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Ta k e a C l o s e r L o o k
Daniel Arasse Translated from the French by Alyson Waters

Princeton University Press Princeton and Oxford

Ta k e a c lo s e r lo o k
Originally published as Daniel Arasse, On n’y voit rien: Descriptions.
Copyright © Éditions Denoël, 2000, 2005.
English translation copyright © 2013 by Princeton University Press
Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work
should be sent to Permissions, Princeton University Press.
Published by Princeton University Press, 41 William Street,
Princeton, New Jersey 08540
In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, 6 Oxford Street,
Woodstock, Oxfordshire OX20 1TW
press.princeton.edu
Jacket art: Details of The Annunciation, c 1470–72 (tempera on panel), Francesco
del Cossa, (1435/6–c. 1477) / Gemäeldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden, Germany /
© Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden / The Bridgeman Art Library
French Voices logo designed by Serge Bloch.
All Rights Reserved
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Arasse, Daniel.
[On n’y voit rien. English]
Take a closer look / Daniel Arasse ; translated from the French by Alyson
Waters.
pages cm
“Originally published as Daniel Arasse, On n’y voit rien: Descriptions.
Copyright © Éditions Denoël, 2000, 2005.”
Includes index.
ISBN 978-0-691-15154-0 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Painting—Themes,
­motives. 2. Painting—Appreciation. I. Waters, Alyson, 1955– translator.
II. Arasse, Daniel. On n’y voit rien. Translation of: III. Title.
ND1145.A6913 2013
750.1—dc23 2012050981
British Library Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data is available
This work, published as part of a program providing publication assistance,
received financial support from the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Cultural
Services of the French Embassy in the United States, and the French American
Cultural Exchange (FACE).
www.frenchbooknews.com
This book has been composed in Garamond Premiere Pro and Ideal Sans
Printed on acid-­free paper. ∞
Printed in Canada
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents

Cara Giulia
Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan, Tintoretto
1

The Snail’s Gaze

The Annunciation, Francesco del Cossa
17

Paint It Black
The Adoration of the Magi, Bruegel the Elder
39

Mary Magdalene’s “Fleece”

71

The Woman in the Chest

The Venus of Urbino, Titian
89

The Eye of the Master

Las Meninas, Velázquez
129

Illustration Credits
161

Index
163
Cara Giulia
Cara Giulia

Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan

2
Cara Giulia,

You may find this rather long letter surprising, even a bit irritating.
I hope you won’t be angry, but I have to write to you. As I told you
somewhat brusquely, I cannot understand how you sometimes look at
painting in such a way that you don’t see what painter and painting are
showing you.
We have the same passion for painting, so why, when it comes to in-
terpreting certain works, are our interpretations so dissimilar? I’m not
saying that works of art have only one meaning and so there’s only one
“good” interpretation. Gombrich said that, and you know my thoughts
on the matter. No; what concerns me is rather the sort of screen (made
up of texts, quotations, and outside references) that you sometimes
seem to want—­at all costs—­to put up between you and the work, a
sort of sun filter to shield you from the work and safeguard the ac-
quired habits on which our academic community agrees and in which
it recognizes itself. This isn’t the first time our opinions have differed,
but this time, I’m writing to you. Not really with the hope of winning
you over to my point of view, but perhaps with that of making you
question your firmly held beliefs, and of shaking up certain convictions
that, in my opinion, are blinding you.
I’m not going to bring up Jacopo Zucchi’s Amor and Psyche. There
would be, as you can imagine, a lot to say about it after the interpre-
tation you proposed last month. Perhaps some other time. I will only
mention here your lecture on Tintoretto’s Mars and Venus Surprised by
Vulcan. Several times you hit the nail on the head and you made me see
what I hadn’t seen. For example, you are right to say that Vulcan, lean-
ing over Venus’s naked body in the bed, is reminiscent of a satyr coming
upon a nymph. I like that idea of the husband’s unanticipated desire
when he sees his wife’s beautiful body. But the conclusions I draw from

3
 this are not the same as yours. Likewise, when you say that the eroti-
cism of this body, generously exposed to view, encourages women who
look at the painting to identify with the goddess of love, you’re off to
a good start. When, however, under the pretext that only Vulcan is
worthy of esteem, whereas Venus is ashamed and Mars ridiculous, you
interpret this to mean that this encouragement is a moral one and that
Tintoretto uses the power of the picture and the seduction of his paint-
brush to channel female desire (these are not your words, but they’re
close), I just don’t get it.
For example, you say that Venus, caught in the act, is trying to conceal
her nudity. But what makes you think she is not, on the contrary, trying
to reveal it to seduce Vulcan? Why couldn’t there be some humor in
this painting? I have the feeling that you—­ordinarily so cheerful—­did
not want to “do” art history joyfully. As if it were your professional duty
not to laugh or even smile, which would not be “serious.” Serio ludere,
play seriously: yet you know this proverb from the Renaissance, and the
Renaissance’s taste for laughter and paradox. It’s as if in order to be taken
seriously you had to take yourself seriously, to be seriosa and not seria, as
you say in Italian, to show your credentials to those cemetery guardians
who cloak themselves in the so-­called dignity of their discipline and, in
the name of cheerless scholarship, never want us to laugh when we look
Tintoretto at a painting. You, Giulia, seriosa? Oh, please!
Mars and Venus So, if you haven’t already tossed this letter out, let me start over. I
Surprised by Vulcan agree that in this painting Tintoretto has an unexpectedly new take
Alte Pinakothek, on the hackneyed theme of “Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan.”
Munich Usually, Mars and Venus are naked, lying together in their adulterous
bed, caught in the web that Vulcan, forewarned by Apollo, drops on
them. There’s none of that in the painting in Munich. Venus is indeed
naked, and she’s stretched out on the bed. But she is alone. Mars is hid-
ing under the table, wearing his armor, his helmet on his head, while
Vulcan, with one knee on the bed, is raising the sheer cloth that con-
ceals his wife’s sex. Next to him, under the window in a cradle, Cupid
is sleeping soundly. The subject had never been treated like this before

