Читать книгу The Story of Silk - Sara Ware Bassett - Страница 7

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When Madame Bretton and the children returned from their inspection of the silk-house they were surprised to find Monsieur le Curé, good Father Benedict, awaiting them. The priest was sitting contentedly in the sunshine, his walking-stick in his hand, and the gentle breeze stirring his white hair. Beside him stood Hector with nose on the Curé's knee and great brown eyes looking into the kindly face of the old man.

Madame Bretton hurried forward.

"Why, Father!" she exclaimed. "Who would have thought of finding you here! Have you been waiting long?"

"But a few minutes, my dear," was the answer. "I knew well you could not have strayed far, for the house was unlocked, and the kettle steaming on the hob."

"So it was," laughed Madame Bretton. "You must stay and share our porridge with us, Father. It is just supper time, and you have had a long walk from the village. You must be hungry. The children and I would be so glad if you would be our guest."

Marie and Pierre added their pleas.

"Do stay, Father," they cried. "Stay and tell us some stories."

Monsieur le Curé smiled into their eager faces.

"I will gladly stay if you are sure the porridge——"

"There is enough, Father, and to spare," declared Madame Bretton. "But had I known you were coming you should have had one of the hot tea cakes that you like so much."

"Ah, a tea cake—how good it is! You are a rare cook, my daughter." He glanced into Madame Bretton's face with radiant smile. "But is not hearty welcome better than a pyramid of tea cakes? If you are sure about the porridge——"

He chuckled playfully.

"There is plenty, Father—plenty," put in Marie. "I saw Mother measure it. And if there weren't you should have mine," she added as she joyously seized his baretta and stick and hurried away with them.

"You are a good child, Marie," the old priest called after her. "Now make haste to put my things away, and then you and Pierre shall come here and tell me how your silk-raising is getting on. Have you begun to hatch out your silkworms yet?"

The boy and girl nestled at his side. Had not Father Benedict brought them up; and was he not friend as well as teacher? In every home in Bellerivre his coming was hailed with delight, and his departure followed with regret. He possessed the rare attributes of sympathy and simplicity sometimes blended in great natures. None of his flock experienced a happiness too trivial for him to exult in, or a grief too personal for him to share.

Madame Bretton glanced for a second at the group on the door-step—at the white-haired man, the bright-faced children, the old dog; then she softly tiptoed into the house to make ready the evening meal.

"We haven't hatched any of our silkworms yet, Father," answered Marie, "but everything is prepared, and we shall begin in a day or two; perhaps to-morrow if there is warm sun."

"That is right," nodded the priest. "It is full time they were under way. That is one reason I came to see you. You live so far away that I feared you might not know that all through the valley the silk-raising is beginning. Already some of the peasants in the village have hatched their eggs; but I think they were a bit too hurried about it, for the trees are hardly leaved out enough yet. Sometimes it is as bad to be too early as too late. I hope you are going to have fine luck, my dears, fine luck! And indeed I don't see why you shouldn't."

"We hope so too, Father. It means a great deal to us to succeed, you know," responded Pierre gravely. "You see it is not alone that we need the money for ourselves. It is for Mother as well; and so that we may also send things to Father and Uncle Jacques."

The priest patted the boy's head.

"I know, I know," he answered softly. "Well, be of good courage, my children, and do not be disheartened if you meet with failure at the start. Try a second time, and a third, and many more. The people who first raised silkworms had to try and fail many, many times before they succeeded."

"Who did first raise silkworms, Father?" questioned Marie. "I was wondering about it the other day. Where did we get the first silkworm eggs, and who thought of reeling the silk from the cocoons?"

"That is a pretty big question, Marie," laughed Father Benedict. "Nobody can be exactly sure who originated the industry of sericulture. Certain it was, however, that before other countries had sugar, or china, or silk, the Chinese people were producing all of these things. But they were a selfish nation, and jealous of allowing any one else to share in their progress. Therefore they shut the rest of the world out of their discoveries and kept to themselves the secret of how they obtained the products they manufactured. For China, you must know, was a great walled country where travelers were not very welcome, and whose people mingled little with the inhabitants of other lands. How the Chinese learned to make silk we do not know; but there are in existence old records showing that as far back as the year 2700 BC, these ingenious people were making fabrics spun from the filament taken from the cocoons of the silkworm. There is an ancient story that the Empress See-ling-shee hatched and raised silkworms in her garden, afterward winding the silken thread from the cocoons and weaving a delicate gauzy tissue from the fibres. Who taught her to do it no one can tell. Some persons think the Chinese stole the art from India; certain it was that the inhabitants of Persia, Tyre, and other eastern countries got silk thread from somewhere at a very early date and used it. In fact it was because the Greeks and Romans called the land beyond the Ganges 'Seres' that later the name sericulture became the term applied to silk-raising."

The priest paused and gently stroked Hector's head.

