THE BIRTH, BRIDAL AND DEATH OF THE SILK-WORM
(NAGANO)
The mulberry leaf knoweth not that it shall be silk.--_Arab proverb_
One acre in every dozen in Japan produces mulberry leaves for feeding
the silk-worms which two million farming families--more than a third
of the farming families of the country--painstakingly rear.
But the mulberry is not the only mark of a sericultural district. Its
mark may be seen in the tall chimneys of the factories and in the
structure of the farmers' houses. Breeders of silk-worms are often
well enough off to have tiled instead of thatched roofs; they have
frequently two storeys to their dwellings; and they have almost always
a roof ventilator so that the vitiated air from the _hibachi_-heated
silk-worm chambers may be carried off. Yet another sign of sericulture
being a part of the agricultural activities of a district is its
prosperity. Silk-worms produce the most valuable of all Japanese
exports. Japan sends abroad more raw silk than any other country.[139]
It is in the middle of the country that sericulture chiefly nourishes.
The smallest output of raw silk is from the most northerly prefecture
and from the prefecture in the extreme south-west of the mainland. But
human aptitude plays its part as well as climate. The Japanese hand is
a wonderful piece of mechanism--look at the hands of the next Japanese
you meet--and in sericulture its delicate touch is used to the utmost
advantage.
The gains of sericulture are not made without corresponding
sacrifices. Silk-worm raising is infinitely laborious. The constant
picking of leaves, the bringing of them home and the chopping and
supplying of these leaves to the smallest of all live stock and the
maintenance of a proper temperature in the rearing-chamber day and
night mean unending work. The silk-worms may not be fed less than four
or five times in the day; in their early life they are fed seven or
eight times. This is the feeding system for spring caterpillars.
Summer and autumn breeds must have two or three more meals. The men
and women who attend to them, particularly the women, are worn out by
the end of the season. "The women have only three hours' rest in the
twenty-four hours," I remember someone saying. "They never loose their
_obi_."
When the caterpillars emerge from the tiny, pin-head-like eggs of the
silk-worm moth they are minute creatures. Therefore the mulberry
leaves are chopped very fine indeed. They are chopped less and less
fine as the silk-worms grow, until finally whole leaves and leaves
adhering to the shoots are given. Some rearers are skilful enough to
supply from the very beginning leaves or leaves still on the shoots.
The caterpillars live in bamboo trays or "beds" on racks. In the house
of one farmer I found caterpillars about three-quarters of an inch
long occupying fifteen trays. When the silk-worms grew larger they
would occupy two hundred trays.
The eggs, when not produced on the farm, are bought adhering to cards
about a foot square. There are usually marked on these cards
twenty-eight circles about 2 ins. in diameter. Each circle is covered
with eggs. The eggs come to be arranged in these convenient circles
because, as will be explained later on, the moths have been induced to
lay within bottomless round tins placed on the circles on the cards.
The eggs are sticky when laid and therefore adhere. In a year
35,000,000 cards, containing about a billion eggs, are produced on
some 10,000 egg-raising farms.
The eggs--they are called "seed"--are hatched in the spring (end of
April--as soon as the first leaves of the mulberry are available--to
the middle of May), summer (June and July) and autumn (August and
October). It takes from three to seven days--according to
temperature--for the "seed" to hatch, and from twenty to thirty-two
days--according to temperature--for the silk-worms to reach maturity.
Half the hatching is done in spring. In one farmer's house I visited
in the spring season I found that he had hatched fifty cards of
"seed." From the birth of the caterpillars to the formation of cocoons
the casualties must be reckoned at ten per cent. daily. Not more than
eighty-five per cent. of the cocoons which are produced are of good
quality. The remainder are misshapen or contain dead chrysalises. As
there are more than a thousand breeds of silk-worm, all cocoons are
not of the same shape and colour. Some are oval; some are shaped like
a monkey nut. Most are white but some are yellow and others yellow
tinted.
In the whole world of stock raising there is nothing more remarkable
than the birth of silk-worm moths. The cocoons on the racks in the
farmer's loft are covered by sheets of newspaper in which a number of
round holes about three-quarters of an inch in diameter have been cut.
When the moths emerge from their cocoons they seek these openings
towards the light and creep through to the upper side of the
newspaper. For newly born things they come up through these openings
with astonishing ardour. In body and wings the moths are flour white.