4
 Cara Giulia

Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan

5
and never would be again. According to you, by representing it in such
a paradoxical way, Tintoretto, using a counterexample, wanted to pay
tribute to the merits of marital fidelity. This wouldn’t be the first time
Venus’s infidelity would be used to frighten newlyweds.
Granted. To support your thesis, you cite a number of texts pub-
lished in Venice condemning both adultery and erotic images. Now
I’m confused. It’s not because these texts exist, or even because they
were published at the same time the painting was painted, that they
necessarily contribute to explaining it. That would be too easy. Oppos-
ing attitudes and viewpoints can exist simultaneously in a given society.
You know that as well as I do. To support your viewpoint, you went
so far as to suggest that the painting could be alluding to an episode
in Tintoretto’s private life and was addressed to his young wife. But
that’s going much too far. First of all, we know nothing about such an
incident in Tintoretto’s life and, if the painting can be dated to circa
1550 (and you yourself proposed this), that was probably the year Tin-
toretto got married: he was thirty-­two years old. It’s not because he
would wind up some forty years later resembling his Vulcan that you
already have to see here a veiled self-­portrait, or even Tintoretto’s rep-
resentative in the painting. Okay?
Now I’m getting to the main point. Your interpretation relies on
a simple principle, which you laid out in approximately these terms:
Tintoretto’s Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan is not a usual repre-
sentation of the subject, so it must be an allegory. That’s cutting a few
corners, wouldn’t you say? Everything that is unusual is not necessar-
ily allegorical. It may be sophisticated, paradoxical, parodic, whatever.
Comic, for example. You pointed out that Mars was ridiculous, half
hidden under the table with his helmet on his head. But you raced to
throw a moral blanket over this farcical situation. According to you,
Mars’s ridiculous position demeans the lover in order to highlight the
melancholic dignity of the scorned, old husband. But what melan-
cholic dignity? Vulcan is just as ridiculous! Take a look! What is this
scorned husband really doing?

Cara Giulia

Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan

6
 What is he looking for between his wife’s thighs? Proof of what?
Traces of what Mars may have left there? Okay, I’ll drop it. His gesture
and his gaze make me think of one of Pietro Aretino’s naughty pranks
rather than of some moral counsel. In fact, the way Tintoretto presents
him to us, poor Vulcan is not only lame but after so much pounding
on his anvil, he must have become deaf as a doorknob, too. Look at the
evidence: he doesn’t even hear the dog. And yet, the dog is making a lot
of noise, yapping away to indicate where Mars is hiding. A nasty little
piece of work, that dog! But Vulcan doesn’t hear a thing. And do you
know why? Not so much because he’s deaf, but because he’s got other
things on his mind.

7
 At this precise moment (and Tintoretto has done everything to
show us that he’s representing a single moment), Vulcan forgets what
he has come looking for. He’s distracted. What he sees between his
wife’s thighs makes him blind (and deaf ) to everything else. That’s all
he can see, that’s the only thing he can think about anymore. I’m not
making this up. Just look in the large mirror behind him to see what’s
going to happen next.
And let me say a few words about this mirror. You didn’t mention
that it was oddly positioned. Not only does it block part of the window
facing us, but it’s set very low against the wall, practically at the height
of Venus’s bed and lower, in any case, than the cradle where Cupid is
sleeping. In fact, if you look closely, it’s not hanging on the wall; it must
be resting on a piece of furniture concealed from our gaze by the table
under which Mars has hidden. What’s it doing there? What’s the point
of placing a mirror so low? To reflect Venus’s lovemaking? It’s possi-
ble. I don’t doubt you could find this sort of setup in sixteenth-­century
Venice. But this hypothesis leads us even further away from a moraliz-
ing depiction. Unless it’s not really a mirror. You said it could possibly
be Mars’s shield. In that case, it’s a bizarre kind of shield. It’s not just its
size that bothers me (it’s really huge), it’s also, and especially, the fact
that it can be used as a mirror. I thought it was Perseus’s shield that
was smooth and polished to the extent that it could petrify Medusa.
True, Aeneas also had a mirror-­shield, as Erasmus Weddigen reminds
us in relation to this painting. It was an enchanted shield, made by the
Cyclops, and it allowed the future, grandiose destiny of Rome to ap-
pear on its surface. This juxtaposition is arbitrary (indeed, you didn’t
even mention it), but it works for me. Precisely because of what we see
in Tintoretto’s mirror-­shield. You only mention the reflection (barely
visible) of a second mirror, “offstage,” on our side of the scene. This
would be Venus’s makeup mirror, located on the edge of the bed and
reflected in Mars’s shield (a lovely image, by the way, of shared desire:
the woman’s mirror reflected in the man’s shield, which transforms it
into a mirror of love). Weddigen also mentions this offstage mirror,

Cara Giulia

Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan

8
but since you didn’t say anything about his text, I am putting aside the
optical reconstruction he proposes and the conclusions he draws from
it. They are very different from yours, but it doesn’t matter. For you,
this mirror that we don’t see, this hidden mirror, is what allows Venus
to see Vulcan arrive from behind even though her back is turned to the
door—­and you brilliantly contrasted this mirror, instrument of deceit,
to the other, leaning against the wall, revealing the truth. Granted. But
what truth are we talking about?
Both you and Weddigen speak a great deal about Venus’s reflection
in the mirror of Mars’s shield. I certainly am not one to object to your
interest in a barely visible detail. But neither of you say anything about
what is clearly apparent in this same shield: Vulcan, seen from behind,
leaning over Venus’s body. But take a closer look: it’s an odd reflection,
strange, abnormal. And here’s why: From his gesture nearest to Venus
to his reflection in the mirror, Vulcan’s position has changed. Look! In
the foreground, only his right knee is on the bed; his left leg is stretched
out, a bit stiff (that’s only natural; he limps), and his left foot is on the

9
 ground, quite far from the bed. In the mirror, on the contrary, as we
could see quite clearly in the detail you projected, Vulcan seems to have
his left knee (which has become his right knee in the reflection) resting
on the edge of the bed. I don’t think for a second that this is due to
some clumsiness or carelessness on the painter’s part. Quite the oppo-
site, in fact. Facing us, in full view, the mirror shows us what is going
to happen the instant after the one that is depicted in the foreground:
Vulcan is going to climb on the bed—­and we can easily imagine what
will occur next. Does that seem preposterous to you? It shouldn’t; if it is
truly Mars’s mirror-­shield, it functions like Aeneas’s to show us the (very
near) future of this comic scene. And if, as you believe, it’s a mirror that
reveals the truth, it’s pointing to what we are supposed to learn from the
scene we are seeing, the moral of the fable. What remains to figure out is
what truth, what moral(ity) we’re dealing with here.

