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Title: The Shakespeare Garden
Author: Singleton, Esther
Language: English
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THE SHAKESPEARE GARDEN
[Illustration: STRATFORD-UPON-AVON, NEW PLACE, BORDER OF ANNUALS]
THE SHAKESPEARE GARDEN
BY ESTHER SINGLETON
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
AND REPRODUCTIONS OF
OLD WOOD CUTS
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED BY THE CENTURY CO.
NEW YORK M CM XX II
Copyright, 1922, by
THE CENTURY CO.
Printed in U. S. A.
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY MOTHER
WHOSE RARE ARTISTIC TASTES AND WHOSE CULTURED
INTELLECT LED ME IN EARLY YEARS TO THE APPRECIATION
OF SHAKESPEARE AND ALL MANIFESTATIONS
OF BEAUTY IN LITERATURE AND ART
PREFACE
In adding another book to the enormous number of works on Shakespeare,
I beg indulgence for a few words of explanation.
Having been for many years an ardent and a devoted student of
Shakespeare, I discovered long ago that there was no adequate book
on the Elizabethan garden and the condition of horticulture in
Shakespeare's time. Every Shakespeare student knows how frequently
and with what subtle appreciation Shakespeare speaks of flowers.
Shakespeare loved all the simple blossoms that "paint the meadows
with delight": he loved the mossy banks in the forest carpeted with
wild thyme and "nodding violets" and o'er-canopied with eglantine and
honeysuckle; he loved the cowslips in their gold coats spotted with
rubies, "the azured harebells" and the "daffodils that come before
the swallow dares"; he loved the "winking mary-buds," or marigolds,
that "ope their golden eyes" in the first beams of the morning sun; he
loved the stately flowers of stately gardens--the delicious musk-rose,
"lilies of all kinds," and the flower-de-luce; and he loved all the
new "outlandish" flowers, such as the crown-imperial just introduced
from Constantinople and "lark's heels trim" from the West Indies.
Shakespeare no doubt visited Master Tuggie's garden at Westminster, in
which Ralph Tuggie and later his widow, "Mistress Tuggie," specialized
in carnations and gilliflowers, and the gardens of Gerard, Parkinson,
Lord Zouche, and Lord Burleigh. In addition to these, he knew the
gardens of the fine estates in Warwickshire and the simple cottage
gardens, such as charm the American visitor in rural England. When
Shakespeare calls for a garden scene, as he does in "Twelfth Night,"
"Romeo and Juliet," and "King Richard II," it is the "stately garden"
that he has in his mind's eye, the finest type of a Tudor garden, with
terraces, "knots," and arbors. In "Love's Labour's Lost" is mentioned
the "curious knotted garden."
Realizing the importance of reproducing an accurate representation of
the garden of Shakespeare's time the authorities at Stratford-upon-Avon
have recently rearranged "the garden" of Shakespeare's birthplace; and
the flowers of each season succeed each other in the proper "knots"
and in the true Elizabethan atmosphere. Of recent years it has been a
fad among American garden lovers to set apart a little space for a
"Shakespeare garden," where a few old-fashioned English flowers are
planted in beds of somewhat formal arrangement. These gardens are not,
however, by any means replicas of the simple garden of Shakespeare's
time, or of the stately garden as worked out by the skilful
Elizabethans.
It is my hope, therefore, that this book will help those who desire a
perfect Shakespeare garden, besides giving Shakespeare lovers a new
idea of the gardens and flowers of Shakespeare's time.
Part One is devoted to the history and evolution of the small enclosed
garden within the walls of the medieval castle into the Garden of
Delight which Parkinson describes; the Elizabethan garden, the
herbalists and horticulturists; and the new "outlandish" flowers. Part
Two describes the flowers mentioned by Shakespeare and much quaint
flower lore. Part Three is devoted to technical hints, instruction and
practical suggestions for making a correct Shakespeare garden.
Shakespeare does not mention all the flowers that were familiar in
his day, and, therefore, I have described in detail only those spoken
of in his plays. I have chosen only the varieties that were known to
Shakespeare; and in a Shakespeare garden only such specimens should
be planted. For example, it would be an anachronism to grow the
superb modern pansies, for the "pansy freaked with jet," as Milton so
beautifully calls it, is the tiny heartsease, or "johnny-jump-up."
On the other hand, the carnations (or "sops-in-wine") and gilliflowers
were highly developed in Shakespeare's day and existed in bewildering
variety.
We read of such specimens as the Orange Tawny Gilliflower, the
Grandpère, the Lustie Gallant or Westminster, the Queen's Gilliflower,
the Dainty, the Fair Maid of Kent or Ruffling Robin, the Feathered
Tawny, Master Bradshaw's Dainty Lady, and Master Tuggie's Princess,
besides many other delightful names.
I have carefully read every word in Parkinson's huge volume, _Paradisi
in Sole; Paradisus Terrestris_ (London, 1629), to select from his
practical instructions to gardeners and also his charming bits of
description. I need not apologize for quoting so frequently his
intimate and loving characterizations of those flowers that are
"nourished up in gardens." Take, for example, the following description
of the "Great Harwich":
I take [says Parkinson] this goodly, great old English Carnation as a
precedent for the description of all the rest, which for his beauty
and stateliness is worthy of a prime place. It riseth up with a great,
thick, round stalk divided into several branches, somewhat thickly set
with joints, and at every joint two long, green (rather than whitish)
leaves turning or winding two or three times round. The flowers stand
at the tops of the stalks in long, great and round green husks, which
are divided into five points, out of which rise many long and broad
pointed leaves deeply jagged at the ends, set in order, round and
comely, making a gallant, great double Flower of a deep carnation
color almost red, spotted with many bluish spots and streaks, some
greater and some lesser, of an excellent soft, sweet scent, neither
too quick, as many others of these kinds are, nor yet too dull, and
with two whitish crooked threads like horns in the middle. This kind
never beareth many flowers, but as it is slow in growing, so in
bearing, not to be often handled, which showeth a kind of stateliness
fit to preserve the opinion of magnificence.
It will amaze the reader, perhaps, to learn that horticulture was
in such a high state of development. Some wealthy London merchants
and noblemen, Nicholas Leate, for example, actually kept agents
traveling in the Orient and elsewhere to search for rare bulbs and
plants. Explorers in the New World also brought home new plants and
flowers. Sir Walter Raleigh imported the sweet potato and tobacco (but
neither is mentioned by Shakespeare) and from the West Indies came the
_Nasturtium Indicum_--"Yellow Lark's Heels," as the Elizabethans called
it.
Many persons will be interested to learn the quaint old flower names,
such as "Sops-in-Wine," the "Frantic Foolish Cowslip," "Jack-an-Apes on
Horseback," "Love in Idleness," "Dian's Bud," etc.
The Elizabethans enjoyed their gardens and used them more than we use
ours to-day. They went to them for _re-creation_--a renewing of body
and refreshment of mind and spirit. They loved their shady walks, their
pleached alleys, their flower-wreathed arbors, their banks of thyme,
rosemary, and woodbine, their intricate "knots" bordered with box or
thrift and filled with bright blossoms, and their labyrinths, or mazes.
Garden lovers were critical and careful about the arrangement and
grouping of their flowers. To-day we try for masses of color; but the
Elizabethans went farther than we do, for they blended their hues and
even shaded colors from dark to light. The people of Shakespeare's day
were also fastidious about perfume values--something we do not think
about to-day. The planting of flowers with regard to the "perfume on
the air," as Bacon describes it, was a part of ordinary garden lore.
We have altogether lost this delicacy of gardening.
This book was the logical sequence of a talk I gave two years ago upon
the "Gardens and Flowers of Shakespeare's Time" at the residence of
Mrs. Charles H. Senff in New York, before the International Garden
Club. This talk was very cordially received and was repeated by request
at the home of Mrs. Ernest H. Fahnestock, also in New York.
I wish to express my thanks to Mr. Norman Taylor of the Brooklyn
Botanic Garden, for permission to reprint the first chapter, which
appeared in the "Journal of the International Garden Club," of which
he is the editor. I also wish to thank Mr. Taylor for his valued
encouragement to me in the preparation of this book.
I wish to direct attention to the remarkable portrait of Nicholas
Leate, one of the greatest flower collectors of his day, photographed
especially for this book from the original portrait in oils, painted by
Daniel Mytens for the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers, of which Leate
was master in 1616, 1626, and 1627.
The portrait of this English worthy has never been photographed
before; and it is a great pleasure for me to bring before the public
the features and personality of a man who was such a deep lover of
horticulture and who held such a large place in the London world in
Shakespeare's time. The dignity, refinement, distinction, and general
atmosphere of Nicholas Leate--and evidently Mytens painted a direct
portrait without flattery--bespeak the type of gentleman who sought
_re-creation_ in gardens and who could have held his own upon the
subject with Sir Francis Bacon, Sir Thomas More, Sir Philip Sidney,
Lord Burleigh, and Sir Henry Wotton--and, doubtless, he knew them all.
It was not an easy matter to have this portrait photographed, because
when the Hall of the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers was destroyed by
a German bomb in 1917 the rescued portrait was stored in the National
Gallery. Access to the portrait was very difficult, and it was only
through the great kindness of officials and personal friends that a
reproduction was made possible.
I wish, therefore, to thank the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers
for the gracious permission to have the portrait photographed and to
express my gratitude to Mr. Collins Baker, keeper of the National
Gallery, and to Mr. Ambrose, chief clerk and secretary of the
National Gallery, for their kind co-operation; to Mr. C. W. Carey,
curator of the Royal Holloway College Gallery, who spent two days
in photographing the masterpiece; and also to Sir Evan Spicer of the
Dulwich Gallery and to my sister, Mrs. Carrington, through whose joint
efforts the arrangements were perfected.
I also wish to thank the Trustees and Guardians of Shakespeare's
Birthplace, who, through their Secretary, Mr. F. C. Wellstood, have
supplied me with several photographs of the Shakespeare Garden at
Stratford-upon-Avon, especially taken for this book, with permission
for their reproduction.
E. S.
New York, September 4, 1922.
CONTENTS
PART ONE
THE GARDEN OF DELIGHT
PAGE
EVOLUTION OF THE SHAKESPEARE GARDEN 3
I. The Medieval Pleasance 3
II. Garden of Delight 11
III. The Italian Renaissance Garden 15
IV. Bagh-i-Vafa 19
V. New Fad for Flowers 21
VI. Tudor Gardens 25
VII. Garden Pleasures 29
THE CURIOUS KNOTTED GARDEN 31
I. Flower Lovers and Herbalists 31
II. The Elizabethan Garden 40
III. Old Garden Authors 68
IV. "Outlandish" and English Flowers 78
PART TWO
THE FLOWERS OF SHAKESPEARE
SPRING: "THE SWEET O' THE YEAR" 93
I. Primroses, Cowslips, and Oxlips 93
II. "Daffodils That Come Before the Swallow
Dares" 109
III. "Daisies Pied and Violets Blue" 118
IV. "Lady-smocks All Silver White" and
"Cuckoo-buds of Every Yellow Hue" 130
V. Anemones and "Azured Harebells" 133
VI. Columbine and Broom-flower 137
SUMMER: "SWEET SUMMER BUDS" 145
I. "Morning Roses Newly Washed with
Dew" 145
II. "Lilies of All Kinds" 160
III. Crown-Imperial and Flower-de-Luce 167
IV. Fern and Honeysuckle 175
V. Carnations and Gilliflowers 181
VI. Marigold and Larkspur 189
VII. Pansies for Thoughts and Poppies for
Dreams 200
VIII. Crow-flowers and Long Purples 207
IX. Saffron Crocus and Cuckoo-flowers 210
X. Pomegranate and Myrtle 215
AUTUMN: "HERBS OF GRACE" AND "DRAMS OF
POISON" 224
I. Rosemary and Rue 224
II. Lavender, Mints, and Fennel 231
III. Sweet Marjoram, Thyme, and Savory 236
IV. Sweet Balm and Camomile 243
V. Dian's Bud and Monk's-hood Blue 246
WINTER: "WHEN ICICLES HANG BY THE WALL" 253
I. Holly and Ivy 253
II. Mistletoe and Box 261
PART THREE
PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS
THE LAY-OUT OF STATELY AND SMALL FORMAL GARDENS 269
I. The Stately Garden 271
II. The Small Garden 276
III. Soil and Seed 278
IV. The Gateway 280
V. The Garden House 281
VI. The Mount 282
VII. Rustic Arches 282
VIII. Seats 284
IX. Vases, Jars, and Tubs 284
X. Fountains 285
XI. The Dove-cote 287
XII. The Sun-dial 288
XIII. The Terrace 289
XIV. The Pleached Alley 292
XV. Hedges 293
XVI. Paths 294
XVII. Borders 295
XVIII. Edgings 297
XIX. Knots 298
XX. The Rock Garden 302
XXI. Flowers 302
XXII. Potpourri 324
A MASKE OF FLOWERS 325
COMPLETE LIST OF SHAKESPEAREAN FLOWERS WITH
BOTANICAL IDENTIFICATIONS 331
APPENDIX 333
ELIZABETHAN GARDENS AT SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHPLACE 333
INDEX 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Stratford-upon-Avon, New Place, Border of Annuals _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Fifteenth Century Garden within Castle Walls, French 8
Lovers in the Castle Garden, Fifteenth Century MS. 17
Garden of Delight, Romaunt of the Rose, Fifteenth
Century 17
Babar's Garden of Fidelity 20
Italian Renaissance Garden, Villa Giusti, Verona 29
John Gerard, Lobel and Parkinson 32
Nicholas Leate 36
The Knot-Garden, New Place, Stratford-upon-Avon 45
Typical Garden of Shakespeare's Time, Crispin de
Passe (1614) 56
Labyrinth, Vredeman de Vries 64
A Curious Knotted Garden, Crispin de Passe (1614) 64
The Knot-Garden, New Place, Stratford-upon-Avon 72
Border, New Place, Stratford-upon-Avon 81
Herbaceous Border, New Place, Stratford-upon-Avon 88
Carnations and Gilliflowers; Primroses and Cowslips;
and Daffodils: from Parkinson 97
Gardeners at Work, Sixteenth Century 112
Garden Pleasures, Sixteenth Century 112
Garden in Macbeth's Castle of Cawdor 116
Shakespeare's Birthplace, Stratford-upon-Avon 125
Elizabethan Manor House, Haddon Hall 136
Rose Arbor, Warley, England 145
Red, White, Damask and Musk-Roses; Lilies and Eglantines
and Dog-Roses: from Parkinson 160
Martagon Lilies, Warley, England 168
Wilton Gardens from de Caux 176
Wilton Gardens To-day 176
A Garden of Delight 184
Sir Thomas More's Gardens, Chelsea 193
Pleaching and Plashing, from The Gardener's Labyrinth 209
Small Enclosed Garden, from The Gardener's Labyrinth 209
A Curious Knotted Garden, Vredeman de Vries 224
Garden with Arbors, Vredeman de Vries 224
Shakespeare Garden, Van Cortlandt House Museum,
Van Cortlandt Park, Colonial Dames of the State
of New York 241
Tudor Manor House with Modern Arrangement of
Gardens 256
Garden House in Old English Garden 272
Fountains, Sixteenth Century 289
Sunken Gardens, Sunderland Hall, with Unusual
Treatment of Hedges 304
Knots from Markham 321
Simple Garden Beds 321
PART ONE
THE GARDEN OF DELIGHT
EVOLUTION OF THE SHAKESPEARE
GARDEN
I
_The Medieval Pleasance_
SHAKESPEARE was familiar with two kinds of gardens: the stately and
magnificent garden that embellished the castles and manor-houses of
the nobility and gentry; and the small and simple garden such as he
had himself at Stratford-on-Avon and such as he walked through when he
visited Ann Hathaway in her cottage at Shottery.
The latter is the kind that is now associated with Shakespeare's
name; and when garden lovers devote a section of their grounds to
a "Shakespeare garden" it is the small, enclosed garden, such as
_Perdita_ must have had, that they endeavor to reproduce.
The small garden of Shakespeare's day, which we so lovingly call by
his name, was a little pleasure garden--a garden to stroll in and to
sit in. The garden, moreover, had another purpose: it was intended
to supply flowers for "nosegays" and herbs for "strewings." The
Shakespeare garden was a continuation, or development, of the Medieval
"Pleasance," where quiet ladies retired with their embroidery frames
to work and dream of their Crusader lovers, husbands, fathers, sons,
and brothers lying in the trenches before Acre and Ascalon, or storming
the walls of Jerusalem and Jericho; where lovers sat hand in hand
listening to the songs of birds and to the still sweeter songs from
their own palpitating hearts; where men of affairs frequently repaired
for a quiet chat, or refreshment of spirit; and where gay groups of
lords and ladies gathered to tell stories, to enjoy the recitation of
a wandering _trouvère_, or to sing to their lutes and viols, while
jesters in doublets and hose of bright colors and cap and bells lounged
nonchalantly on the grass to mock at all things--even love!
In the illuminated manuscripts of old _romans_, such as "Huon of
Bordeaux," the "Romaunt of the Rose," "Blonde of Oxford," "Flore et
Blancheflore, Amadis de Gaul," etc., there are many charming miniatures
to illustrate the word-pictures. From them we learn that the garden
was actually within the castle walls and _very_ small. The walls of
the garden were broken by turrets and pierced with a little door,
usually opposite the chief entrance; the walks were paved with brick
or stone, or they were sanded, or graveled; and at the intersection
of these walks a graceful fountain usually tossed its spray upon the
buds and blossoms. The little beds were laid out formally and were
bright with flowers, growing singly and not in masses. Often, too, pots
or vases were placed here and there at regular intervals, containing
orange, lemon, bay, or cypress trees, their foliage beautifully
trimmed in pyramids or globes that rose high above the tall stems.
Not infrequently the garden rejoiced in a fruit-tree, or several
fruit-trees. Stone or marble seats invitingly awaited visitors.
The note here was _charming intimacy_. It was a spot where gentleness
and sweetness reigned, and where, perforce, every flower enjoyed the
air it breathed. It was a Garden of Delight for flowers, birds, and men.
To trace the formal garden to its origin would take us far afield. We
should have to go back to the ancient Egyptians, whose symmetrical and
magnificent gardens were luxurious in the extreme; to Babylon, whose
superb "Hanging Gardens" were among the Seven Wonders of the World; and
to the Romans, who are still our teachers in the matter of beautiful
gardening. The Roman villas that made Albion beautiful, as the great
estates of the nobility and gentry make her beautiful to-day, lacked
nothing in the way of ornamental gardens. Doubtless Pliny's garden was
repeated again and again in the outposts of the Roman Empire. From
these splendid Roman gardens tradition has been handed down.
There never has been a time in the history of England where the
cultivation of the garden held pause. There is every reason to believe
that the Anglo-Saxons were devoted to flowers. A poem in the "Exeter
Book" has the lines:
Of odors sweetest
Such as in summer's tide
Fragrance send forth in places,
Fast in their stations,
Joyously o'er the plains,
Blown plants,
Honey-flowing.
No one could write "blown-plants, honey-flowing" without a deep and
sophisticated love of flowers.
Every Anglo-Saxon gentleman had a _garth_, or garden, for pleasure, and
an _ort-garth_ for vegetables. In the _garth_ the best loved flower
was the lily, which blossomed beside the rose, sunflower, marigold,
gilliflower, violet, periwinkle, honeysuckle, daisy, peony, and
bay-tree.
Under the Norman kings, particularly Henry II, when the French and
English courts were virtually the same, the citizens of London had
gardens, "large, beautiful, and planted with various kinds of trees."
Possibly even older scribes wrote accounts of some of these, but the
earliest description of an English garden is contained in "De Naturis
Rerum" by Alexander Neckan, who lived in the second half of the Twelfth
Century. "A garden," he says, "should be adorned on this side with
roses, lilies, the marigold, _molis_ and mandrakes; on that side with
parsley, cort, fennel, southernwood, coriander, sage, savory, hyssop,
mint, rue, dittany, smallage, pellitory, lettuce, cresses, _ortulano_,
and the peony. Let there also be beds enriched with onions, leeks,
garlic, melons, and scallions. The garden is also enriched by the
cucumber, which creeps on its belly, and by the soporiferous poppy, as
well as by the daffodil and the acanthus. Nor let pot-herbs be wanting,
if you can help it, such as beets, herb mercury, orache, and the
mallow. It is useful also to the gardener to have anise, mustard, white
pepper, and wormwood." And then Neckan goes on to the fruit-trees
and medicinal plants. The gardener's tools at this time were merely a
knife for grafting, an ax, a pruning-hook, and a spade. A hundred years
later the gardens of France and England were still about the same. When
John de Garlande (an appropriate name for an amateur horticulturist)
was studying at the University of Paris (Thirteenth Century) he had
a garden, which he described in his "Dictionarus," quaintly speaking
of himself in the third person: "In Master John's garden are these
plants: sage, parsley, dittany, hyssop, celandine, fennel, pellitory,
the rose, the lily, the violet; and at the side (in the hedge), the
nettle, the thistle and foxgloves. His garden also contains medicinal
herbs, namely, mercury and the mallows, agrimony with nightshade and
the marigold." Master John had also a special garden for pot-herbs
and "other herbs good for men's bodies," i.e., medicinal herbs, and a
fruit garden, or orchard, of cherries, pears, nuts, apples, quinces,
figs, plums, and grapes. About the same time Guillaume de Lorris wrote
his "Roman de la Rose"; and in this famous work of the Thirteenth
Century there is a most beautiful description of the garden of the
period. _L'Amant_ (the Lover) while strolling on the banks of a river
discovered this enchanting spot, "full long and broad behind high
walls." It was the Garden of _Delight_, or Pleasure, whose wife was
_Liesse_, or Joy; and here they dwelt with the sweetest of companions.
_L'Amant_ wandered about until he found a small wicket door in the
wall, at which he knocked and gained admittance. When he entered he was
charmed. Everything was so beautiful that it seemed to him a spiritual
place, better even than Paradise could be. Now, walking down a little
path, _bordered with mint and fennel_, he reached the spot where
_Delight_ and his companions were dancing a carol to the song of Joy.
_L'Amant_ was invited to join the dance; and after it was finished he
made a tour of the garden to see it all. And through his eyes we see
it, too.
[Illustration: FIFTEENTH CENTURY GARDEN WITHIN CASTLE WALLS, FRENCH]
The Garden of Delight was even and square, "as long as it was large."
It contained every known fruit-tree--peaches, plums, cherries, apples,
and quinces, as well as figs, pomegranates, dates, almonds, chestnuts,
and nutmegs. Tall pines, cypresses, and laurels formed screens and
walls of greenery; and many a "pair" of elms, maples, ashes, oaks,
aspens, yews, and poplars kept out the sun by their interwoven branches
and protected the green grass. And here deer browsed fearlessly and
squirrels "in great plenty" were seen leaping from bough to bough.
Conduits of water ran through the garden and the moisture made the
grass as thick and rich as velvet and "the earth was as soft as a
feather bed." And, moreover, the "earth was of such a grace" that it
produced plenty of flowers, both winter and summer:
There sprang the violet all new
And fresh periwinkle rich of hue
And flowers yellow, white and red,
Such plenty grew there, never in mead.
Full joy was all the ground and quaint
And powdered as men had it paint
With many a fresh and sundry flower
That casteth up full good savor.
Myriads of birds were singing, too--larks, nightingales, finches,
thrushes, doves, and canaries. _L'Amant_ wandered on until he came to a
marvelous fountain--the Fountain of Love--under a pine-tree.
Presently he was attracted to a beautiful rosebush, full of buds and
full-blown roses. One bud, sweeter and fresher than all the rest and
set so proudly on its spray, fascinated him. As he approached this
flower, _L'Amour_ discharged five arrows into his heart. The bud, of
course, was the woman he was destined to love and which, after many
adventures and trials, he was eventually to pluck and cherish.
This fanciful old allegory made a strong appeal to the illustrators
of the Thirteenth and later centuries; and many beautiful editions
are prized by libraries and preserved in glass cases. The edition
from which the illustration (Fifteenth Century) is taken is from the
Harleian MS. owned by the British Museum.
II
_The Garden of Delight_
The old _trouvères_ did not hesitate to stop the flow of their stories
to describe the delights and beauties of the gardens. Many romantic
scenes are staged in the "Pleasance," to which lovers stole quietly
through the tiny postern gate in the walls. When we remember what the
feudal castle was, with its high, dark walls, its gloomy towers and
loop-holes for windows, its cold floors, its secret hiding-places,
and its general gloom, it is not surprising that the lords and ladies
liked to escape into the garden. After the long, dreary winter what joy
to see the trees burst into bloom and the tender flowers push their
way through the sweet grass! Like the birds, the poets broke out into
rapturous song, as, for instance, in _Richard Cœur de Lion_:
Merry is in the time of May,
Whenne fowlis synge in her lay;
Flowers on appyl trees and perye;[1]
Small fowlis[2] synge merye;
Ladyes strew their bowers
With red roses and lily flowers;
Great joy is in grove and lake.
[1] Pear.
[2] Birds.
In Chaucer's "Franklyn's Tale" _Dorigen_ goes into her garden to try to
divert herself in the absence of her husband:
And this was on the sixte morne of May,
Which May had painted with his softe shoures.
This gardeyn full of leves and of flowers:
And craft of mannes hand so curiously
Arrayed had this gardeyn of such pris,
As if it were the verray paradis.
In the "Roman de Berte" _Charles Martel_ dines in the garden, when the
rose is in bloom--_que la rose est fleurie_--and in "La Mort de Garin"
a big dinner-party is given in the garden. Naturally the garden was
the place of all places for lovers. In "Blonde of Oxford" _Blonde_ and
_Jean_ meet in the garden under a blossoming pear-tree, silvery in the
blue moonlight, and in the "Roman of Maugis et la Belle Oriande" the
hero and heroine "met in a garden to make merry and amuse themselves
after they had dined; and it was the time for taking a little repose.
It was in the month of May, the season when the birds sing and when all
true lovers are thinking of their love."
In many of the illuminated manuscripts of these delightful _romans_
there are pictures of ladies gathering flowers in the garden, sitting
on the sward, or on stone seats, weaving chaplets and garlands; and
these little pictures are drawn and painted with such skill and beauty
that we have no difficulty in visualizing what life was like in a
garden six hundred years ago.
So valued were these gardens--not only for their flowers but even more
for the potential drugs, salves, unguents, perfumes, and ointments
they held in leaf and petal, seed and root, in those days when every
castle had to be its own apothecary storehouse--that the owner kept
them locked and guarded the key. Song, story, and legend are full
of incidents of the heroine's trouble in gaining possession of the
key of the postern gate in order to meet at midnight her lover who
adventurously scaled the high garden wall. The garden was indeed the
happiest and the most romantic spot in the precincts of the feudal
castle and the baronial manor-house.
We do not have to depend entirely upon the _trouvères_ and poets for a
knowledge of Medieval flowers. A manuscript of the Fifteenth Century
(British Museum) contains a list of plants considered necessary for
a garden. Here it is: violets, mallows, dandelions, mint, sage,
parsley, golds,[3] marjoram, fennel, caraway, red nettle, daisy, thyme,
columbine, basil, rosemary, gyllofre,[4] rue, chives, endive, red rose,
poppy, cowslips of Jerusalem, saffron, lilies, and Roman peony.
[3] Marigolds.
[4] Gilliflower.
Herbs and flowers were classed together. Many were valued for
culinary purposes and for medicinal purposes. The ladies of the
castle and manor-house were learned in cookery and in the preparation
of "simples"; and they guarded, tended, and gathered the herbs with
perhaps even more care than they gave to the flowers. Medieval pictures
of ladies, in tall peaked head dresses, fluttering veils, and graceful,
flowing robes, gathering herbs in their gardens, are abundant in the
old illustrated manuscripts.
III
_The Italian Renaissance Garden_
It is but a step from this Medieval "Pleasance" to the Shakespeare
garden. But before we try to picture what the Tudor gardens were like
it will be worth our while to pause for a moment to consider the
Renaissance garden of Italy on which the gardens that Shakespeare knew
and loved were modeled. No one is better qualified to speak of these
than Vernon Lee:
"One great charm of Renaissance gardens was the skillful manner in
which Nature and Art were blended together. The formal design of the
_Giardino segreto_ agreed with the straight lines of the house, and
the walls with their clipped hedges led on to the wilder freer growth
of woodland and meadow, while the dense shade of the _bosco_ supplied
an effective contrast to the sunny spaces of lawn and flower-bed.
The ancient practice of cutting box-trees into fantastic shapes,
known to the Romans as the topiary art, was largely restored in the
Fifteenth Century and became an essential part of Italian gardens.
In that strange romance printed at the Aldine Press in 1499, the
_Hypernotomachia_ of Francesco Colonna, Polyphilus and his beloved
are led through an enchanted garden where banquet-houses, temples and
statues stand in the midst of myrtle groves and labyrinths on the
banks of a shining stream. The pages of this curious book are adorned
with a profusion of wood-cuts by some Venetian engraver, representing
pergolas, fountains, sunk parterres, pillared _loggie_, clipped box
and ilex-trees of every variety, which give a good idea of the garden
artist then in vogue.
"Boccaccio and the Italians more usually employ the word _orto_, which
has lost its Latin signification, and is a place, as we learn from the
context, planted with fruit-trees and potherbs, the sage which brought
misfortune on poor Simona and the sweet basil which Lisabetta watered,
as it grew out of Lorenzo's head, only with rosewater, or that of
orange-flowers, or with her own tears. A friend of mine has painted a
picture of another of Boccaccio's ladies, Madonna Dianora, visiting
the garden which the enamored Ansaldo has made to bloom in January
by magic arts; a little picture full of the quaint lovely details of
Dello's wedding-chests, the charm of roses and lilies, the flashing
fountains and birds singing against a background of wintry trees, and
snow-shrouded fields, dainty youths and damsels treading their way
among the flowers, looking like tulips and ranunculus themselves in
their fur and brocade. But although in this story Boccaccio employs the
word _giardino_ instead of _orto_, I think we must imagine that magic
flower garden rather as a corner of orchard connected with fields of
wheat and olive below by the long tunnels of vine-trellis and dying
away into them with the great tufts of lavender and rosemary and fennel
on the grassy bank under the cherry trees. This piece of terraced
ground along which the water spurted from the dolphin's mouth, or the
Siren's breasts--runs through walled channels, refreshing impartially
violets and salads, lilies and tall, flowering onions under the
branches of the peach-tree and the pomegranate, to where, in the shade
of the great pink Oleander tufts, it pours out below into the big tank
for the maids to rinse their linen in the evening and the peasants
to fill their cans to water the bedded out tomatoes and the potted
clove-pinks in the shadow of the house.
[Illustration: LOVERS IN THE CASTLE GARDEN, FIFTEENTH CENTURY MS.]
[Illustration: GARDEN OF DELIGHT, ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE, FIFTEENTH
CENTURY]
"The Blessed Virgin's garden is like that where, as she prays in the
cool of the evening, the gracious Gabriel flutters on to one knee
(hushing the sound of his wings lest he startle her) through the pale
green sky, the deep blue-green valley; and you may still see in the
Tuscan fields clumps of cypress, clipped wheel shape, which might mark
the very spot."
I may recall here that the early Italian and Flemish painters were
fond of representing the Madonna and the Infant Jesus in a garden; and
the garden that they pictured was always the familiar little enclosed
garden of the period. The flowers that grew there were limited by the
Church. Each flower had its significance: the rose and the pink both
expressed divine love; the lily, purity; the violet, humility; the
strawberry, fruit and blossom, for the fruit of the spirit and the good
works of the righteous; the clover, or trefoil, for the Trinity; and
the columbine for the Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, because of its
dove-shaped petals.
The enclosed garden is ancient indeed.
O garden enclosed--a garden of living waters
And flowing streams from Lebanon:
Awake O North Wind; and come thou South;
Blow upon my garden that the spices may thereof flow out!
So sang the esthetic Solomon.
A garden enclosed, a garden of living waters, a garden of
perfumes--these are the motives of the Indian gardens of the luxurious
Mogul emperors, whose reigns coincide with Tudor times.
Symbolism played an important part in Indian gardens. The beautiful
garden of Babar (near Kabul) was called the Bagh-i-vafa--"The Garden of
Fidelity." This has many points in common with the illustration of the
"Romaunt of the Rose," particularly the high walls.
There is also great similarity with the gardens of Elizabethan
days. The "pleached allies" and "knots" of the English gardens
of Shakespeare's time find equivalents in the vine pergolas and
geometrical parterres of the Mogul emperors; and the central platform
of the Mogul gardens answered the same purpose as the banqueting-hall
on the mound, which decorated nearly every English nobleman's garden.
IV
_Bagh-i-vafa_
Babar's "Garden of Fidelity" was made in the year 1508. We see Babar
personally superintending the laying out of the "four-field plot." Two
gardeners hold the measuring line and the architect stands by with
his plan. The square enclosure at the bottom of the garden (right) is
the tank. The whole is bordered with orange and pomegranate trees. An
embassy knocks at the gate, but Babar is too absorbed in his gardening
to pay any attention to the guests.
Fifteen years later Babar stole three days away from his campaign
against the Afghans and visited his beautiful garden. "Next morning,"
he wrote in his "Memoirs," "I reached Bagh-i-vafa. It was the season
when the garden was in all its glory. Its grass-plots were all covered
with clover; its pomegranate trees were entirely of a beautiful yellow
color. It was then the pomegranate season and pomegranates were hanging
red on the trees. The orange-trees were green and cheerful, loaded with
innumerable oranges; but the best oranges were not yet ripe. I never
was so much pleased with the 'Garden of Fidelity' as on this occasion."
[Illustration: BABAR'S "GARDEN OF FIDELITY"]
Several new ideas were introduced into English gardens in the first
quarter of the Sixteenth Century. About 1525 the geometrical beds
called "knots" came into fashion, also rails for beds, also mounds,
or "mounts," and also arbors. Cardinal Wolsey had all these novelties
in his garden at Hampton Court Palace. It was a marvelous garden, as
any one who will read Cavendish may see for himself; but Henry VIII
was not satisfied with it when he seized the haughty Cardinal's home
in 1529. So four years later the King had an entirely new garden made
at Hampton Court (the Privy Garden is on the site now) with gravel
paths, beds cut in the grass, and railed and raised mounds decorated
with sun-dials. Over the rails roses clambered and bloomed and the
center of each bed was adorned with a yew, juniper, or cypress-tree.
Along the walls fruit-trees were planted--apples, pears, and
damsons--and beneath them blossomed violets, primroses, sweet williams,
gilliflowers, and other old favorites.
Toward the end of his reign Henry VIII turned his attention to
beautifying the grounds of Nonsuch Palace near Ewell in Surrey. These
gardens were worthy of the magnificent buildings. A contemporary wrote:
"The Palace itself is so encompassed with parks full of deer, delicious
gardens, groves ornamented with trellis-work, cabinets of verdure and
walks so embowered with trees that it seems to be a place pitched upon
by Pleasure herself to dwell in along with health."
V
_New Fad for Flowers_
An example of a typical Tudor estate, Beaufort House, Chelsea, later
Buckingham House, is said to have been built by Sir Thomas More in
1521 and rebuilt in 1586 by Sir Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury, who
died in 1615. The flowers at this period were the same for palace and
cottage. Tudor gardens bloomed with acanthus, asphodel, auricula,
anemone, amaranth, bachelor's buttons, cornflowers or "bottles,"
cowslips, daffodils, daisies, French broom (genista), gilliflowers
(three varieties), hollyhock, iris, jasmine, lavender, lilies,
lily-of-the-valley, marigold, narcissus (yellow and white), pansies
or heartsease, peony, periwinkle, poppy, primrose, rocket, roses,
rosemary, snapdragon, stock gilliflowers, sweet william, wallflowers,
winter cherry, violet, mint, marjoram, and other sweet-smelling herbs.
During "the great and spacious time" of Queen Elizabeth there was
an enormous development in gardens. The Queen was extremely fond of
flowers and she loved to wear them. It must have pleased her hugely
when Spenser celebrated her as "Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds," and
painted her portrait in one of the pretty enclosed gardens, seated
among the fruit-trees, where the grass was sprinkled with flowers:
See where she sits upon the grassy green,
O seemly sight!
Yclad in scarlet, like a Maiden Queen,
And ermines white;
Upon her head a crimson coronet,
With daffodils and damask roses set;
Bay leaves between,
And primeroses green,
Embellish the sweet violet.
So fond was the Queen of gardens that Sir Philip Sidney could think
of no better way to please her than to arrange his masque of the
"May Lady" so that it would surprise her when she was walking in the
garden at Wanstead in Essex. Then, too, in 1591, when visiting Cowdry,
Elizabeth expressed a desire to dine in the garden. A table forty-eight
yards long was accordingly laid.
The Tudor mansions were constantly growing in beauty. Changes
and additions were made to some of them and many new palaces and
manor-houses were erected. Architects--among them John Thorpe--and
landscape gardeners now planned the pleasure-grounds to enhance the
beauty of the mansion they had created, adapting the ideas of the
Italian Renaissance to the English taste. The Elizabethan garden
in their hands became a setting for the house and it was laid out
according to a plan that harmonized with the architecture and continued
the lines of the building. The form of the garden and the lay-out of
the beds and walks were deemed of the greatest importance. Flowers,
also, took a new place in general estimation. Adventurous mariners
constantly brought home new plants and bulbs and seeds from the East
and lately discovered America; merchants imported strange specimens
from Turkey and Poland and far Cathay; and travelers on the Continent
opened their eyes and secured unfamiliar curiosities and novelties.
The cultivation of flowers became a regular fad. London merchants
and wealthy noblemen considered it the proper thing to have a few
"outlandish" flowers in their gardens; and they vied with one another
to develop "sports" and new varieties and startling colors.
Listen to what an amateur gardener, William Harrison, wrote in 1593:
"If you look into our gardens annexed to our houses how wonderfully is
their beauty increased, not only with flowers and variety of curious
and costly workmanship, but also with rare and medicinable herbs sought
up in the land within these forty years. How Art also helpeth Nature
in the daily coloring, doubling and enlarging the proportion of one's
flowers it is incredible to report, for so curious and cunning are our
gardeners now in these days that they presume to do in manner what they
list with Nature and moderate her course in things as if they were her
superiors. It is a world also to see how many strange herbs, plants
and annual fruits are daily brought unto us from the Indies, Americas,
Taprobane, Canary Isles and all parts of the world.
"For mine own part, good reader, let me boast a little of my garden,
which is but small, and the whole area thereof little above 300 foot of
ground, and yet, such hath been my good luck in purchase of the variety
of simples, that, notwithstanding my small ability, there are very near
300 of one sort and another contained therein, no one of them being
common or usually to be had. If, therefore, my little plat void of all
cost of keeping be so well furnished, what shall we think of those of
Hampton Court, Nonesuch, Theobald's, Cobham Garden and sundrie others
appertaining to divers citizens of London whom I could particularly
name?"
VI
_Tudor Gardens_
Several men of the New Learning, who, like Shakespeare, lived into the
reign of James I, advanced many steps beyond the botanists of the early
days of Queen Elizabeth. The old Herbals--the "Great Herbal," from
the French (1516) and the "Herbals" published by William Turner, Dean
of Wells, who had a garden of his own at Kew, treat of flowers chiefly
with regard to their properties and medical uses.
The Renaissance did indeed "paint the lily" and "throw a perfume on
the violet"; for the New Age brought recognition of their esthetic
qualities and taught scholastic minds that flowers had beauty and
perfume and character as well as utilitarian qualities. Elizabeth as
Queen had very different gardens to walk in than the little one in the
Tower of London in which she took exercise as a young Princess in 1564.
Let us look at some of them. First, that of Richmond Palace. Here the
garden was surrounded by a brick wall and in the center was "a round
knot divided into four quarters," with a yew-tree in the center.
Sixty-two fruit-trees were trained on the wall.
This seems to have been of the old type--the orchard-garden, where a
few old favorite flowers bloomed under the trees and in the central
"knot," or bed. In the Queen's locked garden at Havering-atte-Bower
trees, grass, and sweet herbs seem to have been more conspicuous than
the flowers. The Queen's gardens seem to have been overshadowed by
those of her subjects. One of the most celebrated belonged to Lord
Burleigh, and was known as Theobald's. Paul Hentzner, a German traveler
who visited England in 1598, went to see this garden the very day that
Burleigh was buried.
He described it as follows:
"We left London in a coach in order to see the remarkable places in its
neighborhood. The first was Theobald's, belonging to Lord Burleigh, the
Treasurer. In the Gallery was painted the genealogy of the Kings of
England. From this place one goes into the garden, encompassed with a
moat full of water, large enough for one to have the pleasure of going
in a boat and rowing between the shrubs. Here are great variety of
trees and plants, labyrinths made with a great deal of labor, a _jet
d'eau_ with its basin of white marble and columns and pyramids of wood
and other materials up and down the garden. After seeing these, we were
led by the gardener into the summer-house, in the lower part of which,
built semicircularly, are the twelve Roman Emperors in white marble and
a table of touchstone. The upper part of it is set round with cisterns
of lead into which the water is conveyed through pipes so that fish
may be kept in them and in summer time they are very convenient for
bathing. In another room for entertainment near this, and joined to it
by a little bridge, was an oval table of red marble."
Another and accurate picture of a stately Elizabethan garden is by a
most competent authority, Sir Philip Sidney (1554-86), who had a superb
garden of his own in Kent. In "Arcadia" we read:
"Kalander one afternoon led him abroad to a well-arrayed ground he had
behind his house which he thought to show him before his going, as the
place himself more than in any other, delighted in. The backside of the
house was neither field, garden, nor orchard; or, rather, it was both
field, garden and orchard: for as soon as the descending of the stairs
had delivered they came into a place curiously set with trees of the
most taste-pleasing fruits; but scarcely had they taken that into their
consideration but that they were suddenly stept into a delicate green;
on each side of the green a thicket, and behind the thickets again new
beds of flowers which being under the trees, the trees were to them a
pavilion, and they to the trees a mosaical floor, so that it seemed
that Art therein would needs be delightful by counterfeiting his enemy,
Error, and making order in confusion. In the midst of all the place
was a fair pond, whose shaking crystal was a perfect mirror to all the
other beauties, so that it bare show of two gardens; one in deed and
the other in shadows; and in one of the thickets was a fine fountain."
[Illustration: ITALIAN RENAISSANCE GARDEN, VILLA GIUSTI, VERONA]
VII
_Garden Pleasures_
There were many such splendid gardens. Shakespeare was familiar, of
course, with those of Warwickshire, including the superb examples at
Kenilworth, and with those in the vicinity of London.
The Elizabethans used their gardens in many ways. They took recreation
in them in winter and summer, and enjoyed the perfume and colors of
their flowers with an intensity of delight and appreciation rarely
found to-day. In their gardens the serious and the frivolous walked and
talked, and here they were frequently served with refreshments.
It was also a fashion to use the garden as a setting for masques and
surprises, such as those Leicester planned on a grand scale to please
Queen Elizabeth at Kenilworth. Several of Ben Jonson's entertainments
were arranged for performance on the terrace opening from house to
garden.
By looking into that mirror of the period, "Euphues and His England,"
by John Lyly (1554-1606), we can see two charming ladies in ruffs and
farthingales and a gallant in rich doublet and plumed hat walking in
a garden, and we gain an idea of the kind of "garden talk" that was
_comme il faut_:
"One of the ladies, who delighted much in mirth, seeing Philautus
behold Camilla so steadfastly, said unto him: 'Gentleman, what flower
do you like best in all this border? Here be fair Roses, sweet Violets,
fragrant Primroses; here be Gilliflowers, Carnations, Sops-in-Wine,
Sweet Johns, and what may either please you for sight, or delight you
with savor. Loth we are you should have a posie of all, yet willing
to give you one, not that which shall look best but such a one as you
shall like best.'"
What could _Philautus_ do but bow gallantly and say: "Of all flowers, I
love a fair woman."
"THE CURIOUS KNOTTED GARDEN"
I
_Flower Lovers and Herbalists_
THE Elizabethan flower garden as an independent garden came into
existence about 1595. It was largely the creation of John Parkinson
(1567-1650), who seems to have been the first person to insist that
flowers were worthy of cultivation for their beauty quite apart from
their value as medicinal herbs. Parkinson was also the first to make
of equal importance the four enclosures of the period: (1) the garden
of pleasant flowers; (2) the kitchen garden (herbs and roots); (3) the
simples (medicinal); and (4) the orchard.
One would hardly expect to find such esthetic appreciation of flowers
from Parkinson, because he was an apothecary, with a professional
attitude toward plants; and our ideas of an Elizabethan apothecary
picture a dusty seller of narcotics and "drams of poison," like the old
man to whom _Romeo_ and _Juliet_ repaired.
