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Transcriber Note

Text emphasis denoted as _Italics_.


                                  THE

                            BEE PRESERVER.




                                  THE

                            BEE PRESERVER;

                                  OR

                PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE MANAGEMENT
                      AND PRESERVATION OF HIVES.


                     TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF

                           JONAS DE GELIEU,

  LATE MINISTER OF LIGNIERES, AT PRESENT MINISTER OF THE CHURCHES OF
 COLOMBIER AND AUVERNIER, IN THE PRINCIPALITY OF NEUCHATEL; MEMBER OF
            THE SOCIETÉ ECONOMIQUE DE BERNE, &c., &c., &c.


                        PUBLISHED AT MULHAUSEN.



                     JOHN ANDERSON JUN. EDINBURGH,

                       55, NORTH BRIDGE STREET;

                   AND SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, LONDON.

                              MDCCCXXIX.


                          P. NEILL, PRINTER.




                                  TO

                   THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY OF SCOTLAND.


In respectfully dedicating this little Work to the Highland Society
of Scotland, the Translator hopes, that, under their efficient and
enlightened patronage, it may be made generally known in Scotland,
where the system which it explains is calculated to be as extensively
applicable, and as highly profitable, as it has proved in the native
mountains of its amiable and venerable Author. It seems, indeed, both
from the plain practical directions which it contains, and the valuable
discoveries which it communicates relative to the history and economy
of bees, to be singularly adapted to forward the views of the Society,
who have this year turned their attention to the encouragement of
Apiaries among the peasantry of our own country; and it is no small
advantage, that the rules laid down are applicable to hives of every
form.

The Translator has no fear of its being objected, that plans which
are very suitable in Switzerland, may be less successful as applied
to Scotland. Switzerland and Scotland present so many points of
resemblance--in their mountains--in their valleys--and in their
climate--that which is beneficial in the one, can scarcely fail to be
so in the other. And as the Swiss honey is known to be not only very
abundant, but of a very superior flavour, especially in those districts
where De Gelieu's or some similar plan is adopted, the Translator is
desirous to see the simple and successful methods of that country
transferred to our own, that the Scottish peasantry may derive from
their practice the same advantages. To the Swiss peasantry, bees are
a great source of wealth; a stranger is attracted by the appearance
of substantial comfort, conveyed by well appointed apiaries, where
the hives are ranged in double and triple rows along the sunny side,
and under the shelter of the projecting roofs of the cottages; and in
Scotland there is little doubt that, if similar care were bestowed on
the cultivation of bees, they would be equally profitable.

    Edinburgh,         }
   _19th April, 1829_. }




                               CONTENTS.


                                                                    Page

  CHAPTER I.--Situation of an apiary,                                 11
         II.--Proper time to transport a swarm to the
                situation designed for it,                            16
        III.--Situation of the hives ought never to
                be changed,                                           18
         IV.--Most convenient shape of hives,                         21
          V.--Hives of straw and wood,                                23
         VI.--Thickness or solidity of hives,                         24
        VII.--Size of the aperture or entrance of hives,              25
       VIII.--To ascertain the weight of hives,                       27
         IX.--Quantity of honey necessary to maintain a hive,         20
          X.--The use of capes or hoods,                              34
         XI.--How to expel the bees from the capes,                   41
        XII.--Size of hives,                                          42
       XIII.--Manner of uniting new swarms,                           44
        XIV.--Methods of uniting two or three swarms in autumn,       48
         XV.--Manner of uniting old hives in autumn,                  53
        XVI.--Neighbouring hives should be united,                    55
       XVII.--How to feed united swarms,                              59
      XVIII.--Quantity of food requisite for united hives,            62
        XIX.--Benefits resulting from the union of weak hives,        67
         XX.--Time and manner of renewing old hives,                  71
        XXI.--The signs by which to ascertain whether a hive
                requires to be renewed,                               76
       XXII.--Artificial swarms, and different methods of forming
                them,                                                 84
      XXIII.--Advantages of isolated hives,                           94
       XXIV.--Enemies of bees, and means of overcoming them,          96
        XXV.--Diseases of the bees,                                  106
       XXVI.--Of the different varieties of bees, and their
                language,                                            107
      XXVII.--Signs of recognition among the bees,                   110
     XXVIII.--Preservation of hives in winter, and means of
                protecting them from the cold,                       112
       XXIX.--Manner of preserving hives, by taking them into the
                house in winter,                                     117
              Conclusion,                                            121




                                  THE

                             BEE PRESERVER




                           AUTHORS PREFACE.


Having attained old age, I think it a duty, before quitting the world,
to communicate to the public the observations I have made during
sixty-four years that I have been occupied with bees. From my earliest
years I have been very fond of these admirable insects. I began to
observe them under the direction of my father, Jacques de Gelieu,
pastor of the church of Bayards, and afterwards of that of Verrieres,
in the principality of Neuchatel. He instructed me in the principles
of this interesting study, and taught me to like and to admire it, by
making me read the memoirs of the immortal Reaumur, with whom he had
the honour to correspond. Being a nice observer, he had prepared, so
early as 1746, a work in two volumes, entitled "A New and Economical
Method for the Preservation and Increase of Bees, and how to procure
a more abundant supply of Honey and Wax." But when his work was ready
for the press, he lost in one day, by an unfortunate accident, the
whole of his hives except one, which he presented to me, and which I
subsequently managed under his direction.

Thrown from that time into a succession of pressing occupations, he
lost sight of the printing of his work, which is now in my possession,
in his own handwriting. It contains the description of the storied
hive, of which he was the inventor, and which has since been so
variously modified. These hives have been made known only through his
correspondence with M. de Reaumur, and other literary men, as will
appear from the note at the end of this Preface.

In the collection of observations which I now present to the public, I
limit myself to what is strictly practical, leaving to superior minds,
the Swammerdams, the Reaumurs, the Shirachs, the Hubers, to dive into
the theory with which they are so successfully engaged.

Theory, however, leads to practice; and I have built on the foundation
which they have so skilfully laid down. I shall make known what my
long experience has taught me to consider the best form of hives. To
ascertain which merited the preference, I mixed all sizes and shapes
of them in my apiary, noting down their condition and product, thus
securing a result to which no doubt could attach; convinced that it
is easier to multiply hives in good seasons than to preserve them in
bad ones, since, in the first case, one has only to leave them in some
measure to themselves, while in the second there must be assiduous care
and attention bestowed on them. Vexed at hearing of the great losses
that have so generally taken place of late years, and of the sensible
and rapid diminution of these precious insects, I shall point out how I
succeeded in preserving mine in the worst seasons, especially in those
of 1812 and 1813; and I shall lay down the principles from which no one
should swerve, if he wishes to be constantly successful.

Many people are fond of bees--indeed have a passion for them; but it
is not enough to be fond of them,--they must be skilfully taken care
of, according to certain rules, applicable in every case, but more
particularly in bad years. Mistaken care annoys them--niggardliness
ruins them. In laying down rules, I shall always take care to assign my
reasons for them.

Among the discoveries which I had the happiness to make, there is one
of the greatest importance to the practical apiarian, of which I had
not even the slightest suspicion, and which astonished me so much that
I could not believe my eyes. It was only after trials a hundred times
repeated and diversified, that I could fully convince myself. The fact
is certain, the reason is to me unknown, and I leave to persons more
learned than myself to give the explanation.

I have read most of the treatises that have been published on bees,
and have found errors in most of them. To avoid them myself, I shall
advance nothing that I have not verified by numerous experiments, which
every one may repeat. I shall make my narrative as short as possible.

I have said that the storied hives invented by my late father, were
known only through his correspondence with M. de Reaumur, and other
literary men; the following is the proof:

Extract from the _Corps d'Observation of the Society of Commerce and
Agriculture of Great Britain_, 1757-58. Printed at Rennes in 1761, page
162.

"Monsieur de la _Bourdonaye, Procureur General-Syndic_, to whom the
custom of our peasants (of drowning the bees, or suffocating them with
sulphur, in order to deprive them of all the store they have laid up to
maintain them during the winter) has been long known, wrote to M. de
Reaumur, during the last assembly of the states, 1756, to ask for some
instructions on this subject.

"This academician pointed out, in his answer, the methods which he had
expounded in the fifth volume _des Memoires pour servir à l'Histoire
Naturelle des Insectes_; but he recommends, more particularly, to use
the curiously shaped hives, invented by Gelieu, a gentleman of the
principality of Neuchatel.

"Reaumur's letter, which, at first sight, seems to contain a sufficient
description of Gelieu's hive, does not clear up certain difficulties
that presented themselves in the detail, when we come to attempt their
construction from his directions; and therefore Nevel, member of the
Committee of Rennes, resolved to request a pattern hive from Reaumur
himself, which he accordingly obtained, and sent to the society. It
appears that hives of this kind would supply all that can be desired in
the management of bees; but they would cost more than one louis each--a
price infinitely beyond the reach of a labouring man, and which would
even be too great for the rich. It was necessary, therefore, to think
of profiting by the invention of Gelieu, in contriving hives so cheap
that every peasant might use them.

"Monsieur de la Bourdonaye, who paid great attention to this subject,
kindly communicated to the Society both the letter of Reaumur, and the
plan which he himself had formed, of making hives at a small expence.
He began by using, on his own estate, those which he recommended as
an experiment to the Society. It was called an _experiment_, because,
in reality, notwithstanding the probability of success attending the
use of hives like those of which he sent the model, his modesty made
him afraid that experience might, in some shape, belie his hopes. The
Society was not long in ordering hives to be made after the model. They
have made trial of them in the different faubourgs of Rennes. The rainy
summer has prevented these trials being completed, but the commencement
has succeeded very well.

"It is perhaps not altogether useless to give here an abridged
exposition of the accidents that might be prevented, in changing the
shape of ordinary hives, and of the means that might be employed for
that purpose.

"It has been already said, that it is but too common to suffocate or
drown the bees, at the end of the season, for the sake of profiting
by the honey and wax. Those who manage them with more profit and
intelligence, watch the time when the hives are nearly full, to force
the bees up into an empty hive. This operation must be done in fine
weather, in order that the bees may have time to make a sufficient
provision for the winter. This practice, though the best of those in
use at present, causes considerable loss; the brood-comb is taken away
with the wax; so that the proprietor loses a swarm just coming out, as
well as the swarms that this one might have afterwards produced. It is
this loss particularly that Gelieu would prevent.

"The hives at present on trial are, in shape, like a little round
tower, or hollow cylinder, composed of four equal pieces, placed one
above another."

"It is a certain fact, that the cells destined for the reception of
eggs are always situated in the lower part of the hive, which is never
disturbed. According to Gelieu's plan, it is only the storey above the
hive that is taken, until after the brood-comb has furnished a swarm,
and the swarm has taken flight.

"It seems, then, the interest of Rennes to patronize Gelieu's hives;
they guard against the inconveniences of the methods now in use; and
this has induced Bourdonaye to adopt the means of making them of straw,
in place of wood, like those of Gelieu.

"Monsieur de la Bourdonaye's hives are a little higher priced than
those in common use; but they give nearly a quarter more room, and
are, of course, more profitable in regard to price; they are in the
proportion of five to eight.

"We shall soon be able to determine, with certainty, the advantages
to be derived from this invention. Montluc has placed some joinings,
such as Bourdonaye has contrived, underneath his own hives, upon his
estate of Laille. Similar ones, at different places in the faubourgs of
Rennes, will furnish decided proofs of comparison.

"The preservation, and also the increase of bees, is an object of such
interest to Brittany, that the peasants cannot be too much encouraged
to turn their attention to it.

"The Society is well aware that it will be necessary to publish general
instructions on that head, and that the greatest merit of such a work
will be to give _only necessary_ instructions, and nothing more. It
must be made so simple and so cheap as to be within every one's reach,
and, above all, applicable only to practical use. Any thing more is
only fit for treatises wherein the authors are more occupied with
the interests of their own self love, than with those of the public.
But though much has been written on this subject, the Society is of
opinion that there are yet observations and experiments to be made
before publishing a document by which all the world might profit."

On this long quotation, I shall merely take the liberty of remarking,
that the only inconvenience ascribed to the storied hives, invented
and made by my Father--the only objection made to them--is, that they
are too dear, "that they will cost more than a louis each; a price
infinitely beyond the reach of a labouring man." The price is high in
Brittany, where wood is very dear. On the other hand, the model which
my Father sent to Reaumur, was made with a great deal of nicety, as
a common one would not have been worth offering to that illustrious
academician who sent him in return a very handsome thermometer,
graduated by himself. My Father's hives, more simply wrought, were less
expensive.




                                  THE

                            BEE PRESERVER,

                                  &c.



                              CHAPTER I.

                        SITUATION OF AN APIARY.


The choice of a good situation is of the utmost consequence. An apiary
will not thrive in a bad situation, however well it may be cared for in
other respects.

1. The hives must, above all things, be sheltered from the wind. It is
the first precept of Virgil[1]. For that purpose, the force of the wind
must be broken, either by houses or by lofty trees in the vicinity.
A wall, however high, or a simple hedge, is not sufficient, because
the bees that fly to the fields prefer stopping in places where the
air is tranquil, near bushes, or along hedges or dells, where they
find a much greater abundance of honey than in places exposed to gales
of wind. They fatigue themselves flying from flower to flower, and
still more returning to their dwelling, after having completed their
little ladenings: with a rapid flight they get over a great extent of
space, frequently against the wind; but, on approaching their hive,
they slacken their speed, and advance, wheeling round and round, to
recognize it. A mistake, at this time, might be fatal, and cost them
their lives; and if, at this moment, they encounter a strong current
of air, or a whirlwind, to repel them, they are again forced to wheel
round to reconnoitre their habitation. After a hard struggle, the
most vigorous arrive; the others fall, without power to rise again,
especially when the air is cold, or the sky clouded. The ground will
then be strewed with dying or dead bees, which never happens when the
hives are placed in sheltered situations.

[Footnote 1:

  Principio sedes apibus statioque petenda,
  Quo neque sit ventis aditus (nam pabula venti
  Ferre domum prohibent).