White garments are suitable for the babe, the bride and the dead, and
the moth perfected in the cocoon is arrayed not only for its birth but
for bridal and death, which come upon it in swift succession. The male
as well as the female is in white and is distinguishable by being
somewhat smaller in size. On the newspaper the few males who have not
found partners are executing wild dances, their wings whirring the
while at a mad pace. When from time to time they cease dancing they
haunt the holes in the paper through which the newly born moths
emerge. When a female appears a male instantly rushes towards her, or
rather the two creatures rush towards one another, and they are at
once locked in a fast embrace. Immediately their wings cease to
flutter, the only commotion on the newspaper being made by the unmated
males. In a hatching-room these males on the stacks of trays are so
numerous that the place is filled with the sound of the whirring of
their wings. The down flies from their wings to such an extent that
one continually sneezes. The spectacle of the stacks of trays covered
by these ecstatic moths is remarkable, but still more remarkable is
the thrilling sense of the power of the life-force in a supposedly low
form of consciousness.
The wonder of the scene is missed, no doubt, by most of those who are
habituated to it. From time to time weary, stolid-looking girls or old
women lift down the trays and run their hands over them in order to
pick up superfluous male moths. Sometimes the male moths are walking
about the newspaper, sometimes they are torn callously from the
embrace of their mates. The fate of the male moths is to be flung into
a basket where they stay until the next day, when perhaps some of them
may be mated again. The novice is impressed not only by the
ruthlessness of this treatment but by the way in which the whole loft
is littered by male moths which have fallen or have been flung on the
floor and are being trampled on.
The female moths, when their partners have been removed, are taken
downstairs in newspapers in order to be put into the little tin
receptacles where the eggs are to be laid. On a tray there are spread
out a number of egg cards with, as before mentioned, twenty-eight
printed circles on each of them. On these circles are placed the
twenty-eight half-inch-high bottomless enclosures of tin. Some one
takes up a handful of moths and scatters them over the tins. Some of
the moths fall neatly into a tin apiece. Others are helped into the
little enclosures in which, to do them credit, they are only too
willing to take up their quarters. The curious thing is the way in
which each moth settles down within her ring. Indeed from the moment
of her emergence from the cocoon until now she has never used her
wings to fly. Nor did the male moth seem to wish to fly. The sexes
concentrate their whole attention on mating. After that the female
thinks of nothing but laying eggs. Almost immediately after she is
placed within her little tin she begins to deposit eggs, and within a
few hours the circle of the card is covered.
Food is given neither to the females nor to the males. Those which are
not kept in reserve for possible use on the second day are flung out
of doors. When the female moth has deposited her eggs she also is
destroyed.[140] The _shoji_ of the breeding and egg-laying rooms
permit only of a diffused light. The discarded moths are cast out into
the brilliant sunshine where they are eaten by poultry or are left to
die and serve as manure.
Sericulture is always a risky business. There is first the risk of a
fall in prices. Just before I reached Japan prices were so low that
many people despaired of being able to continue the business, and
shortly after I left there was a crisis in the silk trade in which
numbers of silk factories failed. At the time I was last in a
silk-worm farmer's house cocoons were worth from 5 to 6 yen per _kwan_
of 8-1/4 lbs. From 8 to 10 _kwan_ of cocoons could be expected from a
single egg card. Eggs were considered to be at a high price when they
were more than 2 yen per card. The risks of the farmer are increased
when he launches out and buys mulberry leaves to supplement those
produced on his own land. Sometimes the price of leaves is so high
that farmers throw away some of their silk-worms. The risks run by the
man who grows mulberries beyond his own leaf requirements on the
chance of selling are also considerable.
Beyond the risk of falling prices or of a short mulberry crop there is
in sericulture the risk of disease. One advantage of the system in
which the eggs are laid in circles on the cards instead of all over
them is that if any disease should be detected the affected areas can
be easily cut out with a knife and destroyed. Disease is so serious a
matter that silk-worm breeding, as contrasted with silk-worm raising,
is restricted to those who have obtained licences. The silk-worm
breeder is not only licensed. His silkworms, cocoons and mother moths
are all in turn officially examined. Breeding "seeds" were laid one
year by about 33,000,000 odd moths; common "seeds" by about
948,000,000.
Of recent years enormous progress has been made in combating disease.
I have spoken of how a silk-worm district may be recognised by the
structure of the farmhouses and the prosperity of the farmers, but
another striking sign of sericulture is the trays and mats lying in
the sun in front of farmers' dwellings or on the hot stones of the
river banks in order to get thoroughly purified from germs. It is
illustrative of the progress that has been made under scientific
influence, that whereas twenty years ago a sericulturist would reckon
on losing his silk-worm harvest completely once in five years, such a
loss is now rare. Scientific instructors have their difficulties in
Japan as in the rural districts of other countries, but the people
respect authority, and they are accustomed to accept instruction given
in the form of directions. Also the Japanese have an unending interest
in the new thing. Further, there is a continual desire to excel for
the national advantage and in emulation of the foreigner. The advance
in scientific knowledge in the rural districts is remarkable, because
it is in such contrast with the primitive lives of the country people.