John Parkinson was of a different type. Our portrait illustration
depicts him, wearing a stylish Genoa velvet doublet with lace ruff
and cuffs, a man who could apparently hold his own in any company of
courtiers and men of fashion. Parkinson knew a great many distinguished
persons and entertained visitors at his nurseries, where he must have
held them spellbound (if he talked as well as he wrote) while he
explained the beauties of a new yellow gilliflower, the latest new
scarlet martagon lily, or the flower that he so proudly holds in his
hand--"the orange-color Nonesuch."
Parkinson's talents were recognized at court, for he was appointed
"Apothecary to James I." He had a garden of his own at Long Acre, which
he cultivated with enthusiasm, raising new varieties of well-known
flowers and tending with care new specimens of foreign importations
and exotics--"outlandish flowers" they were called in Shakespeare's
day--and, finally, writing about his floral pets with great knowledge,
keen observation, poetic insight, and quaint charm. His great book,
"Paradisi in Sole; Paradisus Terrestris," appeared in London in 1629,
the most original book of botany of the period and the most complete
English treatise until Ray came.
[Illustration: JOHN GERARD]
[Illustration: PARKINSON AND LOBEL]
Although published thirteen years after Shakespeare's death,
Parkinson's book describes exactly the style of gardens and the variety
of flowers that were familiar to Shakespeare; and to this book we may
go with confidence to learn more intimately the aspect of what we
may call the Shakespeare garden. In it we learn to our surprise that
horticulture in the late Tudor and early Stuart days was not in the
simple state that it is generally supposed to have been in. There were
flower fanciers in and near London--and indeed throughout England--and
there were expert gardeners and florists.
Parkinson was very friendly with the other London flower growers of
whom he speaks cordially in his book and with never the least shadow
of jealousy. He frequently mentions visiting the gardens of Gerard,
Nicholas Leate, and Ralph Tuggy (or Tuggie).
Everybody has heard of Gerard's "Herbal or General Historie of
Plants," published in 1597, for it is one of the most famous ancient
books on flowers. A contemporary botanist said that "Gerard exceeded
most, if not all of his time, in his care, industry and skill in
raising, increasing, and preserving plants." For twenty years
Gerard was superintendent of Lord Burleigh's famous gardens--one of
which was in the Strand, London, and the other at Theobald's in
Hertfordshire. Gerard also had a garden of his own at Holborn (then
a suburb of London), where he raised many rare specimens and tried
many experiments. He employed a collector, William Marshall, to travel
in the Levant for new plants. Gerard (1545-1607) was a physician,
as well as a practical gardener; but, although he possessed great
knowledge, he does not appear to have had the esthetic appreciation
of flowers that Parkinson had in such great measure. His name is also
written Gerade. Gerard's "Herbal" was not the first. Horticulturists
could consult the "Grete Herbal," first printed by Peter Treveris in
1516; Fitzherbert, "Husbandry" (1523); Walter Cary, "Herbal" (1525);
a translation of Macer's "Herbal" (1530); the "Herbal" by Dodoens,
published in Antwerp in 1544; William Turner's "The Names of Herbs in
Greke, Latin, Englishe, Duche and Frenche," etc. (1548), reprinted by
the English Dialect Society (1881); Thomas Tusser's "Five Pointes of
Good Husbandry," etc. (1573), reprinted by the English Dialect Society
(1878); Didymus Mountain's (Thomas Hill) "A Most Brief and Pleasant
Treatise Teaching How to Sow and Set a Garden" (1563), "The Proffitable
Art of Gardening" (1568), and "The Gardener's Labyrinth" (1577);
Barnaby Googe's "Four Books of Husbandry," collected by M. Conradus
Heresbachius, "Newly Englished and increased by Barnaby Googe" (1577);
William Lawson's "A New Orchard and Garden" (1618); Francis Bacon's
"Essay on Gardening" (1625); and John Parkinson's "Paradisi in Sole,
Paradisus Terrestris" (1629).
Ralph Tuggie, or Tuggy, so often spoken of by Parkinson, had a fine
show garden at Westminster, Where he specialized in carnations and
gilliflowers. After his death his widow, "Mistress Tuggie," kept it up.
Another flower enthusiast was the Earl of Salisbury, who placed his
splendid garden at Hatfield under the care of John Tradescant, the
first of a noted family of horticulturists. John Tradescant also had a
garden of his own in South Lambeth, "the finest in England" every one
called it. Here Tradescant introduced the acacia; the lilac, called in
those days the "Blue Pipe Flower"; and, if we may believe Parkinson,
the pomegranate. Among other novelties that attracted visitors to this
show garden he had the "Sable Flag," known also as the "Marvel of Peru."
Lord Zouche was another horticulturist of note. His fine garden at
Hackney contained plants that he himself collected on his travels in
Austria, Italy, and Spain. Lord Zouche gave his garden into the keeping
of the distinguished Mathias de Lobel, a famous physician and botanist
of Antwerp and Delft. Lobel was made botanist to James I and had a
great influence upon flower culture in England. For him the Lobelia was
named--an early instance of naming plants for a person and breaking
away from the quaint descriptive names for flowers.
Elizabethan gardens owed much to Nicholas Leate, or Lete, a London
merchant who about 1590 became a member of the Levant Company. As a
leading merchant in the trade with Turkey and discharging in connection
with commercial enterprise the duties of a semi-political character,
Leate became wealthy and was thus able to indulge his taste for flowers
and anything else he pleased. He had a superb garden and employed
collectors to hunt for specimens in Turkey and Syria. His "servant
at Aleppo" sent many new flowers to London, such as tulips, certain
kinds of lilies,--the martagon, or Turk's Cap, for instance,--irises,
the Crown-Imperial, and many new anemones, or windflowers. The latter
became the rage, foreshadowing the tulip-mania of later years. Nicholas
Leate also imported the yellow Sops-in-Wine, a famous carnation from
Poland, which had never been heard of before in England, and the
beautiful double yellow rose from Constantinople. Leate was a member
of the Worshipful Company of Ironmongers, London, and Master of it
in 1616, 1626, and 1627, and his portrait, given here, said to be by
Daniel Mytens, hung in Ironmongers' Hall in London until this famous
building was destroyed by a German bomb in 1917. Leate died in 1630.
[Illustration: NICHOLAS LEATE]
Leate, being a most enthusiastic flower fancier and garden lover, not
only imported rare specimens but tried many experiments. Indeed we are
surprised in going through old garden manuals of Shakespearean days to
see how many and how varied were the attempts to produce "sports" and
novelties. We read of grafting a rosebush and placing musk in the cleft
in an effort to produce musk-roses; recipes for changing the color of
flowers; methods for producing double flowers; and instructions for
grafting and pruning plants, sowing seeds, and plucking flowers during
the increase, or waning, of the moon.
These professional florists and gentlemen amateurs valued their rare
specimens from foreign countries as they valued their emeralds from
Peru, Oriental pearls from Ceylon and rubies from India. Parkinson says
very earnestly:
"Our English gardeners are all, or most of them, ignorant in the
ordering of their outlandish[5] flowers, as not being trained to know
them. And I do wish all gentlemen and gentlewomen whom it may concern
for their own good, to be as careful whom they trust with the planting
and replanting of their fine flowers as they would be with so many
jewels; for the roots of many of them, being small and of great value,
may soon be conveyed away and a clean, fair tale told that such a root
is rotten, or perished in the ground, if none be seen where it should
be; or else that the flower hath changed in color when it had been
taken away, or a counterfeit one had been put in the place thereof; and
thus many have been deceived of their daintiest flowers, without remedy
or knowledge of the defect."
[5] Exotic.
The influence of the Italian Renaissance upon the Elizabethan garden
has already been shown (see page 15), but the importance of this may be
appropriately recalled here in the following extract from Bloom:
"The Wars of the Roses gave little time for gardening; and when matters
were settled and the educational movements which marked the dawn of the
Renaissance began, the gardens once again, after a break of more than
a thousand years, went back to classical models, as interpreted by the
Italian school of the time. Thus the gardens of the Palace of Nonesuch
(1529) and Theobald's (1560) showed all the new ideas: flower-beds
edged with low trellises, topiary work of cut box and yew, whereby
the natural growth of the trees was trained into figures of birds and
animals and especially of peacocks; while here and there mounts were
thrown up against the orchard or garden wall, ascended by flights of
steps and crowned with arbors, while sometimes the view obtained in
this manner was deemed insufficient and trellised galleries extended
the whole length of the garden. In 1573 the gardens of Kenilworth,
which Shakespeare almost certainly visited, had a terrace walk twelve
feet in width and raised ten feet above the garden, terminating at
either end in arbors redolent with sweetbrier and flowers. Beneath
these again was a garden of an acre or more in size divided into four
quarters by sanded walks and having in the center of each plot an
obelisk of red porphyry with a ball at the top. These were planted with
apple, pear and cherry while in the center was a fountain of white
marble."
II
_The Elizabethan Garden_
The Elizabethan garden was usually four-square, bordered all around
by hedges and intersected by paths. There was an outer hedge that
enclosed the entire garden and this was a tall and thick hedge made of
privet, sweetbrier, and white thorn intermingled with roses. Sometimes,
however, this outer hedge was of holly. Again some people preferred to
enclose their garden by a wall of brick or stone. On the side facing
the house the gate was placed. In stately gardens the gate was of
elaborately wrought iron hung between stone or brick pillars on the
top of which stone vases, or urns, held brightly blooming flowers and
drooping vines. In simple gardens the entrance was a plain wooden door,
painted and set into the wall or hedge like the quaint little doors we
see in England to-day and represented in Kate Greenaway's pictures that
show us how the style persists even to the present time.
Stately gardens were usually approached from a terrace running along
the line of the house and commanding a view of the garden, to which
broad flights of steps led. Thence extended the principal walks,
called "forthrights," in straight lines at right angles to the
terrace and intersected by other walks parallel with the terrace. The
lay-out of the garden, therefore, corresponded with the ground-plan
of the mansion. The squares formed naturally by the intersection of
the "forthrights" and other walks were filled with curious beds of
geometrical patterns that were known as "knots"; mazes, or labyrinths;
orchards; or plain grass-plots. Sometimes all of the spaces or squares
were devoted to "knots." These ornamental flower-beds were edged with
box, thrift, or thyme and were surrounded with tiny walks made of
gravel or colored sand, walks arranged around the beds so that the
garden lovers might view the flowers at close range and pick them
easily.
It will be remembered that in "Love's Labour's Lost" Shakespeare speaks
of "the curious knotted garden." There are innumerable designs for
these "knots" in the old Elizabethan garden-books, representing the
simple squares, triangles, and rhomboids as well as the most intricate
scrolls, and complicated interlacings of Renaissance design that
resemble the motives on carved furniture, designs for textiles and
ornamental leather-work (known as strap-work, or _cuirs_). Yet these
many hundreds of designs were not sufficient, for the amateur as well
as the professional gardener often invented his own garden "knots."
Where the inner paths intersected, a fountain or a statue or some other
ornament was frequently placed. Sometimes, too, vases, or urns, of
stone or lead, were arranged about the garden in formal style inspired
by the taste of Italy. Sometimes, also, large Oriental or stone jars
were placed in conspicuous spots, and these were not only intended for
decoration but served as receptacles for water.
There were four principles that were observed in all stately
Elizabethan gardens. The first was to lay out the garden in accordance
with the architecture of the house in long terraces and paths of right
lines, or "forthrights," to harmonize with the rectangular lines of the
Tudor buildings, yet at the same time to break up the monotony of the
straight lines with beds of intricate patterns, just as in the case of
architecture bay-windows, clustered and twisted chimneys, intricate
tracery, mullioned windows, and ornamental gables relieved the straight
lines of the building.
The second principle was to plant the beds with _mixed_ flowers and
to let the colors intermingle and blend in such a way as to produce a
mosaic of rich, indeterminate color, ever new and ever varying as the
flowers of the different seasons succeeded each other.
The third principle was to produce a garden of flowers and shrubs
for all seasons, even winter, that would tempt the owner to take
pleasure and exercise there, where he might find recreation, literally
re-creation of mind and body, and become freshened in spirit and
renewed in health.
The fourth principle was to produce a garden that would give delight to
the sense of smell as well as to the sense of vision--an idea no longer
sought for by gardeners.
Hence it was just as important, and infinitely more subtle, to mingle
the perfumes of flowers while growing so that the air would be
deliciously scented by a combination of harmonizing odors as to mingle
the perfumes of flowers plucked for a nosegay, or Tussie-mussie, as the
Elizabethans sometimes quaintly called it.
Like all cultivated Elizabethans, Shakespeare appreciated the delicious
fragrance of flowers blooming in the garden when the soft breeze is
stirring their leaves and petals. There was but one thing to which this
subtle perfume might be compared and that was ethereal and mysterious
music. For example, the elegant Duke in "Twelfth Night," reclining on
his divan and listening to music, commands:
That strain again! It had a dying fall.
O it came o'er my ear like the sweet south
That breathes upon a bank of violets
Stealing and giving odor.
Lord Bacon also associated the scent of delicate flowers with music.
He writes: "And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the
air (whence it comes and goes like the warbling of music) than in the
hand, therefore nothing is more fit for delight than to know what be
the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air. Roses, damask,
and red, are fast flowers of their smells, so that you may walk by a
whole row of them and find nothing of their sweetness, yea though it
be in a morning's dew. Bays, likewise, yield no smell as they grow,
rosemary little, nor sweet marjoram. That which above all others yields
the sweetest smell in the air is the violet, especially the white
double violet, which comes twice a year--about the middle of April
and about Bartholomew-tide. Next to that is the musk-rose, then the
strawberry leaves dying, which yield a most excellent cordial smell,
then the flower of the vines, it is a little dust, like the dust of a
bent, which grows upon the cluster in the first coming forth; then
sweetbrier, then wall-flowers, which are very delightful to be set
under a parlor or lower chamber window; then pinks and gilliflowers;
then the flowers of the lime-tree; then the honeysuckles, so they be
somewhat afar off; of bean flowers, I speak not, because they are field
flowers. But those which perfume the air most delightfully not passed
by as the rest but being trodden upon and crushed are three: burnet,
wild thyme and water-mints. Therefore, you are to set whole alleys of
them to have the pleasure when you walk or tread."
[Illustration: THE KNOT-GARDEN, NEW PLACE, STRATFORD-UPON-AVON]
Shakespeare very nearly follows Bacon's order of perfume values in his
selection of flowers to adorn the beautiful spot in the wood where
_Titania_ sleeps. _Oberon_ describes it:
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight.
Fairies were thought to be particularly fond of thyme; and it is for
this reason that Shakespeare carpeted the bank with this sweet herb.
Moreover, as we have just seen, Bacon tells us that thyme is one of
those plants which are particularly delightful if trodden upon and
crushed. Shakespeare accordingly knew that the pressure of the Fairy
Queen's little body upon the thyme would cause it to yield a delicious
perfume.
The Elizabethans, much more sensitive to perfume than we are to-day,
appreciated the scent of what we consider lowly flowers. They did not
hesitate to place a sprig of rosemary in a nosegay of choice flowers.
They loved thyme, lavender, marjoram, mints, balm, and camomile,
thinking that these herbs refreshed the head, stimulated the memory,
and were antidotes against the plague.
The flowers in the "knots" were perennials, planted so as to gain
uniformity of height; and those that had affinity for one another were
placed side by side. No attempt was made to group them; and no attempt
was made to get _masses_ of separate color, what Locker-Lampson calls
"a mist of blue in the beds, a blaze of red in the celadon jars" and
what we try for to-day. On the contrary, the Elizabethan gardener's
idea was to mix and blend the flowers into a combination of varied hues
that melted into one another as the hues of a rainbow blend and in
such a way that at a distance no one could possibly tell what flowers
produced this effect. This must have required much study on the part
of the gardeners, who kept pace with the seasons and always had their
beds in bloom. Sir Henry Wotton, Ambassador to Venice in the reign
of James I, and author of the "Elements of Architecture," but far
better known by his lovely verse to Elizabeth of Bohemia beginning,
"You meaner beauties of the night," was an ardent flower lover. He was
greatly impressed by what he called "a delicate curiosity in the way of
color":
"Namely in the Garden of Sir Henry Fanshaw at his seat in Ware Park,
where I well remember he did so precisely examine the _tinctures_ and
_seasons_ of his _flowers_ that in their _settings_, the _inwardest_ of
which that were to come up at the same time, should be always a little
_darker_ than the _outmost_, and so serve them for a kind of gentle
_shadow_, like a piece not of _Nature_ but of _Art_."
Browne also gives a splendid idea of the color effect of the garden
beds of this period:
As in a rainbow's many color'd hue,
Here we see watchet deepen'd with a blue;
There a dark tawny, with a purple mix'd;
Yellow and flame, with streaks of green betwixt;
A bloody stream into a blushing run,
And ends still with the color which begun;
Drawing the deeper to a lighter strain,
Bringing the lightest to the deepest again;
With such rare art each mingled with his fellow,
The blue with watchet, green and red with yellow;
Like to the changes which we daily see
Around the dove's neck with variety;
Where none can say (though he it strict attends),
Here one begins and there another ends.
Using such cunning as they did dispose
The ruddy Piony with the lighter Rose,
The Monkshood with the Buglos, and entwine
The white, the blue, the flesh-like Columbine
With Pinks, Sweet-Williams; that, far off, the eye
Could not the manner of their mixture spy.
By the side of the showy and stately flowers, as well as in kitchen
gardens, were grown the "herbs of grace" for culinary purposes and
the medicinal herbs for "drams of poison." Rosemary--"the cheerful
Rosemary," Spenser calls it--was trained over arbors and permitted to
run over mounds and banks as it pleased. Sir Thomas More allowed it to
run all over his garden because the bees loved it and because it was
the herb sacred to remembrance and friendship.
In every garden the arbor was conspicuous. Sometimes it was a handsome
little pavilion or summer-house; sometimes it was set into the hedge;
sometimes it was cut out of the hedge in fantastic topiary work;
sometimes it was made of lattice work; and sometimes it was formed of
upright or horizontal poles, over which roses, honeysuckle, or clematis
(named also Lady's Bower because of this use) were trained. Whatever
the framework was, plain or ornate, mattered but little; it was the
creeper that counted, the trailing vines that gave character to the
arbor, that gave delight to those who sought the arbor to rest during
their stroll through the gardens, or to indulge in a pleasant chat, or
delightful flirtation. Shakespeare's arbor for _Titania_
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine,
was not unusual. Nor was that retreat where saucy _Beatrice_ was lured
to hear the whisperings of _Hero_ regarding _Benedick's_ interest in
her. It was a pavilion
Where honeysuckles ripened by the sun
Forbid the sun to enter.
Luxuriant and delicious was this bower with the flowers hot and sweet
in the bright sunshine.
Eglantine was, perhaps, the favorite climber for arbors and bowers.
Browne speaks of
An arbor shadow'd with a vine
Mixed with rosemary and with eglantine.
Barnfield, in "The Affectionate Shepherd," pleads:
I would make cabinets for thee, my love,
Sweet-smelling arbors made of eglantine.
And in Spenser's "Bower of Bliss":
Art, striving to compare
With Nature, did an arbor green dispread
Framed of wanton ivy, flow'ring fair,
Through which the fragrant eglantine did spread
His prickling arms, entrayl'd with roses red,
Which dainty odors round about them threw;
And all within with flowers was garnished,
That when Zephyrus amongst them blew
Did breathe out bounteous smells and painted odors shew.
A beautiful method of obtaining shady walks was to make a kind of
continuous arbor or arcade of trees, trellises, and vines. This arcade
was called poetically the "pleached alley."[6] For the trees, willows,
limes (lindens), and maples were used, and the vines were eglantine and
other roses, honeysuckle (woodbine), clematis, rosemary, and grapevines.
[6] _Pleaching_ means trimming the small branches and foliage of trees,
or bushes, to bring them to a regular shape. Certain trees only are
submissive to this treatment--holly, box, yew privet, whitethorn,
hornbeam, linden, etc., to make arbors, hedges, bowers, colonnades and
all cut-work.
"_Plashing_ is the half-cutting, or dividing of the quick growth almost
to the outward bark and then laying it orderly in a slope manner as you
see a cunning hedger lay a dead hedge and then with the smaller and
more pliant branches to wreath and bind in the tops." Markham, "The
County Farm" (London, 1616).
Another feature of the garden was the maze, or labyrinth. It was a
favorite diversion for a visitor to puzzle his way through the green
walls, breast high, to the center; and the owner took delight in
watching the mistakes of his friend and was always ready to give him
the clue. When James I on his "Southern Progress" in 1603 visited the
magnificent garden known as Theobald's and belonging to Lord Burleigh,
where we have already seen[7] Gerard was the horticulturist, the King
went into the labyrinth of the garden "where he re-created himself in
the meanders compact of bays, rosemary and the like, overshadowing his
walk."
[7] Page 33.
The labyrinth, or maze, was a fad of the day. It still exists in many
English gardens that date from Elizabethan times and is a feature of
many more recent gardens. Perhaps of all mazes the one at Hampton Court
Palace is the most famous.
The orchard was another feature of the Elizabethan garden. It was
the custom for gentlemen to retire after dinner (which took place at
eleven o'clock in the morning) to the garden arbor, or to the orchard,
to partake of the "banquet" or dessert. Thus _Shallow_ addressing
_Falstaff_ after dinner exclaims:
"Nay, you shall see mine orchard, where, in an arbor, we will eat a
last year's pippin of my own grafting with a dish of carraways and so
forth."[8]
[8] "King Henry IV"; Part II, Act V, Scene III.
The uses of the Elizabethan garden were many: to walk in, to sit in, to
dream in. Here the courtier, poet, merchant, or country squire found
refreshment for his mind and recreation for his body. The garden was
also intended to supply flowers for nosegays, house decoration, and
the decoration of the church. Sweet-smelling herbs and rushes were
strewn upon the floor as we know by _Grumio's_ order for _Petruchio's_
homecoming in "The Taming of the Shrew." One of Queen Elizabeth's
Maids of Honor had a fixed salary for keeping fresh flowers always in
readiness. The office of "herb-strewer to her Majesty the Queen" was
continued as late as 1713, through the reign of Anne and almost into
that of George I.
The houses were very fragrant with flowers in pots and vases as well
as with the rushes on the floor. Flowers were therefore very important
features in house decoration. A Dutch traveler, Dr. Leminius, who
visited England in 1560, was much struck by this and wrote:
"Their chambers and parlors strewed over with sweet herbs refreshed
me; their nosegays finely intermingled with sundry sorts of fragrant
flowers in their bed-chambers and private rooms with comfortable smell
cheered me up and entirely delighted all my senses."
We have only to look at contemporary portraits to see how essential
flowers were in daily life. For instance, Holbein's "George Gisze,"
a London merchant, painted in 1523, has a vase of choice carnations
beside him on the table filled with scales, weights, and business
paraphernalia.
The Elizabethan lady was just as learned in the medicinal properties of
flowers and herbs as her Medieval ancestor. She regarded her garden as
a place of delight and at the same time as of the greatest importance
in the economic management of the household.
"The housewife was the great ally of the doctor: in her still-room the
lady with the ruff and farthingale was ever busy with the preparation
of cordials, cooling waters, conserves of roses, spirits of herbs and
juleps for calentures and fevers. All the herbs and flowers of the
field and garden passed through her fair white hands. Poppy-water was
good for weak stomachs; mint and rue-water was efficacious for the head
and brain; and even walnuts yielded a cordial. Then there was cinnamon
water and the essence of cloves, gilliflower and lemon water, sweet
marjoram water and the spirit of ambergris.
"These were the Elizabethan lady's severer toils, besides acres of
tapestry she had always on hand. Her more playful hours were devoted
to the manufacture of casselettes, month pastilles, sweet waters,
odoriferant balls and scented gums for her husband's pipe (God bless
her!) and there were balsams and electuaries for him to take to camp,
if he were a soldier fighting in Ireland or in the Low Countries, and
wound-drinks if he was a companion of Frobisher and bound against the
Spaniard, or the Indian pearl-diver of the Pacific. She had a specific
which was of exceeding virtue in all swooning of the head, decaying of
the spirits, also in all pains and numbness of joints and coming of
cold.
"That wonderful still-room contains not only dried herbs and drugs,
but gums, spices, ambergris, storax and cedar-bark, civet and dried
flowers and roots. In that bowl angelica, carduus benedictus (Holy
Thistle), betony, juniper-berries and wormwood are steeping to make a
cordial-water for the young son about to travel; and yonder is oil of
cloves, oil of nutmegs, oil of cinnamon, sugar, ambergris and musk, all
mingling to form a quart of liquor as sweet as hypocras. Those scents
and spices are for perfumed balls to be worn round the ladies' necks,
there to move up and down to the music of sighs and heart-beating,
envied by lovers whose letters will perhaps be perfumed by their
contact.
"What pleasant bright London gardens we dream of when we find that the
remedy for a burning fever is honeysuckle leaves steeped in water,
and that a cooling drink is composed of wood sorrel and Roman sorrel
bruised and mixed with orange juice and barley-water. Mint is good for
colic; conserves of roses for the tickling rheum; plaintain for flux;
vervain for liver-complaint--all sound pleasanter than those strong
biting minerals which now kill or cure and give nature no time to heal
us in her own quiet way."[9]
[9] Thornbury.
Bacon's "Essay on Gardening" is very detailed and very practical, and
it must be remembered that he was addressing highly cultivated and
skilfully trained amateurs and professional gardeners when he wrote:
"God almighty first planted a garden; and indeed it is the purest of
human pleasures; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirit of man.
And a man shall ever see that when ages grow to civility and elegancy
men come to build stately sooner than to garden finely, as if gardening
were the greater perfection."
The Elizabethan Age, with its superlatively cultivated men and women,
was certainly one of those ages of civility and elegancy of which Bacon
speaks. The houses were stately and the gardens perfection, affording
appropriate setting for the brilliant courtiers and accomplished ladies
of both Tudor and early Stuart times.
We sometimes hear it said that Francis Bacon's garden was his _ideal_
of what a garden should be and that his garden was never realized.
This, however, is not the case. Old prints are numerous of gardens of
wealthy persons in the reign of Elizabeth and James I. Then, too, we
have Sir William Temple's description of Moor Park, and "this garden,"
says Horace Walpole, "seems to have been made after the plan laid down
by Lord Bacon in his Forty-sixth Essay."
[Illustration: TYPICAL GARDEN OF SHAKESPEARE'S TIME--CRISPIN DE PASSE
(1614)]
Sir William's account is as follows:
"The perfectest figure of a garden I ever saw, either at home or
abroad, was that of Moor Park in Hertfordshire, when I knew it about
thirty years ago. It was made by the Countess of Bedford, esteemed
among the perfectest wits of her time and celebrated by Dr. Donne;
and with very great care, excellent contrivance and much cost.
"Because I take the garden I have named to have been in all kinds the
most beautiful and perfect, at least in the figure and disposition,
that I have ever seen, I will describe it for a model to those that
meet with such a situation and are above the regards of common expense.
"It lies on the side of a hill, upon which the house stands, but not
very steep. The length of the house, where the best rooms and of most
use or pleasure are, lies upon the breadth of the garden; the great
parlor opens into the middle of a terrace gravel walk that lies even
with it, and which may lie, as I remember, about three hundred paces
long and broad in proportion; the border set with standard laurels and
at large distances, which have the beauty of orange-trees out of flower
and fruit. From this walk are three descents by many stone steps, in
the middle and at each end, into a very large parterre. This is divided
into quarters by gravel walks and adorned with two fountains and eight
statues in the several quarters. At the end of a terrace walk are two
summer-houses, and the sides of the parterre are ranged with two large
cloisters open to the garden, upon arches of stone, and ending with
two other summer-houses even with the cloisters, which are paved with
stone, and designed for walks of shade, there being none other in the
whole parterre. Over these two cloisters are two terraces covered with
lead and fenced with balustrades; and the passage into these airy walks
is out of the two summer-houses at the end of the first terrace walk.
The cloister facing the south is covered with vines and would have been
proper for an orange-house, and the other for myrtles or other more
common greens, and had, I doubt not, been cast for that purpose, if
this piece of gardening had been then in as much vogue as it is now.
"From the middle of this parterre is a descent by many steps flying on
each side of a grotto that lies between them, covered with lead and
flat, into the lower garden, which is all fruit-trees ranged about the
several quarters of a wilderness which is very shady; the walks here
are all green, the grotto embellished with figures of shell rock-work,
fountains and water-works. If the hill had not ended with the lower
garden, and the wall were not bounded by a common way that goes through
the park, they might have added a third quarter of all greens; but this
want is supplied by a garden on the other side of the house, which is
all of that sort, very wild, shady, and adorned with rough rock work
and fountains."
To write of Elizabethan gardens without giving Bacon's beautifully
worked out theories would be like performing "Hamlet" without the
character of _Hamlet_. Bacon's Essay is too long to quote in its
entirety, but the specific instructions are as follows:
"For gardens (speaking of those which are indeed prince-like), the
contents ought not well to be under thirty acres of ground; and to be
divided into three parts: a green in the entrance; a heath or desert in
the going forth; and the main garden in the midst, besides alleys on
both sides. And I like well that four acres of ground be assigned to
the green, six to the heath, four and a half to either side and twelve
to the main garden. The green hath two pleasures: the one because
nothing is more pleasant to the eye than green grass kept finely shorn;
the other because it will give you a fair alley in the midst, by which
you may go in front upon a stately hedge, which is to enclose this
garden. But because the alley will be long, and in great heat of the
year or day, you ought not to buy the shade in the garden by going in
the sun through the green; therefore, you are of either side the green
to plant a covert alley upon carpenter's work, about twelve foot in
height, by which you may go in shade into the garden.
"The garden is best to be square, encompassed on all the four sides
with a stately arched hedge. The arches to be upon pillars of
carpenter's work, of some ten foot high and six foot broad, and the
spaces between of the same dimension with the breadth of the arch;
over the arches let there be an entire hedge of some four foot high,
framed also upon carpenter's work; and upon the upper hedge, over every
arch, a little turret with a belly, enough to receive a cage of birds;
and over every space, between the arches, some other little figure,
with broad plates of round colored glass, gilt, for the sun to play
upon. But this hedge I intend to be raised upon a bank, not steep, but
gentle slope, of some six foot, set all with flowers. Also I understand
that this square of the garden should not be the whole breadth of the
ground, but to leave on either side ground enough for diversity of side
alleys, into which the two covert alleys of the green may deliver you.
But there must be no alleys with hedges at either end of this great
enclosure.
"For the main garden I do not deny there should be some fair alleys,
ranged on both sides with fruit-trees, and arbors with seats set in
some decent order; but these to be by no means set too thick, but to
leave the main garden so as it be not close, but the air open and free.
For, as for shade, I would have you rest upon the alleys of the side
grounds, there to walk, if you be disposed, in the heat of the year, or
day, but to make account that the main garden is for the more temperate
parts of the year and in the heat of the summer for the morning and the
evening, or overcast days.
"For the side grounds you are to fill them with variety of alleys,
private, to give a full shade, some of them wheresoever the sun be.
You are to frame some of them likewise for shelter, that when the wind
blows sharp you may walk as in a gallery. And these alleys must be,
likewise, hedged at both ends to keep out the wind, and these closer
alleys must be ever finely graveled and no grass, because of going wet.
In many of these alleys, likewise, you are to set fruit-trees of all
sorts, as well upon the walls as in ranges. And this would be generally
observed that the borders wherein you plant your fruit-trees be fair
and large and low (and not steep) and set with fine flowers, but thin
and sparingly lest they deceive the trees. At the end of both the side
grounds I would have a mount of some pretty height, leaving the wall
of the enclosure breast high, to look abroad into the fields.
"For the heath, which was the third part of our plot, I wish it
to be framed, as much as may be, to a natural wildness. Trees, I
would have none in it; but some thickets made only of sweetbrier
and honeysuckle and some wild vine amongst; and the ground set with
violets, strawberries and primroses; for these are sweet and prosper
in the shade; and these to be in the heath, here and there, not in
any order. I also like little heaps in the nature of molehills (such
as are in wild heaths) to be set, some with wild thyme, some with
pinks, some with germander that gives a good flower to the eye; some
with periwinkle, some with violets, some with strawberries, some with
cowslips, some with daisies, some with red roses, some with _lilium
convallium_,[10] some with sweet williams, red, some with bear's
foot[11] and the like low flowers, being withal sweet and sightly.
Part of which heaps to be with standards of little bushes pricked upon
their top and put without. The standards to be roses, juniper, holly,
barberries (but here and there, because of the smell of their blossom),
red currants, gooseberries, rosemary, bays, sweetbrier and the like.
But these standards to be kept with cutting that they grow not out of
course.
[10] Lily-of-the-valley.
[11] _Auricula._
"For the ordering of the ground within the great hedge, I leave it to
variety of device; advising, nevertheless, that whatsoever form you
cast it into, first it be not too busy or full of work. Wherein I,
for my part, do not like images cut out in juniper, or other garden
stuff--they be for children. Little low hedges, round like welts, with
some pretty pyramids, I like well, and in some places fair columns upon
frames of carpenter's work. I would also have the alleys spacious and
fair. You may have closer alleys upon the side grounds, but none in the
main garden. I wish also in the very middle a fair mount with three
ascents and alleys, enough for four to walk abreast, which I would have
to be perfect circles without any bulwarks or embossments, and the
whole mount to be thirty foot high; and some fine banqueting-house with
some chimneys neatly cast and without too much glass.
"As for the making of knots, or figures, with divers colored earths
that they may lie under the windows of the house, on that side which
the garden stands, they be but toys. You may see as good sights many
times in tarts."
Fountains Bacon considered "a great beauty and refreshment," but he
did not care for pools, nor did he favor aviaries "unless they were
large enough to have living plants and bushes set in them and supply
natural nesting for the birds."
We have already seen that Bacon was very choice regarding "the flowers
that best perfume the air"; and he felt it was very essential that
people should know what to plant for the different seasons. So he tells
us:
"There ought to be gardens for all months of the year, in which,
severally, things of beauty may be in season. For December and January
and the latter part of November, you must take such things as are
green all winter: holly, ivy, bays, juniper, cypress-trees, yew, pine,
apple-trees, fir-trees, rosemary, lavender, periwinkle, the white,
the purple, and the blue; germander, flags; orange-trees, lemon-trees
and myrtle, if they be stoved; and sweet marjoram warm set. There
followeth for the latter part of January and February, the mezerion
tree which then blossoms; crocus vernus, both the yellow and the
gray; primroses, anemones, the early tulip, hyacinthus orientalis,
_chamaires fritellaria_. For March there come violets, especially the
single blue, which are the earliest, the yellow daffodil, the daisy,
the almond-tree in blossom, the peach-tree in blossom, the cornelian
tree in blossom, sweetbrier. In April follow the double white violet,
the wallflower, the stock gilliflower, the cowslip, flower-de-luces,
and lilies of all natures, rosemary flowers, the tulip, the double
peony, the pale daffodil, the French honeysuckle, the cherry-tree in
blossom, the damson and plum-trees in blossom, the white thorn in leaf,
the lilac tree. In May and June come pinks of all sorts, roses of all
kinds except the musk, which comes later, honeysuckles, strawberries,
bugloss, columbine, the French marigold (_Flos Africanus_), cherry-tree
in fruit, ribes, figs in fruit, rasps, vine-flowers, lavender in
flowers, the sweet satyrian, with the white flower, _herbal muscaria_,
_lilium convallium_, the apple-tree in blossom. In July come
gilliflowers of all varieties, musk-roses, the lime tree in blossom,
early pears and plums in fruit, gennitings, quodlins. In August come
plums of all sorts in fruit, pears, apricots, barberries, filberts,
musk-melons, monkshood of all colors. In September come grapes,
apples, poppies of all colors, peaches, melocotones, nectarines,
cornelians, wardens, quinces. In October and the beginning of November
come services, medlars, bullaces, roses cut, or removed to come late,
hollyhocks and such like. These particulars are for the climate of
London; but my meaning is perceived that you may have _ver perpetuum_,
as the place affords."
[Illustration: LABYRINTH, VREDEMAN DE VRIES]
[Illustration: "A CURIOUS-KNOTTED GARDEN"--CRISPIN DE PASSE (1614)]
Gardening was a serious business. The duties of gardeners were not
light. We are told that "Gardeners should not only be diligent and
painful, but also experienced and skilful; at the least, one of them
to have seen the fine gardens about London and in Kent; to be able to
cast out the Quarters of the garden as may be most convenient that the
Walks and the Alleys be long and large; to cast up Mounts, to tread out
Knots in the Quarters of arms and fine devices, to set and sow in them
sweet-smelling flowers and strewing herbs; to have in the finest parts
of the garden Artichokes, Pompions, Melons, Cucumbers and such-like;
in other places convenient Radishes, Keritts, Carrats and other roots
with store of all kind of herbs for the Kitchen and Apothecary; to know
what Flowers and Herbs will best endure the Sun and which need most to
be shaded: in like sort, for the East and North winds, not only to be
skilful in planting and grafting of all kinds of fruit-trees, but also
how to place them in best order; and to be able to judge of the best
times and seasons to plant and graft all fruits and to set and sow all
flowers, herbs and roots; and also the best time when to cut and gather
all herbs and seeds and fruits, and in what sort to keep and preserve
them; to make fair Bowling Alleys well banked and sealed, which, being
well kept, in many houses are very profitable to the gardeners."
The instructions in the Elizabethan manuals for grafting, pleaching,
and plashing (see page 50) are most explicit and elaborate. There are
rules for the care of every flower and herb. Nothing is too small for
attention, The old authors even say what flowers should be picked often
and what flowers prefer to be let alone. One old gardener gives the
following details with regard to the sowing of seeds:
"If you will [he writes], you may sow your seeds in rows, or trails,
either round about the edges of your beds to keep them in fashion,
and plant either herbs or flowers in the body of your beds, or you
may furnish your beds all over, making three, four, or five rows, or
trails, according to the bigness of your bed; the order, or manner,
is to make each trail of like distance and range your line and by
it, either with your finger or a small stick, to make your trail
about an inch thick, or thereabout; and therein to sow your seed, not
over-thick. If you put your seeds in a white paper, you may (if the
seeds are small) very easily and equally sow them by shaking the lower
end of your paper with the forefinger of that hand you sow with. The
paper must not be much open at the end. Then with your hand, or a
trowel, to smooth the earth into each trail."
III
_Old Garden Authors_
The books from which both professional and amateur gardeners gained
their instruction are full of delightful information, and to us are
quaintly expressed. Many of them were standard authorities for several
generations and went through various editions, which, as time went on,
were touched up by a more recent authority. One of these well-known
garden authors was Thomas Hill, who wrote under the peculiar name of
Didymus Mountain; another was Gervase Markham whose "Country Farm,"
published in London in 1616 (the year of Shakespeare's death), often
passes for an original work. "The Country Farm," however, was an
earlier book, and a French one at that, called "La Maison Rustique,"
published in Paris in 1600 by Charles Stevens and John Liébault,
"doctors of physicke." This was translated into English very soon
after its appearance by Richard Surflet and published under the title
of "The Country Farm." It became an extremely popular book before
Gervase Markham took hold of it. Markham became a great authority on
all garden topics and wrote and adapted many books on the subject. From
his edition of "The Country Farm" we learn that
"It is a commendable and seemly thing to behold out at a window many
acres of ground well-tilled and husbanded; but yet it is much more to
behold fair and comely proportions, handsome and pleasant arbors, and,
as it were, closets, delightful borders of lavender, rosemary, box and
other such-like; to hear the ravishing music of an infinite number of
pretty, small birds, which continually, day and night, do chatter and
chant their proper and natural branch-songs upon the hedges and trees
of the garden; and to smell so sweet a nosegay so near at hand, seeing
that this so fragrant a smell cannot but refresh the lord of the farm
exceedingly when going out of his bedchamber in the morning after
sunrise; and while as yet the clear and pearl-like dew doth perch on
to the grass he giveth himself to hear the melodious music of the bees
which do fill the air with a most acceptable sweet and pleasant harmony.
"Now for the general proportion of gardens. They may at your pleasure
carry any of these four shapes: that is to say, either square, round,
oval, or diamond. This is but the outward proportion, or the verge
and girdle of your garden. As for the inward proportions and shapes
of the Quarters, Beds, Banks, Mounts and such-like, they are to be
divided by Alleys, Hedges, Borders, Rails, Pillars and such-like;
and by these you may draw your garden unto what form you please, not
respecting whatsoever shape the outward verge carrieth. For you may
make that garden which is square without to be round within, and that
which is round, either square, or oval; that which is oval, either
of the former, and that which is diamond any shape at all,--and yet
all exceedingly comely. You may also, if your ground be naturally so
situated, or if your industry please so to bring it to pass, make your
garden rise and mount by several degrees, one level ascending above
another, in such sort as if you had divers gardens one above another,
which is exceedingly beautiful to the eye and very beneficial to your
flowers and fruit-trees, especially if such ascents have the benefit
of the Sun rising upon them; and thus, if you please, you may have in
one level a square plot; in another, a round; in a third a diamond; and
in a fourth, an oval; then amongst the ascending banks, which are on
either side the stairs, you mount into your several gardens, you shall
make your physic garden or places to plant your physic herbs."
We also learn from "The Country Farm" that
"The Garden of Pleasure shall be set about and compassed with arbors
made of jessamin, rosemarie, box, juniper, cypress-trees, savin,
cedars, rose-trees and other dainties first planted and pruned
according as the nature of every one doth require, but after brought
into some form and order with willow or juniper poles, such as may
serve for the making of arbors. The ways and alleys must be covered
and sown with fine sand well beat, or with the powder of the sawing of
marble, or else paved handsomely with good pit stone.
"This garden, by means of a large path of the breadth of six feet,
shall be divided into two equal parts; the one shall contain the herbs
and flowers used to make nosegays and garlands of, as March violets,
Provence gilliflowers, purple gilliflowers, Indian gilliflowers, small
pansies, daisies, yellow and white gilliflowers, marigolds, lily
connally,[12] daffodils, Canterbury bells, purple velvet flowers,
anemones, corn-flag,[13] mugwort, lilies and other such-like; and it
may be indeed the Nosegay Garden.
[12] Lily-of-the-valley.
[13] Gladiolus.
"The other part shall have all other sweet-smelling herbs whether they
be such as bear no flowers, or, if they bear any, yet they are not put
in nosegays alone, but the whole herb be with them, as Southernwood,
wormwood, pellitory, rosemary, jessamine, marierom, balm-mints,
pennyroyal, costmarie, hyssop, lavender, basil, sage, savory, rue,
tansy, thyme, camomile, mugwort, bastard marierum, nept, sweet balm,
all-good, anis, horehound and others such-like; and this may be called
the garden for herbs and good smell.
"These sweet herbs and flowers for nosegays shall be set in order upon
beds and quarters of such-like length and breadth as those of the
kitchen garden; others in mazes made for the pleasing and recreating
of the sight, and other some are set in proportions made of beds
interlaced and drawn one within another or broken off with borders, or
without borders."
This arrangement is interesting as not only showing the division of
flower-beds but that certain herbs were used in nosegays. It did not,
therefore, strike Shakespeare's audiences as strange that _Perdita_
offered to her guests rosemary and rue on an equality with marigolds,
violets, the crown-imperial (then so rare), daffodils, and lilies of
all kinds.
[Illustration: THE KNOT-GARDEN, NEW PLACE, STRATFORD-UPON-AVON]
In William Lawson's "A New Orchard and Garden," which also appeared
about the time of Shakespeare's death, the gardens of the period are
perfectly described. Lawson was a practical gardener and had a poetic
appreciation of flowers and trees. His book was long an authority.
Every one had it. Lawson writes quaintly and delightfully:
"The Rose, red, damask, velvet and double-double, Provence rose,
the sweet musk Rose double and single, the double and single white
Rose, the fair and sweet-scenting Woodbine double and single and
double-double, purple Cowslips and double-double Cowslips, Primrose
double and single, the Violet nothing behind the best for smelling
sweetly and a thousand more will provoke your content.
"And all these by the skill of your gardener, so comely and orderly
placed in your borders and squares and so intermingled that none
looking thereon cannot but wonder to see what Nature corrected by Art
can do.
"When you behold in divers corners of your Orchard Mounts of stone,
or wood, curiously wrought within and without, or of earth covered
with fruit-trees: Kentish cherry, damsons, plums, etc., with stairs of
precious workmanship; and in some corner a true Dial or Clock and some
antique works and especially silver-sounding music--mixt Instruments
and Voices--gracing all the rest--how will you be rapt with delight!
