Yet no one could mistake their flight for the summer flight. It is not the straight-away eager rush up into the blue vault1 of the sunny morning—high away over hedgerow and village roof-top towards the clover-fields, whitening the far-off hillside with their tens of thousands of honey-brimming bells. It is rather the vagrant3, purposeless hanging-about of an habitually4 busy people forced to make holiday. Through it all there runs the pathetic interest in trifles, half-hearted and wholly artificial, that you see among the lolling crowd of men when a great strike is on—the thoughtful kicking at odd pebbles5; stride-measuring on the flag-stones; little vortices of excitement got up over minute incidents that would otherwise pass unnoticed; the earnest flagellation of memory over past happenings more trivial still.
Thus the bees idle about and wander, on this still November morning, doing just the things you would never expect a bee to do. The greater number of them merely take long desultory6 reaches a-wing through the sunshine, going off in one objectless direction, turning about at the end of a few yards with just as little apparent reason, coming back to the hive at length on no more obvious errand than that, where there is nothing to do, doing it in another place bears at least the semblance7 of achievement.
But many of them succeed in conjuring8 up an almost ludicrous assumption of business. One comes driving out of the hive-entrance at a great pace, designedly, as you would think, going out of her way to bustle9 the few bees lounging there, as if the entrance-board were still thronged10 with the streaming crowd of summer days foregone. She stops an instant to rub her eyes clear of the hive-darkness; tries her wings a little to make sure of their powers for a heavy load; then, with a deep note like the twang of a guitar-string, launches out into the sun-steeped air. But it is all a vain pretence11, and well she knows it. Watch her as she flies, and you will see her busy ding-dong pace slacken a dozen yards away. She fetches a turn or two above the leafless apple-branches of the garden, with the rest of the chanting, workless crew. She may presently start off again at a livelier speed than ever, as though vexed12 at being allured13, even for a moment, from the duty that calls her away to the mist-clad hill. But it always ends in the same fashion. A little later she is fluttering down on the threshold of the silent hive, and running busily in, keeping up the transparent14 fiction, you see, to the last.
Many more set themselves to look for sweets where they must know there is little likelihood of finding any. Scarce one goes near the glowing belt of pompons rimming2 the garden on every side. But here is one bee, an ancient dame, with ragged16 wings and shiny thorax, poised17 outside a cranny in the old brick wall, and examining it with serious, shrill18 inquiry19. She is obviously making-believe, to while away the time, that it is a choice blossom full of nectar. She knows it is nothing of the kind; but that will neither check her ardour nor expedite the piece of play-acting. She spins it out to the utmost, and leaves the one dusty crevice20 at last only to go through the same performance at the next.
I often wonder wherein lies the fascination21 to a hive-bee of an open window or door. Sitting here ledgering in the little office of the bee-farm—where no honey, nor the smell of honey, is ever allowed to come—sooner or later, in the quiet of the golden morning, the familiar voice peals22 out. It is startling at first, unless you are well used to it—this sudden high-pitched clamour breaking the silence about you; and the oldest bee-man must lay down pen or rule, and look up from his work to scan the intruder.
She has darted23 in at the door, and has stopped in mid-air a foot or two within the room. The sound she makes is very different from that of a bee in ordinary flight. You cannot mistake its meaning; it is one long-drawn-out, musical note of exclamation24, an intense, reiterated25 wonder at all about her—the subdued26 light, the walls covered with book-shelves, the littered table, and the vast wingless, drab-coloured creature sitting in the midst of it all, like a funnel-spider in his snare27. Bees entering a room in this way seldom stop more than a second or two, and, more rarely still, alight. As a rule, they are gone the next moment as swiftly as they came, leaving the impression that their quick retreat was due to a sudden accession of fear; just as children, venturing into some dark unwonted place, at first boldly enough, will suddenly turn tail and flee, with terror hard upon their heels.
But what should bring bees into such unlikely situations during these warm bright breaks in the wintry weather, when they seldom or never venture out of the range of hives and fields in the season of plenty? It would be curious to know whether people who have never kept bees, nor handled hives, are habitually pried28 upon in this way; or whether it is only among bee-men the thing occurs. Naturalists29 are commonly agreed that bees possess an extraordinary sense of smell; indeed, the fact is patent to all who know anything of hive-life. Now, years of stinging render the bee-master immune to the ordinary results of a prod30 from a bee’s acid-charged stiletto. There is only a sharp prick31, a little irritation32 at the moment, but seldom any after-effects of swelling34 or inflammation, local or general. But all this injection of formic acid under the skin year after year might very well have a cumulative35 effect, so that the much-stung bee-man would eventually acquire in his own person the permanent odour of the hive. And this, scented36 afar off, may well be the attraction that brings these roving scrutineers to places having, in themselves, no sort of interest to the winged hive-people.
