Herbals, Their Origin and Evolution: A Chapter in the History of Botany 1470-1670

by Agnes Robertson Arber

7. The Revival of Aristotelian Botany.

The subject of Aristotelian botany scarcely comes within the scope of a book on Herbals, but, at the same time, it cannot be sharply separated from the botany of the herbalists. It therefore seems desirable to make a brief reference at this point to its chief sixteenth-century exponent, the Italian savant, Andrea Cesalpino (1519-1603), and to one or two other writers whose point of view was similar. We have already shown that, in the Middle Ages, Albertus Magnus carried on the tradition of Aristotle and Theophrastus. At the time of the Renaissance, there was again a revival of this aspect of the study, as well as of the branch with which we are here more immediately concerned, that, namely, which deals with plants from the standpoint of medicine and natural history. Cesalpino (Plate [XIV]), it is true, was largely concerned, like the herbalists, with the mere description of plants, but the fame of his great work, ‘De plantis libri XVI’ (1583), rests upon the first book, which contains an account of the theory of botany on Aristotelian lines.

Plate XIV

ANDREA CESALPINO (1519-1603).

[Drawn by G. Zocchi and engraved by F. Allegrini, 1765, after an old portrait in the Museum of the Botanic Garden at Pisa. Print in the Botany School, Cambridge.]

Cesalpino’s strength lay in the fact that he took a remarkably broad view of the subject, and approached it as a trained thinker. He had learned the best lesson Greek thought had to offer to the scientific worker—the knowledge of how to think. He had, however, the defects of his qualities, and his reverence for the classics led him into an inelastic and over literal acceptance of Aristotelian conceptions. The chief tangible contribution, which Cesalpino made to botanical science, was his insistence on the prime importance of the organs of fructification. This was the idea on which he chiefly laid stress in his system of classification, to which we shall return in a later chapter.

A botanist who had something in common with Cesalpino was the Bohemian author, Adam Zaluziansky von Zaluzian (1558-1613). His most important work was the ‘Methodi herbariæ libri tres,’ published at Prague in 1592. As a herbal it does not rank high, since Zaluziansky neither recorded any new plants, nor gave the Bohemian localities for those already known. But it opens with a survey of botany in general, which is of interest as showing an approach to the modern scientific standpoint, in so far as the author pleads for the treatment of botany as a separate subject, and not as a mere branch of medicine. His remarks on this point may be translated as follows:—“It is customary to connect Medicine with Botany, yet scientific treatment demands that we should consider each separately. For the fact is that in every art, theory must be disconnected and separated from practice, and the two must be dealt with singly and individually in their proper order before they are united. And for that reason, in order that Botany (which is, as it were, a special branch of Physics) may form a unit by itself before it can be brought into connection with other sciences, it must be divided and unyoked from Medicine.”

Guy de la Brosse, a French writer of the seventeenth century, discusses the souls of plants and related topics, quite in the manner of the Aristotelian school. In his book ‘De la Nature, Vertu, et Utilité des Plantes,’ dedicated to “Monseigneur le tres-illustre et le tres-reverand Cardinal Monseigneur le Cardinal de Richelieu,” he treats of variation within single species, the sensitiveness of plants, their chemistry and properties, and many other topics. His work is full of interest, but a discussion of it would lead us beyond the bounds of our present subject.

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CHAPTER V
THE EVOLUTION OF THE ART OF PLANT DESCRIPTION

ROBABLY one of the chief objects, which the early herbalists had in view in writing their books, was to enable the reader to identify various medicinal plants. Nevertheless, until well into the sixteenth century, their drawings were so conventional, and their descriptions left so much to be desired, that it must have been an almost impossible task to arrive at the names of plants by their aid alone. The idea which suggests itself is that a knowledge of the actual plants was, in practice, transmitted by word of mouth, and that the herbals were only used as reference books, to ascertain the reputed qualities of herbs, with whose appearance the reader was already quite familiar. If this supposition is correct, it perhaps accounts for the very primitive state in which the art of plant description remained during the earlier period of the botanical renaissance.

When we turn to the Aristotelian school, we find that the writings of Theophrastus include certain plant descriptions, which, although they seem somewhat rudimentary when judged by modern standards, are greatly in advance of those contained in the first printed herbals. The mediæval philosopher, Albertus Magnus, who, as we have already pointed out, was a follower of Aristotle and Theophrastus, also showed marked originality in his descriptions of flowers, and drew attention to a number of points which appear to have escaped the notice of many more recent writers. For instance, in describing the flower of the Borage he distinguished the green calyx, the corolla with its ligular outgrowths, the five stamens and the central pistil, though naturally he failed to understand the function of the latter organs. He observed that, in the Lily, the calyx was absent, but that the petals themselves showed transitions from green to white. He noticed the early fall of the calyx in the Poppy, and its persistence until the ripening of the fruit in the Rose. On the subject of floral æstivation, his observations were surprisingly advanced. He pointed out that the successive whorls of sepals and petals alternated with one another, and concluded that this was a device for the better protection of the flower.

Albertus further classified the various forms of flower under three types:—

1. Bird-form (e.g. Aquilegia, Viola and Lamium).

2. Pyramid- and Bell-form.

3. Star-form.

When we leave the early Aristotelian botanists, and turn to those who studied the subject primarily from the medical point of view, we find a great falling off in the power of description. The accounts of the plants in the Materia Medica of Dioscorides, for example, are so brief and meagre that only those with the most marked characteristics can be identified with certainty.

The Herbarium of Apuleius Platonicus, the earliest work to which the term “herbal” is generally applied, scarcely makes any attempt at describing the plants to which it refers. Such a paragraph as the following[24] gives an account of a plant, which, compared with most of the other descriptions in the herbal, may fairly be called precise and full.

“This wort, which is named radiolus, by another name everfern, is like fern; and it is produced in stony places, and in old house steads; and it has on each leaf two rows of fair spots, and they shine like gold.”

Text-fig. 56. “Cardamomum” = ? Solanum dulcamara L., Bittersweet [Ortus Sanitatis, Mainz, 1491].

The group of late fifteenth-century herbals which we discussed in Chapter II—the Latin and German Herbarius and the Hortus Sanitatis—are alike in giving very brief and inadequate accounts of the characters of the plants enumerated, although their descriptions often have a certain naïve charm. It is scarcely worth while to give actual examples of their methods. It will perhaps suffice to quote a few specimens from the English ‘Grete Herball[25],’ which is a work of much the same class. The Wood Sorrel[26] is dealt with as follows: “This herbe groweth in thre places, and specyally in hedges, woodes and under walles sydes and hath leves lyke iii leved grasse and hath a soure smell as sorell, and hath a yelowe flowre.” As another example we may cite the Chicory, which is described as having “croked and wrythen stalkes, and the floure is of y^e colour of the skye.” Of the Waterlilies, we receive a still more generalised account: “Nenufar is an herbe that groweth in water, and hath large leves and hath a floure in maner of a rose, the rote thereof is called treumyan and is very bygge. It is of two maners. One is whyte, and another yelowe.” Occasionally we meet with a hint of more detailed observation. For instance, the coloured central flower in the umbel of the Carrot is mentioned, though in terms that sound somewhat strange to the modern botanist. We read that it “hath a large floure and in the myddle therof a lytell reed prycke.”

It is somewhat remarkable that Banckes’ Herbal, though originally published a year earlier than the first edition of the Grete Herball, shows a slight but distinct superiority in the matter of description (see p. 38). Perhaps this is to be connected with the fact that Banckes’ Herbal is without illustrations. But even if we allow that the descriptions in Banckes’ Herbal occasionally seize on salient features, it must be admitted that they still leave a great deal to the imagination. As two typical examples, which are perhaps as good as any in the book, we may take those of Tutsan[27] and of Shepherd’s Purse. Of the first the herbalist writes, “This herbe hathe leves somdele reed lyke unto ye leves of Orage. And this herbe hathe senowes on his leves as hath Plantayne, and it hathe yelowe floures and bereth blacke berys, and it groweth in dry woodes.” Of Shepherd’s Purse he says, “This herbe hathe a small stalke and full of braunches and ragged leves and a whyte flowre. The coddes therof be lyke a purse.”

Text-fig. 57. “Pionia” = Peony [Arnaldus de Villa Nova, Tractatus de virtutibus herbarum, 1499].

The ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones’ of Otto Brunfels (1530) was the first herbal illustrated with drawings, which are throughout both beautiful and true to nature. The descriptions, on the other hand, are quite unworthy of the figures, being mostly borrowed from earlier writers. The wonderful excellence of the wood-blocks, with which the German Fathers of Botany enriched their books, was, in one sense, an actual hindrance to the development of the art of plant description. Since the pencil of the draughtsman could represent every subtlety in the characteristic form of a plant, the botanist might well be excused for thinking that to take the trouble to set beside the drawing a precise, verbal description of the plant in question was a work of supererogation. However, in another sense the draughtsman indirectly helped the cause of scientific accuracy in what, for want of a better expression, may be called word-painting. There is no doubt that constant critical examination of the artist’s work must have tended to educate the eye of the botanist who supervised his efforts, and to increase his perception of delicate shades of difference or similarity of form, which he might never have noticed, or attempted to express in words, if the draughtsman had not, as it were, lent him his trained eyesight.

The next great worker, Hieronymus Bock, differs from Brunfels in the comparative unimportance of his contributions to plant illustration, and the relatively greater value of his text. His descriptions of flowers and fruits are excellent, and the way in which he indicates the general habit is often masterly. As an example we may quote his description of Mistletoe plants, which may be translated as follows: “They grow almost in the shape of a cluster, with many forks and articulations. The whole plant is light green, the leaves are fleshy, plump and thick, larger than those of the Box. They flower in the beginning of spring, the flowers are however very small and yellow in colour, from them develop, towards autumn, small, round white berries very like those on the wild gooseberry. These berries are full inside of white tough lime, yet each berry has its small black grain, as if it were the seed, which however does not grow when sown, for, as I have said above, the Mistletoe only originates and develops on trees. In winter mistel thrushes seek their food from the Mistletoe, but in summer they are caught with it, for bird-lime is commonly made from its bark. Thus the Mistletoes are both beneficial and harmful to birds.”

In ‘De historia stirpium,’ the great Latin work of Leonhard Fuchs, the plant descriptions are brief and of little importance, being frequently taken word for word from previous writers. This book, however, is notable in possessing a full glossary of the technical terms used, which is of importance as being the first contribution of the kind to botanical literature. We may translate two examples at random, to show the style of Fuchs’ definitions:—

“Stamens are the points [apices] that shoot forth in the middle of the flower-cup [calyx]: so called because they spring out like threads from the inmost bosom of the flower[28].”

“Pappus, both to the Greeks and to the Latins, is the fluff which falls from flowers or fruits. So also certain woolly hairs which remain on certain plants when they lose their flowers, and afterwards disappear into the air, are pappi, as happens in Senecio, Sonchus and several others.”

In the German edition of Fuchs’ herbal, the descriptions are remarkably good for their time, being more methodical than those of Bock, though sometimes less lively and picturesque. As an instance of his manner we may cite his account of the Butterbur, of which his wood-cut is shown in Text-fig. [58]. “The flower of Butterbur,” he writes, “is the first to appear, before the plant or leaves. The flower is cluster-shaped, with many small, pale pinkish flowerets, and is like a fine bunch of vine flowers in full bloom to look at. This large cluster-shaped flower has a hollow stalk, at times a span high; it withers and decays without fruit together with the stalk. Then the round, gray, ash-coloured leaves appear, which are at first like Coltsfoot, but afterwards become so large that one leaf will cover a small, round table. They are light green on one side, and whitish or gray on the other. Each leaf has its own brown, hairy and hollow stem, on which it sits like a wide hat or a mushroom turned over. The root grows very thick, is white and porous inside, and has a strong, bitter taste.”

Our English herbalist, William Turner, is often fresh and effective in his descriptions. He compares the Dodder (Cuscuta) to “a great red harpe strynge,” and the seed vessels of Shepherd’s Purse to “a boyes satchel or litle bagge.” Of the Dead Nettle he says, “Lamium hath leaves like unto a Nettel, but lesse indented about, and whyter. The downy thynges that are in it like pryckes, byte not, ye stalk is four-square, the floures are whyte, and have a stronge savor, and are very like unto litle coules, or hoodes that stand over bare heades. The sede is blak and groweth about the stalk, certayn places goyng betwene, as we se in horehound.”

Text-fig. 58. “Petasites” = Butterbur [Fuchs, De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

The three great botanists of the Low Countries, Dodoens, de l’Écluse and de l’Obel, were so closely associated that it is hardly necessary to consider their style of plant description individually. Henry Lyte’s well-known herbal of 1578 was a translation of the ‘Histoire des Plantes,’ which is itself a version by de l’Écluse of the Dutch herbal of Dodoens. We may thus fairly illustrate the style of plant description of this school by a quotation from Lyte, since it has the advantage of retaining the sixteenth-century flavour, which is so easily lost in a modern translation. As a typical example we may take a paragraph about the Storksbill (Erodium). It will be noticed that it does not represent any great advance upon Fuchs’ work.

“The first kinde of Geranion or Storckes bill, his leaves are cut and iagged in many peeces, like to Crowfoote, his stalkes be slender, and parted into sundry braunches, upon which groweth smal floures somwhat like roses, or the floures of Mallowes, of a light murrey or redde colour: after them commeth little round heades, with smal long billes, like Nedels, or like the beakes of Cranes and Hearons, wherein the seede is contayned: The roote is thicke, round, shorte, and knobby, with certayne small strings hanging by it.”

In his ‘Pemptades’ of 1583, Dodoens gave a glossary of botanical terms. His definitions suffer, however, from vagueness, and are not calculated greatly to advance the accurate description of plants. As an example we may take his account of the flower, which may be translated as follows:—

“The flower (ἄνθος) we call the joy of trees and plants. It is the hope of fruits to come, for every growing thing, according to its nature, produces offspring and fruit after the flower. But flowers have their own special parts.”

