Tell, if thou canst, and truly, whence doth come
This camphire, storax, spikenard, galbanum;
These musks, these ambers, and those other smells
Sweet as the vestry of the oracles.
HESPERIDES.
CONTRASTED with the bleakness without, the greenhouses and conservatory
possess an additional charm. Within their walls of glass reigns a
luxuriance of leaf and bloom. Like the garden, however, the greenhouse
will not care for itself. Many of the requirements necessary out of
doors I find imperative within. And yet cultivation is on an entirely
different scale, a mere pot of earth taking the place of barrowsful
under out-of-door culture. In the garden I simply place a plant at the
requisite depth and in the proper exposure and soil; in the greenhouse a
finer discrimination is called for.
This small plant, bulb, or fern may not be plunged indiscriminately into
any receptacle. I must measure the size and requirements of the plant;
and not only place it in congenial soil, light or shade, but measure its
needs with regard to the size of its prospective domicile. My small
plants will fail with too much nourishment, my large plants pine with
too little. Some will not thrive in soil at all, but must be cultivated
on a block of wood, sustaining themselves merely on air and moisture. In
the garden each plant draws from the largess of the earth just what
properties it needs for growth and development, and the deeper the
surface soil the better the plant will thrive. From some standpoints my
greenhouses possess an advantage over my garden; in another sense the
garden is more satisfactory. The one is artificial, the other natural;
but the greenhouse is, possibly, more easily controlled. With proper
care and intelligence I can count upon certain fixed results. I am not
dependent upon the uncertain watering-pot of the sky, and have nothing
to fear from frost or violent winds. But I must needs exert a keener
watchfulness over my charges; Nature is no longer the warder. Just so
much heat, so much air, so much sun, so much moisture they must have.
For tender exotics, born of a milder clime, are among my nurslings.
My orchids, for instance. Some occur naturally on damp rocks in a cool
atmosphere; others on trees in dense tropical forests; still others on
high elevations where they receive much sunlight. Shade or coolness,
which certain species demand, are injurious to others which flourish in
warmth and sunshine. The different habitats of the species, therefore,
must be carefully studied, and the conditions under which they thrive in
nature imitated as far as possible under glass. “A juggler,” says the
accomplished curator of the Trinity College Botanic Gardens, “not
unfrequently keeps four balls flying over his head with one hand, and
the successful orchid-grower has to deal quite as closely with heat,
air, light, and moisture.” My greenhouse, accordingly, calls for its
parlor and bath-room, its smoking-room and refrigerator.
I miss the breadth and sunlight of the garden; I gain immunity from the
caprice of the elements. My glass house bridges over the dreary interval
between the last wind-flower of autumn and the first primrose of spring.
If I can not go to the tropics, if I can not have the summer, I can at
least recall the one and counterfeit the other. Could I control the
sunlight and inclose a sufficient space, I should scarcely miss my hardy
flower borders.
In the greenhouse I have my charges nearer my eye; I can watch their
development closer. Many of the insect pests that infest the garden come
to prey upon the plants indoors. The same warfare I wage without, I must
wage within. Care and attention are ever the price of the flower. The
insects continue to multiply. They develop new races and people new
countries. No sooner does one scourge become extinct than a dozen others
take its place. For the weevil we have the army-worm, the potato-bug,
the apple-tree borer, the codling-moth. I no sooner administer a
soporific to the red spider than the aphides are at work, and these are
scarcely subjugated ere the mealy-bug appears. Cockroaches bite the
orchid roots, mice nibble the young shoots of the carnations. Mildew and
blight likewise destroy, and snails emerge from unsuspected places to
prey upon the succulent leaves.
My greenhouse gives me a bog-garden which the altitude of the grounds
precludes without. My tank is a miniature bayou, a cage for aquatics. It
is always pleasant to watch the growth of water plants, they seem so
appreciative of their bath; the very fact of their growing from the
water gives them a distinct individuality. These clumps of Egyptian
papyrus and smaller variegated _Cyperus_, emerging from the ooze, are as
beautiful as flowers. One of the easiest of aquatics to grow, the
papyrus, or great paper-reed, throws out strong runners beneath the
water, forming dense tufts of tall culms, crowned with large handsome
umbellate panicles; indeed, it spreads so rapidly that it requires to be
kept vigorously in check. The handsome variegated _Cyperus_ has a
tendency to revert to the type, but this may be prevented by cutting out
the green shoots that appear.
