detestable honey-dew had entered into its composition; or, the super-caps having been removed too late in the season, the bees had got at the early ivy-blossom, and so degraded all the batch44.
Watching bees at work of a fair morning in May, nothing excites the wonder of the casual looker-on more than the mysterious burdens they are for ever bringing home upon their thighs45; semi-globular packs, always gaily46 coloured, and often so heavy and cumbersome47 that the bee can hardly drag its weary way into the hive. This is pollen48, to be stored in the cells, and afterwards kneaded up with honey as food for the young bees. The old man could say at once by the colour from which flower each load was obtained. The deep brown-gold panniers came from the gorse-bloom; the pure snow-white from the hawthorns49; the vivid yellow, always so big and seemingly so weighty, had been filled in the buttercup meads. Now and again, in early spring, a bee would come blundering home with a load of pallid50 sea-green hue51. This came from the gooseberry bushes. And later, in summer, when the poppies began to throw their scarlet52 shuttles in the corn, many of these airy cargoes53 would be of a rich velvety54 black. But there was one kind which the old bee-man had never yet succeeded in tracing to its flowery origin. He saw it only rarely, perhaps not a dozen times in the season—a wonderful deep rose-crimson, singling out its bearer, on her passage through the throng55, as with twin danger-lamps, doubly bright in the morning glow.
Keeping watch over the comings and goings of his bees was always his favourite pastime, year in and year out; but it was in the later weeks of May that his interest in them culminated57. He had p. 49always had swarms in May as far back as his memory could serve him; and the oldest hive in the garden was generally the first to swarm. As a rule the bees gave sufficient warning of their intended migration58 some hours before their actual issue. The strenuous59 pell-mell business of the hive would come to a sudden portentous60 halt. While a few of the bees still darted61 straight off into the sunshine on their wonted errands, or returned with the usual motley loads upon their thighs, the rest of the colony seemed to have abandoned work altogether. From early morning they hung in a great brown cluster all over the face of the hive, and down almost to the earth beneath; a churning mass of insect-life that grew bigger and bigger with every moment, glistening62 like wet seaweed in the morning sun. In the cluster itself there was an uncanny silence. But out of the depths of the hive came a low vibrating murmur63, wholly distinct from its usual note; and every now and again a faint shrill64 piping sound could be heard, as the old queen worked herself up to swarming65 frenzy66, vainly seeking the while to reach the royal nursery where the rival who was to oust67 her from her old dominion68 was even then steadily69 gnawing70 through her constraining71 prison walls.
At these momentous72 times a quaint73 ceremonial was rigidly74 adhered to by the old bee-master. First he brought out a pitcher75 of home-brewed ale, from which all who were to assist in the swarm-taking were required to drink, as at a solemn rite56. The dressing76 of the skep was his next care. A little of the beer was sprinkled over its interior, and then it was carefully scoured77 out with a handful of balm and lavender and mint. After this the skep was covered up and set aside in the shade; and the old bee-keeper, carrying an ancient battered78 copper79 bowl in one gnarled hand, and a great door-key in the other, would lead the way towards the hive, his drab smock-frock mowing80 the scarlet tulip-heads down as he went.
Sometimes the swarm went off without any preliminary warning, just as if the skep had burst like a bombshell, volleying its living contents into the sky. But oftener it went through the several stages of a regular process. After much waiting and many false alarms, a peculiar81 stir would come in the throng of bees cumbering the entrance to the hive. Thousands rose on the wing, until the sunshine overhead was charged with them as with countless82 fluttering atoms of silver-foil; and a wild joyous83 song spread far and wide, overpowering all other sounds in the garden. Within the hive the rich bass84 note had ceased; and a hissing85 noise, like a great caldron boiling over, took its place, as the bees inside came pouring out to join the carolling multitude above. Last of all came the queen. Watching for her through the glittering gauzy atmosphere of flashing wings, she was always strangely conspicuous86, with her long pointed body of brilliant chestnut-red. She came hustling87 forth88; stopped for an instant to comb her antenna89 on the edge of the foot-board; then soared straight up into the blue, the whole swarm crowding deliriously90 in her train.
Immediately the old bee-man commenced a weird91 tom-tomming on his metal bowl. “Ringing the bees” was an exact science with him. They were supposed to fly higher or lower according to the measure of the music; and now the great door-key beat out a slow, stately chime like a cathedral bell. Whether this ringing of the old-time skeppists had any real influence on the movements of a swarm has never been absolutely determined30; but there was no doubt in this case of the bee-keeper’s perfect faith in the process, or that the bees would commence their descent and settle, usually in one of the apple trees, very soon after the din20 began.
The rapid growth of the swarm-cluster was always one of the most bewildering things to watch. From a little dark knot no bigger than the clenched92 hand, it swelled93 in a moment to the size of a half-gallon measure, growing in girth and length with inconceivable swiftness, until the branch began to droop94 under its weight. A minute more, and the last of the flying bees had joined the cluster; the stout95 apple-branch was bent96 almost double; and the completed swarm hung within a few inches of the ground, a long cigar-shaped mass gently swaying to and fro in the flickering97 light and shade.
The joyous trek-song of the bees, and the clanging melody of key and basin, died down together. The old murmuring, songful quiet closed over the garden again, as water over a cast stone. To hive a swarm thus easily within reach was a simple matter. Soon the old bee-man had got all snugly98 inside the skep, and the hive in its self-appointed station. And already the bees were settling down to work; hovering99 merrily about it, or packed in the fragrant100 darkness busy at comb-building, or lancing off to the clover-fields, eager to begin the task of provisioning the new home.
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1
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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hawthorn
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| 山楂 | |
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rivet
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| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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6
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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7
carmine
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| n.深红色，洋红色 | |
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8
vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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9
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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12
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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13
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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15
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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16
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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percussion
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| n.打击乐器；冲突，撞击；震动，音响 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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23
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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grooming
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| n. 修饰, 美容，（动物）梳理毛发 | |
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26
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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29
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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35
amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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differentiated
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| 区分，区别，辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 )； 区别对待； 表明…间的差别，构成…间差别的特征 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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cumbersome
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| adj.笨重的，不便携带的 | |
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pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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49
hawthorns
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| n.山楂树( hawthorn的名词复数 ) | |
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50
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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51
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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52
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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53
cargoes
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| n.（船或飞机装载的）货物( cargo的名词复数 )；大量，重负 | |
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54
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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migration
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| n.迁移，移居，（鸟类等的）迁徙 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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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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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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66
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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71
constraining
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| 强迫( constrain的现在分词 )； 强使； 限制； 约束 | |
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momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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75
pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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76
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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77
scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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78
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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79
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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80
mowing
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| n.割草，一次收割量，牧草地v.刈，割( mow的现在分词 ) | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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82
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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83
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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84
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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85
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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86
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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87
hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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antenna
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| n.触角，触须；天线 | |
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90
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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91
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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92
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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94
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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96
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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97
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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98
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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99
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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100
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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