"Large walks, broad and long, close and open, like the Tempe groves
in Thessaly, raised with gravel and sand, having seats and banks of
Camomile,--all this delights the mind and brings health to the body.
Your borders on every side hanging and drooping with Raspberries,
Barberries and Currants and the roots of your trees powdered with
strawberries--red, white and green,--what a pleasure is this!
"Your gardener can frame your lesser wood (shrubs) to the shape of men
armed in the field ready to give battle, or swift-running greyhounds,
or of well-scented and true running hounds to chase the deer or hunt
the hare. This kind of hunting shall not waste your corn nor much your
coin.
"Mazes, well formed, a man's height, may, perhaps, make your friend
wander in gathering of berries till he cannot recover himself without
your help.
"To have occasion to exercise within your Orchard, it shall be a
pleasure to have a Bowling-Alley.
"Rosemary and sweet Eglantine are seemly ornaments about a door, or
window; so is Woodbine.
"One chief grace that adorns an Orchard I cannot let slip. A brood of
nightingales, who with their several notes and tunes with a strong,
delightsome voice out of a weak body, will bear you company, night
and day. She will help you cleanse your trees of caterpillars and all
noisome worms and flies. The gentle Robin Redbreast will help her and
in Winter in the coldest storms will keep a part. Neither will the
silly Wren be behind in summer with her distinct whistle (like a sweet
Recorder)[14] to cheer your spirits. The Blackbird and Throstle (for I
take it the Thrush sings not but devours) sing loudly on a May morning
and delight the ear much (and you need not want their company if you
have ripe Cherries or Berries) and would gladly, as the rest, do you
pleasure. But I had rather want their company than my fruit.
"What shall I say? A thousand of delights are in an Orchard."
[14] A kind of flute. See "Hamlet"; Act II, Scene II.
Parkinson endeavors in the kindliest way to help the amateur. He is
genuinely desirous to encourage gardening and offers his knowledge and
experience with bounteous generosity. He has no preference regarding
site. He says:
"According to the situations of men's dwellings, so are the situations
of their gardens. And, although divers do diversely prefer their own
several places which they have chosen, or wherein they dwell; as some
those places that are near unto a river or brook to be best for the
pleasantness of the water, the ease of transportation of themselves,
their friends and goods, as also for the fertility of the soil, which
is seldom near unto a river's side; and others extol the side or top of
an hill, be it small or great, for the prospect's sake. And again, some
the plain or champian ground for the even level thereof. Yet to show
you for every of these situations which is the fittest place to plant
your garden in and how to defend it from the injuries of the cold winds
and frosts that may annoy it, I hope be well accepted.
"To prescribe one form for every man to follow were too great
presumption and folly; for every man will please his own fancy, be
it orbicular or round, triangular or three-square, quadrangular or
four-square, or more long than broad. Let every man choose which him
liketh best. The four-square form is the most usually accepted with all
and doth best agree to any man's dwelling. To form it therefore with
walks cross the middle both ways and round about it also with hedges,
knots or trayles, or any other work within the four-square parts is
according to every man's conceit. For there may be therein walls either
open or close, either public or private, a maze or wilderness, a rock
or mount with a fountain in the midst to convey water to every part of
the garden either in pipes under the ground, or brought by hand and
emptied into large cisterns or great Turkey jars placed in convenient
places. Arbors also being both graceful and necessary may be appointed
in such convenient places as the corners, or elsewhere, as may be most
fit to serve both for shadow and rest after walking.
"To border the whole square to serve as a hedge thereunto everyone
taketh what liketh him best, as either privet alone, or sweetbriar
and whitethorn enlaced together and roses of one, or two, or more
sorts, placed here and there amongst them. Some also take lavender,
rosemary, sage, southernwood, lavender-cotton, or some such thing. Some
again plant Cornell trees and plash them, or keep them low to form
into a hedge. And some again take a low prickly shrub that abideth
always green called in Latin _Pyracantha_, which in time will make an
evergreen hedging, or border, and when it beareth fruit, which are red
berries like unto hawthorn berries, make a glorious show among the
green leaves in winter time when no other shrubs have fruit, or leaves."
For the borders of the knots, Parkinson recommends thrift, hyssop and
germander, but "chiefly above all herbs the small low, or dwarf French
or Dutch box, because it is evergreen, thick and easily cut and formed."
Roses, he says, should be planted in "the outer borders of the
quarters, or in the middle of the long beds"; and lilies should be
placed in a "small, round or square in a knot without any tall flowers
growing about them."
IV
_"Outlandish" and English Flowers_
The flowers for the knots, or beds, Parkinson divides into two classes:
the "Outlandish flowers" and the "English flowers."
Of the outlandish flowers first of all he mentions daffodils, of which
there were "almost a hundred sorts, some either white, or yellow, or
mixed, or else being small or great, single or double, and some having
but one flower on a stalk; others, many." Other daffodils were so
exceedingly sweet that a very few were sufficient to perfume a whole
chamber: the "single English Bastard daffodil, which groweth wild in
many woods, groves and orchards in England; the double English Bastard,
the French single white, the French double yellow, the Spanish yellow
Bastard, the great or little Spanish white, and the Turkie single white
Daffodil" are some of the varieties Parkinson mentions. Then of the
_Fritillaria_ or the "checkerd Daffodil" Parkinson gives "half a score,
several sorts, both white and red, both yellow and black, which are a
wonderful grace and ornament in a garden in regard of the checker-like
spots in the flower."
Hyacinths in Parkinson's book are about "half a hundred sorts: some
like unto little bells or stars, others like unto little bottles or
pearls, both white and blue, sky colored and blush, and some star-like
of many pretty various forms and all to give delight to them that will
be curious to observe them."
Shakespeare does not mention hyacinths.
Of crocus, or saffron flowers, there were twenty sorts, some flowering
in the spring, others in the autumn, but all of "glorious beauty."
Of lilies there were "twenty several sorts and colors," among which the
Crown Imperial, "for her stately form deserveth some special place in
the garden, as also the Martagons, both white and red, both blush and
yellow, that require to be set by themselves apart."
Tulips (which are never mentioned by Shakespeare) were so many and
various that Parkinson considered it beyond his ability to describe
them all "for there is such a wonderful variety and mixture of colors
that it is almost impossible for the wit of man to decipher them and to
give names," and he added that "for every one that he might name ten
others would probably spring up somewhere" and "besides this glory of
variety in colors that these flowers have, they carry so stately and
delightful a form and do abide so long in their bravery, there is no
lady or gentlewoman of any worth that is not caught with this delight,
or not delighted with these flowers."
Then the anemones, or windflowers, "so full of variety, so dainty, so
pleasant and so delightsome, so plentiful in bearing and durable," he
tells us were great favorites.
[Illustration: BORDER, NEW PLACE, STRATFORD-UPON-AVON]
Then the bear's-ears,[15] or French cowslips, each one "seeming to be
a nosegay of itself alone" and of so many colors as "white, yellow,
blush, purple, red, tawny, murray, hair color and so on" and "not
unfurnished with a pretty sweet scent, which doth add an increase of
pleasure in those that make them an ornament for wearing."
[15] _Auriculas._
Flower-de-luces also of many sorts, one kind "being the Orris roots
that are sold at the Apothecaries whereof sweet powders are made to
lie among garments" and "the greater Flag kind frequent enough in this
land" and which "well doth serve to deck up both garden and house with
Nature's beauties."
Chief of all was "Your Sable Flower, so fit for a mourning habit that
I think in the whole compass of Nature's store there is not a more
pathetical."
The hepatica, or noble liverwort, white, red, blue, or purple,
somewhat resembling violets; the cyclamen, or sow-bread, a "flower
of rare receipt with flowers like unto red, or blush-colored violets
and leaves having no small delight in their pleasant color, being
spotted and circled white upon green"; the _Leucoinum_, or bulbous
violet; _Muscari_, or musk grape flower; star-flowers of different
sorts; _Phalangium_, or spiderwort; winter crowfoot, or wolfsbane; the
Christmas flower, "like unto a single white rose"; bell-flowers of many
kinds; yellow larkspur,[16] "the prettiest flower of a score in the
garden"; flower gentle, or Floramour; Flower-of-the-Sun;[17] the Marvel
of Peru, or of the World; double marsh marigold, or double yellow
buttons; double French marigolds; and the double red _Ranunculus_,
or crowfoot, "for exceeding the most glorious double anemone,"
completes Parkinson's list for flowers to be planted in the beds. The
jasmine, white and yellow; the double honeysuckle and the lady's-bower
(clematis), both white, and red and purple, single and double are "the
fittest of Outlandish plants to set by arbors and banqueting-houses[18]
that are open both before and above, to help to cover them and to give
sight, smell and delight."
[16] Nasturtium.
[17] Sunflower.
[18] The banqueting-house does not signify a place for great
entertainments. It was a simple summer-house, or arbor, to which people
repaired after dinner to eat the dessert, then called "banquet."
Parkinson has not quite finished, however, with the outlandish flowers
for he calls attention to the cherry bay, or _Laurocerasus_, saying
that "the Rose Bay, or Oleander, and the white and blue Syringa, or
Pipe Tree,[19] are all graceful and delightful to set at several
distances in the borders of knots, for some of them give beautiful and
sweet flowers."
[19] Lilac-tree.
Furthermore Parkinson writes that "the Pyracantha, or Prickly Coral
Tree, doth remain with green leaves all the year and may be plashed, or
laid down, or tyed to make up a fine hedge to border the whole knot"
and that "the Dwarf Bay, or Mezereon, is most commonly either placed
in the middle of a knot, or at the corners thereof, and sometimes all
along a walk for the more grace."
So much for the "outlandish" flowers!
Turning now to the "English flowers," we find that Parkinson includes
primroses and cowslips, single rose campions, white, red, and blush
and the double red campion and the Flower of Bristow, or Nonesuch, "a
kind of Campion, white and blush as well as orange-color." And here
Parkinson stops a moment to talk about this Nonesuch, for he was so
fond of it that he holds it in his hand in the portrait that appears as
a frontispiece to his "Paradisus" and from which our reproduction is
made. Of it he writes: "The orange color Nonesuch with double flowers
as is rare and not common so for his bravery doth well deserve a Master
of account that will take care to keep and preserve it."
Then he continues: Bachelors'-buttons, both white and red;
wall-flowers, double and single; stock-gilliflowers, queen's
gilliflowers (which some call dame's violets and some winter
gilliflowers, a kind of stock-gilliflower); violets, "the spring's
chief flowers for beauty, smell and use," both single and double;
snap-dragons, "flowers of much more delight"; columbines, "single
and double, of many sorts, fashions and colors, very variable, both
speckled and parti-colored--no garden would willingly be without them."
Next "Larks' heels, or spurs, or toes, as they are called, single and
double"; pansies, or heartsease, of divers colors, "although without
scent yet not without some respect and delight"; double poppies
"adorning a garden with their variable colors to the delight of the
beholders"; double daisies, "white and red, blush and speckled and
parti-colored, besides that which is called Jack-an-Apes-on-Horseback,"
double marigolds; French marigolds "that have a strong, heady scent,
both single and double, whose glorious show for color would cause
any to believe there were some rare goodness or virtue in them; and
carnations and gilliflowers."
Here again Parkinson's enthusiasm causes him to pause, for he exclaims:
"But what shall I say to the Queen of Delight and of Flowers,
Carnations and Gilliflowers, whose bravery, variety and sweet smell
joined together tieth every one's affection with great earnestness
both to like and to have them?"
Of the overwhelming number he singles out the red and gray Hulo,
the old carnation, the Grand Père; the Cambersive, the Savadge, the
Chrystal, the Prince, the white carnation or delicate, the ground
carnation, the French carnation, the Dover, the Oxford, the Bristow,
the Westminster, the Daintie, the Granado, and the orange tawny
gilliflower and its derivatives, the Infanta, the striped tawny, the
speckled tawny, the flaked tawny, the Grifeld tawny, and many others.
Many sweet pinks are included, "all very sweet coming near the
Gilliflowers, Sweet Williams and Sweet Johns," both single and double,
red and spotted, "and a kind of wild pinks, which for their beauty and
grace help to furnish a garden." Then, too, we have peonies, double and
single; hollyhocks, single and double; and roses.
The Elizabethan gardens, therefore, presented a magnificent array
of flowers; and it was not only in the grand gardens of castles and
manor-houses, but in the estates of London merchants along the Strand
and of the florists in Holborn, Westminster, and elsewhere that fine
flower shows were to be enjoyed during every month of the year. In the
country before the simple dwellings and the half-timbered and thatched
cottages bright flowers blossomed in the same beauty and profusion as
to-day.
The charming cottage garden has changed little.
Finally, in summing up, if we imagine as a background a group of
Tudor buildings in the Perpendicular style of architecture of red
brick broken with bay-windows and groups of quaint chimneys variously
ornamented with zigzag and other curious lines, gables here and
there--the whole façade rising above a terrace with broad flights of
steps--one at the middle and one at each end--and from the terrace
"forthrights" and paths intersecting and in the squares formed by them
bright beds of flowers so arranged that the colors intermingle and
blend so as to produce the effect of a rich mosaic and redolent with
the sweetest perfumes all mingled with particular and peculiar care
and art, we shall have a mental picture of the kind of garden that lay
before _Olivia's_ house in "Twelfth Night," where _Malvolio_ parades
up and down the "forthrights," as Shakespeare distinctly tells us, in
his yellow cross-garters, to pick up the letter dropped on the path
by _Maria_ while the rollicking _Sir Toby Belch_, witless _Sir Andrew
Aguecheek_, and merry _Maria_ watch his antics from their hiding-place
in the box-tree, or hedge.
Such also was the garden at Belmont, _Portia's_ stately home, in which
_Lorenzo_ and _Jessica_, while waiting for their mistress on that
moonlight night "when the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees and they
did make no noise," voiced their ravishing duet, "On Such a Night."
Such also was the garden into which _Romeo_ leaped over the high
wall to sing before _Juliet's_ window a song that in her opinion was
far sweeter than that of the nightingale that nightly sang in the
pomegranate-tree by her balcony.
If, on the other hand, we wish to visualize _Perdita's_ garden--that
of a simple shepherdess--we must imagine a tiny cottage enclosure
gay and bright with blooms of many hues, arranged in simple beds
neatly bordered with box or thrift, but where there are no terraces,
forthrights, or ornamental vases, urns or fountains. This little
cottage garden is the kind that brightened the approach to Anne
Hathaway's house at Shottery and Shakespeare's own dwelling at
Stratford.
This is a descendant, as we have seen, of the little Garden of Delight,
the Pleasance of the Medieval castle. The simple cottage garden is the
easier of the two to reproduce to-day. Although it only occupies a
small corner in the garden proper, yet _all_ the flowers mentioned by
Shakespeare can be grown in it.
In rural England it is not rare to come across old gardens that owed
their existence to disciples of Didymus Mountain, Markham, Lawson,
and Parkinson--gardens that have been tended for three hundred years
and more with loving care, where the blossoms are descendants of
"outlandish" importations of Nicholas Leate and Lord Burleigh, and of
simple English flowers. These gladden the eyes of their owners to-day
as the original flowers gladdened the eyes of those who planted them.
Generations of people in the house and generations of flowers in the
garden thus flourished and faded side by side while the old stock put
forth new blossoms in both house and garden to continue the family
traditions of both the human and the floral world.
[Illustration: HERBACEOUS BORDER, NEW PLACE, STRATFORD-UPON-AVON]
A typical garden dating from Shakespearean times was thus described a
few years ago in "The Gentleman's Magazine":
"In all England one could, perhaps, find no lovelier garden than that
of T----, an old manor-house, sheltered by hill and bounded by the
moat, which is the only relic of the former feudal castle. The tiled
roof, the gables inlaid with oaken beams, are almost hidden by fragrant
roses and jasmine flowers that shine like stars against their darker
foliage. A sun-dial stands in the square of lawn before the porch, and
the windows to your right open upon a yew-hedged bowling-green. Beyond,
the smooth lawn slopes down to a little stream, thick with water-loving
reeds and yellow flags; and lime-trees, whose fragrance the breeze
wafts to us, sweep the greensward in magnificent curves. If you turn
to the left, along yonder grassy path you will find yourself between
borders gorgeous with poppies and sweet william and hollyhocks and
lilies that frame distances of blue hills and clear sky.
"The kitchen-garden lies through that gate in the wall of mellowed
brick--an old-fashioned kitchen-garden, with mingled fruit and
vegetables and flowers. There are pear and plum-trees against the wall
and strawberry beds next the feathery asparagus and gooseberry bushes
hidden by hedges of sweet peas. Another turn will bring you into a
labyrinth of yew hedges and so back to the bowling-green, across which
the long shadows lie, and the sun-dial which marks the approach of
evening. The light is golden on the house and on the tangled borders;
the air is fragrant with many scents."
PART TWO
THE FLOWERS OF SHAKESPEARE
Spring
"THE SWEET O' THE YEAR"
I
_Primroses, Cowslips, and Oxlips_
PRIMROSE (_Primula vulgaris_). English poets have always regarded the
primrose as the first flower of spring--the true _Flor di prima vera_.
This name calls to mind Botticelli's enchanting _Primevera_ that hangs
in the Uffizi, in which the sward is dotted with spring flowers that
seem to have burst into blossom beneath the footsteps of Venus and her
three Graces--those lovely ladies of the Italian Renaissance, clad in
light, fluttering draperies. This decorative picture expresses not
only the joy and beauty of newly-awakened spring, but something much
deeper, something that the painter did not realize himself; and this
was what the Italian Renaissance was destined to mean to all the world:
a New Birth of beauty in the arts and a new era of human sympathy for
mankind.
Sandro Botticelli, whom we may appropriately call _Flor di prima vera_
among painters, was as unaware of his mission in art as the primroses
that come into being at the call of a new day of spring sunshine from
a long dark winter's sleep in a soil of frozen stiffness. Something of
the tender and wistful beauty of early spring--her faint dreams and
soft twilights, her languid afternoons and her veiled nights, when pale
stars tremble through gray mists and when warm rains softly kiss the
drowsy earth--Botticelli has put into his enchanting spring idyl; and
this same wistful, half-drowsy, and evanescent beauty is characteristic
of the primrose.
Primrose, first born child of Ver,
Merry Springtime's harbinger,
With her bells dim
is a perfect and sympathetic description of the flower in "The Two
Noble Kinsmen."[20]
[20] Act I, Scene I.
Observe that the bells of the primrose are "dim"--pale in hue--because
the earth is not sufficiently awake for bright colors or for joyful
chimes--so the color is faint and the sound is delicate. Trees are
now timidly putting forth tender leaves, buds peer cautiously from
the soil, and few birds sing; for leaves, buds, and birds know full
well that winter is lurking in the distance and that rough winds
occasionally issue from the bag of Boreas. The time has not yet come
for "lisp of leaves and ripple of rain" and for choirs of feathered
songsters. Yet all the more, because of its bold daring and its modest
demeanor, the primrose deserves the enthusiastic welcome it has always
received from poets and flower lovers.
"The primrose," writes Dr. Forbes Watson, "seems the very flower of
delicacy and refinement; not that it shrinks from our notice, for few
plants are more easily seen, coming as it does when there is a dearth
of flowers, when the first birds are singing and the first bees humming
and the earliest green putting forth in the March and April woods. And
it is one of those plants which dislikes to be looking cheerless, but
keeps up a smouldering fire of blossom from the very opening of the
year, if the weather will permit.
"The flower is of a most unusual color, a pale, delicate yellow,
slightly tinged with green. And the better flowers impress us by a
peculiar paleness, not dependent upon any feebleness of hue, which we
always find unpleasing, but rather upon the _exquisite_ _softness
of their tone_. And we must not overlook the little round stigma,
that green and translucent gem, which forms the pupil of the eye, and
is surrounded by a deeper circle of orange which helps it to shine
forth more clearly. Many flowers have a somewhat pensive look; but
in the pensiveness of the primrose there is a shade of melancholy--a
melancholy which awakens no thought of sadness and does but give
interest to the pale, sweet, inquiring faces which the plant upturns
towards us.
"In the primrose, as a whole, we cannot help being struck by an
exceeding softness and delicacy; there is nothing sharp, strong, or
incisive; the smell is 'the faintest and most ethereal perfume,' as
Mrs. Stowe has called it in her 'Sunny Memories,' though she was
mistaken in saying that it disappears when we pluck the flower. It
is meant to impress us as altogether soft and yielding. One of the
most beautiful points in the primrose is the manner in which _the
paleness of the flowers is taken up by the herbage_. This paleness
seems to hang about the plant like a mystery, for though the leaves
of the primrose may at times show a trace of the steady paleness of
the cowslip, it is more usually confined to their undersurfaces and
the white flower-stalks with their clothing of down. And when we are
looking at the primrose one or other of these downy, changeful
portions is continually coming into view, so that we get a feeling as
if there hung about the whole plant a clothing of soft, evanescent
mist, thickening about the center of the plant and the undersurfaces of
the leaves which are less exposed to the sun. And then we reach one of
the main expressions of the primrose. When we look at the pale, sweet
flowers, and the soft-toned green of the herbage, softened further here
and there by that uncertain mist of down, the dryness of the leaf and
fur enters forcibly into our impression of the plant, giving a sense
of extreme delicacy and need of shelter, as if it were some gentle
creature which shrinks from exposure to the weather."
[Illustration: CARNATIONS AND GILLIFLOWERS; PRIMROSES AND COWSLIPS; AND
DAFFODILS: FROM PARKINSON]
The Greeks associated the idea of melancholy with this flower. They had
a story of a handsome youth, son of Flora and Priapus, whose betrothed
bride died. His grief was so excessive that he died, too, and the gods
than changed his body into a primrose.
In Shakespeare's time, the primrose was also associated with early
death; and it is one of the flowers thrown upon the corse of _Fidele_,
whose lovely, wistful face is compared to the "pale primrose." Thus
_Arviragus_ exclaims as he gazes on the beautiful youth, _Fidele_, the
assumed name of _Imogen_ in disguise:
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose.[21]
_Perdita_, in "The Winter's Tale,"[22] mentions
Pale primroses that die unmarried
Ere they can behold bright Phœbus in his strength.
Shakespeare appreciated the delicate hue and perfume of this flower.
He seems to be alluding to both qualities when he makes _Hermia_ touch
_Helena's_ memory by the following words:
And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose beds were wont to lie.[23]
Other English poets speak of the flower as "the pale," or "the dim."
Milton writes:
Now the bright star, day's harbinger
Comes dancing from the East and leads with her
The flow'ry May, who, from her green lap, throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
And again, Thomas Carew:
Ask me why I send you here
The firstling of the infant year?
Ask me why I send to you
This Primrose, all bepearled with dew?
I straight whisper in your ears:
The sweets of Love are wash'd with tears
Ask me why this flower doth show
So yellow, green and sickly, too?
Ask me why the stalk is weak
And, bending, yet it doth not break?
I will answer: these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.
[21] "Cymbeline"; Act IV, Scene II.
[22] Act IV, Scene III.
[23] "A Midsummer Night's Dream"; Act I, Scene I.
The English primrose is one of a large family of more than fifty
species, represented by the primrose, the cowslip, and the oxlip. All
members of this family are noted for their simple beauty and their
peculiar charm.
Parkinson writes:
"We have so great variety of Primroses and Cowslips in our country
breeding that strangers, being much delighted with them, have often
furnished into divers countries to their good content.
"All Primroses bear their long and large, broad yellowish-green leaves
without stalks most usually, and all the Cowslips have small stalks
under the leaves, which are smaller and of a darker green. The name
of _Primula veris_, or Primrose, is indifferently conferred on those
that I distinguish for _Paralyses_, or Cowslips. All these plants are
called most usually in Latin _Primulæ veris_, _Primulæ pretenses_ and
_Primulæ silvarum_, because they shew by their flowering the new Spring
to be coming on, they being, as it were, the first Embassadors thereof.
They have also divers other names, as _Herba Paralysis_, _Arthritica_,
_Herba Sancti Petri_, _Claues Sancti Petri_, _Verbasculum odoratum_,
_Lunaria arthritica_, _Phlomis_, _Alisma silvarum_ and _Alismatis
alterum genus_. Some have distinguished them by calling the Cowslips
_Primula Veris Elatior_, that is the Taller Primrose, and the other
_Humilis_, Low, or Dwarf, Primrose.
"Primroses and Cowslips are in a manner wholly used in Cephalicall
diseases to ease pains in the head. They are profitable both for the
Palsy and pains of the joints, even as the Bears' Ears[24] are, which
hath caused the names of _Arthritica Paralysis_ and _Paralytica_ to be
given them."
[24] Auriculas.
Tusser in his "Husbandry" includes the primrose among the seeds and
herbs of the kitchen; and Lyte says that "the cowslips, primroses and
oxlips are now used daily amongst other pot-herbs, but in physic there
is no great account made of them." "The old name was Primerolles,"
Dr. Prior notes in his quaint book on flowers. "Primerole as an
outlandish, unintelligible word was soon familiarized into Primerolles
and this into Primrose." The name was also written primrolles and
finally settled down into primrose. Chaucer wrote primerole, a name
derived from the French _Primeverole_, meaning, like the Italian _Flor
di prima vera_, the first spring flower.
COWSLIP (_Paralysis vulgaris pratensis_). The cowslip is an
ingratiating little flower, not so aloof as its cousin the primrose,
and not at all melancholy. In the popular lore of Shakespeare's time
the cowslip was associated with fairies. In many places it was known
as "fairy cups." For this reason Shakespeare makes _Ariel_ lie in a
cowslip's bell when the fay is frightened by the hooting of owls, or
tired of swinging merrily in "the blossom that hangs on the bough."
One of the duties of _Titania's_ little maid of honor was "to hang a
pearl in every cowslip's ear"; and this gay little fairy informs _Puck_
of the important place cowslips hold in the court of the tiny _Queen
Titania_:
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see:
These be rubies, fairy favors,
In these freckles live their savors.[25]
[25] "A Midsummer Night's Dream"; Act II, Scene I.
To appreciate the meaning of this comparison, it must be remembered
that the "pensioners" of Queen Elizabeth's court were a guard of the
tallest and handsomest men to be found in the whole kingdom, men,
moreover, who were in the pride of youth, and scions of the most
distinguished families. Their dress was of extraordinary elegance
and enriched heavily with gold embroidery. Hence, "gold coats" for
the cowslips. Here and there jewels sparkled and glistened on the
pensioners' coats. Hence rubies--fairy favors--favors from the Queen!
The pensioners also wore pearls in their ears, like Raleigh and
Leicester and other noblemen. Hence the fairy had to "hang a pearl in
every cowslip's ear." An idea, too, of the size of _Titania_ and her
elves is given when the cowslips are considered "tall," and tall enough
to be the body-guard of _Queen Titania_. This was a pretty little
allusion to Queen Elizabeth and her court, which the audience that
gathered to see the first representation of "A Midsummer Night's Dream"
did not fail to catch.
We get a sidelight on the importance of the pensioners in "The Merry
Wives of Windsor"[26] when _Dame Quickly_ tells _Falstaff_ a great
cock-and-bull story about the visitors who have called on _Mistress_
_Ford_. "There have been knights and lords and gentlemen with their
coaches, letter after letter, gift after gift; smelling so sweetly (all
musk) and so rushling, I warrant you in silk and gold; and yet there
has been earls, and, what is more, _pensioners_!" Shakespeare also
speaks of "the freckled cowslip" in "Henry V,"[27] when the _Duke of
Burgundy_ refers to
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip.
All poets love the flower.
In the language wherewith spring
Letters cowslips on the hill,
writes Tennyson--a charming fancy!
Sydney Dobell has a quaint flower song containing this verse:
Then came the cowslip
Like a dancer in the fair,
She spread her little mat of green
And on it dancèd she,
With a fillet bound about her brow,
A fillet round her happy brow,
A golden fillet round her brow,
And rubies in her hair.
[26] Act II, Scene II.
[27] Act V, Scene II.
Never mind if country dancers rarely wear rubies; the idea is pretty
and on Shakespeare's authority we know that rubies do gleam in the cup
of the cowslip, as he has told us through the lips of the fairy.
With great appreciation of the beauty of the flower he has _Jachimo's_
description:
Cinque-spotted like the crimson drops
In the bottom of a cowslip.[28]
[28] "Cymbeline"; Act II, Scene II.
Most sympathetically did Dr. Forbes Watson, when lying on a bed of
fatal illness, put into words what many persons have felt regarding
this flower:
"Few of our wild flowers give intenser pleasure than the cowslip, yet
perhaps there is scarcely any whose peculiar beauty depends so much
upon locality and surroundings. There is a homely simplicity about the
cowslip, much like that of the daisy, though more pensive,--the quiet,
sober look of an unpretending country girl, not strikingly beautiful
in feature or attire, but clean and fresh as if new bathed in milk and
carrying us away to thoughts of daisies, flocks and pasturage and the
manners of a simple, primitive time, some golden age of shepherd-life
long since gone by. And more; in looking at the cowslip we are always
most forcibly struck by its apparent wholesomeness and health. This
wholesomeness is quite unmistakable. It belongs even to the smell so
widely different from the often oppressive perfume of other plants,
as lilies, narcissuses, or violets. Now just such a healthy milk-fed
look, just such a sweet, healthy odor is what we find in cows--an odor
which breathes around them as they sit at rest in the pasture. The
'lips,' of course, is but a general resemblance to the shape of the
petals and suggests the source of the fragrance. The cowslip, as we
have said, is a singularly healthy-looking plant, indeed, nothing about
it is more remarkable. It has none of the delicacy and timidity of the
primrose. All its characters are well and healthily pronounced. The
paleness is uniform, steady, and rather impresses us as whiteness; and
the yellow of the cup is as rich as gold. The odor is not faint, but
saccharine and luscious. It does not shrink into the sheltered covert,
but courts the free air and sunshine of the open fields; and instead
of its flowers peeping timidly from behind surrounding leaves, it
raises them boldly on a stout, sufficient stalk, the most conspicuous
object in the meadow. Its poetry is the poetry of common life, but of
the most delicious common life that can exist. The plant is in some
respects careless to the verge of disorder; and you should note that
carelessness well, till you feel the force of it, as especially in the
lame imperfection of the flower buds, only, perhaps half of them well
developed and the rest dangling all of unequal lengths. Essentially
the cowslip and the primrose are only the same plant in two different
forms, the one being convertible into the other. The primrose is the
cowslip of the woods and sheltered lanes; the cowslip is the primrose
of the fields."
The name cowslip is not derived from the lips of the cow, but,
according to Skeat, the great Anglo-Saxon authority, it comes from an
Anglo-Saxon word meaning dung and was given to the plant because it
springs up in meadows where cows are pastured.
"The common field Cowslip," says Parkinson, "I might well forbear to
set down, being so plentiful in the fields; but because many take
delight in it and plant it in their gardens, I will give you the
description of it here. It hath divers green leaves, very like unto the
wild Primrose, but shorter, rounder, stiffer, rougher, more crumpled
about the edges and of a sadder green color, every one standing upon
his stalk which is an inch or two long. Among the leaves rise up divers
long stalks, a foot or more high, bearing at the top many fair, yellow,
single flowers with spots of a deep yellow at the bottom of each leaf,
smelling very sweet.
"In England they have divers names according to several countries, as
Primroses, Cowslips, Oxlips, Palsieworts and Petty Mullins. The Frantic
Fantastic, or Foolish, Cowslip in some places is called by country
people Jack-an-Apes-on-Horseback, which is a usual name given by them
to many other plants, as Daisies, Marigolds, etc., if they be strange
or fantastical, differing in form from the ordinary kind of the single
ones. The smallest are usually called through all the North Country
Birds' Eyen, because of the small yellow circle in the bottoms of the
flowers resembling the eye of a bird."
OXLIP (_Primula eliator_). The oxlip combines the qualities of primrose
and cowslip. "These two plants," writes a botanist, "appear as
divergent expressions of a simple type, the cowslip being a contracted
form of primrose, the sulphur yellow and the fine tawny, watery rays
of the latter brightened into well defined orange spots. In the oxlip
these characters anastomose."
Thus, partaking of the character of primrose and cowslip, the oxlip
is considered by some authorities a hybrid. "The oxlip and the
polyanthus," says Dr. Forbes Watson, "with its tortoiseshell blossoms,
are two of the immediate forms; the polyanthus being a great triumph
of the gardener's art, a delightful flower, quite a new creation and
originally produced by cultivation of the primrose." In England the
oxlip is found in woods, fields, meadows, and under hedges. Though a
spring flower it lingers into summer and is found in company with the
nodding violet, wild thyme, and luscious eglantine on the bank where
_Titania_ loved to sleep lulled to rest by song.[29] _Perdita_ speaks
of "bold oxlips" ("The Winter's Tale," Act iv, Scene iii); and compared
With the primrose and cowslip the flower deserves the adjective.
"Oxlips in their cradles growing," in the song in "The Two Noble
Kinsmen,"[30] which Shakespeare wrote with John Fletcher, shows great
knowledge of the plant, for the root-leaves of the oxlip are shaped
like a cradle.
Parkinson writes: "Those are usually called oxlips whose flowers are
naked, or bare, without husks to contain them, being not so sweet as
the cowslip, yet have they some little scent, although the Latin name
doth make them to have none."
[29] "A Midsummer Night's Dream"; Act II, Scene II.
[30] Act I, Scene I.
II
"_Daffodils that Come Before the Swallow Dares_"
DAFFODIL (_Narcissus pseudo-narcissus_).
When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o' the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
Is the opening verse that _Autolycus_ sings so gaily in "The Winter's
Tale."[31] The daffodil was "carefully nourished up" in Elizabethan
gardens, as the saying went. Before Shakespeare's time a great number
of daffodils had been introduced into England from various parts of the
Continent. Gerard describes twenty-four different species, "all and
every one of them in great abundance in our London gardens."
[31] Act IV, Scene II.
There were many varieties both rare and ordinary. Parkinson
particularly distinguishes the true daffodils, or _narcissus_, from
the "Bastard Daffodils," or _pseudo narcissus_; and he gives their
differences as follows:
"It consisteth only in the flower and chiefly in the middle cup, or
chalice; for that we do, in a manner only, account those to be _Pseudo
Narcissus_, Bastard Daffodils, whose middle cup is altogether as long,
and sometimes a little longer than, the outer leaves that do encompass
it, so that it seemeth rather like a trunk, or a long nose, than a cup
or chalice, such as almost all the _Narcissi_, or true Daffodils, have.
Of the Bastard tribe Parkinson gives the great yellow Spanish Daffodil;
the Mountain Bastard of divers kinds; the early straw-colored; the
great white Spanish; the greatest Spanish white; the two lesser White
Spanish; our common English wild Bastard Daffodil; the six-cornered;
the great double yellow, or John Tradescant's great Rose Daffodil;
Mr. Wilmer's great double Daffodil; the great double yellow Spanish,
or Parkinson's Daffodil; the great double French Bastard; the double
English Bastard, or Gerard's double Daffodil; the great white Bastard
Rush Daffodil, or Junquilia; the greater yellow Junquilia; and many
others."
Then he adds:
"The _Pseudo narcissus Angliens vulgaris_ is so common in all England,
both in copses, woods and orchards, that I might well forbear the
description thereof. It hath three, or four, grayish leaves, long and
somewhat narrow, among which riseth up the stalk about a span high, or
little higher, bearing at the top, out of a skinny husk (as all other
Daffodils have), one flower, somewhat large, having the six leaves that
stand like wings, of a pale yellow color, and the long trunk in the
middle of a faire yellow with the edges, or brims, a little crumpled,
or uneven. After the flower is past, it beareth a round head, seeming
three square, containing round black seed."
Shakespeare knew all of these varieties very well and had many of them
in mind when he wrote the beautiful lines for _Perdita_, who exclaims:
O Proserpina!
For the flowers now that, frighted, thou lettst fall
From Dis's wagon. Daffodils
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty.[32]
[32] "The Winter's Tale"; Act IV, Scene III.
Much has been written about this description of the daffodils; and it
is generally thought that "to take the winds of March with beauty"
means to charm, or captivate, the wild winds with their loveliness.
I do not agree with this idea, and venture to suggest that as the
daffodils sway and swing in the boisterous March winds with such
infinite grace and beauty, bending this way and that, they "take the
winds with beauty," just as a graceful dancer is said to take the
rhythmic steps of the dance with charming manner.
We get a hint for this also in Wordsworth's poem:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of yellow daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky-Way
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet would not be but gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant, or in pensive, mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.
[Illustration: GARDENERS AT WORK, SIXTEENTH CENTURY]
[Illustration: GARDEN PLEASURES, SIXTEENTH CENTURY]
No one can read this poem without feeling that the dancing daffodils
"take the winds of March with beauty." The very name of the daffodil
touches our imagination. It carries us to the Elysian Fields, for the
ancient Greeks pictured the meads of the blessed as beautifully golden
and deliciously fragrant with asphodels. The changes ring through
asphodel, affodile, affodyl, finally reaching daffodil. Then there is
one more quaint and familiar name and personification,
Daffy-down-dilly that came up to town
In a white petticoat and a green gown.
The idea of daffodil as a rustic maiden was popular in folk-lore and
poetry. The feeling is so well expressed in Michael Drayton's sprightly
eclogue called "Daffodil" that it forms a natural complement to the
happy song of care-free _Autolycus_ just quoted. This Pastoral captured
popular fancy; and it is just as fresh and buoyant as it was when
it was written three hundred years ago. Two shepherds, _Batte_ and
_Gorbo_, meet:
BATTE
Gorbo, as thou camst this way,
By yonder little hill,
Or, as thou through the fields didst stray,
Sawst thou my Daffodil?
She's in a frock of Lincoln green,
Which color likes the sight;
And never hath her beauty seen
But through a veil of white.
GORBO
Thou well describst the daffodil;
It is not full an hour
Since by the spring, near yonder hill,
I saw that lovely flower.
BATTE
Yet my fair flower thou didst not meet,
No news of her didst bring;
And yet my Daffodil's more sweet
Than that by yonder spring.
GORBO
I saw a shepherd that doth keep
In yonder field of lilies
Was making (as he fed his sheep)
A wreath of daffodillies.
BATTE
Yet, Gorbo, thou deludst me still,
My flower thou didst not see;
For know my pretty Daffodil
Is worn of none but me.
To show itself but near her feet
No lily is so bold,
Except to shade her from the heat,
Or keep her from the cold.
GORBO
Through yonder vale as I did pass
Descending from the hill,
I met a smirking bonny lass;
They call her Daffodil,
Whose presence as along she went
The pretty flowers did greet,
As though their heads they downward bent
With homage to her feet,
And all the shepherds that were nigh
From top of every hill
Unto the valleys loud did cry:
There goes sweet Daffodil!
BATTE
Ay, gentle shepherd, now with joy
Thou see my flocks doth fill;
That's she alone, kind shepherd boy,
Let's us to Daffodil!
The flower was also called jonquil, saffron lily, Lent lily and
narcissus. It was the large yellow narcissus, known as the Rose of
Sharon, so common in Palestine, of which Mohammed said: "He that hath
two cakes of bread, let him sell one of them for a flower of the
narcissus; for bread is the food of the body, but narcissus is the food
of the soul."
Narcissus, the most beautiful youth of Bœotia, was told that he would
live happily until he saw his own face. Loved by the nymphs, and
particularly Echo, he rejected their advances for he was immune to love
and admiration. One day, however, he beheld himself in a stream and
became so fascinated with his reflection that he pined to death gazing
at his own image.
For him the Naiads and the Dryads mourn,
Whom the sad Echo answers in her turn,
And now the sister nymphs prepare his urn;
When looking for his corpse, they only found
A rising stalk with yellow blossoms crowned.
In the center of the cup are to be found the tears of Narcissus!
Because the flower was consecrated to Ceres and to the Underworld
and to the Elysian Fields, the daffodil was one of the flowers that
Proserpine was gathering when "dusky Dis" carried her off--and the
myth also hints that the Earth purposely brought the asphodel forth
from the Underworld to entice the unsuspecting daughter of Ceres.
Sophocles associates the daffodil with the garlands of great goddesses:
"And ever, day by day, the narcissus with its beauteous clusters, the
ancient coronet of the mighty goddesses, bursts into bloom by heaven's
dew."[33]
[33] _Œdipus Coloneus._
[Illustration: GARDEN IN MACBETH'S CASTLE OF CAWDOR]
The delightful Dr. Forbes Watson writes of the daffodil like a painter,
with accurate observation and bright palette:
"In the daffodil the leaves and stems are of a full glaucous green,
a color not only cool and refreshing in itself, but strongly suggestive
of water, the most apparent source of freshness and constituting a most
delicious groundwork for the bright, lively yellow of the blossoms.
Now what sort of spathe would be likely to contribute best to this
remarkable effect of the flower? Should the colors be unusually
striking or the size increased, or what? Strange to say, in both
Daffodil and Pheasant's Eye (Poet's Narcissus) we find the spathe
dry and withered, shrivelled up like a bit of thin brown paper and
clinging round the base of the flowers. We cannot overlook it, and most
assuredly we were never meant to do so. Nothing could have been more
beautifully ordered than this contrast, there being just sufficient to
make us appreciate more fully that abounding freshness of life.
"It is a plant which affords a most beautiful contrast, a cool, watery
sheet of leaves with bright, warm flowers, yellow and orange, dancing
over the leaves like meteors over a marsh. The leaves look full of
watery sap, which is the life blood of plants and prime source of all
their freshness, just as the tissues of a healthy child look plump and
rosy from the warm blood circulating within.
"In its general expression the Poet's Narcissus seems a type of maiden
purity and beauty, yet warmed by a love-breathing fragrance; and yet
what innocence in the large soft eye which few can rival among the
whole tribe of flowers. The narrow, yet vivid fringe of red so clearly
seen amidst the whiteness suggests again the idea of purity and gushing
passion--purity with a heart which can kindle into fire."
III
"_Daisies Pied and Violets Blue_"
DAISY (_Bellis perennis_). Shakespeare often mentions the daisy. With
"violets blue" "lady-smocks all silver-white," and "cuckoo-buds of
every hue," it "paints the meadows with delight" in that delightful
spring-song in "Love's Labour's Lost."[34] Shakespeare also uses this
flower as a beautiful comparison for the delicate hand of _Lucrece_ in
"The Rape of Lucrece":[35]
Without the bed her other fair hand was
On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
Showed like an April daisy on the grass.
The daisy is among the flowers in the fantastic garlands that poor
_Ophelia_ wove before her death.[36]
[34] Act V, Scene II.
[35] Stanza 57.
[36] "Hamlet"; Act IV, Scene VII.
The botanical name _Bellis_ shows the origin of the flower. Belides,
a beautiful Dryad, trying to escape the pursuit of Vertumnus, god of
gardens and orchards, prayed to the gods for help; and they changed her
into the tiny flower. In allusion to this Rapin wrote:
When the bright Ram, bedecked with stars of gold,
Displays his fleece the Daisy will unfold,
To nymphs a chaplet and to beds a grace,
Who once herself had borne a virgin's face.
The daisy was under the care of Venus. It has been beloved by English
poets ever since Chaucer sang the praises of the day's eye--daisy.
Chaucer tells us, in what is perhaps the most worshipful poem ever
addressed to a flower, that he always rose early and went out to the
fields, or meadows, to pay his devotions to this "flower of flowers,"
whose praises he intended to sing while ever his life lasted, and he
bemoaned the fact, moreover, that he had not words at his command to do
it proper reverence.
Next to Chaucer in paying homage to the daisy comes Wordsworth with his
A nun demure, of lowly port;
Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court;
In thy simplicity the sport
Of all temptations;
Queen in crown of rubies drest,
A starveling in a scanty vest,
Are all, as seems to suit the best
My appellations.
A little cyclops with one eye
Staring to threaten and defy
That thought comes next--and instantly
The freak is over,
The shape will vanish--and behold,
A silver shield with boss of gold
That spreads itself some fairy bold
In fight to cover.
Bright flower! for by that name at last
When all my reveries are past
I call thee, and to that cleave fast,
Sweet, silent creature
That breathst with me the sun and air,
Do thou as thou art wont repair
My heart with gladness and a share
Of thy meek nature.
"Daisies smell-less yet most quaint" is a line from the flower-song in
"The Two Noble Kinsmen," written by John Fletcher and Shakespeare.[37]
[37] Act I, Scene I.
Milton speaks of
Meadows trim with daisies pied
and Dryden pays a tribute to which even Chaucer would approve:
And then a band of flutes began to play,
To which a lady sang a tirelay;
And still at every close she would repeat
The burden of the song--"The Daisy is so sweet!