Tintoretto
preparatory sketch
for Mars and Venus
Surprised by Vulcan,
ca. 1550
Kupferstichkabinett
(SMPK), Berlin

10
 What, in fact, is happening to Vulcan? He came to interrupt the
not-­yet-­begun lovemaking of Venus and Mars. However, rather than
listening to the dog, he goes looking for the proof of his alleged mis-
fortune between his wife’s thighs. But, according to what the mirror
shows us, what he sees makes him forget everything else. He is under
the spell of his wife’s sex, and he finds himself—­these are your words—­
aroused like a satyr coming upon a nymph. Weddigen, for his part, sug-
gests Tarquin about to rape Lucretia. On the surface, this connection
is paradoxical—­after all, Vulcan and Venus are married and she is the
unfaithful one. But in fact it’s rather clever, because the fit of sexual pas-
sion in which Vulcan is caught is very explicit in the preliminary study
for the painting in Berlin: in the absence of Mars, Cupid, and the dog,
Venus seems to want to flee, whereas Vulcan wholly resembles a rapist
about to act. In the painting, the context of this typical pose makes it
lose its explicit violence: Vulcan is no longer (in the foreground) any-
thing but an old man who is still virile (in the mirror). As I see it, this
(rare) gap between the scene and its reflection is essential to the idea
that Tintoretto had of his painting, to what was called his invenzione,
which condenses the comic center of the painting and the moral that
can be drawn from the comic scene that Tintoretto imagined, using
Ovid as his starting point.
Because this painting is funny. Pardon me for harping on that, Gi-
ulia, but I must, because it never even occurred to you—­sorry if I’m
being a bit heavy-­handed here. Mars is ridiculous, hiding under the
table like a lover in the closet. Vulcan is comical, letting himself be
caught once again, blinded by Venus’s fente. The little runt of a dog is
comic as well, barking away furiously in vain. Even the sleeping Cupid
is comic: exhausted by his own efforts, he defeats himself (not Omnia
vincit Amor, but Amorem vincit Amor). The glass vase on the window-
sill is more subtle because it is no doubt more irreverent: you have to
smile because it irresistibly calls to mind the transparency of the vir-
gin vase of Mary “who never knew a man.” And even the perspectival
construction could play a latent comic role: it dramatizes the scene by

Cara Giulia

Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan

11
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
stigmas, which are also exposed, have a comparatively large area of sticky surface,
and are often hairy or plumed in such a manner that they form effectual traps for the
capture of the floating pollen cells.
An insect-pollinated flower, on the other hand, has glands (nectaries) for the
production of nectar, and its perianth is usually of such a conspicuous nature that it
serves as a signal to attract the insects to the feast. (In some instances the individual
flowers are very small, but these are generally produced in such clusters that they
become conspicuous through their number.) Often it emits a scent which assists in
guiding the insects to their food. Its stamens are generally so well protected by the
perianth that the pollen is not likely to be removed except by the insects that enter
the flower; and the supply of pollen is usually not so abundant as in the wind-
pollinated species, for the insects, travelling direct from flower to flower, convey the
cells with greater economy. The stigmas, too, are generally smaller, and are situated
in such a position that, when mature, they are rubbed by that portion of the insect's
body which is already dusted with pollen.
As we watch the nectar-feeding insects at work, we not only observe that the flowers
they visit possess the general characters given above as common to the insect-
pollinated species, but also that, in many instances, the structure of the flower is
such that the transfer of pollen from anthers to stigma could only be accomplished by
the particular kind of insect which it feeds. Various contrivances are also adopted by
many flowers to attract the insects which are most useful to them, and to exclude
those species which would deprive them of nectar and pollen without aiding in the
work of pollination. Thus, some flowers are best pollinated by the aid of certain
nocturnal insects, which they attract at night by the expansion of their pale-coloured
corollas and by the emission of fragrant perfumes. These close their petals by day in
order to economise their stores and protect their parts from injury while their helpers
are at rest. Others require the help of day-flying insects: these are expanded while
their fertilisers are on the wing, and sleep throughout the night.
We do not propose to give detailed accounts of the various stratagems by which
flowers secure the aid of insects in this short chapter. Several examples are given in
connexion with the descriptions of flowers in subsequent pages, but a few typical
instances, briefly outlined here, will give the reader some idea of features which
should be observed as flowers are being examined.
In many flowers the anthers and the stigma are not mature at the same time, and
consequently self-pollination is quite impossible. With these it often happens that the
anthers and stigma alternately occupy the same position, so that the same part of
the body of an insect which becomes dusted with pollen in one flower rubs against
the stigma of another.
Other flowers, such as the Forget-me-not, in which both stamens and stigma are ripe
together, project their stigmas above the stamens at first, in order that an insect from
another flower might touch the stigma before it reaches the stamens, and thus cross-
pollinate them; and their stamens are afterwards raised by the lengthening of the
corolla until they touch the stigma. Thus the flowers attempt to secure cross-
pollination; but, failing this, pollinate themselves.
In the Common Arum or Cuckoo Pint, described on p. 106, we have an example of a
flower of peculiar construction, surrounded by a very large bract in which insects are
imprisoned and fed until the anthers are mature, and then set free in order that they
might carry the pollen to another flower of which the stigmas are ripe.
Sometimes the flowers of the same species assume two or three different forms as
far as the lengths of the stamens and pistils are concerned, the anthers of one being
of just the same height as the stigma of another, so that the pollen from the former
will dust that portion of the body of the insect which rubs against the latter Examples
are to be found among the Primulas, and in the Purple Loosestrife, both of which are
described in their place.
In some flowers the stamens are irritable, rising in such a manner as to strike the
insects that visit them; and in these cases the anthers almost invariably deposit
pollen on that portion of the insect's body which is most likely to come in contact
with the stigma of the next flower visited. Again, in Sages, the anthers are so
arranged that they are made to swing, as on a see-saw, to exactly the same end.
These few examples will suffice to show that the structure and conformation of
flowers are subservient to the one great purpose of securing the most suitable means
of the distribution of pollen, and the student who recognises and studies the various
forms of flowers in this connexion will find his work in the field doubly interesting.
 III