                           Virg. Georg. lib. iv. ]

2_d_, The second condition of a good situation is its proximity to
a fountain; or, still better, to a little brook, where the bees may
drink[2]. Water is absolutely necessary, and enters as much as honey
into the composition of the pap with which they nourish the brood; and
the pollen or dust of flowers, which they bring home on their thighs,
is also a very essential ingredient in this pap. The vicinity of deep
waters is very hurtful to bees; and I have sometimes seen hundreds of
them drowned attempting to drink out of a cistern.

[Footnote 2:

  "At liquidi fontes et stagna virentia musco
  Adsint, et tenuis fugiens per gramina rivus."

                                 Georg. l. iv. ]

If there is no small stream or fountain near them, they should be
supplied by troughs, filled with moss, and then water poured on it,
until they are as full as they can hold. The working bees come in
swarms to them in the spring, and quench their thirst without risk.

3_d_, It is commonly believed that an apiary is not well situated
unless it stands in the sun. This is an error; bees like the shade when
working, and like the sun only when in the fields, which then animates
and sustains them. For this reason, when people wish a swarm to settle,
after it has left the hive, they hasten to cover it; because the shade
induces them to rest, while a hot sun annoys them, and inclines them to
take flight again. When we wish to disperse a cluster of bees off the
front of a hive, we have only to expose it to the rays of the sun in
the heat of the day. The bees then retreat under the hive, on the side,
or behind it. They thrive well in thick forests, and delight in them;
because there they find a uniform temperature and a propitious shade.
How often, during the dog-days, have we not seen the honey running
down, and the combs melting, in those hives exposed to the heat of the
sun. In one hour, sometimes, a whole apiary will be destroyed. It is
also a mistake to suppose hives exposed to the sun produce the earliest
and strongest swarms. I have oftener than once experienced the reverse.
My earliest swarms have generally come from the best shaded hives,
and which only receive the sun late. I have even lost some in such
situations, because they took flight sooner than we thought of watching
them. We need never fear to shade a hive since Virgil recommends
it[3]. If the roof does not project sufficiently to protect the hive
from the sun in the heat of the day, I would advise them to be shaded
with deals or pieces of matting.

[Footnote 3:

  "Palmaque vestibulum aut ingens oleaster obumbret."

                                 Georg. iv. ]

4_th_, The most favourable exposure is towards where the sun is from
ten o'clock till mid-day. They should never be turned to the east or
west, but, more especially to the north, where the cold and tempestuous
winds would greatly injure them.

5_th_, Hives should not be placed high, on a first or second floor,
as I have sometimes seen them, unless they be completely sheltered;
because the wind is less powerful near the ground than in elevated
situations.




                              CHAPTER II.

                   PROPER TIME TO TRANSPORT A SWARM
                   TO THE SITUATION DESIGNED FOR IT.


Most people who have bees allow their swarms to remain till the evening
in the place where they have alighted, and do not move them to the
apiary till after sunset. This method has many inconveniences, which
have been already pointed out by a most judicious and experienced
author. As soon as a swarm has congregated in the new hive, and seems
to be at ease in it, the most industrious among the bees fly off to the
fields, but with a great many precautions. They descend the front of
the hive, and turn to every side, to examine it thoroughly; then take
flight, and make some circles in the air, in order to reconnoitre their
new abode: they do the same in returning.

If the swarm has taken flight in the morning, the same bees make
several excursions during the day, and each time with less precaution,
as, becoming familiarized with their dwelling, they are less afraid of
mistaking it; and thus, next morning, supposing themselves in the same
place, they take wing without having observed where they have spent
the night, and surprised, at their return, not to find the hive in the
same place, they fly about all day in search of it, until they perish
with fatigue and despair. Thus, many hundreds of the most industrious
labourers are lost, and this may be entirely avoided, if the swarm
be removed as soon as the bees are perceived coming out, with the
precautions I have mentioned. This sign alone is sufficient. Sometimes
I do not even wait until all the bees clustered in front, or on the
sides of the hive, are re-united to their companions in the interior,
as they are never long in being so; and this plan has always fully
succeeded with me.




                             CHAPTER III.

                     SITUATION OF THE HIVES OUGHT
                         NEVER TO BE CHANGED.


I have seen people shift about their hives very inconsiderately, but
change of place invariably weakens them, as the bees will return to
their old residence, the environs of which are so familiar to them. A
hive should remain as fixed to the spot as the ancient oaks, in the
hollows of which they delight to establish themselves,--where they
have their young, their companions, their beloved queen, and all their
treasures. When the young bees take wing for the first time, they do it
with great precaution, turning round and round, and fluttering about
the entrance, to examine the hive well before taking flight. They
do the same in returning, so that they may be easily distinguished,
conducting themselves nearly after the same maimer as the workers of a
newly hived swarm.

When they have made a few hundred excursions, they set off without
examining the locality, and, returning in full flight, will know their
own hive in the midst of a hundred others. But if you change its place
you perplex them, much the same as you would be if, during a short
absence, some one lifted your house and placed it a mile off. The
poor bees return loaded, and, seeking in vain for their habitation,
either fall down and perish with fatigue, or throw themselves into the
neighbouring hives, where they are speedily put to death.

The following fact proves how much these precious insects are attached
to place, and how far they retain the recollection of it.

During my residence at Lignieres, where I passed twenty-seven years, I
removed all my hives into the house towards the middle of November, to
guard them from the drifted snow, in which my apiary would sometimes be
buried, and I replaced them again some fine day in March. Having hives
of wood and straw, of different sizes and shapes, I arranged them with
more order and symmetry, and, with this view, I placed the first on
the opposite side of the apiary to where it formerly stood. Although
it had been shut up nearly four months, the bees returned to the same
place they had occupied the year before, which obliged me to return my
hive with all speed, and led me to conclude that they should not be
moved about, and that the bees will not be pliable to our fancies and
caprices.

When hives are transported to a considerable distance, there is no fear
that the bees will return. But this inconvenience would be sure to take
place, and many of the working bees would perish, if they were removed
only a few hundred paces from the spot they have been accustomed
to. The hive may not perish, but it will be greatly weakened. In my
opinion, if the situation is to be changed at all, they should be
removed at least a mile and a half.




                              CHAPTER IV.

                    MOST CONVENIENT SHAPE OF HIVES.


One of the chief objects of my researches has been, to ascertain what
shape of hive is the most profitable; and, with this view, I have
tried all the different kinds in my apiary, and I have invariably
remarked, that bees thrive better in low hives than in high ones; that,
in general, those which are broad and flat, or extended horizontally,
amass more honey, thrive better, and give out stronger and earlier
swarms, than those which are high, and of several stories, and for the
following reasons.

A hive thrives only in proportion to the success or perfection of its
brood-comb. If the spring eggs come out well, the hive will stock,
give out swarms at the proper time, and collect a great deal of honey,
because the strength of its population will enable it to take advantage
of fine days; while a weak hive will only give out late swarms; and,
having few labourers, will gather very little honey. It is, therefore,
of great importance to assist the hive as much as possible, in the
spring especially, when it is of itself too weak to keep up the
necessary degree of heat for the hatching of the brood; and also, that
in our climate there are frequently storms of frost and snow at that
season, which are very prejudicial to it. If at that time the bees are
lodged in high and roomy hives, they will crowd together in vain to
procure the necessary degree of heat to vivify the brood-comb, which
is always deposited in the middle of the hive, and the heat ascending
is dissipated and lost in the empty space above. I have seen whole
combs full of eggs do no good, in consequence of the want of heat. This
never happens in the low, flat hives, where the heat is more easily
concentrated; here, as the young bees come to life, the heat augments,
and they assist in taking care of the others that are advancing, and
begin to spread out on all sides, and entirely to fill the hive: the
republic prospers, and increasing numbers are distinguished.

It is, perhaps, for this reason that bees thrive well in conical or
sugar-loaf shaped hives, which are common in some countries: but they
have this disadvantage, that _capes_ cannot be so easily fitted to
them, which facilitate the collecting of the finest honey, and of which
I shall treat presently.




                              CHAPTER V.

                       HIVES OF STRAW AND WOOD.


It is commonly supposed that bees thrive best in straw hives, because
the straw absorbs the moisture, and the combs are less liable to mould.
For my part, I can perceive no difference. The bees are careful enough
to varnish over the interior of the straw hives with a coating of wax,
or rather _propolis_, to prevent the settlement of the moths; and, in
the old hives, this varnish is so thick that no moisture can penetrate
between the cords of the straw. Wooden hives will also absorb moisture,
to a certain extent; and experience has shewn me, that it is a matter
of indifference which are employed, except as to the price, according
as either material may be more or less abundant in different parts of
the country.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                    THICKNESS OR SOLIDITY OF HIVES.


Whatever may be the form or material of which hives are made,
I strongly recommend not to be sparing of it, but to make them
substantial. I would recommend that the boards of the wooden ones be
an inch and a half thick; and that the straw-ropes of which the others
are composed, be well twisted, and more than an inch in diameter.
Such hives will be heavier and more unwieldy than thin hives, but
they afford a better protection from the sun in summer, and the frost
in winter. The heat of the sun is apt to melt the combs in summer:
in winter the cold sometimes candies, and renders them useless; and,
in the spring, the thin hives neither retain the heat necessary for
hatching the eggs, nor for preserving the honey in a liquid state. One
may easily be convinced of this, by laying some folds of linen on the
top of the hive, and then passing the hand between them, and there will
be a degree of warmth felt, which never happens where the hives are
thick enough. They may be a little more costly, but the expence is more
than compensated by the prosperity of the bees.




                             CHAPTER VII.

                        SIZE OF THE APERTURE OR
                          ENTRANCE OF HIVES.


It is of great importance to widen or contract the entrance, according
to the season, or to the strength of the swarms; and for this purpose
it is only necessary to have a few little wedges, or bits of wood,
that may be taken out or put in at pleasure. Hives are weak in spring,
because the bees are engaged in the interior, keeping warm, and
taking care of the young, and the guard at the door is not strong
enough to prevent invaders. Contract the door, therefore, and four
bees will defend it better than thirty would do, if it were more
spacious, and enlarge it again by degrees, according to the increase
of the population. The working bees must have room enough to go out
and in without hindrance; when they begin to crowd together in groups
at the entrance, it is a sign of the interior being filled, and they
should then have free access, as they will be strong enough to resist
pillage. When the cluster becomes very large, which it will do as the
drones increase, enlarge the entrance as much as possible. It is even
advisable sometimes to open the hive a little at the top, in order
to moderate, by a current of air, the excessive heat that forces the
bees to the outside; and this is the only case in which there is any
advantage in lofty hives. After the destruction of the drones, the
population diminishes, and the bees no longer cluster outside, and then
is the time to begin, by degrees, to contract the entrance, in order to
prevent plunder.

For this purpose, I use little wooden wedges first, because they cost
nothing, as any body may make them with a knife and a bit of stick;
and, secondly, because they help to protect them from the moths, which
make sad havoc when once they gain access to a hive. They deposit their
eggs in the interstices between the wedges and the hives, and they are
hatched by the heated vapour that is expelled by the constant vibration
of the wings of the bees. In the fine weather of April or May, I
inspect my hives twice or three times a-week, before the bees go out
in the morning, take out the wedges, and scrape and clean them with my
knife; and, in this way, I protect them from the moths.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                   TO ASCERTAIN THE WEIGHT OF HIVES.


Many apiaries do not prosper, in consequence of the ignorance of those
who have the care of them. How many people follow blindly the way they
have been used to, without knowing wherefore; others go on by chance,
without rule or guide. At one time they ruin their hives, by depriving
them of too much of their honey; at another, they suffer whole colonies
to die of hunger, when they might save them by giving them food;
and, in autumn, they suffocate those that appear to be destitute of
provisions, because they know not how or in what manner to preserve
them. Few amateurs understand thoroughly the state and wants of their
hives, and generally estimate them by lifting them up to feel their
weight; and, as this may be the cause of numerous mistakes, some being
three or four times heavier than others, it is of the utmost importance
to know the exact weight of each hive, when empty, without either combs
or bees. For this purpose, I expressly recommend, that each hive be
weighed before putting a swarm into it, and the weight noted down in a
memorandum book, as well as on a ticket nailed on the hive, the use of
which we shall soon see.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                      QUANTITY OF HONEY NECESSARY
                          TO MAINTAIN A HIVE.


The quantity varies according to the climate. In southern countries,
where there is scarcely any winter, the bees gather food till towards
the end of autumn, and the flowers offer them pasture again very early
in the spring. In these countries, therefore, they require a smaller
winter store than in colder climates. The directions I am about to
give, are only applicable to Switzerland, or to those countries which
nearly resemble it in point of temperature. Every hive ought to have
at least three pots of honey to nourish it during the winter; and,
as the pot of honey, Neuchatel measure, weighs rather more than five
pounds, of seventeen ounces to the pound, there should be fully fifteen
pounds of honey allowed to each hive. Whether the swarm be strong or
weak, large or small, is of no consequence, as the smallest swarm will
consume as much as a large one. If they have less than that allowance,
they may linger through the winter, but will be sure to die if the
spring happens to be a late one, and the weather cold and rainy. If a
hive is expected to swarm, it should be allowed a quarter more in the
autumn, that is, twenty pounds of honey: or it may be supplied after
another manner, which I shall point out. But let there be no higgling
with bees; better that they have too much than too little: more prudent
than man, they never waste or abuse their superfluity.

In estimating the quantity of provisions that a hive contains, its
age should be considered; and it is to be taken into account, that
the black combs of old hives weigh ten times more than the white
combs of a young one. It becomes, therefore, a matter of importance
to know the weight of the empty hive, without which the quantity of
provision cannot be estimated, and to weigh it again at the end of
the honey season. When a swarm of the present year, at the end of
autumn, weighs fifteen or sixteen pounds more than its original weight,
I take nothing from it, and I give it nothing, being certain that
it can maintain itself, if not plundered. If it has twenty-five, or
even thirty pounds, neither do I touch it, as it will prosper so much
the better next year. As to old hives, they ought, at the beginning
of winter, to weigh twenty-five pounds above their original weight.
I willingly leave them thirty or thirty-six pounds. The remainder I
consider my own, and of course take it away.

