Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 7/Useful monstrosities
USEFUL MONSTROSITIES.
Many of our most succulent culinary vegetables, our most delicious fruits, our most valuable edible roots, and our most important varieties of grain, are, in the strictest sense of the term, monstrosities. They are, in each case, deformed aberrations from the natural habit of the respective plants in their original states. Horticultural skill has found the means of perpetuating such aberrations, either by cuttings from the deformed plant, in which case the malformation always remains of the same degree; or, otherwise, by seed from the aberrating plant, in which last case new varieties of deformity are often obtained. For instance, a certain portion of the seeds, actuated by the peculiar vital principle of the parent plant, will, in most instances, produce plants exhibiting in a greater or lesser degree the same kind of departure from their typical habit of growth, as that exhibited by their immediate parents. The greater number of seeds will, however, in all probability show a tendency to return to the precise forms of the original type.
The earliest botanists had not failed to notice the tendency to aberration in plants of almost every class, under certain disturbing influences. They no doubt observed at the same time, that some kinds of plants were much more prone than others to sport into singular monstrosity of growth under such influences. They were not, however, sufficiently accomplished physiologists to perceive the general principles by means of which these changes took place; yet, nevertheless, hit upon methods of perpetuating such monstrosities of growth as promised to be of advantage, in rendering certain plants better adapted for particular uses. In consequence, however, of having but a superficial notion of the causes of such changes, their attempts to produce them arbitrarily, by artificial means, in the first instance, were often extremely puerile in their character. For instance, in the case of certain plants, the colours of which are apt to vary under the influence of ordinary garden culture, while such changes of hue are of extremely rare occurrence in their natural state, they sought to govern the changes of colour by the influence of ordinary dyes. I find it stated in a popular work, not a century old, that silks of various colours drawn through the bulb of a tulip, and there allowed to remain, would cause stripes of colour to appear in the flowers produced from a bulb so treated—the stripes being of the colours of the silks inserted in the bulb. It is well known that the Tulipa gesneriana, the origin of nearly all the garden varieties, is, in its natural state, of a monotonous purplish pink colour, unvaried by stripings or markings of any kind. When, however, it finds itself in a rich garden soil, with plenty of room, instead of being crowded with other plants, as in its wild state, the flower breaks into various changes of colour, with a natural disposition to striping; so that an amateur of the eighteenth century performing the operation described above upon a bulb of the common Tulipa gesneriana, in its original state, would be very likely to fancy that the pink or purple stripes which he saw produced by the legitimate influences of soil and situation, were the effects of his inserted silks.
I know of a recent instance in which an amateur of dahlias, naturally wishing to produce dahlia flowers of a blue colour, hitherto found imposible, placed half a pound of French ultramarine about the tubers of a white dahlia when he planted them, in full confidence that a plant bearing flowers of a resplendent azure would be the necessary result. It is, I presume, useless to record the occurrence of a bitter disappointment to the ingenious amateur. Certain plants are, however, strikingly influenced in the colour of their flowers by the nature of the soil in which they are grown. But, then, it is not by the process of dyeing. Especial properties are chemically eliminated by the vital principle of certain plants, which produce particular colours in their flowers; but, in most cases, their colours are of almost an opposite kind to those which would be expected from the practitioners in silk and ultramarine for such purposes. For instance, a rich orange-coloured liquid, produced from the rust of iron, will change the colour of the flowers of the Hydrangea hortensis from a pale light pink or lilac to a beautiful azure, but not to a fulvous orange, which the gentleman practising in ultramarine would naturally have expected.
But variations in mere colour, though they must be regarded as monstrosities (inasmuch as, if a child were born with the entire skin of a bright sky-blue, it would necessarily be placed in the category of monstrous aberrations), are not precisely the kind of vegetable monstrosities of which I am more particularly treating, though they serve to illustrate the general principle of aberration from typical characteristics. The especial vegetable monstrosities, the nature of which I am about to attempt an explanation, are those which, by a skilfully conducted series of developments, have furnished us with essential articles of food, and which may therefore be fairly termed “useful monstrosities.”
The deformities of plants, which, through the medium of horticultural skill, have become not only table-delicacies, but, in some instances, almost necessaries of life, may be divided into five distinct classes—first, of root; secondly, of leaf; thirdly, of inflorescence; fourthly, of the seed-vessel; and fifthly of the seed itself.
Of the monstrosities of root, that of the Daucus carota, or wild carrot, may serve as a very striking example. This plant belongs to the natural order, termed Umbelliferæ, in consequence of the plants belonging to it producing their flowers in umbels or spreading flatted clusters, which, while the flowers are in bud, are often depressed in the centre of the flat cluster, which gives it somewhat the form of a shallow circular basket without a handle. Many of the plants belonging to this tribe are poisonous, among which the well-known hemlock (Conium maculatum) may be cited. Even the Daucus itself is far from pleasant tasted in its natural state, in which it is only used in medicine; the name Daucus (from the Greek δαίω, to make hot) having reference to its hot and pungent taste. This small, tough, and pungent root, however, when the plant is transferred from its native woods to a deep, rich soil, and having sufficient space given to it, soon exhibits a tendency to rapid development. The first crop, however, raised from wild seeds sown in prepared garden-soil, does not exhibit an enlargement of root which would at once tempt the gardener to proceed with its culture; but the rich orange colour of the root, which at once becomes brighter by culture, may, without reference to size, or increased tenderness of texture, have tempted an inquisitive cultivator to test its flavour. That its bright colour did attract early attention, we know from its popular name, which is derived from the Celtic word kar, which means red. If tasted, the decreased medicinal qualities of hotness and pungency, which disappear with the increasing size of the root, would naturally be observed, especially as the flavour, deprived of its hotness, becomes sweet and pleasant.
A second sowing, with seeds gathered from those plants which displayed the most marked tendency to enlargement of the root, would produce a certain number of specimens with still larger roots; and, by pursuing this system of selection through several generations, a race of plants producing, in a favourable soil, roots of truly enormous dimensions would, with certainty, be produced. It was, by such a process, that our well-known esculent, the common carrot, was produced. An experimental botanist, in the south of France, tested the truth of this theory a few years since. The original transition, no doubt, occurred long ages ago,—in times when essays and books were not very commonly written upon such subjects, so that there is no record of the occurrence. The esculent carrot was, however, in all probability, well known to ancient nations, along with many other similar vegetable monstrosities which have fallen out of culture and been forgotten during the temporary supremacy of the barbarians who overrun the Roman empire. However, this may be, the cultivated carrot appears to have been introduced into England about the reign of Henry the Eighth, being imported from Flanders, the source of many other of our most valuable garden vegetables.
The experimental botanist above alluded to, in order to carry out his experiments concerning the origin of the garden carrot from the weed Daucus carota, gathered seed of the wild plant, and, treating it as above described, found that it required only seven seasons to transform the hard woody root into a tolerably good carrot. This positive result at once silenced the outcry of those who did not believe in such transitions, and proclaimed the garden carrot a separate and distinct species. Scepticism, in such a case, is very excusable, for the degree to which herbaceous plants may be diverted from their natural forms of growth by watchful culture, would scarcely be believed, unless every step in the gradual departure from the original type could be proved. The steps by which plants, now in the most abundant cultivation in their present forms, have gradually diverged from their wild types has recently been proved to demonstration by botanical physiologists, in other cases than that of the carrot; and may be proved over and over again by any student willing to devote a few days—once or twice a-year—for a sufficient number of seasons, to put the theory to the test of actual trial; that is to say, if the right plant be selected for the experiment.
These changes, however, are not to be made in any ordinary plant, either by stimulating manures or any other kind of artificial culture; but can only be produced by observing a tendency to aberrations of growth in certain individuals of a genus, and carefully selecting the seed from those plants most inclined to exhibit such unusual or monstrous kind of growth. These selected seeds will produce plants, most of which will revert to the original wild type, but, in nearly all cases, a few will be developed into plants having a more or less tendency to aberration of the same kind as that of the immediate parent. A few, possibly, may exhibit the same kind of monstrosity in a more exaggerated form, and the seed produced by these will, in all probability, produce a much larger proportion of plants exhibiting the desirable monstrosity.
The turnip, the radish, and many other plants whose radical monstrosities have been perpetuated and increased by culture, might be described, along with the precise character of their irregular growth; but my space does not permit of my saying more on root monstrosities.
It will be well to remember, however, that the turnip, the parsnip, the beetroot, and all kinds of “radishes,” are large rooted, or rather monstrous-rooted varieties of wild plants, all of which are common in the British islands; and it may also be stated, that the tubers of the cultivated potatoe are monstrous variations from the type of the original tuber of the American plant.