CLIMBING PLANTS
Many plants have stems which grow to a considerable length, and which are at the
same time too weak to support the plants in the erect position. A considerable
number of these show no tendency to assume an upward direction, but simply trail
along the surface of the ground, often producing root fibres at their nodes to give
them a firmer hold on the soil and to absorb additional supplies of water and mineral
food. Some, however, grow in the midst of the shrubs and tall herbage of thickets
and hedgerows, or in some other position in which it becomes necessary to strive for
a due proportion of light, and such plants would stand but a small chance in the
struggle for existence if they did not develop some means of securing a favourable
position among their competitors.
These latter are collectively spoken of as climbing plants; but it is interesting to note
that in their seedling stage they are all erect, and it is only after they reach a certain
height that they commence to assume some definite habit by which they obtain the
necessary support, or to develop special organs by which they can cling to objects
near them.
Some climbers produce no special organs for the purpose of fastening themselves to
surrounding objects, but trust entirely to the wandering and more or less zig-zag
nature of their feeble stems, and thus reach the open light merely by a process of
interweaving, as in the case of the Hedge Bedstraw (Galium mollugo). Others adopt
this same method of interweaving, but at the same time develop some kind of
appendages to give them additional support. Thus, the Rough Water Bedstraw (G.
uliginosum), which sometimes reaches a height of four or five feet, has recurved
bristles all along its slender stem, and these serve as so many little hooks, holding
the plant securely on to the neighbouring rank herbage of the marsh or swamp in
which it grows, while the rigid leaves further assist by catching in the angles of
surrounding stems.
Another good example is to be seen in the common Goose-grass or Cleavers (G.
aparine) of our hedgerows, which also reaches a height of four or five feet, and
clings very effectually by means of the hooked bristles of its stems and leaves.
The Marsh Speedwell (Veronica scutellata), though it grows to a height of only one
foot, is too weak to stand erect without support, and it has quite a novel method of
securing the aid of the plants among which it grows. Its two topmost leaves at first
stand erect over the terminal bud, so that they are easily pushed through the spaces
in the surrounding herbage as the stem lengthens. They then diverge, and even turn
slightly downwards, thus forming two supporting arms, the holding power of which is
further increased by the down-turned teeth of their margins. This process is repeated
by the new pairs of leaves formed at the growing summit of the stem, with the result
that the plant easily retains the erect position.
The Wild Roses and Brambles
growing in the hedgerows
support themselves among the
other shrubby growths by the
interlacing of their stems, but are
also greatly aided by the
abundance of prickles with which
these stems are armed. The
prickles, even if erect, would
afford considerable assistance in
this respect; but it may be
observed that they are generally
directed downwards, and often
very distinctly curved in this
direction, and so serve to
suspend the weak stems at
numerous points.
We often find the Bramble Prickles of the Wild Rose.
growing in abundance on heaths
and downs, in situations where
suitable props do not exist. In this case the younger shrubs simply
trail along the ground, or form low arches as the weight of the stems
and their appendages cause the apex to bend to the ground. Yet if
we turn to the older shrubs of several years' growth we find that
they have succeeded in reaching a height of some feet. The first
stems of these shrubs formed low arches as we have just described,
and then they gave rise to branches which were first erect, but were
afterwards bent downwards in the same manner, forming arches
rising higher than their predecessors. This continued, year after year,
till at last a long series of stems, forming arch above arch, reached
the present height, the older stems, at the bottom, now dead,
serving to support the whole mass above.
Some climbing stems produce little roots by means of which they
can cling firmly to available supports. Such are very common among
 tropical plants, but our Ivy affords a
splendid example. The roots so formed
may appear in clusters at special points
of the stem, or in long lines running
longitudinally on it, and they are
produced on trailers as well as on
climbers. In fact, we can draw no fine
distinction between the former and the
latter in this respect, and even the Ivy
will sometimes trail along the ground
after the manner of the Periwinkle, which
roots itself at several points as it
proceeds.
The rootlets of the Ivy and other
Ivy, Showing the Rootlets or
Suckers. climbers of the same habit always avoid
the light; and if they are not originally
formed on the side of the stem facing
the supporting surface, they soon turn towards the latter, and give
rise to little clinging suckers that firmly adhere. If they come in
contact with a bare rock, or with a surface from which no nutriment
can be derived, they serve the one purpose of clinging only; but if
they reach even a small amount of nutritive soil, they produce
absorbent fibres that are capable of extracting food.
The ivy usually clings to the bark of trees or to old walls, the
crevices of which often contain some small amount of transported
soil, or more or less organic soil formed by the growth and decay of
low forms of vegetable life; and thus the tree is enabled to obtain a
little food from the objects that give it the necessary mechanical
support.
The well-known Virginian Creeper (Ampelopsis) produces rootlets by
means of which it can cling to very smooth surfaces. Its light-
avoiding 'tendrils' always turn to the wall or other supporting body;
and, on coming in contact with it, give off little branches which
diverge like the toes of the tree-frog, and produce little adhesive
discs which hold on firmly by the aid of a sticky secretion.
Perhaps the most interesting of all climbing plants are those which
twine their stems around the props afforded by the neighbouring
growths. As before stated, the stems of these plants are erect when
very young; but after they have reached a certain height the top of
the stem bends to one side, and then, as the growth proceeds, it
turns slowly round and round, describing a circle in the horizontal
plane, thus seeking some support round which it can twine.
The rate at which the top of the stem revolves varies in different
plants, and also in the same plant according to the temperature and
other conditions affecting the growth. In some species the upper
portion describes a complete circle in less than two hours during
warm weather, while in others a single revolution may occupy one or
two days.
It will be seen, from the nature of these movements, that the
revolving stem is far more likely to come in contact with erect, rather
than with horizontal supports, and observations made on twining
stems will show that they seldom fix themselves round supports
which are placed horizontally or only on a slight incline. In fact,
some of these stems seem quite unable to twist themselves spirally
except round an axis that is either erect or forms a very large angle
with the horizontal plane.
Should the twining stem succeed in reaching a favourable prop, it
immediately commences to bend itself round and round, forming a
more or less compact spiral; and it is probable that the slight
pressure, caused by the contact, acts as a stimulus which incites the
peculiar mode of growth.
The direction which the spiral takes is not always the same. In the
Hop, Honeysuckle, and the Climbing Buckwheat or Black Bindweed,
the direction is always the same as that of the hands of a clock;
while in the Bindweeds the spiral is invariably contra-clockwise.
Further, it is not possible to compel any species to turn in a direction
opposite to that which it naturally follows. Its stem may be forcibly
twined in the wrong direction any number of times, but the free end
will always follow its natural course as soon as it is left undisturbed.
Should the stem of a young twining
plant fail to reach a suitable support, it
bends over, not being sufficiently rigid
to support itself, and at last the apex
reaches the ground. Then, starting
afresh from this second position of rest,
it begins to ascend, and its upper end
again commences to revolve as before.
The chances are that it will, from this
second position, find something round
which it can twine; but failing this its
summit may again and again bend to
the ground, thus renewing its attempts
from various positions more or less
distant from one another, and in each
effort so made the revolving upper end
of the stem gradually lengthens, and
describes a larger and larger circle in
search for a favourable prop.
A twining stem sometimes has the
advantage of additional support
Stem of the Bindweed, Twining to
afforded by the stiff nature of the base
the Left. of the stem, which is often rendered still
more rigid by a twist or torsion
resembling that of the strands of a rope.
Such advantage is often still further increased by the presence of
longitudinal ridges of the stem, frequently bearing rows of hooked
prickles or hairs that hold on to any object touched. Again, the base
of the stem, even though it reaches nothing round which it can
twine, sometimes takes the form of a spiral, thus forming a good
foundation for the upper portion as it seeks out a convenient prop.
Yet another contrivance to secure the same end may be observed in
the Greater Bindweed and some other plants. The stems, failing to
secure a favourable hold, twine round one another, thus producing a
kind of rigid cable for the support of the upper extremities as they
revolve in order to find stems round which to form their spirals.
Should all the methods and contrivances of the twining plant fail it in
its attempts to secure an uppermost place among the surrounding
herbage or shrubs, it is compelled to trail along the ground. But such
a position is most disadvantageous and unnatural to it, and usually
results in a stunted and sickly plant that may produce no flowers.
Most of the twining plants of our country are of short duration.
Many, like the Climbing Buckwheat, are annuals; while others, as the
Hop and the Bindweeds, though they have perennial roots, produce
fresh stems each season. The Honeysuckle and the Bittersweet,
however, have perennial, woody stems which increase in thickness
year by year, though the latter does not twine very much, and seems
to take an intermediate place between the typical twiners and the
plants which support themselves by merely interlacing their stems
with the neighbouring plants or shrubs.
Some twining stems are unable to form their spirals round thick
supports, and after making some attempt to do so grow off at a
tangent to seek some less bulky prop. It has been observed, for
instance, that the Hop cannot grasp a pole that is more than four
inches in diameter.
In many cases, too, the spirals of the twining stem increase in
diameter after they are first formed, and can thus adapt themselves
to the increasing size of a living stem round which they have grown.
The spirals of the Honeysuckle, however, do not increase in this way;
and consequently, when they surround the trunk or branch of a
young tree, the latter is constricted, often to such an extent that it is
strangled and becomes stunted in its growth.
Another class of climbing plants cling to their surroundings by means
of tendrils, which are modifications of leaves or shoots that grow
spirally like the stems we have been considering.
Whatever be the origin of a
tendril, it generally grows
straight until it has reached
some favourable support, and in
order to obtain such support it
performs circular movements
similar to those of the tips of
twining stems. Like these stems,
too, the tendril is always
sensitive, and forms a close
spiral round the object it
touches.
Some tendrils will grow spirally
without ever touching a support,
but these often become stunted
and wither, while those which
reach and embrace a stem or
other structure are apparently
incited to a luxuriant growth by
the stimulating effect of the
pressure produced.
Stem of the Hop, Twining to the Right.
When the tip of a tendril is
successful in gripping a stem
firmly, the portion behind it often takes part in the spiral movement,
thus becoming shorter, and pulling the support towards its own plant
in such a manner as to bring it within the reach of additional
tendrils.
Of course the tendrilled plants have a much better chance of
securing a suitable support than the twiners, for the latter have to
depend on the searching and clinging powers of but one structure,
while the tendrils are usually very numerous on the same plant, and
throw themselves out in all directions in search of the required aid.
The production of tendrils as a means of support is also much more
economical than the method of clinging by a twining stem, for the
former are usually very slender, while the latter must necessarily be
sufficiently thick to convey the nutritive requirements of the whole
plant; and thus the process of clinging by tendrils is more in
accordance with the usual economy of Nature.
We have observed that twining stems can, as a rule, twine round
only those supports which are erect or nearly so. This is not the case
with tendrils, which are better adapted for twisting round horizontal
stems and leafstalks. Often, too, they pass from one branch or leaf
to another, and so secure the plant to which they belong by
fastenings both above and below. Further, while the clasping part of
a tendril often becomes hard and rigid, the portion between this and
the plant may remain green and flexible. This latter portion also
frequently forms a new spiral in the opposite direction, thus
rendering the connexion between the plant and its support so supple
and elastic that no damage is likely to accrue from the motions
caused by the wind.
The tendrils which form long spirals are generally modified stems or
leaves, or they may be elongated leaflets of a compound leaf. Those
which are modified stems may be distinguished by their growth from
the axils of the leaves, denoting that they had their origin in axillary
buds after the manner of branches generally; and also, sometimes,
by the fact that they bear imperfect leaves in the form of little
scales. The tendrils of the Common or White Bryony (p. 96) are of
this nature; while those of the Grape Vine are either modified floral
stems or altered flower-stalks.
In some cases the entire leaf may be changed into a tendril, in
which instance its true nature is revealed by the presence of a bud
in its axil, as in many ordinary foliage leaves. More frequently,
however, the 'leaf-tendril' is an altered leaflet of a compound leaf,
such as we see in the Peas and Vetches; and it is interesting to note
in such cases that the loss entailed by the conversion of leaflets into
tendrils is often compensated for by the formation of leaf-like
stipules which are capable of performing the function of leaves. In
fact, we often find that the size of the stipules is proportional to the
number of tendrils produced; and that when the leaflets are
considerably reduced in number by their conversion into tendrils, not
only are the stipules large and leafy, but the stem itself may be
extended laterally into broad wing-like expansions which do the work
of foliage leaves.
Interesting illustrations of this are to be found in the Yellow Vetch—a
rather rare plant sometimes seen in sandy fields—in which all the
leaves are converted entirely into tendrils, and their function
performed by very large leafy stipules; also in the Narrow-leaved
Everlasting Pea of bushy places, in which the leaflets of the
compound leaves are all converted into tendrils with the exception of
two, the work of which is aided by the stipules and by the 'wings' of
the stem and petioles. In the Rough-podded Vetch, too, the stems
and petioles are winged to serve the same end; and other British
members of this genus have either large stipules or winged stems,
or both, to compensate for the loss of leaflets that have been
modified into tendrils.
In other climbers the blade of the leaf is not reduced in size, even
though the leaf serves the purpose of a tendril, the function of
clinging being assigned exclusively to the petiole or leaf-stalk. This
may be observed in the Wild Clematis and the Bryony, in both of
which the petiole forms a ring round any branch or stem with which
it comes in contact. These petioles are apparently equally sensitive
on all sides, and are therefore ready to cling to any available
support, whether above or below. In the Clematis the leaves are at
first at right angles to the stem of the plant, but they afterwards
turn downwards, and thus transform themselves into so many
anchors which give additional aid in supporting the climber among
the other hedgerow plants and shrubs.
 IV

