When April comes, and the sea Will they restore to me My dark Love, empress and child? The curtains seem to part; Lo, now far on the hills The crimson fumes encurled, WOODCUTTING.1 BY ANDRÉ THEURIET. (From "Rustic Life in France": translated by Helen B. Dole.) [ANDRÉ THEURIET: A French writer; born at Marly-le-Roi, October 8, 1833. He was educated at Bar-le-Duc, studied law in Paris, and was subsequently employed in the treasury department. His first literary work consisted of poems and stories contributed to periodical literature. His writings include the poems, "In Memoriam" (1857), "The Road through the Woods" (1867), "The Peasant of D'Argonne, 1792" (1871), "The Blue and the Black" (1873); and "Our Birds" (1886); the dramas, "Jean-Marie" (1871), "The House of the Two Barbeaux" (1885), and "Raymonde" (1887). He has also published "Jules Bastien-Lepage, the Man and the Artist" (1885).] THE forest resembles human society in more than one respect, it has an aristocracy, a middle class, and the common, unknown people; trees of noble growth which every one knows, by name at least, and the more humble species which hardly any one notices. The great lords of the forest are the fir tree, the oak, the beech, and the chestnut; but besides these princely races, there are the people of trees and shrubs, the appearance of which is as original, although not so well known. Curious monographs might be written on these secondary 1 Copyright, 1896, by T. Y. Crowell & Co. Used by permission. species abounding in our woods, all of which have very different habits and usages. The enumeration alone of these various species is not enough. We must note in passing, and with a characteristic word, the appearance and manner of living belonging to each individual. There is the hornbeam, with its light foliage, its elegant nodosity, and its graceful, spreading branches; the ash, with its hard wood, slender trunk, and pinnated leaves, around which buzz the Spanish flies; the aspen and the birch, with their smooth, satinlike bark, neryous foliage, continually in motion; the maple and the sycamore, two first cousins, with lobed leaves, bark which decays easily, and wood valuable for carpentry; the linden, loved by the bees, with its supple bark, fragrant flowers, and leaves as sweet as honey; the alder and the willow growing near running water; the hazel tree, with its healthful, bushy shade; the lote tree, beloved by thrushes; the service tree, preferred by bullfinches and blackbirds; the holly and the boxwood, hard, resisting, and ever green; the wild cherry, or wood of Sainte-Lucie, with its fragrant branches. All these varieties are well known to foresters, who take great account of their qualities and different characters when they are considering the cultivation or felling of trees. According to the rules of forestry, woods should be felled as the trees reach their maturity. This maturity is announced by exterior signs, which the trained eye of the forester promptly recognizes. When the annual shoots are strong and lengthened out, when the foliage is abundant and large, the bark unbroken, the young branches supple, it is evident that the tree is still growing in size and height; but when the shoots do not lengthen the branches more than the length of the bud, there will be no more growth, either in height or diameter, and the wood has reached its natural maturity. The inclination of the branches towards the horizon furnishes as well very sure indications in the case of isolated trees. They indicate, for example, that a tree is in its full vigor when its branches describe an angle of from forty to fifty degrees, and that it is on the decline when the angles fall to seventy degrees. Besides, the age or maturity of forest trees, especially of the oak, is recognized by an especial and exceptional fertility: In senecta, said Pliny, fertillissimæ glandiferæ. When all these indications are found together, it can be assured that the tree will grow no more, and that it is ripe for felling. The most favorable season for cutting trees is the beginning of winter; that is to say, the time when the sap seems to be dormant. On this point science and tradition agree; the ancient rules of forestry forbade the felling contractors to cut any wood in the forests "while the sap was circulating; namely, from the middle of May until the middle of September." At the present time the contracts for woodcutting are made the last of September, and the felling of the sections awarded generally begins with winter. When the contracts have been made, each contractor takes the most expeditious means to cut the section or felling which has been assigned to him. As soon as he has recruited the necessary workmen for clearing the woods, the pruners, cutters, fagot makers, as soon as he has commissioned the woodcutter's agent appointed to oversee the work, the felling begins. The woodcutters, divided into gangs, arrive on the spot, and prepare to cut down the trees marked for felling. - The woodcutter's first work-when the canton where the work is to be done is too far from any village, and the workmen cannot go home every evening-consists in building a hut to shelter the men and their tools. This hut or cabin, the site of which is chosen by the administration forestière, generally assumes a conical shape; it is built with stakes and branches intertwined, the whole is covered on the outside with sods of grassy earth, over which the rain is carried off, and which protect the sleepers from the wind and dampness. Inside, two field beds, raised above the ground, and covered with moss, straw, and brakes, serve as a sleeping place for the woodcutters; between these