The Dahlia: Its Origin and Propagation in Provence (1833)

This article is adapted from the short book Le Dahlia son Origine, sa Propagation, en Provence (translated as The Dahlia: Its Origin, Propagation in Provence) by Camille Aguillou. It was written in French and published in 1833 at Toulou, France, a mere 30 years or so after the dahlia’s introduction to that country in 1800.

Although the original French language work is in the public domain, this article has been translated and edited for the modern reader and contains new material. 

This version is Copyright © 2024 by Steve K. Lloyd and may not be reproduced without permission.

The Dahlia: Its Origin and Propagation in Provence

By Camille Aguillou (1833)

Translated and Edited by Steve K. Lloyd © 2024

The Dahlia, Georgina variabilis (Willdenow), family of the Asteraceae (Juss.), introduced in France in 1800, is a lively plant from Mexico, with tuberous, spindle-shaped roots grouped in a bundle.

From the base of these tubers, herbaceous hollow stems emerge every year around the end of March, ranging from three to seven feet depending on the varieties. These stems are adorned with opposite leaves, sessile towards the ends of the branches, with petioles more or less long at their bases, pinnate with odd leaflets, sometimes seven, rarely bipinnate. 

The leaflets are more or less toothed, hairy or glabrous, forming clusters that could be mistaken at first glance for elderberry plants. Towards their summit, solitary flowers emerge from the leaf axils, sometimes two, most often on long peduncles. 

The flowers exhibit a wide range of colors, with eight to ten half-florets arranged around a disc shining with golden florets. The seeds are dark grayish-black, long and flat, enclosed in a common scale-like receptacle.

Dahlias today constitute one of the most beautiful ornaments in our flowerbeds, with their elegant masses of foliage and splendid bunches of flowers. When arranged in espaliers, Dahlias can serve as protectors for young plants, and when placed alone in a garden, they display infinite grace. The sight of such a collection has something grand and majestic that captivates even those less fond of flowers. 

There is an indescribable pleasure in admiring this floral luxury, so full of elegance and variety, amidst the artfully distributed masses of plants in flowerbeds, baskets, and beds. 

Formerly the privilege of the wealthy, the Dahlia has now become the possession of both the poor and the rich. In Switzerland, I have seen modest dwellings, cottages in numerous valleys adorned with clusters of beautiful Dahlias. With their tall stature, they seemed to exert a kind of sovereignty over all the flowers surrounding them. Although perfectly suited to enrich the beautiful Swiss valleys, harmonizing gracefully with the lush greenery of trees and shrubs, their thousand nuances illuminated by our scorching southern sun were equally attractive to my eyes.

I classify them into two classes: the large French varieties and the dwarf English ones.

For the propagation of Dahlias in Provence, only sowing is known, and the splendor of the tubers, with care given to leaving a collar if one wants flowers the following year. Without this, the tuber only vegetates and often succumbs. 

The seeds yield endless varieties. The method of Dahlia cuttings has not yet been tried in our regions; only Northern gardeners have successfully employed it, mainly for rare species.

Here is the cultivation method I have followed and that has been successful for several years.

In the month of March, I sow Dahlia seeds in a well-prepared soil box or a small square carefully cleared of stones. The seeds should only be covered with three or four lines of very fine soil. Around the end of April, I transplant them when they have grown to the size of a quill to the location where they are to bloom, one foot apart. 

The tubers are planted in mid-March at a depth of six to seven inches, with the collar exposed, eight to ten inches away from their neighbors. The soil designated for them should have been deeply dug and fertilized from the beginning of winter in December or January, to have beautiful and vigorous plants.

If they are intended to form an espalier, as the stems grow, they are carefully tied with rush ties to reeds securely tied to stakes placed at intervals. These herbaceous shoots are very brittle. When forming clusters, colored tuteurs are used; I don't know of any place where more tuteurs of a thousand shapes and colors are used than in Switzerland. 

[Editor’s note: “Tuteur” is the french word for “trainer”, as in a place for vines, climbing roses, green beans etc. to grow on.]

There is a kind of coquetry in the way they are arranged in flowerbeds. It is the talent of the gardener to properly group Dahlias, using both tall and dwarf varieties.

The first shoots from the tubers appear in May; during the heat, Dahlias focus on reinforcing their foliage. In September, there is a second flowering that continues until the first cold spells. I would almost dare to say that it is superior to the first in the brilliance and number of flowers. During the summer, Dahlias need abundant watering, as their herbaceous consistency absorbs a vast amount.

The strongest and richest soils are most suitable for Dahlias.

Plants from blooming seeds usually bloom in June; as soon as the flowers appear, they are labeled to create a beautiful arrangement of colors the following year. Now that English Dahlias have become common, French varieties are almost entirely abandoned. I am not inclined to follow this unfortunate trend; I use both tall French Dahlias, grouping them together. Dwarfs in the front rows, the tall ones in the second and third rows. As for the dwarfs, their height varies from one to two or three feet.

In October, I start harvesting my seeds, discarding any that are in the least bit suspicious, keeping only the healthiest and most genuine ones. I arrange French seeds in one bag, English ones in another. When there are remarkable shades, I separate the seeds, noting the color name on the packet.

When the stems have been melted by autumn frosts at the end of November or December, depending on the weather, I carefully remove my tubers, letting them dry on boards or reed racks in a moderately lit room for a few days. When lifting them from the ground, I attached a number engraved or painted on a piece of wood.

This number corresponds to that in my catalog, indicating the color, size, and origin of the Dahlia. When replanting, I make sure to note all these details, specifying the position where I place my Dahlia. This method ensures that I never mistake the history of my plants. The Dahlia is one of the flowers that requires the least care in our regions; all they need is water and tuteurs to protect them from the fury of our Mistral wind.

Tubers last for several years; I have some that I lift every year, dating back 7 to 8 years. They are prone to rotting; I attribute this accident to the season when they are harvested; dryness and sun are required. 

When they are completely dry, they are placed in paper bags, with a label on top. Some people leave their tubers in the ground, and there is no danger for them unless the cold becomes very intense and the ground freezes several inches deep. Fortunately, such a sad calamity does not afflict Provence every year.

For the benefit of horticulture enthusiasts who may recognize some analogy between Dahlia tubers and potatoes or others, I quote the following passage from the Classical Dictionary of Natural History by Audonin, Bourdon, etc. (vol. 7, p. 310):

The botanical relationships between Dahlias and Jerusalem artichokes led to the belief that humans and animals could derive some benefit from their tubers; they were even considered a healthy and pleasant food. 

However, Mr. Desmazières in Lille (1823) demonstrated through his observations that their use should be limited to the food of domestic animals, who seem to be very fond of them. In 1823, chemists Mr. Payen and Mr. Chevallier praised these roots as a fermentable substance; they identified a principle they named "dahline," but according to Braconnot, it only exhibits the characteristics of inulin.

In conclusion, I believe that at this moment, humans cannot derive any benefit from these tubers for their food; they remain as ornaments for our flowerbeds, unless later cultivation improves this substance and new analyses demonstrate that we need to reconsider the opinion expressed about this root. 

I leave it to the enlightened scholars who bring glory to our country to enlighten us on this matter.

Personally, I wanted to outline a few lines on the cultivation method I followed for my Dahlias; these were all my thoughts. I will be satisfied if what I have said can be useful to our Provencal horticulturists.