The Daisy is so sweet!"--when she began
The troops of Knights and dames continued on.
The English daisy is "The wee, modest crimson-tipped flower," as
Burns has described it, and must not be confused with the daisy that
powders the fields and meadows in our Southern States with a snow of
white blossoms supported on tall stems. This daisy, called sometimes
the moon-daisy (_Chrysanthemum Leucanthemum_), is known in England as
the midsummer daisy and ox-eye. In France it is called marguerite and
paquerette. Being a midsummer flower, it is dedicated to St. John the
Baptist. It is also associated with St. Margaret and Mary Magdalen,
and from the latter it derives the names of maudlin and maudelyne. As
_Ophelia_ drowned herself in midsummer the daisies that are described
in her wreath are most probably marguerites and not the "day's eye" of
Chaucer.
Parkinson does not separate daisies very particularly. "They are
usually called in Latin," he tells us, "_Bellides_ and in English
Daisies. Some of them _Herba Margarita_ and _Primula veris_, as is
likely after the Italian names of Marguerita and _Flor di prima vera
gentile_. The French call them _Paquerettes_ and _Marguerites_; and the
fruitful sort, or those that have small flowers about the middle one,
_Margueritons_. Our English women call them Jack-an-Apes-on-Horseback."
The daisy that an Elizabethan poet quaintly describes as a Tudor
princess resembles the midsummer daisy rather than the "wee, modest,
crimson-tipped flower" of Burns:
About her neck she wears a rich wrought ruff
With double sets most brave and broad bespread
Resembling lovely lawn, or cambric stuff
Pinned up and prickt upon her yellow head.
Also Browne in his "Pastorals" seems to be thinking of this flower:
The Daisy scattered on each mead and down,
A golden tuft within a silver crown.
VIOLET (_Viola odorata_). The violet was considered "a choice flower
of delight" in English gardens. Shakespeare speaks of the violet on
many occasions and always with tenderness and deep appreciation of
its qualities. Violets are among the flowers that the frightened
Proserpine dropped from Pluto's ebon car--
Violets dim
And sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath.[38]
Thus in Shakespeare's opinion the violet out-sweetened both Juno,
majestic queen of heaven, and Venus, goddess of love and beauty.
How could he praise the violet more?
To throw a perfume on the violet
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
Shakespeare informs us in "King John."[39] With the utmost delicacy of
perfection he describes _Titania's_ favorite haunt as
a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.[40]
In truth, the tiny flower seems to nod among its leaves.
Shakespeare makes the elegant _Duke_ in "Twelfth Night," who is
lounging nonchalantly on his divan, compare the music he hears to the
breeze blowing upon a bank of violets[41] (see page 44).
[38] "The Winter's Tale"; Act IV, Scene III.
[39] Act IV, Scene II.
[40] "A Midsummer Night's Dream"; Act II, Scene II.
[41] Act I, Scene I.
Shelley held the same idea that the delicious perfume of flowers is
like the softest melody:
The snowdrop and then the violet
Arose from the ground with warm rain wet;
And there was mixed with fresh color, sent
From the turf like the voice and the instrument.
And the hyacinth, purple and white and blue,
Which flung from its bells a sweet peal anew
Of music, so delicate, soft and intense
It was felt like an odor within the sense.
_Ophelia_ laments that she has no violets to give to the court ladies
and lords, for "they withered" when her father died, she tells us.
Shakespeare also associates violets with melancholy occasions. _Marina_
enters in "Pericles" with a basket of flowers on her arm, saying:[42]
The yellows, blues,
The purple violets and marigolds
Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave
While summer days do last.
[42] Act IV, Scene II.
On another occasion, with a broad sweeping gesture, Shakespeare mentions
The violets that strew
The green lap of the new-come Spring.
In "Sonnet XCIX" he writes:
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal the sweet that smells
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHPLACE, STRATFORD-UPON-AVON]
Bacon deemed it most necessary "to know what flowers and plants do best
perfume the air," and he thought "that which above all others yields
the sweetest smell is the violet, and next to that the musk-rose." (See
page 44.)
"Perhaps of all Warwickshire flowers," writes a native of Shakespeare's
country, "none are so plentiful as violets; our own little churchyard
of Whitechurch is sheeted with them. They grow in every hedgebank until
the whole air is filled with their fragrance. The wastes near Stratford
are sometimes purple as far as the eyes can see with the flowers of
_viola canina_. Our English violets are twelve in number. The plant is
still used in medicine and acquired of late a notoriety as a suggested
cancer cure; and in Shakespeare's time was eaten raw with onions and
lettuces and also mingled in broth and used to garnish dishes, while
crystallized violets are not unknown in the present day."
For the beauty of its form, for the depth and richness of its color,
for the graceful drooping of its stalk and the nodding of its head, for
its lovely heart-shaped leaf and above all for its delicious perfume,
the violet is admired. Then when we gaze into its tiny face and note
the delicacy of its veins, which Shakespeare so often mentions, we gain
a sense of its deeper beauty and significance.
Dr. Forbes Watson observed:
"I give one instance of Nature's care for the look of the stamens and
pistils of a flower. In the blossom of the Scented Violet the stamens
form, by their convergence, a little orange beak. At the end of this
beak is the summit of the pistil, a tiny speck of green, but barely
visible to the naked eye. Yet small as it is, it completes the color of
the flower, by softening the orange, and we can distinctly see that if
this mere point were removed, there would be imperfection for the want
of it."
St. Francis de Sales, a contemporary of Shakespeare, gave a lovely
description of the flower when he said:
"A true widow is in the Church as a March Violet, shedding around an
exquisite perfume by the fragrance of her devotion and always hidden
under the ample leaves of her lowliness and by her subdued coloring,
showing the spirit of her mortification. She seeks untrodden and
solitary places."
The violet's qualities of lowliness, humility, and sweetness have
always appealed to poets. The violet is also beloved because it is
one of the earliest spring flowers. Violets are, like primroses and
cowslips,
The first to rise
And smile beneath Spring's wakening skies,
The courier of a band of coming flowers.
The violet was also an emblem of constancy. At the floral games,
instituted by Clemence Isaure at Toulouse in the Fourteenth Century,
the prize was a golden violet, because the poetess had once sent a
violet to her Knight as a token of faithfulness. With the Troubadours
the violet was a symbol of constancy. In "A Handful of Pleasant
Delights," a popular song-book published in Elizabeth's reign in 1566,
there is a poem called "A Nosegay always Sweet for Lovers to send
Tokens of Love at New Year's tide, or for Fairings, as they in their
minds shall be disposed to write." This poem contains a verse to the
violet:
Violet is for faithfulness
Which in me shall abide;
Hoping likewise that from your heart
You will not let it slide,
And will continue in the same,
As you have now begun;
And then forever to abide
Then you my heart have won.
The violet has always held a loved place in the English garden. Gerard
writes quaintly in his "Herbal":
"The Black, or Purple Violets, or March Violets, of the garden have
a great prerogative above all others, not only because the mind
conceiveth a certain pleasure and recreation by smelling and handling
of those most odoriferous flowers, but also for the very many by these
Violets receive ornament and comely grace; for there be made of them
garlands for the head, nosegays and poesies, which are delightful to
look on and pleasant to smell to, speaking nothing of their appropriate
virtues; yea, gardens themselves receive by these the greatest ornament
of all chiefest beauty and most gallant grace; and the recreation of
the mind, which is taken thereby, cannot but be very good and honest;
for they admonish and stir up a man to that which is comely and honest;
for flowers through their beauty, variety of color and exquisite form
do bring to a liberal and great mind the remembrance of honesty,
comeliness and all kinds of virtue."
Proserpine was gathering violets among other flowers in the fields of
Enna in Sicily when Pluto carried her off. Shakespeare touched upon the
story most exquisitely, through the lips of _Perdita_, as quoted above.
Another Greek myth accounts for the Greek word for the violet, which is
_ion_. It seems when, in order to protect her from the persecutions of
Juno, Jove transformed lovely Europa into a white heifer whom he named
Io, he caused sweet violets to spring up from the earth wherever the
white cow placed her lips; and from her name, Io, the flower acquired
the name _ion_.
The Athenians adored the flower. Tablets were engraved with the word
_ion_ and set up everywhere in Athens; and of all sobriquets the
citizens preferred that of "Athenian crowned with violets."
The Persians also loved the violet and made a delicious wine from it.
A sherbet flavored with violet blossoms is served in Persia and Arabia
to-day at feasts; and Mohammedans say: "The excellence of the violet is
as the excellence of El Islam above all other religions."
IV
_"Lady-smocks all Silver White" and "Cuckoo Buds
of Yellow Hue"_
LADY-SMOCK (_Cardamine pratensis_). The lovely little spring song in
"Love's Labour's Lost"[43] with the line,
Lady-smocks all silver white,
has immortalized this little flower of the English meadows, but little
known in our country. The lady-smock is very common in England in
early spring. Properly speaking it should be Our Lady's-smock, as it
is one of the many plants dedicated to the Virgin Mary and bearing her
name. The list is a long one, including Lady's-slippers, Lady's-bower,
Lady's-cushion, Lady's-mantle, Lady's-laces, Lady's-looking-glass,
Lady's-garters, Lady's-thimble, Lady's-hair (maidenhair fern),
Lady's-seal, Lady's-thistle, Lady's-bedstraw, Lady's-fingers,
Lady's-gloves, and so on. These flowers, originally dedicated to Venus,
Juno, and Diana in Greek and Roman mythology and to Freya and Bertha
in Northern lore and legend, were gradually transferred to the Virgin
with the spread of Christianity. The Lady's-smock takes its name from
the fancied, but far-fetched, resemblance to a smock. It is said, by
way of explanation, that when these flowers are seen in great quantity
they suggest the comparison of linen smocks bleaching on the green
meadow. Other names for the plant are Cuckoo-flower, Meadow-cress,
Spinks, and Mayflower; and in Norfolk the _Cardamine pratensis_
is called Canterbury-bells. The petals have a peculiarly soft and
translucent quality with a faint lilac tinge. Shakespeare describes the
flower as "silver white," an epithet that has puzzled many persons.
However, one ardent Shakespeare lover has made a discovery:
"Gather a lady-smock as you tread the rising grass in fragrant May,
and although in individuals the petals are sometimes cream color,
as a rule the flower viewed in the hand is lilac--pale, but purely
and indisputably lilac. Where then is the silver-whiteness? It is
the meadows, remember, that are painted, when, as often happens, the
flower is so plentiful as to hide the turf, and most particularly if
the ground be a slope and the sun be shining from behind us, all is
changed; the flowers are lilac no longer; the meadow is literally
'silver-white.' So it is always--Shakespeare's epithets are like
prisms. Let them tremble in the sunshine and we discover that it is he
who knows best."
The beautiful song begins:
When daisies pied and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
Cuckoo,
Cuckoo, Cuckoo--or word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.
[43] Act V, Scene II.
CUCKOO BUDS (_Ranunculus_). It is quite possible that in "cuckoo buds
of yellow hue" Shakespeare meant the blossoms of the buttercup or
kingcup (called by the country people of Warwickshire horse-blobs).
Some authorities claim that cuckoo-buds is intended to represent the
lesser celandine, of which Wordsworth was so fond that he wrote three
poems to it. Others call cuckoo-buds _carmine pratensis_; but that
could hardly be possible because Shakespeare speaks of "lady-smocks
all silver white" in one line and "cuckoo buds of yellow hue" in the
succeeding line.
There is much confusion in the identification of lady-smocks,
cuckoo-buds, cuckoo-flowers, and crow-flowers, for they are more or
less related.
Gerard says: "Our Lady-Smock is also called the cuckoo-flower because
it flowers in April and May when the cuckoo doth begin to sing her
pleasant notes without stammering."
V
_Anemones and "Azured Harebells"_
ANEMONE (_Anemone purpurea striata stellata_). The anemone is described
in "Venus and Adonis" very minutely:[44]
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd,
Was melted like a vapor from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up chequer'd with white.
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood,
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.
[44] Verse 195.
Adonis, the beautiful youth, beloved of Venus, was wounded by a boar,
to which he had given chase. Venus found him as he lay dying on the
grass. To make him immortal she changed him into an anemone, or
windflower. Naturally the flower was dedicated to Venus.
Bion sang:
Alas! the Paphian! fair Adonis slain!
Tears plenteous as his blood she pours amain,
But gentle flowers are born and bloom around
From every drop that falls upon the ground.
Where streams his blood, there blushing springs a Rose
And where a tear has dropped a windflower blows.
Pliny asserted the anemone only blooms when the wind blows.
The flower was associated with illness in the days of the Egyptians and
also during the Middle Ages, when there was also a superstition that
the first anemone gathered would prove a charm against disease. The
first spring blossom was, therefore, eagerly searched for, delightedly
plucked, and carefully guarded. No token of affection was more prized
by a loved one going off on a journey than the gift of an anemone. An
old ballad has the lines:
The first Spring-blown Anemone she in his doublet wove,
To keep him safe from pestilence wherever he should rove.
Anemones were greatly valued in Elizabethan gardens. Indeed it was
a fad to grow them. Parkinson distinguishes the family of anemones
as "the wild and the tame, or manured, both of them nourished up in
gardens." He classifies them still further as "those that have broader
leaves and those that have thinner, or more jagged, leaves"; and then
again into those "that bear single flowers and those that bear double
flowers." The wild kinds included "all the Pulsatillas, or Pasque
(Easter) flowers." Parkinson mentions many varieties. He describes
the "tame" anemones as white, yellow, purple, crimson, scarlet,
blush gredeline (between peach color and violet), orange-tawny,
apple-blossom, rose-color, and many others. From his list we can
have no doubt that Shakespeare's flower was one of the purple star
anemones--the _Anemone purpurea striata stellata_, "whose flowers have
many white lines and stripes through the leaves." Parkinson's name is
"the purple-striped Anemone."
Of recent years anemones have again become the fashion.
"How gorgeous are these flowers to behold," exclaims Ryder Haggard,
"with their hues of vivid scarlet and purple! To be really appreciated,
however, they should, I think, be seen in their native home, the East.
In the neighborhood of Mount Tabor in Palestine, I have met with them
in such millions that for miles the whole plain is stained red, blue
and white, growing so thickly indeed that to walk across it without
setting foot on a flower at every step would be difficult. I believe,
and I think that this view is very generally accepted, that these are
the same lilies of the field that 'toil not neither do they spin,'
which Our Lord used to illustrate His immortal lesson. Truly Solomon in
all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."
The Adonis flower (_Flos Adonis_) spoken of by Ben Jonson and others
has nothing to do with the anemone. It is a kind of camomile. "Some
have taken the red kind to be a kind of Anemone," says Parkinson. "The
most usual name now with us is _Flos Adonis_. In English it is also
called the Mayweed and Rosarubie and Adonis Flower."
HAREBELL (_Scilla nutans_).[45] The "azured harebell," which
Shakespeare uses in "Cymbeline" for comparison with the delicate veins
of _Fidele_ (_Imogen_), has been identified as the English jacinth,
blue harebell, or hare's-bell. Browne's "Pastorals" show that this
flower was only worn by faithful lovers; and, therefore, the flower is
most appropriately selected for association with _Imogen_. Browne says:
The Harebell, for her stainless, azured hue
Claims to be worn of none but who are true.
[45] See p. 207.
This flower is also called the "wild hyacinth." Blossoming in May and
June, it is one of the precious ornaments of English woods. "Dust of
sapphire," its jewel-like flowers have been called.
"Our English jacinth, or harebells," writes Parkinson, "is so common
everywhere that it scarce needeth any description. It beareth divers
long narrow green leaves, not standing upright, not yet fully lying
on the ground, among which springeth up the stalk, bearing at the top
many long and hollow flowers, hanging down their heads, all forwards,
for the most part, parted at the brims into six parts, turning up their
points a little again, of a sweetish, but heady, scent, like unto the
Grapeflower. The heads for seed are long and square, wherein is much
black seed. The color of the flowers is in some of a deep blue tending
to purple, in others of a paler blue, or of a bleak blue tending to
an ash color. Some are pure white and some are parti-colored blue and
white; and some are of a fine delayed purplish red, or bluish color,
which some call a pearl color."
[Illustration: AN ELIZABETHAN MANOR HOUSE; HADDON HALL]
VI
_Columbine and Broom-flower_
COLUMBINE (_Aquilegia vulgaris_). "There's fennel for you, and
columbines," says _Ophelia_, as she hands the flowers to the
courtiers.[46] Shakespeare also mentions the columbine in "Love's
Labour's Lost"[47] where _Don Armado_, the "fantastical Spaniard" (a
caricature of a real person at Queen Elizabeth's court), exclaims, "I
am that flower," to which _Dumain_ and _Longueville_ reply in derision,
"That mint! That columbine!" Of the columbine of Shakespeare's time,
Parkinson says:
[46] "Hamlet"; Act IV, Scene V.
[47] Act V, Scene II.
"There be many sorts of Columbines as well differing in form as color
of the flowers, and of them, both single and double, carefully nursed
up in our gardens for the delight both of their forms and colors. The
variety of the colors of these flowers are very much, for some are
wholly white, some of a blue, or violet, color, others of a bluish,
or flesh, color, or deep, or pale, red, or of a dead purple, or dead
murrey color, as Nature listeth to show."
The generic name is derived from the word _aquila_, an eagle, because
of the fancied resemblance of some parts of the flower to the talons
of an eagle. The English name comes from the Latin _columba_, a dove,
from the likeness of its nectaries to the heads of doves in a ring
around a dish, or to the figure of a dove hovering with expanded wings
discovered by pulling off one petal with its detached sepals. Hence
this was called the dove plant. From the belief that it was the
favorite plant of the lion it was called _Herba leonis_.
The columbine was valued for many medicinal virtues.
"The scarlet and yellow columbine," writes Matthew, "is one of our
most beautiful wild flowers. It is my experience that certain flowers
have certain favorite haunts, which are exclusively held by them year
after year. This flower is in its prime about the first of June, and is
nearly always found beside some lichen-covered rock."
The English and American flowers differ, although the early colonists
brought the English flower with them. Grant Allen tells us:
"The English columbine is a more developed type than the American
scarlet, is never yellow in the wild state, but often purple, and,
sometimes, blue. Larkspur, ranking still higher in the floral scale,
in virtue of its singular bilateral blossoms, is usually blue, though
it sometimes reverts to reddish-purple, or white; while monkshood,
the very top of the tree on this line of development, is usually deep
ultramarine, only a few species being prettily variegated with pale
blue and white. As a rule, blue flowers are the very highest; and the
reason seems to lie in the strange fact, first discovered by Sir John
Lubbock, that bees are fonder of blue than of any other color. Still,
they are fond enough even of red; and one may be sure that the change
from yellow to scarlet in the petals of the American columbine is due
in one way or another to the selective tastes and preferences of the
higher insects."
The colors of the American columbine are dark opaque blues, smoky
purples, dull pinks, pale blues, lavenders, reds and yellows--an
infinite variety!
"The flowering of the 'Columbine Commendable,' as Skelton called it
four hundred years ago," says Harriet L. Keeler, "marks the beginning
of summer. The reign of the bulbs is over;
The windflower and the violet
They perished long ago;
the petals of the early roses are falling; the elder-blossoms show
white along the fence rows; and the season waxes to its prime.
"A wild flower of English fields, the columbine was early transferred
into English gardens and has held its place securely there for at least
five hundred years. Its seeds were among the treasures borne over the
sea to the New World and it early bloomed in Pilgrim gardens. This
primitive stock still persists in cultivation.
"The flower of the columbine is a unique and interesting form. The
sepals look like petals and the petals are veritable horns of plenty
filled with nectar at the closed ends for the swarms of bees which
gather about. The sweets are produced by the blossoms on a generous
scale, and to a columbine bed in full bloom the bees come, big and
little, noisy and silent--all giddy with the feast. There is no use
trying to drive them away for they will not go. Clumsy bumble bees with
tongues long enough to reach the honey by the open door, wise honey
bees who have learned to take the short road to the nectar by biting
through the spur, quiet brown bees, little green carpenters--all are
there, 'vehement, voluble, velvety,' in a glorious riot of happiness
and honey.
"The doubling occurs chiefly with the petals; the sepals, as a rule,
hold true to the five, but the petals sometimes double in number,
becoming ten spurs in place of five, and each spur becomes a nest of
spurs like a set of Chinese cups, though the innermost are frequently
imperfect."
The columbine frequently appears in the paintings of the Great Masters.
Luini has immortalized it in his picture of this title now in the
gallery of the Hermitage at Petrograd. A fascinating woman with a
smile as enchanting--if not so famous--as Leonardo da Vinci's "Mona
Lisa" holds an exquisitely painted columbine in her left hand and gazes
at it with tender, loving emotion.
The early Italian and Flemish painters include the columbine with the
rose, lily, pink, violet, strawberry, and clover in the gardens where
the Madonna sits with the Holy Child. The reason that the columbine was
chosen as a flower of religious symbolism was because of the little
doves formed by the five petals. The columbine signified the "Seven
Gifts of the Holy Spirit," and the Flemish painters in their zeal for
accuracy corrected the number of petals to seven to make the flower
agree with the teaching of the Church.
Yet although the columbine has these religious associations, we always
think of it as an airy, piquant flower, the gay and irresponsible
dancer of the rocks and dells, clad, as it were, in fantastic and
parti-colored dress. Graceful in form and charming in color, put
together with extreme delicacy on slender, flexible, fragile stems
and adorned with a leaf approaching that of the fern in delicacy and
lace-like beauty, the columbine is one of the most delightful of
flowers. Always associated with folly, we love it none the less for
that, for there are times when we enjoy _Harlequin_ and _Columbine_
among our flowers,--and these fantastic and frivolous columbines
dancing so gaily in the breeze always fill us with delight.
BROOM (_Cytisus scoparius_). Although the broom was a popular plant
in Elizabethan days it is only mentioned once by Shakespeare. In "The
Tempest,"[48] where _Iris_ in the mask in her apostrophe to "Ceres,
most bounteous lady," speaks of
thy broom-groves
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lass-lorn ...
... the queen o' the sky ...
Bids thee leave these.
[48] Act IV, Scene I.
When in blossom the broom is lovely to look upon. The large yellow
flowers are gracefully arranged on the branches, and its perfume is
delightful.
"Sweet is the Broome-flower!" exclaims Spenser. The broom is the
_Planta genesta_, from which the Plantagenets took their name. The
flower, having become heraldic during that dynasty, was embroidered on
the clothes of the Plantagenet family and imitated in their jewels.
When they died it was carved on their monuments. The story goes that
Geoffrey, Earl of Anjou, father of Henry II of England, once on his
way to a field of battle, had to climb a rocky path, and he noticed
as he went along the bushes of yellow broom clinging to the rocks.
Breaking off a branch he, placed it in his helmet with the words: "This
golden plant shall be my emblem henceforth. Rooted firmly among rocks
and upholding that which is ready to fall." His son, Henry, was called
"the royal sprig of Genesta." The golden plume of broom-flowers was
worn by the Plantagenets until the last one of the line, Richard III,
lost the Crown of England to Henry VII, the first of the Tudors.
In 1264 the _Planta genesta_ was honored by St. Louis, who instituted
the Order of Genest on his marriage with Marguerite. The Knights of
the Genest wore chains made of the broom-flower alternating with the
fleur-de-lis. Shakespeare speaks of a "broom-staff" and sends _Puck_
with broom before
To sweep the dust behind the door.
Whether _Puck's_ broom was made from the _Genesta_ or not we do not
know; but we do know that the broom, in common with other briars, was
used to make besoms for sweeping and also for staffs to walk with and
to lean upon.
[Illustration: ROSE ARBOR, WARLEY, ENGLAND]
Summer
"SWEET SUMMER BUDS"
I
"_Morning Roses Newly Washed with Dew_"
THE ROSE (_Rosa_). Shakespeare speaks of the rose more frequently than
any other flower. Sixty references to the rose are scattered through
his works. Sometimes he talks of the rose itself and sometimes he uses
the word to make a striking comparison, or analogy. With magical touch
he gives us the bold picture of a
Red rose on triumphant briar,
then he brings before us a delicious whiff of the
Perfumèd tincture of the roses,
or the luscious fragrance of
Morning roses newly washed with dew.
With equal delicacy of perception he tells us
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose.[49]
Shakespeare's special roses are the Red, the White, the Musk, the
Eglantine (sweetbrier), the Provençal, or Provins, the Damask, the
Canker, and the Variegated.
[49] "Love's Labour's Lost"; Act IV, Scene III.
THE RED ROSE (_Rose Anglica rubra_), the English red, is thus described
by Parkinson:
"The Red Rose, which I call English because this rose is more frequent
and used in England than in other places, never groweth so high as the
Damask Rose-bush, but more usually abideth low and shooteth forth many
branches from the Rose-bush (and is but seldom suffered to grow up as
the Damask Rose into standards) with a green bark thinner set with
prickles and longer and greener leaves on the upper side than in the
white, yet with an eye of white upon them, five likewise most usually
set upon a stalk and grayish, or whitish, underneath. The Roses, or
flowers, do very much vary according to their site and abiding, for
some are of an orient red, or deep crimson, color and very double
(although never so double as the White), which, when it is full blown,
hath the largest leaves of any other Rose; some of them again are
paler, tending somewhat to a Damask; and some are of so pale a red as
that it is rather of the color of a Canker Rose, yet all for the most
part with larger leaves than the Damask, and with many more yellow
threads in the middle. The scent hereof is much better than in the
White, but not comparable to the excellency of the Damask Rose, yet
this Rose, being well dried and well kept, will hold both color and
scent longer than the Damask."
THE WHITE ROSE (_Rosa Anglica alba_).
"The White Rose is of two kinds," says Parkinson, "the one more thick
and double than the other. The one riseth up in some shadowy places
unto eight or ten foot high, with a stock of great bigness for a rose.
The other growing seldom higher than a Damask Rose. Both these Roses
have somewhat smaller and whiter green leaves than in many other Roses,
five most usually set on a stock and more white underneath, as also a
whiter green bark, armed with sharp thorns, or prickles. The flowers
in the one are whitish with an eye, or shew, of a blush, especially
towards the ground, or bottom, of the flower, very thick, double and
close set together; and, for the most part, not opening itself so
largely and fully as either the Red, or Damask Rose. The other more
white, less thick and double and opening itself more, and some so
little double (as but of two or three rows) that they might be held to
be single, yet all of little or no smell at all."
From this _Rosa alba_, Pliny says, the isle of Albion derived its
name--a happy thought when we remember that the rose is still the
national emblem of England.
MUSK-ROSE (_Rosa moschata_). Musk-roses and eglantine mingled with
honeysuckle formed the canopy beneath which _Titania_ slumbered on a
bank made soft and lovely with wild thyme, oxlips and nodding violets.
And in the "coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers" that the dainty
little fairy queen placed upon the hairy temples of _Bottom_ the
Weaver, musk-roses were conspicuous; and the sweetness of these was
intensified by "the round and Orient pearls of dew" that swelled upon
the petals, as the "pretty flowerets bewailed their own disgrace."
It is this delicious rose which Keats, when listening to the
nightingale, sensed rather than visualized in the twilight dimness:
The coming musk-rose full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
The musk-rose was adored by the Elizabethans. Lord Bacon considered its
scent to come next to that of the violet, and before all other flowers.
"You remember the great bush at the corner of the south wall just by
the Blue Drawing-room window?" writes Mrs. Gaskell in "My Lady Ludlow."
"That is the old musk-rose, Shakespeare's musk-rose, which is dying out
through the kingdom now. The scent is unlike the scent of any other
rose, or of any other flower."
The musk-rose is a native of North Africa, Spain, and India (Nepal).
Hakluyt in 1582 gave the date of its introduction into England. "The
turkey-cocks and hens," he says, "were brought in about fifty years
past; the Artichoke in the time of Henry the Eighth; and of later times
was procured out of Italy the Musk Rose plant and the Plum called
Perdigwena."
Turning now to Parkinson and opening his big volume at the page "_Rosa
Moschata_, simple and multiplex," we read:
"The Musk Rose, both single and double, rises up oftentimes to a very
great height that it overgroweth any arbor in a Garden, or being set
by a house side to be ten or twelve foot high, or more, but especially
the single kind with many green far spread branches armed with a few
sharp great thorns, as the wilder sorts of Roses are, whereof these
are accounted to be kinds, having small dark green leaves on them, not
much bigger than the leaves of Eglantines. The Flowers come forth at
the tops of the branches, many together as it were in an umbel, or
tuft, which, for the most part, do flower all at a time, or not long
one after another, every one standing on a pretty long stalk and are
of a pale whitish, or cream color, both the single and the double, the
single being small flowers consisting of five leaves with many yellow
threads in the middle; and the double bearing more double flowers, as
if they were once or twice more double than the single, with yellow
thrums also in the middle, both of them of a very sweet and pleasing
smell, resembling musk. Some there be that have avouched that the chief
scent of these Roses consisteth not in the leaves but in the threads of
the Flowers."
The color of the musk-rose is white, slightly tinged with pink.
EGLANTINE; ALSO SWEETBRIER (_Rosa eglanteria_). This is a conspicuous
adornment of _Titania's_ bower, and is as remarkable for its beauty as
for its scent. The pink flowers with their golden threads in the center
are familiar to every one.
"The Sweet Briar, or Eglantine," Parkinson writes, "is not only planted
in Gardens for the sweetness of its leaves, but growing wild in many
woods and hedges, hath exceeding long green shoots armed with the
cruellest sharp and strong thorns and thicker set than is in any Rose,
either Wild or tame. The leaves are smaller than in most of those that
are nourished up in Gardens, seven or nine, most usually set together
on a rib, or stalk, very green and sweeter in smell about the leaves of
any other kind of Rose. The flowers are small, single, blush Roses."
PROVENÇAL, OR PROVINS (_Centifolia_). This old-fashioned cabbage-rose
of globular flowers, massive foliage, hard knob of leaves in the
center, and sweet perfume is affectionately known as the "Hundred
Leaf," or _rose à cent feuilles_. Parkinson gives two varieties: the
incarnate, or flesh-color; and the red.
In our country the light pink, or incarnate, is the more familiar. What
associations does it not conjure up? To many of us Dean Hole's words
make a touching appeal:
"The blushing, fresh, fragrant Provence! It was to many of us _the_
Rose of our childhood and its delicious perfume passes through the
outer sense into our hearts gladdening them with bright and happy
dreams, saddening them with love and child awakenings. It brings more
to us than the fairness and sweet smell of a Rose. We passed in our
play to gaze on it with the touch of a vanished hand in ours, with
a father's blessing on our heads and a mother's prayer that we might
never lose our love of the beautiful. Happy they who return, or regain,
that love."
THE DAMASK ROSE (_Rosa damascena_) is a native of Syria, whence it was
brought to Europe about 1270 by Thibault IV, Comte de Brie, returning
from the Holy Land. We know exactly when it was introduced into England
because Hakluyt, writing in 1582, says: "In time of memory many things
have been brought in that were not here before, as the Damask Rose by
Doctor Liniker, King Henry the Seventh and King Henry the Eighth's
physician."
"Gloves as sweet as Damask Roses" _Autolycus_ carries in his peddler's
pack for "lads to give their dears," along with masks for their faces,
perfume, necklace-amber, pins, quoifs, and "lawn as white as driven
snow."[50]
[50] "The Winter's Tale"; Act IV, Scene III.
Parkinson informs us:
"The Damask Rose-bush is more usually nourished up to a competent
height to stand alone (which we call Standards), than any other Rose.
The bark, both of the stock and branches, is not fully so green as the
Red or White Rose. The leaves are green with an eye of white upon
them. The flowers are of a fine deep blush color, as all know, with
some pale yellow threads in the middle, and are not so thick and double
as the White, not being blown with so large and great leaves as the
Red, but of the most excellent sweet pleasant scent, far surpassing
all other Roses or Flowers, being neither heady, nor too strong, nor
stuffing or unpleasant sweet, as many other flowers.
"The Rose is of exceeding great use with us, for the Damask Rose
(besides the superexcellent sweet water it yieldeth, being distilled,
or the perfume of its leaves, being dried, serving to fill sweet
bags) serveth to cause solubleness of the body, made into a syrup, or
preserved with sugar, moist or candied." The name is obviously from
Damascus.
CANKER (_Rosa canina_). This is the wild dog-rose common to many
countries. The name dog-rose was given to it by the Romans, because the
root was said to cure the bite of a mad dog. Pliny says the remedy was
discovered in a dream by the mother of a soldier who had been bitten by
a mad dog. _Don Juan's_ remark in "Much Ado About Nothing."[51]
I had rather be a canker in the hedge
Than a rose in his garden,
refers, of course, to the canker-rose. According to legend, the Crown of
Thorns was made from the briers of this variety of rose.
[51] Act I, Scene III.
VARIEGATED ROSE (_Rosa versicolor_) of Shakespeare's plays is the
curious bush which produces at the same time red roses, white roses,
and roses of red mottled with white and of white mottled with red. The
growth of the tree is stiff and erect and the flowers have a sweet
scent. The rose is often called the "York and Lancaster." Parkinson
says:
"This Rose in the form and order of the growing is nearest unto the
ordinary Damask Rose both for stem, branch, leaf and flower, the
difference consisting in this--that the flower (being of the same
largeness and doubleness as the Damask Rose) hath the one half of it
sometimes of a pale whitish color and the other half of a paler damask
color than the ordinary. This happeneth so many times, and sometimes
also the flower hath divers stripes and marks on it, one leaf white, or
striped with white, and the other half blush, or striped with blush,
sometimes all striped, or spotted over, and at other times little or no
stripes, or marks, at all, as Nature listeth to play with varieties in
this as in other flowers. Yet this I have observed, that the longer it
abideth blown open to the sun, the paler and the fewer stripes, marks,
or spots will be seen in it. The smell is of a weak Damask Rose scent."
This rose recalls the old song of a "Lover to His Lancastrian
Mistress," on handing her a white rose:
If this fair rose offend thy sight,
Placed in thy bosom bare,
'T will blush to find itself less white,
And turn Lancastrian there,
But if thy ruby lip it spy,
As kiss it thou mayst deign,
With envy pale 'twill lose its dye,
And Yorkish turn again.
In his play of "King Henry VI," which passes during the Wars of the
Roses, Shakespeare introduces the noted scene in the Temple Garden,
London, where the emblem of the Yorkists (a white rose) and that of
the Lancastrians (a red rose) is chosen. Richard Plantagenet plucks a
white rose and the Earl of Somerset a red rose from rose-bushes that
are still growing and blooming in the same spot, as they did when
Shakespeare imagined the scene in "King Henry VI."[52]
[52] Part I, Act II, Scene IV.
In Shakespeare's day the rose was enormously cultivated. In the gardens
of Ely Place, the home of Queen Elizabeth's dashing lord chancellor,
twenty bushels of roses were gathered annually--a good deal for the
time.
"About thirty species of roses," writes Edmund Gosse, "were known to
the Elizabethan gardeners, and most of them did particularly well in
London until in the reign of James I, when the increasing smoke of
coal-fires exterminated the most lovely and the most delicate species,
the double yellow rose. Things grew rapidly worse in this respect,
until Parkinson in despair, cried out: 'Neither herb, nor tree, will
prosper since the use of sea-coal.' Up to that time in London, and
afterwards in country-places, the rose preserved its vogue. It was not
usually grown for pleasure, since the petals had a great commercial
value; there was a brisk trade in dried roses and a precious sweet
water was distilled from the damask rose. The red varieties of the rose
were considered the best medicinally, and they produced that rose syrup
which was so widely used both as a cordial and as an aperient. The
fashion for keeping _potpourri_ in dwelling-rooms became so prevalent
that the native gardens could not supply enough, and dried yellow
roses became a recognized import from Constantinople. We must think of
the parlors of the ladies who saw Shakespeare's plays performed for
the first time as all redolent with the perfume of dried, spiced and
powdered rose-leaves." In "Sonnet LIV" Shakespeare says:
The rose looks fair, but fairer it we deem
For that sweet odor which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their maskèd buds discloses.
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made.
For twenty-seven centuries--and more--the rose has been considered
queen of flowers. Her perfume, her color, her elegance, and her mystic
fascination have won all hearts. Shakespeare says: "A rose by any other
name would smell as sweet." In one sense that is true; but we would not
be willing to try another title, for the very word rose is a beautiful
one and conjures up a particular and very special vision of sweetness
and beauty.
Thousands and thousands of poems have been written in praise of this
flower, ever since Sappho sang to her lyre the words "Ho! the rose! Ho!
the rose!"
Sir Henry Wotton wrote:
You Violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known,
Like the proud virgins of the year,
As if the Spring were all your own,
What are you when the Rose is blown?
And Hood sang:
The Cowslip is a country wench;
The Violet is a nun;
But I will woo the dainty Rose
The queen of every one.
And Shelley:
And the rose, like a nymph to the bath addrest,
Which unveiled the depths of her glowing breast,
Till, fold after fold, to the fainting air,
The soul of her beauty and love laid bare.
Shelley's "fold after fold" reminds us that Ruskin points out that one
of the rose's beauties is that her petals make shadows over and over
again of their own loveliness.
Dr. Forbes Watson has, perhaps, been the most successful of all writers
in putting into words the reasons why the rose has such power over
mankind:
"The flower has something almost human about it--warm, breathing, soft
as the fairest cheek; of white, no longer snowy like the narcissus,
but flushed with hues of animating pink; either flower, white or red,
being alike symbolical of glowing, youthful passion."
In the East the rose gardens have been famed for centuries. The flower
is said to burst into bloom at the voice of the nightingale. The poet
Jami says: "You may place a handful of fragrant herbs of flowers before
the nightingale, yet he wishes not in his constant heart for more than
the sweet breath of his beloved rose." It is said that an Arabian
doctor discovered the recipe for rose-water in the Tenth Century;
but the perfume may be older than that. The _Rosa centifolia_ is the
blossom used. The Indians and Persians have known how to make their
attar of rose for centuries.
A large volume would be required to chronicle the romance of the rose,
for it is the flower of love, beauty, and poetry. It is dedicated to
Venus, and Venus is frequently represented as wearing a crown of roses.
Her son, Eros or Cupid, is also wreathed and garlanded with roses.
Cupid gave a rose to Harpocrates, god of silence--hence the rose is
also the symbol of silence. "Under the rose," a saying that expresses
silence and secrecy, is derived from this legend. A siren holding a
rose stands among the sculptured ruins of Pæstum. Roses and myrtle
adorned the brides of Greece and Rome. The profusion of roses used for
decorations at feasts astounds us even to-day. No epicure was satisfied
with the cup of Falernian wine unless it were perfumed with roses; and
the Spartan soldiers at the Battle of Cirrha actually refused wine
because it was not perfumed with roses. This makes us wonder if those
Spartan mothers, of whom we hear so much, were really as severe as they
are reputed to have been. Red roses were dedicated to Jupiter; damask
roses to Venus; and white roses to Diana or the moon. The rose was
given to the Virgin Mary as her particular flower; and many Italian
painters as well as Flemish, Spanish, and German, have painted the
Madonna of the Rose, the Madonna of the Rose-hedge, the Madonna of the
Rose-bush, and the Madonna of the Rose-garden. The rosary, introduced
by St. Dominick in commemoration of his having been shown a Chaplet of
roses by the Virgin, originally consisted of rose-leaves pressed into
balls.
II
"_Lilies of All Kinds_"
THE LILY (_Lilium candidum_). The fact that _Perdita_ calls for
"lilies of all kinds" shows that Shakespeare loved one of the most
beautiful families of flowers that grace the earth, and knew the many
varieties that grew in the English gardens of his day, which include
the Lily-of-the-Valley (in his time called Lily Conally); the splendid
yellow lilies; the red martagon and spotted martagon (tiger-lilies);
as well as the pure white lily. Parkinson, who writes so beautifully
of plants and blossoms, did not neglect the lily. He says: "The lily
is the most stately flower among many," and he directs attention "to
the wonderful variety of lilies known to us in these days, much more so
than in former times."
[Illustration: RED, WHITE DAMASK AND MUSK ROSES; LILIES; AND EGLANTINES
AND DOG-ROSES: FROM PARKINSON]
First on the list comes the white lily, which has always been regarded
from time immemorial as the most beautiful member of this most
beautiful family, a picture of purity with its white silken petals
exquisitely set off by the yellow anthers and breathing such delicious
fragrance. This is the lily of which Shelley sings:
And the wand-like lily, which lifteth up
As a Mænad, its moonlight colored cup,
Till the fiery star which is its eye
Gazed through clear dew on the tender sky.
"The ordinary White Lily, _Lilium candidum_," writes Parkinson, "scarce
needeth any description, it is so well known and so frequent in every
garden. The stalk is of a blackish green color, having many fair broad
and long green leaves. The flower stands upon long green footstalks, of
a fair white color, with a long pointell in the middle and white chives
tipt with yellow pendants about it. The smell is something heady and
strong. It is called _Lilium album_, the White Lily, by most writers;
but by poets, _Rosa Junonis_, Juno's Rose."
How perfect is this flower! Texture, form, hue, sheen, perfume--all
express exquisite loveliness. The lily refreshes us with its cool
beauty and its purity and lifts our thoughts upward to heaven.
Gerard describes eight lilies in his "Herbal" (1597), all of which
were known to Shakespeare. Certainly among _Perdita's_ flowers was
the martagon, which takes its name from the Italian _martagone_,
meaning a Turk's turban. This lily is also called "Chalcedonian" and
"Scarlet martagon" and "Turk's Cap," by Parkinson, who tells us that
the "_Lilium rubrum Byzantinum Martagon Constantinopolitanum_, or the
red martagon of Constantinople, is become so common everywhere and so
well known to all lovers of these delights that I shall seem unto them
to lose time to bestow many lines upon it; yet because it is so fair
a flower and was at the first so highly esteemed, it deserveth its
place and commendations. It riseth out of the ground bearing a round,
brownish stalk, beset with many fair green leaves confusedly thereon,
but not so broad as the common White Lily, upon the top whereof stand
one, two, or three, or more, flowers upon long footstalks, which hang
down their heads and turn up their leaves again, of an excellent red
crimson color and sometimes paler, having a long pointell in the middle
compassed with whitish chives, tipt with loose yellow pendants, of a
reasonable good scent, but somewhat faint. We have another of this
kind, the Red Spotted Martagon of Constantinople, that groweth somewhat
greater and higher with a larger flower, and of a deeper color, spotted
with divers black spots, or streaks, and lines, as is to be seen in
Mountain Lilies."
The martagon belongs to the tiger-lily class, whose characteristics
have been so imaginatively brought out by Thomas Bailey Aldrich:
I like the chaliced lilies,
The heavy Eastern lilies,
The gorgeous tiger-lilies,
That in our garden grow.
For they are tall and slender;
Their mouths are dashed with carmine,
And when the wind sweeps by them,
On their emerald stalks
They bend so proud and graceful,--
They are Circassian women,
The favorites of the Sultan,
Adown our garden walks.
And when the rain is falling,
I sit beside the window
And watch them glow and glisten,--
How they burn and glow!
O for the burning lilies,
The tender Eastern lilies
The gorgeous tiger-lilies,
That in our garden grow.
Shakespeare has many beautiful passages concerning the lily. He often
refers to its whiteness. He considers it as impossible a task "to paint
the lily" as it is "to gild refined gold," or "to throw a perfume on
the violet."
How the lily was loved by the ancients! The Egyptians adored it; the
Persians named cities for it; the Hebrews worshiped it. The Greeks and
Romans called the lily Juno's flower, and fancied that the flower owed
its very existence to drops of milk spilled on earth from Juno's white
breast when she was nursing the infant Hercules.
The church consecrated the lily to the Virgin Mary. It was her
flower as Queen of Heaven. In many old religious paintings of the
Annunciation, the Angel Gabriel, appearing before the Virgin, usually
holds the "Annunciation Lily," or "Madonna Lily" in his hand. Joseph's
staff was said to have blossomed into lilies, and it is the white lily
that is usually represented in this connection.
Wonderful family this lily tribe, flowers of the grand style and
haughty demeanor! Ruskin enlightens us as to why it is every one loves
them and why they are entwined with many of our thoughts of art and
life:
"Under the name of _Drosidæ_ come plants delighting in interrupted
moisture--moisture which comes either partially, or at certain
seasons--into dry ground. They are not water-plants, but the signs
of water resting among dry places. In the _Drosidæ_ the floral
spirit passes into the calix also, and the entire flower becomes a
six-rayed star, bursting out of the stem laterally, as if it were the
first of flowers and had made its way to the light by force through
the unwilling green. They are often required to retain moisture, or
nourishment, for the future blossom through long times of drought; and
this they do in bulbs underground, of which some become a rude and
simple, but most wholesome food for man.
