The casual observer may perhaps have noticed that interesting law of
nature which governs the coloring of flowers, and which confines the
hues of a given flower, or perhaps a botanical group of flowers, to
two colors and the combination of these colors. The three primary
colors--red, yellow, and blue--are rarely to be seen in the blossoms
of the same botanical group. Thus we observe roses, hollyhocks,
chrysanthemums, and tulips in all shades of white, yellow, pink, red,
and crimson, even almost approaching black, and numberless
combinations of these colors, but never blue. The same is true with
dahlias, zinnias, lilies, gladioli, pinks, and portulacas.
On the other hand, flowers which are notably blue--as in the
bellworts, or "Canterbury-bells," and larkspur, which vary from
white, through all shades of blue, to purple, pink, and even
reds--never show any trace of yellow. This color limitation of
blossoms was noted by De Candolle early in the present century, who
classified flowers in two series as to their hues. The first, which
included the yellow, was called the _Xanthic_; the second, which
omitted the yellow, the _Cyanic_.
World-wide fame and a comfortable fortune await the florist who shall
produce a variety of blue rose, tulip, hollyhock, or dahlia, or a
yellow geranium or larkspur, which all persist in their fidelity to
their particular color series. And yet nature gives us occasional
exceptions which, however, only serve by their contrast to emphasize
the universal law. Thus we see the water-lily group--if we include the
two separate orders _Nymphaea_ and _Nelumbo_--with blossoms of pink,
yellow, and blue. The water-lilies of this latter color, allied to the
Egyptian yellow lotus, which were to be seen in the Union Square
fountain, New York, last summer, were almost lost in the azure of the
sky which their surrounding waters reflected, and yet they clearly had
no right to include blue in their gamut; purple or red possibly, but
not blue.
But this is not so remarkable an exception as we find in the hyacinth,
in which the three primary colors are to be seen with notable
purity--blues, yellows, and reds--and thus with possibilities of
almost any conceivable color, under cultivation and careful selection.
Another striking exception, and one which would have puzzled De
Candolle for its color classification, is the columbine. One common
species of the Eastern United States, _Aquilegia canadensis_, is of a
pure deep scarlet color, as every country boy knows. If we seek for
our columbines in the far West we shall miss this familiar type, and
find it replaced by another species, _A. chrysantha_, of a fine clear
yellow, or perhaps by its near relative, the _A. coerulea_, with its
sky-blue corolla, a common species in the region of the Rocky
Mountains. Columbines, red, yellow, and blue, are thus to be found in
a state of nature, and we thus find other cultivated forms which
extend from a pure white through all shades of purple.
The pansy, that protean offspring from lowly "johnny-jumper,"
occasionally comes very near embracing the entire gamut of color to
which its name, _Viola tricolor_, would seem to entitle it. Blue
pansies and yellow pansies we certainly have, but the ruddiest of its
rich wine tints, when laid beside the red, red rose, at once confesses
its purple, the remnant of blue which it cannot absolutely eliminate.
The blue rose, blue tulip, blue dahlia, and blue carnation have as yet
refused to respond to the coaxing arts of the florist, but he has at
least succeeded in imposing upon our credulity in a carnation pink of
white, streaked with peacock blue. Bouquets of these uncanny-looking
blossoms are frequently to be seen in our city flower-booths, but they
smack of trickery, and the vendor is rarely seen to look you in the
eye as he responds "new variety" to your inquiry as to the peculiar
color.
"Are those natural?" I heard a lady ask at a flower-stall recently,
referring to these pinks.
"Sure, madam," he replied, this time with easy conscience. "They were
picked in the conservatory this morning."
But as he folded the paper carefully about her generous purchase, he
didn't trouble her with the details of the subsequent aniline bath to
which they were subjected, and of which they bore plain evidence upon
close scrutiny.
