In the reign of the Emperor Justinian, a couple of Persian monks, on a
religious mission to China, brought away with them a quantity of
silkworms' eggs concealed in a piece of hollow cane, which they carried
to Constantinople. There they hatched the eggs, reared the worms, and
spun the silk,--for the first time introducing that manufacture into
Europe, and destroying the close monopoly which China had hitherto
enjoyed. From Constantinople the knowledge and the practice of the art
gradually extended to Greece, thence to Italy, and next to Spain. Each
country, as in turn it gained possession of the secret, strove to
preserve it with jealous care; but to little purpose. A secret that so
many thousands already shared in common, could not long remain so,
although its passage to other countries might be for a time deferred.
France and England were behind most of the other states of Europe in
obtaining a knowledge of the "craft and mystery." The manufacture of
silk did not take root in France till the reign of Francis I.; and was
hardly known in England till the persecutions of the Duke of Parma in
1585 drove a great number of the manufacturers of Antwerp to seek
refuge in our land. James I. was very anxious to promote the breed of
silkworms, and the production of silken fabrics. During his reign a
great many mulberry-trees were planted in various parts of the
country--among others, that celebrated one in Shakspeare's garden
at Stratford-on-Avon--and an attempt was made to rear the worm
in our country, which, however, the ungenial climate frustrated.
Silk-throwsters, dyers, and weavers were brought over from the
Continent; and the manufacture made such progress that, by 1629, the
silk-throwsters of London were incorporated, and thirty years after
employed no fewer than 40,000 hands. The emigration from France
consequent on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685) added not
only to the numbers engaged in the trade, but to the taste, skill, and
enterprise with which it was conducted. It is not easy to estimate how
deeply France wounded herself by the iniquitous persecution of the
Protestants, or how largely the emigrants repaid by their industry the
shelter which Britain afforded them.
Although the manufacture had now become fairly naturalized in England,
it was restricted by our ignorance of the first process to which the
silk was subjected. Up till 1718, the whole of the silk used in England,
for whatever purpose, was imported "thrown," that is, formed into
threads of various kinds and twists. A young Englishman named John
Lombe, impressed with the idea that our dependence on other countries
for a supply of thrown silk prevented us from reaping the full benefit
of the manufacture, and from competing with foreign traders, conceived
the project of visiting Italy, and discovering the secret of the
operation. He accordingly went over to Piedmont in 1715, but found the
difficulties greater than he had anticipated. He applied for admittance
at several factories, but was told that an examination of the machinery
was strictly prohibited. Not to be balked, he resolved, as a last
resort, to try if he could accomplish by stratagem what he had failed to
do openly. Disguising himself in the dress of a common labourer, he
bribed a couple of the workmen connected with one of the factories, and
with their connivance obtained access in secret to the works. His visits
were few and short; but he made the best use of his time. He carefully
examined the various parts of the machinery, ascertained the principle
of its operation, and made himself completely master of the whole
process of throwing. Each night before he went to bed he noted down
everything he had seen, and drew sketches of parts of the machinery.
This plot, however, was discovered by the Italians. He and his
accomplices had to fly for their lives, and not without great difficulty
escaped to a ship which conveyed them to England.
Lombe had not forgotten to carry off with him his note-book, sketches,
and a chest full of machinery, and on his return home lost no time in
practising the art of "throwing" silk. On a swampy island in the river
Derwent, at Derby, he built a magnificent mill, yet standing, called the
"Old Silk Mill." Its erection occupied four years, and cost L30,000. It
was five storeys in height, and an eighth of a mile in length. The grand
machine numbered no fewer than 13,384 wheels. It was said that it could
produce 318,504,960 yards of organzine silk thread daily; but the
estimate is no doubt exaggerated.
While the mill was building, Lombe, in order to save time and earn money
to carry on the works, opened a manufactory in the Town Hall of Derby.
His machinery more than fulfilled his expectations, and enabled him to
sell thrown silk at much lower prices than were charged by the Italians.
A thriving trade was thus established, and England relieved from all
dependence on other countries for "thrown" silk.
The Italians conceived a bitter hatred against Lombe for having broken
in upon their monopoly and diminished their trade. In revenge,
therefore, according to William Hutton, the historian of Derby, they
"determined _his_ destruction, and hoped that of his works would
follow." An Italian woman was despatched to corrupt her two countrymen
who assisted Lombe in the management of the works. She obtained
employment in the factory, and gained over one of the Italians to her
iniquitous design. They prepared a slow poison, and administered it in
small doses to Lombe, who, after lingering three or four years in agony,
died at the early age of twenty-nine. The Italian fled; the woman was
seized and subjected to a close examination, but no definite proof could
be elicited that Lombe had been poisoned. Lombe was buried in great
state, as a mark of respect on the part of his townsmen. "He was," says
Hutton, "a man of quiet deportment, who had brought a beneficial
manufactory into the place, employed the poor, and at advanced
wages,--and thus could not fail to meet with respect; and his melancholy
end excited much sympathy."