The sides of one bed here had been almost stripped by the taking away of such bunches, and it is worthy of note that they are not only taken out, root and all, when being gathered, but the very spot in which they grew is scraped out, so as to get rid of every trace of the old bunch, and the space is covered with a little earth from the bottom of the heap. It is the habit to do this in every case, and when the gatherer leaves a small hole from which he has pulled even a solitary mushroom, he fills it with some of the white earth from the base, no doubt intending to gather other mushrooms from the same spots before many weeks are over. The “buttons” look very white, and are apparently of prime quality. The absence of all littery coverings and dust, and the daily gatherings, secure them in what we may term perfect condition. I visited this cave on the 6th of July, 1868, and doubt very much if at that season a more remarkable crop of mushrooms could be anywhere found than was presented in this subterranean chamber—a mere speck in the space devoted to mushroom culture by one individual.
When I state that there are six or seven miles run of mushroom-beds in the ramifications of this cave, and that the owner is but one of a large class who devote themselves to mushroom culture, the reader will have some opportunity of judging of the extent to which it is carried on about Paris. These caves not only supply the wants of the city above them, but those of England and other countries also, large quantities of preserved mushrooms being exported, one house alone sending to our own country no less than 14,000 boxes annually. There were some traces of the teeth of rats on the produce, and it need not be said that these enemies are not agreeable in such a place; but they did not seem to have committed any serious ravages, and are probably only casual visitors, who take the first opportunity of obtaining more varied food than is afforded them by these caves. To traverse the passages any further is needless—there is nothing to be seen but a repetition of the culture above described, every available inch of the cave being occupied. We again find our way to the bottom of the shaft, carefully mount the rather shaky pole one at a time, and again stand in the hot sun in the midst of the ripe wheat.
In traversing the fields two things relating to mushroom culture are to be observed—heaps of white gritty earth, sifted from the débris of the white stone, and large heaps of stable manure accumulated for mushroom growing, and undergoing preparation for it. That preparation is different from what we are accustomed to give it. It is ordinary stable manure, or very short stuff, not droppings, and is thrown into heaps four or five feet high, and perhaps thirty feet wide. The men were employed turning this over, the mass being afterwards stamped down with their feet, a water-cart and pots being used to thoroughly water the manure where it is dry and whitish.
As many will feel an interest in the cave culture of the mushroom, and perhaps wish to see it for themselves, I may state that it is difficult to obtain permission to visit the caves, and many persons would not like the look of the “ladder” which affords an entrance. Even with a well-known Parisian horticulturist I had some difficulty in entering them. I was informed that one champignonniste in the same neighbourhood demands the exorbitant price of twenty francs for a visit to his cave. As the visit is the work of some little time, no visitor should put the cultivators to this trouble without offering some slight recompense—say not less than five francs. The above cave is but a sample of many in the immediate neighbourhood of Paris.
We will next visit a mushroom-cave of another type at some little distance from that city. It is situated near Frépillon, Méry-sur-Oise—a place which may be reached in an hour or so by the Chemin de fer du Nord, passing by Enghien, the valley of Montmorency and Pontoise, and alighting at Auvers. There are vast quarries in the neighbourhood, both for building-stone and the plaster so largely used in Paris. The materials are not quarried in the ordinary way by opening up the ground, nor by the method employed at Montrouge and elsewhere in the suburbs of Paris, but so that the interior of the earth looks like a vast gloomy cathedral. In 1867 the mushroom culture was in full force at Méry, and as many as 3000 lbs. a day were sometimes sent from thence to the Paris market; but the mushroom is a thing of peculiar taste, and these quarries are now empty—cleaned out and left to rest. After a time the great quarries seem to become tired of their occupants, or the mushrooms dislike the air; the quarries are then well cleaned out, the very soil where the beds rested being scraped away, and the place left to recruit itself for a year or two. In 1867 M. Renaudot had the extraordinary length of over twenty-one miles of mushroom-beds in one great cave at Méry; last year there were sixteen miles in a cave at Frépillon. This is a clean, lonely village, just touching on the gigantic cemetery which M. Haussmann projected.
The distant view of the entrance to the quarries has much the appearance of an English chalk-pit. But there is a great rude arch cut into the rock, and into this we enter, meeting presently a waggon coming forth with a load of stones, the waggoner with lamp in hand. To the visitor who has seen the mushroom caves near Paris, where it is sometimes necessary to stoop very low to avoid knocking one’s head against the roof rocks, the surprise is great on getting a little way in. At least it is so soon as one can see; the darkness is so profound that a few candles or lamps merely make it more visible. The tunnel we traverse is nearly regularly arched, masonry being used here and there, so as to render the support secure and somewhat symmetrical, the arches being flat at the top for six feet or so, and about twenty-five feet high; sometimes five feet higher.
Presently we turn to the right, and a scene like a vast subterranean rock temple presents itself. At one end are several of us with lamps, admiring the young mushrooms budding all over the rows of beds, which, serpent-like, are long and slim, and coil away into the darkness. At about 150 feet distance there is a group of three men and a boy, each with a lamp, again dispelling the darkness from the mushroom beds, and occupied in placing small quantities of a sort of white clayey sand in the spots whence gatherings have been made a few hours previously. From both sides of this gloomy avenue the dark openings of others depart at short intervals, and the floor of all is covered with mushroom-beds, sometimes running along the passages, sometimes across them. These beds are about twenty-two inches high and as much in diameter, and are covered with silver sand and a sort of white putty-like clay in about equal proportions. Running along in parallel lines, and disappearing from view in the darkness, one knows not what to compare them to, unless it be to barked pine trees in the hold of a ship.