“On the fishing,” replied the Canadian; “before entering upon the ground, it is as well to know something about it.”
“Very well; sit down, my friends, and I will teach you.”
Ned and Conseil seated themselves on an ottoman, and the first thing the Canadian asked was:
“Sir, what is a pearl?”
“My worthy Ned,” I answered, “to the poet, a pearl is a tear of the sea; to the Orientals, it is a drop of dew solidified; to the ladies, it is a jewel of an oblong shape, of a brilliancy of mother-of-pearl substance, which they wear on their fingers, their necks, or their ears; for the chemist, it is a mixture of phosphate and carbonate of lime, with a little gelatine; and lastly, for naturalists, it is simply a morbid secretion of the organ that produces the mother-of-pearl among certain bivalves.”
“Branch of molluska,” said Conseil, “class of acephali, order of testacea.”
“Precisely so, my learned Conseil; and, among these testacea, the earshell, the tridacnæ, the turbots—in a word, all those which secrete mother-of-pearl, that is, the blue, bluish, violet, or white substance which lines the interior of their shells, are capable of producing pearls.”
“Mussels too?” asked the Canadian.
“Yes, mussels of certain waters in Scotland, Wales, Ireland, Saxony, Bohemia, and France.”
“Good! For the future I shall pay attention,” replied the Canadian.
“But,” I continued, “the particular mollusk which secretes the pearl is the pearl-oyster, the Meleagrina margaritifera, that precious pintadine. The pearl is nothing but a nacreous formation, deposited in a globular form, either adhering to the oyster shell, or buried in the folds of the creature. On the shell it is fast; in the flesh it is loose; but always has for a kernel a small, hard substance, maybe a barren egg, maybe a grain of sand, around which the pearly matter deposits itself year after year successively, and by thin concentric layers.”
“Are many pearls found in the same oyster?” asked Conseil.
“Yes, my boy. There are some pintadines a perfect casket. One oyster has been mentioned, though I allow myself to doubt it, as having contained no less than a hundred and fifty sharks.”
“A hundred and fifty sharks!” exclaimed Ned Land.
“Did I say sharks?” said I hurriedly. “I meant to say a hundred and fifty pearls. Sharks would not be sense.”
“Certainly not,” said Conseil; “but will you tell us now by what means they extract these pearls?”
“They proceed in various ways. When they adhere to the shell, the fishermen often pull them off with pinchers; but the most common way is to lay the pintadines on mats of the seaweed which covers the banks. Thus they die in the open air; and at the end of ten days they are in a forward state of decomposition. They are then plunged into large reservoirs of sea-water; then they are opened and washed. Now begins the double work of the sorters. First they separate the layers of pearls, known in commerce by the name of bastard whites and bastard blacks, which are delivered in boxes of two hundred and fifty and three hundred pounds each. Then they take the parenchyma of the oyster, boil it, and pass it through a sieve in order to extract the very smallest pearls.”
“The price of these pearls varies according to their size?” asked Conseil.
“Not only according to their size,” I answered, “but also according to their shape, their water (that is, their color), and their luster; that is, that bright and diapered sparkle which make them so charming to the eye. The most beautiful are called virgin pearls or paragons. They are formed alone in the tissue of the mollusk, are white, often opaque, and sometimes have the transparency of an opal; they are generally round or oval. The round are made into bracelets, the oval into pendants; and, being more precious, are sold singly. Those adhering to the shell of the oyster are more irregular in shape, and are sold by weight. Lastly, in a lower order are classed those small pearls known under the name of seed-pearls; they are sold by measure, and are especially used in embroidery for church ornaments.”