SOME OLD FAVOURITES AND NEW
Exactly what influences favour in flowers, or indeed in most other
things, it is hard to say; no Dutch bulb-grower ever attempts to do so.
It may interest the leisurely student of mankind to discover the causes
and trends of fashion, but the grower asks little or nothing about it,
he merely accepts the evidence of his carefully-kept books, and the
character of the attention given to some certain flower or groups of
flowers at the shows, and sets himself to supply the demand that has
arisen, or is about to arise. He may regret, if he is an old man with
old-fashioned tastes, that popular liking has deserted _Ranunculus
asiaticus_. He may, if he is a young man, himself sharing the general
taste, prefer the dark-eyed _Anemone coronaria_ to the rosetted flowers
of earlier favour. But he will certainly give greater space to the
latter now. Both of these two are grown in Holland, and both in
something the same manner, though ranunculi want a heavier and moister
soil than anemones. There is one kind of ranunculus, the _Turban
ranunculus_, which is planted in December and covered rather thickly to
protect it from frost, but the _asiaticus_ is treated just as anemones
are. Both are set in early spring, both harvested in August; both are
strikingly beautiful when in flower, making very gorgeous stripes of
colour in the garden where they are. Both are old flowers in Holland,
they were certainly there by the middle of the sixteenth century; we in
England had anemones from thence somewhere about 1596, ranunculi
probably not much later. Both have been much cultivated and varied; but
the one, _Ranunculus asiaticus_, is curiously out of favour, especially
in England. Fifty or sixty years ago there were as many as eight or
nine hundred varieties catalogued, now there are not as many dozen. In
England we know that the early Victorians approved the ranunculus;
indeed, in the old _Language of Flowers_ the scentless rosette blossoms
are given an honourable place. An admirer giving a bunch (we do not
conceive of anyone giving them now, unless it is one grower to another
similarly interested)—an admirer giving them in 1840 could convey the
compliment, “You are radiant with charms.” In the opinion of those
times “the dazzling Ranunculus adorns our gardens with its brilliant
flowers, glowing with a thousand colours, resplendent with a thousand
charms. Scarcely any plant affords so rich a view.” Now we think quite
otherwise.
[Illustration: A BULB FARM NEAR OVERVEEN]
Anemones at that same time stood for the melancholy word “Forsaken”;
this probably on account of the Greek legend of their origin,—a legend
of the order not unfamiliar in Greek mythology, the loves of the gods,
the jealousies of the goddesses, the metamorphosis of the object, and
the desertion of the lover. In this case Zephyr, who abandoned the
nymph, thus transformed by Flora, to the rude caresses of Boreas, who,
unable to gain her love, shakes her afresh every spring. This legend
probably belonged, in the first instance, to the earlier blooming Star
Anemones and Hepaticas, those flowers at whose opening old gardeners
used to say, “the earth is in love, now is the time to sow.” These,
too, are grown in Holland, and have been since the day when Clusius
first brought there the yellow anemone he found at the “foot of St.
Bernard’s Hill near unto the Canton of the Switzers.” Since the days,
too, when the old herbalists used the leaves of some sorts in “the
ointment called _Marciatum_, which is composed of many other hot
herbes, and is used in cold griefs, to warme and comfort the parts.”
And even if they and the _Anemone coronaria_ do not now fetch the high
prices they did when they were among the collector’s fancies, they are
still a good deal in demand.
Among the flowers grown in the bulb gardens of to-day which favour has
treated somewhat strangely the Fritillaria family should certainly be
mentioned. The Crown Imperial, king and chief of the Fritillarias, is
grown now as it was in the early days of the bulb industry; the big
lily-like bulbs are treated in much the same way, and the old varieties
are there with comparatively few new ones added to them. In the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Crown Imperials ranked high among
flowers. Parkinson gives them the place of honour in his _Garden of
Pleasant Flowers_, and, in the pretty way of the old writers speaking
of a loved or admired object, lifts them from the neuter to the
gendered class: “The Crowne Imperial for his stately beautifulness,
deserveth the first place in this our garden of delights.” And judging
from some of the legends that have gathered about the flower, one
imagines it was cultivated and admired even earlier. But during the
nineteenth century it went out of favour, for some reason the “refined
and elegant” ceased to admire it and gardeners to cultivate it, other
flowers filling the place in popular favour.