The descriptions from the pen of de l’Écluse are characterised by greater fulness and closer attention to flower structure than those of his predecessors. The plant which he calls Sedum or Sempervivum majus, of which his wood-cut is reproduced in Text-fig. [59], is described as being “a shrub rather than a herb; occasionally it reaches the height of two cubits [3 ft.] and is as thick as the human arm, with a quantity of twigs as thick as a man’s thumb: these spread out into numerous rays of the thickness of a finger. The ends of these terminate in a kind of circle, which is formed by numerous leaves pressing inwards all together and overlapping, just as in Sedum vulgare majus. These leaves however are fat and full of juice, and shaped like a tongue, and slightly serrated round the edge, with a somewhat astringent flavour; the whole shrub is coated with a thick, fleshy, sappy bark. The outer membrane inclines to a dark colour, and is speckled as in Tithymalus characia: the speckles are simply the remains of leaves which have fallen off. Meanwhile a thick pedicel covered with leaves springs out from the top of the larger branches, and bears, so to speak, a thyrsus of many yellow flowers, scattered about like stars, pleasant to behold. And when the flowers begin to ripen, and are running to seed (the seed is very small), the pedicel grows slender. But the plant is an evergreen.”

Text-fig. 59. “Sedum majus” [de l’Écluse, Rariorum ... per Hispanias, 1576]

Text-fig. 60. “Battata Virginiana” = Solanum tuberosum L., Potato [Gerard, The Herball, 1597].

In Gerard’s ‘Herball’ of 1597 the descriptions are seldom sufficiently original to be of much interest. We may quote, however, his account of the Potato flower (Text-fig. [60]), then so great a novelty that in his portrait (Plate [XII]) he is represented holding a spray of it in his hand. It has, he says, “very faire and pleasant flowers, made of one entire whole leafe, which is folded or plaited in such strange sort, that it seemeth to be a flower made of sixe sundrie small leaves, which cannot be easily perceived, except the same be pulled open. The colour whereof it is hard to expresse. The whole flower is of a light purple color, stripped down the middle of every folde or welt, with a light shew of yellownes, as though purple and yellow were mixed togither: in the middle of the flower thrusteth foorth a thicke fat pointell, yellow as golde, with a small sharpe greene pricke or point in the middest thereof.”

The plant descriptions by Valerius Cordus, which were published after his death, are among the best produced in the sixteenth century, but they are too lengthy for quotation here.

So far as the period with which we deal in this book is concerned, the zenith of plant description may be said to be reached in the ‘Prodromos’ of Gaspard Bauhin (1620), in which a high level of terseness and accuracy is attained. As an example we may translate his description of “Beta Cretica semine aculeato,” of which his drawing is reproduced in Text-fig. [62]: “From a short tapering root, by no means fibrous, spring several stalks about 18 inches long: they straggle over the ground, and are cylindrical in shape and furrowed, becoming gradually white near the root with a slight coating of down, and spreading out into little sprays. The plant has but few leaves, similar to those of Beta nigra, except that they are smaller, and supplied with long petioles. The flowers are small, and of a greenish yellow. The fruits one can see growing in large numbers close by the root, and from that point they spread along the stalk, at almost every leaf. They are rough and tubercled and separate into three reflexed points. In their cavity, one grain of the shape of an Adonis seed is contained; it is slightly rounded and ends in a point, and is covered with a double layer of reddish membrane, the inner one enclosing a white, farinaceous core.”

Text-fig. 61. “Rose Ribwoorte” = an abnormal Plantain [Gerard, The Herball, 1597].

Text-fig. 62. “Beta Cretica semine aculeato” [Bauhin, Prodromos, 1620].

Any great advance on Bauhin’s descriptions could hardly be expected during the period which we are discussing, since it closed before the nature of the essential parts of the flower was really understood. It was not until 1682 that the fact that the stamens are male organs was pointed out in print by Nehemiah Grew, though he himself attributed this discovery to Sir Thomas Millington, a botanist otherwise unknown. Gerard’s account of the stamens and stigma of the Potato as a “pointell, yellow as golde, with a small sharpe greene pricke or point in the middest thereof,” vague as it seems to the twentieth-century botanist, is by no means to be despised, when we remember that the writer was handicapped by complete ignorance of the function of the structures which he saw before him.

A further hindrance to improvement in plant description was the lack of a methodical terminology. As we have already shown, both Fuchs and Dodoens attempted glossaries of botanical terms, but these do not seem to have become an integral part of the science. It is a common complaint among non-botanists at the present day, that the subject has become incomprehensible to the layman, owing to the excessive use of technical words. There is, no doubt, some truth in this statement, but, on the other hand, a study of the writings of the earlier botanists makes it clear that a description of a plant couched in ordinary language—in which the botanical meaning of the terms employed has been subjected to no rigid definition—often breaks down completely on all critical points.

It is to Joachim Jung and to Linnæus that we owe the foundations of the accurate terminology, now at the disposal of the botanist when he sets out to describe a new plant. The published work of these two writers belongs, however, to the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and is thus outside the scope of the present volume.

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CHAPTER VI
THE EVOLUTION OF PLANT CLASSIFICATION

N the earliest European works on natural history—those of the Aristotelian school—we meet with an attempt to classify the different varieties of plants. It was inevitable that the writers of this school should make such an attempt, since no mind trained in Greek philosophy could be content to leave a science in the condition of a mere chaos of isolated descriptions. At first the most obvious distinction, that of size, was used as the chief criterion whereby to separate the different groups of the vegetable kingdom. In the ‘History of Plants’ of Theophrastus, we find Trees, Shrubs, Bushes and Herbs treated as definite classes, within which, cultivated and wild plants are distinguished. Other distinctions of lower value are made between evergreen and deciduous, fruiting and fruitless, and flowering and flowerless plants.

Albertus Magnus, who kept alive in the Middle Ages the spirit of Aristotelian botany, was more advanced than Theophrastus in his method of classification. It is true that he divides the vegetable world into Trees, Shrubs, Undershrubs, Bushes, Herbs and Fungi, but at the same time he points out that this is an arbitrary scheme, since these groups cannot always be distinguished from one another, and also because the same plant may belong to different classes at different periods of its life. A study of the writings of Albertus reveals the fact that he had in mind, though he did not clearly state it, a much more highly evolved system, which may be diagrammatically represented as follows. The modern equivalents of his different groups are shown in square brackets:—

Text-fig. 63. “Carui” [Ortus Sanitatis, Mainz, 1491].

I. Leafless plants [Cryptogams in part].
II. Leafy plants [Phanerogams and certain Cryptogams].
1. Corticate plants [Monocotyledons].
2. Tunicate plants [Dicotyledons].
(a) Herbaceous.
(b) Woody.

The word tunicate in the above table is used for the plants which Albertus describes as growing “ex ligneis tunicis.” It seems clear from this expression that he realised that there was an anatomical distinction between Dicotyledons and Monocotyledons.

Considering how much Albertus had achieved, it is somewhat curious that Cesalpino, who represented Aristotelian botany in the sixteenth, as Albertus did in the thirteenth century, should have produced so inadequate a system as his own contribution to the subject. We owe to him one marked advance, the recognition, namely, of the importance of the seed. On the whole, however, his classification savours too much of having been thought out in the study, and it suffers by comparison with other systems of about the same period, such as those of de l’Obel and Bauhin, which were arrived at rather by instinct, acting upon observation, than by a definite and self-conscious intellectual effort.

Cesalpino makes his main distinction, on the old Aristotelian plan, between Trees and Shrubs on the one hand, and Undershrubs and Herbs on the other. He divides the first of these groups into two, and the second into thirteen classes, depending chiefly on seed and fruit characters. Very few of these classes really represent natural groups, and the chief of all distinctions among Flowering Plants, that between Dicotyledons and Monocotyledons, which was foreshadowed by Albertus, is almost lost to sight.

When we turn from the botanical philosophers to the herbalists proper, we find an altogether different state of affairs. The Aristotelian botanists were conscious, from the beginning, of the philosophic necessity for some form of classification. The medical botanists, on the other hand, were only interested in plants as individuals, and were driven to classify them merely because some sort of arrangement was necessary for convenience in dealing with a large number of kinds. The first Materia Medica, that of Dioscorides, shows some attempt at order, but the arrangement is seldom at all natural. Occasionally the author groups together plants which are nearly related, as when he treats of a number of Labiates, or of Umbellifers successively—but this is rare.

Text-fig. 64. “Buglossa” [Ortus Sanitatis, Mainz, 1491].

Pliny was not, strictly speaking, a medical botanist, but at the same time he may be mentioned in this connection, since his interest in plants was essentially utilitarian. Like Theophrastus, he begins his account of plants with the trees, but his reason for so doing is profoundly different from that of the Greek writer, and illustrates the divergence between what we may call the anthropocentric and the scientific outlook upon the plant world. Theophrastus placed trees at the head of the vegetable kingdom, because he considered their organisation the highest, and most completely expressive of plant nature; Pliny, on the other hand, began with trees because of their great value and importance to man. As an example of his ideas of arrangement, we may mention that he places the Myrtle and Laurel side by side, because the Laurel takes a corresponding place in triumphs to that accorded to the Myrtle in ovations!

Turning to the herbals themselves, we find that the earliest show no trace of a natural grouping, the plants being, as a rule, arranged alphabetically. This is the case, for instance, in the Latin and German Herbarius, the Ortus Sanitatis and their derivatives, and even in the herbals of Brunfels and of Fuchs in the sixteenth century. In Bock’s herbal, on the other hand, the plants are grouped as herbs, shrubs and trees, according to the classical scheme. The author evidently made some effort, within these classes, to arrange them according to their relationships. In the preface to the third edition he writes—“I have placed together, yet kept distinct, all plants which are related and connected, or otherwise resemble one another and are compared, and have given up the former old rule or arrangement according to the A.B.C. which is seen in the old herbals. For the arrangement of plants by the A.B.C. occasions much disparity and error.”

Although the larger classificatory divisions, as now understood, were not recognised by these early workers, they had at least a dim understanding of the distinction between genera and species. This dates back to Theophrastus, who showed, by grouping together different species of oaks, figs, etc., that he had some conception of a genus. We owe to Konrad Gesner the first formulation of the idea that genera should be denoted by substantive names. He was probably the earliest botanist who clearly expounded the distinction between a genus and a species. In one of his letters he writes—“And we may hold this for certain, that there are scarcely any plants that constitute a genus which may not be divided into two or more species. The ancients describe one species of Gentian; I know of ten or more.”

Very little of Gesner’s botanical work was ever published, and it was left to Fabio Colonna to put before the botanical world the true nature of genera. He held most enlightened views on the subject, and, in 1616, clearly stated in his ‘Ekphrasis’ that genera should not be based on similarities of leaf form, since the affinities of plants are indicated not by the leaf, but by the characters of the flower, the receptacle, and, especially, the seed[29]. He brought forward instances to show that previous authors had sometimes placed a plant in the wrong genus, because they only attended to the leaves and ignored the structure of the flower.

Text-fig. 65. “Nenufar” = Waterlily [Arnaldus de Villa Nova, Tractatus de virtutibus herbarum, 1499].

In the writings of Gaspard Bauhin, at the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century, the binary system of nomenclature is used with a high degree of consistency, each species bearing a generic and specific name, though sometimes a third, or even a fourth, descriptive word is added. These extra words are not,

however, really essential. In the preface to the ‘Phytopinax’ (1596) Bauhin states that, for the sake of clearness, he has applied one name to each plant and added also some easily recognisable character[30].

The binomial method was foreshadowed at a very early date, for in a fifteenth-century manuscript of the old herbal ‘Circa instans,’ to which we have referred on p. [24], this system prevails to a remarkable extent.

When we turn to those general schemes of classification which were evolved by the herbalists of the sixteenth century, we are at once struck by the great difference existing between the principles on which these schemes are based, and those at which we have arrived at the present day. To classify plants according to their uses and medicinal properties is obviously the first suggestion that arises, when the universe is regarded from a simple, anthropocentric standpoint. In the Grete Herball of 1526 we get a ludicrously clear example of this method, applied to the special case of the Fungi. “Fungi ben mussherons.... There be two maners of them, one maner is deedly and sleeth [slayeth] them that eateth of them and be called tode stoles, and the other dooth not.” This account of the Fungi occurs also in the earlier manuscript herbal, ‘Circa instans,’ mentioned in the last paragraph.

This theory of classification has been shown in more recent times to contain the germ of something more nearly approaching a natural system than one would imagine at first sight. Both Linnæus and de Jussieu have pointed out that related plants have similar properties, and, in 1804, A. P. de Candolle, in his ‘Essai sur les propriétés médicales des Plantes, comparées avec leurs formes extérieures et leur classification naturelle,’ carried the argument much further. He showed that in no less than twenty-one families of flowering plants, the same medicinal properties were found throughout all the members of the order. This is very remarkable, when we remember that the state of knowledge at that time was such that de Candolle was obliged to dismiss a large number of orders with the words “properties unknown.” Quite recently the subject of the differentiation of groups of plants according to their chemistry has again come to the fore, and, in the future, chemical characters will probably be numbered among the recognised criteria for use in elaborating schemes of classification.

Text-fig. 66. “Nenuphar” = Nymphæa alba L., White Waterlily [Brunfels, Herbarum vivæ eicones, Vol. I. 1530]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 67. “Gele Plompen” = Nuphar luteum Sm., Yellow Waterlily [de l’Obel, Kruydtbœck, 1581].

In the history of botanical classification, the first advance from the purely utilitarian standpoint was marked by the recognition of the fact that the structure and mode of life of the plants themselves are of importance. In the work of writers such as Dodoens and d’Aléchamps, to take two typical examples, we find the issues curiously confused by the working of three different principles side by side; that is to say, by the simultaneous insistence (i) on the habitat, (ii) on the “virtues,” and (iii) on the structure, as affording clues to the systematic position of the plant in question. The herbalist thus erects his scheme on a basis consisting of a confused medley of ecological, medical, and morphological principles. An enumeration of the eighteen headings, under which d’Aléchamps, in 1586, described the vegetable kingdom, so far as it was then known, will show the perplexities which surrounded the first gropings after a natural system. His headings may be translated as follows:—

I.	Of trees which grow wild in woods.
II.	Of fruits growing wild in thickets and shrubberies.
III.	Of trees which are cultivated in pleasure gardens and orchards.
IV.	Of cereals and pulse, and the plants which grow in the field with them.
V.	Of garden herbs and pot herbs.
VI.	Of umbelliferous plants.
VII.	Of plants with beautiful flowers.
VIII.	Of fragrant plants.
IX.	Of plants growing in marshes.
X.	Of plants growing in rough, rocky, sandy and sunny places.
XI.	Of plants growing in shady, wet, marshy and fertile places.
XII.	Of plants growing by the sea, and in the sea itself.
XIII.	Of climbing plants.
XIV.	Of thistles and all spiny and prickly plants.
XV.	Of plants with bulbs, and succulent and knotty roots.
XVI.	Of cathartic plants.
XVII.	Of poisonous plants.
XVIII.	Of foreign plants.