"Then the _Drosidæ_ are divided into five great orders--lilies,
asphodels, amaryllis, irids and rushes. No tribes of flowers have
had so great, so varied, or so healthy an influence on man as this
great group of _Drosidæ_, depending not so much on the whiteness of
some of their blossoms, or the radiance of others, as on the strength
and delicacy of the substance of their petals; enabling them to take
forms of faultless, elastic curvature, either in cups, as the Crocus,
or expanding bells, as the true Lily, or heath-like bells, as the
Hyacinth, or bright and perfect stars, like the Star of Bethlehem, or,
when they are affected by the strange reflex of the serpent nature
which forms the labiate group of all flowers, closing into forms of
exquisitely fantastic symmetry as the Gladiolus. Put by their side
their Nereid sisters, the Water-lilies, and you have in them the origin
of the loveliest forms of ornamental design and the most powerful
floral myths yet recognized among human spirits, born by the streams of
the Ganges, Nile, Arno and Avon.
"For consider a little what each of those five tribes has been to the
spirit of man. First, in their nobleness; the Lilies gave the Lily of
the Annunciation; the Asphodels, the flower of the Elysian Fields;
the Irids, the fleur-de-lys of chivalry; and the Amaryllis, Christ's
lily of the fields; while the Rush, trodden always under foot, became
the emblem of humility. Then take each of the tribes and consider the
extent of their lower influence. _Perdita's_ 'the Crown Imperial,
lilies of all kinds,' are the first tribe, which, giving the type of
perfect purity in the Madonna's Lily, have, by their lovely form,
influenced the entire decorative design of Italian sacred art; while
ornament of war was continually enriched by the curves of the triple
petals of the Florentine '_giglio_' and the French fleur-de-lys; so
that it is impossible to count their influence for good in the Middle
Ages, partly as a symbol of womanly character and partly of the utmost
brightness and refinement in the city which was the 'flower of cities.'"
Astrologers placed the lily under the moon; and the flower is certainly
dreamy enough and celestial enough to be under the rule of Diana, or
Astarte.
III
_Crown-Imperial and Flower-de-luce_
THE CROWN-IMPERIAL (_Fritillaria imperalis_) is mentioned by
_Perdita_. A native of Persia, Afghanistan, and Kashmir, it was taken
to Constantinople, and thence to Vienna in 1576. Finally it came to
England with other luxuries of the Renaissance. Gerard had it in his
garden, and describes it as follows:
"Out of a tuft of narrow leaves the stem rises and terminates in a
second tuft immediately below which is a ring of large tulip-like
flowers, pendulous and golden yellow. Looking into the bells at the
base of every petal is a white and concave nectary from which hangs a
drop of honey that shines like a pearl. In the bottom of each of the
bells there is placed six drops of most clear shining water, in taste
like sugar resembling in shew fair Orient pearls, the which drops if
you take away there do immediately appear the like. Notwithstanding
if they may be suffered to stand still in the flower according to his
own nature, they will never fall away, no, not if you strike the plant
until it be broken."
The Crown-Imperial was, perhaps, of all choice "outlandish flowers" the
choicest. Parkinson gives it the first place in the Garden of Delight,
opening his great book, "Paradisus Terrestris," with an account of it:
"The Crown Imperial," he writes, "for his stately beautifulness
deserveth the first place in this our Garden of Delight. The stalk
riseth up three, or four, foot high, being great, round and of a
purplish color at the bottom, but green above, beset from thence
to the middle thereof with many long and broad green leaves of our
ordinary white lily, but somewhat shorter and narrower, confusedly
without order, and from the middle is bare, or naked, without leaves
for a certain space upwards, and then beareth four, six, or ten
flowers, more or less, according to the age of the plant and the
fertility of the soil where it groweth. The buds at the first appearing
are whitish, standing upright among a bush, or tuft, of green leaves,
smaller than those below and standing above the flowers. After a
while they turn themselves and hang downward every one upon his own
footstalk, round about the great stem, or stalk, sometimes of an even
depth and other while one lower, or higher, than another, which flowers
are near the form of an ordinary Lily, yet somewhat lesser and closer,
consisting of six leaves of an orange-color striped with purplish lines
and veins, which add a great grace to the flowers. At the bottom of the
flower, next unto the stalk, every leaf thereof hath on the outside a
certain bunch, or eminence, of a dark purplish color, and on the inside
there lieth in those hollow bunched places certain clear drops of water
like unto pearls, of a very sweet taste, almost like sugar. In the
midst of each flower is a long white stile, or pointell, forked, or
divided, at the end and six white chives, tipt with yellowish pendants,
standing close above it. After the flowers are past, appear six square
seed vessels, standing upright, winged as it were, or weltered on the
edges, yet seeming but three-square, because each couple of those
welted edges are joined closer together, wherein are contained broad,
flat and thin seeds of a pale brownish color, like unto other lilies,
but much greater and thicker also.
"This plant was first brought from Constantinople into these Christian
countries, and, by relation of some that sent it, groweth naturally in
Persia. It flowereth most commonly in the end of March, if the weather
be mild, and springeth not out of the ground until the end of February,
or beginning of March, so quick it is in the springing. The head
with seeds are ripe in the end of May. It is of some called _Lilium
Perticum_, or Persian Lily; but because we have another, which is more
usually called by that name, I had rather, with Alphonsus Pancius, the
Duke of Florence, his physician (who first sent the figure thereof unto
Mr. John de Brancion) call it _Corona Imperialis_, the Crown Imperial."
[Illustration: MARTAGON LILIES, WARLEY, ENGLAND]
There is a legend that the Crown-Imperial grew in the garden of
Gethsemane, where it was often admired by Jesus Christ. At that time,
according to the story, the flowers were _white_ and erect on the
stalk. During the night of the agony when Our Lord passed through the
garden, this flower was the only one that did not bow its head. Later
the proud flower bent its head and tears of sorrow filled its cup. Ever
since that time the plant has continued to bow in sorrow and its tears
flow forever.
Dr. Forbes Watson loves the flower with its "bold, decided outlines."
His description is all too short. "The tall stem," he says, "rises like
a mast through the lower leaves, is thence for a short space bare till
it is topped by the crowning sheaf of leaf-swords, out of which droop
so gracefully the large yellow wax-like bells. Here every line seems to
pierce like an arrow, the composition is so clear and masterly."
The Crown-Imperial appears in the celebrated book called "Guirlande de
Julie," which the Duc de Montausier gave on New Year's Day, 1634, to
his bride, Julie de Rambouillet. This was a magnificent album: every
leaf bore a beautifully painted flower and a verse descriptive of it or
in praise of it contributed by different artists and poets. Chapelain
chose the Crown-Imperial for his theme, pretending that it sprang from
the blood of Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, who, not being able to offer
his hand to Julie, came to her in the guise of this flower.
FLOWER-DE-LUCE (_Iris pseudacorus_). _Perdita's_ mention of "lilies
of all kinds, the flower-de-luce being one," shows that Shakespeare
classed this flower among the lilies. So did the botanists of his
time. Symbol of eloquence and power, the Egyptians placed the purple
iris upon the brow of the Sphinx. The scepter of their monarchs was
adorned with this flower, its three petals representing faith, wisdom,
and valor. The kings of Babylon and Assyria also bore it on their
scepters. The Greeks laid the iris on the tombs of women because they
believed that Iris guided dead women to the Elysian Fields. Although
the iris was also dedicated to Juno, it is more particularly the flower
of Iris, lovely Iris, one of the beautiful Oceanides, daughters of
Ocean, and messenger of the gods, who whenever she wished to descend
upon the earth threw her rainbow scarf across the sky and with all its
prismatic colors glistening in her perfumed wings descended from heaven
to earth upon the graceful bow that joins the seen and the unseen
worlds. The purple, yellow, orange, and blue tints of the rainbow live
again in the petals and drooping lips called "falls." What a flower
of charm, mystery, and majesty! Sphinx of the flower world! The iris
was extremely popular in Shakespeare's day. Parkinson gives a great
many "Flower-de-luces, or Iris" in his monumental work. We find "the
Purple, the Blue, the Purple-striped, the Peach-colored, the White, the
White-striped, the Parti-colored, the Milk-White, the Silver color,
the White with Yellow Falls, the Straw color, the Spanish Yellow, the
Purple and Yellow, the Purple or Murrey, the Great Turkie, the Common
Purple, the Great Dalmatian, the Yellow of Tripoli, the Double Blew,
the Double Purple, the Purple Dwarf," and many others which prove how
popular this flower was in Tudor and Stuart gardens, and what splendid
specimens were known to the people of Shakespearian times. Parkinson
also adds: "The dried root called Orris is of much use to make sweet
powders, or other things, to perfume apparel or linen."
The fleur-de-lis early became the symbol of France. At the proclamation
of a new king the Franks always placed a living flower, or flag, as it
was called, in his hand as the symbol of power. Because his wife, St.
Clotilde, had a vision of the iris, Clovis erased the three frogs on
his shield and substituted the iris. In consequence also of a dream,
Louis VII took the iris for his device in 1137, from which it became
known as the fleur de Louis, later contracted into fleur-de-lys and
fleur-de-lis. When Edward III claimed the crown of France in 1340,
he quartered the Old French shield bearing the fleur-de-lis with his
English lion. The iris, or flower-de-luce (as the English wrote it),
did not disappear from the English coat of arms until 1801.
Shakespeare speaks of the fleur-de-lis in the _Messenger's_ speech in
"King Henry VI":[53]
Awake, awake, English nobility!
Let not sloth dim your honors new begot:
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.
And again in the same play:[54]
LA PUCELLE. I am prepared: here is my keen-edged sword,
Deck'd with fine flower-de-luces on each side.
In "The Merry Wives of Windsor"[55] there is a humorous play upon words
regarding the heraldic use of "the flower-de-luce."
[53] Part I, Act I, Scene I.
[54] Part I, Act I, Scene II.
[55] Act I, Scene I.
IV
_Fern and Honeysuckle_
THE FERN (_Pteris aquilina_), with its graceful and beautifully
indented leaves and its peculiar acrid scent, delicious to many
persons, would be admitted into the Shakespeare garden because of its
fantastic qualities, even if its beauty did not sue for recognition.
The fern is a fairy plant. According to folk-lore it always blossomed
at twelve o'clock on St. John's eve (June 21), Midsummer night. The
flower is described as a wonderful globe of sapphire blue (according to
other stories a ruby/red); and in a few moments after its blossoming
the seed appeared. _Oberon_, the fairy king, was supposed to watch
for the precious seed so that he might prevent mortals from obtaining
it; but any one fortunate enough to gather fern-seed would be under
the protection of spirits, and would be enabled to realize all his
fondest desires. Furthermore, any one who wore the fern-seed about him
would be invisible. Shakespeare was familiar with this superstition,
for he makes _Gadshill_ exclaim in "King Henry IV":[56] "We steal as
in a castle, cock-sure: we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk
invisible."
[56] Part I, Act II, Scene I.
An old account tells us:
The fern flowers on Midsummer night at twelve o'clock, and drives away
all unclean spirits. First of all it puts forth buds, which afterwards
expand, then open, and finally change into flowers of a dark red hue.
At midnight the flower opens to its fullest extent and illuminates
everything around. But at that precise moment a demon plucks it from
its stalk. Whoever wishes to procure this flower must be in the forest
before midnight, locate himself near the fern and trace a circle
around it. When the Devil approaches and calls, feigning the voice of
a parent, sweetheart, etc., no attention must be paid, nor must the
head be turned; for if it is, it will remain so. Whoever becomes the
happy possessor of the flower has nothing to fear; by its means he can
recover lost treasure, become invisible, rule on earth and under water
and defy the Devil.
Because the fern was so powerful against evil and because it was sacred
to St. John the Baptist, witches detested it.
Pliny stated that the fern had neither flower nor seed; and some of
the old English writers believed this. William Turner, however, went
to work to investigate matters. In his famous "Herbal," published in
1562,[57] he says:
[57] See p. 34.
"Not only the common people say that the fern hath seed, but that
was also the opinion of a Christian physician named Hieronymus Tragus,
who doth not only say that the fern hath seed, but writeth that he
found upon Midsummer Even seed upon brakes.[58] Although all they that
have written of herbs have affirmed and holden that the brake doth
neither seed nor fruit, yet have I divers times proved the contrary,
which thing I will testify here in this place for their sakes that be
students of herbs. I have, four years together, one after another, upon
the Vigil of St. John the Baptist, which we call in English Midsummer
Even, sought for this seed of brakes upon the night; and, indeed, I
found it early in the morning before day-break. The seed was small,
black, and like unto poppy. I went about this business all figures,
conjurings, saunters, charms, witchcraft, sorceries, taking with me
two or three honest men. When I sought this seed all the village about
did shine with bonfires that the people made there; and sometime when
I sought the seed I found it, and sometimes I found it not. Sometime I
found much and sometime I found little; but what should be the cause of
this diversitie, or what Nature meaneth in this thing, surely I cannot
tell."
[58] Brake, or bracken, fern.
[Illustration: WILTON, FROM DE CAUX]
[Illustration: WILTON GARDENS TO-DAY]
HONEYSUCKLE (_Lonicera perfolium_). Delicious name--honeysuckle! And
truly this is one of "the sweetest flowers for scent that blows." It
takes its name because of the honey dew found on it, so old writers
say. Romantic is its other name, "woodbine," suggesting sylvan spots
and mossy beds, where cool-rooted flowers grow, such as the "nodding
violet." Shakespeare knew what he was about when he enwreathed and
entwined _Titania's_ canopy with "luscious woodbine" in loving union
with the equally delicious eglantine. The honeysuckle is a flower that
belongs particularly to moonlight and to fairy-time.
In "Much Ado About Nothing" _Hero_ gives the command:[59]
Good Margaret, run into the parlor and whisper to Beatrice
And bid her steal into the pleachèd bower,
Where honeysuckles ripened by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter.
[59] Act III, Scene I.
A bower covered with the intense, yet subtle, perfume of the
honeysuckle, doubly sweet in the hot sun that had ripened the blossoms
and drawn out their inmost sweetness, was just the place to send "saucy
Beatrice" for the purpose of lighting the flame of love for _Benedick_,
and just the place to send, a little later, the cynical _Benedick_
for the purpose of awakening his interest in the "Lady Disdain."
Shakespeare evidently knew that the honeysuckle is the flower of ardent
lovers, and so he framed his pleachèd bower with these sweet-scented
blossoms. The French have a tender name for the flower, _cher feu_
(dear flame), because it is given by lovers to one another. The other
French name, _chèvre feuille_, is derived from the Latin _caprifolium_
(goat-leaf), which may have been given to it because the plant leaps
over high rocks and precipices, where only goats and others of the
cloven-footed tribe dare venture. The honeysuckle in Shakespeare's day
was a favorite remedy for wounds in the head. Witches also valued it
for their sorcery. According to sorcerers and astrologers this plant
was under the rule of Mercury.
It is hard to decide when the honeysuckle is at its best. Whether at
hot noontide when the clusters of pale buff and white horns of plenty
tipped with their long, feathery threads pour their incense into the
golden sunlight, or when the less pungent, but equally intoxicating,
perfume floats upon the silvery blue air of a moonlit night.
"How sweetly smells the Honeysuckle, in the hush'd night as if the
world were one of utter peace and love and gentleness."
Landor has thus expressed what the delicious honeysuckle makes us feel.
"The monthly honeysuckle," writes Celia Thaxter, "is most divine. Such
vigor of growth I have never seen in any other plant. It climbs the
trellis on my piazza and spreads its superb clusters of flowers from
time to time all summer. Each cluster is a triumph of beauty, flat in
the center and curving out to the blossoming edge in joyous lines of
loveliness, most like a wreath of heavenly trumpets breathing melodies
of perfume to the air. Each trumpet of lustrous white deepens to a
yellower tint in the center where the small ends meet; each blossom
where it opens at the lips is tipped with fresh pink; each sends out
a group of long stamens from its slender throat like rays of light;
and the whole circle of radiant flowers has an effect of gladness and
glory indescribable: the very sight of it lifts and refreshes the human
heart. And for its odor, it is like the spirit of romance, sweet as
youth's tender dreams. It is summer's very soul."
Enchanting season of fern and honeysuckle, perfumed stars that shine
through green leaves and bells that send forth peals of incense instead
of sound!
She show'd me her ferns and woodbine sprays
Fox-glove and jasmine stars,
A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze
Of red in the celadon jars,
And velvety bees in convolvulus beds
And roses of bountiful June--
Oh, who would think that the summer spells
Could die so soon?[60]
[60] Locker-Lampson.
V
_Carnations and Gilliflowers_
CARNATIONS (_Dianthus caryophyllus_). _Perdita_ calls carnations and
streak'd gilliflowers "the fairest flowers o' the season." Carnation
was originally spelled coronation, because the flower was used to make
crowns, garlands, and wreaths. In the days of Pliny it was called
_dianthus_, or flower of Jove, and was also worn in wreaths and crowns.
From Chaucer we know that it was cultivated as the "Clove Gilliflower"
in English gardens; and because it was used to add a spicy flavor to
wine and ale, it acquired the popular name of "sops in wine." Hence
Spenser in his "Shepherd's Calendar" sings:
Bring hither the pink and purple Columbine
With Gillyflowers;
Bring Coronations and Sops-in-wine
Worn of paramours.
And again:
Youth's folk now flocken everywhere
To gather May baskets and smelling Brere,[61]
And home they hasten the posts to dight
And all the kirk pillars in daylight
With Hawthorn budes and sweet Eglantine
And garlands of Roses and Sops-in-wine.
[61] Brier.
"Its second specific name," writes Ellacombe, "_Caryophyllus_, i.e.,
nut-leaved, seems at first very inappropriate for a grassy-leaved
plant; but the name was first given to the Indian Clove tree and from
it transferred to the Carnation on account of its fine clove scent.
Its popularity as an English plant is shown by its many names--Pink,
Carnation, Gilliflower (an easily-traced and well-ascertained
corruption, from _Caryophyllus_), Clove Picotee[62] and Sops-in-wine
from the flowers being used to flavor wine and beer.
[62] From the French _picot_, a pinked edge. We still use the word
"pinked" for a cut edge, and "pinking-iron" is the word for that with
which the edge is cut.
"There is an historical interest also in the flowers. All our
Carnations, Picotees and Cloves came originally from the single
_Dianthus caryophyllus_. This is not a true British plant; but it holds
a place in the English flora, being naturalized on Rochester and other
castles. It is abundant in Normandy; and I found it in 1874 covering
the old castle of Falaise, in which William the Conqueror was born. I
have found that it grows on the old castles of Dover, Deal and Cardiff,
all of them of Norman construction, as was Rochester, which was built
by Gandulf, the special friend of William. Its occurrence on these
several Norman castles makes it very possible that it was introduced
by the Norman builders, perhaps as a pleasant memory of their Norman
homes, though it may have been incidentally introduced with the Norman
(Caen) stone, of which parts of the castles are built. How soon it
became a florist's flower we do not know; but it must have been early,
for in Shakespeare's time the sorts of Cloves, Carnations and Pinks
were so many that Gerard says: 'A great and large volume would not
suffice to write of every one at large in particular, considering
how infinite they are, and how every year, every climate and country
bringeth forth new sorts and such as have not heretofore been written
of.'"
Parkinson speaks of "Carnations, Pinks and Gilloflowers." "The number
of them is so great," he says, "that to give several descriptions to
them were endless." He therefore mentions a few favorites. Among the
Carnations we find the Great Harwich, or old English Carnation; the
Red, or Clove Gilloflower; the Yellow, or Orange Tawny Gilloflower; the
Gray Hulo; the Red Hulo; the Blue Hulo; the Grimelo, or Prince; the
White Carnation, or Delicate; the French Carnation; the Crystal, or
Chrystalline; the Fragrant; the Striped Savage; the Oxford Carnation;
the King's Carnation; the Granado; the Grand Père; and the Great
Lombard. His Gilliflowers include the Lustie Gallant, or Westminster;
the Bristow Blue; the Bristow Blush; the Red Dover; the Fair Maid of
Kent, or Ruffling Robin; the Queen's Gilloflower; the Dainty; the
Brassill Gilloflower; the Turkie Gilloflower; the Pale Pageant; the Sad
Pageant; Master Bradshawe his Dainty Lady; John Witte his great Tawny
Gilloflower; the Striped Tawny; the Marbled Tawny; Master Tuggie his
Princess; the Feathered Tawny; and Master Tuggie his Rose Gilloflower.
The Tuggies had a superb garden at Westminster in which they made a
specialty of Carnations, Gilliflowers, and Pinks. The flower upon which
Parkinson spends his most loving description is the Great Harwich. The
enthusiasm of this old flower-fancier, who writes so delightfully,
makes us feel that the Great Harwich is an English institution,
just as important as the Roast Beef of Old England or the English Plum
Pudding.
[Illustration: A GARDEN OF DELIGHT]
"I take this goodly great old English Carnation," he writes, "as a
precedent for the description of all the rest, which for his beauty
and stateliness is worthy of a prime place. It riseth up with a great
thick, round stalk divided into several branches somewhat thickly set
with joints, and at every joint two long green (rather than whitish)
leaves, turning, or winding, two or three times round. The flowers
stand at the tops of the stalks in long great and round green husks,
which are divided into five points, out of which rise many long and
broad pointed leaves, deeply jagged at the ends, set in order, round
and comely, making a gallant, great double Flower of a deep Carnation
color, almost red, spotted with many blush spots and streaks, some
greater and some lesser, of an excellent soft, sweet scent, neither too
quick, as many others of these kinds are, nor yet too dull; and with
two whitish crooked threads, like horns, in the middle. This kind never
beareth many flowers; but as it is slow in growing, so in bearing,
not to be often handled, which showeth a kind of stateliness fit to
preserve the opinion of magnificence."
What a delightful idea Parkinson gives of the conscious dignity of the
flower! How vividly he brings the Great Harwich before us and makes
us love its green husk, its mottled leaves, its rich scent, and its
curling horns!
"Gilloflowers," Parkinson continues, "grow like unto Carnations, but
not so thick set with joints and leaves. The stalks are more, the
leaves are narrower and whiter, for the most part, and in some, do as
well a little turn.[63] The flowers are smaller, yet very thick and
double in most; and the green husks in which they stand are smaller
likewise. The ends of the leaves are dented and jagged. Some also have
two small white threads, crooked at the ends like horns in the middle
of the flower; others have none.
[63] "Do a little turn" is charming, suggesting a quaint little waltz.
"Most of our later writers do call them by one general name,
_Caryophyllus sativus_ and _Flos Caryophyllus_, adding thereto
_maximus_ when we mean Carnations, and _major_ when we would express
Gilloflowers, which name is taken from Cloves in that the scent of the
ordinary red Gilloflower especially doth resemble them. Divers other
several names have been formerly given them, as _Vetonica_, or _Betonia
altera_ or _Vetonica altibus_ and _coronaria_, _Herba Tunica_, _Viola
Damascena_, _Ocellus Damascenus_ and _Barbarieus_. Of some _Cantabrica
Pliny_. Some think they were unknown to the Ancients and some would
have them be _Iphium_ of Theophrastus, whereof he maketh mention in his
sixth and seventh chapters of his sixth book among garland and summer
flowers; others to be his _Dios anthos_ or _Louis flos_. We call them
in English, the greatest kinds, Carnations, and the other Gilloflowers
(quasi July Flowers). The Red, or Clove, Gilloflower is most used in
physic in our apothecaries' shops (none of the others being accepted,
or used) and is accounted to be a very cordial."
Some writers say that the gilliflower was a cure for pestilential
fevers. Gerard writes: "Conserve made of the flowers of the Clove
Gilloflower and sugar is exceeding cordial and wonderfully above
measure, doth comfort the heart, being eaten now and then."
The Italian painter, Benvenuto Tisio, always painted a gilliflower
in the corner of his pictures as his emblem, from which he is always
called _Il Garofalo_.
The word "pink" is derived from the Dutch word _Pinkster_
(Whitsuntide), the season a certain "Whitsuntide Gilliflower" was
in bloom. The pink was regarded as an antidote for epilepsy; and a
vinegar made of pinks was used as a valued remedy for the plague. The
Elizabethans also thought "if a conserve be composed of it, it is the
life and delight of the human race."
Our old friend Parkinson describes Pinks as "wild, or small,
Gilloflowers, some bearing single and some double flowers, some smooth,
almost without any deep dents on the edges, and some jagged, or, as it
were, feathered. Some growing upright, like unto Gilloflowers, others
creeping, or spreading, some of one color, some of another, and many of
divers colors."
He gives Double and Single Pinks, Feathered or Jagged Pinks, Star
Pinks, Great Sea Gilloflower, or Great Thrift, "often used in gardens
to empale or border a knot, because it abideth green in Winter and
Summer and that by cutting it may grow thick and be kept in what form
one list." We also find Single Red Sweet John, Single White Sweet John;
Double Sweet John; Single Red Sweet William; Double Red Sweet William;
Speckled Sweet William, or London Pride; Deep Red, or Murrey Color,
Sweet William; and Single White Sweet William.
"These," he adds, "are all generally called _Armerius_ or _Armeria_,
yet some have called them, _Vetonica agrestis_ and others _Herba
Tunica_, _Scarlatea_ and _Carophyllus silvestris_. We do in English,
in most places call the first, or narrower-leaved kinds, Sweet Johns
and all the rest Sweet Williams; yet in some places they call the
broader-leaved kinds that are not spotted _Tolmeiners_ and London
Tufts; but the speckled kind is termed by our English Gentlewomen, for
the most part, London Pride. We have not known of any of these used in
physic."
These spicy pinks and luscious July flowers and the simple Sweet-Johns
and Sweet-Williams as well recall the lovely lines of Matthew Arnold:
Soon will the high midsummer pomp come on.
Soon will the musk carnations break and swell,
Soon shall we have gold-dusted Snapdragon,
Sweet-william with his homely cottage smell,
And stocks in fragrant blow;
Roses that down the alleys shine afar,
And open jasmine in muffled lattices
And groups under the dreaming garden trees
And the pale moon and the white dreaming star.
VI
_Marigold and Larkspur_
MARIGOLD (_Calendula officinalis_). Shakespeare was devoted to the
marigold. He always speaks of it with poetic rapture.
The marigold that goes to bed with the sun
And with him rises, weeping,
is _Perdita's_ idea of the shining flower, which in these few words she
tells us closes its petals in the evening and at dawn awakens wet with
dew.[64]
[64] "The Winter's Tale"; Act IV, Scene III.
Then in the beautiful dawn-song in "Cymbeline"[65] "winking Mary-buds"
remind us that the gold-flower is consecrated to the Virgin Mary.
This song, so full of the freshness of early morning and the sweet
perfume of flowers holding in their deep cups sufficient dew to water
the horses of the sun just appearing above the horizon, is one of the
loveliest of lyrics:
Hark! Hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phœbus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is--My lady, sweet, arise:
Arise, arise.
[65] Act II, Scene III.
"The Marygold," says Lyte, "hath pleasant, bright and shining yellow
flowers, the which do close at the setting down of the Sun and do
spread and open again at the Sun rising."
And Lupton writes: "Some do call it _Spousa Solis_, the Spowse of the
Sun, because it sleeps and is awakened with him."
In "The Rape of Lucrece" Shakespeare also mentions the flower:
Her eyes, like marigolds, hath sheathed their light
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay
Till they might open to adorn the day.
Very prettily the flower is introduced in Middleton and Rowley's
"Spanish Gipsy":
You the Sun to her must play,
She to you the Marigold,
To none but you her leaves unfold.
Another old English name for the marigold was ruddes and a prettier one
was the gold-flower, often called simply the gold or goold. Chaucer
talks of "yellow Goldes." The name was still used in Elizabeth's day.
"Colin Clout" has:
But if I her like ought on earth might read,
I would her liken to a crown of lilies,
Upon a Virgin bride's adorned head,
With roses dight and goolds and daffodillies.
In Medieval times the monks gave to the gold-flower the prefix Mary,
with the legend that the Virgin Mary loved to wear the flower in
her bosom. Hence Shakespeare calls it "Mary-buds." Of Shakespeare's
Marigolds Parkinson writes:
"They are called _Caltha_ of divers and taken to be that _Caltha_
whereof both Virgil and Columella have written. Others do call them
_Calendula of the Kalends_, that is the first day of the months,
wherein they are thought chiefly to flower. And thereupon the Italians
call them _Fiori di ogni mese_, that is the Flowers of Every Month. We
call them in English generally Golds, or Marigolds.
"The herb and flowers are of great use with us among other pot-herbs,
and the flowers, either green or dyed, are often used in possets,
broths and drinks; as a comforter of the heart and spirits; and to
expel any malignant, or pestilential quality, gathered near thereunto.
The Syrup and Conserve made of the fresh flowers are used for the same
purpose to good effect."
[Illustration: SIR THOMAS MORE'S GARDEN, CHELSEA]
Parkinson divides marigolds unto two classes: single and double.
"The garden Marigold," he says, "hath round green stalks, branching
out from the ground into many parts, whereon are set long, flat green
leaves, broader and rounder at the point than anywhere else. The
flowers are sometimes very thick and double (breaking out of a scaly,
clammy green head), composed of many rows of leaves, set so close
together, one within another, that no middle thrum can be seen; and
sometimes less double, having a small brown spot of a thrum in the
middle; and sometimes but of two or three rows of leaves with a large
brown thrum in the middle: every one whereof is somewhat broader at the
point and nicked in two or three corners, of an excellent fair, deep,
gold-yellow color in some, and paler in others, and of a pretty strong
and resinous sweet scent.
"There is no difference between this and the single Marigold but that
the flowers are single, consisting of one row of leaves of the same
color; either paler or deeper yellow, standing about a great brown
thrum in the middle. Our gardens are the chief places for the double
flowers to grow in."
Another description is contained in the famous "Gardener's Labyrinth"
by Didymus Mountain (Thomas Hill):[66]
"The Marigold, named of the herbarians _Calendula_, is so properly
termed for that in every Calend and in each month this reneweth of the
own accord and is found to bear flowers as well in Winter as Summer,
for which cause the Italians name the same the flower of every month.
But some term it the Sun's Spowse, or the follower of the Sun; and is
of some named the Husbandman's Dial, in that the same showeth to them
both the morning and evening tide. Others name it the Sun's Bride and
Sun's Herb, in that the flowers of the same follow the Sun as from the
rising by the South into the West; and by a notable turning obeying
to the Sun, in such manner that what part of Heaven he possesseth
they unto the same turned behold, and that in a cloudy and thick air
like directed, as if they should be revived, quickened and moved with
the spirit of him. Such is the love of it knowen to be toward that
royal Star, being in the night time for desire of him as pensive and
sad, they be shut or closed together; but at the noontime of the day
fully spread abroad as if they with spread arms longed, or diligently
attended, to embrace their Bridegroom. This Marigold is a singular kind
of herb, sown in gardens as well for the pot as for the decking of
garlands, beautifying of Nosegays and to be worn in the bosom."
[66] See p. 68.
The Marigold is supposed to be the Chrysanthemum or gold-flower of the
Greeks, the _Heliotrope-solsequium_; and the story goes that the flower
was originally the nymph Clytie, who gazed all day upon the Sun with
whom she had fallen in love. At length she was turned into the flower.
"All yellow flowers," said St. Francis de Sales, "and above all those
that the Greeks call Heliotrope and we call Sunflower, not only rejoice
at the sight of the sun, but follow with loving fidelity the attraction
of its rays, gazing at the Sun and turning towards it from its rising
to its setting."
Very charmingly does George Wither, a contemporary of Shakespeare,
refer to this:
When with a serious musing I behold
The grateful and obsequious Marigold,
How duly every morning she displays
Her open breast when Phœbus spreads his rays;
How she observes him in his daily walk,
Still bending towards him her small slender stalk;
How when he down declines she droops and mourns,
Bedewed, as 'twere, with tears till he returns;
And how she veils her flowers when he is gone.
When this I meditate methinks the flowers
Have spirits far more generous than ours.
Margaret of Orleans, grandmother of Henri IV, knowing well the legend
of the flower, chose for her device a marigold with the motto, _je ne
veux suivre que lui seul_.
In the reign of Henry VIII the marigold was often called "Souvenir" and
sentimental ladies wore wreaths of marigolds mixed with the heartsease.
To dream of marigolds denoted prosperity, riches, success, and a happy
and a wealthy marriage. As the marigold was a solar flower, the
astrologers placed it under the sign and care of Leo.
In a wholly Elizabethan spirit Keats sang:
Open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent Marigolds!
Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,
For great Apollo bids
That in these days your praises should be sung
On many harps, which he has lately strung;
And when again your dewyness he kisses
Tell him I have you in my world of blisses!
So happly when I rove in some far vale
His mighty voice may come upon the gale.
The Shakespearian marigold must not be confused with the French
marigold (_Flos Africanus_), called also Indian gilliflower, flower of
Africa, and flower of Tunis. A long chapter on this marigold appears
in Parkinson's book. This is the tightly rolled up little flower of
irregular ragged petals, but of a rich, deep golden hue.
Parkinson also speaks of the great Peruvian sunflower, which he admires
greatly and describes with enthusiasm. We know it well as our common
sunflower with its dark center and yellow rays--a magnificent specimen
of the floral world, worthy of the adoration of the Incas and of more
than we usually accord to it.
LARKSPUR (_Delphinium_). "Lark's-heels trim," one of the flowers in
the introductory song of "The Two Noble Kinsmen," is the Delphinium,
also called larkspur, lark's-claw, lark's-toes, and knight's-spur. The
generic name is derived from the Greek _delphinium_, because the buds
were thought to resemble the form of a dolphin.
As with many other plants, there were two kinds, the "wild" and the
"tame"; and it was the wild kind that was "nourished up in gardens,"
according to Parkinson, who describes the plant as having "small, long,
green leaves, finely cut, almost like fennel and the branches ending in
a long spike of hollow flowers with a long spur behind them. They are
of several colors: bluish purple, or white, or ash color, or red, paler
or deeper, and parti-colored of two colors in a flower.
"They are called diversely by divers writers as _Consolida regulis_,
_Calearis flos_, _Flos regius_, _Buccinum Romanorum_, and _Cuminum
silvestre alterum Dioscoridis_; but the most usual name with us is
_Delphinium_. But whether it be the true _Delphinium_ of Dioscorides,
or the Poet's Hyacinth, or the Flower of Ajax, another place is fitter
to discuss than this. We call them in English Larks-heels, Larkspurs,
Larkstoes, or claws, and Monks-hoods. There is no use of any of these
in Physicke in these days that I know, but are wholly spent for their
flowers sake."
A modern botanist remarks:
"The gardener's ideal has been the full-flowered spike with a goodly
range of colors on the chord of blue. We think of larkspur as blue.
Some of these blues are pale as the sky, some pure cobalt, others
indigo and still others are a strange broken blue, gorgeous and
intense, yet impure, glittering on the surface as if it were strewn
with broken glass, and sometimes darkened into red. The center of a
larkspur is often grotesque; the hairy petals suggest a bee at the
heart of a flower, and the flower itself looks like a little creature
poised for flight. In structure the garden race has changed very little
from the primitive type, though that type has wandered far from the
simplicity of the buttercup, which names the _Ranunculacæ_. Whatever
path of evolution the larkspur has trod, it is very clear that the
goal at which it has arrived is cross-fertilization by means of the
bee. At some time along the path the calix took on the duties of the
corolla, became highly colored, developed a spur, while at the same
time the corolla lessened both in size and in importance. The stamens
mature before the pistil and are so placed that the bee cannot get at
the honey without covering its head with pollen which it then bears to
another flower."
The name of Monk's-hood is also given to the Blue Helmet-flower, or
aconite.[67]
[67] See p. 248.
Yellow Lark's-heels is a name our Elizabethan forefathers gave to the
_Nasturtium Indicum_, a plant found in the West Indies and taken by the
early Spanish explorers to Spain, whence it traveled to all parts of
Europe.
"It is now very familiar in most gardens of any curiosity," says
Parkinson. "The likeness of this flower, having spurs, or heels, is of
so great beauty and sweetness withall that my Garden of Delight cannot
be unfurnished of it. The flowers are of an excellent gold yellow color
and grow all along the stalks. In the middle of each of the three lower
leaves there is a little long spot, or streak, of an excellent crimson
color, with a long heel, or spur, behind, hanging down. The whole
flower hath a fine small scent, very pleasing, which, being placed in
the middle of some Carnations, or Gilloflowers (for they are in flower
at the same time), make a delicious Tussiemussie, as they call it, or
Nosegay, both for sight and scent. Monardus and others call it _Flos
sanguineus_ of the red spots in the flower, as also _Nastnerzo de las
Indias_, which is _Nasturtium Indicum_; and we thereafter in English,
Indian Cresses. Yet it may be called from the form of the flowers
Yellow Lark's heels."
This flower is phosphorescent and is said to emit sparks, which are
visible in the dark.
VII
_Pansies for Thoughts and Poppies for Dreams_
PANSY (_Viola tricolor_). "Pansies--that's for thoughts," exclaims
_Ophelia_, as she holds out the flower that the French call _pensée_
(thought). And it is the pansy that is "the little western flower" upon
which "the bolt of Cupid fell" and made "purple with love's wound" and
which "maidens call Love in Idleness,"--the flower that _Oberon_ thus
described to _Puck_ when he sent him to gather it. The juice of it
squeezed by _Oberon_ upon _Titania's_ eyelids and by _Puck_ upon the
Athenian youths and maidens, who were also sleeping in the enchanted
wood on that midsummer night, occasioned so many fantastic happenings.
The pansy in those days was the small Johnny-Jump-Up, a variety of the
violet, according to the old writers, "a little violet of three colors,
blue, white and yellow." Milton noted that it was "freaked with jet."
Michael Drayton showed its close relationship to the violet in the
lines:
The pansy and the violet here
As seeming to descend
Both from one root and very fair
For sweetness yet contend.
Gerard wrote in 1587:
"The stalks are weak and tender, whereupon grow flowers in form and
figure like the Violet and for the most part of the same bigness, of
three sundry colors, whereof it took the surname Tricolor, that is to
say purple, yellow and white, or blue; by reason of the beauty and
bravery of which colors they are very pleasing to the eye, for smell
they have little, or none at all."
The pansy was beloved of Elizabethans: the great number of popular
names it had proves this. In addition to Pansy and Johnny-Jump-Up, it
was called Herb Trinity, because of the three distinct petals, which
made it a flower of peculiar religious significance. Another name
was Three-Faces-under-a-Hood because it had such a coquettish air.
Another name was Fancy Flamey, because its amethystine colors are like
those seen in the flames of burning wood; and because lovers gave it
to one another it had the pet names of Meet-me-at-the-Garden-Gate,
Kiss-me-at-the-Garden-Gate, Kiss-me-quick, Kiss-me, Call-me-to-you,
Cuddle-me-to you, Kiss-me-ere-I-rise, Pink-of-my-John, Cupid's-flower,
Love-in-Idleness, and Heartsease.
There were no "wine dark pansies" in Shakespeare's time to charm the
lover of flowers and none of the splendid deep purple velvets and
mauves and pale amethysts and burnt orange and lemon and claret and
sherry and canary hues that delight us to-day, and which are, to use
the quaint old expression, "nourished up in our gardens." The modern
beauties began to be developed about 1875, chiefly by the French
specialists, and, as a modern writer remarks:
"Such sizes, such combinations, such weirdness of expression in quaint
faces painted upon the petals were never known before. The colors now
run a marvellous range; pure-white, pure yellow, deepening to orange,
and darkening to brown, as well as a bewildering variety of blues and
purples and violets. The lowest note is a rich and velvety shade that
we speak of as black; but there is no black in flowers.
"The pansy is the flower for all. It is cheap; it is hardy; it is
beautiful; and its beauty is of an unusual and personal kind. The
bright, cheerful, wistful or roguish faces look up to you with so much
apparent intelligence that it is hard to believe it is all a pathetic
fallacy and there is nothing there."
Whether the modern pansies should be included in a Shakespeare garden
is a question for each owner of a garden to decide; but there should
certainly be a goodly number of the little "Johnny-Jump-Ups."
POPPY (_Papaver somniferum_). Shakespeare introduces the poppy only
indirectly when he speaks of the "drowsy syrup" in "Othello." The
white poppy is the flower from which the sleeping potion was made. "Of
Poppies," says Parkinson, "there are a great many sorts, both wild
and tame; but our garden doth entertain none but those of beauty and
respect. The general known name to all is _Papaver_, Poppie. Yet our
English gentlewomen in some places call it by name Joan's Silver Pin.
It is not unknown, I suppose, to any that Poppies procureth sleep."
Other old names for the poppy were Corn Rose and Cheese Bowl.
Scarlet poppies in the wreath of Ceres among the wheat-ears, scarlet
poppies mingled with large white-petaled daisies, and Ragged Robins
belong to everybody's mental picture of midsummer days.
"We usually think of the Poppy as a coarse flower," says Ruskin, "but
it is the most transparent and delicate of all the blossoms of the
field. The rest, nearly all of them, depend on the texture of their
surface for color. But the Poppy is painted glass; it never glows so
brightly as when the sun shines _through_ it. Whenever it is seen
against the light, or with the light, always it is a flame and warms in
the wind like a blown ruby."
"Gather a green Poppy bud, just when it shows the scarlet line at its
side, break it open and unpack the Poppy. The whole flower is there
compact in size and color, its stamens full grown, but all packed so
closely that the fine silk of the petals is crushed into a million of
wrinkles. When the flower opens, it seems a relief from torture; the
two imprisoning green leaves are shaken to the ground, the aggrieved
corolla smooths itself in the sun and comforts itself as best it can,
but remains crushed and hurt to the end of its days."
Delicate and fine as is the above description, the sympathetic tribute
to the poppy by Celia Thaxter does not suffer in proximity. She says:
"I know of no flower that has so many charming tricks and manners,
none with a method of growth more picturesque and fascinating. The
stalks often take a curve, a twist from some current of air, or some
impediment, and the fine stems will turn and bend in all sorts of
graceful ways, but the bud is always held erect when the time comes for
it to blossom. Ruskin quotes Lindley's definition of what constitutes a
poppy, which he thinks 'might stand.' This is it: 'A Poppy is a flower
which has either four or six petals and two or more treasuries united
in one, containing a milky stupefying fluid in its stalks and leaves
and always throwing away its calix when it blossoms.'
"I muse over their seed-pods, those supremely graceful urns that are
wrought with such matchless elegance of shape and think what strange
power they hold within. Sleep is there and Death, his brother,
imprisoned in those mystic sealed cups. There is a hint of their
mystery in their shape of somber beauty, but never a suggestion in the
fluttering blossom: it is the gayest flower that blows. In the more
delicate varieties the stalks are so slender, yet so strong, like fine
grass stems. When you examine them, you wonder how they hold even the
light weight of the flower so firmly and proudly erect; and they are
clothed with the finest of fine hairs up and down the stalks and over
the green calix.
"It is plain to see, as one gazes over the poppy-beds on some sweet
evening at sunset, what buds will bloom in the joy of next morning's
first sunbeams, for these will be lifting themselves heavenward, slowly
and silently, but surely. To stand by the beds at sunrise and see the
flowers awake is a heavenly delight. As the first long, low rays of the
sun strike the buds, you know they feel the signal! A light air stirs
among them; you lift your eyes, perhaps to look at a rosy cloud, or
follow the flight of a carolling bird, and when you look back again,
lo! the calix has fallen from the largest bud and lies on the ground,
two half-transparent light green shells, leaving the flower-petal
wrinked in a thousand folds, just released from their close pressure. A
moment more and they are unclosing before your eyes. They flutter out
on the gentle breeze like silken banners to the sun."
It would be tempting in a Shakespeare garden to include many kinds of
this joyous, yet solemn, flower; and certainly as many were common
in Elizabethan gardens it would not be an anachronism to have them.
However, if the space be restricted and the garden lover a purist then
the white poppy only should be planted.
VIII
_Crow-flowers and Long Purples_
CROW-FLOWERS (_Scilla nutans_). These are among the flowers _Ophelia_
wove into a wreath. The queen tells the court:
There is a willow grove ascaunt the brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
There, with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name
But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them.[68]
[68] "Hamlet"; Act IV, Scene VII.
Shakespeare did not select _Ophelia's_ flowers at random. They typified
the sorrows of the gentle victim of disappointed love whose end was
first madness, then suicide. The crow-flowers signified "fair maiden";
the nettles, "stung to the quick"; the daisies, "her virgin bloom"; and
the long purples, "under the cold hand of Death." Thus what Shakespeare
intended to convey by this code of flowers was, "A fair maiden, stung
to the quick, her virgin bloom in the cold hand of Death."
