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.