EARLY SPRING
The work of the botanist is light during the early spring, especially if
his attention is directed only to plants and trees in their flowering
stages; but, to one whose ambition is to study Nature in all her
varied phases, this season of the bursting of the bud, when all
things are awakening into new life, is full of interest, and demands
no small amount of time.
The first flowers observed in the spring are mainly those hardy
weeds which may be seen in bloom almost through the year, such as
the Shepherd's Purse, Chickweed, Groundsel, White Dead Nettle,
Red Dead Nettle, and Henbit Dead Nettle. These are soon followed
by the Furze, Strawberry-leaved Cinquefoil, Snowdrop, Hazel,
Common Whitlow-grass, and other flowers that are truly blossoms of
the spring. All these will be described in turn, according to their
various habitats; the object of the present short chapter being to
note those signs of early spring which demand the attention of the
lover of Nature while flowers are as yet few and inconspicuous.
A ramble over bleak downs and moors during the cold days of early
spring will probably reveal but little of interest in the way of
vegetable life, but in sheltered vales and woods, copses, and
protected waysides, there is much to be observed. Here it is that we
find the hardy weeds which have continued to bloom throughout the
winter months; the earliest of the spring flowers; the fresh green
foliage of herbs and shrubs that, in more exposed situations, have
been completely denuded; the first tender seedlings appearing
above the ground long before the frosts are over; and the expanding
'leaf-buds' showing their green while elsewhere all life seems
dormant.
This is the season when the young botanist requires his notebook
more than the collecting-book or vasculum; for his records of early
flowers, and of the times of the appearance of the leaf in our trees
and shrubs, will prove of great interest when compared with the
corresponding events and times of other years. Not only do our
spring seasons vary considerably from year to year in such a manner
as to alter the general times of appearance of leaf and flower, but
the vicissitudes of our climate even change the order in which these
events occur.
The general study of the buds of trees should commence before
they begin to burst. We commonly speak of the buds as winter buds,
but it should be known that they were formed in the preceding
summer or autumn, and have remained dormant throughout the
winter. There is usually a terminal bud at the tip of each twig, and
lateral buds at the sides. If we examine a lateral bud we find
immediately beneath it a more or less distinct scar, denoting the
position of a leaf that fell in the autumn, thus showing that the bud
in question was formed in the axil or angle of the leaf. These
observations should be verified by examining the trees in autumn,
while the leaves still exist.
It is not sufficient that we are able to recognise trees when in leaf;
they should be known equally or almost as well during the winter
and early spring while the branches are bare, and this is usually
easily accomplished by making ourselves acquainted with the
general form of each tree as viewed from a distance, and, on closer
inspection, with the nature of the bark and the character of the
buds.
All our forest trees are of the exogenous type; that is, their stems
increase in thickness by the addition of new wood formed outside
the older wood and underneath the bark. Thus the bark, which is
composed of a layer or mass of dead, sapless cells, is gradually
pushed outward as the stem thickens. The result is that the bark is
either more or less fractured, as in the Elm and the Oak, or it flakes
off and falls to the ground, as is the case with the Plane and the
Birch. A new layer of bark is always formed during each summer,
and this, in turn, either cracks or peels away; but while, in the
former instance, the accumulated bark presents a very rugged
appearance, and becomes very thick, in the latter case it remains
smooth, and is always thin.
Then again, how are we to account for the great variety in the
general forms of our different trees—the irregular, crooked nature of
the Oak; the slender, but denser branching of the airy Birch; and the
tall, pyramidal form of the Lombardy Poplar? All this is easily
understood if we carefully observe the positions of the buds as seen
during the winter months; and watch the development of these buds
during early spring.
 Trees in Winter or Early Spring
1. Hazel, with catkins. 2. Ash. 3. Oak. 4. Lime,
with remains of the last season's fruits.

