Chapter I.—Introduction
Saint-Simon, writing in the year 1768, declares there were at that time in Haarlem nearly two thousand named varieties of the hyacinth, and we may suppose they had already been about forty years in cultivation on a soil which seemed particularly adapted for the purpose,—a fine upper stratum of grey sand, superposed by the action of the sea on a thin subsoil of peat, so that Nature prepared, it seems, many thousand years in advance to produce the delicately-tinted and exquisitely-scented flower, which rises as if by magic out of the cold earth in a few weeks’ space.
One well-named variety, “Sceptre of David,” reminds one of the long moral preparation of one people chosen out of the nations of the earth (a stiff soil to work), before the long-desired of the hills should come, when there should come a rod out of the root of Jesse, and a flower should rise up out of his root.
If there are “correspondences” in the material and spiritual worlds, the flower that cometh up in a day has its root in the ages.
The hyacinth is one of the most perfect results of man’s Art—Art, for Saint-Simon is persuaded that the hyacinth has become what it is principally through cultivation, and without human patience and perseverance—if nature had been left entirely alone—a much less pleasing and exquisite flower would have appeared.
Every year new varieties are developed, and hope springs eternal in the breast of the cultivator. Haarlem, the Paradise of Flowers, may be especially described as the home of the hyacinth.
Upon his arrival at Haarlem, the stranger is so dazzled with the spectacle of the wonderful and brilliantly coloured carpet spread before his eyes, that he does not at first realise there is yet further joy to be found in the singular beauty of certain species and varieties taken individually.
There he sees acres of hyacinths, double and single, in uninterrupted ranges of pure colour; the only intervals between the rows being the little grey sand paths, to enable the cultivator to reach the flowers.
It is difficult for the imagination to picture a piece of earth so brilliantly enamelled with flowers, and yet such variety and beauty in detail. The rarest and finest specimens are put apart from the rest in chosen spots, and these again are arranged in symmetrical order, with such taste and so unsullied and trim, that one can hardly believe Nature has been allowed any hand at all in the arrangement. The florist’s art seems to have triumphed almost too completely. Well, one may say the florists of Haarlem have played the predominant part, and their long experience, aided by the succours of reason, have shown them how to assist Nature by seconding her efforts, and thus to raise her to a stage beyond herself. In any case, the flowers they cultivate seldom reach such a high state of development elsewhere. However active and industrious they may be, no amateur, with all his talents, has ever reached to such surprising perfection—in strength and form of stem and blossoms; or to such brilliancy of colouring, though many possessing both talent and experience have spared neither trouble nor expense in their endeavours to produce the same result. They are inclined to attribute their want of success to the nature of their climate and the soil, and like to regard Haarlem as a place especially privileged in these respects.
If amateurs had any idea of the spirit of emulation rife among the Haarlem growers, and the way their whole attention is absorbed,—how unceasingly they labour and continually verify their experiments, always reflecting and improving upon them and making fresh combinations,—they would then know the work is not impossible, and they need only be endowed with the indomitable qualities of the Dutchman, and they might produce the same results.
There is no doubt that there exists, even in Haarlem, a sensible difference between growers of the first class and the more second-rate cultivators; for, although all are imbued more or less with the same spirit, and enjoy the same advantages of soil, climate, etc., yet some, through learning and experience, rise superior to the rest in this line.
If in other countries amateur growers kept more in touch with one another, and co-operated as do the Haarlem cultivators, there would be less occasion for despair. For a good deal of their success comes from their united efforts and experiments, so that among them all they have many ways of knowing how to preserve bulbs, to propagate them, and guard them from destructive accidents.
