"T HEY 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 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
"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 today is seven or eight hundred years.
"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
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.
"Much older oaks are known. In 1824 a
"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
"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
"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."