The great water-lilies, too—the _Nymphæas_ and _Nelumbiums_—are among
the most accommodating plants for water culture, as they are
unquestionably among the most beautiful of flowers. Equally handsome and
fragrant, many of the species rival the terrestrial lilies, and are far
less fastidious. Few, if any, of the species are more beautiful than the
common water-lily (_Nymphæa odorata_), the white and perfumed cup that
floats upon our ponds and sluggish streams. From my tank I may pluck its
blossom without being mired, though I miss the kingfisher’s clarion and
the sheen of the dragon-fly’s wings with which I associate it in Nature.
I miss also the flapping of its pads when touched by the wind, showing
the red under sides of the shields, lovely as the flash of trout that
lurk beneath. Long must I search for a more delicious odor than that
contained within its waxen folds. Begotten of the ooze, a stem shoots
upward to the sun and air to unfold its chalice on some secluded pool.
The first white water-lily, cradled on the water’s rippling breast! it
is the floral embodiment of summer. It falls upon the sight like the
tinkle of a woodland rill upon the ear, imparting its harmony to the
mind, a thing to be carried away and perfume the memory. I would
willingly exchange the Zanzibar species for it, if thereby I might cause
the white lily to bloom in winter.
For winter blossoming the former are invaluable aquatics, with
pink-purple and blue flowers respectively, opening during daylight. The
deliciously scented pink-purple variety (_N. Zanzibarensis rosea_),
almost an evergreen aquatic, is the strongest grower, its flat leaves
also being large and of great substance. The night-blooming
_Nelumbiums_, _N. Devoniensis_, _rubra_, and _dentata_, with pink, red,
and white flowers respectively, are the best of their division. _N.
speciosum_, the sacred lotus of the Nile, is a beautiful
summer-flowering species with immense pink flowers; _N. luteum_ is the
tall-growing yellow water-lily, its blossoms seven to ten inches in
diameter. Balzac, in Le Lis dans la Vallée, associates the lotus with
the old Hellenic sentiment, except that instead of the word country he
substitutes love:
Cueillons la fleur du Nénuphar
Qui fait oublier les amours,
the _Nénuphar_ being the lotus of France, _Nymphæa alba major_. And
those of us who do not know the lotus of the classics are all familiar
with the lotus of Tennyson, “that enchanted stem” which whosoever did
receive and taste, forthwith obtained rest and dreamful ease.
There exists some doubt, however, as to which lotus the old Greeks
really referred to. The question, What was “lotus”? has been discussed
intermittently for at least two thousand years. We must bear in mind
that “lotus” was a term applied by the Greeks to several plants or
trees. The Latin poets, and Pliny very likely, used the term more
vaguely still, not being botanists as were some of the Greeks. For there
is also the date-plum (_Diospyrus lotus_), a deciduous tree native of
the coasts of the Caspian Sea, and cultivated and naturalized in
Southern Europe, the fruit of which is edible. This has been held by
some to be the lotus of the Lotophagi, or lotus-eaters. Besides, there
is the prickly lotus shrub or jujube-tree (_Zizyphus lotus_), indigenous
to the Libyan district and portions of Asia, to the sweet and odorous
fruit of which has been equally ascribed the power of causing one to
forget one’s home. It is still eaten by the natives, and a wine or mead
is extracted from its juice. The term lotus was also applied to several
species of water-lily—the Egyptian water-lily (_Nymphæa lotus_), the
blue water-lily (_N. cærulea_), and more particularly to the _Nelumbium_
of the Nile (_Nelumbium speciosum_). The _Nelumbium_ is a native both of
India and Egypt, though almost extinct in the latter country now; and in
the ancient Hindoo and Egyptian mythological representations of Nature,
as is well known, it was the emblem of the great generative and
conceptive powers of the world, serving as the head-dress of the
Sphinxes and the ornament of Isis. It was known, moreover, as the
Egyptian bean, on account of its fruit, the cells of which contained a
kind of bean employed as an article of food. Indigenous to China as
well, the roots are still served there in summer with ice, and laid up
with vinegar and salt for winter. Both the fruit and the root of
_Nymphæa lotus_ were likewise eaten by the ancient Egyptians; while
Horus, the divine child who personified the rising sun, is always
represented in hieroglyphics as emerging from a water-lotus bud.
