The plant-lore & garden-craft of Shakespear, Henry Nicholson Ellacombe [read with me .TXT] 📗
- Author: Henry Nicholson Ellacombe
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I now come to the botany of the Daisy. The Daisy belongs to the immense family of the Compositæ, a family which contains one-tenth of the flowering plants of the world, and of which nearly 10,000 species are recorded. In England the order is very familiar, as it contains three of our commonest kinds, the Daisy, the Dandelion, and the Groundsel. It may give some idea of the large range of the family when we find that there are some 600 recorded species of the Groundsel alone, of which eleven are in England. I shall not weary you with a strictly scientific description of the Daisy, but I will give you instead Rousseau's well-known description. It is fairly accurate, though not strictly scientific: "Take," he says, "one of those little flowers, which cover all the pastures, and which every one knows by the name of Daisy. Look at it well, for I am sure you would never have guessed from its appearance that this flower, which is so small and delicate, is really composed of between two and three hundred other flowers, all of them perfect, that is, each of them having its corolla, stamens, pistil, and fruit; in a word, as perfect in its species as a flower of the Hyacinth or Lily. Every one of these leaves, which are white above and red underneath, and form a kind of crown round the flower, appearing to be nothing more than little petals, are in reality so many true flowers; and every one of those tiny yellow things also which you see in the centre, and which at first you have perhaps taken for nothing but stamens, are real flowers. . . . Pull out one of the white leaves of the flower; you will think at first that it is flat from one end to the other, but look carefully at the end by which it was fastened to the flower, and you will see that this end is not flat, but round and hollow in the form of a tube, and that a little thread ending in two horns issues from the tube. This thread is the forked style of the flower, which, as you now see, is flat only at top. Next look at the little yellow things in the middle of the flower, and which, as I have told you, are all so many flowers; if the flower is sufficiently advanced, you will see some of them open in the middle and even cut into several parts. These are the monopetalous corollas. . . . . This is enough to show you by the eye the possibility that all these small affairs, both white and yellow, may be so many distinct flowers, and this is a constant fact" (Quoted in Lindley's "Ladies' Botany," vol. i.)[374:1]
But Rousseau does not mention one feature which I wish to describe to you, as I know few points in botany more beautiful than the arrangement by which the Daisy is fertilized. In the centre of each little flower is the style surrounded closely by the anthers. The end of the style is divided, but, as long as it remains below among the anthers, the two lips are closed. The anthers are covered, more or less, with pollen; the style has its outside surface bristling with stiff hairs. In this condition it would be impossible for the pollen to reach the interior (stigmatic) surfaces of the divided style, but the style rises, and as it rises it brushes off the pollen from the anthers around it. Its lips are closed till it has risen well above the whole flower, and left the anthers below; then it opens, showing its broad stigmatic surface to receive pollen from other flowers, and distribute the pollen it has brushed off, not to itself (which it could not do), but to other flowers around it. By this provision no flower fertilizes itself, and those of you who are acquainted with Darwin's writings will know how necessary this provision may be in perpetuating flowers. The Daisy not only produces double flowers, but also the curious proliferous flower called Hen and Chickens, or Childing Daisies, or Jackanapes on Horseback. These are botanically very interesting flowers, and though I, on another occasion, drew your attention to the peculiarity, I cannot pass it over in a paper specially devoted to the Daisy. The botanical interest is this: It is a well-known fact in botany, that all the parts of a plant—root, stem, flowers and their parts, thorns, fruits, and even the seeds, are only different forms of leaves, and are all interchangeable, and the Hen and Chickens Daisy is a good proof of it. Underneath the flowerhead of the Daisy is a green cushion, composed of bracts; in the Hen and Chickens Daisy some of these bracts assume the form of flowers, and are the chickens. If the plant is neglected, or does not like its soil, the chickens again become bracts.
The only other point in the botany of the Daisy that occurs to me is its geographical range. The old books are not far wrong when they say "it groweth everywhere." It does not, however, grow in the Tropics. In Europe it is everywhere, from Iceland to the extreme south, though not abundant in the south-easterly parts. It is found in North America very sparingly, and not at all in the United States. It is also by no means fastidious in its choice of position—by the river-side or on the mountain-top it seems equally at home, though it somewhat varies according to its situation, but its most chosen habitat seems to be a well-kept lawn. There it luxuriates, and defies the scythe and the mowing machine. It has been asserted that it disappears when the ground is fed by sheep, and again appears when the sheep are removed, but this requires confirmation. Yet it does not lend itself readily to gardening purposes. It is one of those—
In beds and curious knots, but Nature's boon
Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain,
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote
The open field, and where the unpierc'd shade
Imbrown'd the noontide bowers."