Some people will wonder at the quantity of provisions which I leave to
my hives; but it is the true means, I may say the true secret, by which
to insure swarms, for a starved one never produces. To this I have seen
only one exception. I lavished honey upon a hive in spring, when it was
crowded with bees, which were in want; this enabled it to give out a
late swarm, but it never prospered. What surplus I bestow upon them,
I consider as not lost, and that, sooner or later, it will return to
me. Besides, the consumption is prodigious during the great _hatching_
in the months of March, April, and May. It requires an incredible
quantity to nourish the young in the state of _larvæ_ or worms. The
larvæ are involved in a kind of pap, which its nurses lavish upon it,
and which is chiefly composed of honey. If, at this time, there should
happen to be whole weeks of cold rainy weather, and high winds, which
is sometimes the case at that season, the poor bees, unable to get
to the fields, will suffer severely if they have not honey in store;
the hatching is interrupted till the return of fine weather; and the
population makes no progress: while, in well provisioned hives, it goes
on without intermission. Bees are very saving; but it is to our profit.
Let us not deal grudgingly with them.

Nevertheless, it is not advantageous to leave them greatly too much
honey,--excessive super-abundance annoys them. In plentiful seasons,
I have seen middling sized straw-hives in which the combs were filled
with honey down to the very boards. This happens especially when the
bees have enriched themselves with plunder in the autumn; and there
are two inconveniences attending it; first, the bees have not room to
deposit their brood, which, by the time the swarms are ready to go
off, fills the hive almost entirely; secondly, the old honey candies,
and, in that state, it is of no use to the bees. When hives are to be
renewed by the cutting out of old combs, it is this kind that should,
above all, be taken away. It is always to be found in old hives; and if
it has been left several winters in the hive, it sours and contracts
a disagreeable taste. The best use that can then be made of it is to
dissolve it with more or less wine, and feed the bees with it on the
approach of the swarming season; above all, when the weather is cold
and rainy. Their activity is then increased by it.

These succours will not be found superfluous even when the trees are
in flower. In fine weather they find honey in abundance on them; but,
should a few rainy days interrupt their labours, and throw them upon
their own resources, the progress of the hatching is stopped, and
injury is done to all.




                              CHAPTER X.

                      THE USE OF CAPES OR HOODS.


Well made straw-hives ought to have a hole in the top, of about an inch
or an inch and a half in diameter, which may be closed with a cork
or stopper of wood. This stopper may be drawn out when it is found
advisable to put a cape or hood on it, so as to give the bees more room
to deposit their honey. These capes are little straw-hives capable
of containing five or six pounds of honey-comb, or more, according
to the size of the hive on which they are placed. They are made very
thin and light: the cords of straw of which they are formed are very
small, being not intended to keep in the heat, but merely to serve as a
temporary magazine for the honey.

The use of these additions will be easily understood by those who know
that it takes as long a time to hatch a bee as to hatch a chicken, viz.
three weeks.

I have already said and repeated, that, in the swarming season, the
strong and well provisioned hives are almost entirely filled with the
brood-comb, and that scarcely any of the cells will be found empty. At
that time also, honey becomes abundant; and, when fine days succeed
each other, the working bees amass an astonishing quantity; but where
is it to be stored? Moments are precious. Must they wait until the
young bees have left the brood-cells, a week or perhaps a fortnight
longer, by which time the early flowers will be cut down or withered,
never more to display their honied cups to these little reapers? What
is to be done in this dilemma? Must the young be sacrificed, and torn
from the cells, in order to make room for the riches that nature offers
on every hand? But this destruction of its posterity would ruin the
colony. Mark, then, the resource of the industrious bees. They search
in their neighbourhood for a place where they may deposit their honey
until the young shall have left the comb in which they were hatched,
and nourished, and undergone their metamorphoses; and, if they fail
in their object, they crowd together op the front or sides of their
habitation, forming prodigious clusters. It is not uncommon to see them
build combs on the outside; many did so in the year 1791, the finest
honey year I have seen since 1753. In the year 1791, I drew from one
of my straw-hives that did not swarm, seventy-two pounds of beautiful
honey-comb, merely by emptying the capes as they were filled. All
years, however, are not like that, nor any thing approaching to it.
There are middling seasons, when the bees find little more than merely
what is requisite for their own supply. There are also bad seasons,
when almost all the swarms perish, as well as numberless old hives,
when they do not receive assistance: such, among others, were the years
1812 and 1813. In the worst years there are days and even weeks of fine
weather, when the honey is abundant; but it is of short continuance.
The bees, however, at that time, will deposit their honey into the
capes; and, towards the end of summer, or beginning of autumn, when
little or no more is to be found, they remove it into the hive, filling
the cells which the brood occupied at the time it was collected.

If, during the summer, we deprive them of this treasure, which is only
deposited in the capes for the time, we impoverish them, unless it is
returned to them in twice the quantity. This was one cause of the ruin
and depopulation of so many apiaries during these two fatal years, and
my principal motive for taking up my pen is, to prevent, if possible,
the recurrence of such disasters, by making known to the public my
observations and discoveries.

If the bees have room enough in the interior to dispose of their honey,
it is needless to give them capes, for they will not build in them.
These capes are commonly placed on the top of the hive, but it is
matter of indifference whether they be on the right, on the left, or
even underneath, provided there be an accessible way of communication
between them. If we wish to attach them to the bottom of the hive, we
establish a communication between the hive and the cape, by making
a hole in the board on which the hive rests, so as to afford a free
passage to the workers. I have capes of all kinds, above, below, and on
the sides, which all succeed equally well. Those placed above have an
advantage not to be despised, which is, that they prevent the combs
from moulding during the winter, an evil to which hives are liable in
those countries where they are taken into the house, to protect them
from the frost and snow.

All those that are well stocked, produce a moisture which, having no
vent, collects in drops on the sides, and at the base of the hive,
in which the bees are kept close prisoners until the return of fine
weather. Many perish during their long captivity, and, oftener than
once, I have found large icicles in strong hives. This never happens
to those that have capes on the top: the moisture ascending evaporates
through the opening, as by a chimney; and then one has the satisfaction
of finding the combs healthy and free of mould in the spring. Care,
however, must be had to cement it all round with clay or mortar, or
some composition suited to exclude the wind, and to prevent the bees,
sometimes very impatient, from getting out during the winter.

With this precaution, very few will be found dead in the spring; and,
in well-stocked hives, the laying of eggs begins about the end of
January or beginning of February.

Capes may be adapted to wooden hives, or to those of any other
material, as well as to those of straw.

Many people place capes over all their swarms the very day, or the
day after, their emigration, and I approve of this plan for early and
strong swarms.

Capes neither prevent nor retard the issuing of swarms. I have
frequently had hives that filled them, or were in the way of doing so,
when the emigration took place, but on their numbers being diminished,
stopped the work, and returned to it again as soon as they were
reinforced, provided they did not give out a second swarm. Hives that
have capes rarely give out second swarms, and this is no loss.

The honey obtained by the capes is very pure, beautifully white, and
very superior to what is obtained by the cutting out of combs.

It sometimes happens, that the queen will ascend into the cape to
deposit her eggs, when she has not room in the interior; therefore,
should any brood-comb happen to be in it when it is intended to be
removed, let it be replaced until such time as the young are completely
hatched. The brood-comb is easily distinguished: the cells that
contain it have their covers darker, more raised, and much thicker,
than those that contain honey, the covers of which are white, flat, and
very thin.

There is no fixed rule for the time of removing the capes; it must
altogether depend on the abundance of the honey. In six years, there
are usually two bad, two good, and two middling seasons.

In bad seasons there is nothing to take away; on the contrary, some
must be given, or, properly speaking, be _lent_ to them, for the
industrious bees always repay three, four, and five fold interest on
the advances that are made them.

In good years, the capes may be emptied three or four times; and unless
this be done the bees will build their combs on the outside.

In middling seasons, strong and well provisioned hives fill at least
one cape, which may be taken without remorse, if they have not swarmed.
I seldom or never take any from those that have swarmed, because
they are thereby very much weakened. Good sense must here direct the
proprietor.

The only fixed rule which can be laid down is, never to take the capes
that are not quite filled, unless the hive happens to be very large, as
there is always abundance of honey when the labourers determine to go
to work in the capes. But beware of taking half-filled capes from small
or middling sized hives: restitution will repair but a small portion of
the evil this will do them.




                              CHAPTER XI.

                         HOW TO EXPEL THE BEES
                            FROM THE CAPES.


It is in the heat of the day that the honey should be taken from the
capes. A number of bees will always be found (commissioned no doubt) to
guard the treasure.

Various methods are resorted to, to expel them without smoking. Some
carry the cape to a distance from the apiary, turn it upside down,
rest it on the ground, and cover it with a napkin, leaving on one side
a space of about a finger-length uncovered, to allow an exit to the
bees, which, escaping by this opening, return to their habitation;
and, to hasten their departure, some one knocks, from time to time, on
the outside.

Others take a cape of the same size, place it over the full one that
is turned upside down, bind them round with a napkin, to intercept all
passage to the bees, and force them to ascend into the empty cape by
tapping gently on the full one. They soon go up into the empty cape,
calling on each other, and flapping their wings; and, when they are
all housed, replace them again on the parent hive whence they were
withdrawn; and, if the season is favourable and the honey abundant,
they soon set to work again.

I prefer this last method, which is the speediest and easiest.




                             CHAPTER XII.

                            SIZE OF HIVES.


Most amateurs have all their hives of an equal size. Some will have
only very large ones; others very small ones; and others there
are who prefer those of middling dimensions, into which they lodge
indifferently, early and late, weak and strong, and even double swarms,
that have re-united on leaving the parent hive; this is not very
judicious. There should be a roomy lodging for first and for strong
swarms, and even more so for double ones; and there ought to be small
hives to receive feeble and tardy swarms, as well as for second and
third ones at least, if proprietors do not reinforce them, by uniting
them, according to my plan. Middling sized hives are convenient for
ordinary swarms, which are neither the first nor the last ones.

When two or even three swarms come off at the same time and mingle
together, as sometimes happens in large apiaries, I take care not to
separate them, but give them a hive big enough to contain them all.

One strong population supports itself better, and is incomparably
more profitable, than feeble colonies, that must be often in need of
assistance. But there is a measure in every thing, and there should be
no excess; should four or five swarms mingle, it is proper to separate
them and lodge them in two hives of suitable dimensions; when I have
not done so, I have always, except once, had cause to regret it. Before
swarming time, it is as well to prepare hives of various sizes, just as
one would have casks ready in a cellar before the vintage, to be ready
for use. Here experience is in harmony with reason.




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                     MANNER OF UNITING NEW SWARMS.


Feeble and tardy swarms can do no good excepting in very fine seasons.
In bad seasons they greatly weaken the hives that produce them, without
being able to shift for themselves. In ordinary years, they can only
be preserved by much care, and at the expence of a great deal of
honey; and most of them die, after all, without bringing any profit to
their master. I have saved some that have turned out well, but only
at the end of two or even three years; and I advise no one to try
the experiment unless they have a great deal of honey to spare. It is
better to unite them, and proceed after the following method:--

When two small swarms come off the same day, I gather them separately,
and leave them at the foot of the tree or hush on which they have
alighted. Towards evening I spread a table-cloth on the ground, on
which, by a smart and sudden movement, I shake all the bees out of one
of the hives, and immediately take the other and place it gently over
the bees that are heaped together on the cloth, and they instantly
ascend into it, flapping their wings, and join those which, not having
been disturbed, are quiet in their new abode. Early next morning I
remove this newly united hive to the place it is destined to occupy.
This doubled population works with double success, and in the most
perfect harmony; and generally becomes a powerful colony, from which
a great profit is derived. Two feeble swarms may be united after the
same manner, although one of them may have come off some days later
than the other, and the first may have constructed combs; taking care,
however, not to make the first one enter the second, but the second
the first, as the bees will ascend more readily to join those that have
already begun to make honey and to hatch brood; and next day they will
proceed together, with increased ardour, with the work which the first
had already begun, and which will now advance more rapidly from the
increase of the labourers. It is to be understood, that, after this
union, the hive should be placed early next morning in the same place
where the oldest of the swarms has already passed some days.

I have recommended the uniting of swarms to be effected in the evening,
when the bees are quietly housed for the night. If it were to be during
the day, when the labourers are in full activity, they might fight and
kill one another, to the total destruction of one of the swarms, which
I have seen happen more than once. But in the evening they are grouped
together; those that have been displaced alight upon, and take hold
of, the others, and thus merely extend the cluster, now composed of
two distinct masses, the one covering the other: their peace is never
disturbed, and next day they work together in perfect harmony. Their
fighting is always after the fashion of a duel, and not of a battle. In
their wars, they do not range themselves in close battle lines, like
men, breaking through and overturning each other; they fight bee to
bee, excepting in cases of plunder or the killing of the drones, and
then the combatant who first engages in the attack is speedily assisted
by all those within reach uniting their forces to overthrow the
enemy. But when the whole of a new swarm, suddenly displaced, ascends
precipitately into a hive, peaceably occupied by another, the bees of
each colony cannot recognize each other, and having no field to fight
after their own fashion, they pass the night together, and, doubtless,
acquiring the same smell, live happily together. But such is not the
case when we wish to make a swarm enter an old hive, or to unite it
to one whose hive is already full of honey-combs. Then another way of
proceeding, and precautions of another kind, are necessary, concerning
which I shall now give directions.




                             CHAPTER XIV.

                       METHODS OF UNITING TWO OR
                        THREE SWARMS IN AUTUMN.


When the swarms have not been able to lay up a sufficient provision
during the fine weather, I weigh them at the end of the season, and,
knowing the weight of each empty hive, I can tell exactly the quantity
of honey they have in store.