If the buds are irregularly scattered on the twigs, the lateral buds
being as strongly developed as the terminal ones, while, in the
spring, as is often the case, certain only of the buds develop into
new twigs, the others remaining dormant, then the branches assume
that irregular, crooked appearance so characteristic of the Oak. If, on
the other hand, all the terminal buds are well developed, and the
lateral buds are weaker and more regularly distributed, but farther
apart, then the tree grows more rapidly in height than in breadth,
and assumes more nearly the character of the Pyramidal Poplar. It
will thus be seen that the study of trees in their winter condition is
not altogether lacking in interest.
Referring once more, but briefly, to the matter of dormant buds, we
recommend the reader not only to observe that some buds do not
expand with the others during the spring, but to make them the
subject of experiment. Thus, when the Horsechestnut is well in leaf,
dormant buds will usually be seen on the sides of the twigs,
sheltered by the spreading leaves produced at the tips. Now remove
the whole cluster of leaves formed by the terminal bud, together
with the bud itself, and the hitherto dormant laterals, under the
influence of increased light and warmth, and supplied with sap that
is now directed into new channels, will speedily show signs of
growth. Similarly, the fruit-gardener will remove the tips of the
branches of his fruit trees, which often bear buds that are destined
to produce leafy twigs only, and thus encourage the growth of the
fruiting buds that are situated lower on the twigs.
Let us now briefly consider the structure of buds and the manner in
which they are protected. Most buds are surrounded by brownish
scales which are impervious to water, and thus prevent a loss by
evaporation at a season when the activity of the roots in absorbing
moisture from the soil is suspended. Such loss is still further insured
in some cases by a covering of natural varnish. On removing this
protective coat we find a dense cluster of closely-packed leaves,
variously folded or crumpled in different species, and often, in the
centre, a cluster of flowers.
What, then, is the true definition of a bud? It is a young branch, and
may give rise to a mature branch bearing foliage leaves only, floral
leaves only, or a combination of both. A transverse section of a bud,
examined, if necessary, with the aid of the microscope, will show the
nature of the branch it was destined to produce; and, in the case of
buds which represent, in embryo, branches bearing flowers, or both
leaves and flowers, it is often an easy matter to see the whorls of
the future flowers, and even the pollen cells in the anthers and the
ovules in the ovary.
 Trees in Winter or Early Spring
5. Birch, with catkins. 6. Poplar. 7. Beech.
8. Alder, with catkins and the old fruit 'cones'
of the previous season.