Paradise Lost, iv, 240.
Under cultivation it becomes capricious; the sorts degenerate and require much care to keep them true. As to its time of flowering it is commonly considered a spring and summer flower; but I think one of its chief charms is that there is scarcely a day in the whole year in which you might not find a Daisy in flower.
I have now gone through something of the history, poetry, and botany of the Daisy, but there are still some few points which I could not well range under either of these three heads, yet which must not be passed over. In painting, the Daisy was a favourite with the early Italian and Flemish painters, its bright star coming in very effectively in their foregrounds. Some of you will recollect that it is largely used in the foreground of Van Eyck's grand picture of the "Adoration of the Lamb," now at St. Bavon's, in Ghent. In sculpture it was not so much used, its small size making it unfit for that purpose. Yet you will sometimes see it, both in the stone and wood carvings of our old churches. In heraldry it is not unknown. When Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, was about to marry Margaret of Flanders, he instituted an order of Daisies; and in Chifflet's Lilium Francicum (1658) is a plate of his arms, France and Flanders quarterly surrounded by a collar of Daisies. A family named Daisy bear three Daisies on their coat of arms. In an old picture of Chaucer, a Daisy takes the place in the corner usually allotted to the coat of arms in mediæval paintings. It was assumed as an heraldic cognizance by St. Louis of France in honour of his wife Margaret; by the good Margaret of Valois, Queen of Navarre; by Margaret of Anjou, the unfortunate wife of our Henry VI.; while our Margaret, Countess of Richmond, mother of our Henry VII., and dear to Oxford and Cambridge as the foundress of the Margaret Professorships, and of Christ College in Cambridge, bore three Daisies on a green turf.
To entomologists the Daisy is interesting as an attractive flower to insects; for "it is visited by nine hymenoptera, thirteen diptera, three coleoptera, and two lepidoptera—namely, the least meadow-brown and the common blue butterflies."[377:1]
In medicine, I am afraid, the Daisy has so lost its virtues that it has no place in the modern pharmacopœia: but in old days it was not so. Coghan says "of Deysies, they are used to be given in potions in fractures of the head and deep wounds of the breast. And this experience I have of them, that the juyce of the leaves and rootes of Deysies being put into the nosethrils purgeth the brain; they are good to be used in pottage."[377:2] Gerard says, "the Daisies do mitigate all kinds of paines, especially in the joints, and gout proceeding from a hot or dry humoure, if they be stamped with new butter, unsalted, and applied upon the pained place." Nor was this all. In those days, doctors prescribed according to the so-called "doctrines of signatures," i.e., it was supposed that Nature had shown, by special marks, for what special disease each plant was useful; and so in the humble growth of the little low-growing Daisy the doctors read its uses, and here they are. "It is said that the roots thereof being boyled in milk, and given to little puppies, will not suffer them to grow great."—Cole's Adam in Eden. One more virtue. Miss Pratt says that "an author, writing in 1696, tells us that they who wish to have pleasant dreams of the loved and absent, should put 'Dazy roots under their pillow.'"
On the English language, the Daisy has had little influence, though some have derived "lackadaisy" and "lackadaisical" from the Daisy, but there is, certainly, no connection between the words. Daisy, however, was (and, perhaps, still is) a provincial adjective in the eastern counties. A writer in "Notes and Queries" (2nd Series, ix. 261) says that Samuel Parkis, in a letter to George Chalmers, dated February 16, 1799, notices the following provincialisms: "Daisy: remarkable, extraordinary excellent, as 'She's a Daisy lass to work,' i.e., 'She is a good working girl.' 'I'm a Daisy body for pudding,' i.e., 'I eat a great deal of pudding.'"
And I must not leave the Daisy without noticing one special charm, that it is peculiarly the flower of childhood. The Daisy is one of the few flowers of which the child may pick any quantity without fear of scolding from the surliest gardener. It is to the child the herald of spring, when it can set its little foot on six at once, and it readily lends itself to the delightful manufacture of Daisy chains.
. . . . the little ones, a sportive team,
Gather king-cups in the yellow mead,
And prank their hair with Daisies."—Cowper.
It is then the special flower of childhood, but we cannot entirely give it up to our children. And I have tried to show you that the humble Daisy has been the delight of many noble minds, and may be a fit subject of study even for those children of a larger growth who form the "Bath Field Club."
FOOTNOTES:[362:1] "In the curious Treatise of the Virtues of Herbs, Royal MS. 18,
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