No gorgeous flowers the meek Reseda grace,
Yet sip, with eager trunk, yon busy race
Her simple cup, nor heed the dazzling gem
That beam in Fritillaria’s diadem—
wrote a drawing-room poet of the early nineteenth century; and though
the beautifully banal—also botanically and every other way
incorrect—lines must not be regarded as exactly expressing the minds of
his compeers, yet the fact that they were written and quoted shows
favour was not then for the Crown Imperial. It is coming back to the
present generation; possibly, in England at least, because a certain
number of the old bulbs were preserved in cottage gardens, and so
acquired the reputation of simplicity and old-fashionedness, now so
frequently a passport to favour.
[Illustration:
“THEY SPRING, THEY BUD, THEY BLOSSOME FRESH
AND FAIRE, AND DECKE THE WORLD WITH
THEIR RICH POMPOUS SHOWES”
]
But though the Crown Imperial is being grown in Holland and coming
again into favour in England, it is the smaller members of the
Fritillaria family that are more really popular,—the little
Snake’s-head Fritillary, which in some of its duller colours is native
to Oxfordshire, the red _Recurva_, the golden yellow _Aurea_, and other
expensive varieties of the somewhat insignificant flower. They may all
be seen in Holland, and are regarded with considerable admiration, even
by some of the old and conservative growers. I remember to have seen
one dear old man kneeling before a _Fritillaria aurea_ gently dusting
off the sand which had blown upon its fluffy inside.
Among the new favourites begonias should perhaps be mentioned, although
they are not grown in Holland to anything like the extent they are in
Belgium, where they are raised literally by the million; or in England,
where the great florists, Laing and Veitch, have done so much to
popularise and improve them. They were introduced into Europe about
1776, from Jamaica in the first instance, though subsequently from
other places too; but they do not appear to have been much cultivated
and developed until comparatively lately. Certainly it was not until
quite recently they were to be seen in the bulb fields of Holland; now
they are, and they make very gorgeous patches of colour in the middle
and late summer, when there are few other flowers to be seen. The
treatment they require is unlike that of the Dutch bulb proper. To
begin with, they are tubers not bulbs; to go on with, they are not
planted out till May; and to conclude, they must be stored in dry and
frost-proof houses during the winter months. New varieties are raised
from seed, and in Holland time and attention is being bestowed on them,
so that it is possible they, too, may rank among important Dutch
flowers, though at present they can hardly be said to do so, popular as
they are in this country.
But perhaps of all bulbs grown in Holland the ones which have least
felt the variation of favour for the past three hundred years are
Narcissi. Doubtless they have not always been grown in quite such
quantity as they are now, but they have for very long been grown to a
considerable extent. They have never had the immense vogue that tulips
and hyacinths had at one time, but they have always been well
appreciated. It is true that in Holland to-day amateurs, though they
think well of them, do not as a rule specialise in them, as do many
English; one has to go to England to find discriminating appreciation
of a finely-formed flower among amateurs. But the growers in Holland
know their business, as they have for very many years, and splendid
Narcissi are raised there for the English market.