two litters is left an empty space opposite to the entrance, and in these narrow limits the workmen cook and eat their food. The day for building the hut is a festal day. They celebrate it by swallowing a great many bumpers of wine, and especially brandy; so that when night comes the whole crowd is quite exhilarated, and the men, half intoxicated, stretch themselves out on the very ground where the felling is to be made. But the next day the work begins in earnest. The overseer is no joker; they must set about their task, and work hard, although their tongues are thick, their backs bent, and their limbs stiff. The woodcutter's work is rough. According to the rules of forestry, the trees must be cut with the ax, and as close to the ground as possible; the use of the billhook or saw is strictly prohibited; the stocks or stumps must be cut level with the ground, smooth, and slightly sloping, in order to prevent the rain water from standing on them and causing them to decay. When large trees are to be felled, the task demands vigorous muscular strength, an accurate eye, and, above all, long experience. A master woodcutter, understanding his business, should cut the tree from twelve to eighteen inches from the foot, and lay it on the ground "as if it had been given a single cut with a razor." Nothing is more dramatic and affecting than the fall of a lofty beech tree or oak. The repeated blows of the ax leave the great tree at first immovable and haughty; the woodcutters redouble their efforts, and at times the trunk trembles and quivers from the base to the summit like a living personality. Then one understands all the energetic truth of Sophocles' comparison when he said, Ægisthus and Clytemnestra killed Agamemnon "like woodcutters felling an oak." The steel of the ax makes the bark, sapwood, and the heart of the wood fly in showers; but the tree recovers its impassibility, and stoically submits to the assault of the cutters. To see it still straight and proud in the air, it seems as if it would never fall. Suddenly the woodcutters draw back; there is a moment of waiting which is terribly solemn, then suddenly the enormous trunk sways, and falls to the ground with a tragic crash of broken branches. A sound like a lamentation runs through the hazy forest; then all becomes silent again, and the woodcutters, with unconscious emotion, contemplate the giant lying on the ground. Then begins the work of lopping the branches. The principal branches, when sawed off, are destined for carpentry or fuel, according to their size and state of health; the small twigs serve for making fagots. Sometimes, when it is desirable to obtain the branches whole, unharmed by the fall, they are taken off while the tree is still standing. A workman with sharp spurs on his feet, carrying a rope with a slip noose in his hand, climbs the tree, with the help of the spurs which he plunges into the bark, leather kneecaps worn on the legs, and the rope which he fastens to the branches as he mounts. While climbing, he supports himself with a knot, hangs from his rope, and cuts off the branches with a billhook. It is a dangerous employment, full of risks. To perform it requires the agility of a squirrel, and the ability to crawl around the trunks with the dexterity of a woodpecker; above all, it requires a steady hand. When the branch cutter has hoisted himself to the top of the tree, in order to deprive it of its last branches, the least breeze rocks him on the summit, now flexible and cracking. Above him he sees the clouds passing by; beneath he sees, as far as his eye can reach, the undulating sea of green or yellowing foliage of the forest. If dizziness seizes him, or if a branch which he thinks solid breaks beneath his feet, it is all over with him; and he is precipitated, bleeding, on the ground. Such accidents happen sometimes; but in spite of the difficulties and risks of the profession, the branch cutters love this adventurous occupation, and are glad to pass in this way a good part of their life between heaven and earth. When the felling is over, the wood that has been cut is divided into two categories, that which is intended for timberwork and carpentry, and that reserved for burning. The latter, in round or split sticks, is piled and measured on the ground of the clearing; the smaller branches intended for charcoal are piled separately, as well as the fagots made up by the fagot makers. The wood for timbers with the bark still on is transported whole by means of trucks, underneath the axles of which the enormous trunks of beech, fir, or oak are fastened by chains or cables. Often the large pieces are sawed up on the spot, and in this case the sawyers establish their wood yard in the clearing. When the forest is traversed by watercourses, the sawing is done by machinery, and permanent sawmills lift their wooden buildings above the streams, and their shafts are turned by a wheel, over which the running water is scattered like rain. Nothing is more picturesque than these rustic sawmills, astride the brooks, shaded by the edge of the forest, and sending afar the bubbling water, the strident sound of the saw, the aromatic odor of freshly cut boards. When the forests have no very abrupt slopes, when they are penetrated by good roads, transporting the wood away from the clearing is easily effected in carts. But in the mountains, the cantons where the felling is done are frequently situated on slopes too steep for any conveyance to reach. In such cases the wood is sent to the bottom of the valley through almost perpendicular slides, called couloires, where it descends rapidly. It is a very primitive mode, in use principally in the |