Interesting as it is to study the structure of buds in their dormant

condition during winter and early spring, even more fascinating is
the watching of the gradual expansion of the bud and the unfolding
of the young leaves. And it is not always necessary to make frequent
visits to the woods in order to carry out such observations, for a
large number of buds will develop almost equally well, at any rate
through their earlier stages, if the twigs bearing them be placed in
vessels of water either in or out of doors; and in many cases all the
stages from dormant bud to perfect leaves and fully-expanded
flowers may be watched in this way.
We have spoken of the protection afforded to the dormant bud
during the winter period, but it is interesting to note that protection
is necessary for the young leaves even after they have forced
themselves well out into the light and air. The reason for this is that
the epidermis or outer skin of the young leaf is not properly
developed. It is not yet water-tight, and, consequently, the sap of
the tender leaves would rapidly evaporate, so that they would soon
become dry and shrivelled.
The means by which the young leaves are protected will be readily
seen if we watch the gradual development of the bud. In many
cases these leaves remain folded long after they have left the shelter
of the original bud-scales, the manner of folding being the same as
that which obtained while within the bud. Sometimes they are folded
like a fan, or like the leaves of a book; sometimes rolled one within
the other, or irregularly crumpled in such a manner that nothing is
exposed to the air except the edges of the leaves and the surfaces
of the veins.
In addition to the protection from evaporation afforded by the
folding of the young leaves, many are covered with a dense coat of
"wool." Young leaves of the Horsechestnut are very thickly covered
with such a coat, of which only the slightest traces are to be seen in
the fully-grown leaf. The young leaves of the Beech are folded like a
fan for some time after they have left the enclosure of the bud, and
the folding is such that the only parts exposed are the margins, the
midrib, and the strongly-marked parallel veins. But since all these
parts are provided with hairs, the young leaf, as long as it is folded,
is surrounded by a complete protective covering. As the epidermis
develops, and the danger of loss by evaporation thus reduced, the
leaf straightens itself out, and the hairs either fall or become
shrivelled. The leaf of the Wayfaring Tree is protected, while young,
by a complete covering of starlike hairs which form a fine felted coat
over the whole surface; and when the epidermis is properly formed,
the hairs are all shed.
Some young leaves are preserved by scaly stipules which surround
them after they have emerged from the bud; and as soon as the
epidermis is sufficiently impermeable the stipules, having done their
work, fall to the ground. So great is the shower of these transient
structures, in the case of the Oak, Elm, and Lime trees, that the
ground is almost completely covered by them.
Young leaves have yet another
way of preventing the
evaporation of their sap, and
that is by turning themselves
into the erect position so that
the warmth of the spring sun
has but little effect on them.
The young leaves of various
grasses turn their apices
upwards; while those of the
Horsechestnut, after having
lost the protection afforded by
the woolly covering and the
original folding, turn
themselves with their points
downwards. Later, when the
epidermis is well formed, and
the leaves are so far developed Twig of the Lime in Spring, Showing the
that they are capable of Deciduous, Scaly Stipules.
utilising the energy of the sun
in the performance of their
functions, they take up the horizontal position.
Another interesting matter for spring observation is the relative
times of the bursting of the flowering buds and the leafing buds on
the same species of tree or shrub. In many cases the former are
fully developed before the latter show any signs of active growth, or
while the foliage is as yet only passing through its earliest stages.
The Hazel catkins shed their abundance of pollen before the foliage
buds show the slightest signs of green. The Blackthorn is white with
snowy blossoms before a leaf appears. The upper twigs of the Elm
appear fluffy in the distance through the formation of its flowers
while the foliage buds are still dormant; and the Alder, Willow, Poplar
and Aspen likewise produce full-blown catkins while their branches
are otherwise bare. Of the trees above named, the Hazel, Elm, Alder,
Poplar, and Aspen are dependent on the spring winds for the transfer
of the pollen, but the pollination of the Willow and the Blackthorn is
brought about by the agency of early insects which visit the flowers
for the nectar they provide.
The same spring sun which calls forth the new leaves and early
flowers exerts its vivifying influence on the seeds that fell to the
ground before the winter's frosts set in, and in sheltered places
myriads of young seedlings of plants and trees may be found in their
first stages of growth. The early history of a plant is as interesting a
study as that of the mature specimen, and the young botanist will do
well if he seeks out the germinating seeds and watches their
development. This part of botanical study may, perhaps, be carried
on more conveniently at home than in the field, for the seedlings
may be grown in soil, wet sawdust, or in water alone, and the stages
closely observed.
The seed is a plant in embryo. It consists of a young root, a bud,
and one or two seed-leaves or cotyledons. Some seeds contain
nothing but the parts just named, and when this is the case the
cotyledons contain a reserve of food material sufficient to maintain
the developing plant until the root is enabled to absorb sufficient
nutriment from the soil, and the first foliage leaves are so far
advanced that they can absorb carbonic acid gas from the air, and
build up with the aid of this gas, together with the food obtained
from the soil, the compounds required by the growing plant.
Other seeds contain, in addition to the embryo, a reserve of nutrient
material quite distinct from it; and in such instances the cotyledons
have the power of taking up this reserve, changing it to a condition
suitable to the requirements of the plant, and then distributing it to
the growing parts.
 In some seedlings the cotyledons will
remain for some time within, or partially
within the seed, in order that they may
continue the absorption of this reserve;
and while this process is going on the
seed may remain below the surface of
the soil, or it may be lifted into the air
by the upward growth of the cotyledons
themselves.
In cases where the cotyledons contain
the food reserve for the seedling they
sometimes remain under the soil, but in
many instances they are pushed into
the air by the upward growth of that
portion of the plant axis immediately
below them. In either case they decay
as soon as their work is accomplished.
This often happens as soon as they
have delivered up to the seedling their
reserve of food, but frequently the
cotyledons which ascend into the air
expand, becoming really leaflike in
general appearance, assuming a green
colour through the development of
chlorophyll (the green colouring matter
of plants), and then perform all the
functions of the ordinary foliage leaves
Seedling of the Beech, Showing the of the plant. Such cotyledons often
Cotyledons and the First Foliage
Leaves.
continue to exist long after the first
foliage leaves have appeared from the
bud, for, although the original food
reserve has been exhausted, they are now in a position to
manufacture, under the combined influence of the sun's warmth and
light, compounds essential for their own growth as well as that of
the other parts of the seedling. These cotyledons, however, are
never of the same form as the true foliage leaves.
The student should obtain a variety of seeds or seedlings of our wild
plants and forest trees in order to study these interesting early
stages. Such employment will prove very valuable at a season when
there is but little call for outdoor work.
 V

WOODS AND THICKETS IN SPRING

One of our earliest spring flowers of the wood is the lovely Daffodil
or Lent Lily (Narcissus Pseudo-narcissus) of the order
Amaryllidaceæ. This plant develops from a bulb—an underground
bud formed of thick, fleshy leaves; and the flowers appear during
March and April. The perianth is composed of a tube and six
spreading limbs of a delicate yellow colour; and a deep, bell-shaped,
golden coronet, beautifully notched and curled at the rim.
During April and May we meet
with the beautiful little Wood
Anemone (Anemone nemorosa—
order Ranunculaceæ), often in
such abundance that the ground
beneath the trees is completely
covered by its graceful leaves
and flowers. The leaves are
radical, stalked, and deeply
lobed, springing from an
underground stem. On the
flower stalk, some distance
below the flower, is a whorl of
stalked bracts of the same form
as the radical leaves. The flower
has six spreading sepals,
resembling petals, usually white,
but often tinged with a delicate
 The Daffodil. pink, or, more rarely, with blue.
The fruit consists of a number of
downy achenes.

The Wood Anemone

Belonging to the same order (Ranunculaceæ) we have two species

of Hellebore—the Green Hellebore (Helleborus viridis) and the
Stinking Hellebore (H. fœtidus), both found in woods on chalk or
limestone during April and May. The former, also known in parts as
the Bear's-foot Plate I, Fig. 1), has leaves palmately lobed,
consisting of five or seven parts; and the flowers, which are more
than an inch across, have spreading green sepals, and small tubular
petals which contain nectar that is supposed to be poisonous on
account of the small dead flies that are commonly found sticking to
it. The Stinking Hellebore, or Setterwort, has evergreen, radical
leaves, the lobes of which do not radiate from a common centre;
and the flowers, of which there are many on each peduncle, have
erect sepals.
The Goldilocks or Wood Ranunculus (Ranunculus auricomus) is a
flower very much like the Upright Meadow Buttercup (p. 211),
though not nearly so tall, being only from six to ten inches high. It
grows chiefly in thickets and copses, and flowers from April to July.
Its root is fibrous; the stem erect, slender, and branched; the radical
leaves long-stalked, round or kidney-shaped, divided into three, five,
or seven lobes; and the stem leaves few, sessile, and palmately
divided to the base into very narrow segments. The calyx is downy,
consisting of spreading, yellow sepals; and the petals are often
partially or entirely wanting. This plant is widely distributed, but is
most frequent in the centre and south of England.
The Columbine (Aquilegia
vulgaris), also one of the
Ranunculaceæ, so well known as a
garden flower, grows wild in the
thickets and copses of several
parts, blooming from May to July.
Its branched stem grows to a
height of one or two feet; and the
leaves are stalked, with three
broad, stalked, three-lobed
segments. The pretty, drooping
flowers are usually over an inch in
diameter, of a white, blue, or
purple colour, in a loose, leafy
panicle. They have five coloured,
deciduous sepals; five petals, each
with a curved spur that projects
below the base of the calyx;
numerous stamens; and an ovary
of five carpels which ripen into as
many follicles.
The Dog Violet (Viola canina—
Order Violaceæ) is probably too
well known to need description,
The Goldilocks
seeing that it is easily
distinguished from the other
species of the same genus by the absence of scent and by the
presence of running stems. It is, however, very variable, both in its
habits and habitats, so much so, indeed, that some botanists regard
the varieties as distinct species under the titles of Wood Violet, Dark
Wood Violet, Pale Wood Violet, Hill Violet, Bog Violet, &c. These
different forms are distinguished by the shape of the leaves, which
may be broadly-cordate, narrow-cordate, or lanceolate; and also by
the nature of the stem and the form and colour of the spur of the
corolla. In some the main stem is flowerless, but flowering stems
proceed from the axils of its leaves; in others the main stem is long
and branched, bearing flowers. The narrow-leaved and branched
varieties occur principally on heaths, while the broad-leaved forms,
in which the main stem is flowerless, are found chiefly in woods. The
student will do well to compare as many forms as possible as an
interesting study in variation.
The flowers have five
sepals; and five unequal
petals, usually of a bluish-
purple colour, the lower one
prolonged backward into a
blunt spur. Five stamens
closely surround the ovary,
which is composed of three
carpels, but is one-celled.
The mode of the dispersion
of the seeds is particularly
interesting in this instance.
When the seeds are ripe
the ovary splits into three
valves which spread out till
they are at right angles to
their former position. Each
valve is closely packed with
The Wild Columbine.
smooth, oval seeds; and, as
the carpels dry, their sides,
originally convex, become gradually straightened so that they press
on the seeds. The result is that the seeds are detached from the
placenta, one by one, and suddenly shot out to a distance
sometimes exceeding a yard. The whole process may be observed
by placing some ripe fruits on a large sheet of paper spread in a
warm, airy room.
Another peculiarity of the violet is to be seen in its production of two
distinct kinds of flowers. The spring flowers, which we know so well,
are conspicuous, and are visited and pollinated by insects, but they
produce few or no seeds. In the autumn another kind of flower is
formed, inconspicuous ones that often possess no petals, and which
do not open. These are fertilised by their own pollen, and produce
abundance of seed.

The Dog Violet.

Soon after the appearance of the Dog Violet—usually early in May—

we meet with the flowers of the Wood Sorrel or Alleluia (Oxalis
Acetosella), a plant which is often included with the Crane's-bills in
the order Geraniaceæ, but sometimes placed in a separate small
order (Oxalidaceæ) containing only three British species. It is a very
pretty little plant, of an acid nature, springing from a creeping
rhizome. The leaves are radical, ternate, hairy, and sensitive, folding
vertically at night in such a manner that the lower surfaces,
containing the stomata, are completely covered, and thus loss by
evaporation prevented. The flowers are usually solitary and axillary,
and the peduncle has two small bracts about half way up. There are
five sepals, united below; five white or pinkish petals; and ten
stamens, all united into one bundle, but five shorter than the others.
The ovary is five-chambered, and the fruit is a capsule.
Like the Violet, this flower is particularly interesting both as to the
nature of its flowers, and to the manner in which it scatters its
seeds. It bears two kinds of flowers—the delicate spring flowers just
described, which are barren; and the later inconspicuous blooms,
without petals, and which do not open, but produce seeds. The
latter kind of flower may be seen up to August and September.
When the ovary is ripe it splits longitudinally along five seams, but
the seeds remain attached to the placenta. Now, the seed coat is
made up of layers, one of the inner of which becomes highly
strained as the ripening proceeds, while the outer coat is not so
strained. When the seed is quite ripe the cell-walls of the deeper
layer swell, thus exerting a pressure on the outer layer, which is at
last rent. The edges of the slit formed suddenly roll back, and the
seed is violently jerked out through the opening of the capsule
immediately in front of it.
In April, and from this month to about the end of July, the Wood
Strawberry (Fragaria vesca—order Rosaceæ) is in flower. There is no
mistaking this species when in fruit, but at other times the Barren
Strawberry (Potentilla Fragariastrum), also called the Strawberry-
leaved Cinquefoil, is often confused with it. The latter may be known
by the absence of runners.
The chief distinguishing features of the Wood Strawberry are the
running stem; ternate leaves, with sessile, hairy, serrate leaflets;
hairy, erect peduncles; and white flowers, about half an inch in
diameter, on pedicels which droop when in fruit.
In shady woods grows the Sweet Woodruff (Asperula odorata—order
Rubiaceæ)—a small, erect and smooth plant, seldom exceeding
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