THE BLOSSOM
“Here is the fennel-flower, which, with the corn-flower and the poppy,
is so common in our fields of grain. It is purplish red, while the
poppy is scarlet and the corn-flower, or bluet, is of an azure like
that of the sky, as its alternative name indicates. On the outside of
the fennel-flower are five green, firm pieces joined together at the
bottom but terminating in long points at the top. Each of these pieces
is called a sepal, and the five together form the calyx. Inside are
five other pieces, thin, fine, broad, purplish red in color. Each one
bears the name of petal, and collectively they form the corolla.
“Most flowers have two envelopes like these, one within the other. The
outer one, or calyx, is nearly always green in color and firm in
structure; the inner one, or corolla, much more delicate in texture, is
tinged with those magnificent hues that please the eye so much in
flowers.
“The sepals of the calyx and the petals of the corolla are sometimes
separated from one another and sometimes joined together. In the
fennel-flower the sepals are united below in a common sheath bristling
with coarse hairs; but in their upper part they are separated into five
narrow and pointed strips. The corolla we find to be composed of five
pieces, five petals distinct from one another. On the contrary, in the
blossom of the campanula the five petals of the corolla are joined at
the edges and form a beautiful blue bell which looks as if made of one
piece. The five large teeth that border the opening of the bell
nevertheless show that the corolla is really composed of five petals,
of which these teeth are the termination.
“The calyx and the corolla are the flower’s clothing, a double clothing
having both the substantial material that protects from cold and storm,
and the fine fabric that charms the eye. The calyx, the outer garment,
is of simple form, green in color, and of firm texture suitable for
withstanding bad weather. It has to protect the still unopened flower,
to shield it from the sun, from cold and wet. Examine a rose-bud and
note with what delicate precision the five sepals of the calyx are
united so as to cover the rest. Not the slightest drop of water could
penetrate the interior, so carefully are their edges joined together.
There are flowers that close their calyx every evening and snuggle down
inside to keep from getting chilled.
“The corolla or inner garment unites elegance of form and richness of
tint with fineness of texture. It is the flower’s finery and is what
especially captivates our eye, so that we commonly consider it the most
important part of the blossom, whereas it is really nothing but an
ornament.
“Of the two garments, the calyx is the more necessary. Many flowers
have no corolla, but they always have at least a calyx, which in its
simplest form is reduced to a tiny leaflet shaped like a scale. Flowers
with no corolla remain unnoticed, and the plants that bear them seem to
us to have no blossoms. It is a mistake: all trees and plants bloom,
even the oak, willow, poplar, pine, beech, wheat, and multitudes of
others whose blossoming is unheeded by the inattentive eye. Their
flowers are extremely numerous, but as they are very small and have no
bright-colored corolla they escape any but the closest scrutiny.
“It would be knowing a person very little only to be able to say that
he wears such and such a coat; nor does one know a flower any better
when one can merely say that it is clothed with a calyx and a corolla.
What is there under this clothing?
“Let us examine together a lily, which by its size lends itself readily
to study. It has no calyx, [4] but it does have a superb corolla formed
of six petals gracefully curved inward at the edges, and whiter than
ivory. I take away these six petals. What is left now is the essential
part; that is to say, the thing without which the flower could not
perform its function, could not, in short, bear fruit or seed. Let us
carefully consider this remaining part. You will find it well worth the
trouble.
“First there are six filaments or little white rods, each one
surmounted by a tiny bag full of yellow powder. These six pieces are
called stamens. They are found in all flowers in greater or less
number, and in the lily there are six of them. The little bag that tops
the stamen is called an anther. The yellow dust contained in the anther
is called pollen; that is what daubs our nose when we smell the lily
too closely.
“I take away the six stamens. There remains a central body swollen at
the bottom, narrowed at the top to a long filament, and surmounted by a
kind of head wet with a sticky moisture. In its entirety this central
body bears the name of pistil; the swelling at the bottom is called the
ovary, the filament growing out of it is the style, and the sticky head
terminating this filament is known as the stigma.
“What big names for such little things! you will say. Little, yes; but
of unrivaled importance. These little things, my friends, give us our
daily bread; without the miraculous work of these little things the
world would come to an end.
“With a penknife I cut the ovary in two horizontally. In three
compartments grouped in a circle we see some tiny grains arranged so
that each compartment has two rows of them. They are the future seeds
of the plant. The ovary, then, is the part of the plant where the seeds
are formed. After a certain time the flower withers, the petals wilt
and fall, the calyx does the same, or sometimes it remains to play the
part of protector a while longer, the dried stamens break off, and only
the ovary remains, growing larger, ripening, and finally becoming the
fruit that contains the seeds.
“Every sort of fruit—the pear, apple, apricot, peach, walnut, cherry,
melon, grape, almond, chestnut—began by being a little swelling of the
pistil; all those excellent things that the tree and plant give us for
food were first ovaries.”
“Then a big juicy pear began by being the ovary of a pear blossom?”
queried Emile.
“Yes, my friend,” was the reply; “pears, apples, cherries, apricots,
even big melons and enormous pumpkins begin by being the little ovaries
of their respective flowers. I will show you an apricot in its
blossom.”
Uncle Paul took an apricot blossom, opened it with his penknife, and
showed his listeners what is here reproduced in the picture.
“In the heart of the flower,” he explained, “you see the pistil
surrounded by numerous stamens. The head at the top of it is the
stigma; the swelling at the bottom is the ovary or future apricot.”
“That little green thing,” Emile exclaimed incredulously, “would have
turned into a plump, juicy apricot such as I am so fond of?”
“Yes,” affirmed his uncle, “that little green thing would have turned
into an apricot such as Emile is so fond of. A similar little green
thing would have turned into a big juicy pear, into a fragrant apple,
or into a huge pumpkin, so heavy that it rests lazily on its stomach.
To conclude, I will show you the ovary from which come wheat and
consequently bread.”
Uncle Paul took a needle; then with the skill and patience necessary
for this operation he isolated one of the numerous flowers that
collectively make up the ear of wheat. The delicate little flower
displayed clearly, on the point of the needle, the different parts
composing it.
“The blessed plant that gives us bread,” continued Uncle Paul, “has
very modest flowers. Two poor scales serve it for calyx and corolla.
You can easily recognize three hanging stamens with their
double-sacheted anthers full of pollen. The main body of the flower is
the plump ovary which, when ripe, will be a grain of wheat. It is
surmounted by the stigma, which has the shape of an elegant double
plume. Such is the modest little flower that furnishes us all with the
staff of life.”