The mention of stinging brings back a thought that has often occurred to me. Do lovers of honey ever quite realise the price that must be paid before their favourite sweet is there for them on the breakfast-table, filling the room with the mingled39 perfume from a whole countryside? It is easy to talk of immunity from the effect of bee-stings; but the truth is that this immunity means, for the bee-master, no more than power to go on with his work in spite of the stinging. And this power is not a permanent one. It is brought about by incessant40 pricks41 from the living poisoned needle; the ordeal42 must be continuous, or the immunity will soon pass away. Over-care in handling bees is good only up to a certain point. The bee-man who, by continual practice, has brought this gentlest art to its highest perfection, so that he can do what he likes with his own bees without fear of harm, has, in a sense, created for himself a kind of fools’ paradise. All the time his once dear-bought privilege is slowly forsaking43 him. He is like the Listerist faddist44, who so destroys all disease germs in his vicinity that his natural disease-resisting organisation45 becomes atrophied46 through want of work. Then, perhaps, his precautions are upheld for a season, whereupon a particularly virulent47 microbe happens by; and, finding the house empty, swept, and garnished48, calls in the seven devils with a will.
Such a contingency49 is always in wait for the stay-at-home, never-stung bee-master of neighbourly proclivities50. Sooner or later he will be called to help some maladroit51 in bee-craft, whose bees have been thoroughly52 vitiated by years of “monkeying.” And then the rod will come out of pickle53 to a lively tune54. Of course, a little stinging is nothing; but there is no doubt that, with anything over a dozen stings or so at a time, the most hardened and experienced bee-man may easily stand, for a minute or two at least, in danger of losing his life.
So it happened to me once. I had gone to look at a neighbour’s stocks. The bees were as quiet as lambs until I came to the seventh hive; and then, with hardly a note of warning, they set upon me like a pack of flying bull-dogs. It is long enough ago now, but I can still give a pretty accurate account of the symptoms of acute formic-acid poisoning. It began with a curious pricking55 and burning over the entire inner surface of the mouth and throat. This rapidly spread, until my whole body seemed on fire, and the target, as it were, for millions of red-hot darts56. Then first my tongue and lips, and every other part of head and neck, in quick succession, began to swell33. My eyes felt as though they were being driven out of my head. My breathing machinery57 seized up, and all but stopped. A giddy congestion58 of brain followed. Finally, sight and hearing failed, and then almost consciousness.
I can just remember crawling away, and thrusting head and shoulders deep into a thick lilac bush, where the bees ceased to molest59 me. But it was a good hour or more before I could hold the smoker60 straight again, and get on with the next stock.
点击收听单词发音
1 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 rimming | |
n.(沸腾钢)结壳沸腾作用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 vagrant | |
n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 conjuring | |
n.魔术 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 allured | |
诱引,吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 dame | |
n.女士 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 crevice | |
n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝;缺口 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 peals | |
n.(声音大而持续或重复的)洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 );隆隆声;洪亮的钟声;钟乐v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 pried | |
v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的过去式和过去分词 );撬开 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 naturalists | |
n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 );(文学艺术的)自然主义者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 prod | |
vt.戳,刺;刺激,激励 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 prick | |
v.刺伤,刺痛,刺孔;n.刺伤,刺痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 cumulative | |
adj.累积的,渐增的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 scented | |
adj.有香味的;洒香水的;有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 immunity | |
n.优惠;免除;豁免,豁免权 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 pricks | |
刺痛( prick的名词复数 ); 刺孔; 刺痕; 植物的刺 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 forsaking | |
放弃( forsake的现在分词 ); 弃绝; 抛弃; 摒弃 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 faddist | |
n.趋于时尚者,好新奇的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 organisation | |
n.组织,安排,团体,有机休 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 atrophied | |
adj.萎缩的,衰退的v.(使)萎缩,(使)虚脱,(使)衰退( atrophy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 virulent | |
adj.有毒的,有恶意的,充满敌意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 garnished | |
v.给(上餐桌的食物)加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 proclivities | |
n.倾向,癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 maladroit | |
adj.笨拙的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 pickle | |
n.腌汁,泡菜;v.腌,泡 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 pricking | |
刺,刺痕,刺痛感 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 darts | |
n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 congestion | |
n.阻塞,消化不良 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 molest | |
vt.骚扰,干扰,调戏 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 smoker | |
n.吸烟者,吸烟车厢,吸烟室 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |