The Story of Silk Part 8

As he spoke he led the way into a long room, where on every hand girls were moving in and out among heaps of coc.o.o.ns that were either piled high on tables or ma.s.sed upon squares of canvas on the floor. The room and everything in it was spotless.

"We try to keep the coc.o.o.ns from getting soiled, you see," explained Henri.

"Is the sorting done by girls?" questioned Pierre, astonished.

"Since the war, yes. We have had to train them to take the places of those who have gone to be soldiers. It is not, of course, heavy work, but it requires skill and judgment since the many varieties of coc.o.o.ns need different treatment. Here, for example, are dupions, or double coc.o.o.ns, which as you doubtless already know have more floss on the outside than do others, and must be well cleaned before any attempt at reeling can be made. Often they cannot be run off at all because the two caterpillars that worked together to make the single coc.o.o.n have intertwined the threads until they break all to bits when we try to separate them. Here is another species of coc.o.o.n." Henri pointed to a pile on the next table. "These are of beautiful texture, smooth and satiny. But they must be treated with tepid, not hot, water, as are a good proportion of the others, and the acc.u.mulation of gum mixed with the filament must be soaked out with soap-suds. This will give you an idea how many things there are to think of in reeling. Some coc.o.o.ns give off their silk too easily, and unless put into cool water will snarl; others fail to give off the thread at all and instead must be treated with hot water, which aids in loosening it. Another difficulty we sometimes encounter is that the reelers cannot catch the end of the thread to begin their work; this usually indicates that the water into which the coc.o.o.ns have been put is too cool. On the other hand if the silk ruffs up and comes off in snarls upon the brush, the matted ma.s.ses indicate that the water is too hot. All this the reelers must learn by experience, and they must learn it, too, without wasting our silk. Two general laws underlie this feature of silk-reeling: hot water makes the silk run faster, and cold water r.e.t.a.r.ds its progress. Your problem is to see which treatment your coc.o.o.ns require."

"Of course those who sort the coc.o.o.ns can tell nothing of that,"

ventured Pierre.

"Oh, no. The sorters simply put into one place those coc.o.o.ns that are of the same kind. The way the coc.o.o.ns behave in the water is the business of the reeler. We have tanks or basins of a graduated temperature, and the operators soon learn into which one to put a coc.o.o.n of a certain type."

"I did not dream one had to know so much just to reel off the silk,"

murmured Pierre. "I had always supposed it would be an easy matter; but now I see it isn't."

Henri laughed.

"But I have not told you half our troubles yet," he answered mischievously. "Thus far I have spoken only of the coc.o.o.ns. In addition there is the water to consider. That must be the right sort, too. It must be as pure as we can get it, both chemically and in color. And even then the high temperature necessary to bring the silk off the coc.o.o.ns will cause any sandy sediment there may be in it to rise to the surface and cut the filament as we reel it off. We have to be prepared for that emergency as well as the others. And now to return to the sorting of the coc.o.o.ns. Do you see that pile over there? Those are what we call perfect ones. The thread from them will go into the finest quality silks and satins, as the filament has neither spots nor flaws."

"But those coc.o.o.ns are very small," objected Pierre.

"Yes. The best coc.o.o.ns are not always the largest, by any means. It is quality, not size, that counts." Henri pa.s.sed on. "Here now," he continued as he paused before another lot, "are some more pointed at one end than at the other. We know from bitter experience that they will reel badly, because the silk which runs smoothly at the beginning will prove to be weak in some places and break. We toss them aside and reel them separately. These _cocalons_, as we call this other kind, are also thrown out because they are hard to wind."

"They are much larger," observed Pierre.

"You are right. Nevertheless they have no more silk on them. The reason they look bigger is because the worm spun them less compactly; unless they are put into cold water they will tangle and mat when reeled."

"And that next lot?"

"_Soufflons_? They are the most imperfect coc.o.o.n made. The silk is so loosely spun that it cannot be wound at all, and is good only for floss."

Pierre shook his head despairingly.

"I thought I knew quite a lot about coc.o.o.ns," he said. "But by the time I go home I shall feel I don't know anything. Why, I never could learn to sort all those kinds if I kept trying for years."

"Only those who have handled thousands of coc.o.o.ns can," returned his guide consolingly. "I couldn't begin to do it. Here is a pile now! They have a hole in the end and cannot be reeled because every time the thread comes to the perforation it is broken. Probably the moth was allowed to escape and injured the filament. They must be used for floss, too, for they are good for nothing else."

The boys wandered on down the room.

"In this pile you will see what we call _good choquettes_," resumed Henri. "I must tell you about them, for the species is peculiar. The worm inside them died before finis.h.i.+ng its work and stuck onto the inside of the coc.o.o.n." He took one from the heap and shook it. "It does not rattle, you see. Nevertheless the filament on it is of excellent quality--not very strong, perhaps, but of fine texture. In contrast to these good choquettes is this tableful of _bad choquettes_. Like the others the silkworm died during his spinning, but this time he rotted away inside, leaving the coc.o.o.n black and mottled."

