The Story of Silk

by Sara Ware Bassett

"If only ours do live," interpolated Marie dubiously.

"I see no reason to fear they won't," Madame Bretton said once more. "But we must neglect nothing. It is the trifling carelessnesses that bring bad results—the tiny things that it seems silly to take the trouble to do. If we lose our crop of cocoons because of slighting the little details it will be our own fault, and we shall deserve failure; if, on the other hand, we do the best we know, we shall have no regrets. We must take every precaution to keep the silk-house clean and well-ventilated, for silkworms demand spotless surroundings as well as plenty of fresh air. Then we must not allow withered leaves or other refuse to collect on the shelves where the worms are feeding, for any waste matter ferments and causes disease."

"Aren't silkworms very likely to get sick anyway, Mother?" queried Pierre.

"They are susceptible to certain diseases," nodded Madame Bretton. "For example, there are epidemics which sometimes sweep away the hatching of an entire season; sometimes, too, the eggs are diseased and hatch into diseased caterpillars, which in turn lay more diseased eggs. This was the tragedy that befell France in 1847. At that time the French people could get no healthy eggs anywhere in their own country, and were forced to send to Italy for them. Afterward the infection spread to Italy. Then those from the region of the Danube, where growers had been purchasing them, also became diseased. The plague spread even to China, until in 1865 the only good eggs to be had were those from India. You can imagine what a terrible experience that was for the peasants. Not only did they lose all the eggs that they had raised and stored, but as most of them were poor they could not afford to import perfect eggs from India. Hence many of them gave up silk-raising entirely and the price both of silkworms and of silk became enormous. Only the very rich could afford to buy either."

"How did people ever get out of such a tangle, Mother?" questioned Marie, much interested.

"Little by little those fortunate persons who secured good eggs sold a few to those who had none, and the crop soon increased, for one silkworm-moth will lay as many as two or three hundred eggs. But even at this rate it took many years to get the industry up to where it was before. It was a terrible misfortune to the French and Italian peasants, and you may be pretty sure that as a result of the calamity every one set about being careful to prevent another such disaster. Now when silkworms are ill they are quickly isolated, just as people are who have contagious diseases. And if there is danger of wide-spread infection, and the growers think best not to take any risks, they will even kill many of the caterpillars outright. The sacrifice is sometimes great, but it is a necessary precaution. Furthermore, present day sericulturists have learned much about growing silkworms, and the importance of keeping the silk-houses clean and well aired; they have found that they must preserve an even temperature within the buildings; wash the walls down with lime to purify the atmosphere; sterilize the trays from which the worms feed; and hatch the eggs in large, airy places. The most up-to-date growers who work on a large scale use incubators. Of course, however, there are still some ignorant peasants who insist on hatching the caterpillars inside their clothing, where the warmth from their bodies will bring the eggs quickly to maturity. Fortunately there are not many who do this. They have learned better."

"I should hope so!" ejaculated both Marie and Pierre in a breath.

There was a moment of silence; then the boy looked up into his mother's face and said:

"I understand now why Father was so particular."

"Your father is an intelligent man, who believes that 'trifles make perfection and that perfection is no trifle,'" answered Madame Bretton. "He has raised some very fine silk and made a good profit by selling it. But every franc of the money was earned—it never came to him easily."