"There are many ancient references to the use of silk," he went on. "We read how Alexander the Great brought home from Persia wonderful silk fabrics when he and Aristotle went there to collect curiosities. He even tells how the silkworms produced this material which, by the way, he calls bombykia; but nowhere does he tell in what place the industry had its origin. However, he at least knew more about it than did most people, for the common opinion was that the tissue was made from wool, or the fibre of trees, some persons even thinking it came from the bark. Another notion was that silk was woven from thread spun by the spider; still others argued that the cocoanut was its source."

"How stupid of them!" ejaculated Marie.

"Ah, it was not really so strange after all, my dear," replied the priest. "Suppose you were seeing silk for the first time. Where should you think it came from?"

"I don't know."

"Precisely. And that is just the way the rest of the world felt at that time," continued Père Benedict. "Nobody knew, and in consequence everybody made the best guess he could. Until the time of Justinian silk-making was confined wholly to China, being in fact little known anywhere in Europe before the reign of Emperor Augustus. What little silk there was cost so much that no one dreamed of wearing it. At last, however, some of the women of the royal houses of Rome ventured to use it for robes of state; and then the very rich men gradually followed their example and began to use it a little, for it was a cool, light material to wear in hot weather. Weavers had not learned at that time to make the rich silks such as we have to-day; nor were the heavy kinds considered so beautiful as were the thinner varieties. But in time it became the common opinion that such fragile textiles were no material for men to wear; the Emperor feared the custom would make them vain and foppish. Accordingly a law was passed forbidding male citizens to use silk apparel."

Pierre laughed.

"But the Romans were no longer content with their coarse woolen robes," went on Monsieur le Curé. "They had seen silk and they wanted it. They were a luxury loving people who eagerly caught up every form of elegance that came in their way. Many of the rich had enjoyed the splendor and comfort of silken garments and they were not to be deterred from possessing them. Persian traders who possibly got their silk thread from China, and who held the monopoly of the woven fabrics, began sending their goods to Rome, charging for them most outrageous prices. Then came the Persian invasion, and the program was reversed; for Rome turned on the Orientals, levying such a high tax on the manufacture of silk that the industry of the Persians was greatly injured. And all this time that the Romans were wearing silk and fighting about it they were still unable to find out where the silk fibre came from."

Père Benedict broke into a hearty laugh.

"Did they ever find out?" inquired Marie whose eyes had scarcely left the face of the priest.

"Of course they did, silly!" was Pierre's scornful response.

"Gently, son, to your little sister," said Monsieur le Curé.

Pierre flushed.

"They did find out, Marie," continued Père Benedict kindly. "And it was in a strange way, too."

"Tell us!" exclaimed both the boy and girl simultaneously.

"It chanced that there were two monks who were sent on a mission to India, and who ventured within the borders of China. While there they saw the Chinese raising silkworms, and returning to Rome they related their story to the Emperor Justinian."

"I think it was mean of them!" announced Marie with spirit.

"I'm afraid it was, my child," agreed Father Benedict. "Yet after all was it quite fair for the Chinese to keep to themselves a thing which it was for the world's good to know? Was not such a course both narrow and selfish?"

"Perhaps it was."

"Well, at any rate, the monks were sent back to China with orders to procure some of the silkworm's eggs. Now this was not an easy task, because no one was allowed to carry such treasures out of China. Had a traveler been discovered doing so he would certainly have been killed. Hence the problem was how to accomplish the feat."

Marie and Pierre edged closer.

"The story goes that the wily monks had some hollow staffs made, and that inside these they stowed away the precious eggs, departing out of China in the guise of pilgrims. On their arrival in Rome the eggs were hatched and the stolen silkworms became the ancestors of all the silkworms in Europe—perhaps the great-great-great-great-grandparents of the very ones you are going to raise next week."

The boy and girl laughed merrily.

"The rest of the story is that Emperor Justinian had mulberry trees planted throughout the Roman Empire and brought to Rome weavers from Tyre and Berytus. These workmen trained other weavers, and in the meantime more and more eggs were hatched. All Europe seized upon the industry. Mulberry trees were planted in Greece and in other countries where the climate was sufficiently warm to make them grow. From Greece the trade spread at a later date to Venice, at that time one of the foremost patrons of the arts. But all the silks made up to this period were very plain, because it was not until long afterward that manufacturers learned how to make velvets, satins, and brocades. Then came a revolution in China, and for the next six hundred years Rome and Greece had the principal supply of silkworms and the monopoly of the industry. Was it not fortunate now, Marie, that the Romans had stolen the secret of making silk?" Père Benedict pinched her cheek playfully. "Had they not done so the art might, perhaps, have been lost, as were so many other of the early arts. Numberless other conquests and wars in various countries followed. I won't stop to tell you about them; but one of the good results evolving out of the turmoil was that silk-making spread to Sicily, Italy, and Spain."