Among these eighteen groups, the only ones which have any pretension to being natural are VI (Umbellifers) and XIV (Thistles), and these merely approximate roughly to related groups of genera. Among the Umbellifers we meet with Achillea and other genera which do not really belong to the order, whilst, with the Thistles, there are grouped other spiny plants, such as Astragalus tragacantha, which, in a natural system, would occupy a place remote from the Composites.

Text-fig. 68. “Ninfea” = Waterlily [Durante, Herbario Nuovo, 1585].

In spite of the fact that improved systems of classification, to which we shall shortly refer, were put forward in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, we find that, as late as 1640, John Parkinson in his well known herbal, divided all the plants then known into seventeen classes or tribes—the sequence in which these classes were placed having, in most cases, no meaning at all. A few of his tribes are natural, but many are valueless as an expression of affinities. As an example we may mention his third class, “Venemous, Sleepy, and Hurtfull Plants, and their Counterpoysons,” and his seventeenth, “Strange and Outlandish Plants.” In Parkinson’s classification, we see Botany reverting once more to the position of a mere handmaid to Medicine.

In the first book of Dodoens’ ‘Pemptades’ (1583) the principles of botany are discussed. The old Aristotelian classification into Trees, Shrubs, Undershrubs and Herbs is accepted, but with some reservations. The author points out that an individual plant may, owing to cultivation, or from some other cause, pass from one class into another. He instances Ricinus, which is an herbaceous annual with us, but a tree in other countries[31].

The general scheme of classification, which Dodoens propounded, has much in common with that of d’Aléchamps, which we have already outlined. Within the larger groups, he shows a stronger perception of natural grouping than appears in his arrangement of the larger classes themselves. He often grouped together genera which we now regard as members of the same natural order, and species which we now look upon as belonging to a single genus. For instance he brought together genera belonging respectively to the Geraniaceæ, Hypericaceæ, Plantaginaceæ, Cruciferæ, Compositæ, etc. In some cases, however, he was only partially successful, as in the Umbelliferæ, among which he described Nigella (Love-in-a-Mist) and a couple of Saxifrages. This example shows how little stress was laid on the flowers and fruit at this time, from the point of view of classification. The general habit, and the shape of the leaves were the features that received most attention.

Resemblances and differences between the forms of the leaves alone must naturally appear to the botanist of the present day to be a very inadequate basis for a general system of classification. Nevertheless Mathias de l’Obel worked out a scheme on these lines which had great merit, and was a considerable advance on previous efforts. He put forward his system in his ‘Stirpium adversaria’ (1570-71) and used it also in his later work. It was thus published much earlier than the very primitive schemes of d’Aléchamps and Dodoens to which we have just referred. The best point of his system is that, by reason of their characteristic differences of leaf structure, he distinguishes the classes now known to us as Monocotyledons and Dicotyledons. He introduces a useful feature in the shape of a synoptic table of species which precedes each more or less natural group of plants. The superiority of his classification to the other arrangements in the field at the time was immediately realised. We have evidence of this in the fact that, after his ‘Kruydtbœck’ was published, Plantin brought out an album of the wood-engravings used in the book, which, although they had also appeared as illustrations to the works of Dodoens and de l’Écluse, were now arranged as in the scheme put forward by de l’Obel, “according to their genus and mutual relationship[32].”

There seems little doubt that de l’Obel made a more conscious effort than any of his predecessors to arrive at a natural classification, and that he realised that such a classification would reveal a unity in all living beings. In the preface to his ‘Stirpium adversaria nova’ of 1570 he writes—“For thus in an order, than which nothing more beautiful exists in the heavens or in the mind of a wise man, things which are far and widely different become, as it were, one thing.”

De l’Obel’s scheme is not expressed in the clear manner to which we have become accustomed in more modern systems, because, in common with other botanists of his time, he did not, as a rule, give names to the groups which we now call orders, or draw any sharp line of distinction between them.

De l’Obel’s arrangement, in spite of its good features, had serious drawbacks. The anomalous Monocotyledons, such as Arum, Tamus, Aloe and Ruscus, are scattered among the Dicotyledons, while Drosera (the Sundew) appears among the Ferns, and so on. Similarities of leaf form, which are now regarded merely as instances of “homoplastic convergence,” are responsible for many curious groupings. For instance in the ‘Kruydtbœck’ we find the Twayblade (Listera) the May Lily (Maianthemum) and the Plantain (Plantago) described in succession, while, in another part of the book, various Clovers (Trifolium), Wood Sorrel (Oxalis) and Anemone hepatica are grouped together. It is also not surprising that the Marsh Marigold (Caltha), the Waterlilies (Nymphæa and Nuphar), Limnanthemum and Frogbit (Hydrocharis) should follow one another, or that de l’Obel should have brought together the Broomrape (Orobanche), the Toothwort (Lathræa), the Bird’s-nest Orchid (Neottia) and a number of Fungi. In these latter instances the author has really arrived at genuine biological (though not morphological) groups. He has recognised, on the one hand, the marked uniformity of the type of leaf characteristic of “swimming” water-plants, and, on the other hand, he has observed the leaflessness and absence of green colour, which are negative features common to so many saprophytes and parasites.

Text-fig. 69. “Tussilago” = Tussilago farfara L., Coltsfoot [Fuchs, De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

The perception of natural affinities among plants which, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was gradually, in a dim, instinctive fashion, arising in men’s minds, is perhaps best expressed in the work of Gaspard Bauhin, especially in his ‘Pinax theatri botanici’ (1623). This work is divided into twelve books, each book being further sub-divided into sections, comprehending a variable number of genera. Neither the books nor the sections have, as a rule, any general heading, but there are certain exceptions. For instance, Book II is called ‘de Bulbosis,’ and a section of Book IV, including eighteen genera, is headed ‘Umbelliferæ.’ Some of the sections represent truly natural groups. Book III, Section VI, for example, consists of ten genera of Compositæ, while Book III, Section II includes six Crucifers. Other sections contain plants of more than one family, but yet show a distinct feeling for relationship. For instance, Book V, Section I includes Solanum, Mandragora, Hyoscyamus, Nicotiana, Papaver, Hypecoum and Argemone—that is to say four genera from the Solanaceæ followed by three from the Papaveraceæ. The common character which brings them together here is, no doubt, their narcotic property, but, although no definite line was drawn between the plants belonging to these two widely sundered families, the order in which they are described shows that their distinctness was recognised. Some of Bauhin’s other groups, however, which, like that just discussed, are distinguished by their properties, or, in other words, by their chemical features, have no pretension to naturalness from a morphological standpoint. This is the case with the group described in Book XI, Section III under the name of “Aromata,” which consists of a heterogeneous assemblage of genera belonging to different orders, which are only connected by the fact that they all yield spices useful to man.

Text-fig. 70. “Plantago major” = Plantain [Fuchs, De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 71. “Althæa Thuringica” = Lavatera thuringica L. [Camerarius, Hortus medicus, 1588].

There is no doubt that, on the whole, Bauhin was markedly successful in recognising affinities within small cycles, but he broke down on the broader question of the relationships between the groups of genera so constituted. This is, however, hardly surprising when we remember how much difference of opinion exists among systematic botanists, even to-day, upon the subject of the relations of the orders to one another.

Like de l’Obel, Bauhin seems to have believed in the general principle of a progression from the simpler to the more highly developed forms. His application of this principle led him to begin with the Grasses and to conclude with the Trees. The question as to which groups among the Flowering Plants [Angiosperms] are to be considered as relatively primitive, is still, at the present day, an open one, but it would be generally conceded that Bauhin’s arrangement cannot be accepted. There is little doubt, from the standpoint of modern botany, that the Grasses are a highly specialised group, while the “tree habit” has been adopted independently by many plants belonging to entirely different cycles of affinity, and thus, except in rare cases, it cannot be used as a criterion of relationship.

On the subject of the relations of the Cryptogams (flowerless plants) to the Phanerogams (flowering plants), Bauhin had evidently no clear ideas, but such could hardly be hoped for in the state of knowledge of that time. We find, for instance, the Ferns, Mosses, Corals(!), Fungi, Algæ, the Sundew, etc., sandwiched between some Leguminosæ, and a section consisting chiefly of Thistles.

The classification put forward by the Bohemian botanist, Zaluziansky, in 1592, although in its general features no better than that of Dodoens, or of d’Aléchamps, and certainly less satisfactory than that of de l’Obel or the later scheme of Bauhin, is an improvement on all of these in one particular, namely, that he begins with the Fungi and deals next with Mosses. After the Mosses he describes the Grasses, and his classification concludes with the Trees. He was thus evidently attempting to pass from the simpler to the more complex, and his arrangement indicates that, unlike certain other botanists of his time, he looked upon the Lower Cryptogams as comparatively simple and primitive plants. He was not so clear-sighted, however, on the subject of the Ferns, for he placed them with the Umbelliferæ and some Compositæ, no doubt because he was influenced by the form of the leaf.

Text-fig. 72. “Pulsatilla” = Anemone pulsatilla L., Pasque-flower [Camerarius, De plantis Epitome ... Matthioli, 1586].

It is curious that Cesalpino, who, as we have pointed out, had arrived at the very important principle that the seed and fruit characters were of major value in classification, yet put forward a system which was distinctly inferior to that of Gaspard Bauhin, although the latter appears to have been guided by no such general principles. Probably the reason for this is to be sought in the fact that no system of classification can represent natural affinities, unless it takes into account the nature of the plant as a whole. It is true that, compared with the characters of the reproductive organs, the leaf-form and habit, owing to their plasticity, have to be used with great discretion as systematic criteria, but, nevertheless, no system of classification can afford to ignore them entirely. Cesalpino based his scheme too exclusively upon seed characters, to the neglect even of the structure of the flower, and, curiously enough, although he laid so much stress upon the nature of the seed, he did not grasp the fundamental distinction between the embryos of the Monocotyledons and the Dicotyledons, due to the possession of one, and two seed-leaves respectively. The chief drawback of his scheme, however, was his failure to realise that living organisms are too complex to fall into a classification based on any one feature, important as that feature may prove to be when used in conjunction with other characters.

Those herbalists, on the other hand, who attacked the problem of the classification of plants without any preconceived, academic theory, depended, one might almost say, on the glimmerings of common sense for the recognition of affinities. This was no doubt a dim and fitful illumination, but it was at least less partial than the narrow, lime-light beam of a rigid theory.

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CHAPTER VII
THE EVOLUTION OF THE ART OF BOTANICAL ILLUSTRATION

N the art of botanical illustration, evolution was by no means a simple and straightforward process. We do not find, in Europe, a steady advance from early illustrations of poor quality to later ones of a finer character. On the contrary, among the earliest extant drawings, of a definitely botanical intention, we meet with wonderfully good figures, free from such features as would be now generally regarded as archaic. The famous Vienna manuscript of Dioscorides (see pp. 8 and 85) is a remarkable example of the excellence of some of the very early work. It dates back to the end of the fifth, or the beginning of the sixth century of the Christian era. It is illustrated with brush drawings on a large scale, which in many cases are notably naturalistic, and often quite modern in appearance (Plates [I], [II], [XV]). The general habit of the plant is admirably expressed, and occasionally, as in the case of the Bean (Plate [XV]), the characters of the flowers and seed-vessels are well indicated. In this drawing, also, the leaves are effectively foreshortened.

There are a number of other manuscript herbals in existence, illustrated with interesting figures. The Library of the University of Leyden possesses a particularly fine example[33], which is ascribed to the seventh century A.D.

Plate XV

‘Phasiolos’ = Bean [Dioscorides, Codex Aniciæ Julianæ, circa A.D. 500]. Reduced.

This work contains coloured drawings of exceptional beauty, which are smaller than those in the Vienna manuscript, but quite equally realistic.

It is however with the history of botanical figures since the invention of the printing press that we are here more especially concerned. From this epoch onwards, the history of botanical illustration is intimately bound up with the history of wood-engraving, until, at the extreme end of the sixteenth century, engraving on metal first came into use to illustrate herbals. During the seventeenth century, metal-engravings and wood-cuts existed side by side, but wood-engraving gradually declined, and was in great measure superseded by engraving on metal. The finest period of plant illustration was during the sixteenth century, when wood-engraving was at its zenith.

Botanical wood-engravings may be regarded as belonging to two schools, but it should be understood that the distinction between them is somewhat arbitrary and must not be pressed very far. One of these may perhaps be regarded as representing the last, decadent expression of that school of late classical art which, a thousand years earlier, had given rise to the drawings in the Vienna manuscript. Probably no original wood-cuts of this school were produced after the close of the fifteenth century. In the second phase, on the other hand, which culminated, artistically, if not scientifically, in the sixteenth century, we find a renaissance of the art, due to a more direct study of nature.

The first school, of which we may take the cuts in the Roman edition of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius Platonicus (? 1484) as typical examples, has, as Dr Payne has pointed out, certain very well-marked characteristics. The figures of the plants (see Plates [IV], [V], [XVI], and Text-figs. [1] and [2]), which occupy square or oblong spaces, are very formal and are often represented with complete bilateral symmetry. They show no sign of having been drawn directly from nature, but look as if they were founded on previous work. They have a decorative rather than a naturalistic appearance; it seems, indeed, as if the principle of decorative symmetry controlled the artist almost against his will. These drawings are somewhat of the nature of diagrams by a draughtsman “who generalized his knowledge of the object.” In Dr Payne’s own words, “Such figures, passing through the hands of a hundred copyists, became more and more conventional, till they reached their last and most degraded form in the rude cuts of the Roman Herbarium, which represent not the infancy, but the old age of art. Uncouth as they are, we may regard them with some respect, both as being the images of flowers that bloomed many centuries ago, and also as the last ripple of the receding tide of Classical Art.”

The illustrations of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius were copied from pre-existing manuscripts, and the age of the originals is no doubt much greater than that of the printed work. Those here reproduced are taken from a copy in the British Museum, in which the pictures were coloured, probably at the time when the book was published.