Nobody knows exactly where hyacinths come from originally—the name of the hyacinth called “Orientalis,” whose origin can be traced back till it is lost in the obscurity of ages—seems to imply that this flower originated in the East, and there has been much discussion about the fact that Moses in the book of Exodus speaks of the colour of the hyacinth—but whether he refers to it only as a colour, or as a flower, or as a precious stone, it is impossible to say—for it has been differently translated in various languages. Saint-Simon tells us that Dioscorides, in the time of Vespasian, describes a flower he calls “Hyacinthos” in these words: “L’Hyacinthe a les feuilles des plantes bulbeuses et la tige dodrantale (c’est-à-dire de trois paulmes, pans ou empans de haut, on n’est pas d’accord sur cette mesure non plus), faible, et plus mince que le petit doigt, de couleur verte, dont le haut s’incline sous le poids d’une tête chargée de fleurs purpurescentes.” People have argued indefinitely on the precise shade of “purple,” and to this day they have not decided if it should be more red than blue or more blue than red. The general opinion seems to be that the original hyacinth was the colour of the natural wild hyacinth (which is a Scilla?) which grows in the woods, where the red variety is not nearly as commonly found as the blue.
On the other hand, the first species may have been red, for in old fables it seems the hyacinth was thought to be red. Ovid relates how a flower sprang from the blood of the young Hyacinthus,[[2]] whom Apollo slew by accident with a quoit. Others, like Pliny and Pausanias, say the blood of Ajax, slain near Salamis, was changed into this flower.
[2]. Unless blue blood was spilt.
Whatever its original colour, and whatever country it came from, it is certain that many species have been produced by the florists of Haarlem, and have entirely originated in their gardens. Yet it is to be remembered that all came from the old original stock, however different they have now become. Their natural simplicity has been lost to a certain extent.
Florists divide hyacinths into four classes:
1. The Single Hyacinth—the corolla divided into six segments.
2. Semi-Double—only slightly double, with a few petals irregularly disposed behind the single.
3. Double—the outer petals lined with an equal number of other petals in regular order.
4. Full Hyacinth—which has a heart as full of petals as it can hold.
These four classes furnish a great number of varieties. We cannot define further without going into their distinguishing features and numerous subdivisions.
The Full Hyacinth possesses the greater number and best varieties. It is important a hyacinth should belong to the best (one of full) varieties—but this is not sufficient to constitute a good flower. The petals should grow in very regular order—especially those within the heart of the flower, and the petals should as well be curved back very evenly at their tip. They should also be of a beautiful clear and decided colour, and this is a great charm in a hyacinth. As well as being as perfect and decided as possible, the colour of the inner should harmonise agreeably with the colour of the outer petals.
In this respect there is nothing to be found to surpass the Gloria Florum Suprema[[3]]—the blossoms being perfectly disposed the full length of the stem, which rises tall and very straight, but is, unfortunately a little too thin to support the weight of the flowers. The petals are very pure white, and their tips fold back with the greatest regularity, forming a perfectly symmetrical bud (or button). Colours such as blue and black, red and white are satisfactory combinations. White hyacinths, as a rule, are the most delicately shaded, but each variety has a beauty entirely its own.
[3]. No longer in existence.
Of every colour there are kinds which obtain high prices, but the beauty or merit of a flower is not exactly determined by the monetary value—for people pay for novelty; the rarity it is which enhances the value. However, they must, besides, have other essential qualities. Gloria Mundi and François Ist, and other blues, which used to be the only ones which could at all compete with Gloria Florum Suprema, have at last found their rival among the white varieties. “Og Roi de Basan,” “Le Comte de Provence,” etc., lose nothing by comparison. Some of the reds, Rex Rubrorum and Mine d’Or have as many points in their favour. There are now hyacinths of almost every shade. But only at Haarlem are thousands of varieties and shades to be seen together, and there one can feast one’s eyes to one’s heart’s content. When a new kind is raised from seed it causes a great sensation.
Saint-Simon, after expatiating at length on the endurance of the hyacinth through centuries of growth, ever reproducing itself with renewed vigour,—showing no sign of exhausting the stock, says: “Cependant cet oignon si merveilleux, éternel, pour ainsi dire, dans l’imagination et présent aux yeux pendant tant de siècles, ne dure effectivement que quatre à cinq ans.”
The hyacinth is propagated by its offshoots or young bulbs. It also reproduces itself from seed. From the seed new varieties are produced. Hyacinth bulbs will bloom in any direction they are placed, even upside down—the flower will grow downwards in a vase of water.