It is generally supposed that the wild blue hyacinth, or harebell
(_Scilla nutans_), a flower associated with pure and faithful love,
is the crow-flower; and authority is given to this theory in the old
ballad, which, of course, Shakespeare knew, called "The Deceased Maiden
Lover":
Then round the meddowes did she walk
Catching each flower by the stalk,
Such as within the meddowes grew,
As dead man's thumb and harebell blue,
And as she pluckt them still cried she,
"Alas! there's none ere loved like me."
Some critics have objected to the blue harebell because it is a spring
flower, and it is midsummer when _Ophelia_ drowns herself. These
authorities suggest the Ragged Robin for _Ophelia's_ crow-flower, and
others again the buttercup, also called creeping crowfoot (_Ranunculus
repens_). Bloom writes:
"It is generally assumed that the flowers are those of the meadow and
that a moist one. Why? It is equally probable they are those of the
shady hedge bank and that the crow-flowers are the poisonous rank
_Ranunculus reptans_ and its allies; that the nettles are the ordinary
_Urtica dioica_ not necessarily in flower, or if this be objected to on
account of the stinging qualities which the distraught _Ophelia_ might
not be insensible to, its place could be taken by the white dead nettle
_Lamium album L._ The daisies may be moon-daisies and the long purples
_Arum masculatum_, another plant of baleful influence, with its
mysterious dead white spadix bearing no very far fetched resemblance
to a dead man's finger wrapped in its green winding-sheet and whose
grosser name, cuckoo-pint, is ready at hand. With this selection we
have plants of the same situation flowering at the same time and all
more or less baneful in their influence."
[Illustration: PLEACHING AND PLASHING, FROM "THE GARDENER'S LABYRINTH"]
[Illustration: SMALL ENCLOSED GARDEN, FROM "THE GARDENER'S LABYRINTH"]
The crow has given its name to many flowers. There are, indeed, more
plants named for the crow than for any other bird: crowfoot, crow-toes,
crow-bells (for daffodil and bluebells) crow-berry, crow-garlick,
crow-leeks, crow-needles, and many others.
LONG PURPLE (_Arum masculatam_ or _Orchis mascula_) is very closely
related to our woodland Jack-in-the-Pulpit. It has many names: Arum;
Cookoo-pint, Cookoo-pintle, Wake-Robin, Friar's-cowl, Lords-and-Ladies,
Cow-and-Calves, Ramp, Starchwort, Bloody-men's-finger, and Gethsemane,
as the plant is said to have been growing at the Cross and to have
received some drops of the Savior's blood. This flower is mentioned in
Tennyson's "A Dirge":
Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale.
Dr. Forbes Watson writes:
"I use the old name Wake Robin because it is so full of poetry--to
think of the bird aroused from sleep by the soundless ringing of the
bell. Arum, or Lords and Ladies, is the more usual name."
The plant is under the dominion of Mars, so the astrologers said.
IX
_Saffron Crocus and Cuckoo-flowers_
SAFFRON CROCUS (_Crocus verus sativus Autumnalis_). Shakespeare speaks
of saffron as a color--"the saffron Wings of Iris" and "saffron to
color the Warden [pear] pies." He never mentions the crocus from
which the saffron was obtained, yet a Shakespeare garden should have
this plant represented. Saffron had long been known in England;
for in the time of Edward III a pilgrim from the East had brought,
concealed in his staff, a root of the precious Arabic _al zahafaran_.
In Shakespeare's time saffron was used for soups and sauces and to
color and flavor pies, cakes, and pastry-confection. Saffron was also
important medicinally, and for dyeing silks and other materials. The
beautiful orange-red stigmas, the _crocei odores_ of Virgil, were
dried and the powder pressed into cakes and sold in the shops.
"The true saffron," writes Parkinson, "that is used in meats and
medicines, shooteth out his narrow long green leaves first, and, after
a while, the flowers, in the middle of them, appear about the end of
August, in September and October, according to the soil and climate
where they grow. These flowers are composed of six leaves apiece, of a
murrey, or reddish purple color, having a show of blue in them. In the
middle of these flowers there are some small yellow chives standing
upright, which are unprofitable; but, besides these, each flower hath
two, three, or four greater and longer chives hanging down, upon, or
between, the leaves, which are of a fiery red color and are the true
blades of saffron which are used physically, or otherwise, and no
other."
The raising of saffron was a great industry. Old Tusser gave the good
advice to
Pare saffron plot,
Forget it not.
His dwelling made trim,
Look shortly for him!
When harvest is gone,
Then Saffron comes on;
A little of ground
Brings Saffron a pound.
Saffron Walden in Essex and Saffron Hill in London received their names
because of the quantity of saffron crocus grown in those places.
The saffron crocus is a handsome flower, but somewhat capricious. Dr.
Forbes Watson writes:
"We look at the few well selected flowers in our hand and let our mind
wander in the depths of those fair-striped cups, their color so fresh,
so cool, so delicate, and yet not too cool, with that central yellow
stamen-column and the stigma emerging from it like a fiery orange lump.
The Purple Crocus, partly from the full materials for color-contrast
afforded by its interior, partly from the exceeding delicacy of tint,
the lilac stripes and markings, the transparent veins and the pale
watery lake which lies at the bottom of the cup, seem to bear us away
to some enchanted spot, a fairy-land of color where no shadow ever
falls--a land of dim eternal twilight and never fading flowers. Note,
too, the differences between the Crocuses with regard to the stigma. In
the Purple Crocus, where it is needed to complete the harmony of the
flower, it rises long and flame-tipped out of the tall bundle of yellow
stamens. Notice also the curve of the outside of the Purple Crocus cup
in a well-selected flower, and observe how quiet and solemnly beautiful
it is in perfect harmony with the general expression."
According to legend, the flower derived its name from a beautiful
youth, Crocus, who was transformed into the flower. His love, Smilax,
was changed at the same time into the delicate vine of that name.
Another legend says that the flower sprang from the blood of the
infant Crocus, who was accidentally killed by a disk thrown by the
god Mercury. The Egyptians encircled their wine-cups with the saffron
crocus; the Greeks and Romans adorned the nuptial couch with the
saffron crocus; the robes of Hymen, god of marriage, were saffron-hued;
and poets called the dawn saffron, or crocus-colored. Shakespeare,
therefore, had authority for "the saffron wings of Iris."
Saffron is an herb of the sun and is under the rule of Leo.
CUCKOO-FLOWER (_Lychnis Flos cuculi_): Shakespeare mentions
"cuckoo-flowers" in "King Lear,"[69] in company with troublesome weeds.
_Cordelia_ remarks:
Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
With burdocks, hemlocks, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
On our sustaining corn.
[69] Act IV, Scene IV.
Shakespeare's cuckoo-flower is identified as the Ragged Robin, so
called from its finely cut blue petals which have a ragged appearance.
It is also known as the meadow campion, or Meadow Pink. Parkinson says:
"Feathered Campions are called _Armoraria pratensis_ and _Flos cuculi_.
Some call them in English Crow-flowers and Cuckowe Flowers, and some
call the double hereof The Fair Maid of France."
From the above we see why it is that the Ragged Robin has been
identified by some authorities as _Ophelia's_ crow-flower; for even
Parkinson seems to consider the crow-flower and cuckoo-flower as
identical. Some of the old herbalists give the name cuckoo-flower to
the lady-smock, which is called cuckoo-buds. The cuckoo's name is given
to many flowers: we have the cuckoo-flower, cuckoo-buds, cuckoo's-bread
(wood-sorrel), cuckoo's-meat, cuckoo-pint (_Arum maculatum_),
cuckoo-grass; cuckoo-hood (blue corn-flower), etc. The cuckoo-flower
(Ragged Robin) is dedicated to St. Barnabas.
X
_Pomegranate and Myrtle_
THE POMEGRANATE (_Punica_) is a regal flower. Its burning beauty
appeals to every one who loves color, for the scarlet of the
pomegranate has a depth and a quality that is all its own. The crinkled
silken petals, rising from a thick, red calix and set off by bright
green leaves of wondrous glossy luster and prickly thorns, delight
those who love beauty. Moreover, there is something luscious and
strange about the pomegranate that makes us think of Oriental queens
and the splendors of Babylon and Persia, ancient Egypt and Carthage.
It is a flower that Dido might have worn in her hair, or Semiramis in
garlands around her neck!
Shakespeare knew perfectly well what he was doing when he placed a
pomegranate beneath _Juliet's_ window, amid whose leaves and flowers
the nightingale sang so beautifully. The pomegranate was exactly the
flower to typify the glowing passion of the youthful lovers.
"There are two kinds of pomegranate trees," writes Parkinson, "the one
tame or manured, bearing fruit; the other wild, which beareth no fruit,
because it beareth double flowers, like as the Cherry, Apple and
Peach-tree with double blossoms.
"The wild Pomegranate (_Balustium maius sive Malus Punica_) is like
unto the tame in the number of purplish branches, having thorns and
shining fair green leaves, somewhat larger than the former. From the
branches likewise shoot forth flowers far more beautiful than those of
the tame, or manured, sort, because they are double, and as large as
a double Province Rose, or rather more double, of an excellent bright
crimson color, tending to a silken carnation, standing in brownish
cups or husks, divided at the brims usually into four, or five,
several points like unto the former, but that in this kind there never
followeth any fruit, no not in the country where it is naturally wild.
The wild, I think, was never seen in England before John Tradescant,
my very loving good friend, brought it from the parts beyond the seas
and planted it in his Lord's Garden at Canterbury. The rind of the
Pomegranate is used to make the best sort of writing Ink, which is
durable to the world's end."
The pomegranate was from the dawn of history a favorite with Eastern
peoples. It is represented in ancient Assyrian and Egyptian sculpture
and had a religious significance in connection with several Oriental
cults.
The tree was abundant in ancient Egypt and the fruit was such a
favorite of the Israelites that one complaint against the desert
into which Moses led them was the charge that it was "no place of
pomegranates," and Moses had to soothe the malcontents by promising
that the pomegranate would be among the delights of Canaan, "a land
of wheat and barley, vines and fig-trees and pomegranates, a land of
olive oil and honey." The pomegranate was one of the commonest fruits
of Canaan, and several places were named after it--Rimmon. The Jews
employed the pomegranate in their religious ceremonies. On the hem of
Aaron's sacred robe pomegranates were embroidered in blue and purple
and scarlet alternating with golden bells,--an adornment that was
copied from the ancient kings of Persia. The pomegranate was also
carved on the capitals of the pillars of the Temple of Jerusalem.
Solomon said to his bride, "I will cause thee to drink of spiced
wine of the juice of my pomegranates." There is a tradition that the
pomegranate was the fruit of the Tree of Life and that it was the
pomegranate that Eve gave to Adam.
The Romans called it the Carthaginian apple. The pomegranate abounded
in Carthage and derives its botanical name, _Punica_, from this place.
Pliny says that the pomegranate came to Rome from Carthage; but its
original home was probably Persia or Babylon. It was early introduced
into Southern Europe and was taken to Spain from Africa. Granada took
its name from the fruits and the Arms of the province display a split
pomegranate. Around Genoa and Nice there are whole hedges of it--rising
to the height sometimes of twenty feet. It was introduced into England
in Henry VIII's time, carried there among others by Katharine of
Aragon, who used it for her device. Gerard grew pomegranates in his
garden. Many legends are connected with the pomegranate, not the
least being that of Proserpine. When the distracted Ceres found her
daughter had been carried off by Pluto, she begged Jupiter to restore
her. Jupiter replied that he would do so if she had eaten nothing in
the realms of the Underworld. Unfortunately, Pluto had given her a
pomegranate and Proserpine had eaten some of the seeds. She could not
return. The sorrow of Ceres was so great that a compromise was made and
the beautiful maiden thereafter spent six months in the Underworld with
her husband and six months with her mother above ground--a beautiful
story of the life of the seed!
In nearly all the legends of the East in which the word "apple" is
mentioned it is the pomegranate that is intended. It is said to have
been the fruit presented by Paris to Venus, and it is always associated
with love and marriage.
In Christian art the pomegranate is depicted as bursting open and
showing the seeds. This is interpreted as both a promise and an emblem
of hope in immortality. St. Catharine, the mystical bride of Christ, is
sometimes represented with a pomegranate in her hand. The infant Savior
is also often represented as holding the fruit and offering it to the
Virgin: Botticelli's "Madonna of the Melagrana" is a famous example.
There is also a legend that because the pomegranate was planted on
the grave of King Eteocles, the fruit has exuded blood ever since.
The number of seeds has caused it to become the symbol of fecundity,
generation, and wealth.
MYRTLE (_Myrtus latifolia_) was looked upon in Shakespeare's time as
a delicate and refined rarity, emblem of charming beauty and denoting
peacefulness, plenty, repose, and love. Shakespeare makes _Venus_ and
_Adonis_ meet under a myrtle shade; he speaks of "the soft myrtle" in
"Measure for Measure"; and he alludes "to the moon-dew on the myrtle
leaf," which is as delicate a suggestion of the evening perfume as the
"morning roses newly washed with dew" is of the scents at dawn.
"We nourish Myrtles with great care," says Parkinson, "for the beautiful
aspect, sweet scent and rarity, as delights and ornaments for a garden
of pleasure, wherein nothing should be wanting that art, care and cost
might produce and preserve.
"The broad-leafed Myrtle riseth up to the height of four or five
foot at the most with us, full of branches and leaves, growing like
a small bush, the stem and elder branches whereof are covered with a
dark colored bark, but the young with a green and some with a red,
especially upon the first shooting forth, whereon are set many fresh
green leaves very sweet in smell and very pleasant to behold, so near
resembling the leaves of the Pomegranate tree that groweth with us that
they soon deceive many that are not expert therein, being somewhat
broad and long and pointed at the ends, abiding always green. At the
joints of the branches, where the leaves stand, come forth the flowers
upon small footstalks, every one by itself, consisting of five small
white leaves, with white threads in the middle, smelling also very
sweet."
According to the Greeks, Myrtle was a priestess of Venus and an
especial favorite of the goddess, who, wishing to preserve her from
a too ardent suitor, turned her into this plant, which continues
odorous and green throughout the year. Having the virtue of creating
and preserving love and being consecrated to Venus, the myrtle was
symbolic of love. Consequently it was used for the wreaths of brides,
as the orange-blossom is to-day. Venus wore a wreath of myrtle when
Paris awarded her the Golden Apple for beauty,--perhaps in memory of
the day when she sprang from the foam of the sea and, wafted ashore
by Zephyrus, was crowned with myrtle by the Morning Hours! Myrtle was
always planted around the temples dedicated to Venus.
Rapin writes:
When once, as Fame reports, the Queen of Love
In Ida's valley raised a Myrtle grove,
Young wanton Cupids danced a summer's night
Round the sweet place by Cynthia's silver light.
Venus this charming green alone prefers,
And this of all the verdant kind is hers:
Hence the bride's brow with Myrtle wreath is graced,
Hence in Elysian Fields are myrtles said
To favor lovers with their friendly shade,
There Phædra, Procris (ancient poets feign)
And Eriphyle still of love complain
Whose unextinguished flames e'en after death remain.
The Romans always displayed myrtle lavishly at weddings, feasts, and
on all days celebrating victories. With the Hebrews the myrtle was the
symbol of peace; and among many Oriental races there is a tradition
that Adam brought a slip of myrtle from the Garden of Eden because he
considered it the choicest of fragrant flowers.
The myrtle was early loved in England. In one of the old Roxburgh
Ballads of the Fifteenth Century a lover presses his suit by promising:
And I will make the beds of Roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroidered with leaves of myrtle.
In those days and long afterward there was a saying that "if you want
to be sure of your myrtle taking root, then you must spread out your
dress grandly and look proud" when you are planting your slip. We can
imagine one of the Fifteenth Century ladies spreading her voluminous
and flowing robes with majestic grace and holding her head adorned with
the tall pointed cap, or _hennin_, with veil fluttering from its peak
as she planted the little flower in her tiny walled Garden of Delight!
There is a saying, too, that one must never pass a sweet myrtle bush
without picking a spray. The flowering myrtle is considered the
luckiest of all plants to have in the window, but it must be watered
every day.
Autumn
"HERBS OF GRACE" AND "DRAMS OF POISON"
I
_Rosemary and Rue_
ROSEMARY (_Rosmarinus officinalis_). Rosemary "delights in sea-spray,"
whence its name. "The cheerful Rosemary," as Spenser calls it, was
in high favor in Shakespeare's day. The plant was not only allowed
a corner in the kitchen-garden; but it was trained over arbors and
allowed to run over the mounds and banks pretty much at its own sweet
will. "As for Rosemarie," said Sir Thomas More, "I let it run all over
my garden walls, not only because my bees love it, but because it is
the herb sacred to remembrance, and, therefore, to friendship; whence
a spray of it hath a dumb language that maketh it the chosen emblem at
our funeral-wakes and in our burial-grounds."
[Illustration: "A CURIOUS-KNOTTED GARDEN," VREDEMAN DE VRIES]
[Illustration: GARDEN WITH ARBORS, VREDEMAN DE VRIES]
_Ophelia_ handed a sprig of rosemary to her brother with the words:
"There's rosemary; That's for remembrance; pray you, love,
remember." Probably she knew the old song in the "Handful of Pleasant
Delights"[70] where occurs the verse:
Rosemary is for remembrance
Between us day and night,
Wishing that I might always have
You present in my sight.
[70] See p. 127.
Rosemary was used profusely at weddings among the decorations and the
strewings on the floor. A sprig of it was always placed in the wine to
insure the bride's happiness.
The herb was also conspicuous at funerals, naturally enough as the
herb was emblematic of remembrance. The _Friar_ in "Romeo and Juliet"
exclaims:
Dry up your tears and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse.[71]
[71] Act IV, Scene V.
Sometimes the plant was associated with rue as when in "The Winter's
Tale"[72] _Perdita_ says,
Give me those flowers, Dorcas:--reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour the whole winter through.
[72] Act IV, Scene III.
Most important was rosemary at Christmas-tide. It had a place among
the holly, bay, ivy, and mistletoe to which it added its peculiar
and delicious perfume. Moreover, it was said that rosemary brought
happiness to those who used it among the Christmas decorations.
Rosemary also garlanded that most important dish of ceremony--the
boar's head, which the butler (or sewer) bore into the hall of great
houses and famous institutions, like the colleges of Oxford and
Cambridge and the City Companies, on a silver dish, preceded by a
flourish of trumpets. The carol he sung began:
The boar's head in hand bring I,
With garland gay and rosemary.
Lyte said: "Rosemary comforteth the brain and restoreth speech,
especially the conserve made of the flowers thereof with sugar." Worn
on the person it was thought to strengthen the memory and to make
the wearer successful in everything. The famous Hungary-water, so
favorite a perfume in the days of Elizabeth and after, was distilled
from rosemary. The leaves were used as a flavor in cooking (just as
the Italians use it to-day). Placed in chests and wardrobes, rosemary
preserved clothing from insidious moth. According to astrologers,
rosemary was an herb of the sun.
"The common Rosemary (_Libanotis Coronaria sive Rosmarinum vulgare_) is
so well known," says Parkinson, "through all our land, being in every
woman's garden, that it were sufficient to name it as an ornament among
other sweet herbs and flowers in our gardens, seeing every one can
describe it; but that I may say something of it, it is well observed,
as well in this our Land (where it hath been planted in Noblemen's
and great men's gardens against brick walls) as beyond the Seas in
the natural places where it groweth, that it riseth up unto a very
great height, with a great and woody stem of that compass that, being
cloven out into thin boards, it hath served to make lutes, or such-like
instruments, and here with carpenter's rules and to divers other
purposes, branching out into divers and sundry arms that extend a great
way and from them again into many other smaller branches whereon are
set at several distances at the joints, many very narrow long leaves,
green above and whitish underneath, among which come forth toward the
tops of the stalks, divers sweet gaping flowers, of a pale or bleak
bluish color, many set together, standing in whitish husks. The whole
plant as well, leaves as flowers, smelleth exceeding sweet.
"Rosemary is called by the ancient writers _Libanotis_, but with this
difference, _Stephanomatica_, that is _Coronararia_, because there were
other plants called _Libanotis_, that were for other uses, as this for
garlands, where flowers and sweet herbs were put together. The Latins
called it _Rosmarinum_. Some would make it to be _Cueorum nigrum_ of
Theophrastus, as they would make Lavender to be his _Cueorum album_,
but Matthiolus hath sufficiently confuted that error.
"Rosemary is almost of as great use as Bays or any other herb, both for
inward and outward remedies and as well for civil as physical purposes.
Inwardly for the head and heart; outwardly for the sinews and joints.
For civil uses, as all do know, at weddings, funerals, etc., to bestow
among friends; and the physical are so many that you might be as well
tired in the reading as I in the writing, if I should set down all that
might be said of it."
RUE (_Ruta graveolus_). Rue was a much valued plant in Shakespeare's
time. There were many superstitions about it which seem to have been
survivals from ancient days, for rue is supposed to have been the moly
which Homer says Mercury gave to Ulysses to withstand the enchantments
of Circe. Miraculous powers were attributed to rue: it was said to
quicken the sight, to stir up the spirits, to sharpen the wit, to
cure madness, and to cause the dumb to speak. It was also an excellent
antidote against poison and the very smell of it insured preservation
against the plague. Rue was, therefore, very popular and was much used
as a disinfectant.
Parkinson tells us:
Garden Rue (_Ruta_), or Herbe Grace, groweth up with hard whitish
woody stalks whereon are set divers branches of leaves being divided
into many small ones, which are somewhat thick and round pointed, of
a bluish-green color. The flowers stand at the tops of the stalks,
consisting of four small yellow leaves, with a green button in the
middle, and divers small yellow threads about it, which growing ripe,
contain within them small black seeds.
"The many good properties whereunto Rue serveth hath, I think, in
former times caused the English name of Herbe Grace to be given unto
it. For without doubt it is a most wholesome herb, although bitter and
strong. Some do wrap up a bead roll of the virtues of Rue, as Macer the
poet and others, in whom you shall find them set down to be good for
the head, eyes, breast, liver, heart, spleen, etc."
Gerard quaintly said:
"It is reported that if a man be anointed with the juice of rue, the
bitings of serpents, scorpions, wasps, etc., will not hurt him. When
the weasel is to fight with the serpent, she armeth herself by eating
rue against the might of the serpent."
Another quaint idea was that rue throve best if a clipping from the
plant was stolen from a neighbor's garden. Like rosemary, rue was
considered by the astrologers as an herb of the sun and was placed
under the sign of Leo.
Rue was also called the herb of grace and the "serving man's joy."
Shakespeare frequently refers to the herb o' grace: once in connection
with salad in "All 's Well That Ends Well."[73]
[73] See p. 237.
_Ophelia_ has rue among her flowers when she distributes appropriate
blossoms to the courtiers. She says:
There's rue for you; and some for me;
We may call it herb of grace o' Sundays.
Oh, you must wear your rue with a difference.
Again we find rue in the _Duke of York's_ garden in "King Richard II."
After the sad queen and her ladies have departed, bewailing the news of
the king's deposition, the gardener, looking after them, exclaims:
Poor queen! So that thy state might be no worse,
I would my skill were subject to thy curse.--
Here did she fall a tear; here, in this place,
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.[74]
[74] Act III, Scene IV.
II
_Lavender, Mints, and Fennel_
LAVENDER (_Lavendula Spica_). "Hot lavender," _Perdita_ calls it.
Why is this? Turning to Gerard for an explanation, we find he says:
"Lavender is hot and dry in the third degree and of a substance
consisting of many airy and spiritual parts." Gerard had lavender in
his garden and so did Parkinson, who says:
"It is called of some _Nardus Italica_ and _Lavendula_, the greater
is called _Fœmina_ and the lesser _Mas_. We do call them generally
Lavender, or Lavender Spike, and the Lesser Spike. Lavender is little
used in physic but outwardly: the oil for cold and benumbed parts and
is almost wholly spent with us for to perfume linen, apparrell, gloves,
leather, etc., and the dried flowers to comfort and dry up the moisture
of a cold brain.
"Our ordinary Garden Lavender riseth up with a hard woody stem about
the ground parted into many small branches whereon are set whitish long
and narrow leaves by couples; from among which riseth up naked square
stalks with two leaves at a joint and at the top divers small husks
standing round about them formed in long or round heads or spikes with
purple gaping flowers springing out of each of them. The heads of the
flowers are used to be put among linen and apparrell."
Because of its scent, lavender was often included in the nosegay.
Lavender was much loved by sweethearts. In the "Handful of Pleasant
Delights" (1584) it is described thus:
Lavender is for lovers true,
Whichever more be saine,
Desiring always for to have
Some pleasure for their pain.
And when that they obtainèd have
The Love that they require,
Then have they all their perfect joy
And quenched is the fire.
Lavender belongs to the crowfoot family, and therefore is related to
the columbine, buttercup, and monk's-hood (aconite). The ancients
used it in their baths, whence the name from the Latin _lavare_, to
wash. The Elizabethans loved, as we do to-day, to place bags of dried
lavender among the household linen.
MINTS (_Mentha_). Mints occur in _Perdita's_ list with "hot lavender,
thyme and savory." Although many kinds of mint were cultivated in
gardens, Parkinson mentions only three:
"The Red Mint, or Brown Mint, with dark green nicked leaves, reddish
flowers and of a reasonable good scent; Speare Mint, greener and paler
leaves, with flowers growing in long ears, or spikes, of a pale red,
or blush, color; and Parti-colored, or White Mint, with leaves more
nicked, half white and half green, and flowers in long heads, close set
together of a bluish color.
"Mints are oftentimes used in baths with Balm and other herbs as a
help to comfort and strengthen the nerves and sinews, either outwardly
applied or inwardly drunk. Applied with salt, it is a good help for the
biting of a mad dog. It is used to be boiled with mackerel and other
fish. Being dried, it is often and much used with pennyroyal to put
into puddings, as also among pease that are boiled for pottage."
In Elizabethan days it was the custom to strew churches with mint. In
an Elizabethan play, "Appius and Virginia," these lines occur:
Thou knave, but for thee ere this time of day
My lady's fair pew had been strewed full gay
With primroses, cowslips and violets sweet,
With mints, with marigold and marjoram meek.
Pliny said "the smell of mint doth stir up the mind and taste to a
greedy desire of meat." This carries mint-sauce back into antiquity!
Medieval writers believed that the smell of mint refreshed the head
and memory; and in Medieval days the herb was dedicated to the Virgin
and called _Herba Sanctæ Mariæ_ and _Menthe de Notre Dame_. The
ancients dedicate it to Venus; hence it was used as a garland for
brides--_corona Veneris_. The old myth had it that Menthe was a nymph
beloved of Pluto and transformed into an herb by Proserpina who had now
become sufficiently interested in the husband who had carried her off
against her will to be jealous.
FENNEL (_Fœniculum vulgare_). _Falstaff_ speaks of fennel as a relish
for conger in "King Henry IV";[75] and _Ophelia_ presents fennel to
the King to clear his sight just as she gave rosemary to _Laertes_
to refresh his memory,[76] for according to a belief held by Pliny:
"Fennel hath a wonderful property to mundify our sight and take away
the film, or web, that overcasteth and dimmeth our eyes."
[75] Act II, Scene IV.
[76] "There's fennel for you and columbines" ("Hamlet"; Act IV, Scene
V).
"There are three sorts of Fennel," says Parkinson, "whereof two are
sweet." The one of them is the ordinary sweet fennel whose seeds are
larger and yellower than the common. The other sweet Fennel is not much
known and called _Cardus_ Fennel by those that sent it out of Italy.
Fennel is of great use to trim up and strew upon fish, as also to boil,
or put among fish of divers sorts, Cowcumbers pickled and other fruits,
etc. The roots are used with parsley roots to be boiled in broths and
drinks. The seed is much used to be put into pippin pies and divers
other such baked fruits, as also into bread to give it the better
relish.
"The Sweet Cardus Fennel being sent by Sir Henry Wotton to John
Tradescant had likewise a large direction with it how to dress it, for
they used to white it after it hath been transplanted for their uses,
which by reason of the sweetness by nature and the tenderness of art
causeth it to be most delightful to the taste, especially with them
that are accustomed to feed on green herbs."
Another ancient belief preserved by Pliny was "that serpents eat fennel
because it restored their youth by causing them to cast their old
skins and they recovered their sight by eating the plant."
The flowers of the fennel are yellow.
The Greek name for fennel is _marathon_. The Battle of Marathon took
its name from the plant. The story goes that a youth named Pheidippides
ran to Sparta to seek aid for Athens when the Persian fleet appeared,
and he was told that the Spartans could not come until after the full
moon. Very disheartened, he was returning to Athens when Pan appeared
to him and promised victory, giving the youth a piece of fennel as a
token of his prophecy. The battle took place on a field full of fennel
and was known henceforth as the Battle of Marathon (490 B. C.). Statues
of the youth always represented him as holding a sprig of fennel.
Browning has told the story in his "Pheidippides."
III
_Sweet Marjoram, Thyme, and Savory_
MARJORAM (_Origanum vulgare_) was a favorite plant in Tudor and Stuart
times. An old writer informs us that "Sweet Marjoram is not only much
used to please the outward sense in nosegays and in the windows of
houses, as also in sweet powders, sweet bays and sweet washing waters,
but is also of much use in physic."
_Perdita_ classes it with hot lavender and savory.[77] Shakespeare,
appreciating its delicate and delightful scent, brings this out most
beautifully in his "Sonnet XCIX":
The forward violet thus did I chide:--
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemnèd for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair.
[77] "The Winter's Tale"; Act IV, Scene III.
This comparison is even more lovely than Milton's description of
_Sabrina_ with her "loose braid of amber-dropping hair."
In Shakespeare's time several species were grown: the common, the
winter, and the sweet. They were all favorite pot-herbs and were used
in salads, if we may believe the _Clown_ in "All's Well That Ends Well":
LAFEN. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady; we may pick a thousand
sallets ere we light on such another herb.
CLOWN. Indeed, sir, she was the Sweet Marjoram of the sallet, or,
rather, the Herb of Grace.
LAFEN. They are not sallet-herbs, you knave, they are nose-herbs.
CLOWN. I am no great Nebuchadnezzar; sir, I have not much skill in
grass.[78]
[78] Act IV, Scene V.
Parkinson writes:
"The common Sweet Marjoram (_Marierome_) is a low herb, little above a
foot high, full of branches and small whitish, soft, roundish leaves,
smelling very sweet. At the tops of the branches stand divers small,
scaly heads, like unto knots, of a whitish green color, out of which
come, here and there, small, white flowers, and afterward small reddish
seed. Called _Mariorama_ in Latin, it is taken of most writers to be
the Amaracus, or Sampsuchum, of Dioscorides, Theophrastus and Pliny."
According to the Greek myth a young man named Amarakos was employed in
the household of the King of Cyprus. One day when he was carrying a
vase of perfumes he dropped it, and he was so much humiliated by his
carelessness that he fell and lost consciousness. The gods then changed
him into the sweet herb _amarakos_, or _amaracus_, which is the Greek
name for this plant. Rapin thought it owed its existence to Venus:
And tho' Sweet Marjoram will your garden paint
With no gay colors, yet preserve the plant,
Whose fragrance will invite your kind regard
When her known virtues have her worth declared:
On Simois' shore fair Venus raised the plant,
Which from the Goddess' touch derived her scent.
THYME (_Thymus Serpyllum_). Thyme has always been appreciated by those
who delight in aromatic perfume. It was one of those plants that Lord
Bacon said were so delicious when trodden upon and crushed. Thyme was
the symbol for sweetness in Elizabethan days.
And sweet thyme true
was a favorite expression. "Sweet thyme true" occurs in connection
with roses, "maiden pinks," and daisies in the song in "The Two Noble
Kinsmen."[79]
[79] Act I, Scene I.
Fairies were thought to be particularly fond of thyme, and that is one
reason why Shakespeare covered the bank where _Titania_ was wont to
sleep with wild thyme. The other reason was that he chose the sweetest
flowers for perfume for the canopy and couch of the Fairy Queen:
musk-roses, eglantine, honeysuckle, violets, and wild thyme mingling
the most delicious of scents. The word comes from the Greek and Latin
_thymum_. Thyme covered Mount Hymettus and gave to the honey produced
there a particularly delicious aromatic flavor. The "honey of Mount
Hymettus" became a proverb. Hybla in Sicily was no less famed for its
thyme, and, consequently, its honey. Thyme is especially a "bee-plant";
and those who would see their gardens full of bees would do well to
plant thyme with lavish hand. Ladies used to embroider a bee hovering
over a sprig of thyme on the scarves they gave to their lovers--a
symbol of action and honor. Thyme, too, was supposed to renew the
spirits of man and beast and it was deemed a powerful antidote against
melancholy.
Turning to our old friend, Parkinson, we find that
"The ordinary garden Thyme (_Thymus vulgatius sive durius_) is a small,
low, woody plant with brittle branches and small, hard, green leaves,
as every one knoweth, having small white purplish flowers standing
round about the tops of the stalks. The seed is small and brown, darker
than Marjoram. The root is woody and abideth well divers Winters.
[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE GARDEN, VAN CORTLANDT HOUSE, VAN CORTLANDT
PARK, COLONIAL DAMES OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK]
[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE GARDEN, VAN CORTLANDT HOUSE, VAN CORTLANDT
PARK, COLONIAL DAMES OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK]
"To set down all the particular uses whereunto Thyme is applied were
to weary both the writer and the reader. I will but only note out a
few, for besides the physical uses to many purposes for the head,
stomach, spleen, etc., there is no herb almost of more use in the
houses both of high and low, rich and poor, both for inward and outward
occasions,--outwardly for bathings among other hot herbs and among
other sweet herbs for strewings. Inwardly in most sorts of broths, with
Rosemary, as also with other faseting (or rather farsing) herbs,[80]
and to make sauce for divers sorts, both fish and flesh, as to stuff
the belly of a goose to be roasted and after put into the sauce and the
powder with bread to strew on meat when it is roasted, and so likewise
on roasted or fried fish. It is held by divers to be a speedy remedy
against the sting of a bee, being bruised and laid thereon.
[80] _Farsi_, stuffing.
"The wild Thyme (_Serpyllum hortense sive maius_), growth upright, but
yet is low, with divers slender branches and small round green leaves,
somewhat like unto small fine Marjoram, and smelling somewhat like
unto it. The flowers grow in roundels at the tops of the branches of a
purplish color. And in another of this kind they are of a pure white
color. There is another also that smelleth somewhat like unto Musk, and
therefore called Musk Thyme, whose green leaves are not so small as the
former, but larger and longer."
SAVORY (_Satureia_). This herb is mentioned by _Perdita_. It was a
great favorite in the old herb-garden and was probably introduced
into England by the Romans. It is mentioned in Anglo-Saxon recipes as
"savorie." Both the winter and summer savory were used as seasoning
for dressing and sauces. "The Winter Savory is used as a condiment and
sauce to meat, to put into puddings, sausages and such-like kinds of
meat." So says an old writer, who continues: "Some do use the powder of
the herb dried to mix with grated bread to bread their meat, be it fish
or flesh, to give it the quicker relish."
Parkinson writes:
"The Winter Savory (_Satureia sive Thymbra_) is a small, low, bushy
herb, very like unto hyssop, but not above a foot high, with divers
small, hard branches and hard, dark, green leaves thereon, thicker set
together than the former by so much, and as thick as common Hyssop,
sometimes with four leaves, or more, at a joint, of a reasonable strong
scent, yet not so strong or quick as the former. The flowers are of a
pale purplish color, set at several distances at the tops of the stalks
with leaves at the joints also with them, like the former. The root is
woody with divers small strings thereat, and abideth all the winter
with his green leaves. It is more usually increased by slipping, or
dividing, the root and new setting it, severally again in the Spring,
than by sowing the seed."
IV
_Sweet Balm and Camomile_
SWEET BALM (_Melissa officinalis_). Sweet _Anne Page_ commanded the
elves to bestow good luck throughout Windsor Castle:[81]
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm and every precious flower.
[81] "The Merry Wives of Windsor"; Act V, Scene V.
The Greek and Latin names, _melissa_, _melissophyllum_, and
_apiastrum_, show that this was a bee-plant, which was still the case
in Shakespeare's time.
"It is an herb," says Parkinson, "wherein bees do much delight"; and
he also tells us that if balm is rubbed on the inside of the hive "it
draweth others to resort thither." He goes on to describe it as follows:
"The Garden Balm hath divers square blackish green stalks and round,
hard, dark, green pointed leaves growing thereon by couples, a little
notched about the edges; of a pleasant sweet scent drawing near to the
scent of a Lemon or Citron; and therefore of some called Citrago. The
flowers grow about the tops of the stalks at certain distances, being
small and gaping, of a pale carnation color, almost White. The roots
fasten themselves strongly on the ground and endure many years. It is
increased by dividing the roots; for the leaves die down to the ground
every year, leaving no show of leaf or stalk in the Winter. Balm is
often used among other hot and sweet herbs to make baths and washings
for men's bodies in the Summer time. The herb without all question is
an excellent help to comfort the heart, as the very smell may induce
any so to believe. It is also good to heal green wounds being made
into salve. I verily think that our forefathers hearing of the healing
and comfortable properties of the true natural Balm and finding this
herb to be so effectual gave it the name of Balm in imitation of his
properties and virtues."
Arabian physicians recommended balm for affections of the heart and
hypochondria.
CAMOMILE (_Anthemis nobilis_). _Falstaff_ points a moral in the lowly
camomile: "Though the Camomile the more it is trodden on the faster
it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it wears."[82] A
similar idea occurs in Lyly's "Euphues" (1588): "Though the Camomile
the more it is trodden and pressed down the more it spreadeth, yet the
violet the oftener it is handled and touched, the sooner it withereth
and decayeth."
[82] "King Henry IV"; Part I, Act II, Scene IV.
Emblem of patience, the camomile was often used to point a moral and to
teach patience. In "The More the Merrier" (1608), a character observes:
The Camomile shall teach thee patience,
Which riseth best when trodden most upon.
Because its scent was brought out when trodden upon, camomile was
planted in and along walks and on the edges of flower-beds. Its low
growth and delicious perfume made it a very attractive border plant.
In Lawson's "New Orchard" (about 1616) there are instructions for
"Large walks, broad and long, close and open like the Tempe groves
in Thessaly, raised with gravel and sand, having seats and banks of
Camomile: all this delights the mind and brings health to the body."
In Shakespeare's day camomile grew in "the wild field by Richmond
Green."
"Our ordinary Camomill [says Parkinson] is well known to all to have
many small trailing branches set with very fine small leaves and
spreading thick over the ground taking root as it spreadeth; the tops
of the branches have white flowers with yellow thrums in the middle,
very like unto the Featherfew, but somewhat greater not so hard but
more soft and gentle in handling and the whole herb is to be of a very
sweet scent.
"Camomill is called _Anthemis Leucanthemis_ and _Leucanthemum_ of the
whiteness of the flowers; and _Chamœmœlum_ of the corrupted Italian
name Camomilla. Some call the naked Camomill _Chrysanthemum odoratum_.
The double Camomill is called by some _Chamœmœlum Romanum flore
multiplici_.
"Camomill is put to divers and sundry uses both for pleasure and
profit; both for inward and outward diseases, both for the sick and
the sound, in bathings to comfort and strengthen the sound and to ease
pains in the diseased. The flowers boiled in posset drink provoketh
sweat and helpeth to expel colds, aches and other griefs. A syrup made
of the juice of the double Camomill with the flowers and white wine is
used by some against jaundice and dropsy."
V
_Dian's Bud and Monk's-hood Blue_
DIAN'S BUD (_Artemesia_). This plant is nothing more nor less than
absinthe, or wormwood. It is mentioned under its poetic name by
Shakespeare in "A Midsummer Night's Dream" when _Oberon_ bids _Puck_
find him the "little purple flower called Love in Idleness," the
juice of which placed on sleeping eyelids would make man, or woman,
madly dote on the first object beheld on awakening, and with which he
intended to anoint the eyelids of the sleeping _Titania_. He also told
the mischievous sprite that the charm could be removed with another
herb--Dian's bud, the flower sacred to the goddess Diana. Later in the
play, touching the eyes of the spellbound fairy with this second herb,
_Oberon_ pronounces the following incantation:
Be as thou was wont to be,
See as thou was wont to see;
Dian's bud on Cupid's flower
Hath such force and blessed power.
From the earliest times absinthe was associated with sorcery and was
used for incantations. Pliny says the traveler who carried it about him
would never grow weary and that it would drive away any lurking devils
and counteract the evil eye. Ovid calls it _absinthium_ and speaks of
its bitterness.
The Greeks also called it _artemesia_ after the goddess Artemis,
or Diana, and made it a moon-plant. Very poetically, therefore,
Shakespeare alludes to it as "Dian's Bud,"--and most appropriately does
it appear in the moon-lit forest. Gerard, however, quaintly says that
is was named for Queen Artemesia, wife of Mausolus, King of Caria, who
built the Mausoleum, which was one of the "Seven Wonders of the World."
The ancients liked its flavor in their wine as many people still like
vermouth, one of its infusions.
In Shakespeare's time people hung up sprays of wormwood to drive away
moths and fleas; and there was a homely verse:
Whose chamber is swept and wormwood is thrown
No flea for his life dare abide to be known.
Wormwood was also kept in drawers and closets. To dream of the plant
was of good augury: happiness and domestic enjoyment were supposed to
result. Mugwort is another old name for the plant.
MONK'S-HOOD (_Aconitum Napellus_). This plant has three names:
monk's-hood, wolf's-bane, and aconite. Aconite is the "dram of poison"
that _Romeo_ calls for,[83] and Shakespeare alludes to _aconitum_ in
"King Henry IV," where the king, addressing _Thomas of Clarence_,
compares its strength and that of gunpowder. "Though it do work as
strong as aconitum or rash gunpowder."[84] Aconite was supposed in
Elizabethan days to be an antidote against the most deadly poison. Ben
Jonson in "Sejanus" makes one of his characters remark:
I have heard that aconite
Being timely taken hath a healing might
Against the scorpion's sting.[85]
Lord Bacon in "Sylva" calls _Napellus_ "the most powerful poison of all
vegetables."
[83] "Romeo and Juliet"; Act V, Scene I.
[84] Part II, Act IV, Scene IV.
[85] Act III, Scene III.
Yet despite its poisonous qualities, an English garden lover writes,
"the plant has always held, and deservedly, a place among the
ornamental plants of our gardens; its stately habit and its handsome
leaves and flowers make it a favorite."
The ancients, who were unacquainted with mineral poisons, regarded
aconite as the most deadly of all poisons and believed that Hecate had
caused the plant to spring from the venomous foam frothing from the
mouth of the three-headed dog, Cerberus, when Hercules took him from
Pluto's dark realm on one of his Twelve Labors. Ovid describes the
aconite as
A weed by sorcerers renowned
The strongest constitution to compound
Called aconite, because it can unlock
All bars and force its passage through a rock.
In Greece it was also known as Wolf's-bane (_Lycoctonum_), and it was
thought that arrow-heads rubbed with it would kill wolves. Turner
quaintly writes in his "Herbal" (1568):
"This of all poisons is the most hastie poison, howbeit Pliny saith
this herb will kill a man if he take it, except it find in a man
something to kill. Let our Londoners which have of late received this
blue Wolf's-bane, otherwise called Monk's Cane, take heed that the
poison of the root of this herb do not more harm than the freshness of
the flower hath done pleasure. Let them not say but they are warned."
Parkinson's name for it is _Napellus verus flore cœruleo_ (Blue
Helmet-Flower, or Monk's-hood).
"The Helmet Flower," he writes, "hath divers leaves of a fresh green
color on the upper side and grayish underneath, much spread abroad
and cut into many slits and notches. The stalk riseth up two or three
foot high, beset to the top with the like leaves, but smaller. The top
is sometimes divided into two or three branches, but more usually
without, whereon stand many large flowers one above another, in form
very like a hood, or open helmet, being composed of five leaves, the
uppermost of which and the greatest is hollow, like unto a helmet,
or headpiece: two other small leaves are at the sides of the helmet,
closing it like cheeks, and come somewhat under, and two other which
are the smallest hang down like labels, or as if a close helmet were
opened and some pieces hung by, of a perfect, or fair, blue color (but
grow darker having stood long) which causeth it to be so nourished up
in Gardens that their flowers, as was usual in former times (and yet is
in many country places) may be laid among green herbs in windows and
rooms for the Summertime; but although their beauty may be entertained
for the uses aforesaid, yet beware they come not near your tongue or
lips, lest they tell you to your cost, they are not so good as they
seem to be. In the middest of the flower, when it is open and gapeth
wide, are seen certain small threads like beards, standing about a
middle head, which, when the flower is past, groweth into three or
four, or more, small blackish pods, containing in them black seeds. The
roots are brownish on the outside and white within, somewhat big and
round about and small downwards, somewhat like unto a small, short
carrot root, sometimes two being joined at the head together. It is the
true _Napellus_ of the ancient writers, which they so termed from the
form of a turnip called _Napus_ in Latin."