Colouring of the figures was characteristic of many of the earliest works in which wood-engraving was employed. In cases where uncoloured copies of such books exist, there are often blank spaces in the wood-cuts, which were left in order that certain details might afterwards be added in colour. The origin of wood-engraving is closely connected with the early history of playing-card manufacture. Playing-cards were at first coloured by means of stencil plates, and the same method, very naturally, came to be employed in connection with the wood-blocks used for book illustration.

The engravings in the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius are executed in black, in very crude outline. At least two colours, now much faded, were also employed by means of stencilling. The work was coarsely done, and the colours only “register” very roughly. Brown appears to have been used for the animals, roots and flowers, and green for the leaves. The drawings show some rather curious mannerisms. For instance, in the first cut labelled “Vettonia,” each of the lanceolate leaves is outlined continuously on the one side, but with a broken line on the other. It has been suggested that the illustrations in the ‘Herbarium’ are possibly not wood-engravings, but rude cuts in metal, excavated after the manner of a wood-block.

Plate XVI

‘Dracontea’ [Herbarium Apuleii Platonici, ? 1484].
The tint represents colouring, which was probably contemporary.

We have already referred to the imaginative portrait of the Mandrake (Plate [V]). Figures of the animals whose bites or stings were supposed to be cured by the use of a particular herb, were often introduced into the drawing, as in the case of the Plantain (Text-fig. [1]) which is accompanied by a serpent and a scorpion. In this figure the cross-hatching of white lines on black—the simplest possible device from the point of view of the wood-engraver—is employed with good effect. Sometimes the essential character of the plant is seized, but the way in which it is expressed is curiously lacking in a sense of proportion, as in the case of “Dracontea” (Plate [XVI]), one of the Arum family.

The figures in the ‘Herbarium’ are characterised by an excellent trait, which is common to most of the older herbals, namely the habit of portraying the plant as a whole, including its roots. This came about naturally because the root was often of special value from the druggist’s point of view. It is to be regretted that, in modern botanical drawings, the recognition of the paramount importance of the flower and fruit in classification has led to a comparative neglect of the organs of vegetation, especially those which exist underground.

We now come to a series of illustrations, which may be regarded as occupying an intermediate position between the classical tradition of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius, and the renaissance of botanical drawing, which took place early in the sixteenth century. These include the illustrations to the ‘Book of Nature,’ and to the Latin and German ‘Herbarius,’ the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ and their derivatives, which were discussed in Chapters II and III.

‘Das půch der natur’ of Konrad von Megenberg occupies a unique position in the history of botany, for it is the first work in which a wood-cut representing plants was used with the definite intention of illustrating the text, and not merely for a decorative purpose. It was first printed in Augsburg in 1475, and is thus several years older than the earliest printed edition of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius Platonicus which we have just discussed. The single plant drawing, which illustrates it, is probably not of such great antiquity, however, as those of the ‘Herbarium,’ for its appearance suggests that it was probably executed from nature for this book, and not copied and recopied from one manuscript to another before it was engraved. The illustration in question is a full-page wood-cut, showing a number of plants, growing in situ (Plate [III]). Several species (e.g. Ranunculus acris, the Meadow Buttercup, Viola odorata, the Sweet Violet, and Convallaria majalis, the Lily-of-the-Valley) are distinctly recognisable. It is noticeable that, in two cases in which a rosette of radical leaves is represented, the centre of the rosette is filled in in black, upon which the leaf-stalks appear in white. This use of the black background, which gives a rich and solid effect, was carried much further in later books, such as the ‘Ortus Sanitatis.’

Text-fig. 73. “Brionia” [Herbarius Moguntinus, 1484].

A wood-cut, somewhat similar in style to that just described, but more primitive, occurs in Trevisa’s version of the mediæval encyclopædia of Bartholomæus Anglicus, which was printed by Wynkyn de Worde before the end of the fifteenth century. It is probably the first botanical figure illustrating an English book. It is reproduced in Text-fig. [19].

Text-fig. 74. “Ireos vel Iris” [Arnaldus de Villa Nova, Tractatus de virtutibus herbarum, 1499].

The illustrations to the Latin ‘Herbarius’ or ‘Herbarius Moguntinus,’ published at Mainz in 1484 (Text-figs. [3], [4], [5], [73]), form the next group of botanical wood-cuts. The figures are much better than those of the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius, but at the same time they are, as a rule, formal and conventional, and often quite unrecognisable. The want of realism is very conspicuous in such a drawing as that of the Lily (Text-fig. [3]), in which the leaves are represented as if they had no organic continuity with the stem. Some of the figures are wonderfully charming, and in their decorative effect recall the plant designs so often used in the Middle Ages to enrich the borders of illuminated manuscripts. This is particularly noticeable in the case of the Briony (Text-fig. [73]). The conventional form of tendril here employed is also seen in other early work, such as the roof-painting of a Vine in the Chapel of St Andrew, Canterbury Cathedral, and some “Decorated” stained glass at Wells, both of which are considerably earlier in date than the ‘Herbarius Moguntinus.’

Text-fig. 75. “Capillus Veneris” = Maidenhair Fern [Arnaldus de Villa Nova, Tractatus de virtutibus herbarum, 1499].

A more interesting series of figures, also illustrating the text of the Latin ‘Herbarius,’ was published in Italy a little later. The wood-cuts are believed to be mostly derived from German originals. Text-figs. [6], [57], [65], [74], [75] and [76] are taken from a Venetian edition of 1499. These drawings are more ambitious than those in the original German issue, and, on the whole, the results are more naturalistic. The fern called “Capillus Veneris,” which is probably intended for the Maidenhair, is represented hanging from rocks over water, just as it does in Devonshire caves to-day (Text-fig. [75]). Another delightful wood-cut, almost in the Japanese style, is that of an Iris growing at the margin of a stream, from which a graceful bird is drinking (Text-fig. [74]).

Text-fig. 76. “Cuscuta” = Dodder [Arnaldus de Villa Nova, Tractatus de virtutibus herbarum, 1499].

In the very symmetrical drawing of the Peony (Text-fig. 57) there is an attempt to represent the tuberous roots, which are indicated in solid black. The no less symmetrical Waterlily (Text-fig. [65]) is remarkable for its rhizome, on which the scars of the leaf bases are faithfully represented. This drawing is of interest, also, on account of its frank disregard of proportion. The flower stalks are drawn not more than twice as long as the breadth of the leaf! We may, I think, safely conclude that the draughtsman knew quite well that he was not representing the plant as it was, and that he intentionally gave a conventional rendering, which did not profess to be more than an indication of certain distinctive features of the plant. This attitude of the artist to his work, which is so different from that of the scientific draughtsman of the present day, is seen with great clearness in many of the drawings in mediæval manuscripts. For instance, a plant such as the Houseleek may be represented growing on the roof of a house—the plant being about three times the size of the building. No one would imagine that the artist was under the delusion that these proportions held good in nature. The little house was merely introduced in order to convey graphic information as to the habitat of the plant concerned, and the scale on which it was depicted was simply a matter of convenience. Before an art can be appreciated, its conventions must be accepted. It would be as absurd to quarrel with the illustrations we have just described, on account of their lack of proportion, as to condemn grand opera because, in real life, men and women do not converse in song. The idea of naturalistic drawings, in which the size of the parts should be shown in their true relations, was of comparatively late growth.

In 1485, the year following the first appearance of the Latin ‘Herbarius,’ the very important work known as the German ‘Herbarius,’ or ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch,’ made its appearance at Mainz. As we pointed out in Chapter II, its illustrations, which are executed on a large scale, are often of remarkable beauty. Dr Payne considered some of them comparable to those of Brunfels in fidelity of drawing, though very inferior in wood-cutting. They are distinctly more realistic than even those of the Venetian edition of the Latin ‘Herbarius,’ to which we have just referred. It is interesting, for instance, to compare the drawings of the Dodder (Text-figs. 76 and 77) in the two works. Other excellent drawings are those of the Winter Cherry (Text-fig. [78]), Iris (Text-fig. [7]), Lily, Chicory, Comfrey and Peony.

Text-fig. 77. “Cuscuta” = Dodder [Herbarius zu Teutsch, Mainz, 1485].

Text-fig. 78. “Alkekengi” = Physalis, Winter Cherry [Herbarius zu Teutsch, Mainz, 1485].

Text-fig. 79. “Alkekengi” = Physalis, Winter Cherry [Ortus Sanitatis, Mainz, 1491].

A pirated second edition of the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch’ appeared at Augsburg only a few months after the publication of the first at Mainz. The figures, which are roughly copied from those of the original edition, are very inferior to them. In fact, the Mainz wood-cuts of 1485 excel those of all subsequent issues.

In the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ of 1491, about two-thirds of the drawings of plants are copied from the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch.’ They are often much spoiled in the process, and it is evident that the copyist frequently failed to grasp the intention of the original artist. The wood-cut of the Dodder (Text-fig. [80]), for instance, is lamentably inferior to that in the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch’ (Text-fig. [77]). There is often a tendency, in the later work, to make the figures occupy the space in a more decorative fashion; for instance, where the stalk in the original drawing is simply cut across obliquely at the base, we find in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ that its pointed end is continued into a conventional flourish (cf. the figures of the Winter Cherry in the two works, Text-figs. 78 and 79). Among the original figures many, as we have already indicated, represent purely mythical subjects (e.g. Text-figs. 13 and 17).

Text-fig. 80. “Cuscuta” = Dodder [Ortus Sanitatis, Mainz, 1491].

The use of a black background, against which the stalks and leaves form a contrast in white, which we noticed in the ‘Book of Nature,’ is carried further in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis.’ This is shown particularly well in the Tree of Paradise (Text-fig. [12]) and also in Text-figs. 10 and 81. No consistent method is followed in the coarse shading which is employed. In some cases there seems to have been an attempt at the convention, used so successfully by the Japanese, of darkening the underside of the leaf, but, sometimes, in the same figure, certain leaves are treated in this way, and others not. In some of the genre pictures, Noah’s Ark trees are introduced, with crowns consisting entirely of parallel horizontal lines, decreasing in length from below upwards, so as to give a triangular form.

Text-fig. 81. “Botris” [Ortus Sanitatis, Mainz, 1491].

An edition of the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ which was published in Venice in 1511, is illustrated in great part with wood-cuts based on the original figures. They have, however, a very different appearance, since a great deal of shading is introduced, and in some cases parallel lines are laid in with considerable dexterity.

‘The Grete Herball’ and a number of works of the early sixteenth century derived from the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch,’ the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ and similar sources, are of no importance in the history of botanical illustration, since scarcely any of their figures are original. The oft-repeated set of wood-cuts, ultimately derived from the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch,’ were also used to illustrate Hieronymus Braunschweig’s Distillation Book (Liber de arte distillandi de Simplicibus, 1500). That the conventional figures of the period did not satisfy the botanist is shown by some interesting remarks by Hieronymus at the conclusion of his work. He tells the reader that he must attend to the text rather than the figures, “for the figures are nothing more than a feast for the eyes, and for the information of those who cannot read or write[34].”

During the first three decades of the sixteenth century, the art of botanical illustration was practically in abeyance in Europe. Such books as were published were chiefly supplied with mere copies of older wood-cuts. But, in 1530, an entirely new era was inaugurated with the appearance of Brunfels’ great work, the ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones,’ in which a number of plants native to Germany, or commonly cultivated there, were drawn with a beauty and fidelity which have rarely been surpassed (Text-figs. [22], [23], [24], [25], [66], [82], [83], [84]). It is interesting to recall that the date 1530 is often taken, in the study of other arts (e.g. stained glass), as the limit of the “Gothic” period, and the beginning of the “Renaissance.”

Plate XVII

Study of Aquilegia vulgaris L., Columbine [Albrecht Dürer, 1526. Drawing in the Albertina, Vienna]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 82. “Asarum” = Asarabacca [Brunfels, Herbarum vivæ eicones, Vol. I. 1530]. Reduced.

Brunfels’ illustrations represent a notable advance on any previous botanical wood-cuts, so much so, indeed, that the suddenness of the improvement seems to call for some special explanation. On taking a broader view of the subject, we find that, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, there was a marked advance in all the branches of book illustration, and not merely in the botanical side with which we are here concerned. This impetus seems to have been due to the fact that many of the best artists, above all Albrecht Dürer, began at that period to draw for wood-engraving, whereas in the fifteenth century the ablest men had shown a tendency to despise the craft and to hold aloof from it.

The engravings in Brunfels’ herbal and the fine books which succeeded it, should not be considered as if they were an isolated manifestation, but should be viewed in relation to other contemporary and even earlier plant drawings, which were not intended for book illustrations. Some of the most remarkable are those by Albrecht Dürer, which were produced before the appearance of Brunfels’ herbal, during the first thirty years of the sixteenth century. In each of his coloured drawings of sods of turf, known as “das grosse Rasenstück,” and “das kleine Rasenstück,” a tangled group of growing plants is portrayed exactly as it occurred in nature, with a marvellous combination of artistic charm and scientific accuracy. Prof. Killermann has been at pains to identify the genus and species of almost every plant represented, and has described the drawings as “das erste Denkmal der Pflanzenökologie.” In 1526, Dürer carried out a beautiful series of plant drawings, among the most famous of which are those of the Columbine, and the Greater Celandine. The former is reproduced on a small scale in Plate [XVII]; it is scarcely possible to imagine a more perfect “habit drawing” of a plant.

In Italy, Leonardo da Vinci’s exquisite studies of plants, of which Plate [XVIII] is an example, must also have pointed the way to a better era of herbal illustration. In his work, the artistic interest predominates over the botanical to a greater extent than is the case with Dürer’s drawings. It is strange to think that numerous editions of the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ and similar books, with their crude and primitive wood-cuts, should have been published while such an artist as Leonardo da Vinci was at the zenith of his powers. If internal evidence alone were available, it might plausibly be maintained that the engravings in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ and the drawings of Leonardo da Vinci were centuries apart.

Plate XVIII

Study of Ornithogalum umbellatum L., Star of Bethlehem, and other plants [Leonardo da Vinci, 1452-1519. Drawing in the Royal Library, Windsor].

We are thus led to the conclusion that, though the engravings in Brunfels’ herbal are separated from previous botanical figures by an almost impassable gulf, they should not be regarded as a sudden and inexplicable development. The art of naturalistic plant drawing had arrived independently at what was perhaps its high-water mark of excellence, but it is in Brunfels’ great work that we find it, for the first time, applied to the illustration of a botanical book.

