The
cocoons spun, they were all picked off, and baked in the public
ovens of the town, in order to kill the chrysalis inside. Nothing
prettier can be imagined than the streets of Nyons, with white
sheets laid in front of every house, each sheet heaped high with
glittering, shimmering, gleaming piles of silk-cocoons, varying
in shade from palest straw-colour to deep orange. If pleasant to
the eye, they were less grateful to the nose, for freshly baked
cocoons have the most offensive odour. The silk-buyers from Lyons
then made their appearance, and these shining heaps of gold thread
were transformed into a more portable form of gold, which found
its way into the pockets of the inhabitants.
The peculiarly French capacity for taking infinite pains, of which
a good example is this silkworm culture, has its drawbacks, when
carried into administrative work. My friend M. David, the post-
master of Nyons, showed me his official instructions. They formed
a volume as big as a family Bible. It would have taken years to
learn all these regulations. The simplest operations were made
enormously complicated.
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