Early in the seventeenth century we hear of the “Men of the Lowe
Countries” growing “iohnquills” and calling them “trompetts.” Even
before that the still popular _Narcissus maximus_ was a favourite
flower in Dutch gardens, and we know that the great botanists of the
late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries were eager in their
search for and raising of new varieties. We have record of “the Lady
Mattenesse Daffodil” named of Clusius, the first gallant Low Countryman
to name a new variety after a lady. This flower would seem to have
borne more resemblance to some of the ordinary yellow sorts than to the
choice _N. Clusii_, which later generations have named in honour of the
great man himself. There are records, too, of that which was first had
from Vincent Sion, native of Flanders, “an industrious and worthy lover
of fair flowers,” who, however, did not name his flower after himself
or a lady, but grew it and at some time gave offsets to “Mr. George
Wilmer of Stratford Bowe, Esquire, who would need appropriate it to
himself, as if he were the first founder thereof, and call it by his
own name, Wilmer’s double daffodil,”—a proceeding justly condemned by
the botanists and avenged by time; for whereas to-day one looks in vain
for _Wilmer_ in the ordinary catalogue, _Van-Sion_, whether or no named
after the “industrious lover of fair flowers,” is a household word with
daffodil growers.
In seventeenth-century England, as well as Holland, they would seem to
have been interested in the raising of Narcissi and the varying of the
sorts. We have _Gerrard’s Daffodil_, and _Parkinson’s Daffodil_, and
the _Great Rose Daffodil_ of one John Tradecant. It should be
remembered that narcissus and daffodil were synonymous terms with the
old writers, the one being regarded as the Latin, the other as the
English name of the family. It must also be admitted that they classed
as Narcissi things that we do not reckon as such, for instance, the
_Strange Sea Daffodil_ of Parkinson’s list, a plant which, from picture
and description, one is inclined to identify as a dark-coloured
Agapanthus. Also the _White Sea Bastard Daffodil_, which Clusius tells
us is so poisonous that it was “deadly to him that did but cut his meat
with that knife which had immediately before cut this root.” Another
narcissus unknown to us now is the red flower, native to the West
Indies, mentioned by Parkinson. It is true he classes it reluctantly in
accordance with the then taste for classifying rather than with his own
conviction, and with the remark, “Even so until some other can direct
his place more fitly, I shall require you to accept of him in this,
with this description which followeth.” And the description certainly
does not apply to our idea of a red narcissus, that desideratum of all
modern growers. The growers of the past do not seem to have been so
anxious to produce a red variety, but to-day it is the ambition of all
professionals and many amateurs. So far one cannot say they have been
successful, the variety _Will Scarlet_, a short-crowned flower
belonging to the _incomparabilis_ section, is the nearest, but it is
not satisfactory, and is of a very poor shape.
In Holland Narcissi are put in the ground just as summer turns to
autumn. In the fields they are set from three to four inches deep, and
during the severe weather protected by a straw covering some three
inches thick. At least that is found sufficient for the hardier roots,
the more delicate polyanthus varieties want more, many of them
requiring as heavy a covering as is given to hyacinths. They begin
flowering about the middle of March. Some English daffodil enthusiasts
maintain one can have them in bloom out of doors from February to
October, but personally I have never seen any at either extreme date.
In Holland, certainly, they do not reckon to have flowers in the open
much before the middle of March, when the earliest sorts, _Henry
Irving_, _Golden Spur_, etc., begin to show colour. The majority are in
perfection in April, and the latest sorts, such as _Poeticus_ and
_Grandee_, carry us on well into May; but by the end of that month
Narcissi are over in the bulb gardens. In the middle of April the sight
is truly magnificent, sheets of golden flowers in every shade of
yellow; one feels a miser’s wish to keep the living gold and put off
the inevitable time of cutting. The flowers, when they are cut, are
taken at the top, much as tulips are, the stalks and leaves being left
to gradually wither, till in July when the bulbs are lifted they are
quite dead; a sad and rather desolate sight.