If they are three, four, five or six pounds too light, I preserve them,
and feed them in the manner I am about to detail. When the swarms
have only about one-third or one-half of the quantity of honey which
would suffice to feed them, I might keep them alive by giving them
as much more as they require. I have frequently done so; but I have
already remarked, that this plan costs too much honey, and gives too
much trouble; and therefore I generally join them into one. For this
purpose, I leave the heaviest swarm untouched, and, in the morning of
a fine day in September, or beginning of October, I commence by blowing
a few whiffs of tobacco-smoke with my pipe in at the door of the hive
of the lightest swarm, to disperse the sentinels; then, turning up
the hive, and placing it on its top on the ground, I give it a little
more smoke, to prevent the bees from becoming irritated, and to force
them to retire within the combs. I proceed to cut out all the combs
in succession, beginning with the smallest, sweeping the bees with a
feather off each piece back into the hive; and then I place the combs,
one after another, into a large dish beside me, keeping it, at the
same time, carefully covered over with a napkin or small table-cloth,
to prevent the bees returning to their combs, or the smell of the
honey attracting others that may be flying about. The last comb is the
most difficult to come at, being completely covered over with bees. I
detach it, however, in the same way as the others, but with greater
precaution, sweeping the bees off very gently with the feather until
there is not one left on it. This operation I perform without gloves or
any other protection, armed only with my pipe; and, for ten times that
I treat them after this fashion, I seldom receive one sting, even when
I act unassisted.

The combs being all removed, the swarm remains as completely destitute
of food as it was on the day of its emigration, and I replace it on its
board in the same spot it occupied when full, and leave it till the
evening, by which time the bees will be clustered together like a new
swarm. During the whole of the day, which I shall suppose to be fine,
they occupy themselves with great earnestness cleaning their house, and
making such a noise in removing the little fragments of wax that have
fallen on the board, that any one who did not know it had been emptied,
would take it for the best and strongest of the hives. Before night,
when they are all quiet, I throw a few whiffs of smoke in at the door
of the hive which I mean my deprived swarm to enter, and which should
be its next neighbour, on the right hand or the left; then, turning it
up and resting it on the ground, I sprinkle it all over with honey,
especially between the combs where I perceive the greatest number of
bees: five or six table-spoonfuls generally suffice; at other times
three or four times as many are required. If too little were given, the
new comers might not be well received; there might be some fighting;
and, by giving too much, we run the risk of drowning them. One should
cease the sprinkling when the bees begin to climb up above the combs,
and shelter themselves on the sides of the hive: this done, I replace
the hive on its board, which should jut out about seven or eight
inches, raising the hive up in front with two little bits of stick, so
as to leave a division of an inch in front between it and the board,
to give free access to the bees. I also spread a table-cloth on the
ground before it, raising and fixing one end of it on the board, by
means of the two bits of sticks that are placed as a temporary support
to the hive. I then take the hive that was deprived of its combs in
the morning, and, with one shake, throw the bees out of it upon the
table-cloth, which they instantly begin to ascend; while, by the help
of a long wooden spoon, I guide them to the door of the one that is
placed for their reception. A few spoonfuls of the bees raised and laid
down at the door of the hive, will set the example,--they enter at
once, and the others follow quickly, flapping their wings and sipping
with delight the drops of honey that come in their way, or officiously
licking and cleaning those first inhabitants that have received the
sprinkling, and with whom they mingle and live henceforth on good
terms. One division of the new comers always clusters on the front of
the hive, which they enter during the night without disturbance, much
pleased to rejoin their companions. Next morning early it is necessary
to take away the table-cloth and the bits of stick that were placed to
raise up the hive and facilitate the entrance of the bees, and for some
days the door should be left as wide as possible. The hive should also
be moved a little to the right or left, that it may stand precisely in
the centre of the place they both occupied before the union.

I have frequently united three swarms in the same manner, and with the
same success, taking care only to empty in the morning those on each
side, and to make the bees enter the middle one in the evening, after
it has been sprinkled with honey. In this case I do not remove the one
that unites the three swarms. The reason of this we shall soon see.




                              CHAPTER XV.

                           MANNER OF UNITING
                         OLD HIVES IN AUTUMN.


When old hives are weakened by giving out too many swarms, and have not
amassed a sufficient provision for the winter, many proprietors place
them one above another, simply making an opening in the board, to serve
as a communication between them, and closing the entrance to the upper
one, with a little clay, for the purpose of making the bees go out and
in through the lower one by the only opening that is left them. Several
authors advise it; I have done it also, but shall do so no more, having
found it attended by two serious inconveniences.

The first is, that the two colonies do not always agree; indeed they
fight sometimes to extremity, and thus the one is destroyed and the
other is weakened. The reason is, that the bees of the upper hive,
descending one by one, or only few at a time, are examined at leisure
by those in the lower one, and, not having the same signal, are
mistaken for robbers, and killed without mercy. This occurred to me the
first time I attempted to unite them in this way; but it never happens
in the tumultuous union of two swarms, when the one has been sprinkled
and almost glued with honey, in consequence of which it is not in a fit
state to commence an attack on those that are hastily displaced.

A second inconvenience is, that, even supposing there should be no
warfare, the habitation is much too large for those that are henceforth
intended to be but one family. Whether they unite in the upper or the
under hive, one of them must be left empty, into which thieves can
find easier access; and although they should not be plundered, they
would suffer from the cold of a severe winter. The population, indeed,
is doubled, but so is the size of the lodging, and in that case there
will be no swarms. Very large hives seldom swarm, it requires so much
more time to fill them. My method has not these disadvantages, for two
families living together in the same hive are warmer, and better able
to resist any hostile attack.

It is to avoid these two inconveniences that, in autumn, I empty an old
hive which has not sufficient provision, and, in the evening of the
same day, I introduce the bees into one of its neighbours on the right
hand or on the left, proceeding in the same manner as with the swarms;
with this single difference, that the sprinkling of honey should be
more liberal to the old hive than to the swarm.

If the hive of which I have doubled the population is well enough
furnished with provision for the winter, I give it nothing. And if
there is not enough, I give it before winter as much as it requires, in
the manner hereafter to be detailed.




                             CHAPTER XVI.

                          NEIGHBOURING HIVES
                           SHOULD BE UNITED.


I HAVE already said, in Chapter III. that bees which have not swarmed
voluntarily return to the place they have been accustomed to, even
after having been shut up for months: the same thing would happen if
you united swarms distant from each other. Next day, or the day after,
you would have the mortification to see the bees return by hundreds to
their old residence, flutter about for a length of time, and lose their
lives, either by falling down from fatigue, or throwing themselves
into the neighbouring hives, where they are put to death. Not having
left their new dwelling with the same precaution that a swarm uses to
reconnoitre the one it has chosen, or that has been given to it, and,
supposing themselves at home, in spite of the disorder of the night
before, they rush out on a rapid flight, and, returning from their
excursion, go back to the place of their ancient domicil; and thus the
purpose of fortifying your hives, and of preserving them, by uniting
them, is defeated. I have frequently tried to unite distant hives, and
always met with this result.

There is only one remedy for this that I know of, but it is an
imperfect one, and gives a great deal of trouble. It is, to put in some
combs of wax into the hive that has been emptied, and replace it in
its old situation. The bees return to it in great numbers the following
day, and some days after; at length, after a great deal of bustle,
they settle towards evening on the combs, and, before night, when they
are quite tranquil, I take the combs one after another, and, with a
feather, sweep off the bees, so as to make them fall upon the board of
the one that contains their companions, and which they now enter with
evident marks of joy. This operation may require to be repeated for
seven or eight days, with this difference, that every succeeding day
fewer will return. Thus the evil may be repaired, though incompletely
and with infinite trouble.

It is to avoid the perplexity which displacing them occasions to these
precious insects, and also the loss that results to myself, that I move
the united hive a little to one side, so that it may occupy the space
that was before between them. As displacing them only a few inches
does not confuse them, for the same reason, when I join three hives,
as I often do, I never displace the middle one, but remove those I
have emptied on the right hand and on the left, which is sufficient
to prevent mistakes, and the bees, finding no hive on either side,
enter the middle one without hesitation. It is a very essential point,
however, to join only neighbouring hives, as being less troublesome and
more successful.

It would be a good plan to mingle in the apiary strong and weak hives
alternately, and to place small and late swarms near each other, in
order to unite two and two, or three and three, in autumn, if they have
not enough of provision laid up for their winter subsistence.

When a deprived swarm happens not to be near another in the same state,
there is nothing to hinder it being united to any old well provisioned
hive that may be near it, as it will thrive all the better for such
an addition to its population. I have done so oftener than once, and
always with success.




                             CHAPTER XVII.

                      HOW TO FEED UNITED SWARMS.


There is always honey in hives that are emptied to be united. If there
are six pounds more or less, I lay aside the combs that are full, after
having separated those that are but half filled, and of which the cells
are not hermetically sealed by the little thin chip of transparent
white wax which invariably covers those cells that are full of honey.
Twelve or fourteen days after the union, when the cold forces the bees
to congregate themselves in their hives, I give the hive that contains
the double population a few puffs of tobacco-smoke; then, turning it
upside down, I cut away the empty combs, that are always below and on
the sides of the hive. While performing this operation, it is necessary
to give them an occasional whiff of smoke to keep them quiet. I only
take out the one-half of those that are half filled with honey, and
cease as soon as I find the comb quite full. When there is room enough
to contain the fragments of honey-comb that I mean to put in, I place
them as nicely as I can, without breaking or bruising them, filling
the empty space, without leaving any division but the little intervals
between the combs, to allow a free passage to the bees. This done, I
lay a board over it, and, with the aid of another person, we return it
gently to its former position, and, shaking it as little as possible,
replace it in its proper situation.

This operation may be done in the morning or in the evening, but never
in the heat of the day. I prefer the evening, in order not to attract
thieves.

The diligent bees soon discover the change that has taken place; and
finding bits of honey-comb heaped up in all directions, they set about
giving them solidity, soldering them together before the following
night, in such a manner, that all these fragments soon form one mass,
intersected only by little alleys of communication. Thus it remains
during the whole of the winter; and, in the month of March or April,
according to the temperature of the weather, I take out this irregular
mass, which I find entirely emptied; the bees having lived upon it, and
spared the provisions which they had stored in the middle of the hive.

I have supposed that the hive whose population I have doubled has also
received the addition of six pounds of honey-comb, given in the way I
have just described. These constitute, as it were, the dowry of the
new comers, who are themselves at the whole expence, as it was they
who constructed and filled the combs of which I took possession. The
doubled hive having then sufficient food to subsist on till spring,
I trouble it no more, certain, from past experience, that I shall
then find it in good condition. Every one of these swarms would have
perished from want, had they lived separately; and, by joining, I give
them the means of subsistence, without costing myself any thing. If the
supposed six pounds do not suffice to support them, I lend them more; I
say _lend_, for the bees always return with interest whatever advances
are made to them.

I proceed exactly after the same manner when I unite two old hives
that have not been able to lay up a sufficient provision, remembering
always, as already mentioned, that old dark-coloured combs, being
much heavier than white ones, contain also less honey, and that,
consequently, it requires a greater number of pounds to make up a pot
of this nectar. The difference is so great, that six pounds of white
comb will produce more than a pot of honey, whereas the same quantity
can scarcely be extracted from eight, or even ten, pounds of black comb.




                            CHAPTER XVIII.

                      QUANTITY OF FOOD REQUISITE
                           FOR UNITED HIVES.


I have said, in Chapter IX. that each hive must have three pots, or
fifteen pounds of honey, to sustain it during the winter, and until
the bees can find food for themselves again in the spring. For this
reason, I have advised the empty hives to be weighed, before the swarm
is admitted into it, and again in the autumn, when the honey season
is over, in order that we may be assured that there is food enough to
maintain them during the winter.

In doubling the population, I naturally expected that we must also
double the quantity of food, for I had always seen that two or
three families, living together, used more meat than each would
have done singly, however rigid their economy. The more mouths the
more meat, thought I; and, in consequence, I augmented greatly the
amount of provision the first time I doubled a hive; but, to my great
astonishment, when I weighed it again in the spring, I found that the
united swarm had not consumed more than each would have done singly. I
could not believe my eyes, but thought there must be some mistake, nor
could I be convinced, until I had repeated the experiment a hundred
times over, and had always the same result.

I have made a point, in every instance, to mention the reasons of my
advice and proceedings; here, however, I humbly confess my inability
to do so, nor can I conceive how an army of thirty thousand troops
could be served with the same rations allowed for an army of only ten
thousand, supposing the soldiers of both to have an equal appetite, and
to have each wherewith to satisfy it. But the fact exists in regard to
the bees; any one may have it in his power to convince himself of it;
the cause is to me unknown, and must be left to wiser heads than mine
to explain. Does the increase of heat supply, to a certain extent, the
place of nourishment? Does the greater and more uniform heat, in a
well-stocked hive, make the food more nourishing?

These are questions which I propose to naturalists, but which I cannot
answer.

After this discovery, as important as it seems to be inexplicable, I
varied my experiments, not only to convince myself of the fact, but,
if possible, to arrive at more extended results. I joined three hives
in the autumn, by introducing into the middle one, the bees of two
neighbouring hives; and I found, on weighing it in the spring, that its
inhabitants had scarcely used one pound more than those of hives that
had not been united. I went farther: Having a large well-stocked and
amply provided hive, I added to it, in the autumn, without displacing
it, the swarms of four neighbouring hives, two on the right hand and
two on the left, that were so scarce of provisions that the quantity
of honey that would have been necessary to have kept them alive, would
have far exceeded their value, and that all the four would, to a
certainty? have perished. This enormous population produced a heat so
great, that, during the whole of a very severe winter, the bees kept
up a buzzing noise equal to that of a strong and active hive in the
evening of a fine day in spring. The steam expelled by the vibration of
their wings, collected in drops at the door, and formed icicles round
the entrance of the hive during severe frost. The hive was left out all
the winter, and would infallibly have perished had I shut it up; and
what was my astonishment, on weighing it in the spring, to find that,
notwithstanding that it contained five pounds, the total diminution
did not exceed three pounds more than took place in my ordinary hives.
It gave out excellent swarms, long before any of the others, and
recompensed me well for my pains. I have not repeated the experiment to
the same extent, but have limited myself to the union of two, or at
most three deprived hives, and have been very well paid.

What, in these circumstances, becomes of the supernumerary queens,
since their hatred to one another is so great that there can be but
one in each colony? I give myself no trouble to answer the question,
more curious than useful; the aim of my experiments being only to give
practical rules.