Text-fig. 83. “Kuchenschell” = Anemone pulsatilla L., Pasque-flower [Brunfels, Herbarum vivæ eicones, Vol. I. 1530]. Reduced.

The illustrations in Brunfels’ herbal were engraved, and probably drawn also, by Hans Weiditz, or Guiditius, some of whose work has been ascribed to Albrecht Dürer. The title ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones’—‘Living Pictures of Plants’—indicates the most distinctive feature of the book, namely that the artist went direct to nature, instead of regarding the plant world through the eyes of previous draughtsmen. This characteristic is best appreciated on comparing Brunfels’ figures with those of his predecessors. His picture of the Waterlily (Text-fig. [66]), for example, contrasts notably with that of the same subject from the Venetian ‘Herbarius’ (Text-fig. [65]). In the former the artist has caught the exact look of the leaves and stalks, buoyed up by the water. Throughout the work, the drawing seems to be of a slightly higher quality than the actual engraving; the lines are, to use the technical term, occasionally somewhat “rotten” or even broken.

In one respect the welcome reaction from the conventional and generalised early drawings went almost too far. Many of Brunfels’ wood-cuts were done from imperfect specimens, in which, for example, the leaves had withered or had been damaged by insects. This is clearly shown in Text-fig. [84]. The artist’s ambition was evidently limited to representing the specimen he had before him, whether it was typical or not. The notion had not then been grasped that the ideal botanical drawing avoids the peculiarities of any individual specimen, and seeks to portray the characters really typical of the species. These characters can sometimes only be arrived at by a comparison of numerous specimens.

From the figures here reproduced a good idea of the style of Weiditz can be obtained. His line is usually firm and broad, and but little shading is employed. The chief merit of the drawings lies in their crisp and virile outlines.

Regarded from the point of view of decorative book illustration, the beautiful drawings of the period under consideration sometimes failed to reach the standard set by earlier work. The very strong, black, velvety line of many of the fifteenth-century wood-engravings, and the occasional use of solid black backgrounds (cf. Text-fig. [81]) give a great sense of richness, especially in combination with the black letter type, with which they harmonise so admirably. A page bearing such illustrations is often more satisfying to the eye than one in which the desire to express the subtleties of plant form, in realistic fashion, has led to the use of a more delicate line. However, the primary object of the herbal illustrations was, after all, a scientific and not a decorative one, and, from this point of view, the gain in realism more than compensates for the loss in the harmonious balance of black and white.

Text-fig. 84. “Lappa” = Arctium, Burdock [Brunfels, Herbarum vivæ eicones, Vol. II. 1531]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 85. “Scolopendria” = Hart’s-tongue Fern [Rhodion, Kreutterbůch, 1533].

Our chronological survey of the chief botanical wood-cuts brings us next to those published by Egenolph in 1533, to illustrate Rhodion’s ‘Kreutterbůch.’ These have sometimes been regarded as of considerable importance, almost comparable, in fact, with those of Brunfels. A careful examination of these wood-engravings leads, however, to the conclusion that practically all the chief figures in Egenolph’s book have been copied from those of Brunfels, but on a smaller scale, and reversed. It is true that the style of engraving is different, and that, as Hatton has pointed out, Egenolph’s flowing, easy, almost brush-like line is very distinct from that of Weiditz. But the fact of the plagiarism remains. The two figures here reproduced—the Lesser Celandine (Text-fig. [33]) and the Hart’s-tongue Fern (Text-fig. [85])—are reduced copies from Brunfels.

It is interesting to notice that, as the third part of Brunfels’ great work had not appeared when Egenolph’s book was published, the latter must have been at a loss for figures of the plants which Brunfels had reserved for his third volume. We find that in the case of one such plant, the Asparagus, he solved the problem by going back to the old familiar wood-cut which had done duty in the ‘Ortus Sanitatis’ and the ‘Herbarius zu Teutsch.’

In the third volume of Brunfels’ herbal (which appeared after his death) there is a small figure, that of “Auricula muris,” which differs conspicuously in style from the other engravings, and which appears to represent a case in which the tables were turned, and a figure was borrowed from Egenolph.

In his later books, Egenolph used wood-cuts pirated from those of Fuchs and Bock, which we must now consider.

In the work of Leonhard Fuchs (Frontispiece) plant drawing, as an art, may be said to have reached its culminating point. It is true that, at a later period, when the botanical importance of the detailed structure of the flower and fruit was recognised, figures were produced which conveyed exacter and more copious information on these points than did those of Fuchs. Nevertheless, at least in the opinion of the present writer, the illustrations to Fuchs’ herbals (‘De historia stirpium,’ 1542, and ‘New Kreüterbůch,’ 1543) represent the high-water mark of that type of botanical drawing which seeks to express the individual character and habit of each species, treating the plant broadly as a whole, and not laying more stress upon the reproductive than the vegetative organs.

Text-fig. 86. “Dipsacus albus” = Teasle [Fuchs, De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

Fuchs’ figures are on so large a scale that the plant frequently had to be represented as curved, in order to fit it into the folio page. The illustrations here reproduced (Text-figs. [30], [31], [32], [58], [69], [70], [86], [87], [88]) do not give an entirely just idea of their beauty, since the line employed in the original is so thin that it is ill-adapted to the reduction necessary here. If the drawings have any fault, it is perhaps to be found in the somewhat blank and unfinished look, occasionally produced when unshaded outline drawings are used on so large a scale. This is the case for instance in the figure of the Aloe. It may be that Fuchs had in mind the possibility that the purchaser might wish to colour the work, and to fill in a certain amount of detail for himself. The existing copies of this and other old herbals often have the figures painted, generally in a distressingly crude and heavy fashion. The colouring in many cases appears to have been done at a very early date. In the octavo edition of Fuchs’ herbal published in 1545, small versions of the large wood-cuts appeared. It is perhaps invidious to draw distinctions between the work of Fuchs and that of Brunfels, since they are both of such exquisite quality. However, merely as an expression of personal opinion, the present writer must confess to feeling that there is a finer sense of power and freedom of handling about the illustrations in Fuchs’ herbal than those of Brunfels.

Sometimes in Fuchs’ figures a wonderfully decorative spirit is shown, as in the case of the Earth-nut Pea (Text-fig. 87) which fills the rectangular space almost in the manner of an “all-over” wall-paper pattern. It must not be forgotten, when discussing wood-cuts, that the artist, who drew upon the block for the engraver, was working under peculiar conditions. It was impossible for him to be unmindful of the boundaries of the block, when these took the form, as it were, of miniature precipices under his hand. These boundaries marked out the exact limit of space which the figure could occupy. It is not surprising, under these circumstances, that the artist who drew upon the block should often seem to have been obsessed by its rectangularity, and should have accommodated his drawing to its form in a way that was unnecessary and far from realistic, though sometimes very decorative. This is exemplified in the figure of the Earth-nut Pea, to which we have just referred and also in Text-figs. [41], [44], [62], [92], [95], [101], etc. The writer has been told by an artist accustomed, in former years, to draw upon the wood for the engraver, that to avoid a rectangular effect required a distinct effort of will. At the present day, when photographic methods of reproduction are almost exclusively used, the artist is no longer oppressively conscious of the exact outline of the space which his figure will occupy.

Text-fig. 87. “Apios” = Lathyrus tuberosus L., Earth-nut Pea [Fuchs, De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 88. “Arum” = Arum maculatum L., Wild Arum [Fuchs, De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

The figures here reproduced show how great a variety of subjects were successfully dealt with in Fuchs’ work. The Cabbage (Text-fig. [30]) is realised in a way that brings home to us the intrinsic beauty of this somewhat prosaic subject. In the Wild Arum (Text-fig. [88]) the fruit and a dissection of the inflorescence are represented, so that, botanically, the drawing reaches a high level. Fuchs’ wood-cuts are nearly all original, but that of the White Waterlily appears to have been founded upon Brunfels’ figure.

We have so far spoken, for the sake of brevity, as if Fuchs actually executed the figures himself. This, however, was not the case. He employed two draughtsmen, Heinrich Füllmaurer, who drew the plants from nature, and Albrecht Meyer, who copied the drawings on to the wood, and also an engraver, Veit Růdolf Speckle, who actually cut the blocks. Fuchs evidently delighted to honour his colleagues, for at the end of the book there are portraits of all three at work (Text-fig. [89]). The artist is drawing a plant with a brush fixed in a quill.

The drawing and painting of flowers is sometimes dismissed almost contemptuously, as though it were a humble art in which an inferior artist, incapable of the more exacting work of drawing “from the life,” might be able to excel. The falsity of this view is shown by the fact that the greatest of flower painters have generally been men who also did admirable figure work. Fantin-Latour is a striking modern instance, and one has but to glance at the studies of Leonardo da Vinci (e.g. Plate [XVIII]) and Albrecht Dürer (e.g. Plate [XVII]) to feel that the finest plant drawings can only be produced by a master hand, capable of achieving success on more ambitious lines. The wood-engravings in Fuchs’ herbal are a case in point. The portraits which also illustrate the book (Frontispiece and Text-fig. [89]) show that the talents of the artists whom he employed were not confined to plant drawing, but were also strong in the direction of vigorous and able portraiture.

Text-fig. 89. The Draughtsmen and the Engraver employed by Leonhard Fuchs [De historia stirpium, 1542]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 90. “Wintergrün” = Pyrola, Wintergreen [Bock, Kreuter Bůch, 1546].

Text-fig. 91. “Rautten” = Botrychium, Moonwort [Bock, Kreuter Bůch, 1546]. Fuchs’ gratitude to his assistants is expressed in the preface to ‘De historia stirpium,’ where he makes some remarks upon the illustrations, which may be translated as follows:—

“As far as concerns the pictures themselves, each of which is positively delineated according to the features and likeness of the living plants, we have taken peculiar care that they should be most perfect, and, moreover, we have devoted the greatest diligence to secure that every plant should be depicted with its own roots, stalks, leaves, flowers, seeds and fruits. Furthermore we have purposely and deliberately avoided the obliteration of the natural form of the plants by shadows, and other less necessary things, by which the delineators sometimes try to win artistic glory: and we have not allowed the craftsmen so to indulge their whims as to cause the drawing not to correspond accurately to the truth. Vitus Rudolphus Specklin, by far the best engraver of Strasburg, has admirably copied the wonderful industry of the draughtsmen, and has with such excellent craft expressed in his engraving the features of each drawing, that he seems to have contended with the draughtsman for glory and victory.”

How dull and colourless the phrases of modern scientific writers appear, beside the hot-blooded, arrogant enthusiasm of the sixteenth century!

Text-fig. 92. “Castanum nuss” = Castanea, Chestnut [Bock, Kreuter Bůch, 1546].

Fuchs’ wood-cuts were extensively pirated, especially those on a reduced scale, which were published in his edition of 1545. As we have mentioned on p. [55], Hieronymus Bock [or Tragus] undoubtedly made use of them in the second edition of his ‘Kreuter Bůch’ (1546) which was the next important, illustrated botanical work to appear after Fuchs’ herbal. An examination of the wood-cuts in Bock’s herbal seems, however, to show that his illustrations have more claim to originality than is often supposed. The figures of Wintergreen (Text-fig. [90]), Moonwort (Text-fig. [91]), and Strawberry (Text-fig. [27]), here reproduced, are markedly different from those of Fuchs, although, in the case of the first, Fuchs’ wood-cut may have been used to some extent. The artist employed by Bock, as he himself tells us, was David Kandel, a young lad, the son of a burgher of Strasburg. His drawings are often of interest, apart from their botanical aspect. For instance, the picture of an Oak tree includes, appropriately enough, a swine-herd with his swine, the Chestnut tree gives occasion for a hedgehog (Text-fig. [92]) and, in another case, a monkey and several rabbits are introduced, one of the latter holding a shield bearing the artist’s initials. The wood-cut of Trapa, the Bull-nut (Text-fig. [29]), is a highly imaginative production which clearly shows that neither the artist nor the author had ever seen the plant in question.

Text-fig. 93. “Fungi” = Toadstools [Mattioli, Commentarii, 1560]. Reduced.

In general character, Bock’s illustrations are neater and more conventional than those of Brunfels or Fuchs. The crowns of the trees are often made practically square so as to fit the block (Text-fig. [92]). The figures in earlier works, such as the ‘Ortus Sanitatis,’ are recalled in Kandel’s disregard of the proportion between the size of the tree, and that of the leaves and fruits.

Text-fig. 94. “Rosaceum” [Mattioli, Commentarii, 1560]. Reduced.

Text-fig. 95. “Suber Primus” [Mattioli, Commentarii, 1565]. Reduced.

In point of time, the illustrations to the early editions of Mattioli’s Commentaries on the Six Books of Dioscorides follow fairly closely on those of Fuchs, but they are extremely different in style (Text-figs. [41], [42], [93], [94]). Details such as the veins and hairs of the leaves are often elaborately worked out, while shading is much used, a considerable mastery of parallel lines being shown. The general effect is occasionally somewhat flat and dull. Some of the drawings suggest that they may have been done from dried plants, and in others the treatment is over-crowded. But, in spite of these defects, they form a markedly individual contribution, which is of great importance in the history of botanical illustration.

Text-fig. 96. “Tragorchis” = Orchis hircina L., Lizard Orchis [Dodoens, Pemptades, 1583].

Numerous editions of Mattioli’s work appeared in various languages. In its earlier form the book had only small figures (e.g. Text-figs. [41], [42], [93], [94]), but in some later editions, notably that which appeared at Venice in

Text-fig. 97. “Aconitum luteum minus” = Eranthis hiemalis L., Winter Aconite [Dodoens, Pemptades, 1583].

1565, there are large illustrations which are reproduced on a reduced scale in Text-figs. [43], [44], [95]. These wood-cuts resemble the smaller ones in character, but are more decorative in effect, and often remarkably fine. Whereas in the work of Brunfels and Fuchs, the beautiful line of a single stalk is often the key-note of the whole drawing, in the work of Mattioli, the eye most frequently finds its satisfaction in the rich massing of foliage, fruit and flowers, suggestive of southern luxuriance. Many of his figures would require little modification to form the basis of a tapestry pattern.