[Illustration: BULB TIME, HAARLEM]
Narcissi are very various in their rate of increase, some free-growing
sorts, such as _Emperor_ and _Empress_, _Sir Watkin_ and _Barri_
increase well; but others much more scantily and slowly. The polyanthus
narcissi (N. Tazetta) do not in the main increase so well as most of
the other kinds. The reason of this may be that they are none of them
native to Western Europe, though they have been long grown and much
improved there; their original home is South Europe and Western Asia,
from whence it is thought they spread at some almost prehistoric time
to Northern India, China, and Japan. One rather insignificant species
has of recent years been introduced to Europe from Japan, and for the
moment made a sensation among amateurs out of all proportion to its
merits. There is a small kind very plentiful in Greece to-day; from its
plentifulness some folk have decided it was the original flower of the
Greek legend, but the consensus of opinion is in favour of a
single-flowered one of the Poeticus family—also still to be found in
abundance in Greece. Ovid’s description certainly best fits the latter,
as will be seen from the following translation of his account of the
flower and the metamorphosis of the boy.—He was but sixteen, according
to Ovid, so his flight from the overtures of Echo and his subsequent
astonishment at and passion for his own newly-discovered beauty are
perhaps forgivable; at all events more forgivable than the admiration
of many a subsequent poet Narcissus for himself and all his works.
Soon the rosy flush has left his cheek, and all his goodly
strength is gone, and the very form that Echo once had loved.
He lays his weary head on the green grass, and darkness covers
his longing eyes. And now he has entered the halls of the dead,
and in the Stygian wave still gazes on his own image. The
Naiads, his sisters, with tresses torn, weep for their brother,
the Dryads wail aloud, while Echo wails again. And now they
make ready the pyre and the funeral torches and the bier. But
in vain they seek the dead; they find but a flower of golden
(croceum) hue, its heart enringed by (set round with) white
leaves.[1]
[Footnote 1: I am indebted to Miss Camilla Jebb for this translation.]
It is interesting to quote, in comparison with this, the rendering that
the poet Gay gives of the old tale of the transformation:—
His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves:
Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows;
And in a short-lived flower his beauty blows.
Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast
That beauty’s but a transient gift at best;
Like flowers it withers with th’ advancing year,
And age, like winter, robs the blooming fair.
Slightly suggestive of the boy in _Struwwelpeter_ who took root and
grew sprouts because he would not move when he was told, but eminently
moral.
But whether or no the flower of “vain Narcissus” fame was a polyanthus
or a Poeticus, this is certain, varieties of both kinds grow in Greece,
and apparently have grown there as far back as anything did. Over and
over again Narcissi occur in classic literature, often with the
qualifications purpled or croceum, which suggests the dark centred
Poeticus. Sometimes they are spoken of as the flower of death, the
treacherous sweet-scented blossoms, beguiling in sweetness and
stupefying in effect. Plutarch definitely says they derived their name
from _narce_ = numbness, because of this effect. No such effect is
known now; narcotics in plenty we have, and most of them of vegetable
origin, but none obtained from narcissus. Still, evidently there is
some such tradition in connection with them, for more than one old
writer has regarded them as the flower of death. Milton possibly had
some such tradition in his mind when in _Lycidas_, his _In Memoriam_,
he says:
daffodillies fill their cups with tears,
To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies.
This reference is, of course, to the English wild Narcissus, the little
yellow daffodil of woods and meadows, no doubt more plentiful in his
day than in ours.
Then, one hopes, there had not begun the reprehensible custom
(described at the close of the eighteenth century) whereby, “In the
counties round London the herb-folks bring prodigious quantities in the
spring of the year, when in bloom, root and all, and sell them about
the streets.” Still, in spite of the efforts of the “herb-folk” and
others, there are wild daffodils yet to be found in parts of England
and Holland. And, on good authority it is stated, all the uniflowered
varieties of to-day are sprung from it; and of those varieties one may
say, as Parkinson did of the _Bastard Daffodils of Divers Kinds_,
“There is much variety in this kind; ... but it is needless to spend a
great deal of time and labour upon such ... flowers, except that in the
beholding of them, we may therein admire the work of the Creator, who
can frame such diversity in one thing. But this is beside the text, yet
not impertinent.”
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