In the East, a belief in a divinity residing in the lotus has existed
from the most ancient times, worship of this divinity of the lotus being
the dominant religion in Thibet at the present day. The daily and hourly
prayer, Wilson states in the Abode of Snow, is still, “_Om mani padme,
haun_,” or literally rendered, “O God! the jewel in the lotus. Amen.” In
Cashmere the roots of the water-lotus are pulled up from the mire and
employed as an article of diet. The root is sweet, and was formerly used
for making an intoxicating beverage, as the sap of the palm is still
employed in some localities. In like manner the roots of the yellow
lotus were used by the American aborigines as an article of diet,
Nuttall recording that, boiled when fully ripe, they become as
farinaceous, agreeable, and wholesome as the potato.
Research tends to show that it is the _Zizyphus_ rather than any of the
other species of lotus to which Homer and Theophrastus ascribed the
power of causing forgetfulness. Theophrastus and Dioscorides, Greek
botanists, both describe different kinds of lotus, but their
descriptions are not always trustworthy. Homer mentions yet another
lotus, supposed to be _Melilotus officinalis_, the yellow variety of
sweet clover common to this country where it has become naturalized from
Europe. It was this plant which he describes as nourishing the steeds of
Achilles. Authorities differ so greatly, however, that it is difficult
to decide with absolute certainty which species of lotus is really the
fabled plant of the Greeks, though the weight of opinion would point to
the _Zizyphus_ as against the _Diospyrus_ and especially the
_Nelumbium_. The poetical folk-lore of plants must not be expected to be
literally true. Even the observant Greek, Aristotle, has many
absurdities about plants. So has Theophrastus, but Pliny is full of the
most ridiculous superstitions, which he relates with all the seriousness
of a firm believer in them.
In attempting to place many plants and flowers of the ancient classic
poets there is, therefore, always more or less difficulty and
uncertainty. To identify the plants mentioned, without studying them in
the country where those who wrote about them lived, is fruitless when
there is such a great difference of opinion as to what the ancient Latin
poets mean by “violet” or “hyacinth,” or “narcissus.” Sibthorp, who was
Professor of Botany at Oxford, England, about eighty years ago and who
was a fine classical scholar, went to live three years in Greece for the
purpose of identifying the Greek flowers and plants mentioned by the
classics. He returned with the conclusion that it is impossible to do it
satisfactorily and he was quite certain, though the Greek language still
remains in Greece very slightly changed, that what the modern Greeks
call a “hellebore” or a “hyacinth” is different from the flowers that
were called by these names two thousand years ago.
Herodotus (Book iv, p. 177) places the geographical range of the
lotus-eaters from the recess of the Gulf of Cabes eastward to about
half-way along the coast of Tripoli, which would correspond with Homer’s
account. The former describes the natives as living “by eating the fruit
of the lotus—the fruit about the size of the Pistacia nut, and in
sweetness like the fruit of the date. From this fruit the lotus-eaters
made their wine.” What Homer says regarding the lotus is this (Odyssey,
Book ix, v. 82, etc.): Ulysses is recounting his adventures to the
guests of the King of Corfu after dinner. He relates how he was on his
way home from Troy, and was doubling Cape St. Angelo, when a storm from
the north met his fleet and drove it from its course. After sailing
southward for nine days, he sighted land and made for it, as the
fresh-water supply was exhausted. The crews enjoyed the luxury of a meal
on shore, and then began to wonder where they were. So Ulysses chose two
good men, adding a herald with a flag of truce, a necessary precaution
in those times when strangers were enemies, as a matter of course. These
men were to inquire who the inhabitants of the land were. “The
lotus-eaters received them kindly and gave them lotus to eat. As soon as
they eat the honey-sweet fruit of the lotus they would not come back to
bring me tidings, nor go away, but wished to remain where they were with
the lotus-eaters, gathering and eating lotus and to think no more of
going home. They shed tears when I dragged them back by force to the
ships and tied them by ropes to the benches in the hold. Then I ordered
the rest of the crews to go on board at once, for fear any of them
should eat lotus and think no more of going home.”
To believe that the Homeric legend referred to the fruit of the
jujube-tree does not necessitate our believing that the fruit had a
sedative effect upon those who eat it. Rumors of a people leading a lazy
and indolent life in a delightful climate and subsisting on the fruit of
trees, and rumors that sailors accidentally landing there had given up
the dangers and hard work of a seafaring life and deserted, would be
enough to give the foundation of the legend. There is a story entitled
The Mutiny of the Bounty, a true history, which gave the foundation of
Byron’s tale The Island; and there are many points of similarity between
this and Homer’s brief tale; but Ulysses, the man of many resources,
proved a better match for his mutinous men than did Captain Bligh.
Tennyson’s lotus “laden with flower and fruit,” which is specified as
being borne on “branches,” is evidently the _Zizyphus_ or else the
_Diospyrus_; although the line—