I have often been astonished that so important a discovery should not
have been made sooner by some of the superior minds that have taken
an interest in this branch of rural economy; and that, in the course
of their researches, not one of them should have thought of uniting
two or three weak swarms, before winter, to compare them with single
swarms, in order to ascertain how much honey was necessary, according
to both plans, till the end of the winter season. Doubtless they had
believed, as I formerly did, that the more numerous the family the
more provisions would they require, and that little would thus be
gained by uniting them. I should have regretted quitting the world
before publishing this discovery; and it had nearly perished with me;
for, continued and indispensable occupations, as well as a dangerous
illness, prevented me setting about giving it to the public, till now
that I am far advanced in life.



                             CHAPTER XIX.

                        BENEFITS RESULTING FROM
                       THE UNION OF WEAK HIVES.


The advantages of uniting weak hives are very considerable. I need only
mention three. 1. The bees are saved; 2. They are saved without trouble
or expence; 3. All the hives are strong.

The first of these advantages is the preservation of the bees. In
every country, swarms are destroyed that have not been able to gather
a sufficient store of provision. Those found to be too light are
unmercifully condemned to be suffocated; and what little honey they
have collected, is considered as pure gain, because the bees would
have perished from want, after having consumed the scanty fruits of
their own industry; and, by putting them to death a little sooner,
something at least may be made of them. Thus people reason, and thus
the murderous practice is so generally adopted. The same plan is
followed in regard to old hives that are exhausted by giving out too
many swarms; and in short, to all those that have not abundance of
provision laid up; and the very heavy ones, on the other hand, have
their bees slain to get possession of the honey. What a frightful
proscription is this! What blanks occur in the apiaries, especially in
bad years, such as 1812 and 1813! And how injurious to our own interest
is this indiscriminate destruction of weak and healthy, of rich and
poor! There is no mercy shewn but to them that have just enough to
keep them alive; and not even one of them would be spared, were they
not indispensably necessary to repeople the apiaries by new swarms.
According to my method, all these evils are prevented. All the hives
may be robbed of their treasures; but the lives of the bees are spared.

A second and very considerable advantage is the saving of honey. I
have already said, that there must be at least three pots or fifteen
pounds of honey to maintain one hive, whether it be strong or weak. If
three swarms, then, have only that quantity among them, each has but
a third of the provision that it requires; and, to keep them alive,
you must sacrifice six pots of honey, that is, two-thirds of the whole
provision, or two pots for each. It is to avoid this great expence,
which would equal if not exceed the value of the swarms, that most
people have recourse to the prompt measure of suffocation. But, by
uniting the swarms, all the working bees may be saved, without any
expence, and without any waste of honey but the small quantity employed
to sprinkle the combs of the hive, into which you make them enter. The
honey-combs found in those which you empty, are sufficient to feed
the three united swarms, by giving it to them after the manner I have
directed at page 33. The wax is all your own. It costs only a little
care and a little trouble, which will be amply repaid by the benefit
insured. And will it be accounted a slight pleasure to witness the
prosperity of the bees we have saved?

A third advantage, which appears to me one of great value, is, that
all the hives which we possess are strong hives (meaning by the term
strong, such hives as are well stocked with bees). Weak hives decline
and yield nothing; have frequent need of assistance; are exposed to
pillage; give out no swarms; and produce scarcely heat sufficient to
hatch a little brood in a corner of their dwelling, which never comes
to good. How often have I seen the brood come to an untimely end. In
vain the bees will crowd together, to procure the necessary degree of
heat, when there is much empty space in the hive. A number of weak
hives may do well enough to make a shew in the apiary, but will be no
profit to the proprietor. It costs a good deal to feed them, if one
would keep them alive; and there is very little to be gained by putting
them to death. Not so with the united hives; they were all vigorous; in
condition to defy the rigour of the seasons; to repel their enemies;
and to gather a great quantity of honey. The population augments
rapidly, and they give out early swarms; or if some of them do not
produce swarms, they furnish so much the more wax and honey, and will
collect more in one day than weak hives will do in a whole week; in
short, there is no comparison between them.




                              CHAPTER XX.

                          TIME AND MANNER OF
                          RENEWING OLD HIVES.


It is a common prejudice, that hives cannot be profitably preserved
beyond three, four, or six years at most, and that, beyond that
term, they become weak, give out no more swarms, and finish by being
pillaged, or becoming the prey of moths, which, if suffered to
establish themselves, soon make horrible devastation among them. A
great many experiments, however, have fully convinced me that such
is not the case, and that the duration of the hives may be greatly
prolonged by renewing them.

I have several from twelve to twenty years old, that are as
prosperous, and swarm as well, as the young ones. I have even one of
June 1789, consequently now in its twenty-fifth year, and it gave off
an excellent swarm on the 4th of June 1811, the same in 1813, then aged
twenty-four years, and again another this year 1814. Besides these
numerous swarms, I have taken from it 142 pounds of honey-comb, either
by pruning, or by means of capes. I have never united it with other
bees, because its neighbours had always enough to subsist on, and I
have renewed it only once.

The decay of old hives proceeds from three causes. The first is the
candying of the old honey, of which the bees have sometimes an ample
store, but which, from inability to eat it, becomes in that state very
troublesome, in place of being of use to them. When forced by hunger to
have recourse to it, they draw it out of the cells, and throw it down
on the board that serves as a floor to their habitation, in order to
profit by any of the sweet drops that happen to be in a liquid state.
In nibbling and scraping to empty the cells, it happens that many
of them become so daubed, that, being unable to get away from it,
they fall down, and soon perish, if the weather is cold. Thus the old
honey is lost as much to the proprietors as to the labourers that have
gathered it. Supposing, again, that they do not touch it, the place
it occupies is lost either for the purpose of depositing new honey or
brood, and hence the weak state the hives fall into, if not renewed.

A second cause of their decay is owing to the great quantity of the
pollen or dust of flowers that the bees gather and carry home on their
legs, especially in the spring and autumn, when large portions of the
combs will be found filled with it on both sides. It is an essential
ingredient in the pap with which they nourish the young brood, but good
for nothing else. Different authors have named it _bee-bread_; but
the bees never eat it: indeed it is a well attested fact, that they
will die of hunger on the combs that are filled with it. As it is very
heavy, it sometimes cheats those people who estimate the provision of a
hive by its weight. This is one of the reasons why I have recommended,
in Chap. IX. to allow eight or ten pounds more to old hives than to new
swarms.

The bee-bread being generally, when present, deposited in the centre
of the combs, where the brood thrives best, of course the place which
it takes up is so much lost. It is liable to mould in winter, and the
working bees have a great deal of trouble in tearing it from the cells,
and putting it out of their way. It spoils the honey, takes away its
whiteness, and gives it an unpleasant taste; it destroys the wax even
more, and forms that brown scum under the cakes, when great care is
not taken to separate it. Nevertheless, bees lay up useless hoards of
it, which they go on augmenting every year: and this is the only point
on which they can be accused of a want of that prudence and foresight
so admirable in every other respect. By renovating the hives, one
frees them of this superfluous substance, and the space it occupied is
directly replaced by beautiful white combs, and the whole hive becomes
as good as new.

A third cause of the weakness of an old hive is the blackness of the
combs in the centre and front of the hive. These old combs are mostly
pierced with holes large enough to hold two or three fingers, or even
a whole hand. They are not openings which the bees have cut out for
themselves, to pass from one comb to another; but are the result of
some violent measure to which they have had recourse, for the purpose
of defending themselves from the moths, one of which, establishing
itself in a comb, will soon destroy the whole hive, if they do not
speedily rid themselves of it. The young moth is not so easily got the
better of, being cased in a sort of strong silk, by means of which it
forms galleries, and slides from side to side of the hive; and the
bees are unable either to get within reach of the enemy, or to rend
this silken covering that defends it; but, perceiving their danger,
they join together in forming a plan of attack for their deliverance,
by gnawing the comb in which the moth is established, as far as the
galleries extend; throw down the piece, and finish by reducing it to
crumbs, and never rest until they kill the foe. They require to be in
great force for this operation. Weak hives need not attempt it; indeed
they generally finish by becoming the prey of the moths.

It is singular that bees, which know so well how to build combs, should
not be able to repair them. I have found as many as six of these holes
in one comb. Are they left standing thus, like so many monuments of
victories gained over a formidable enemy,--the most formidable and the
most difficult to conquer? All useless combs should be taken away, as
they tend to weaken the hive, and they will soon be replaced by entire
and healthy ones.




                             CHAPTER XXI.

                    THE SIGNS BY WHICH TO ASCERTAIN
                WHETHER A HIVE REQUIRES TO BE RENEWED.


As long as a hive produces honey and swarms, it is needless to touch
it; but, when it ceases to be productive,--when, during several months,
the bees form clusters, without swarming, I then think it necessary to
renew, or, properly speaking, to prune it; the directions for which
will be best understood by my simply relating how I managed my two
first experiments.

The first time I performed this operation was on a pretty large-sized
straw-hive, which, for ten years, was very productive. One year alone,
it yielded me seventy-two pounds of very fine honey-comb in the capes,
mentioned in Chapter X. The eleventh and twelfth years it made me no
return, though it was heavy and very populous. About the beginning of
the thirteenth year, I gave it a little tobacco-smoke, with my pipe,
and proceeded to prune the combs away with my knife, until I came to
brood. There remained only four in front, in which the bees always
begin to lay their eggs in the spring. They were very black, and
contained little honey, but I saved them, that the population might
not be destroyed. The honey that I took out was hard and candied,
but I melted it with a little wine; and, filling some bits of empty
combs with it, gave them a part of it two or three times a-week, being
careful to place them in the hive in the evening, and take them out
again in the morning, for fear of attracting thieves.

I thus fed the bees with their own store; the combs were always empty
in the morning. By the month of April, they began to build in the
space I had left. By the middle of May, they had completely filled it
with beautiful white combs, like those of a new swarm; and the same
year, on the 9th of June, it gave me, contrary to my expectation, an
excellent swarm. Next year, by the end of March, I took away the four
black combs that I had left, and in which was no brood. The brood was
by this time deposited in the middle combs; thus my hive was completely
renewed.

Encouraged by this success, I performed the same operation next spring,
on a common sized hive, which, during eleven years, had annually
yielded me honey or swarms: one year I took from it forty pounds
of beautiful honey-comb; but, for two years, it had been languid
and unproductive. On the 4th of March, I pruned away all the combs,
excepting two in front, containing brood; and I nourished the bees, by
giving them a little of the liquid honey every evening, upon a bit of
comb, until they could get out to gather food for themselves.

In the month of May, all the combs that I had cut out were replaced
with the most beautiful new ones. This hive, which was weaker than the
other, gave out no swarm the same year, but it filled a cape with some
pounds of honey-comb, which I took possession of.

The following year, on the 4th of March, I cut away the two black combs
that were left in front, and thus this hive was also entirely renewed;
after which it produced me four swarms, and nearly forty pounds of
honey-combs in the capes: this I consider a clear profit, there not
being the smallest doubt that the hive would have perished, had it not
been renewed.

These two examples may suffice to shew the advantage to be derived from
the renewing of old hives. What would mine have yielded had I resorted
to the common method of suffocating the bees? A little indifferent
honey; for that of candied combs is very inferior to that of new ones.
As to the wax, I should have had no more, since I took away all that
the hives contained, and the exchange gave me good strong colonies,
which are more valuable than the best swarms.

The advantage of my plan will be better understood, if we shall
suppose two neighbouring apiaries, equally good, and in all respects
equally well taken care of. Suppose one of them shall be managed in
the ordinary way, and that, every year, the owners shall suffocate the
heaviest swarms for the sake of the honey, and that they also destroy
the old hives that have too little provision for the winter. Let the
other apiary be managed according to the principles I have detailed,
that not one bee shall be put to death, and that, in the autumn, the
swarms that are too light, as well as the old hives that are scarce of
food, shall be united, and that the latter shall be renewed when they
cease to prosper.

At the end of fifteen years, compare these two apiaries, and see
which has the strongest hives, the greatest number, and in the best
condition. It would be surprising indeed, if they preserved their
original equality.

Will these operations be objected to, on account of the difficulties
attending the performance of them? Will it be said that every one has
not the courage to run the risk of being stung, or the dexterity to set
about handling the bees?

In all countries there are people to be found who are accustomed to
gather swarms, and to put joinings on hives. Let them be employed, and
directed in every part of the work that the proprietors do not like
to perform themselves. This practice is common in Lusatia, a country
celebrated in the history of bees, by the very useful discoveries of
M. Shirach, and where they make annually, according to his principles,
a great quantity of artificial swarms. The country people, of whom the
greater number understand nothing of these complex operations, which
take more time, and are much more difficult than the union of swarms,
or the renewing of hives, employ people who are bred to the business,
and who, in the proper season, go from village to village, making
swarms, and are paid for their trouble.

From the result of my experiments, it is evident that the duration
of hives is indefinite; and here a multitude of questions present
themselves. How long does a queen live? Would she live twenty years and
more? Is the term of her existence prolonged beyond that of the working
bees? I cannot answer; but I have reason to think that bees live only
one year, and that those which have lived over the winter, and have
assisted at the work during the spring and summer, and which do not
perish by accident, die of age in the month of August. By that time,
they seem to become paralytic; and, unable to fly, they fall down in
the neighbourhood of the hives, and creep about until they expire from
fatigue and exhaustion.

One then sees many of them, with their wings fringed, which is a sign
of decrepitude, similar to the wrinkles of an old person; while the
young-bees may be discerned by their grey ashy colour, which becomes
darker, approaching to black, as they get older. I do not believe that
the queen (on whose existence depends that of the colony), lives ten,
fifteen, or twenty times longer than the working bees. But they have
the means of filling her place when she comes to die. M. Shirach has
completely demonstrated, by very varied and multiplied experiments,
that they require only for that purpose a common bee-worm that has been
hatched within two or three days, and that this worm becomes a queen,
and a fruitful queen, in less than a fortnight, by means of a thicker,
more roomy, and differently formed cell, which they construct expressly
for her, and by a different sort of pap with which she is nourished. I
have repeated the experiment oftener than once.

Forty days after I had put a bit of brood-comb into a wired box, after
the manner of M. Shirach, I saw young bees come out; and the young
queen I had made be hatched, was the mother of my artificial swarm. It
is therefore probable that a hive, from twenty to twenty-five years
old, has not always the same queen, but that the queen has, from time
to time, been replaced. Moreover, every time that a swarm comes off, it
is the old queen that emigrates with it.

