THE AGE OF TREES
“THEY used to tell of a chestnut of Sancerre whose trunk was more than
four meters round. According to the most moderate estimate its age must
have been three or four hundred years. Don’t cry out at the age of this
chestnut. My story is just beginning, and you may be sure that, as a
narrator who stimulates the curiosity of his audience, I reserve the
oldest for the end.
“Much larger chestnuts are known; for example, that of Neuve-Celle, on
the borders of the Lake of Geneva, and that of Esaü, in the neighborhood
of Montélimar. The first is thirteen meters round at the base of the
trunk. From the year 1408 it sheltered a hermitage; the story has been
testified to. Since then four centuries and a half have passed, adding
to its age, and lightning has struck it at different times. No matter,
it is still vigorous and full of leaves. The second is a majestic ruin.
Its high branches are despoiled; its trunk, eleven meters round, is
plowed with deep crevices, the wrinkles of old age. To tell the age of
these two giants is hardly possible. Perhaps it might be reckoned at a
thousand years, and still the two old trees bear fruit; they will not
die.”
“A thousand years! If Uncle had not said it, I should not believe it.”
This from Jules.
“Sh! You must listen to the end without saying anything,” cautioned his
uncle.
“The largest tree in the world is a chestnut on the slopes of Etna, in
Sicily. Look at the map: you will see down there, at the extreme end of
Italy, opposite the toe of that beautiful country which has the shape of
a boot, a large island with three corners. That is Sicily. On that
island is a celebrated mountain which throws up burning matter—a
volcano, in short. It is called Etna. To come back to our chestnut, I
must tell you that they call it ‘the chestnut of a hundred horses,’
because Jane, Queen of Aragon, visiting the volcano one day and,
overtaken by a storm, took refuge under it with her escort of a hundred
horsemen. Under its forest of leaves both riders and horses found
shelter. To surround the giant, thirty people extending their arms and
joining hands would not be enough. The trunk is more than fifty meters
round. Judged by its size, it is less a tree-trunk than a fortress, a
tower. An opening large enough to permit two carriages to pass abreast
goes through the base of the chestnut and gives access into the cavity
of the trunk, which is fitted up for the use of those who go to gather
chestnuts; for the old colossus still has young sap and seldom fails to
bear fruit. It is impossible to estimate the age of this giant by its
size, for one suspects that a trunk as large as that comes from several
chestnuts, originally distinct, but so near together that they have
become welded into one.
“Neustadt, in Württemberg, has a linden whose branches, overburdened by
years, are held up by a hundred pillars of masonry. The branches cover
all together a space 130 meters in circumference. In 1229 this tree was
already old, for writers of that time call it ‘the big linden.’ Its
probable age to-day is seven or eight hundred years.
[Illustration: White Oak]
“There was in France, at the beginning of this century, an older tree
than the veteran of Neustadt. In 1804 could be seen at the castle of
Chaillé, in the Deux-Sèvres, a linden 15 meters round. It had six main
branches propped with numerous pillars. If it still exists it cannot be
less than eleven centuries old.
“The cemetery of Allouville, in Normandy, is shaded by one of the oldest
oaks in France. The dust of the dead, into which it has thrust its
roots, seems to have given it an exceptional vigor. Its trunk measures
ten meters in circumference at the base. A hermit’s chamber surmounted
by a little steeple rises in the midst of its enormous branches. The
base of the trunk, partly hollow, is fitted up as a chapel dedicated to
Our Lady of Peace. The greatest personages have esteemed it an honor to
go and pray in this rustic sanctuary and meditate a moment under the
shade of the old tree which has seen so many graves open and shut.
According to its size, they consider this oak to be about nine hundred
years old. The acorn that produced it must, then, have germinated about
the year 1000. To-day the old oak carries its monstrous branches without
effort. Glorified by men and ravaged by lightning, it peacefully follows
the course of ages, perhaps having before it a future equal to its past.
“Much older oaks are known. In 1824 a wood-cutter of Ardennes felled a
gigantic oak in whose trunk were found sacrificial vases and antique
coins. The old oak had had fifteen or sixteen centuries of existence.
“After the Allouville oak I will tell you of some more companions of the
dead; for it is above all in these fields of repose, where the sanctity
of the place protects them against the injuries of man, that the trees
attain such an advanced age. Two yews in the cemetery of Haie-de-Routot,
department of Eure, merit attention above all. In 1832 they shaded with
their foliage the whole of the field of the dead and a part of the
church, without having experienced serious damage, when an extremely
violent windstorm threw a part of their branches to the ground. In spite
of this mutilation these two yews are still majestic old trees. Their
trunks, entirely hollow, measure each of them nine meters in
circumference. Their age is estimated at fourteen hundred years.
“That, however, is not more than half the age that some other trees of
the same kind have attained. A yew in a Scotch cemetery measured
twenty-nine meters around. Its probable age was two thousand five
hundred years. Another yew, also in a cemetery in the same country, was,
in 1660, so prodigious that the whole country was talking about it. They
reckoned its age then at two thousand eight hundred and twenty-four
years. If it is still standing, this patriarch of European trees bears
the weight of more than thirty centuries.
“Enough for the present. Now it is your turn to talk.”
“I like better to be silent, Uncle Paul,” said Jules. “You have upset my
mind with your trees that will not die.”
“I am thinking of the old yew in the Scotch cemetery. Did you say three
thousand years?” asked Claire.
“Three thousand years, my dear child; and we might go still further
back, if I were to tell you of certain trees in foreign countries. Some
are known to be almost as old as the world.”
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