Among those plants whose monstrosities of leaf-growth have been rendered subservient to the ordinary purposes of life, none exhibit such striking examples as the Brassica oleracea, or common rock-cabbage. The etymology of the word Brassica has been explained with elaborate ingenuity by Vossins and others, but the true origin of the word need not be sought further than the Celtic word bresic, which actually signifies a cabbage. To any one who had gathered specimens of the wild cabbage on the cliffs of Dover, and observed its straggling growth, and its ragged stem of sparse yellow flowers, without knowing its horticultural history, the assertion that the great white sugar-loaf cabbage of our gardens, the red cabbage, the curly Savoy cabbage, and the hundred-headed variety known as Brussels sprouts, were all nothing more than different monstrosities of growth of that little wild plant of the cliffs, would naturally appear unworthy of belief; and yet to botanists it is a well-known fact. The exuberance of growth which induces so rapid a development of leaves, that the external set have not time to expand themselves, so as to allow of their successors to develope themselves in due order, produces what is called the heart, the whiteness of which is caused by the exclusion of light by the outer layer of foliage, while the compactness is caused by the continuous formation of inner leaves, which sometimes becomes so rapid, if any extra stimulation takes place, in consequence of abundant rain, or some other cause, that the external leaves, which cannot expand with sufficient rapidity to give room to the inner growth, are violently burst, and the individual cabbage is spoilt as a kitchen vegetable. The curly leaves of the Savoy cabbage, as it is termed, the numerous miniature “hearts” forming themselves at every joint, as in Brussels sprouts, as they are termed, and the still more curious variety of cabbage which has the foliage of a deep purple, are all monstrosities of the straggling rock plant, the wild Brassica oleracea.
The same Brassica oleracea affords us the most striking varieties of floral monstrosity. The vast profusion of blossom which occurs in a monstrous variation of the usual flower-growth, produces, in the bud state, a sponge-like[1] mass, which forms one of the most delicious of our culinary vegetables, distinguished by the names of broccoli, or cauliflower.[2] Of all the Brassica tribe, including cauliflowers and broccoli, it may be said that they only flourish luxuriantly in a temperate climate. The cauliflower, however, succeeds well in the south of France and in Italy, in the cold months of the year, especially if supplied abundantly with water. In the colder region of Tarragona, in Spain, the cauliflower treated in this manner attains, occasionally, an enormous size, single heads weighing commonly from thirty to forty pounds.
Of useful monstrosities in seed-vessels, one may cite the fleshy shells of the so-called French-bean, and the Scarlet-runner. The seed-vessels of these plants in their wild state are thin, stringy, and tough in comparison with the garden varieties which have been produced by watching for unusual development of the seed-vessels, and selecting the seed from the most fleshy. This process, carried on for many years, is sure to result in the production of varieties, the seed-vessels of which would be of the desired thickness and tenderness of fibre. From established garden varieties produced in this way, our nurserymen are each season producing new sub-varieties, to which the most tempting names are given, such as the “Tender-green-marrow,” the “soft-butter-pod,” or the “Royal Osborne House green-fat.” The botanical name of the genus is Phaseolus, from phaselus, a little boat, the form of which the pods are supposed to resemble. Phaseolus multiflorus, the scarlet-runner, is not a British plant, but was introduced from South America, about 1663. The dwarf, or French-bean, is a garden variety of the climbing species. There is a singular monstrosity in one of the pea tribe, the shell of which ranks as a good culinary vegetable. The inner film being absent in the pod of the sugar-pea, it is boiled entire with the pod, and eaten in the same way as kidney beans.
Of monstrosities in seed, used as a green vegetable, the common green-pea will serve as an example. The original plant, from which so many hundreds of varieties have been obtained by careful culture, is supposed to be the wild pea bearing the botanical name of Pisum sativum. Like many domestic plants which were very early cultivated by the ancients, its native country is not known; but botanists appear inclined to place its original home in the south of Europe. From the length of time, however, which the plant has been in cultivation, it is difficult to state precisely which plant of the wild-pea tribe is the true parent; but it is certain that in its wild state the seeds were small and hard in comparison to the fine garden varieties known as “marrow-fats,” &c.; the seeds in that exaggerated form being no other than “cultivated monstrosities.”
In the curtailed space of the present paper I have not space to trace the apple, the apricot, the peach, &c., to their worthless wild forms, nor to trace back the large kernelled Kentish filbert to the wretched wild hazel nut; but must at once come to monstrosities in ripened seed, especially the monstrous variety of a grass seed which we now only know as the corn which furnishes our daily bread—the common wheat of our harvest fields.