Another remarkable group of wood-engravings consists of those published by Plantin in connection with the work of the three Low Country herbalists, Dodoens, de l’Écluse and de l’Obel. In the original edition of Dodoens’ herbal (‘Crǔÿdeboeck,’ published by Vanderloe in 1554), more than half the illustrations were taken from Fuchs’ octavo edition of 1545. But eventually, as we have pointed out in Chapter IV, Vanderloe parted with Fuchs’ blocks. After this, Plantin took over the publication of Dodoens’ books, and in his final collected works (‘Stirpium historiæ pemptades sex,’ 1583) the majority of the illustrations were original, and were carried out under the author’s eye (Text-figs. [37], [38], [96], [97]). A few (namely those marked in the Pemptades, “Ex Codice Cæsareo”) are copied from Juliana Anicia’s manuscript of Dioscorides to which we have more than once referred. Some are also borrowed from the works of de l’Écluse and de l’Obel, since Plantin was publisher to all three botanists, and the wood-blocks engraved for them were regarded as, to some extent, forming a common stock. In fact it is often difficult to decide to which author any given figure originally belonged. This difficulty is enhanced by the fact that some were actually made for one and then used for another, before the work for which they had been originally destined was published.

There is little to be said about de l’Obel’s figures, which partook of the character of the rest of the wood-cuts for which Plantin made himself responsible. The Yellow Waterlily (Text-fig. [67]) is given here as an example.

The wood-cuts illustrating the comparatively small books of de l’Écluse are perhaps the most interesting of the figures associated with this trio of botanists. The Dragon Tree (Text-fig. [98]), “Sedum majus” (Text-fig. [59]) and Job’s Tears (Text-fig. [39]) are examples from his book on the plants of Spain, which appeared in 1576.

Text-fig. 98. “Draco arbor” = Dracæna, Dragon Tree [de l’Écluse, Rariorum ... per Hispanias, 1576].

The popularity of the large collection of blocks got together by the publishing house of Plantin is shown by the frequency with which they were copied. Dr B. Daydon Jackson has pointed out that the wood-cut of the Clematis, which first appeared in Dodoens’ ‘Pemptades’ of 1583, reappears, either in identical form, or more or less accurately copied, in works by de l’Obel, de l’Écluse, Gerard, Parkinson, Jean Bauhin, Chabræus and Petiver. The actual blocks themselves appear to have been used for the last time when Johnson’s edition of Gerard’s herbal made its final appearance in London in 1636.

Text-fig. 99. “Cyclaminus” [Camerarius, De plantis Epitome ... Matthioli, 1586].

Another school of plant illustration is represented in the work of Gesner and Camerarius. As we mentioned on p. [92], Gesner’s drawings were not published during his life-time, but some of them were eventually produced by Camerarius, with the addition of figures of his own, to illustrate his ‘Epitome Matthioli’ of 1586 (Text-figs. 72 and 99) and also his later work. In 1751, C. J. Trew published a collection of Gesner’s drawings, many of which had never been seen before; but even then, it proved impossible to separate the work of the two botanists with any completeness, since Gesner’s drawings and blocks had passed through the hands of Camerarius, who had incorporated his own with them. A few wood-cuts however, which appeared as an appendix to Simler’s Life of Gesner, are undoubtedly Gesner’s own work. One of these is reproduced in Text-fig. 48.

Text-fig. 100. “Rosa Hierichuntica” = Anastatica hierochuntica L., Rose of Jericho [Camerarius, Hortus medicus, 1588].

Text-fig. 101. “Piper Nigrum” = Pepper [d’Aléchamps Historia generalis plantarum, Vol. II. 1587].

Professor Treviranus, whose work on the use of wood-engravings as botanical illustrations is so well known, considered that some of the drawings published by Camerarius in connection with his last work (‘Hortus medicus et philosophicus,’ 1588) were among the best ever produced. Examples are shown in Text-figs. [34], [35], [71], [100]. Treviranus pointed out that one of their great merits lay in the selection of good, typical specimens as models. These figures are very much more botanical than those of any previous author; in fact—as Hatton has pointed out in ‘The Craftsman’s Plant-Book’—they are beginning to become too botanical for the artist! Camerarius often gives detailed analyses of the flowers and fruit on an enlarged scale (Text-fig. [99]). Among the illustrations here reproduced will be seen one (Text-fig. [100]) in which the seedling of the Rose of Jericho is drawn side by side with the mature plant, and another (Text-fig. [35]) in which the structure of a germinating Date is shown with great clearness. This interest in seedlings gives a modern touch to the work of Camerarius.

Text-fig. 102. “Cedrus” = Cedar [Belon, De arboribus, 1553].

A number of wood-blocks were cut at Lyons to illustrate d’Aléchamps’ great work, the ‘Historia generalis plantarum,’ 1586-7. Many of these figures were taken from the herbals of Fuchs, Mattioli and Dodoens, but they were often embellished with representations of insects, and detached leaves and flowers, scattered over the block with no apparent object except to fill the space. This peculiarity, which is shown in the engraving of Ornithogalum reproduced in Text-fig. [51], appears also in the illustrations of a book on Simples, by Joannes Mesua, published in Venice in 1581. In certain other wood-cuts in d’Aléchamps’ herbal, solid black is used in an effective fashion. This is the case for instance in Text-fig. [101], which is also interesting since two of the leaves bear the initials “M” and “H,” which were possibly those of the artist.

Among less important botanical wood-engravings of the sixteenth century we may mention those in the works of Pierre Belon, such as ‘De arboribus’ (1553). In this book there are some graceful wood-cuts of trees, one of which is reproduced in Text-fig. [102]. The initial letters used in the present volume are taken from another of Belon’s books[35].

Some specimens of the quaint little illustrations to Castor Durantes ‘Herbario Nuovo’ of 1585 are shown in Text-figs. [45], [68] and [103]. It is interesting to compare his drawing of the Waterlily (Text-fig. [68]) with those of the Venetian edition of the Latin ‘Herbarius’ of 1499 (Text-fig. [65]), ‘The Grete Herball’ (Text-fig. [21]), Brunfels’ ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones’ of 1530 (Text-fig. [66]) and de l’Obel’s ‘Kruydtbœck’ of 1581 (Text-fig. [67]).

The engravings in Porta’s ‘Phytognomonica’ (1588) and in Prospero Alpino’s little book on Egyptian plants (1592) are of good quality. Some curious examples of the former, which will be discussed at greater length in the next chapter, are shown in Text-figs. [109] and [110], and the Glasswort, one of the best wood-cuts among the latter, is reproduced in Text-fig. [47].

Passing on to the seventeenth century, we find that the ‘Prodromos’ of Gaspard Bauhin (1620) contains a number of original illustrations, but they are not very remarkable, and often have rather the appearance of having been drawn from pressed specimens. Two examples of these wood-cuts will be found in Text-figs. 49 and 62. The former is interesting as being an early representation of the Potato.

Text-fig. 103. “Lentisco del Peru” = Pistacia lentiscus L., Mastic Tree [Durante, Herbario Nuovo, 1585].

Parkinson’s ‘Paradisus Terrestris’ of 1629 contains a considerable proportion of original figures, besides others borrowed from previous writers. The engravings were made in England by Switzer. They are poor in quality, and the innovation of representing a number of species in one large wood-cut is not very successful. Text-fig. [55] shows a twig of Barberry, which is but a single item in one of these large illustrations.

Among still later wood-engravings, we may mention the large, rather coarse cuts in Aldrovandi’s ‘Dendrologia’ of 1667, one of which, the figure of the Orange, or “Mala Aurantia Chinensia,” is reproduced in Text-fig. [104], on a greatly reduced scale.

Text-fig. 104. “Mala Aurantia Chinensia” = Orange [Aldrovandi, Dendrologia, 1667]. Reduced.

In the present chapter no attempt has been made to discuss the illustrations of those herbals (e.g. the works of Turner, Tabernæmontanus, Gerard, etc.) in which most of the wood-cuts are copied from previous books. In the majority of such cases, the source of the figures has already been indicated in Chapter IV.

This brief review of the history of botanical wood-cuts leads us to the conclusion that between 1530 and 1630, that is to say during the hundred years when the herbal was at its zenith, the number of sets of wood-engravings which were pre-eminent—either on account of their intrinsic qualities, or because they were repeatedly copied from book to book—was strictly limited. We might almost say that there were only five collections of wood-cuts of plants of really first-rate importance—those, namely, of Brunfels, Fuchs, Mattioli, and Plantin, with those of Gesner and Camerarius, all of which were published in the sixty years between 1530 and 1590. The wood-blocks of the two botanists last mentioned cannot be considered apart from one another; from the scientific point of view they show a marked advance, in the introduction of enlarged sketches of the flowers and fruit, in addition to the habit drawings. Plantin’s set included those blocks which were engraved for the herbals of de l’Obel, de l’Écluse, and the later works of Dodoens.

At the close of the sixteenth century, wood cutting on the Continent was distinctly on the wane, and had begun to be superseded by engraving on metal. The earliest botanical work, in which copper-plate etchings were used as illustrations, is said to be Fabio Colonna’s ‘Phytobasanos’ of 1592. These etchings, two of which are shown in Text-figs. [46] and [105], are on a small scale, but are extremely beautiful and accurate. The details of the flowers and fruit are often shown separately, the figures, in this respect, being comparable with those of Gesner and Camerarius, though, owing to their small size, they do not convey so much botanical information. In a later book of Colonna’s, the ‘Ekphrasis,’ analyses of the floral parts are given in even greater detail than in the ‘Phytobasanos.’ Colonna expressly mentions that he used wild plants as models wherever possible, because cultivation is apt to produce alterations in the form. The decorative border, surrounding each of the figures reproduced, was not printed from the copper.

In the seventeenth century, a large number of botanical books, illustrated by means of copper-plates, were produced. The majority of these were published late in the century, and thus scarcely come within our purview. A few of the earlier ones may, however, be referred to at this point. In 1611 Paul Renaulme’s ‘Specimen Historiæ Plantarum’ was published in Paris, but though this work was illustrated with good copper-plates, the effect was somewhat spoilt by the transparency of the paper. Two years later appeared the ‘Hortus Eystettensis,’ by Basil Besler, an apothecary of Nuremberg. It is a large work with enormous illustrations, mostly of mediocre quality. In the succeeding year, 1614, a book was published which has been described, probably with justice, as containing some of the best copper-plate figures of plants ever produced. This was the ‘Hortus Floridus’ of Crispian de Passe, a member of a famous family of engravers. Like Parkinson’s ‘Paradisus Terrestris,’ into which some of the figures are copied, it is more of the nature of a garden book than a herbal.

In 1615 an English edition of Crispian de Passe’s work was published at Utrecht, under the title of ‘A Garden of Flowers.’ The plates are the same as those in the original work. The artist is particularly successful with the bulbous and tuberous plants, the cultivation of which has long been such a specialty of Holland. Plate [XIX] is a characteristic example, but only part of the original picture is here reproduced. The soil on which the plants grow is often shown, and the horizon is placed very low, so that they stand up against the sky. This convention seems to have been characteristic, not only of the plant drawings of the Dutch artists, but also of their landscapes. In the paintings of Cuyp and Paul Potter, the sky-line is sometimes so low that it is seen between the legs of the cows and horses. This treatment was no doubt suggested by life in a flat country, but it was carried to such an extreme that the artist’s eye-level must have been almost on the ground!

Text-fig. 105. “Chondrilla” [Colonna, Phytobasanos, 1592].

The purchaser of ‘The Garden of Flowers’ receives detailed directions for the painting of the figures, which he is expected to carry out himself. The book is divided into four parts, appropriate to the four seasons, and each part is preceded by an encouraging verse intended to keep alive the owner’s enthusiasm for his task. The stanza at the beginning of the last section seems to show some anxiety on the part of the author, lest the reader should have begun to weary over the lengthy occupation of colouring the plates. It reads as follows:—

“If hethertoe (my frende) you have,

Performde the taske in hand:

With ioy proceede, this last will be

The best, when all is scande.”

As we have already mentioned, it is not our intention to deal with the books published in the latter part of the seventeenth century. We may, however, for the sake of completeness, mention two or three examples in order to show the kind of work that was then being done. Paolo Boccone’s ‘Icones et Descriptiones’ of 1674 was illustrated with copper-plates, some of which were remarkably subtle and delicate, while others were rather carelessly executed. Among slightly later works, we may refer to a quaint little Dutch herbal by Stephen Blankaart, and to the ‘Paradisus Batavus’ of Paul Hermann, both of which belong to the last decade of the century. The latter, which is an “Elzevir” with very good copper-plates, was published after the author’s death, and dedicated, by his widow, to Henry Compton, Bishop of London.

In the plates which illustrate Blankaart’s herbal, a landscape and figures are often introduced to form a background, and the low horizon, to which we referred in speaking of the ‘Hortus Floridus,’ is a very conspicuous feature. The picture of the Winter Cherry is here reproduced as an example (Text-fig. [106]). As showing the complete revolution in the style of plant illustration in two hundred years, it is interesting to compare this drawing with that of the same subject in the German ‘Herbarius’ of 1485 (Text-fig. [78]). It must be confessed that the fifteenth-century wood-cut, though far less detailed and painstaking, seizes the general character of the plant in a way that the seventeenth-century copper-plate somewhat misses.

Plate XIX

‘Crocus Byzantinus’ and ‘Crocus Montanus hispan.’ [Part of a Plate from Crispian de Passe, Hortus Floridus, 1614].

Etching and engraving on metal are well adapted to very delicate and detailed work, but from the point of view of book-illustration, wood-engraving is generally more effective. In the latter the lines are raised, and the method of printing is thus exactly the same as in the case of type, while in the former the process is reversed and the lines are incised. As a result, there is a harmony about a book illustrated with wood-cuts which cannot, in the nature of things, be attained, when such different processes as printing from raised type, and from incised metal, are brought together in the same volume.

Text-fig. 106. “Alkekengi” = Physalis, Winter Cherry [Blankaart, Neder-landschen Herbarius, 1698].

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CHAPTER VIII
THE DOCTRINE OF SIGNATURES AND ASTROLOGICAL BOTANY

URING the preceding chapters, we have restricted our discussion to those writings which may be credited with having taken some part, however slight, in advancing the knowledge of plants. We have, as it were, confined our attention to the main stream of botanical progress, and its tributaries. But before concluding, it may be well to call to mind the existence of more than one backwater, connected indeed with the main channel, but leading nowhere.

