Free Fatal Inheritance by Catherine Shaw

plant are either all green or all yellow, never some of each or some strange greenish-yellow combination, and the pods themselves are either smooth or pinched in between each pea. Finally, the peas themselves are either green or yellow, either round or wrinkled. Mendel studied these properties, and the first observation he made was this: if you take a single pea plant and write down all of its properties (for instance, tall with flowers at the top, smooth green pods and round green peas), and you take a pea from this plant, plant it and observe the plant that then grows, it will have all the same properties exactly, and so on down the generations.’
    ‘So in fact, a pea plant is a creature that has but a single parent,’ I observed. ‘I was wondering about that. Does Mother Earth really play no role in the genesis of the new plant?’
    ‘None at all. The pea is naturally a monoparental plant practising self-fertilisation, but it can be made to have two parents by the method of cross-fertilisation. This is the experiment that Mendel made.’
    ‘He was not alone to make such experiments,’ interjected Francis Darwin suddenly. ‘My father did many such, over a period of years, and even published a book called
The Effects of Cross and Self-Fertilisation in the Vegetable Kingdom.’
    ‘But of course,’ rejoined Professor Correns placatingly, then added, ‘your father’s book is a classic of the subject, and his methods are certainly similar to those of Mendel. Cross-fertilisation and breeding of plants has been practised by gardeners for hundreds of years. Mendel’s research took place several years earlier than Darwin’s, of course, since he published his article in 1865 and that already followed years of research, whereas your father’s book, if I am not mistaken, appeared in 1876. But that is not the point. Mendel’s particularity was the mathematical study of the results, and the mathematical theory he devised to explain them. It is in this that he differed from all who preceded and followed him in the study of cross-fertilisation of plants.’
    His father’s honour saved, Francis Darwin subsided, and, with the true interest of the scientist, prepared to listen as attentively as I to the German professor’s explanations.
    ‘To return to your point,’ he began, ‘Mother Earth certainly plays a role in the genesis of plants, since a plant could not be born and grow without nutrients. But she plays no role in their hereditary properties. Father Plant, Mother Earth – it is a beautiful analogy, but it is not correct here. There is a proper analogy within the pea plant itself to the role of both mother and father, and it takes place within the flower. You see, within the petals of the flower of the pea plant, like most common flowers such as crocuses and tulips, there are two organs, the pistil which is the centre part, and the stamens which are the tiny stems containing a little yellow spot on the top of each. It is the stamens which play the role of the male organ, as their pollen ferti—?’
    The professor’s voice ground to a halt as his attention was drawn to the strange behaviour of my neighbour upon the sofa, Mrs Bates. For some moments already she had been fanning herself vigorously with a Chinese fan decorated with pagodas and flying herons, from which depended a green tassel decorated with a bead, and now she leant back, closed her eyes and slipped into a near faint. Her pale lips murmured something that I didn’t catch, since I was paying attention to the maid, who was already hastening forward holding out smelling salts. I took them and agitated them under Mrs Bates’ nose, and she revived somewhat and remonstrated in a voice of deep dismay.
    ‘I cannot stand it – such language! I have never heard such a conversation. The stamens – the male – indeed! I cannot bear it – I am sorry – I am not accustomed …’
    Her voice trailed away in a show of weakness, but her husband, rushing