All the varieties of wheat have been recently traced to a wild grass of the genus Ægilops, which is common in the south of Europe, and in parts of Asia. Only very few years ago, all our varieties of wheat were comprised in two or more species of Triticum, and treated as original species of that genus. Now Triticum is a genus belonging to an entirely different order of plants to Ægilops, the last being placed in the Linnæan order Polygamia monœcia, the former in Triandria digynia. The ancient name Ægilops is derived from aix (αἴξ), a goat, and ops (ὄψ), the eye; the first term having reference to the beard of this kind of grass, and the second to the belief that it was useful in certain diseases of the eye. The Ægilops is common in Sicily, and from time immemorial has been used as an article of food. Its grain, however, in its wild state, is so small, as to appear worthless to those who are acquainted with the grain of cultivated wheat. It is, nevertheless, still gathered in some districts, where ancient custom still prevails, and after being tied up in bunches and dried in the sun, it is set fire to, and the light chaff burns so rapidly, that the grains are quickly freed from it, and only browned by the process, and when thus slightly roasted, it is considered a very agreeable food. M. Fabre, a French naturalist, residing at Agde, in the south of France, conceived the idea that it was from this Sicilian grass, and not from any of the wild Triticums, that our cultivated wheats originated. To put his theory to the proof he procured (some twenty years ago), seeds of the wild Ægilops, and the results of the very first crop, sown in rich ground, produced a remarkable difference in the lessening of the husks, and the enlargement of the grain. Seeds from the improved plants produced again an improved variety, and after about eight years’ careful culture of each successive generation in direct descent from the original Ægilops, good wheat was produced, presenting all those features which has caused the wheat to be classed as a Triticum, and placed in the same genus as Triticum repens, the common squitch or couch grass, which plant, or one closely allied, some had fancied to be the actual, though remote parent of wheat.
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Between 1855 and 1859, the same experiment was repeated by Professor Buckman, at the Royal Agricultural College, with precisely the same results, the specimens produced in 1859 having made a very close approach in general appearance to an ear of bearded wheat. Thus the origin of wheat in the Sicilian and oriental grass Ægilops, which had been frequently suggested before, but always scouted as a chimerical idea by the prejudices of the elder botanists, was finally established as a proven fact.
That the original transformation by culture took place at a very remote period, we have evidence in the fact, that the Greeks and Romans attributed the gift of wheat to Ceres, its origin being more ancient than any records then existing, even in that distant age; and the ancient superstition concerning its divine origin in a supernatural manner, yet clings to our various kinds of corn in the term “cereals,” which is still applied to them, though the more expressive commercial term, “bread-stuffs,” is rapidly superseding it.
A knowledge of the origin of many other domesticated plants now lost, may be eventually recovered by similar methods to those described above. It has been shown of the grain of the cultivated wheat, that like the useful portions of many other plants, it is a monstrosity, but a most useful and important one. To prove that it is really a monstrosity, we have only to consider that the seed is more than ten times its natural bulk, while the husk is reduced to proportions far inferior to those of the typical plant.
The Avena fatua, a troublesome grass-weed, is the parent of our cultivated oat, which has been long well known; as on poor land, and with poor cultivation, the useful monstrosity of its enlarged seed soon degenerates, and the cultivated plant, in a few receding generations, reverts to its original form.
Rye is the cultivated form of Secale cereale. As is well known, it is a very inferior grain to wheat, and no amount of artificial treatment would ever improve it far beyond its present cultivated form. Its sole advantage is its hardiness, as it will grow well where wheat would perish. This is accounted for by the elevated situations in which it is found. The traveller Karl Koch informs us that it is found wild on the Crimean mountains at an elevation of 6000 feet.
Barley is a grass of the genus Hordeum, but which precise species is its wild parent, is at present unproved; Professor Lindley deeming our field barley to be, very probably, an improved and considerably changed form of Hordeum distichum.
It may be urged with some force that the artificial enlargement of the seed constitutes an improved development, and not a monstrosity; but do we not come to such a conclusion, biassed by the influence of the increased usefulness and value acquired? I think it must be allowed that such is the case, or else the enlarged livers of the Strasbourg geese, with which those delicious pies are made, must also be considered in the light of beautiful developments, instead of “useful monstrosities.”
H. Noel Humphreys.
- ↑ That is to say sponge-like, in external appearance.
- ↑ Cauliflower is said to be so called from its resemblance to a bald head within the great leaves with which it is surrounded. If the term be derived from the Italian calvo, and the Latin calvus, bald, we might Anglicise the name, as the Baldflower or Baldhead flower.