The subject of the superstitions, with which herb collecting has been hedged about at different periods, is far too wide to be dealt with in detail in the present book. We have referred in earlier chapters to the observances with which the Greek herb-gatherers surrounded their calling (p. 7) and to the mysterious dangers which are described in the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius as attending the uprooting of the Mandrake (p. 36). There is comparatively little reference to such matters in the works of the German Fathers of Botany or those of the greatest of their successors; indeed, as we have previously mentioned (pp. [55]-58, [103], [104]), Bock’s famous ‘Kreuter Bůch’ and William Turner’s herbal contain definite refutations of various superstitions.

Contemporaneously, however, with the fine series of herbals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, there appeared a succession of books about plants, which had as their subjects one or both of two topics—the “doctrine of signatures,” and “astrological botany.” These works cannot be said to have furthered the science to any appreciable extent, but they have considerable interest, rather on account of the curious light which they throw upon the attitude of mind of their writers (and presumably their readers also) than from any intrinsic merit. One of these authors, in his preface, speaks of the “Notions” and “Observations” contained in his work, “most of which I am confident are true, and if there be any that are not so, yet they are pleasant.” The excuse that the “Notions,” cherished by the botanical mystics of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, were “pleasant,” even if untrue, may perhaps be offered in extenuation of the very brief discussion of their salient points, which we propose to undertake in the present chapter.

Text-fig. 107. Mandrake [Brunfels, Contrafayt Kreüterbuch, Ander Teyl, 1537].

The most famous of those mystical writers who turned their attention to botany was undoubtedly Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus of Hohenheim, better known by the name of Paracelsus (1493-1541). His portrait is shown in Text-fig. [108]. He was a doctor, as his father had been before him, and in 1527 he became professor at Basle. Here he gave great offence by lecturing in the vulgar tongue, burning the writings of Avicenna and Galen, and interpreting his own works instead of those of the ancients. His disregard of cherished traditions, and his personal peculiarities led to difficulties with his colleagues, and he only held his post for a very short time. For the rest of his life he was a wanderer on the face of the earth, and he died in comparative poverty at Salzburg in 1541.

Text-fig. 108. Theophrastus von Hohenheim, called Paracelsus (1493-1541) [From a medal, see F. P. Weber, Appendix II].

The character and writings of Paracelsus are full of the strangest contradictions. Browning’s poem perhaps gives a better idea of his career than any prose account aiming at historical accuracy. His life was so strange that the imagination of a poet is needed to revitalise it for us to-day. His almost incredible boastfulness is the main characteristic that everyone remembers—the word “bombast” being, in all probability, coined from his name. In one of his works, after contemptuously dismissing all the great physicians who had preceded him—Galen, Avicenna and others—he remarks, “I shall be the Monarch and mine shall the monarchy be[36].” The conclusion that he was something of a quack can hardly be avoided, but at the same time it must be confessed that his writings were occasionally illumined with real scientific insight, and that he infused new life into chemistry and medicine.

Paracelsus’ actual knowledge of botany appears to have been meagre, for not more than a couple of dozen plant names are found in his works. To understand his views on the properties of plants it is necessary to turn for a moment to his chemical theories. He regarded “sulphur,” “salt,” and “mercury” as the three fundamental principles of all bodies. The sense in which he uses these terms is symbolic, and thus differs entirely from that in which they are employed to-day. “Sulphur” appears to embody the ideas of change, combustibility, volatilisation and growth; “salt,” those of stability and non-inflammability; “mercury,” that of fluidity. The “virtues” of plants depend, according to Paracelsus, upon the proportions in which they contain these three principles.

The medicinal properties of plants are thus the outcome of qualities that are not obvious at sight. How, then, is the physician to be guided in selecting herbal remedies to cure the several ailments of his patients? The answer to this question given by Paracelsus is summed up in what is known as the Doctrine of Signatures.

According to this doctrine, many medicinal herbs are stamped, as it were, with some clear indication of their uses. This may perhaps be best understood by means of a quotation from Paracelsus himself (in the words of a seventeenth-century English translation). “I have oft-times declared, how by the outward shapes and qualities of things we may know their inward Vertues, which God hath put in them for the good of man. So in St Johns wort, we may take notice of the form of the leaves and flowers, the porosity of the leaves, the Veins. 1. The porositie or holes in the leaves, signifie to us, that this herb helps both inward and outward holes or cuts in the skin.... 2. The flowers of Saint Johns wort, when they are putrified they are like blood; which teacheth us, that this herb is good for wounds, to close them and fill them up” etc.

It is sometimes held that the real originator of the theory of signatures, in any approximation to a scientific form, was Giambattista Porta, who was probably born at Naples shortly before the death of Paracelsus. He wrote a book about human physiognomy, in which he endeavoured to find, in the bodily form of man, indications as to his character and spiritual qualities. This study suggested to him the idea that the inner qualities, and the healing powers of the herbs might also be revealed by external signs, and thus led to his famous work, the ‘Phytognomonica,’ which was first published at Naples in 1588.

Porta developed his theory in detail, and pushed it to great lengths. He supposed, for example, that long-lived plants would lengthen a man’s life, while short-lived plants would abbreviate it. He held that herbs with a yellow sap would cure jaundice, while those whose surface was rough to the touch would heal those diseases that destroy the natural smoothness of the skin. The resemblance of certain plants to certain animals opened to Porta a vast field of dogmatism on a basis of conjecture. Plants with flowers shaped like butterflies would, he supposed, cure the bites of insects, while those whose roots or fruits had a jointed appearance, and thus remotely suggested a scorpion, must necessarily be sovereign remedies for the sting of that creature. Porta also detected many obscure points of resemblance between the flowers and fruits of certain plants, and the limbs and organs of certain animals. In such cases of resemblance he held that an investigation of the temperament of the animal in question would determine what kind of disease the plant was intended to cure. It will be recognised from these examples that the doctrine of signatures was remarkably elastic, and was not fettered by any rigid consistency.

Text-fig. 109. Herbs of the Scorpion [Porta, Phytognomonica, 1591].

The illustrations of the ‘Phytognomonica’ are of great interest as interpreting Porta’s point of view. The part of man’s body which is healed by a particular herb, or the animal whose bites or stings can be cured by it, are represented in the same wood-cut as the herb. For example, the back view of a human head with a thick crop of hair is introduced into the block with the Maidenhair Fern, which is an ancient specific for baldness; a Pomegranate with its seeds exposed, and a plant of “Toothwort,” with its hard, white scale-leaves, are represented in the same figure as a set of human teeth; a drawing of a scorpion accompanies some pictures of plants with articulated seed-vessels (Text-fig. [109]) and an adder’s head is introduced below the drawing of the plant known as the “Adder’s tongue.”

It would serve little purpose to deal in detail with the various exponents of the doctrine of signatures, such, for example, as Johann Popp, who in 1625 published a herbal written from this standpoint, and containing also some astrological botany. We will only now refer to one of the later champions of the signatures of plants, an English herbalist of the seventeenth century, who made the subject peculiarly his own. This was William Cole[37], a Fellow of New College, Oxford, who lived and botanised at Putney in Surrey. He seems to have been a person of much character, and his vigorous arguments would often be very telling, were it possible to admit the soundness of his premisses.

William Cole carried the doctrine of signatures to as extreme a point as can well be imagined. His account of the Walnut, from his work ‘Adam in Eden,’ 1657, may be quoted as an illustration: “Wall-nuts have the perfect Signature of the Head: The outer husk or green Covering, represent the Pericranium, or outward skin of the skull, whereon the hair groweth, and therefore salt made of those husks or barks, are exceeding good for wounds in the head. The inner wooddy shell hath the Signature of the Skull, and the little yellow skin, or Peel, that covereth the Kernell of the hard Meninga and Pia-mater, which are the thin scarfes that envelope the brain. The Kernel hath the very figure of the Brain, and therefore it is very profitable for the Brain, and resists poysons; For if the Kernel be bruised, and moystned with the quintessence of Wine, and laid upon the Crown of the Head, it comforts the brain and head mightily.”

In Cole’s writings we meet with instances of a curious confusion of thought, which characterised the doctrine of signatures. The signature in some cases represents an animal injurious to man, and is taken to denote that the plant in question will cure its bites or stings. For instance, “That Plant that is called Adders tongue, because the stalke of it represents one, is a soveraigne wound Herbe to cure the biting of an Adder.” In other cases, the signature represents one of the organs of the human body, and indicates that the plant will cure diseases of that organ. For example, “Heart Trefoyle is so called, not onely because the Leafe is Triangular like the Heart of a Man, but also because each Leafe containes the perfect Icon of an Heart, and that in its proper colour, viz. a flesh colour. It defendeth the Heart against the noisome vapour of the Spleen.”

Cole seems to have possessed a philosophic mind, and to have endeavoured to follow his theories to their logical conclusion. He was much exercised because a large proportion of the plants with undoubted medicinal virtues have no obvious signatures. He concluded that a certain number were endowed with signatures, in order to set man on the right track in his search for herbal remedies; the remainder were purposely left blank, in order to encourage his skill and resource in discovering their properties for himself. A further ingenious argument is that a number of plants are left without signatures, because if all were signed, “the rarity of it, which is the delight, would be taken away by too much harping upon one string.”

Our author was evidently a keen and enthusiastic collector of herbs. In his book ‘The Art of Simpling’ (1656) he complains bitterly that physicians leave the gathering of herbs to the apothecaries, and the latter “rely commonly upon the words of the silly Hearb-women, who many times bring them Quid for Quo, then which nothing can be more sad.”

Another strong supporter in this country of the doctrine of signatures was the astrological botanist, Robert Turner. He definitely states that “God hath imprinted upon the Plants, Herbs, and Flowers, as it were in Hieroglyphicks, the very signature of their Vertues.”

It is interesting to find that the doctrine of signatures was repudiated by the best of the sixteenth-century herbalists. Dodoens, for instance, wrote in 1583 that “the doctrine of the Signatures of Plants has received the authority of no ancient writer who is held in any esteem: moreover it is so changeable and uncertain that, as far as science or learning is concerned, it seems absolutely unworthy of acceptance[38].”

A later writer, Guy de la Brosse, criticised the theory very acutely, pointing out that it was quite easy to imagine any resemblance between a plant and an animal that happened to be convenient. “C’est comme des nuées,” he writes, “que l’on fait ressembler à tout ce que la fantaisie se represente, à une Gruë, à une Grenoüille, à un homme, à une armee, et autres semblables visions[39].”

Both Paracelsus and Porta deprecate the use of foreign drugs, on the ground that in the country where a disease arises, there nature produces means to overcome it. This idea is one which constantly recurs in the herbals. In 1664 Robert Turner wrote, “For what Climate soever is subject to any particular Disease, in the same Place there grows a Cure.” There is ample evidence of the survival of this theory even in the nineteenth century; for instance, in the preface to Thomas Green’s ‘Universal Herbal’ of 1816 we find the remark, “Nature has, in this country, as well as in all others, provided, in the herbs of its own growth, the remedies for the several diseases to which it is most subject.” The notion persists indeed to the present day; there is a wide-spread belief among children, for example, that Docks always grow in the neighbourhood of Stinging Nettles, in order to provide a cure in situ! Whether this view contains any grain of truth or not, it certainly deserves our gratitude, since it led to Dr Maclagan’s discovery of Salicin as a cure for rheumatic fever. On the ground that in the case of malarial diseases “the poisons which cause them and the remedy which cures them are naturally produced under similar climatic conditions,” Maclagan sought and found, in the bark of the Willow, which inhabits low-lying, damp situations, this drug, which has proved so valuable in the treatment of rheumatism[40].

The doctrine of signatures is not the only piece of botanical mysticism associated with the name of Paracelsus. He was also a firm believer in the influence of the heavenly bodies upon the vegetable world, or, in other words, in botanical astrology. He considered that each plant was under the influence of some particular star, and that it was this influence which drew the plant out of the earth when the seed germinated. He held each plant to be a terrestrial star, and each star, a spiritualised plant. Giambattista Porta also believed in a relation between certain plants and corresponding stars or planets. A figure in his ‘Phytognomonica’ here reproduced (Text-fig. [110]) shows a number of “lunar plants.”

Text-fig. 110. Lunar Herbs [Porta, Phytognomonica, 1591].

In order to appreciate the attitude in which Paracelsus and his followers approached the subject of the relation between plants and stars, it is necessary to realise the position which Astrology had come to occupy in the Middle Ages[41].

It was in ancient Babylon that this pseudo-science mainly took its rise. Here the five planets which we now call Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Mars and Mercury, and also the Sun and Moon, were identified, in certain senses, with seven great Gods. The movements of these heavenly bodies were supposed to represent in symbolic fashion the deeds of these Gods. It was thought possible to interpret the movements and relative positions of the planets and the sun and moon, in a way that threw light upon the fate of mankind, in so far as it depended upon the Gods in question.

Some centuries before the Christian era, Babylonian astrology began to influence the nations farther to the West. In Greece, the subject took a more personal turn and it was believed that the fate, not only of nations but of individuals, was determined in the skies, and could be foretold from the position of the planets at the time of a man’s birth. At a later period, speculation on the subject was carried further and further, until finally not only men, but all animals, vegetables and minerals were associated, either with particular planets, or with the constellations of the Zodiac.

That a belief in the influence of the moon upon plants dates back to very early times in western Europe, is shown by the statement, in Pliny’s ‘Natural History,’ that the Druids in Britain gathered the Mistletoe for medical purposes, with many rites and ceremonies, when the moon was six days old. To trace the history of astrology in detail is altogether beyond our province, but, as an example of its universal acceptance, we may recall the reference to the supreme influence of the stars in the preface of the Herbarius zu Teutsch of 1485 (see p. 19). Astrological ideas were familiar in Elizabethan England, and are reflected in many passages in Shakespeare’s plays, never perhaps more charmingly than in Beatrice’s laughing words—“there was a star danced, and under that I was born.”

Paracelsus, though his name is so well known in this connection, was by no means the first writer on botanical astrology. A book called ‘De virtutibus herbarum,’ erroneously attributed to Albertus Magnus, had a wide circulation from early times, being first printed in the fifteenth century. It was translated into many languages, one English version appearing about 1560 under the title ‘The boke of secretes of Albartus Magnus, of the vertues of Herbes, stones and certaine beastes.’ It does not contain very much information about plants, being mostly occupied with animals and minerals, but there are very definite references to astrology. For instance we are told that if the Marigold “be gathered, the Sunne beynge in the sygne Leo, in August, and be wrapped in the leafe of a Laurell, or baye tree, and a wolves tothe be added therto, no man shal be able to have a word to speake agaynst the bearer therof, but woordes of peace.” Concerning the Plantain we read, “The rote of this herbe is mervalous good agaynst the payne of the headde, because the signe of the Ramme is supposed to be the house of the planete Mars, which is the head of the whole worlde.”