The sudden decline of a hive that has lost its queen, and which never
long survives the loss, when it has not young brood to create another,
proves that bees live but one year, as the depopulation would be less
rapid if the lives of the individuals extended beyond that term.




                             CHAPTER XXII.

                    ARTIFICIAL SWARMS AND DIFFERENT
                       METHODS OF FORMING THEM.


One often sees well-stocked hives that do not swarm, and which, during
the whole of the summer, form large clusters, until the cold of the
autumnal evenings forces the idlers to re-enter their hives; and it
were vain to disturb them, to smoke them, or torment them, in the hope
of forcing them to swarm. Some people have thought they might attain
their object by dividing them in two; but they did not succeed. There
are, however, two ways of obtaining artificial swarms; and the one
which the celebrated Shirach practised successfully in Alsatia, and
which was followed with the same results in the north of Germany,
requires a long course of difficult and complex operations. I shall,
however, proceed to give my readers some idea of it.

In spring, a little box is prepared, about six inches square, with an
opening in the top, about three inches square, and another the same
size in front. Each of these openings is covered with a wire-grating,
close enough to prevent any bee getting through. This box rests on
a stand provided with twelve wooden pins, four or five inches long,
placed perpendicularly, in two rows, at the distance of three inches
from each other. These pins should be so far separate as that five
pieces of honey-comb, each about as big as a person's hand, may be
placed between them.

Between the farthest of the pins, on the right and left hand, are put
three bits of empty combs, the same height as the pins: a piece of very
fine honey-comb, not candied, occupies the fourth place; and the fifth,
which is the centre, remains empty. It is to be understood that the
pins supporting the combs on both sides, keep them in a perpendicular
situation, and prevent them touching each other, and that the spaces
left between the combs is much about the same as those in the hive to
allow free passage to the bees. Neither the honey-comb nor the empty
combs ought to touch the board, in case of the moths taking possession
of them; they are rather made to rest on two little bits of wood,
raised a little above the board, and crossed by the pins.

Above the combs and the pins, a large piece of comb is placed
horizontally, and covering the whole, to keep in the heat while the
hatching goes on.

After all these preliminaries, a fine day is chosen, about the end of
April or beginning of May, according to the climate, and according as
the season is more or less advanced; and, in the heat of the day, a
little before noon, a strong hive, while in full activity, is lifted
up, its top rested on the ground, and the bees driven off the combs
with a little tobacco smoke, in order that the proper pieces may be
seen and chosen.

A piece of comb, about the size of a hand, is then cut out, containing
all the three kinds of brood, that is, eggs, nymphs, but principally
the little maggots, just two or three days out of the shell. The hive
is then replaced on its stand, and the little bit of comb that was
taken out of it is put into the box, to occupy the empty space that was
left in the centre, between the pins, and about a thousand or fifteen
hundred bees, taken from a cluster in some other manner, are then
introduced, and the box closed, to prevent them getting out.

Their extreme agitation, approaching to despair, produces a heat so
great that they would be suffocated, but for the wire-gratings above
and in front. Towards night, when they become tranquil, nothing more
is heard but a soft murmuring, and they begin to construct one of
the great cells, that has its opening underneath, and in which they
nurse and rear queens. Before the cell is completed, they carry into
it a little maggot, out of the egg within two days; which being then
suitably nourished, becomes a perfect queen in less than a fortnight.

For three days the box should be kept shut, and the light carefully
excluded, for it would only serve to increase the agitation of the
prisoners; and the upper wire-grating, being of no farther use, may
be plastered over with a little clay. The fourth day the box may be
carried to the apiary, and the bees set at liberty, by opening a part
of the wire-grating in front.

Having now got a new establishment, with the certainty of soon having a
queen, they think no more of returning to the hives whence they were
taken, but come and go, cleaning their little dwelling, and working
like a weak swarm.

While they are thus occupied, a little cage should be prepared, in
which to shut up the queen when her metamorphoses shall be completed.

This cage is of a semicircular form, and in size resembling the half of
a large orange; it is made of wood, scooped out, and has a wire-grating
on the front of it, so fine that no bee can get out or in: a hole is
made in the lower part of it, large enough to permit a bee to pass
through, and a wooden pin, from six to eight inches long, of the size
of the hole, is prepared to shut it up with.

These preparations being completed, the box is opened fourteen or
fifteen days after the bees have been put in, but it must be one of
these fine spring days when the bees are busy at work: should the
weather be cold or wet, the opening of the box must be delayed. The
combs are then all taken out, and the queen will be easily discovered.
She is much longer in the body, and altogether larger, than the other
bees, as may be observed from the following figures, where Fig. 1.
represents the Queen; Fig. 2. the Drone; and Fig. 3. the Working Bee
[4].

[Footnote 4: To those not much acquainted with bees, the following
particulars may be useful.]

[Illustration: Fig. 1 Fig. 2 Fig. 3]

  Fig. 1. The _Queen Bee_: the head is of a triangular shape; her
    wings very short, not extending beyond the one-half of her body,
    which is longer, and more pointed, than that of the working bees.
    Her legs and corselet are copper coloured; thorax grey, and
    abdomen brown. There is only one queen to a hive; while there are
    from 10,000 to 15,000 workers, and perhaps 1000 or 1200 drones.

  Fig. 2. The _Drone_, or Male Bee; the head is round, its large body
    is almost entirely covered by its wings. It has no sting. The
    drones appear only at the season of swarming, and are all put to
    death by the workers in the autumn.

  Fig. 3. The _Working Bee_. Head somewhat triangular; the smallest
    and most numerous of the hive, which every one knows as the
    _honey-bee_, and which fabricates the combs, makes the honey, and
    feeds the young.

The queen must be seized by the wings and introduced, head
foremost, through the hole into the cage, along with a dozen bees to
bear her company, and then the hole through which they have passed is
stopped up with the wooden pin. This being completed, an empty hive
must be prepared, similar, in every respect, to the one out of which
artificially the swarm is to be taken. A hole, parallel to that in the
cage, is pierced in the bench on which it is to stand, and the end
of the wooden pin fixed into it, so that the cage may be suspended,
perpendicularly, about two-thirds the height of the hive. Between
eleven and twelve of the same day, while the bees are mostly on the
wing, a strong person takes one of the old hives, that is not likely to
swarm, lifts it steadily, and rests it for a few seconds on a table, at
hand for the purpose, while its place is instantly filled by the one
containing the young queen and her cage. Any bees that may be grouped
about the board are lifted up with a wooden spoon, and laid down at the
door of the new hive; these ascend immediately; and all the working
bees, returning in crowds from the fields, enter without hesitation;
when, finding neither combs, nor honey, nor any provision whatever,
they go out and return several times, and fly round and round it; while
the inhabitants of the old hive, having no suspicion of their place
being changed, leave it without precaution, return to the situation of
their ancient dwelling, and increase the swarm that is forming.

Wearied at length of their researches, and finding in this new
establishment a great number of their companions, with an imprisoned
queen, they unite themselves together at the top of the hive, begin,
even the same evening, to build combs; and thus is obtained an
excellent artificial swarm. Next day, and some days after, many bees
continue to join them from the old hive, which delays not to repeople
itself from the brood-comb with which it is filled, as it is not more
weakened than if it had swarmed naturally. The second day after this
operation the new hive must be lifted up, the cage taken out, and the
queen set at liberty, which is easily done, by drawing out two or three
of the wires that form the grating. It would not be possible to make
her descend by the hole through which she entered, and, by delaying
too long to take her out, she would be completely surrounded by combs,
that must be broken before she could be released. The precaution of
keeping the queen in prison for two days is indispensable; for without
this precaution she would be put to death as a stranger, or she might
escape from the hive during the first tumult, which would cause the
total failure of the swarm. But after being shut up in it for a little
time, she is looked upon as the hope of the new colony, and sure of a
favourable reception.

To succeed in this operation, there must be, at least, six inches
between each hive: should they touch each other, many of the working
bees would infallibly lose their lives, by throwing themselves into
some of the neighbouring ones.

Such is the result of these tedious and difficult operations to obtain
artificial swarms by the method of M. Shirach, at this time generally
pursued in Germany. There is another, easier and less tedious, said to
be in usage in the Archipelago, in Ancient Greece, and several other
countries, which I have followed with great success.

Choose a hive of wood or straw, exactly the same in form and size of
the one from which you mean to take the swarm. On a fine day in May,
or, in mountainous countries, which are later, about the beginning of
June, throw a few whiffs of tobacco-smoke into a well-stocked hive,
turn it up, and, with a little more smoke, disperse the bees that are
upon the combs; then cut out a bit of comb, about the size of the
palm of a hand, taking care that there be the three kinds of brood,
viz. eggs, maggots, and nymphs, already enclosed in the cells that
serve them for cradles, but especially those maggots that have been
hatched within two days; after returning this hive to its place, then
proceed to fix the bit of comb with some wooden pins, in the top of
the newly prepared one, and support it underneath with a thin chip of
wood. Between eleven and twelve in the forenoon, lift a very populous
hive (not the one out of which the brood-comb was taken), off its own
board to another that must be ready to receive it, and put the empty
one in the place it occupied. All the bees, returning from the fields,
enter the one that has been substituted, seem at first to be greatly
agitated, but, by degrees, gather round the brood-comb, and begin
before night to construct a royal cell, to which they transport a
maggot of two days old, and where it undergoes its metamorphosis, and
comes out a queen. By this method, I have procured excellent swarms
from hives that would not have swarmed naturally; and, the following
spring, renewed the old hives, after the manner indicated in Chapter
XXI, thus preserving my hives in good condition.




                            CHAPTER XXIII.

                     ADVANTAGES OF ISOLATED HIVES.


A swarm, taking flight, rushes out of the hive, and seems bent
on fixing itself in some distant quarter, as if it feared the
neighbourhood of other swarms--as if it felt that its most formidable
enemies were those of its own kind.

Swarms will unite, however, when they take flight at the same time,
because the bees of one hive cannot be distinguished from those of
another when on the wing, and crossing each other in every direction;
and as soon as one group begins to knot upon a branch, the bees of
the other crowd round, supposing them to be their companions. Their
instinct, however, rather leads them to isolate themselves, as they do
in great forests; but their proprietors resist this instinct, assemble
a great many hives together in the same apiary, to shelter them from
the weather, as well as to protect them from thieves, and to watch over
them at the time of their emigration.

Such are, doubtless, great advantages, but not sufficient to
counterbalance those that would result from keeping them separate. The
mixing and uniting together of several swarms, that often take place
in large apiaries, and which is not always an advantage, would thereby
be prevented. There would be greater facility in forming artificial
swarms, and one hive would not be disturbed in operating on another.
The great expence of bee-houses would thus be spared; these are much
more costly than stands for isolated hives, for which there is nothing
more necessary than a board, supported by a pile of wood, sunk into
the ground, with a thatch of straw, which any one can spread over the
tops of the hives, to protect them from the rain and the heat of the
sun.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

                         ENEMIES OF BEES, AND
                       MEANS OF OVERCOMING THEM.


All amateurs that have written on the subject of bees, have spoken of
their enemies, but few have given any directions in what way they may
be overcome. I should neither attain my aim, nor realise the title of
my work, if I did not notice them.

Nothing is more prejudicial to bees than ignorant attention. Their most
formidable enemies are, perhaps, their possessors, who busy themselves
to torment them, and weaken and kill them by too much care. In winter
they hurt them, by shutting them up for fear of the snow, without
considering that many more perish in their unwholesome prison; and that
the great humidity, having no outlet, moulds the combs, and sometimes
even rots them. Who shuts up the wild bees in the forests of Lithuania,
where they thrive so well? Their own instinct suffices; there they have
no master to thwart them.

In spring, the giving them a little honey, that would suffice to save
them, is not always attended to, neither is the guarding them from
moths, which at that time make the greatest havoc, nor is the narrowing
of the entrances to prevent them being robbed. In summer I have seen
persons leave only very small entrances to very populous hives, even
when the bees were forming clusters, and so increase the ardour and
activity of the workers. But this embarrassment only pained them, and
retarded the gathering and laying up of their store.

Some let swarms escape from mere carelessness. People suffocate them
in autumn, that they may possess themselves of their provisions; and
others take out the best of the honey and often too much of it, and so
expose them to die of hunger; and they even sometimes annoy them by
leaving too great a quantity of candied honey-comb, which is of no use
to them, and the extraction of it from the cells costs many valuable
lives, as I have already observed.

I therefore place, in the foremost rank of their enemies, those of
their _possessors_, who, by their own ignorance and inexperience,
hinder them from prospering and multiplying.

Ants are their least dangerous enemies; true, the bees cannot sting
them to death, because they are small and well defended with armour,
but they seize hold of them with their teeth, and carry them to a
distance. Had they not this means of getting rid of them, their
colonies could not exist in the vast forests full of ants' nests, and
where they thrive so well, in spite of the horrible massacres that
annually take place. I have never seen a hive destroyed by ants; they
attack only weak swarms, that have been either pillaged before, or
happen to be established in a lodging too large for them to defend.

I recommend, however, to plaster up all chinks through which these
little insects could gain an entrance.

Moths are little known, and never injurious, in the high valleys, nor
on the mountains, but they attack and destroy a vast number of hives in
the plains or in the vineyards, where they are a great scourge. As soon
as a moth has penetrated a weak hive, it establishes itself in a comb,
envelopes itself in a silken web, multiplies rapidly, consuming the
wax, and spreading its destructive galleries from side to side, until,
arriving at a certain point, the evil has no remedy.

I shall not repeat what I have said in the twentieth chapter, of the
admirable ingenuity with which well-stocked hives defend themselves,
by gnawing and reducing to crumbs every part of the wax that harbours
a moth. Nor the means I have pointed out in Chapter VII. to diminish
the number of their enemies in the spring, by frequently examining the
little bits of wood used for contracting the entrance, or whenever
the heated air of the hive is likely to attract butterflies, for the
purpose of depositing their eggs. I shall only add, that when any
trace of a moth is observed about a hive, it should immediately be
cleaned away, and every little fragment of wax be swept off the board.
If, in defiance of these precautions, it should seem that the moths
have invaded some of the combs, the only means of saving the colony
is, to imitate the surgeon, who cuts off a deceased limb to save the
other,--every bit of infected comb must be cut out, leaving only those
occupied by the bees. And the bees must then be liberally fed, by
giving them every evening as much honey as will maintain them until the
fields shall yield them a sufficient quantity. Thus I have preserved
hives whose circumstances seemed to be desperate.