Generally speaking the leaf and flower of the monk's-hood resemble
the larkspur; and, like the larkspur and the columbine, the plant has
wandered away from its original family, the buttercup tribe. The upper
sepal has developed from a spur into a hood.
Winter
"WHEN ICICLES HANG BY THE WALL"
I
_Holly and Ivy_
HOLLY (_Ilex aquifolium_). Holly, with its beautiful red berries and
unique leaf, stiff and prickly, but highly decorative, is the chief
emblem of Christmas. We are continuing very ancient traditions when
we hang up our Christmas wreaths and garlands. The earliest records
of the human race contain references to the custom of decorating
houses and temples and evergreens on occasions of rejoicing. Holly
comes to us from pagan usage. Five hundred years before the birth of
Christ the Romans had been celebrating their midwinter festival--the
Saturnalia--commemorating the equality supposed to have existed on
earth in the golden reign of Saturn. The Saturnalia was a period of
general merry-making and relaxation. People gave each other presents,
wished each other "Io Saturnalia," just as we wish each other "Merry
Christmas," and decorated their houses and temples with evergreens,
among which holly was conspicuous. The early Christians, who celebrated
the birth of Christ during the Saturnalia, adorned their homes with
holly for the purpose of safety. They would have been unpleasantly
noticed had they left their homes undecorated. After a time holly
became associated with the Christian festival itself. As the Christmas
celebration spread throughout Europe and into Great Britain, local
observances naturally became added to the original rites; and gradually
to certain features taken over from the Saturnalia were added customs
which the Germanic tribes, the Scandinavians, the Gauls, the Celts,
and early Britons practised for the midwinter festival. "Thus," says
a modern writer, "all the pagan winter festivals were transmuted
and sanctified by the Christian Church into the beautiful Christmas
festival that keeps the world's heart young and human. The Church also
brought from ancient observances a number of lovable customs, such
as the giving of presents, the lighting of candles, the burning of
the Yule-log, the Boar's Head, the Christmas Tree, the mistletoe, the
holly, laurel and other greens and the mince-pies."
At a season when everything was chosen to commemorate, or invoke,
the spirit of growth, or fertility, the holly, mistletoe and ivy--all
of which bear fruit in the winter--become particularly precious.
Beautiful, cheery holly, with its glossy, prickly leaves and its
coral bells, was a sacred plant in the childhood of the world and
will continue to be a sacred plant as long as the world lasts. We may
make garlands of laurel or bay-leaves, we may bind together ropes
of crow's-foot or smilax, and we may bring into our rooms pots of
poinsettia; but nothing takes, or will ever take, the place the holly
occupies in our affections. In our literature holly is honored. It now
symbolizes the spirit of Christmas as nothing else does.
One of the earliest Christmas carols, dating from the Fifteenth
Century, describes a contest of Holly and Ivy for the chief place in
the hall. Holly is the man and Ivy the woman. They have an argument
(which is a kind of duet), each setting forth his or her claim to
superiority. Finally, it is decided that Holly, with his beautiful red
berries, shall reign in the hall instead of Ivy, whose berries are
black. Moreover, many sweet birds are attracted to Holly; but only the
owl loves Ivy.
Holly is, of course, the subject of many carols. A typical one of the
Fifteenth Century is as follows:
Here comes Holly, that is so gent,
Alleluia!
To please all men is his intent,
Alleluia!
But lord and lady of the hall,
Alleluia!
Whosoever against Holly call,
Alleluia!
Whosoever against Holly do cry,
Alleluia!
In a lepe shall he hang full high.
Alleluia!
Whosoever against Holly do sing,
Alleluia!
He may weep and his handys wring,
Alleluia!
From the above it will be seen that it was a crime to say a derogatory
word about holly. Holly was not only loved for its beauty but it was a
holy plant. Witches detested it and it was a charm against their evil
machinations. The name comes from the Anglo-Saxon _holegn_. The Norse
word is _hulf_, or _hulver_; and as Chaucer calls it "Hulfeere" we may
conclude that holly was familiar to the people of Chaucer's time under
that name.
It is somewhat singular that Shakespeare has written a song of wintry
wind and holly berries to be sung in the Forest of Arden. It affords,
however, a delightful contrast to the sun-lit summer woodland.
[Illustration: TUDOR MANOR HOUSE WITH MODERN ARRANGEMENT OF GARDENS]
While in it holly is not actually described, _Amiens's_ song will
always remain the song of songs to holly:
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh ho the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;
Though thou the waters warp
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.
IVY (_Hedera Helix_). Shakespeare mentions ivy twice: in "A Midsummer
Night's Dream" where _Titania_, bidding _Bottom_ sleep, says:
Sleep thou and I will wind thee in my arms ...
the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.[86]
and in "The Tempest," when _Prospero_ compares his false brother with
the ivy:
The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on 't.[87]
[86] Act IV, Scene I.
[87] Act I, Scene II.
In the old carols and plays Ivy is always represented as a woman,
and yet, although beloved, was used for the outside decorations and
doorways. Ivy never had the place within that holly occupied.
As ivy clings and embraces the object near it, the plant was chosen as
an emblem of confiding love and friendship. Tusser's commands are as
follows: "Get Ivy and Holly, women, deck up thy house." Ivy was also
used in the church decorations at Christmas-tide. In the Middle Ages
ivy was a favored and most auspicious plant. An old carol says:
Ivy is soft and meke of speech,
Against all bale she is bliss,
Well is he that her may reach:--
_Veni, coronaberis_.
Ivy is green with color bright,
Of all trees best she is,
And that I prove will now be right:-
_Veni, coronaberis_.
Ivy beareth berries black,
God grant us all His bliss,
For there we shall nothing lack:--
_Veni, coronaberis_.
Ivy was the crown of the Greek and Roman poets, whose myths proclaimed
the plant sacred to Bacchus. Indeed the plant took its name from
Bacchus (_kissos_) for it was said that the child was hidden under
ivy when abandoned by his mother, Semele. The ivy was mingled with
the grape in the crown of Bacchus and it enwreathed his thyrsus. Ivy
berries eaten before wine was swallowed prevented intoxication, so
Pliny says. Perhaps because of its association with Bacchus ivy was
hung at the vintners' doors in England as well as on the Continent, and
a reference to this custom is contained in Nash's "Summer's Last Will
and Testament" (1600).
In Shakespeare's time ivy was considered a remedy against plague, which
gave another reason for veneration.
England would almost cease to be England without the ivy that so
luxuriantly covers the walls of old buildings and adds its soft beauty
to the crumbling ruins. Everybody loves it--strangers as well as
natives; and every one loves the poem that Dickens inserted into "The
Pickwick Papers":
Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
On right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decay'd
To pleasure his dainty whim;
And the mouldering dust that years have made,
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green!
First, he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he;
How closely he turneth, how close he clings,
To his friend, the huge oak tree!
And slily he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
The rich mould of men's graves.
Creeping where grim Death hath been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green!
Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
And nations have scattered been;
But the stout old ivy shall never fade
From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant in its lonely days
Shall fatten on the past,
For the stateliest building man can raise
Is the ivy's food at last.
Creeping on where Time has been
A rare old plant is the Ivy green!
II
_Mistletoe and Box_
THE MISTLETOE (_Viscum album_). The mistletoe, the "all-healer," is a
mysterious and mystical plant. The Greeks venerated it. Virgil gave
it to Æneas for the "Golden Bough," to guide him to the Underworld.
The Scandinavians dedicated it to their goddess of love, Freya (or
Freyja). The mistletoe is, however, more closely associated with the
Druids than with any other race. The plant was so sacred to these
strange people that it was never allowed to touch the ground. At the
New Year the Druids marched in solemn procession into the forest, and
the high priest climbed the oak-tree and, with a golden sickle, cut
the mistletoe from the branches. Other priests stood below holding a
white cloth to receive the mistletoe as it fell. The sacred plant was
dipped into water and then distributed among the people, to whom it was
supposed to bring good luck of all kinds.
Even to-day we do not like the "Mistletoe Bough" to fall. We say it is
"unlucky"; but possibly we have unconsciously inherited from our remote
ancestors a spark of reverence for the "Golden Bough."
The Welsh thought the mistletoe "pure gold," believing that it had a
connection with the golden fire of the sun; and they thought also that
the mistletoe absorbed the life of the oak-tree to which it clung.
The Church never sanctioned the mistletoe. It never appears, therefore,
among the Christmas decorations in the churches. No edicts, however,
were strong enough to banish it from the decorations of the house, and
the mistletoe bough is always a feature in the home where Christmas is
celebrated with picturesque traditions. The precise reason for hanging
up the Mistletoe Bough is lost in antiquity; but it is possible that
the particular reasons were because it has supposed miraculous powers
of healing sickness and averting misfortune, and great potency in
promoting fertility and bestowing prosperity. For hundreds of years the
mistletoe has been reverenced alike in castle, baronial hall, manor
house and farmhouse in Shakespeare's country and in the homes of rich
and poor in our own country.
Undoubtedly the idea of kissing under the Mistletoe Bough was derived
from the fact that the plant was dedicated to the Northern goddess of
love. The old saying is that the maiden who is not kissed under the
mistletoe will not be married within the coming year. The ceremony of
kissing is not properly performed unless a berry is plucked off and
given with each kiss to the maiden. When the berries are all gone the
privilege of kissing ceases.
That mistletoe grows on the oak-tree solely is a popular error. In
fact, the plant prefers the apple. Most of the English mistletoe now
comes from the apple orchards of Herefordshire. Normandy sends a great
deal of mistletoe to England and to our country. The strange parasite
is also found on the linden, poplar, and white-thorn. When once the
seed is lodged, it drives its roots deep into the branch and draws sap
and nourishment from the tree. The European variety is known as _Viscum
album_ and is much forked. In the United States the ordinary mistletoe
is known as _Phoradendron_ and grows on various hardwood trees in many
of the Southern States.
There is something curiously interesting about the mistletoe. It is not
beautiful, the leaves are irregular and often stained and broken, the
berries fall almost when looked at and the plant is stiff and woody;
yet for all that there is a peculiar quality in the greenish white and
waxy berries and the shape of the forked twig that makes us think of
divining-rods and magical words. It has a mystic fascination for us.
Shakespeare's only reference speaks of it as _baleful_: _Tamora_ says
in "Titus Andronicus":[88]
The trees, through summer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe.
[88] Act II, Scene III.
BOX (_Buxus sempervirens_). Shakespeare mentions the box once--when
_Sir Toby Belch_ and _Sir Andrew Aguecheek_ and the _Clown_ are in
_Olivia's_ garden and _Maria_, running out to tell them that _Malvolio_
is coming, excitedly cries:
Get ye all three into the box-tree.[89]
[89] "Twelfth Night"; Act II, Scene V.
Every one knows how important a feature the box-bush is in English
gardens and in the old American gardens that were planted after English
models.
So fine in color, so deep and luxuriant in foliage, so dignified and
aristocratic in its atmosphere the name box is almost synonymous
with old gardens. Its acrid yet aromatic scent--most delicious after
rain--is one of its characteristics.
Greek myth consecrated the box to Pluto, and the plant was said to be
symbolical of the life in the Underworld which continues all the year.
The ancients used it to border their flower-beds, and probably the
great use of box in England comes from the Roman times. The wood was
used for delicate inlay in the days of the Renaissance and also for
making musical instruments.
Box is thought to be the assur-wood of the Bible. There is authority
for using greenery in church decoration for in Isaiah we read: "The
glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee; the fir-tree, the pine-tree, and
the box together to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make
the places of my feet glorious."[90]
[90] Chap. LX, v. 13.
To dream of box, according to the astrologers of Shakespeare's time,
signified a happy marriage, long life, and prosperity.
Box was used for decoration in the Tudor and Stuart days and succeeded
the Christmas garlands, as Herrick sings in the time of Charles I, at
Candlemas (February 2):
Down with the Rosemary and Bays,
Down with the Mistletoe,
Instead of Holly now upraise
The greener Box for show.
The Holly hitherto did sway,
Let Box now domineer
Until the dancing Easter Day
On Easter eve appear.
The youthful Box which now hath grace
Your houses to renew,
Grown old, surrender must his place
Unto the crispèd Yew.
When Yew is out, then Birch comes in,
And many flowers beside,
Both of a fresh and fragrant kin
To honor Whitsuntide.
Green rushes then and sweetest Bents,
With cooler oaken boughs
Come in for comely ornaments
To re-adorn the house.
Thus a constant succession of decorative flowers and evergreens
appeared in the houses of Old England. Every season had its appropriate
flowers, each and all emblematical. It was also the same in the Church.
An English writer remarks:
"Mindful of the Festivals which our Church prescribes, I have sought
to make these objects of floral nature the timepieces of my religious
calendar and the mementos of the hastening period of my mortality.
Thus, I can light my taper to our Virgin Mother in the blossoming of
the white Snowdrop, Which opens its flower at the time of Candlemas;
the Lady's Smock and Daffodil remind me of the Annunciation; the blue
Harebell of the Festival of St. George; the Ranunculus of the Invention
of the Cross; the Scarlet Lychnis of St. John the Baptist's day; the
White Lily of the Visitation of Our Lady; the Virgin's Bower of the
Assumption; and Michaelmas, Martinmas, Holy Rood and Christmas have all
their appropriate decorations."
PART THREE
PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS
THE LAY-OUT OF STATELY AND SMALL FORMAL GARDENS
I
_The Stately Garden_
BEFORE taking any steps to make a Shakespeare garden, it is essential
to study the architectural lines of the house and the conformation of
the grounds on which it is purposed to lay out the garden, or series
of gardens. If the grounds are undulating, or hilly, naturally the
gardens must be arrayed on different levels. The gardens can rise above
the house in terraces if the house stands on the side of a hill, or
beneath it; or the gardens may sink below the house, if the building
crowns the summit of an elevation. On the other hand, if the house is
erected on a flat plain, the gardens can open out like a series of
rooms partitioned off by hedges, arbors, or walls. An artistic eye and
resourceful mind will prefer to take advantage of the natural lines and
work out a plan suggested by them. With nearly every kind of house the
square garden accords, either perfectly square or longer than broad.
Frequently the small enclosed garden looks well at the side of the
house. It is essential to call in the professional gardener for advice
regarding the situation of the garden, and questions of drainage,
sunshine, and exposure to winds and sunshine; for all these matters aid
in determining the arrangement. If a series of gardens is planned, one
leading from another, it is well to consider them as outside rooms.
In this case there will be little trouble in making the lay-out. The
simplest plan is always the most effective. A very good example to
follow is the lay-out of Montacute, Somersetshire, built in 1580-1601:
"Before the house is a walled-in forecourt, and in the forecourt a
small lawn with a fountain, or pool, in the center. An entrance-gate
leads into the forecourt. Before this forecourt comes a small
antecourt, designed for the sake of dignity. On one side of the
forecourt is the base, or bass, court, surrounded by the stables,
kitchens, and other buildings; and on the other side is the ornamental
pleasure-grounds, including 'my lady's garden,' a survival of the small
enclosed castle garden, of the Middle Ages.
[Illustration: GARDEN HOUSE IN OLD ENGLISH GARDEN]
"Overlooking the garden is the Terrace--twenty or thirty feet
wide--of considerable length, and protected by a balustrade of detached
banisters, of handsome design pierced in stone. From the Terrace wide
flights of steps at either end lead to the broad sanded walks that
divide the parterre into several subdivisions, which are again divided
by narrow paths into smaller designs.
"The general shape is square, following the antique classical garden
of Pliny's time, enclosed with trellis-work, espaliers, clipped
box-hedges, statuary, fountains, vases, and pleached alleys."
The famous Nonsuch, near Ewell, in Surrey, laid out by Henry VIII
toward the end of his life, retained its appearance for more than a
hundred years; for at the time of the Parliamentary Survey (1650) it
was thus described:
"It was cut out and divided into several allies, quarters and rounds,
set about with thorn hedges; on the north side is a kitchen garden,
very commodious and surrounded with a brick wall of fourteen feet high.
On the west is a wilderness severed from the little park by a lodge,
the whole containing ten acres. In the privy garden were pyramids,
fountains and basins of marble, one of which is set round with six
lilack trees, which trees bear no fruit, but a very pleasant flower.
Before the Palace is a neat and handsome bowling-green surrounded with
a balustrade of freestone."
Hampton Court Gardens, so beautiful to-day, were very famous in Tudor
times. The old manor house was at the southwest corner of the area,
and around it Cardinal Wolsey laid out his gardens and orchards. In
1599 Henry VIII seized the estate and enlarged the gardens. Ernest Law
exclaims:
"What a truly delightful picture must these gardens have formed
with their little walks and parterres, sheltered arbors and
banquetting-houses. The largest plot was called the King's New Garden
and occupied the place called the Privy Garden. Here were the gay
parterres with gravel paths and little raised mounds with sun-dials
on them. Here was also the Pond Garden, which is still to be seen
and which, though much altered, yet retains something of its Tudor
aspect; and another, known as the Little Garden, which may, perhaps,
be identified with the enclosed space at the side of the Pond Garden.
Studded about in various parts of the gardens and orchards were
heraldic beasts on pedestals, holding vanes, or shields, bearing the
King's Arms and badges; also many brass sun-dials."
Another typical garden was that of Kenilworth, known, of course, to
Shakespeare, as it is in Warwickshire:
"His Honor's the Earl of Leicester's exquisite appointment of a
beautiful garden, an acre or more in quantity, that lieth on the north.
Whereon all along the Castle wall is reared a pleasant terrace, ten
feet high and twelve feet broad, even under foot and fresh of fine
grass, as is also the side, thereof, towards the garden, in which, by
sundry equal distances with obelisks and spheres and white bears all
of stone upon their curious bases by goodly shew, were set. To these,
two fine arbors, redolent by sweet trees and flowers, at each end, one;
the garden-plot under that, with fair alleys, green by grass, even
voided from the borders on both sides, and some (for change) with sand,
smooth and firm, pleasant to walk on, as a sea-shore when the water is
avoided. Then much gracified by due proportion of four even quarters,
in the midst of each upon a base of two feet square and high, seemingly
bordered of itself, a square pilaster rising pyramidically fifteen feet
high."
Thus Robert Laneham wrote in a letter describing the pageant at
Kenilworth in 1575.
The garden of varying ascents and descents was much admired in
Elizabethan days. Sir Henry Wotton (1568-1630), a most sensitive
critic, who wrote so beautifully of flowers, describes in his "Elements
of Architecture" a garden laid out on different levels:
"I have seen a garden for the manner perchance incomparable into which
the first access was a high walk like a terrace, from whence might be
taken a general view of the whole Plot below. From this, the Beholder,
descending many steps, was afterwards conveyed again by several
mountings and fallings to various entertainments of his scent and
sight. Every one of these diversities was as if he had been magically
transported into a new garden."
The above extracts will afford suggestions for the lay-out of fine
stately gardens. The most typical Elizabethan estates are Montacute,
Somersetshire; Longleat, Wiltshire; Hatfield, Hardwicke, Kirby,
Penshurst, Kent; and Drayton House, Northamptonshire. All of these are
models for imitation in our own country.
II
_The Small Garden_
Turning now to the small enclosed garden, first select your ground,
your design, and your flowers for borders, edging, and knots, so that
you will know the effect you wish to produce.
"Making a garden," says H. H. Thomas, "may be likened to painting a
picture. Just as the artist has before him the landscape which he is
to depict on the canvas, the gardener should have in his mind's eye
a strong impression of the kind of garden he wishes to make. There
is nothing like being methodical even in gardening, so it is best to
materialize one's ideas in the form of a rough sketch, or plan."
Show your gardener the diagram and have him stake off your garden and
beds with the greatest accuracy. Your walks, paths, and beds must be
_exact_. Next select your style of enclosure and build your brick
wall, plant your green hedge, or construct your pleached alley. Each
one has its own particular advantages and charm. The brick wall forms
a shelter for plants that love shade and a fine support for climbing
plants, especially ivy. The hedge makes a rich and distinguished wall
of living green, which can be artistically clipped; and arches can
be made through it. The pleached alley, formed of wooden trellis,
lattice-work, or rustic, or wire arches painted an attractive color,
or left in the natural wood, will, if they are covered profusely with
roses, honeysuckle, rosemary, and other roving flowers, give the effect
of the old leafy tunnels of greenery and blossoms.
III
_Soil and Seed_
Every gardener of olden times, as well as every practical worker
to-day, insists upon the necessity of digging and trenching and
preparing the soil before any seeds are sown, or cuttings planted. For
this important preparation, the advice of the best local gardener is
imperative.
Regarding seeds it is interesting to seek advice from Didymus
Mountain's "The Gardener's Labyrinth." "Every gardener and owner," he
says, "ought to be careful and diligently to foresee that the seeds
committed to the earth be neither too old, dry, thin, withered, nor
counterfeited, but rather full, new and full of juice.
"After the seeds being workmanly bestowed in the beds, the gardener's
next care must be that he diligently pull up and weed away all hurtful
and unprofitable herbs annoying the garden plants coming up."
All very sound advice, quaintly expressed. Old Didymus is even
quainter as he tells of the astrological influences:
"The daily experience is to the gardener as a schoolmaster to instruct
him how much it availeth and hindereth that seeds to be sown, plants to
be set, yea, scions to be grafted (in this or that time), having herein
regard, not to the time especially of the year, as the Sun altereth the
same, but also to the Moon's increase and wane, yea, to the sign she
occupieth, and places both about and under the earth. To the aspects
also of the other planets, whose beams and influence both quicken,
comfort, preserve and maintain, or else nip, wither, dry, consume, and
destroy by sundry means the tender seeds, plants, yea, and grafts; and
these after their property and virtue natural or accidental."
Then he goes on to say:
"To utter here the popular help against thunder, lightnings and the
dangerous hail, when the tempest approacheth through the cloud arising,
as by the loud noise of guns shot here and there, with a loud sound
of bells and such like noises which may happen, I think the same not
necessary, nor properly available to the benefit of the garden.
"The famous learned man, Archibus, which wrote unto Antiochus, King
of Syria, affirmeth that tempests shall not be harmful to plants, or
fruit, if the speckled toad, enclosed in a new earthern pot, be buried
in the middle of the garden."
A modern authority says:
"While no hard and fast rule can be made, a general practice is to
cover seeds with double their own depth of soil under glass and four
times their own depth of soil when sowing in the open ground. To
protect seeds from cats, bury several bottles up to the neck in seed
bed and put in each bottle a teaspoonful of liquid ammonia."
IV
_The Gateway_
The gate entrance was always important in Tudor times. The gate,
usually of pierced ironwork, but also of wood artistically cut into
balusters, was hung between two square piers of brick or stone, about
ten feet apart. Each pier was surmounted by a stone ball, with or
without necking, unless heraldic lions, bears, wyverns, or other
emblems of the owner were used. The piers were, as a rule, two feet
square and nine, or ten, feet to the top of the cornice. Gateways were
also set in walls, and little gates were set in hedges, or flanked by
ornamental shrubs.
V
_The Garden-House_
The garden-house was very important in Shakespeare's time. It was often
a substantial edifice, built of brick or stone, placed at the corner
of a boundary, or dividing wall, so as to afford a view of more than
one part of the garden. Sometimes two buildings were constructed, one
at each corner, as at Montacute. Another favorite position was at the
end of a long walk ending in a vista; and another was overlooking
the bowling-alley, from which visitors could watch the game. The
garden-house was often fitted with handsome woodwork and even a
fireplace. An outside staircase sometimes led to the roof.
The summer-house arbor was also often made of wooden lattice-work and
covered with vines. Sometimes it was hollowed out of the clipped hedge,
or out of a large tree properly shaped by the toparian artist. The
gazebo, built at the corner of a wall overlooking the garden within and
the road without, was also a popular kind of summer-house. The origin
of the name is still obscure. Some people say it comes from the same
root as to gaze, and refers to viewing the scenery; but there is a
suggestion of the Orient in the word. The gazebo may best be described
as a kind of wall pavilion.
VI
_The Mount_
The mount, originally intended to enable persons to look over the
enclosing wall, served both as a place to enjoy the view and as a
post of outlook in time of danger. Mounts were constructed of wood or
stone, curiously adorned within and without. They were also made in
the old barrow shape of earth and covered with grass. The top of the
mount was often adorned with a summer-house, or arbor. The mount at
Hampton Court, constructed in 1533 on a brick foundation, was the first
specimen of its day; and the arbor upon it was a very elaborate affair,
made of wooden pales and trellis-work. Sometimes the mount, instead of
being a raised and detached mound, was formed like a long bank raised
against an outer wall.
VII
_Rustic Arches_
"Rustic arches should be in keeping with the house and grounds. Firstly
they should be in keeping with the style of the house and grounds.
A white stone house with a light pillared verandah is not suited by
rustic arches: it requires to be seen through vistas made up of arches
as slender as the verandah pillars, of painted iron-work preferably,
and the most telling contrast will be arranged if there are numerous
deep evergreen shrubs.
"Rustic, or peeled oak, arches suit the modern red brick villa style of
house to perfection; the trellis arch, being neat and unpretentious,
is also in excellent taste. The old-fashioned country cottage, or the
house built to imitate it, should not have trellis-work within half
a mile. Rustic arches, or invisible ones of bent iron, are alone in
keeping. By an invisible arch, I mean one consisting of a single bend
of iron, or narrow woodwork upright with a cross bar--anything really
that is intended only to support some evergreen climber or close
grower, such as a rose that will hide the foundation at all seasons.
"Arches simply built of rustic poles are more pleasing than wire
or lattice ones in any landscape; and the roughness of the wood is
beneficial to the climbers that grow over them, affording an easy hold
for tendrils. Whether the wood is peeled, or employed with the bark
on--the latter is the more artistic method--it is an admirable plan to
wash it all over with a strong solution of some insecticide and then
give one or two coats of varnish. In most cases varnish alone is enough
to preserve the wood.
"The use of rustic wood in a garden is always safe since its appearance
cannot conflict with Nature as painted woodwork when present in excess
is sure to do. From woodcutter's yards, especially those in the heart
of the country, charming pieces of log of any size can be bought very
cheaply and whenever a tree on an estate has to be felled portions of
its trunks or branches can be turned to good account in the garden."[91]
[91] H. H. Thomas.
VIII
_Seats_
Garden seats are of so many kinds and styles that one has much latitude
in selection. Rustic seats, painted iron seats, and marble seats are
all proper; but should be selected to harmonize with the house and
general style of the garden or gardens.
IX
_Vases, Jars, and Tubs_
Marble vases, old pottery jars of simple type, and wooden tubs can be
selected for individual plants to grow in, or for fine arrangements of
ferns and other flowers. Placed at regular intervals in the garden, or
on the terrace, these simple ornaments add brightness and elegance to
the scene.
X
_Fountains_
In Elizabethan gardens the fountain was a familiar feature, and
fountains were very elaborate with regard to their construction.
Bacon says:
"For fountains they are a great beauty and refreshment: the one that
sprinkleth or spouteth water; the other, a fair receipt of water of
some thirty or forty foot. For the first, the ornaments of images gilt,
or marble, which are in use, do well. Also some steps up to it and some
fine pavement about doth well. As for the other kind of fountain, which
may be called a bathing-pool, it may admit much curiosity and beauty,
as that the bottom be finely paved, and with images; the sides likewise
and withal embellished with colored glass and such things of luster
encompassed also with fine rails of low statues."
Hentzner saw three famous fountains on his visit to England in 1592,
at Hampton Court, Whitehall, and Nonsuch. He describes the one at
Hampton Court as follows:
"In the middle of the first and principal court stands a fountain,
splendid, high, and massy, with an ingenious water-work, by which you
can, if you like, make the water to play upon the ladies and others who
are standing by and give them a thorough wetting."
The one at Whitehall was also capable of playing practical jokes:
"A _jet d'eau_ with a sun-dial, which, while strangers are looking at
it, a quantity of water forced by a wheel, which the gardener turns
at a distance through a number of little pipes, plentifully sprinkles
those who are standing round."
More ornate was the fountain at the superb palace of Nonsuch in Surrey:
"In the pleasure and artificial gardens are many columns and pyramids
of marble, two fountains that spout water, one round the other like a
pyramid upon which are perched small birds that stream water out of
their bills. In the Grove of Diana is a very agreeable fountain with
Actæon turned into a stag, as he was sprinkled by the goddess and her
nymphs with inscriptions. There is besides another pyramid of marble
full of concealed pipes which spirt upon all who come within their
reach."
In the small formal garden a fountain looks well at the intersection
of the paths in the center of the quarters. It is not necessary to
have an ornate fountain, for the real charm of a fountain consists in
the upward plume of spray that glistens in the sunshine, that turns
to pearls in the moonlight, and that always charms the eye of man and
delights the neighboring flowers with its spray blown by the breeze.
XI
_The Dove-cote_
Every manor-house had its dove-cote, or columbary, as it was called.
Here doves and pigeons aided in making a very pretty picture as they
flew in and out of the architecturally designed bird-house. The right
to keep them was confined to the lords of the manor, and the law was
very strictly enforced.
Andrew Borde tells us that a dove-house is a necessary thing about a
mansion-place. It is, therefore, quite proper to include a bird-house
in the Shakespeare garden; and a pool for the birds' comfort is also a
pretty as well as necessary adjunct to the dove-cote.
Birds add much to the pleasure of the garden. Pigeons and doves give a
poetic touch as they strut along the paths and flutter about. Nothing
gives more quality and elegance, however, than a peacock, and, to quote
from a contemporary writer:
"The peacock is a bird of more beautiful feathers than any other that
is. He is quickly angry, but he is goodly to behold, very good to
eat, and serveth as a watch in the inner court, for that he, spying
strangers to come into the lodging, he faileth not to cry out and
advertise them of the house."
The peacock is as much of a joy to the garden lover as the sun-dial.
XII
_The Sun-dial_
The sun-dial forms a perfect ornament at the intersection of the garden
paths. Every one responds to the quaint beauty and mystery of the
sun-dial with its dark shadow that creeps quietly across the dial and
tells the hours so softly. As Charles Lamb says: "It is the measure
appropriate for sweet plants and flowers to spring by and birds to
apportion their silver warblings by." Nothing has a more antique air
than the sun-dial. The simple baluster pillar is a good model, and
the base should be surrounded by a circle of grass.
This grassy ring is the "wabe," Where Lewis Carroll's "slithy toves"
did "gyre and gimbel" in the immortal poem "Jabberwocky."
[Illustration: FOUNTAINS, SIXTEENTH CENTURY]
The sun-dial can also be placed at the end of a path, if the path is
important enough to warrant it.
In our Shakespeare garden I suggest using a Shakespearian quotation for
the inscription, such as, for example:
For never-resting Time leads summer on.
or
Nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defense.
or
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end.
or
Come what, come may,
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
XIII
_The Terrace_
The terrace is essential, if one would have the true Elizabethan
atmosphere. The terrace can be of stone, or brick, or brick combined
with stone, or brick combined with wood. Whatever the material, the
balustrade is of the greatest importance. The designs for balusters
in the old architectural books are legion, some of them of very
complicated inter-twining after the patterns of arabesques and
_cuirs_ (strap-leather work), but good taste, even in that day of
complicated design, demanded that the balusters should be very widely
spaced. This is obvious, because half of the effect, at least, of
out-of-door architecture depends upon the open spaces for light to
play its part--and a great part, too--in the design. In balustrades
the spacing is, therefore, very important. The balusters should never
be too crowded. The most satisfactory ones are those in which the
distance from center to center almost equals the height from plinth to
coping. The piers dividing the groups should not be too far apart--ten
to fifteen feet is a good distance. Much, however, depends on the
proportion of the balusters themselves. Frequently the balustrade is
adorned with ornamental vases, or urns, set at regular intervals on
the rail and on the newel-posts of the steps. As a rule, the steps
lead from both ends of the terrace. Sometimes there are also steps in
the center; sometimes the terrace is double. A jar, vase, or tub of
growing plants, or containing one handsome plant, looks well placed on
the lawn on either side of the steps. Vines can be trained gracefully
along the balustrade, hand-rails, and posts of the steps. A rich border
of flowers should be grown all along the side of the terrace: in the
spring hosts of daffodils and in the summer larkspur, marigolds,
lilies, iris, and climbing roses and honeysuckle. The terrace gains
in style and beauty when the proper floral decorations are tastefully
selected and well combined.
From the terrace one can enjoy a fine view of the garden as a whole;
and it is a pleasant place to stroll upon and to sit. Sometimes the
terrace is of two levels with several stairways.
Leaving the architectural terrace, which is an adjunct of the house
bringing the house into relation with the garden, we must turn to the
garden terrace made of grass, and ascended by grass steps cut in the
bank, or by stone or brick steps cut in the bank, or standing outside
with handrails and newel-posts. If the steps are of grass, good effects
can be made by placing large jars, or tubs, filled with flowers, ferns,
or a single plant, such as the pomegranate, for instance, on either
side.
The grass-terrace is very charming leading up to the garden, leading
from one garden to another, or leading from the lawn proper to the
sunken garden. A very attractive arrangement was at Penshurst, Kent,
the home of the Sidney family. It is described thus: "Garden on south
and west, ground sloping to south and west, house on a grass platform,
about nine feet above the garden level. Along the southwest side of the
flower-garden a broad grass-terrace, and near the house a few steps
lead to the yew alley, at the end of which is a quaint old sun-dial
known as the Turk's Head."
The yew alley was evidently a pleached alley.
XIV
_The Pleached Alley_
The "Pleached Alley," another typical feature of the Elizabethan garden
(from the French _plessir_, to weave), is nothing more nor less than
a thickly covered walk. In Shakespeare's time this was constructed of
woven boughs and climbing vines and flowers, or a series of arbors.
The old prints and pictures show them to be complete tunnels of
greenery. We can make a pleached alley to-day by setting up a pergola
and smothering it with flowers and vines. Ironwork arches covered with
roses, honeysuckle, and other creepers will produce the proper effect.
A latticework trellis covered with vines and flowers will, if properly
constructed, produce the appearance of a pleached alley.
When the pleached alley is not used to enclose the garden, then a brick
wall or, still better, a fine hedge should be planted.
XV
_Hedges_
Box makes a perfect hedge. The hedge must be clipped at the upper part
narrower than at the base, otherwise the base will become bare. Privet
makes an excellent hedge and so does the Osage orange, which grows
luxuriantly in some parts of the United States. It is decorative to
trim the hedge so that tall pyramids ornament either side of the gate,
or an arch can be made to grow over the gate. A small lavender hedge is
very attractive. Each autumn, after the flower-spikes have gone, trim
plants for the dwarf hedge.
Roses, particularly the sweetbrier, make a charming hedge. Honeysuckle
is another delightful flower for a hedge; and nothing could be more
beautiful than the two combined.
If the rose and honeysuckle hedge is desired, have the carpenter make
a lattice screen of the desired height, or simply construct a rustic
fence and plant the creepers near it and train them so that they will
make a wall of flowers and leaves.
XVI
_Paths_
"There is no pleasanter path than that of grass, and even the small
garden ought to have a little grass-walk between the flower borders and
rose beds. It adds immensely to the attractiveness of the garden and
none other is so pleasant to the tread. Constant mowing and rolling
are necessary and the edges must be kept neat and trim; for while a
well-kept grass-path is most attractive of all, its charm is never
fully realized unless it is carefully attended to."[92]
[92] H. H. Thomas.
Gravel-paths must be frequently rolled and the surface of the walk made
a little higher in the center than the sides with a curving outline, so
that water may drain away to the sides.
The brick pathway is capable of much variety. Bricks may be laid in
many patterns; and the little garden, if very small, may be entirely
paved with bricks, leaving the formal flower-beds only of earth. A
fountain or sun-dial looks well in the center.
Flagged pathways are effective in certain garden arrangements. Old
paving-stones are suitable, but they should first be broken up into
irregular pieces.
"Build a good foundation, cover it with a thin layer of sandy loam,
then lay the larger pieces flat on this. Fill the interstices with the
fragments, but leave crevices filled with soil, two inches or so wide,
here and there. Make up a compost of equal parts of loam, sand and
leaf-mould, sweep this over the path and let it settle in the joints.
Many plants can be established in the joints and a pretty effect
obtained."[93]
[93] H. H. Thomas.
Among the plants practical for this purpose are thrift, thyme, and
camomile, and the more they are trodden on the sweeter they smell and
the better they grow.
"The Gardener's Labyrinth" gives three or four feet as the width
for paths between beds and one foot to one foot six inches for the
cross-path.
XVII
_Borders_
Borders should not be confused with edgings.
"Border is the name applied to the narrow division of the garden which
usually accompanies each side of a walk. In fact, any bed which acts as
a boundary to a walk or grass-plot, or the main quarters of a garden
may be properly described as a border.
"Flower-borders should be well drained. In plotting them it must
be remembered that if narrow no art will impart to them an air of
boldness. If the pleasure grounds are small, narrow borders are
permissible. All flower-borders should be made in proportion to the
size of the garden and other surroundings. Neatness must be the
presiding deity over flower-borders; and no application of the hoe and
rake, no removal of decayed leaves, no tying up of straggling members
can be too unremitting."[94]
[94] Johnson's "Gardener's Dictionary and Cultural Instructor," edited
by Fraser and Hemsley (London, 1917).
According to Lawson, the borders "should be roses, thyme,
lavender, rosemary, hyssop, sage and such like and filled with
cowslips, primroses, violets, Daffy-down-dillies, sweet Sissely,
Go-to-bed-at-noon, and all sweet flowers; and, chief of all, with
gilliflowers, July-flowers, commonly called gilliflowers or clove
July-flowers (I call them so because they flower in July); they have
the names of cloves of their scent. I may well call them the King of
Flowers (except the rose). Of all flowers save the Damask Rose they are
the most pleasant to sight and smell."
XVIII
_Edgings_
Edging is the material used for dividing beds and borders from the
paths, or grass leading up to the bed, if the bed is alongside a wall,
or terrace, or veranda.
Box is a formal, but charming, edging. "The growth must be regularly
clipped each year. Stretch a line the whole length of the edging, so
as to show the correct height; then cut evenly and neatly both at top
and sides. When relaying, take up the plants, pull them to pieces and
use the strong young growths, which must be clipped to one level. Box
is easily grown and stands pruning with impunity." Such is the advice
of an authority. Another practical gardener says: "Most amateurs clip
box-edgings early in the Spring. This causes an early growth, which
is just in the condition to be nipped by a sharp, late frost. The
safeguard is to delay clipping until the end of August. Then comes
free, healthy growth, which renders box-lined garden paths cheerful and
pleasant to the eye through times of heat and drought."
Thrift (_Armeria_) is one of the best edgings as it is green all
the year round and in summer is covered with bright pink flowers. A
flower-lover says:
"Thrift is seen as an edging in many old English gardens. To preserve
its beauty the plants must be lifted, divided and replanted once
in at least four years: a rich even growth is then the reward. The
tufted habit, fresh green growth and rose-purple flowers in Summer are
enjoyable to look at."
Thrift requires frequent trimming.
London-pride (_Saxifraga umbrosa_) is very pretty when in flower and,
therefore, makes an attractive edging.
Pansies also form a decorative edging for flower beds, large and small.
Another charming edging is the carnation, especially the white
varieties. The gray-green foliage makes a beautiful border for
flower-beds. Pinks are pretty, too, for bed edgings, and the
sweet-william is also attractive for this purpose.
XIX
_Knots_
The knot should occupy a piece of ground from twenty-five to one
hundred feet square. According to "The Gardener's Labyrinth" "the
flower-bed should be kept to the size that the weeder's hands may well
reach into the middest of the bed." The size given in this manual
is twelve feet by six, "each bed raised one foot above the ground
(two feet in marshy ground) and the edge cased in with short planks
framed into square posts with finials at the angles with intermediate
supports." A prettier method, however, is to border the flower-bed with
an edging of box, thrift, pansies, or pinks. This border outlines the
shape of the knot. Within the edging, or border, "the flowers are all
planted in some proportion as near one into another as it is fit for
them, which will give such grace to the garden that the place will seem
like a tapestry of flowers."
It would seem from the hundreds of designs for knots in the old
garden-books that every possible combination of scroll and line and
curve had been exhausted; but ingenious persons liked to invent their
own. Markham tells us that "the pattern of the design cannot be decided
by rule; the one whereof is led by the hops and skips, turnings and
windings of his brain; the other, by the pleasing of his eye, according
to his best fantasie."
Lawson gives the following nine designs for knots:
Cinkfoyle Lozenges
Flower-de-luce[95] Cross-bow
Trefoyle Diamond
Frette Oval
Maze.
[95] Fleur-de-lis.
Here the maze is not intended as a labyrinth to walk in, but is a
design for the planting of flowers.
Markham's knots are:
Straight line knots
Diamond knots, single and double
Single knots
Mixed knots
Single impleate of straight line
Plain and mixed
Direct and Circular.
Knots, formed with "a border of box, lavender, or rosemary, are
eighteen inches broad at bottom and clipped so close a level at the top
as to form a table for the housewife to spread clothes to dry on," are
Lawson's idea.
The old garden books contain many designs for knots, some of which are
astonishingly intricate. Examples occur in Markham's and Lawson's books
and in Didymus Mountain's "Gardener's Labyrinth" (editions of 1557,
1594, and 1608), which are perfectly practical for use to-day.
In David Loggan's "Oxonia Illustrata" (Oxford, 1675, folio) several
large plates show formal gardens. Among them New College Gardens and
those of Jesus are extremely interesting. Loggan's companion book on
Cambridge, "Cantabrigia Illustrata" (Cambridge, 1688), has splendid
views of architecture and formal gardens with knots.
Typical flower-beds are also represented in Vredeman de Vries's
"Hortorum Viridariorumque" (Antwerp, 1583) and Crispin de Passe's
"Hortus Floridus" (Arnhem, 1614).
Theobald's as late as 1650 preserved the Tudor arrangement.
"In the great garden are nine large complete squares, or knots, lying
upon a level in the middle of the said garden, whereof one is set forth
with box-borders in the likeness of the King's Arms, one other plot is
planted with choice flowers; the other seven knots are all grass-knots,
handsomely turfed in the intervals, or little walks. A quickset hedge
of white thorn, or privet, cut into a handsome fashion at every angle,
a fair cherry tree and a cypress in the middle of the knots--also a
marble fountain."
XX
_The Rock-Garden_
It is well to build a little unostentatious rock-garden in some
appropriate spot where a few flowers, which you may not want in the
beds, can grow. Flowers that find a congenial home in a loosely
arranged pile of rocks and turf are anemones, columbines, thrift,
thyme, rosemary, violets, buttercups, harebells, ferns, fennel, ivy,
myrtle, pansies, and the ragged-robin (gentian).
Select weather-worn stones and pile them carelessly one above another,
placing some of them as shelves. Leave plenty of room for the earth and
let your flowers grow as they please.
XXI
_Flowers_
As I do not pretend to be a practical gardener, having had no
experience, I have culled these hints from several authorities,
including E. T. Cook's "The Century Book of Gardening" (London, 1901);
Johnson's "Gardener's Dictionary and Cultural Instructor," edited
by Fraser and Hemsley (London, 1917); H. H. Thomas's "The Complete
Gardener" (London, 1912); and Mabel Cabot Sedgwick's "The Garden Month
by Month" (New York, 1907).
ANEMONE STELLATA requires a sheltered, warm position and light, sandy
soil, well drained. It grows about ten inches high with star-like
flowers, purple, rose-color, and white. Generally speaking, it requires
the same treatment as the tulip. Anemones also flourish in the
rock-garden.
BOX can be grown in almost any soil, but prefers light soil with
gravelly subsoil. See page 297.
BROOM-FLOWER (_Cytisus scoparius_), a splendid flowering shrub with
yellow flowers of handsome color, succeeds in dry, sandy places where
most other plants fail. It can, therefore, be planted on rough dry
banks. It grows from seed; and this can be sown in any sheltered place
out of doors. Cuttings placed in a frame are also easy to strike.