The herbal of Bartholomæus Carrichter (1575), in which the plants are arranged according to the signs of the Zodiac, is considerably more complete and elaborate than the book to which we have just referred. It seems however impossible to discover the principle, if any, which guided the author in connecting any given herb with one sign of the Zodiac rather than another.

Much stress is laid in this herbal on the hour at which the herbs ought to be gathered, great importance being ascribed to the state of the moon at the time. We are reminded of a passage in ‘The Merchant of Venice’ where Jessica says of a bright moonlight evening—

“In such a night

Medea gather’d the enchanted herbs

That did renew old Æson.”

This aspect of the subject is emphasised in a curious little book published in 1571, Nicolaus Winckler’s ‘Chronica herbarum,’ which is an astrological calendar giving information as to the appropriate times for gathering different roots and herbs.

Almost contemporaneously with Carrichter’s ‘Kreutterbůch,’ the first part of a work on astrological botany was published by Leonhardt Thurneisser zum Thurn. This writer, who was possessed of undoubted talent, was also an adventurer and charlatan of the first order. He was born at Basle in 1530. He learned his father’s craft, that of a goldsmith, and is said to have also helped a local doctor to collect and prepare herbs, and to have been employed to read aloud to him from the works of Paracelsus. His career in Basle came to an untimely end, for he seems to have tried to retaliate on some customers who treated him badly, by selling them gilded lead as a substitute for gold, and consequently had to flee the country when the fraud was discovered. He travelled widely, making an especial study of mining. He had an adventurous and varied life, sometimes in poverty and obscurity, sometimes in wealth and renown.

During Thurneisser’s most influential period he lived in Berlin, practising medicine, making amulets, talismans, and secret remedies which yielded large profits. He also published astrological calendars, cast nativities, and supplemented his income by the practice of usury. At this time he owned a printing press, and employed a large staff which included artists and engravers. Later on, he was pursued by a succession of misfortunes, including accusations of magic and witchcraft, which compelled him to leave Germany. Little is known of the latter part of his life; he died in the last decade of the sixteenth century.

Leonhardt Thurneisser projected a great botanical work in ten books. The first was published in Berlin in 1578, but the others never appeared. The title was ‘Historia unnd Beschreibung Influentischer, Elementischer und Natürlicher Wirckungen, Aller fremden unnd heimischen Erdgewechssen.’ A Latin version of this book, under the name, ‘Historia sive descriptio plantarum,’ was published in the same year. This first instalment deals only with the Umbellifers, which were regarded as under the dominion of the Sun and Mars. The nomenclature and the figures are not clear enough to allow individual species to be recognised. Each is drawn in an ellipse surrounded by an ornamental border, which contains mystical inscriptions denoting the properties of the plant (e.g. Plate [XX]). In some cases diagrams are given, showing the conjunction of the stars under which the herb should be gathered (Text-fig. [111]).

Plate XX

‘Cervaria fomina’ [Thurneisser, Historia sive descriptio plantarum, 1587].

Text-fig. 111. Astrological Diagram relating to the gathering of “Cervaria fœmina” [Thurneisser, Historia sive Descriptio Plantarum, 1587].

After the manner of the ancients, Thurneisser describes plants, according to their qualities, as either male or female. He also adds a third class, typified by a child, to symbolise those whose qualities are feeble. It may perhaps be worth while to translate here a few sentences of the first chapter of the ‘Historia[42],’ to show how far such writers as Leonhardt Thurneisser had departed from the pursuit of the subject upon legitimate lines. When discussing the planting of roots and herbs and the gathering of seeds, he declares that “it is absolutely essential that these operations should be performed so as to correspond with the stations and positions of the planets and heavenly bodies, to whose control diseases are properly subject. And against disease we have to employ herbs, with due regard of course to the sex, whichever it be, of human beings; and so herbs intended to benefit the male sex should be procured when the Sun or Moon is in some male sign [of the Zodiac], e.g. Sagittarius or Aquarius, or if this is impossible, at least when they are in Leo. Similarly herbs intended to benefit women should be gathered under some female sign, Virgo, of course, or, if that is impossible, in Taurus or Cancer.”

In the seventeenth century, England became strongly infected with astrological botany. The most notorious exponent of the subject was Nicholas Culpeper (1616-1654), who, about 1640, set up as an astrologer and physician in Spitalfields. His portrait is reproduced in Plate [XXI]. He created great indignation among the medical profession by publishing, under the name of ‘A Physicall Directory,’ an unauthorised English translation of the Pharmacopœia, which had been issued by the College of Physicians. That Culpeper was unpopular with orthodox medical practitioners is hardly surprising, when we consider the way in which he speaks of them in this book, as “a company of proud, insulting, domineering Doctors, whose wits were born above five hundred years before themselves.” He goes on to ask—“Is it handsom and wel-beseeming a Common-wealth to see a Doctor ride in State, in Plush with a footcloath, and not a grain of Wit but what was in print before he was born?”

Many editions of the ‘Physicall Directory’ were issued under different names. As ‘The English Physician enlarged,’ it enjoyed great popularity, and was reprinted as late as the nineteenth century. The edition of 1653 is described on the title-page as “Being an Astrologo-Physical Discourse of the Vulgar Herbs of this Nation: Containing a Compleat Method of Physick, whereby a man may preserve his Body in Health; or Cure himself, being Sick, for three pence Charge, with such things only as grow in England, they being most fit for English Bodies.”

Plate XXI

NICHOLAS CULPEPER (1616-1654).

[A Physicall Directory, 1649. Engraving by Cross.]

Culpeper describes certain herbs as being under the dominion of the sun, the moon, or a planet, and others as under a planet and also one of the constellations of the Zodiac. His reasons for connecting a particular herb with a particular heavenly body are curiously inconsequent. He states, for example, that “Wormwood is an Herb of Mars, ... I prove it thus; What delights in Martial places, is a Martial Herb; but Wormwood delights in Martial places (for about Forges and Iron Works you may gather a Cart load of it) Ergo it is a Martial Herb.”

The author explains that each disease is caused by a planet. One way of curing the ailment is by the use of herbs belonging to an opposing planet—e.g. diseases produced by Jupiter are healed by the herbs of Mercury. On the other hand, the illness may be cured “by sympathy,” that is by the use of herbs belonging to the planet which is responsible for the disease.

Culpeper indulges in a strange maze of similar reasons to justify the use of Wormwood for affections of the eyes. “The Eyes are under the Luminaries; the right Eye of a Man, and the left Eye of a Woman the Sun claims Dominion over: The left Eye of a Man, and the right Eye of a Woman, are the priviledg of the Moon, Wormwood an Herb of Mars cures both[43]; what belongs to the Sun by Sympathy, because he is exalted in his House; but what belongs to the Moon by Antipathy, becaus he hath his Fal in hers.”

It is somewhat surprising to find that, in his preface, Culpeper claims that he surpasses all his predecessors in being alone guided by reason, whereas all previous writers are “as full of nonsense and contradictions as an Egg is ful of meat.”

Culpeper met with considerable opposition and criticism from his contemporaries. Shortly after his death, William Cole in his ‘Art of Simpling’ wrote scornfully of astrological botanists, “Amongst which Master Culpeper (a man now dead, and therefore I shall speak of him as modestly as I can, for were he alive I should be more plain with him) was a great Stickler; And he, forsooth, judgeth all men unfit to be Physitians, who are not Artists in Astrology, as if he and some other Figure-flingers his companions, had been the onely Physitians in England, whereas for ought I can gather, either by his Books, or learne from the report of others, he was a man very ignorant in the forme of Simples.”

It is interesting to notice that Cole, though he seems to the modern reader very credulous on the subject of the signatures of plants, was completely sceptical as to the association of astrology and botany. The main argument by which he tries to discredit it is an ingenious one. The knowledge of herbs is, he says, “a subject as antient as the Creation (as the Scriptures witnesse) yea more antient then the Sunne, or Moon, or Starres, they being created on the fourth day, whereas Plants were the third. Thus did God even at first confute the folly of those Astrologers, who goe about to maintaine that all vegitables in their growth, are enslaved to a necessary and unavoidable dependance on the influences of the Starres; Whereas Plants were, even when Planets were not.”

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CHAPTER IX
CONCLUSIONS

General review of the subjects discussed in the foregoing chapters brings home to us several results of some interest. Perhaps the most obvious of these is the incalculable debt which Botany owes to Medicine. An overwhelming majority of the herbalists were physicians, who were led to the study of botany on account of its connection with the arts of healing. As we have already pointed out, medicine gave the original impulse, not only to Systematic Botany, but also to the study of the Anatomy of Plants.

However, as the evolution of the herbal proceeded, we have shown that botany rose from being a mere hand-maid of medicine to a position of comparative independence. This is well exemplified in the history of plant classification. When the early medical botanists attempted any arrangement of their material, it was on a purely utilitarian basis; the herbs were merely classified according to the qualities which made them of value to man. But as the science grew, the need of a more systematic classification began to make itself felt, and in some of the works published in the latter half of the period we are considering, there is a distinct, if only partially successful, attempt to group the plants according to the affinities which they present when considered in themselves, and not in relation to man. The ideal of a natural system in the Vegetable Kingdom, in which each plant should find its inevitable place, must have been clear for instance to de l’Obel, when he wrote in the ‘Adversaria,’ of “an order, than which nothing more beautiful exists in the heavens, or in the mind of a wise man[44].”

Second only to the debt of botany to medicine is its debt to certain branches of the fine arts, more especially wood-engraving. The draughtsman and engraver not only disseminated the knowledge of plants, but their work must often have revealed to the botanist features which had escaped his less highly educated and subtle eye.

As we have already pointed out, the art of plant description lagged conspicuously behind that of plant illustration. The vague and crude, but often picturesque, accounts, given by the early herbalists of the plants which they observed, contrast curiously with the technically accurate, but colourless and impersonal descriptions from the pens of modern botanists.

The rapid rise of botany, in the two centuries which we have reviewed, must have been greatly stimulated by the cosmopolitanism of the savants of the renaissance. Periods of study at a succession of different universities, and wide European travel, including visits to scientific men of various countries, seem to have formed part of the recognised equipment of the botanical student. Possibly the zeal for travel was not altogether spontaneous, but was artificially stimulated by the religious disturbances so common at the period of the Reformation and later, which often drove into exile the adherents of the Reformed Faith, among whom many botanists were numbered. This is exemplified in the cases of William Turner, Charles de l’Écluse, and the Bauhins.

It is interesting to notice that, in the works of the best herbalists of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, such for instance as Bock, Turner, Dodoens and Gaspard Bauhin, we find, comparatively speaking, little belief in any kind of superstition connected with plants, such as the doctrine of signatures, or astrology. A number of books dealing with such topics appeared during the period we have considered, but their writers form a class apart, and must not be confused with the herbalists proper, whose attitude was, on the whole, marked by a healthy scepticism which was in advance of their time. It would, naturally, be far from true to say that they were all quite free from superstition, but, considering the intellectual atmosphere of the period, their enlightenment was quite remarkable.

Text-fig. 112. Wood-cut from the title-page of the Grete Herball, 1526. Reduced.

When we come to consider the origin of the herbal, we find that it is impossible to assign any date for its beginning. In manuscript form, herbals have existed from very early times, but, in the present book, those prior to the invention of printing have been scarcely touched upon. Our subject has been limited to the most active life-period of the printed herbal, which may be reckoned as beginning in the last quarter of the fifteenth century, with the ‘Book of Nature,’ the ‘Herbarium’ of Apuleius, and the Latin and German ‘Herbarius.’ When this active period ended is less easily decided, but in some senses it may fairly be taken as covering only the comparatively short space of two hundred years. There are, of course, a very large number of later herbals, belonging to the end of the seventeenth, the eighteenth, and even the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but their importance in the history of botany appears to the present writer to be relatively small, and hence, in this volume, attention has been almost entirely confined to works which appeared before 1670.

After this period, botany rapidly became more scientific; the discovery of the function of the stamens, which was first announced in 1682, marking a very definite step in advance. As time went on, the herbal, with its characteristic mixture of medical and botanical lore, gave way before the exclusively medical pharmacopœia on the one hand, and the exclusively botanical flora on the other. As the use of home-made remedies declined, and the chemist’s shop took the place of the housewife’s herb-garden and still-room, the practical value of the herbal diminished almost to vanishing point.

The best epoch in the history of the herbal, from the point of view of book-illustration, is confined within much narrower limits than the two centuries we have been considering. The suggestion has been made, and seems thoroughly justified, that the finest period should be reckoned as falling between 1530 and 1614, that is, between the wood-cuts of Hans Weiditz in Brunfels’ ‘Herbarum vivæ eicones,’ and the copper-plates of Crispian de Passe in the ‘Hortus Floridus.’ This good period thus lasted less than one hundred years, and belongs chiefly to the sixteenth century. From the artistic point of view, its zenith is perhaps reached in the wood-engravings which illustrate Fuchs’ great work, ‘De historia stirpium’ (1542), though, from a more strictly scientific standpoint, the drawings by Camerarius and Gesner, which appeared in 1586 and 1588, may be said to bear the palm.

Text-fig. 113. A Herbalist’s Garden and Store-room [Das Kreüterbůch oder Herbarius. Printed by Heinrich Stayner, Augsburg, 1534].

As far as the text is concerned, the culmination of the botanical works of the period under consideration may be regarded as foreshadowed in the ‘Stirpium Adversaria Nova’ of Pena and de l’Obel (1570-71) and attained in the ‘Prodromos’ (1620) and the ‘Pinax’ (1623) of Gaspard Bauhin. In the works of the latter author, classification, nomenclature and description reach their high-water mark, though it is to de l’Obel, and to his precursor, Bock, one of the “German Fathers of Botany,” that we owe the first definite efforts after a natural system. It is pleasant to remember that Jean Bauhin, to whom his younger brother Gaspard probably owed his first botanical inspiration, was a pupil of Leonhard Fuchs at Tübingen, so that the latter has a double claim to be associated with the results of the “herbal period” at its best. We began this book with a portrait of Leonhard Fuchs, and we may well conclude with his name—that of the greatest and most typical of sixteenth-century herbalists.

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