"Healthy worms make the best coc.o.o.ns, of course," Pierre rejoined.

"Not at all," contradicted Henri. "Here is what is known as a calcined coc.o.o.n made by a worm which had a peculiar disease that turned it to powder. You would not think that such a creature could spin the best quality of silk there is, would you? Yet it is so. Listen to the queer rattle the coc.o.o.n has."

Holding it to Pierre's ear he shook it gently.

"These coc.o.o.ns not only have excellent silk on them, but they have more of it than if they had been spun by a healthy worm. As a result they command the highest price and buyers are eager to find them."

"I guess I don't know anything about silkworms or coc.o.o.ns either,"

announced Pierre in dismay.

Both boys laughed.

"It is amazing how much there is to know about almost anything when you once start to learn about it from top to bottom," declared Henri. "I came into this filature when quite young, and it has taken me years to find out even the little I know now."

"I think you know a lot," Pierre returned admiringly. "I'd be happy if I knew even half as much."

"Oh, no you wouldn't," was the prompt retort. "You'd want to know a great deal more, just as I do--that is, if you were any good. There are a thousand things I want to find out. The silk business, you see, is to be my trade. I have an uncle in the weaving mills at Lyons, and some day when I know more he is to find a place for me there. So I am learning all I can about the cla.s.sifying and reeling of coc.o.o.ns; and I have also raised a few silkworms so as to be familiar with the very beginnings of the industry. Soon I am to go into the filature to help with the reeling; and after that they have promised to send me on into the throwing mills, where the filament is twisted into thread preparatory to weaving. Then I shall be ready to go to Lyons and see how silks, satins, and velvets are made. Lyons, you know, is a famous silk-making city. It was there that Philippe de la Salle, the great silk designer, lived. Because he did such beautiful work he was decorated by Louis XVI with the Order of Saint Michel and was given a pension of six mille livres. Think of that! Alas, such things do not happen now. That was long ago--between 1723 and 1803. His good fortune did not, however, last long, for the Revolution came, and the court which gave him his money went out of power. Still the people of Lyons were proud of him and despite the fact that he had been a court favorite they provided for him lodgings in the Palais Saint Pierre, where he lived for the rest of his life."

"I am afraid I do not know much about what he did," said Pierre with engaging frankness.

"Why, it was Philippe de la Salle who designed the silk hangings for the chamber of Marie Antoinette, and who originated the Empire motif of the wreath of laurel; he also designed silks gorgeous with garlands intertwined with ribbon; or decorated with baskets of fruit and flowers; and sometimes he made use of great birds. He has done some of the finest silk designs ever woven. My uncle told me, however, that years and years before that wonderful silks were made; and that fragments showing beautiful designs are in the museums of Berlin and Nuremberg, as well as in our own Cluny Museum, and the great museums of London. He said there were also marvelous church vestments of even earlier date and also some very ancient Byzantine silks splendid with griffins, eagles, and lions.

Some day, perhaps, I shall go to see them, and maybe I myself may learn to weave such fabrics. Who knows? And what are you going to do, Pierre?"

"I suppose I shall just go on raising silkworms," was the quiet reply.

"It is hard work, but I see nothing else ahead for me. However, when my father and uncle return from the war there will be time enough for me to think what I will do."

"Ah, but you have a plan already; I can see that!" Henri cried.

Pierre nodded gravely.

"Yes, I have a plan--or perhaps I better call it a dream. I should like to go to America. One can earn more money there. My mother's brother is at Paterson, New Jersey, which is in America, and I have some young cousins there also."

"Yes, yes, I know," exclaimed Henri eagerly. "There are great silk mills at Paterson where they make fine silks and ribbons--some of them as beautiful as any we make in France. Maybe some day you will go there."

"I'm afraid not," returned Pierre. "Even should the war end and my father and uncle come home again I have no money to go to America."

"Don't give up so easily," Henri said, placing a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "We never can tell what will happen. My mother says that if we do the best we can every day sometimes the thing we wish most will come to us; if not, Le Bon Dieu will send something else which may be even better."

"I am trying to do my best," Pierre answered bravely. "And anyway so long as my father and uncle are safe nothing else really matters."

The boys exchanged a smile and pa.s.sed on into the filature, as the factory where the reeling was done was called.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER IX

HENRI MAKES A SUGGESTION

"It is now dry weather, and as this is the best time to reel silk we are working very hard," explained Henri as they went along. "Every machine we have is running overtime. But before we inspect the reels themselves suppose we see how the coc.o.o.ns are soaked and made ready. The important thing is to get the gum which the silkworm has blended with the silk out of it, and for this purpose we use soft water, having found that it loosens the filament better than anything else. That is what they are doing here. They begin by raising the water to the boiling point, and afterward reduce its temperature by means of cold water if they find it necessary. Care must be taken to submerge each coc.o.o.n evenly so that its entire surface will be covered; otherwise one end will be softened and the other end remain hard, in which case it cannot be reeled off."

"But why do the girls stir the coc.o.o.ns with those whisks of peeled birch?" inquired Pierre curiously. "What are they trying to do?"