Spiders annoy the bees much. The bees get entangled in their webs, and
are not able to extricate themselves. Here cleanliness is the best
protection; therefore care should be had to sweep the webs away from
the hive and its avenues as fast as they appear.

Birds eat a prodigious quantity of bees, especially in spring, when the
trees are in blossom. Whatever people may say to the contrary, I have
reason to think that the swallows, which are perpetually cruising about
in the air, like so many corsairs, destroy a great number, to regale
themselves, and to feed their young: this was the opinion of Virgil[5].

[Footnote 5:

  "Absint ... meropesque, aliæque volucres,
  Et manibus Progne pectus signata cruentis.
  Omnia nam late vastant, ipsasque volantes
  Ore ferunt, dulcem nidis immitibus escam."

                                    Georg. iv.]

Moths destroy whole colonies: birds do not entirely destroy, but they
diminish the population; the queens, especially, become an easy prey to
them, their flight being heavy, from the great length of their bodies
and shortness of their wings; and the queen, being the very soul of
the hive, when she dies the whole will infallibly perish, if there is
not some of the proper brood ready to fill her place; and, even in the
latter case, the population is retarded in the fine weather, and the
hive becomes languid. As this happened to me several times, I imputed
it to the loss of my queens.

The poultry, too, that roam about near the water where the bees go to
quench their thirst, gobble up a great many of them, making a constant
war on them, as deadly as that carried on by the birds. I have even
seen a tame magpie place herself between two hives, peck right and
left, and snap up hundreds of bees to her breakfast. She was caught in
the act, condemned to death, and executed in the same instant.

Mice, especially the red mouse, or _Sorex araneus_, sometimes penetrate
a hive in the winter time, either from the entrance being left too
wide, or by gnawing a hole for themselves in the straw. They eat the
honey, and even the bees, when clustered together on the side of the
hive, in which position they are unable to defend themselves, and
scarcely even see the enemy. I have frequently seen a mouse's nest
inside of a hive in spring, seemingly unperceived by the inhabitants.

Wasps are also reckoned among the numerous enemies of bees. I have,
however, seldom seen a hive destroyed by wasps: although they
are larger, stronger, and armed with a formidable sting, and an
impenetrable cuirass, they seldom dare enter a well stocked hive.
Once attacked, they soon fall beneath the united efforts of these
brave citizens, who sacrifice themselves to defend the place of their
nativity. Wasps only appear in great numbers when the fruit is
ripening, and then they range unceasingly round the hives, and enter
the weak ones, or those of which the too spacious lodging hears no
proportion to the number of its inhabitants. There are three ways of
providing against the attacks of wasps. The first, is to unite weak
hives by doubling or tripling the population, thereby enabling them to
defend themselves. The second, is to contract the entrances as soon as
the swarming time is over, after the massacre of the drones: and the
third is, to destroy their nests.

The bees are continually fighting between themselves, and robbing each
other; avarice, not necessity, leads them to do so, it being almost
always the strongest and best provisioned hives that pillage the weak
ones. When once a bee has been able to introduce herself into a hive,
and carry away a load of honey without being arrested, she will return
a hundred times the same day; and, making it known to her companions,
they will then come in hordes, nor cease their pillage until there
is nothing left to take. In one day the whole of the honey will be
carried off, and with a determination which one can scarcely have an
idea of without seeing it. This kind of pillage is most frequent in
the spring and autumn, and it is easier to prevent than to stop it;
and, for this purpose, the entrance of the hives ought to be straitened
in proportion to the population. Four soldiers, as I have already
said, will more easily guard a narrow pass than thirty or forty would
defend a great one. Whenever the bees cluster themselves in front of
the hive, it is a proof that the whole of the interior is filled, and
there is then no fear of pillage, excepting in a very rare case, when
they happen not to observe the thieves, and of which I shall speak
presently. In proportion as the cluster increases, the entrance should
be widened, even opened entirely, and contracted again in the autumn
after the destruction of the drones. When these precautions are not
sufficient, and the pillage has commenced, it is not easy to stop it.
It may succeed, however, in spring or autumn, by entirely closing the
entrance of the besieged hive for one or two days, and putting a large
cape upon it, or an empty hive, plastering it all round to prevent
the bees getting out. This affords them a volume of air sufficient
to prevent them from being suffocated, and they go up and down at
pleasure through the hole in the top of the hive from which the stopper
must have been previously withdrawn; every evening the entrance must be
opened to give them air, and carefully shut up again in the morning. I
have always found the two days seclusion sufficient to put a stop to
the pillage. But this means is not practicable during the hot weather,
for then the bees would infallibly be suffocated, if they were to be
shut up but one hour. In this case, I have saved several by covering
them with a wet table-cloth, and extending it over the front of the
hive. The thieves, who were arriving in hundreds, threw themselves
into the neighbouring hives, where they were arrested and killed; for
all theft, even suspicion of theft, is invariably punished with death
in these republics. Some of the thieves that happen to escape, regain
their own dwellings, and warn their companions to beware of returning,
and next day there will be no more thieving. I have never been obliged
to spread the wet table-cloth a second time. True, many of the bees of
the hive I was defending were sacrificed, returning from the fields,
and being unable to gain admittance, they perished in some way or
other: it was a small sacrifice, to avert a greater evil, but my hive
was saved, and that was my object. It is a cure that does not always
succeed, however, and is quite useless when the besieged hive is a weak
one, or if much of the honey has been carried away.

I shall not speak of toads, lizards, and all kinds of reptiles, that
are ranked among the enemies of the bees, for I have never seen that
they did them much harm.




                             CHAPTER XXV.

                         DISEASES OF THE BEES.


Bees have no real disease. Dysentery, about which so much noise has
been made, and for which so many remedies are prescribed, never attacks
the bees of a well-stocked hive, that is left open at all seasons, but
only those that are too long and too closely confined. They are always
in good health as long as they are at liberty, when they are warm
enough, and have plenty of food. All their pretended diseases are the
result of hunger, cold, or the infection produced by a too close and
long confinement during the winter.

Some intelligent people have erroneously thought that the honey
gathered from the flowers of the lime-tree caused dysentery, but
experience convinced me to the contrary; for my hives were never in
better condition than when the lime-tree flowers supplied them with
honey in abundance.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.

                      OF THE DIFFERENT VARIETIES
                     OF BEES, AND THEIR LANGUAGE.


Almost all authors speak of four different kinds or varieties of the
honey-bee. I frankly acknowledge that I know but of one; and that all
the bees I have seen are equally profitable when properly taken care
of. It is true my travels have not been very extended.

As to their language: a slight buzzing or confused noise and a
sharp sound, are signals by which they proclaim their danger, or
seek assistance from each other. They appear to have the power of
communicating their desires, their fears, their situation, and their
circumstances. Their language, or whatever name is given to it,
suffices to procure a concert of wills and actions, absolutely to
attain a certain end; and of which I shall give a few examples.

When a hive has lost its queen, a general agitation takes place, that
cannot escape the notice of the most ordinary observer. They seek about
for her on all sides, and, if she cannot be found, they set to work to
supply her place. For this purpose, a great cell must be constructed,
to serve her for a cradle: a single working bee cannot manufacture
it. There must absolutely be a concerted plan,--to choose the place
to do the work--to transport the newly hatched maggot--to nurse it
suitably--and properly to close the cell when it is to undergo the
metamorphosis.

There must also be the same re-union of wills and efforts, when it
relates to the getting rid of a moth that has established itself in
a comb; they must ascertain its presence, feel the evil it may do,
examine with care the extent of its galleries, and agree in the plan of
attack and mode of operations; and how can they form and execute this
plan, without the perfect concurrence of a great number of labourers?
Such agreement is impossible without some sort of language.

Is the hive to be cleaned? A general assessment is commanded, and the
people instantly obey. A throng of labourers remove the dead, carry out
the little bits of wax that are on the board, which would otherwise
serve to feed the moths. Each of these crumbs costs them a journey; and
that toil is spared them when care is taken to scrape and sweep the
board from time to time.

Another scheme of agreement that indicates a language, is where a
bee finds honey, whether in a room, where it may have been deposited
without shutting the windows, or in a stranger hive, where it has
gained entrance. It communicates it to its companions, who rush out by
hundreds or by thousands to obtain a share of the booty. How could they
give this advertisement, without a species of language understood by
every one of them.




                            CHAPTER XXVII.

                         SIGNS OF RECOGNITION
                            AMONG THE BEES.


The bees of a hive have the means of recognition, and of distinguishing
their companions from every stranger bee; without which they could
not defend their honey. In vain would the Creator have armed each of
them with a formidable sting, had they not been also given to know
the enemies which that sting was to pierce. Strangers would have gone
in and out without risk of detection or punishment, mingled with the
workers, and deprived them of treasures industriously collected. But
the All-wise Author of Nature, who has given them the means of defence,
has also endowed them with the instinct to distinguish enemies from
friends, even among their own species. Let a bee fall by accident, or
be driven by the wind, into a hive not its own, it is seized as one
suspected of evil intention, and put to death that moment.

What is their signal of recognition? What is the organ and the
instrument? Is it the antennæ,--those little flexible horns in front of
their heads? or is it by the smell they recognize each other?

A great inconvenience attending crowded apiaries is, that two or more
hives may have the same signal; but happily, in this case, which is
a rare one, they have the power of changing the signal; in proof of
which, the following circumstance happened with mine, in one of the
most abundant honey seasons.

In the month of May I had lodged my first swarm, which was a very
strong one, in a large straw hive. The weather being very mild, they
set to work immediately, and very soon filled more than half of the
hive. In a few days, I observed it was invaded by a swarm belonging to
one of my neighbours; that they went in and came out, without being
detected; and that they were carrying out as much honey as my bees were
bringing in.

I shut up one-half of their door; and, for nearly a whole week,
whenever I was at leisure, I stationed myself near my swarm, and killed
every day hundreds of the thieves, which were easily distinguished by
their shape,--slender enough when they went in, but puffed up as they
came out, with as much nectar as they could contain. This, however, did
not stop them, and they continued coming and going, in greater numbers,
till night, and beginning again early in the morning.

I had plenty of sport, but my labour was in vain, and I began to
despair of saving my swarm, when, one afternoon, I perceived it to be
agitated and troubled, as if it had lost its queen. The bees buzzed
about before the hive, and on the board, smelling and touching each
other, as if they would have spoken. It was to change their signal, and
which in fact they did change, during the night; and all the strangers
that came next day were arrested, and put to death. Some escaped the
vigilance of the guards that defended the entrance, and doubtless
warned the others of the danger they had escaped, and that they could
no more plunder with impunity: they returned no more, and my hive
prospered wonderfully. I have, in the course of my life, seen only
other two similar instances that had the same result.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

                 PRESERVATION OF HIVES IN WINTER, AND
                MEANS OF PROTECTING THEM FROM THE COLD.


The most important point that remains to be treated, is the
preservation of hives in winter. This severe season, which lasts at
Neufchatel four months, from the commencement of November to the end
of February, and which is even longer in the mountains, causes the
death of more bees than all the enemies of all the other seasons put
together; and mostly, too, from our own want of attention. It is
by practice only that true principles can be laid down: and these
principles must be variously modified, to adapt their application
to the differences of temperature and locality. One can learn with
certainty only by the light of experience. I shall proceed to tell
what it has taught me; and here I enter on the most difficult and the
most essential part of my task.

We must suppose that the necessary care has been taken to ascertain
that each hive has the quantity of provision necessary for its
subsistence until the return of the fine season, and it is better
that they should have too much than too little; for bees are great
economists, and never waste their superfluity.

I lay down as a general rule, and without any exception, that bees
ought never to be fed during the winter. Food given them during that
season causes disease, breeds infection, particularly if they are kept
confined; and if they are at liberty, and forced out by the unwholesome
smell of the hive, they are likely to perish from the cold. Besides, it
always appeared to me that they consume more when food is given them by
little and little, than when they have it in store. I have pointed out,
in Chapter VIII. the certain rule by which the quantity of provision
may be estimated; and, in Chapter XVII. I have detailed the method
of supplying them in autumn. Thus they will be saved from hunger, if
my advice be followed. Let us now see how they may be defended from
cold, and the fatal effects of a long imprisonment. Some winters are
so long and so rigid, that our valuable insects suffer greatly from
the intensity of the cold; and the least evil it does them, is to
crystallise their honey, which is then no longer of any use to them.
The warmth keeps it in a fluid state; but this warmth, concentrated
in the middle, or on one side of the hive, does not prevent it being
candied in the other parts of it. More candied honey will generally be
found on one side than the other. This may be prevented by narrowing
the entrance, and closing up every crevice by which the external air
can penetrate. Our industrious and provident little labourers set
the example. Their instinct leads them, during the summer, carefully
to close up every crack or joining of their habitation, with a sort
of gummy matter called _propolis_, which cannot be penetrated either
by the mice, the moths, or the ants. I have seen an excellent swarm
perish, in consequence of a slight bend in the board, which left an
interstice on each side, through which a cold north wind sifted, and
froze more than three-fourths of the bees; and no after care was able
to save those that were left.

Two years after, another hive, belonging to the same person, carefully
plastered round, but being made of too slight material, too thin, and
having no covering, lost at least two-thirds of its population from
cold. It was saved, however, by great care, and in time recovered. It
is to avoid similar disasters that hives are commonly taken into the
house; but this exposes them to the evil arising from infection.

A thick strong-made hive is a more certain protection from the cold
than one that is thin and light. It keeps in the warmth, like suitable
winter clothing; while the other resembles an unseasonable summer
garment: and, for this reason, I have recommended, in Chapter VI.
not to spare the _material_. Notwithstanding the excessive cold of
Lithuania, and the north of Russia, the swarms succeed in finding for
themselves a comfortable abode in the hollows of the thick oak-trees,
through which the cold does not penetrate. But, in addition to
the warmth arising from the thickness of the hive, I always cover
mine, during severe weather, with a piece of old blanket, or some
such thing, to check the first impression of the cold; and as few
country people have a thermometer, by which to estimate the degree of
temperature, they should hasten to thatch, or cover them, in some way,
whenever they perceive the hoar frost on the glass of their windows,
which will be the case when the common thermometer of Fahrenheit
descends three or four degrees below the freezing point.