Picture the surprise of British or American farmers were they brought
face to face with thermometers, electric light and a working knowledge
of bacteriology in the houses of peasants in breech clouts.
It was while I was trying to learn something of the sericultural
industry that I had the opportunity of visiting a noteworthy
institution. It is noteworthy, among other reasons, because I seldom
met a foreigner in Japan who knew of its existence. It is the great
Ueda Sericultural College in the prefecture of Nagano. I was struck
not only by its extent but by its systematised efficiency. On a level
with the director's eyes was a motto in large lettering, "Be diligent.
Develop your virtues."
[Illustration: TEACHERS OF A VILLAGE SCHOOL.]
[Illustration: GIRLS CARRYING BALES OF RICE.]
[Illustration: SERICULTURAL SCHOOL STUDENTS.]
The Institute devotes itself to mulberries, silk-worms and silk
manufacture. There are 200 students, as many as it will hold. The
young men become teachers of sericulture, advisers in mills and
experts of co-operative sericultural societies. The institution, in
addition to the fees it receives and its earnings from its own
products, some 33,000 yen in all, has an annual Government subsidy of
about 114,000 yen. There are other sericultural colleges doing similar
work in Tokyo and Kyoto, and there is also in the capital the Imperial
Sericultural Experiment Station (with a staff of 87), where I saw
all sorts of research work in progress. This experiment station has
half a dozen branches scattered up and down the silk districts.
[Illustration: SOME OF THE SILK FACTORIES IN KAMISUWA.]
[Illustration: VILLAGE ASSEMBLY-ROOM.]
At Ueda I went through corridors and rooms, sterilised thrice a year,
to visit professors engaged in a variety of enquiries. One professor
had turned into a kind of beef tea the pupæ thrown away when the
cocoons are unwound; another had made from the residual oil two or
three kinds of soap. The usual thing at a silk factory is for the
pupæ, which are exposed to view when the silk is unrolled from the
scalded cocoons, to lie about in horrid heaps until they are sold as
manure or carp food. The professor declared that his product was equal
to a third of the total weight of the pupæ utilised, and was sure that
it could be sold at a fifteenth of the price of Western beef essences.
The Director of the College had tried the product with his breakfast
for a fortnight and avowed that during the experiment he was never so
perky.
It was a pleasure to look into the well-kept dormitories of the
students, where there was evidence, in books, pictures and athletic
material, of a strenuous life. The young men are made fit not only by
_judō_, fencing, archery, tennis and general athletics, but by being
sent up the mountains on Sundays. The men are kept so hard that at the
open fencing contest twice a year the visitors are usually beaten. The
director quoted to me Roosevelt's "Sweat and be saved."
From men we went to machines and mulberries. I inspected all sorts of
hot chambers for killing cocoons. I saw, in rooms draped in black
velvet like the pictured scenes at a beheading, silk testing for
lustre and colour. I gazed with respect on many kinds of winding and
weaving machinery. Then, going out into the experiment fields, I
strode through more varieties of mulberry than I had imagined to
exist. There are supposed to be 500 sorts in the country but many are
no doubt duplicates. The varieties differ so much in shape and texture
of leaf that the novice would not take some of them for mulberries.
It was held that it would not be difficult to increase the mulberry
area in Japan by another quarter of a million acres. The yield of
leaves might be raised by 3,300 lbs. per acre if the right sort of
bushes were always grown and the right sort of treatment were given to
them and to the soil. As to the additional labour needed for an
extended sericulture, the annual increase in the population of Japan
would provide it. I was told that "the technics of sericulture are
sure to improve." It would be easy to raise the yield 2 _kwan_ per egg
card for the whole country. Within a seven-year period the production
of cocoons per egg card had become 20 per cent. better. The talk was
of doubling the present yield of cocoons. The "proper encouragement"
needed for doubling the production of cocoons was more technical
instruction and more co-operative societies. There had been a
continual rise in the world's demand for silk and there was no need to
fear "artificial silk." "People who buy it often come to appreciate
natural silk." And I read in an official publication that "the climate
of Japan is suitable for the cultivation of mulberry trees from
south-west Formosa to Hokkaido in the north."
FOOTNOTES:
[139] For statistics of sericulture, see Appendix XXXIX.
[140] She is examined microscopically in order to make sure that she
was not affected by infectious disease.