But if we are to resort to hocus-pocus in the tinting of flowers,
there _is_ an artificial method available which leaves this clumsy
artifice of the blue-green pinks far behind, and which, withal,
affords a very pretty experiment in chemistry, albeit presumably more
enjoyed by the operator than the victim.
A gentleman of the writer's acquaintance, while visiting his sister at
her country home, noted her fondness for pansies, as indicated by the
numerous beds and borders of the flowers there. After expressing his
appreciation and surprise at the endless shades of color in the
bouquet which she was gathering for the library table, he stooped, and
apparently plucked one of the blossoms from a bed.
"Your pansies are certainly the most remarkable that I have ever seen.
Here is one which is truly most astonishing in color," he remarked, as
he handed the blossom to her.
It was received with an exclamation of amazement, and with eager
glances at the neighborhood of the bed from which she presumed it had
been taken. "Where _did_ you find it?" exclaimed his sister, in
complete demoralization. "Which plant was it on? Why, I never _saw_
such a pansy! It's wonderful! There must be more. I never _heard_ of
such a pansy! Do show me where you picked it."
"I got it from this plant here, I think," replied the young man, as
soon as he could be heard; and, stooping carelessly, he plucked
another, which proved even more of a surprise than the first, so
vividly intense was its color.
The first specimen was a dark pansy. The two usually deep purple upper
petals now appeared of a deep velvety peacock blue. The remaining
three petals were pale emerald-green, bordered with deeper green. In
the second blossom the upper pair of petals were now transfigured in
vivid emerald-green, the rest of the flower being of paler but almost
equally dazzling brilliancy.
The demoralization was more and more complete as another and another
of the remarkable blossoms was rescued from its obscurity, always by
the accommodating young man, and added to the growing bouquet.
Neighbors on right and left were quickly acquainted with the
remarkable discovery, and a gathering of excited natives soon
assembled in the parlor to view the new floral sensation. The
pansy-beds were soon the scene of busy commotion, but in the eager
search for the rare blooms fortune seemed still to favor the young
man, to the exasperation of several of the bright-eyed young ladies,
who, of course, did not happen to know of the young man's occasional
sly recourse to a certain tumbler concealed near by.
But the secret soon leaked out, and the victim confessed and did
penance. Had he realized what a commotion his innocent prank was
destined to create, he would not have yielded to temptation. But his
sister was primarily to blame. Why had she placed that bottle so
conspicuously upon his wash-stand? He had noted her fondness for
pansies, and a minute later had read "Ammonia" on the label of the
bottle, and association of ideas and mischief did the rest. In a
casual stroll about the pansy-beds he had then gathered a dozen or so
of the several varieties and taken them to his room. Laying a piece of
crumpled paper in a saucer, he then poured about a teaspoonful of the
ammonia upon it, afterwards gently laying the pansies in a pile upon
the paper, and thus free from actual contact with the liquid, and
covering the whole with a tumbler. In two or three minutes the fumes
of the ammoniacal gas had done their work, and lo! when he removed the
tumbler his pansies had doffed their blues and purples, and were
transfigured in velvets of all imaginable emerald and peacock and
mineral greens, though still retaining their perfect shape and petal
texture.
To more completely confound the innocent with this experiment, the
"operator" should suddenly discover an entire plant with all its
flowers thus tinted in emerald--a feat which may be accomplished by
submitting the whole plant to similar treatment beneath a bell glass
or other air-tight vessel or box, in which case the amount of ammonia
used should be proportionately increased. If the _concentrated_
ammonia is employed, a very small quantity will be sufficient.
Flowers thus treated will last in an unaltered condition for several
hours, though the treatment is really injurious, even destructive, to
the tissues of flower as well as plant.
Various other blossoms respond in their own particular virescent hues
to the vapors of ammonia, as the reader will discover upon experiment.
The fumes of sulphur confined beneath a glass, as from a few common,
old-fashioned matches, will play all sorts of similar pranks with the
colors of petals. A little experimenting in this direction will afford
many surprises.