                             CHAPTER XXIX.

                     MANNER OF PRESERVING HIVES BY
                 TAKING THEM INTO THE HOUSE IN WINTER.


It is generally supposed that, in the high valleys, and in the
mountains, bees can only be preserved by taking the hives into
the house in winter, where they must remain, until the snow has
disappeared, before they can be set at liberty. I had this fatal
prejudice for many years; but it was dispelled by the success attending
the union of the five swarms of which I have given a detailed account
in Chapter XVIII., at which time a ray of light broke in upon me that
has since continued to guide me.

The following winter I left out the one-half of my hives, and moved
the other half into a cold room, according to my usual custom, where
all the pains I bestowed upon them did not altogether keep them alive,
nor preserve them from damp and infection. In vain I swept and cleaned
the boards, or placed them on dry hay to absorb the moisture; in
vain I gave them capes or joinings. With all my care, there was not
one of them free of diseases and infection. The winter was long and
severe; and they could not be returned to the air before the last week
in March, by which time they were feeble and languid, and far less
prosperous than those that had passed the winter out of doors. From
that time, I have never taken one into the house. But, as hives that
have been weakened by giving out too many swarms, especially swarms
of the same year, that have not nearly filled the interior of their
habitation with combs, are less subject to become overheated, and to
mould, than those that are quite filled, and of which the population
is very strong, the inhabitants of the mountains might have the latter
in the open air all winter, and only move the others into the house.
They will find, as I have done, that strong well filled hives are far
best out of doors, provided they take the necessary precautions to
prevent them from freezing.

I have somewhere or other read an account of a very ingenious method
of preserving hives in winter, but have not made trial of it, in
consequence of not having a place fitting for it. According to this
plan, one must have an empty room, very cold and dry, in which, from
end to end, two long poles are suspended parallel to each other, and
a foot of distance between them. As soon as the severe cold begins,
and the thermometer is at the freezing point, the hives are all moved
into this room, and set up upon the poles, without any board beneath
them, and separate about half a foot from each other. Each hive must be
numbered, and the numbers noted down, as well as the board and place
that each occupied in the apiary, in order that they may be replaced
in exactly the same situation on the return of spring. This done, the
room is darkened, as the smallest ray of light will induce the bees
to quit their hives; and, in this manner, they may be preserved in a
healthy state, and without diminution of their numbers, during the
winter; and, from being left entirely open below, any dead bees, or
bits of wax, fall on the floor, and they escape the danger of infection.

On the return of the fine season, and early in the morning of a calm
day, the room is opened, and each hive returned to its own place on the
apiary.

I have reason to think that hives, wintered in this way, will consume
a quarter, a third, or perhaps one-half less provision than others,
if left on the apiary, or shut up entirely from the air; but we must
attend less to the rigid economy of the honey, than to the preservation
of the valuable insects that collect it for us.

I possess only the theory of a practice of which I should have gloried
in being the inventor, as it appears to me infallible, and advantageous
in all its relations, but more especially to the inhabitants of the
mountains. There two or three people might hire a room among them for
the purpose; and, should the air become impure from so many hives
being closed up together, it could be purified by opening the door
during the night, and closing it well up again in the morning.




                              CONCLUSION.


I have now given the result of sixty-four years experience. This little
memoir has extended beneath my pen far beyond my original intention;
but it was of consequence in describing the new methods I had adopted,
to give my reasons for every thing I recommended; and, for this
purpose, to enter very minutely into the details. I have not written
with elegance, but have expressed myself plainly; and, in giving
the account of my experiments, it seemed to me that, to be clearly
understood, I ought to relate naturally how I set about them, as the
different circumstances occurred, and that every reader could more
easily follow me, in seeing me _act_, as it were, than if I merely laid
down general rules. Those I have given, have the rare advantage of
being applicable to every kind of hive, of wood or straw, whether large
or small, and of whatever form or shape. I have not recommended any one
kind in particular, not even those that bear my name, as I consider
them all equally profitable when skilfully taken care of. Every one
may make use of such as he likes best, or such as he can most easily
procure. I wish not to lead the apiarian into any expence, but to point
out to him clearly those principles and rules that he should not lose
sight of, if he wishes to preserve his bees and to profit by them.

If this little work is favourably received by the public, and if my
life is spared, I may be induced to give it a sequel, in which will
be found new ideas concerning the drones, and their destination, with
several experiments to discover if it is of any use to assist the bees
in killing them; calculations of the yearly and average profit of a
single hive, by which I would encourage the cultivators to work a rich
mine whence great profit maybe drawn; and also directions for purifying
the honey, as well as for melting the wax, none of which could have a
place in this little book, the sole object, as expressed in the title,
being the _preservation of the bees_.

_Diminution of the Weight of my Hives during the Winter--from the 20th
September 1813 to the 31st March 1814._

              STRAW.

No. 1.            diminished 10 pounds.
    2.                       10½
    3.                       12½
    4.                       12
    8.                       11
   10.                        9
   11.                        8½
   13. doubled in October,   11
   15.                       10½
   16. doubled,              10½
   17. doubled,              14
   20.                       10
   21.                       14
   22. doubled,               8½
   23.                       10½
   24.                        9
   25.                       15
   26.                       12½
   27.                       10½
   30.                       13
   32.                        9½
   38.                        8
    A.                        9½
    B.                       10
    C.                       12½
    D.                       10½

             WOOD.

No. 1.            diminished 11½ pounds.
    4. doubled,               9½
    6.                       11
    7.                        8½
    8.                       19
    9.                       10
   11.                       15½
   13.                       15
   21.                       10
   23. doubled,              11½

To know exactly if the consumption of united hives was greater than
that of those hives whose population had not been augmented, I weighed
thirty-six hives on the 31st of March 1814, that had been previously
weighed on the 20th September 1813; but I omitted those from which
I had taken honey, as well as those I fed, as I did not weigh them.
It may be observed, by the foregoing table, that the most economical
expenditure amounts to eight pounds of honey, and that the greatest
consumption is nineteen. I can attribute this enormous difference to
nothing but pillage. It is very likely that the straw-hive, No. 38.,
must have enriched itself with booty in October or in March, while the
wooden hive No. 8. had been plundered. Of these thirty-six hives, six
had been doubled in October, by the introduction of a strong swarm into
each of them, and we see that their expenditure has not been greater
than that of those colonies that were left single. In the course of
six months and eleven days, one diminished only eight pounds and a
half; one, nine and a half; one, ten and a half; one eleven; one,
eleven and a half; and the least economical, fourteen pounds. This
comparison demonstrates, that hives, doubled by the re-union of the
bees of another hive, consume no more in winter than less populous
hives, left in their natural state. The fact is clearly proved, though
I am ignorant of the cause. I ought to observe, that all these doubled
hives, with the exception of one old one, twenty-two years of age,
prospered perfectly the year following, and gave me more honey and more
swarms than all the others.




                        NOTE BY THE TRANSLATOR.


Some friends, for whom I entertain a very high respect, have remarked,
on reading the proof sheets of this translation, that Gelieu appears
to be very successful in preserving the bees, but that he does not
prove so clearly that any great increase of honey is thereby to be
obtained. To the practical apiarian this objection will never present
itself; but, for the satisfaction of those who are not acquainted
with bees, I regret not being in possession of Gelieu's calculation
of the average profits of single and doubled hives: and I regret more
especially, that, during the few years my attention has been directed
to the management of bees, I have been contented with remarking the
thriving condition of the apiary, without giving myself the trouble
to calculate the exact amount of its produce. Those, however, who are
accustomed to observe and to take care of bees, will know that the
whole value of the hives depends on the swarms being large and early,
and will therefore see at once the advantages to be gained by attending
to Gelieu's directions. The results of my own experience are, in other
respects, as follows.

I have tried hives of various kinds: those of the common shape, made
of straw; the still prettier sort, made of sea-shore bent (_Arundo
arenaria_); the square-storied hive of wood; also the Huish hives;
and, consequently, have had an opportunity of assuring myself that the
success of the apiary depends neither on the form nor the material, but
entirely on the treatment the bees meet with, and that hives may be
made, with equal success, of whatever is most easily obtained in the
district they are to be used in, always provided they are kept clean
and are well managed. In some of the high valleys of the Alps, where
straw is not to be had, and where every blade of grass is carefully
economized for the use of the cattle, the hives are merely rough blocks
of timber, sawn across the stems of the pine tree, and rudely scooped
out to receive the swarms: these answer the purpose just as well as
other hives; and the only or the chief difference, is the greater or
less facilities which each affords for the extraction of the combs; an
operation of easy performance in the Huish hives, when its inventor's
directions are adhered to. But, in Switzerland, the same process is
accomplished without difficulty in hives of any shape or material, by
means of a knife, which is so simple in its construction, and so easily
used, that it deserves to be made generally known. I therefore subjoin
a figure, with a description and a note of the dimensions, from which
it may be made by any country black-smith.

[Illustration]

This figure represents the shape of the knife; it is formed merely of
a slip of iron, about two feet long by an eighth of an inch thick. The
two horizontal lines _a a_ shew the size and appearance of the handle,
which is twenty inches long by half an inch broad. The turned-down
blade (_b_), of two inches in length, is spear-pointed, sharp on the
edges, and bent perpendicularly from the handle. The other blade (_c_)
is two inches long by one and a half broad, and sharpened all round, as
marked by the double black line.

The broad blade (_c_) cuts and separates the wax from the sides of the
hive, and the spear-point (_b_), which is also sharp on each side,
admits, from its direction and narrowness, of being introduced between
the combs, to loosen them from the top of the hive; and, for the same
reason, it also answers the purpose of pruning the combs.

The honey-comb which is thus extracted, or which is obtained from the
capes, is greatly superior to that which is suffered to remain in
the hives till the autumn. The wax is thin and transparent, and the
honey, being newly drawn from the nectaries, is particularly rich and
delicious, as it has not had time to lose the fragrant and delicate
flavour of the young flowers.

Huish, it may be observed, gives very clear directions for extracting
the combs from the hives that bear his name; he also recommends the
uniting of swarms; but I could never obtain his instructions on this
latter point. Doubting nothing of its practicability, however, I made
the experiment, but having no guiding principle to direct me, it was
like going to sea without a compass; and, in consequence, my hopes were
soon wrecked, and I had the misery of seeing the whole of the swarm
that I had saved from suffocation, speedily put to death by the bees of
the hive that I had so rashly forced it to enter. The result, however,
was widely different when I made the trial again last autumn, guided by
the directions contained in this little volume, for I accomplished the
union of my swarms without difficulty--even without previously having
seen it done, and without having received a single sting; and I had
thus the pleasure of witnessing my hopes crowned with complete success.

For this operation, it is not necessary either to have the courage of a
warrior, or the intelligence and coolness of a philosopher like M. de
Gelieu. An ordinary degree of judgment to understand his directions,
and confidence enough implicitly to follow them, will enable any one to
perform it, provided he sets about it cautiously, and takes care not
to hurt the bees, or to handle them roughly.

I managed It, with the assistance of two persons, without gloves,
or any shield or shadow of defence, except a little tobacco-smoke,
involving us, as it were, within the influence of a charmed atmosphere,
that seemed to stupify the bees, and render their sting powerless,
while it inspired us with confidence to proceed. I recommend it being
done at first by three persons, one to manage the hive and extract
the combs, another to sweep the bees back gently with a feather or
goose-wing, and a third to manage the fumigating bellows; or, if the
fumigating-bellows are not at hand, to blow occasional whiffs of smoke
from a tobacco-pipe.

When my first cluster of bees was shaken out of the pillaged hive
upon the table-cloth, I had the happiness of seeing them instantly
begin their ascent (not on the wing) but in a regular march. It was a
spectacle of intense interest. They entered the full hive as orderly
and as peaceably as any body of regular troops ever took possession of
a citadel; and next day the original possessors and the new settlers,
were seen, in perfect harmony, working together for the general good.

But whether they thought proper to kill a queen for themselves or not,
was a fact that I had no means to ascertain.

Thus encouraged by my first experiment, I proceeded to extend it. My
whole apiary consisted of eight Huish hives, isolated on single pillars
of wood, at the distance of three feet from each other. We emptied
three more of the hives, and joined a swarm to each of the remaining
three, making four doubled stock hives. The gardener who has the care
of them, had five hives of his own, three of which were deprived of
their honey in the same way, and the swarms joined to the remaining
two, which he had kept as stock hives; and I am now enabled to state
exactly the quantity of honey that each has consumed from September
1828, to the end of March 1829.

  No. 1. diminished          12 lb.
      2.    "                 9
      3.    "                12
      4.    "                11

  _The Gardener's Hives._

  No. 1. A large common hive    17 lb.
      2. A Huish hive           13

It ought, however, to be mentioned, that my four hives got a pound and
a half of honey among them, in February; but those belonging to the
gardener got no feeding. The entrances of all of them were left open
during the winter, and there were not altogether above two dozen dead
bees found on the boards, when they were lifted to be weighed.

The gardener's hive. No. 2., received two swarms in addition to its
own; and this allied army took possession just as peaceably as the
others, and actually consumed less honey during the winter than No. 1.,
which was only doubled. In effecting the union, the citizens had been
plentifully regaled with a sprinkling of liquid honey, previous to the
introduction of the strangers; and there were as many luscious drops of
the banquet left, as gave the new comers no disrelish to their quarters.

For some years past, I have suffered no sticks to be put across the
inside of any of my hives, as they render the extraction of the combs
impracticable.

       *       *       *       *       *

It may be right to add, in conclusion, that I have, in one or two
places, slightly altered the text where the meaning seemed obscure,
and where mistakes might otherwise have occurred. I ought, perhaps, to
have translated these passages quite literally, and to have corrected
them in separate notes; but ignorance of book-making must be my excuse.


                                FINIS.


P. NEILL, PRINTER.


       *       *       *       *       *



Transcriber Note

Minor typos were corrected.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 67816 ***