If you take the bulb at the moment of planting, that is, when it is beginning to show the tender green point of its shoot, the first thing to do is to examine if it is healthy. It should be round and full, and not shrivelled; though each variety differs slightly in form, yet all should be properly rounded in appearance, because this shows the bulb is in good condition, nor should it be too light in weight for its size. If it is, it shows it is drying up inside and is deficient in sap. But to be small in size does not matter, for some of the beautiful red varieties have very small bulbs, and very often single hyacinths have larger bulbs than the double.
There is a kind of double hyacinth, white with a red heart, which is known by its outer tunic, which is always wrinkled and defective. In spite of its appearance, by its weight and form one may judge if it is in good condition. The roots often grow like a crown round the base of the bulb, and the space in the centre is called the “eye” of the roots. This space is covered with a membrane; and in choosing bulbs, this is the part you must first examine carefully to see if there are any signs of decay. There should be no marks of damp or of mildew in the eye at the base of the bulb.
When the time draws near for planting, the bulb should show little swollen white points at the base where the roots are to come.
The tunics or suberous leaves (what is called skin on an ordinary onion) are always covered over with a thin, dry, reddish skin, which falls off after a time, but is at first useful in protecting the other tunics when the bulb is in the earth, for it is planted in the dampest season of the year. No tunic entirely embraces the circumference of the bulb, but only about two-thirds of it. The tunics are really an extension (in the bulb) of the long green leaves, only the part of these leaves which show green above ground fall off in the end of the year, and the base of them, which remain within the bulb as tunics, spread and increase till, when they are pushed by each year’s growth from the centre to the outside of the bulb (by the growth of new stem and leaves within), they get weaker and thinner, until at last they turn into the dry, red, outside skin, which finally decays and falls off.
The tunics are of the same substance as the rest of the bulb (which is composed of fleshy scales), and the difference is so gradual that it is impossible to see where the fleshy substance of the bulb begins to change into the suberous quality of the leaves, and yet there is a very marked difference between the bulb and its leafy scales; they are, however, an undetachable whole, and you cannot pull off the inner tunic leaves of the hyacinth from the base, as you can pull off the leaves of an artichoke.
As soon as the bulb is taken from the ground it begins to grow and increases rapidly during the three months it lies on the shelf, and all this time it lives on the sap-nourishment accumulated by it when in the earth. The sap concentrated in the bulb can preserve it for a great length of time, but it is not quite sufficient to enable the bulb to finish all the work it has to do, and if it flowers it will not have strength enough to bring its seeds to maturity. (Saint-Simon here observes that this is not attributable to the bulb having no roots, but to its inward indisposition.)
“WHEN SPRING UNLOCKS THE FLOWERS TO PAINT
THE LAUGHING SOIL”
Some people imagine that a bulb which has been kept from flowering can reserve itself for the following year. Many such experiments have been made, and bulbs have been kept back on the shelves and have not been allowed to flower; they have invariably perished, and, growers say, scarcely a year passes that they have not tried the experiment,—they have lost every bulb which was not put into the ground. As a rule the sap in a bulb will be sufficient nourishment during its ordinary growth till January or February, but after that it will begin to grow mouldy and go bad. The moment it is put in earth or over water, in the proper season, the bulb, which is just beginning to be exhausted, pumps up sap so vigorously that it begins at once to throw out roots from almost the first day, and growers dare not move them again, even a few hours after they have been put in, to send them away, however carefully packed, even a short distance, for fear the fresh moisture they have sucked up so quickly should cause them to rot, and they even consider it a dangerous process to change them from one place to another, in the same bed, if they have been but half an hour in the ground. The roots, which are in such a hurry to show themselves when first the bulbs are planted, perish as quickly as they grow. They stop growing before the flower is in full bloom, and are always quite dried up before the seed begins to ripen. While the root is perishing the flower continues, the stem grows, and all the flowers expand completely. When the flower is quite over and the seed is left to ripen, the sap goes into the leaves, which lengthen considerably, then these die in their turn, till they separate from the bulb of themselves.