CAMOMILE will grow in any garden soil. It is a creeping plant and grows
freely in dense masses. The flowers are white and blossom from June
to August. The height attained is from twelve to eighteen inches. The
foliage is finely divided and has a feathery appearance. The plant
makes a good border, for it loves the sun. Propagate by division and
cuttings. Camomile may be allowed to run over paving-stones, for it
grows when trodden upon.
CARNATIONS. A carnation specialist says:
"A great number of amateur cultivators of the Carnation have an idea
that if they obtain seed from a variety of Carnation, the seedlings
produced from such seed will be reproductions of the parent plant.
This, of course, is wrong, and it is well to mention it. Now to grow
Carnations well they must have a good soil, or the plants will not
produce flowers, or layers, for another season. For the open garden, I
strongly recommend seedlings. The cultivator must not expect all the
flowers to be as good as the parent, or even all double. There will be
from ten to fifteen per cent with single flowers, all the others having
double flowers, some as good as, or even better than their parents; but
the majority will be of uncertain quantity.
[Illustration: SUNKEN GARDEN, SUNDERLAND HALL, WITH UNUSUAL TREATMENT
OF HEDGES]
"The seed will germinate in a hothouse well within a week from the
time of sowing, and the seedlings should be pricked out in boxes as
soon as large enough. Plant in good soil and let the plants be fifteen
inches apart and two feet between the rows. Seedlings are not nearly
so particular in regard to soil as-named varieties. The seedling is
more robust; and, given the same cultural conditions, grows more
vigorously. It is always best to dig a trench some time before the
seedling is planted. This admits of the soil being aerated. The plants
should be put out after a shower of good rain. I trench it eighteen
inches deep, put a layer of manure at the bottom and another layer six
or eight inches below the surface.
"A warning is necessary to those unacquainted with the nature of soils.
It will not do to trench up soil that has not been there before. New
subsoil is not adapted to grow anything until it has been well turned
over two or three times and mixed with decayed manure.
"After planting, give a light dressing of manure: it keeps the roots
in better condition and the plant starts more freely into growth.
Carnations must not be left to themselves after planting."
Gilliflowers, pinks, and sweet-williams belong to this family.
COLUMBINES prefer a situation where the roots can obtain moisture. They
also do well and look at home in a rock-garden. "Gather ripe seeds in
July and sow them so that the seedlings are well established before
winter," an authority says. "Such plants will bloom the next year.
Aquilegias often die out after their second year, although they are
classed as perennials, and should therefore be treated as biennials and
raised annually from seed. Seed is produced in abundance and should
be sown as soon as ripe in a shady place in the garden, or in pans in
a cold frame, care being taken to sow the seed very thinly. When the
seedlings are large enough to handle they should be lifted and planted
out in their permanent quarters. Aquilegias growing in a garden are
almost invariably cross-fertilized; and it is therefore necessary,
where more than one variety is in bloom at the same time, to procure
the seed from some other dependable source."
COWSLIP. This flower needs a rich, light soil, not dry. Its small,
yellow cup-like flowers with ruby spots in the center blossom in
the late April and late May. It grows to six or twelve inches and
prefers half-shade. It must be protected in the winter. Propagate by
seed. Cowslips make a charming border plant and are happy, also, in
rock-gardens.
CROCUS SATIVUS, the beautiful purple flower that blooms in autumn,
should be planted near trees. "The cultivation of the garden crocus
is so simple a matter that the merest novice may plant the bulbs with
the assurance that he, or she, will reap a bright reward in the near
future, provided the burrowing mouse and flower-picking sparrow do not
interfere with nature. Crocuses may be propagated from seed sown as
soon as ripe in light, sandy soil in pans, or pots. They reach their
flowering stage in three years."
CROW-FLOWERS. Some authorities, as we have seen, identify crow-flowers
as the buttercup; others, as _Scilla nutans_. The buttercup is easy to
raise in almost any soil. As it should be represented, it is well to
put it in the rock-garden. See Harebell.
CROWN-IMPERIAL. This plant, which the people of Shakespeare's time
valued so highly, is rare in our gardens. The popularity of the flower
decreased because of its unpleasant odor; but no Shakespeare garden can
be without at least one representative because of _Perdita's_ words.
The Crown-Imperial is a very showy plant and makes a splendid effect if
planted in groups. It also looks well among shrubs and in a border. The
blossoms appear in March, April, and May, and are very handsome as to
shape and color. The bell-shaped flowers, orange-red or reddish-orange,
droop gracefully beneath an upright crown of leaves. When the foliage
turns brown, the plant can be cut down. Propagate by offsets in deep,
rich, well-drained soil, and divide every two or three years.
CUCKOO-FLOWERS (_Lychnis Flos cuculi_), or the Ragged-Robin, with its
deeply cut petals of rich blue, makes a pretty border plant as it is an
abundant bloomer. (See page 214.)
CUPID'S FLOWER. See Pansy.
DAFFODILS do better in half-shade than in full sunlight. The earlier
the buds can be procured and planted the better: August is none too
soon.
"Late planted bulbs must necessarily lose much of their vigor by
being kept out of the ground too long, and the longer the period of
root-growth the stronger the flower-spikes. As regards soil one that
is fairly retentive of moisture is more suited to the requirements
than a light staple that soon dries up. They should be covered to the
depth of one and a half times the depth of the bulb measured from base
to shoulder. A bulb two inches deep can be covered to a depth of three
inches, and so on in proportion. In light soil the bulbs should be
placed a little deeper and in heavy soil not quite so deep."
DAISY. In the spring florists have plenty of English daisies to sell in
little pots. Propagate by seed in spring or division in September. This
daisy is pink and white; the little rays tipped with pink sometimes
almost cover the yellow center. The plant requires rich soil and plenty
of sunshine. It blooms in mid-April to mid-June and grows to a height
of three to six inches. The daisy must be protected in the winter. It
is most desirable for borders and makes a charming edging.
DIAN'S BUD, _Artemesia_, or wormwood, is a bushy foliage plant of small
globe-shaped, drooping flowers of whitish yellow. The leaves are finely
divided. Propagate by division. This grows in a poor soil and likes
sunshine.
FENNEL, though regarded as a weed, can be utilized so that it makes
a decorative appearance, for its foliage is light and a brilliant
green. The tiny flowers are yellow and grow in flat-tipped clusters
on branching stalks. They blossom in July. The plant rises to a good
height and prefers rich, deep, open soil and plenty of sunlight. Plant
fresh seeds and make the plants grow in bold groups.
FERNS are effective planted in pots, jars, or tubs, and look well at
the sides of the steps and on the newel-posts of the steps. They look
well in a rock-garden.
FLOWER-DE-LUCE (_fleur-de-lis_). There are many native American flags,
or irises; but the plants nearest to those described by Parkinson are
the _Iris florentina_, the _Iris pseudacorus_, and the great purple
Turkey flag.
The _Iris florentina_ grows from one to two feet, blooms in May and
June, with large, delicately scented white flowers tinted blue and
streaked with purple veins and having orange-yellow beards. The
fragrant rootstock is the orris-root. Propagate by division in soil not
too dry. This is an excellent border plant and prefers half-shade.
_Iris pseudacorus_ grows from one and a half to three feet and blossoms
in late May and late June. It forms luxuriant clumps, having many
stems, which bear large broad-petaled flowers, yellow veined with
brown. The leaves--long, stiff, and gray-green--are handsome. This is
a beautiful plant for the margin of water, and is very pretty around a
bird-bath. Propagate by division. This iris likes the sun.
The great purple Turkey flag will grow in either sun, or half-shade.
The height is from two to four feet. The large fragrant flowers bloom
in May, June, and July. This iris is very handsome in large groups and
in the border. Propagate by division. It is a gross feeder, but grows
well in any garden soil.
GILLIFLOWERS. See Carnations.
HAREBELL. This lovely jewel of the English woodland has drooping
bell-shaped flowers, fragrant, and blue in color. The bells hang from
tall stems. The leaves are long and grass-like. The height is from
eight to twelve inches. It is bulbous. Propagate by offsets and give it
occasionally a top dressing of manure. _Scilla nutans_ blooms in May
and June and prefers half-shade. There are varieties, white, pink, and
purple.
HOLLY should be used for hedges and ornamental bushes. Some varieties
grow very well in certain parts of the United States.
HONEYSUCKLE grows easily in any garden. It is a luxuriant creeper and
is generous with its blossoms and lavish in fragrance. Use it for
hedges and to climb over walls, arbors, trellises, gates and wire
screens.
IVY. English ivy is a climbing and trailing evergreen sub-shrub, with
beautiful large, dark-green leaves, richly veined, and of graceful
heart-shape. The flowers are inconspicuous, but the berries, almost
jet-black, are decorative. Propagate by half-ripe cuttings in rich,
damp soil and protect in winter. Ivy prefers shade. It blossoms in June
and July.
LADY'S-SMOCK (_Cardamine pretensis_) will grow in sun, or shade,
but prefers a moist soil. Propagate by division. Its blossoms are
pinkish lilac in terminal clusters and appear in June. The foliage is
deeply cut. Lady's-smocks will grow in rock-gardens and are excellent
border-plants.
LARK'S-HEELS. See Nasturtium.
LARKSPUR is a glorious flower, noble in masses of bloom and fine in
growth, highly decorative, and lasts well besides. "Delphiniums are
very easy to grow and can be planted at almost any time, but the best
seasons are early autumn and spring when new growth commences. The
great point is to plant them in rich well-dug and manured soil and
strew coal-ashes about for the reason that slugs are very partial to
these plants. Ample space must be left for full development as with
age the roots increase greatly, so that two and a half feet apart is
none too much. The plant needs a rather rich ground, for its growth
is strong. Larkspur looks well planted in the back row of the mixed
border."
LAVENDER is a precious, fragrant, hardy bush. Its sweet-smelling leaves
and blue flowers are ever welcome, whether in the border, or as a low
hedge, or standing alone. A very light soil and sunshine are essential.
Propagate by cuttings in early autumn out of doors in a sheltered,
but not shady, place and plant out when rooted, or divide in March,
planting out the rooted slips one foot apart in light soil. Lavender
may be used to beautify walks. Bushes in some sunny corner of the
garden are pretty for picturesque growth and color. Lavender can be
grouped so as to give a touch of silvery gray to the border. It permits
itself to be clipped, and it must be cared for, or it will grow twisted
and gnarled. If flower-spikes are desired, the lavender must be clipped
in autumn; if the gray leaf is all that is desired then it must be
clipped in the spring before the young twigs have begun to grow.
LILIES. The lily bed should be deep--three feet if possible,--the soil
open and porous without being light. There cannot be a better material
than sound fibrous loam with which leaf-mold has been mixed. Lilies
are rarely benefited by animal manure. The bed should be sheltered
from boisterous winds, for lilies lose half their beauty if it becomes
necessary to stake their graceful stems, and partially shaded so that
the sun does not parch the ground, or prematurely wither their dainty
petals. In times of drought the beds should be given a copious _soaking
of an hour or two's duration_.
The Madonna Lily is a great favorite and is very effective in small
clumps against a background of shrubs and in borders. Unfortunately it
is subject to disease. It is bulbous. Propagate by offsets, scales, or
very slowly by seed. It likes rich, well-dressed soil and half-shade.
Avoid contact with manure. The Madonna Lily flowers in June and July
with white blossoms.
The Martagon has much reflexed flowers on long spire-like racemes and
is light-purple with darker spots. The _Martagon dalmaticum_ grows from
six to seven feet. It has dark purple flowers. There is also a white
kind. Both are very hardy and succeed in open borders.
The _Chalcedonicum_, or Scarlet Turk's-Cap, grows from three to four
feet high and has waxy flowers of bright vermilion. This is the
_brightest_ of all lilies. It is very hardy and easy to cultivate.
Lily-of-the-Valley flourishes in the shade and also where there is a
little (but not too much) sunlight. It thrives beneath shade trees
and near a wall. _Room for development it must have_; otherwise it
becomes crowded to such an extent that the plants deteriorate and
fail to bloom. The Lily-of-the-Valley should be planted in September
or October. Prepare the soil by deep digging and mix in a plentiful
supply of decayed manure. Leaf-soil and road sweepings may be added to
heavy soil. Plant crowns about three inches apart to allow room for
future development. Bury the crowns just below the surface and make
them moderately firm. When all are planted mulch with rolled manure and
leaf-soil in equal parts, covering the bed to a depth of two inches.
LONG PURPLES. This Arum, being a plant of the woods, does well in the
rock-garden. The best plan is to remove a Jack-in-the-Pulpit from the
woods with some of its native soil and transplant it in the garden. It
grows in shade and sun alike.
MARIGOLD. For marigolds choose a light, dry, _poor_ soil and a sunny
spot. Sow seed any time from February to June. Seeds sown in the spring
will produce flowers in June. Sow in drills ten inches apart and water
moderately. Thin the seedlings and remove into rows ten inches apart.
In rich soil the plant grows too large and fails to blossom well. H. H.
Thomas in "The Complete Gardener" says:
"The ordinary reader understands Marigold to refer to the French,
African and Pot Marigolds. The botanical name _Calendula_ is said to
imply that the plant keeps pace with the calendar. In other words that
it is nearly always in bloom. And really this is not very far from the
truth. Once introduce the Pot Marigold into your garden and you will
rarely be without flowers. It is hardy and seeds itself very freely.
Seed may be sown out of doors where the plants are to bloom, choosing
for preference poor ground, otherwise the plants will grow freely
enough, but blooms will be scarce."
The French marigold is deep yellow, orange, or pale yellow striped or
marked with brown, and crinkled. It grows from twelve to fifteen inches
high. "The Gentleman's Labyrinth" gives quaint instructions for the
growth of the Marigold:
"The seeds of this flower are commonly bestowed in a husbandly and
well-dressed earth, but this rather done by the counsel of the skilful
in the increase of the Moon, whereby the flowers may grow the bigger
and broader. But to procure the flowers to grow the doubler, bigger and
broader the owner ought to remove the plants and set them in new beds,
lying in sunny places herein considering at those times of removing
that the Moon be increasing so nigh as you can. These, after certain
leaves spring up, if they be often removed and clipped by the course
of the Moon, yield a better, broader and fairer flower, and they yield
always more flowers in the harvest than in the spring time."
MARJORAM is a branching plant with flowers in clusters, purplish pink.
Propagate by seed and division in early spring in any garden soil.
Sweet marjoram must be treated as an annual, for winter kills it. The
leaves are deliciously fragrant and are useful in cookery.
MINT (_Mentha spicata_, spearmint) has purplish flowers that bloom in
July and August. These blossoms appear in slender spikes. The leaves
have a pleasant taste and are used for flavoring. Spearmint will grow
in any ordinary soil, but it likes the sun. It grows from one to two
feet high.
_Mentha rotundifolia_ has round leaves, variegated, and pale yellow
flowers that appear in June and July. Propagate by division. The height
is from one to two feet. The flowers are unimportant; but the foliage
is sufficiently interesting to use as an edging, and this variety is
useful to cover waste places.
MONK'S-HOOD has large showy helmet-shaped flowers of deep purple-blue
growing on racemes on erect stems. The leaves are deeply cut. The plant
is suited to borders and rough places. Propagate by division in rich
soil. Monk's-hood likes sun or shade. It blooms in late summer or early
autumn. The roots and flowers are poisonous. It grows from three to
four feet.
MYRTLE (_Myrtus latifolia_). This plant has charming foliage and pure
white flowers. Both leaves and flowers are fragrant. The fragrance
of the foliage is caused by an oil, which is secreted in the leaves.
Myrtle is quite hardy. Propagate by cuttings, or partially ripened
shoots. Myrtle looks well in large pots.
NASTURTIUM. _Tropæolum_ is the botanical name, meaning trophy, for the
leaves suggest a buckler and the flowers a helmet. Treat as a hardy
annual. Sow seeds in the spring. Nasturtium is a splendid climber over
rocks, stones, or latticework, and a prolific bloomer.
OXLIP. Propagate by fresh seed, divisions, or cuttings in rich, light
soil, not dry. _Protect in winter._ The oxlip grows from eight to
twelve inches and likes half-shade. It resembles the primrose, but has
larger flowers. These open in May and are yellow. The leaves are broad
and flat and wrinkled.
PANSY. Heart's-ease and Johnny-Jump-Up are other names for the
_Viola tricolor_, which has a wonderful length of blossoming, for
the flowers continue from mid-April to mid-September. The flowers
must be constantly picked, or the plant deteriorates. This precious
little plant is very easy to raise, provided it is protected from the
noonday sun. Propagate by seed or division in any garden soil, and in
half-shade or morning sunlight. Protect it from the hot noon-day sun.
Pansies look well in a bed by themselves and make a beautiful border
plant.
PINKS. See Carnations.
POMEGRANATE is a highly decorative shrub, particularly the beautiful
double scarlet variety (_Punica rubrum florepleno_), which flowers in
August. Plant cutting in a big pot, jar, or tub, or buy plants. Stand
these plants in pairs in some conspicuous place in the garden and they
will add great elegance.
POPPY. The common garden herbaceous poppy flowers in May and June, in
sun or half-shade, rising from two to three feet. It has large flowers
and handsome divided foliage. For a Shakespeare garden select the
white. Propagate by dividing in early autumn. The poppy is a gross
feeder and likes rather moist loam enriched with cow manure.
PRIMROSE. This flower blooms from mid-April to mid-June. It has several
solitary pale yellow blossoms on naked stem. It grows from six to nine
inches high. _Protect in winter._ Propagate by seeds and offsets in
rich, light soil, not dry.
ROSE. "How to plant a rose may seem a simple matter, but many have
laid the foundation of failure through bad planting," writes a rose
cultivator. "Never plant in a very wet soil, nor allow crude manures
to come into direct contact with the roots. See that the roots are
spread out properly and naturally, not pressed into a small hole and
cramped or distorted from the first. Plant dwarf kinds two inches
deeper than the junction of the rose and stock, and standards three
inches below the original root. To place a small grower side by side
with one of three or four times the strength is a great mistake; the
weaker grower has no chance whatever. For medium growers three feet is
a good distance, while plants of greater vigor will need to be from
four feet to six feet apart. Do not plant _against_ a wall; but leave
some four or six inches between the wall and the base of the plant. It
should not be difficult to obtain the roses familiar to Shakespeare.
The old Hundred-Leaved and Damask are easy to procure. The _Rosa alba_,
or white rose, has two familiar varieties called "Maiden's Blush" and
"Madame Plantier."
[Illustration: KNOTS FROM MARKHAM]
[Illustration: SIMPLE GARDEN BEDS]
The Musk-Rose may give some trouble, but E. T. Cook gives us a good
clue as well as instructions for growing it. He says:
"These are very old roses, certainly known in England three hundred
years ago. The flowers are insignificant individually, but collectively
are pleasing and appear late in August. They require good culture,
and very little, if any, pruning. As pillar roses they are seen at
their best. 'Fringed' is very pretty and strikes freely from cuttings.
Its color is white shaded sulphur. All the Musk-Roses have a peculiar
musk-like odor, but this is distilled only on still damp mornings or
evenings. 'Eliza Verry' is white, very free, the flowers appearing
in large corymbs. 'Rivers Musk' is a pretty pink variety, well worth
cultivating. Of the Hybrid Musks the 'Garland' is of rampant growth. It
has immense corymbs of tiny white flowers with innumerable little buff
colored buds, peering out among them. 'Madame d' Arblay' is another.
'Nivea' is a beautiful kind for a pergola, or fence."
The "Noisette" is also a hybrid musk, named for a French gardener of
Charleston, South Carolina, who took the seed from the musk-rose in
1817.
There is a difference between the Eglantine, or Sweetbrier, and the
Dog-rose, although they are difficult to distinguish.
"The 'Dog Rose' sends up long arching branches some six to nine feet
high and perhaps more; the 'Sweetbrier' is content with branches three
or four feet in length. And whereas in the 'Dog Rose' the branch
continues single the 'Sweetbrier' sends out side growths, or branchlets
quickly forming a dense bush. Note also the prickles. To a certain
extent they are stout and hooked like those of the 'Dog Rose,' but
more irregularly placed. On the young root-shoots there is a marked
difference, for whilst on the 'Sweetbrier' this young growth is covered
with _setæ_, some of them very small, tipped with glands, in the 'Dog
Rose' they are totally absent."[96]
[96] Pemberton, "Roses" (London, 1908).
ROSEMARY. Tender, aromatic sub-shrub with small flowers in short
racemes. Propagate by seeds, cuttings, or layers in dry, light soil.
The flowers are purple and bluish. Rosemary is valued in cookery as
a flavoring. It can be allowed to wander all over the garden. It was
always a favorite border-plant in old-fashioned gardens.
RUE. The "herb of grace" is not very pretty. It has much divided
leaves and panicles of small fragrant flowers, yellowish-green, or
greenish-yellow. Propagate by seed and division. Rue needs a sheltered
position and protection in winter. Its height is about two feet.
SAVORY. Sow in open ground at the end of March, or early April, in
light, rich soil. Thin the seedlings moderately; they may remain where
they are, or be transplanted. Sown along the outside of beds, savory
makes a good edging. It is useful in cookery.
SWEET BALM. _Melissa officinalis_ is the botanical name. Sweet balm is
loved for its fragrance. The yellowish white flowers bloom in June,
July, and August. It grows about two feet and loves the sun. Propagate
by seed and division.
SWEET-WILLIAM is a valuable little garden plant, for it blooms
profusely in June and July and is vigorous and rapidly spreading. The
flowers are in double clusters, pink, white, red, and party-colored,
single and double. Propagate by seed in any soil. See Carnations.
THYME. This aromatic herb is of dense growth with small, pale-lilac
flowers in terminal spikes. Its pale, bright-green foliage makes it an
attractive creeper for banks. Thyme also grows well in a rock-garden
and makes a good border-plant also. Propagate by seed and division. The
plant grows in any soil. It attains a height of from one to two inches
and blossoms in June and July. Every one knows the value of dried thyme
for flavoring in cookery.
VIOLETS prefer shady places. They are at home in the rock-garden, and
they are very charming if planted on a little bank. They can be sown on
the grassy slope of a terrace. In that case, let them come up of their
own sweet will. The graceful heart-shaped leaves of the _Viola odorata_
and its purple blossoms that open in late April and May are known and
loved by every one. Propagate by seed or division, selecting a loose,
rich, sandy soil.
XXII
_Potpourri_
As the ladies of Shakespeare's time were so fond of making _potpourri_,
I think it may be of value to place here an old recipe, which any one
who has a garden can follow:
"Many fragrant flowers and leaves can be used in the making of
an old-fashioned bowl of _potpourri_. Those usually employed are
rose-petals, lavender, lemon-plant, verbena, myrtle, rosemary, bay,
mignonette, violets, pinks and syringa. Thyme, mint and other sweet
herbs should be used, if available. Shred the larger leaves and dry
all in the sun. Mix an ounce of orris-root, allspice, bay-salt and
cloves and mix freely with about twelve handfuls of the dried petals
and leaves and store in a jar, or bowl. A small quantity of essence
of lemon and spirits of lavender may be added, but are not necessary.
Should the mixture become too moist, add more powdered orris-root."
A MASKE OF FLOWERS
A MASKE OF FLOWERS
IT seems to me that nothing more appropriate could be placed here as an
epilogue to this book on the Shakespeare garden than the contemporary
description of "A Maske of Flowers by the Gentlemen of Gray's Inn at
Whitehall on Twelfth Night, 1613, being the last of the solemnities
and magnificences which were performed at the marriage of the Earl
of Somerset and Lady Frances, daughter of the Earl of Suffolk, Lord
Chamberlain."
This was printed in 1614; and I have quoted it from the "History of
Gardening in England" by the Hon. Alicia Amherst (London, 1895), who
copied it from a very rare original.
This description not only presents a perfect picture of a Shakespearian
garden but will be a revelation to those persons who think that only
crude stage-setting existed in Elizabethan and Jacobean days. Although
elaborate stage-setting was restricted to private entertainments, the
designers of the period knew how to produce splendid effects. There
is nothing more elaborate in the theater today than this ornate and
brilliantly lighted scene:
"When the Dance ended, the loud music sounded. The curtains being
drawn was seen a Garden of a glorious and strange beauty, cast into
four Quarters with a cross-walk and alleys compassing each Quarter. In
the middle of the cross-walk stood a goodly Fountain, raised on four
columns of silver. On the tops whereof strode four statues of silver
which supported a bowl in circuit containing four and twenty foot and
was raised from the ground nine foot in height, in the middle whereof,
upon scrolls of silver and gold, was placed a globe garnished with four
golden mask heads, out of which issued water into the bowl; above stood
a golden Neptune, in height three foot, holding in his hand a trident.
"The Garden walls were of brick, artificially painted in perspective,
all along which were placed fruit-trees with artificial leaves and
fruits. The Garden within the walls was railed about with rails of
three foot high, adorned with balusters of silver, between which
were placed pedestals beautified with transparent lights of variable
colors. Upon the pedestals stood silver columns, upon the tops whereof
were personages of gold, lions of gold and unicorns of silver. Every
personage and beast did hold a torchet burning, that gave light and
luster to the whole fabric.
"Every Quarter of the Garden was finely hedged about with a low hedge
of cypress and juniper; the Knots within set with artificial flowers.
In the two first Quarters were two Pyramids, garnished with gold and
silver and glittering with transparent lights resembling carbuncles,
sapphires and rubies.
"In every corner of each Quarter were great pots of gilliflowers which
shadowed certain lights placed behind them and made resplendent and
admirable luster. The two farther Quarters were beautified with tulips
of divers colors, and in the middle and in the corners of the said
Quarters were set great tufts of several kinds of flowers receiving
luster from secret lights placed behind them.
"At the farther end of the Garden was a Mount, raised by degrees
resembling banks of earth covered with grass. On the top of the Mount
stood a goodly Arbor, substantially made and covered with artificial
trees and with arbor flowers such as eglantine, honeysuckles and the
like. The Arbor was in length three and thirty foot, in height one and
twenty, supported with termes of gold and silver. It was divided into
six arches and three doors answerable to the three walks of the Garden.
"In the middle of the Arbor rose a goodly large turret and at either
end a smaller. Upon the top of the Mount in the front thereof was a
bank of flowers, curiously painted behind, while within the arches the
maskers sat unseen.
"Behind the Garden, over the top of the Arbor, were set artificial
trees appearing like an Orchard joining to the Garden; and over all was
drawn in perspective a Firmament like the skies in a clear night. Upon
a grassy seat under the Arbor sat the Garden Gods in number twelve,
apparrelled in long robes of green rich taffeta, caps on their heads
and chaplets of flowers. In the midst of them sat Primaura, at whose
entreaty they descended to the stage, and, marching up to the King,
sung to lutes and theorbos."[97]
[97] The tenor lute.
COMPLETE LIST OF SHAKESPEARIAN FLOWERS
WITH BOTANICAL IDENTIFICATIONS
Anemone (_Anemone purpurea striata stellata_).
Box (_Buxus sempervirens_).
Broom-flower (_Cytisus scoparius_).
Camomile (_Anthemis nobilis_).
Carnation (_Dianthus caryophyllus_).
Columbine (_Aquilegia vulgaris_).
Cowslip (_Paralysis vulgaris pratensis_).
Crocus (_Crocus verus sativus autumnalis_).
Crow-flower (_Scilla nutans_).
Crown-imperial (_Fritillaria imperalis_).
Cuckoo-buds (_Ranunculus_).
Cuckoo-flowers (_Lychnis Flos cuculi_).
Daffodil (_Narcissus pseudo-narcissus_).
Daisy (_Bellis perennis_).
Diana's-bud (_Artemesia_).
Fennel (_Fœniculum vulgare_).
Fern (_Pteris aquilina_).
Flower-de-luce (_Iris pseudacorus_).
Gilliflower (_Caryophyllus major_).
Harebell (_Scilla nutans_).
Holly (_Ilex aquifolium_).
Honeysuckle (_Lonicera perfolium_).
Ivy (_Hedera helix_).
Lady-smocks (_Cardamine pratensis_).
Lark's-heels, Nasturtium.
Larkspur (_Delphinium_).
Lavender (_Lavendula spica_).
Lily (_Lilium candidum_).
Long purples (_Arum masculata_).
Marigold (_Calendula officinalis_).
Marjoram (_Origanum vulgare_).
Mint (_Mentha_).
Mistletoe (_Viscum album_).
Monks-hood (_Aconitum Napellus_).
Myrtle (_Myrtus latifolia_).
Oxlip (_Primula eliator_).
Pansy (_Viola tricolor_).
Pomegranate (_Punica_).
Poppy (_Papaver somniferum_).
Primrose (_Primula vulgaris_).
Rose (_Rosa_).
Rosemary (_Rosmarinus officinalis_).
Rue (_Ruta graveolus_).
Savory (_Satureia_).
Sweet Balm (_Melissa officinalis_).
Thyme (_Thymus serpyllum_).
Violet (_Viola odorata_).
APPENDIX
ELIZABETHAN GARDEN AT SHAKESPEARE'S
BIRTHPLACE
TWO reports made in the spring of 1920, one by Frederick C. Wellstood,
secretary and librarian of the Trustees and Guardians of Shakespeare's
Birthplace, and the other by Ernest Law, C.B., one of the trustees,
will doubtless be of interest to the reader. They have been made
available through the courtesy of Mr. Law.
Mr. Wellstood, writing on Easter, 1920, in his report says:
"The appeal of the Trustees and Guardians of Shakespeare's Birthplace,
&c. issued three months ago, for gifts of Elizabethan plants and
flowers, wherewith to stock his 'Great Garden' at Stratford-upon-Avon,
has had a very gratifying response. The King and Queen, Queen Alexandra
and the Prince of Wales, have graciously interested themselves in the
project, and have given practical support by valuable contributions of
old-fashioned roses and other flowers.
"From the gardens of all the Royal Palaces, which were known to
Shakespeare, ample parcels of the same sorts of flowers as grew in
them when he visited them have been forwarded to Stratford-upon-Avon.
Thus, from Greenwich, where we know that he appeared as an actor
before Queen Elizabeth at Christmas, 1594; from Windsor, where his
Company performed before the same Queen--probably in "The Merry Wives
of Windsor"--as well as from Frogmore, which that play proves his
acquaintance with; from Hampton Court--out of the Old Tudor Garden,
'circum-mured with brick,' which he must have visited when he and his
fellows of the 'King's Company of Actors' spent ten days there during
the Christmastide of 1603-4, presenting six plays before King James and
his Court--from the gardens of all these places large consignments of
plants have reached Shakespeare's Garden.
"From Wilton, likewise, where Shakespeare and his Company first acted
before King James, a large number of specimens of every plant and
flower wanted by the Trustees, has been sent by the present owner--the
lineal descendant of the one, and the kinsman and representative of
the other, of the two 'most noble and incomparable Paire of Brethren,
William Earle of Pembroke and Philip Earle of Montgomery ... who
prosequuted the Author living with so much favor'--to quote the words
of the famous 'First Folio,' which was dedicated to them.
"Similarly, from the gardens of other places, which Shakespeare must
have known well, have come very welcome gifts, notably from Charlecote,
close to Stratford--the beautiful home of the Lucys for 750 years,
where Shakespeare is said when a youth to have poached the deer of Sir
Thomas Lucy, who had him whipped for his offense--whence now comes a
charming collection of the poet's favorite flowers from the direct
lineal descendant and heiress of the original 'Justice Shallow.'
"The trustees have also received choice batches of old-fashioned
flowers from the gardens of medieval Castles mentioned in the
plays--Glamis and Cawdor, for instance--and some which were probably
well known to Shakespeare, such as Berkeley Castle; and from the great
Tudor houses also, which he knew well, at any rate by repute, such
as Knole, Burghley House, and Cobham Hall. The owner of Cobham Hall
sends specimens of the famous 'Cobham' Rose, known to have been grown
in the garden there for four or five hundred years. From Esher Place
also--the 'Aster House' of 'King Henry VIII'--come many beautiful
flowers and herbs.
"The sentiment, which has prompted such generosity, has equally
appealed to many possessors of more modern gardens; while the
authorities of Kew Gardens, regarding the scheme as one of national
concern, have cordially aided the Trustees both with counsel and with
contributions.
"Last, but by no means least, are the many small gifts from quite small
gardens, even of cottagers; while, in some ways, the most pleasing of
all, are the subscriptions from school children of some of the poorest
districts in the East End of London--for instance, of the Mansford
Street Central, and Pritchard's Road Schools, Bethnal Green--for the
purchase of favorite flowers of the dramatist, whose plays they have so
often witnessed with delight at the 'Old Vic.' and elsewhere.
"Thus, effect has been given to a prime desire of the Trustees, that as
large as possible a number of people in every section of the community
should be associated with this tribute to Shakespeare's memory.
"Most of the plants needful to furnish forth Shakespeare's garden
in the style of his own time have been forthcoming in sufficient
quantities--yet there are some important gaps still to be supplied.
These are:--Box, dwarf Box, both the ordinary and the 'Gilded' variety;
Thrift; Thyme, the Golden and Glaucous, as well as the Wild; and that
pretty herb, known under its simple old English name as 'Lavender
Cotton.' Of all of these, thousands of plants are still needed.
Similarly of Pinks, 'Streaked Gillyflowers'; 'Spike Lavender'; and of
Pansies--'Love in Idleness,'--pale and dark 'purple with Love's wound.'
Of 'Eglantine'--Sweet Briar--a few scores would be very welcome.
"Such shortages are mainly due to the large quantities of these plants
required for the purpose of filling the intricate-patterned beds of
the 'Curious Knotted Garden.' That kind of garden was an invariable
adjunct to every house of importance in Shakespeare's time, and the
Trustees are laying one out on what is believed to be the exact site of
the poet's own 'knotted garden,' modeling it on the designs printed in
the contemporary books on gardening--the designs being followed with a
fidelity and completeness unattempted, it is believed, for two hundred
and eighty years. At the same time, suggestions have naturally been
sought in Bacon's famous Essay 'On Gardens.'..."
SHAKESPEARE'S GARDEN RESTORED
Mr. Law's report, which is dated "Shakespeare's Birthday, A. D. 1920,"
says:
"The project of laying out the ground attached to Shakespeare's home in
his later years as an Elizabethan garden, to be stocked with all the
old-fashioned flowers mentioned by him in his plays or well known in
his time, first took practical shape last winter.
THE LONG BORDERS
"The first step was to lay out the long, narrow strip of ground by
the side of the wall parallel with Chapel Lane as a border for summer
and autumn flowers--hollyhocks, canterbury-bells, lupins, larkspurs,
crown imperials, lilies, and so on. As a background for these--and also
to hide the ugly, cast-iron railings that disfigure the top of the
wall--there was planted a row of yew trees. This border of some 300
feet long has been treated in the formal fashion of the olden time ...
being divided into compartments, separated by 'buttresses' supporting
'pillars' or 'columns' surmounted by 'balls.'
"On the path side the beds are edged with box--'dwarfe boxe, of
excellent use to border up a knott or long beds in a garden.'
"The beds ranging with these, on the other side of the gravel walk,
are at present entirely occupied with spring flowers--largely gifts,
like the others, from contributors all over the kingdom. In the summer
they will be furnished with the low-growing flowers known to the
gardeners of the early years of James the First's reign--carnations,
'our streaked gillyvors,' pansies, stocks, fox-gloves, sweet-williams,
snapdragons, and so on....
THE WILD BANK OF HEATH
"At the eastern or lower end of the garden the aim has been to carry
out, so far as the space available admits, Bacon's idea, expressed
in his famous essay 'Of Gardens,' of a 'heath or desert, in the
going forth, framed, as much as may be, to a natural wildness.' With
this object, there has been thrown up an irregular bank, whereon
have already been planted most of the flowers and herbs mentioned by
Shakespeare in his writings; and where, it is hoped, every species
known in his time will eventually find a place.
"In doing this the great natural philosopher's precepts have been
faithfully followed, modified by hints derived from the greater poet.
'Some thickets,' says Bacon, 'I would have made only in sweetbriar
(eglantine) and honeysuckle (woodbine); and the ground set with
violets and primroses (oxlips); for these be sweet and prosper in the
shade.' This has been done: and with wild thyme--many square yards of
it--added, and also musk-roses--a few procured with great difficulty,
so unaccountably neglected are they in our too-pretentious modern
gardens--they will form here, in effect, Titania's Bower--
"I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers, with dances and delight.
"Bacon, of course, often witnessed the performances of Shakespeare's
plays at Court, as well as in the public theaters; and reminiscent
echoes of that beautiful passage were probably ringing in his ears when
he penned the sentences quoted above.
"With passages in plays other than 'The Dream,' Bacon has also
parallels. His essay happens to have been published exactly twelve
months after the production of 'A Winter's Tale' at Court, and in
his somewhat arid enumeration therein of the seasonal succession of
flowering plants, we seem to hear echoes of those exquisite verses in
Perdita's speeches--the most beautiful expression of the intimate love
of flowers in all literature--
"... Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried ere they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength.
"'For March,' writes Bacon, 'there come violets, especially the single
blue, which are the earliest ... and which, above all other flowers,
yields the sweetest smell in the air; also the yellow daffodil.'
'Lilies of all sorts, the flowre-de-luce being one,' says Perdita.
'Flower-de-Luces, and lilies of all natures,' echoes Bacon.
"Near the Wild Bank later on there may, perhaps, be planted some of
those specimens of the topiary art, which were so general in Jacobean
gardens. Even Bacon would admit them into his 'Princely Garden.'
'Little low hedges (of box or yew),' he writes, 'round like welts, with
some pretty pyramids, I like well, and in some places fair columns.'
But he would confine them to geometric patterns: 'I, for my part, do
not like images cut out in juniper or other garden stuff, they be for
children.' But then Shakespeare had children and grandchildren; and,
besides, many children of the present day will visit his garden, much
taken, we may be sure, with such curious devices, and delighting in our
simple sweet old English flowers--very few of them, it is to be hoped,
serious little prigs, bursting with botany....
THE "KNOTT GARDEN"
"It is now necessary to say a few words about the 'Knott Garden'--an
enclosure which, being an invariable adjunct to every house of
importance in Shakespeare's time, is the most essential part of the
reconstruction, on Elizabethan lines, of the ground about New Place. It
need not, however, engage us long: for M. Forestier's beautiful drawing
of it represents it as it is to be, better than any amount of wordy
description.
"The whole is closely modeled on the designs and views shown in the
contemporary books on gardening; and for every feature there is
unimpeachable warrant. The enclosing palisade--a very favorite device
of the Jacobean gardeners--of Warwickshire oak, cleft, is exactly
copied from the one in the famous tapestry of the 'Seven Deadly Sins'
at Hampton Court. And here again Bacon's advice has been useful:
'The garden is best to be square, encompassed on all four sides with
a stately arched hedge, the arches on pillars of carpenter's work,
of some 10 foot high, and 6 foot broad.' The 'tunnel,' or 'pleachéd
bower, where honeysuckles, ripened by the sun, forbid the sun to
enter'--follows ancient models, especially the one shown in the old
contemporary picture in New Place Museum.
"The dwarf wall, of old-fashioned bricks--hand-made, sun-dried,
sand-finished, with occasional 'flarers,' laid in the Tudor bond, with
wide mortar joints--is based on similar ones, still extant, of the
period. The balustrade is identical, in its smallest details, with one
figured in Didymus Mountain's 'Gardener's Labyrinth,' published in
1577--a book Shakespeare must certainly have consulted when laying out
his own Knott Garden. The paths are to be of old stone from Wilmcote,
the home of Shakespeare's mother. The intricate, interlacing patterns
of the Knott beds--'the Knottes so enknotted it cannot be expressed,'
as Cavendish says of Wolsey's garden--are taken, one from Mountain's
book; two from Gervase Markham's 'Country Housewife's Garden' (1613);
and one from William Lawson's 'New Orchard and Garden' (1618); and
they are composed, as enjoined by those authorities, of box, thrift,
lavender-cotton, and thyme, with their inter-spaces filled in with
flowers.
ROYAL ROSES FOR THE KNOTTED BEDS
"In one point the Trustees have been able to 'go one better' than
Shakespeare in his own 'curious knotted garden'--to use his own
expression in 'Love's Labour's Lost.' For neither King James, nor his
Queen, Anne of Denmark, nor Henry Prince of Wales sent him--so far as
we know--any flowers for his garden. On his 356th birthday, however,
there will be planted four old-fashioned English rose-trees--one in
the center of each of the four 'knotted' beds--from King George, Queen
Mary, Queen Alexandra, and the Prince of Wales. Surely Shakespeare,
could he have known it, would have been touched by this tribute!
"They will be planted by Lady Fairfax-Lucy, the heiress of Charlecote,
and the direct lineal descendant of the Sir Thomas Lucy whose deer he
is said to have poached, and who is supposed to have had him whipped
for his offense, and who is believed to be satirized in the character
of 'Justice Shallow.' This also might well have moved him!
"Here, in the restored 'Knott Garden,' as everywhere in the grounds
about New Place, flowers--Shakespeare's Flowers--will clothe and
wreathe and perfume everything, all else being merely devised to set
them off--musk-roses, climbing-roses, crab-apples, wild cherries,
clematis, honeysuckle, sweetbriar, and many more.
"By next year, the Trustees expect to have some 200,000 individual
plants--including, of course, the crocuses, 'bold oxlips,' 'nodding
violets,' 'winking marybuds,' 'pale primroses,' and 'azured harebells,'
on the wild bank and lawn--decking, in succession through the months,
the ground whereon the poet trod, their millions of blossoms, with
every breath of air doing reverence, waving banners of gorgeous hue,
and flinging the incense of their delicious fragrance in homage to the
memory of William Shakespeare."
INDEX
A
Absinthe, 246
Acacia, 35
Acanthus, 22
Aconite, 199, 248, 249
Aconitum napellus, 248
Adonis, 133
Adonis Flower, 136
Æneas, 261
Affectionate Shepherd, The, 49
Albion, 148
Aldine Press, 15
Aldrich, Thomas B., quoted, 163-164
Allen, Grant, quoted, 139-140
All's Well That Ends Well, 230, 237
Alleys, 59-61
Amadis, de Gaul, 4
Amarakos, 238
Amaranth, 22
Amaryllis, 166
Amiens, 257
Anemone, 22, 36, 80, 133-136, 303
Anemone purpurea striata stellata, 133
Anglo-Saxons, 6
Anglo-Saxons, gardens of, 6-7
Annunciation Lily, 165, 166, 267
Anne Page, 243
Anthemis nobilis, 244
Apothecary, 31
Appius and Virginia, quoted, 234
Aquilegia vulgaris, 137
Arbor, 20, 48-49, 281
Arbors, flowers for, 82
Arcadia, quoted, 28
Arches, 283
Architects, Elizabethan, 23
Ariel, 101
Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 189
Artemis, 247
Artemisia, 246
Assur-wood, 265
As You Like It, song from, 257
Attar of Rose, 159
Auricula, 22
Artichoke, 149
Arum, 209
Arum masculata, 209
Arviragus, 97
Asphodels, 113, 166
Autolycus, 109, 152
B
Babar, garden of, 19-20
Babar, quoted, 20
Bacchus, 259
Bachelor's Buttons, 22, 83
Bacon, Francis, 35, 56, 125, 148, 249
Bacon, Francis, quoted, 44-45, 55-56, 64-66, 285
Bagh-i-Vafa, 19-20
Banquetting-house, 63, 82
Barnfield, quoted, 49-50
Basil, 14
Bastard Daffodils, 110
Battle of Marathon, 236
Bay, Dwarf, 83
Bay, Red, 82
Bay-Tree, 17
Bear's ears, 80, 100
Bear's foot, 62
Beatrice, 49, 178
Beaufort House, 21
Beds, 20, 41, 42, 47-48
Bee-plants, 240-243
Bees, 240
Belides, 119
Bellis, 119
Bellis perennis, 118
Benedick, 49, 178
Ben Jonson, 29, 136
Ben Jonson, quoted, 249
Bion, quoted, 134
Birds, 10, 64, 69, 75, 287-288
Birds Eyen, 107
Blonde of Oxford, 4, 12
Bloom, quoted, 38-39, 208-209
Blue Flowers, 139, 140, 198, 250-252
Blue Helmet Flower, 199, 250-252
Blue Pipe Flower, 35
Boar's Head, 226
Boccaccio, 16
Borde, Andrew, 287
Border-plant, 245
Borders, 9, 78, 295-297
Botticelli, 93, 94, 219
Bottom the Weaver, 148, 257
Bowling Alleys, 67, 74, 281
Box, 264-266, 293, 297, 303
Box-tree, 15
Broom (genesta), 22, 143-144, 303
Browne, quoted, 47-48, 49, 122, 136
Browning, 236
Buckingham House, 21
Burleigh, Lord, gardens of, 27, 51, 33
Burns, 121
Buttercup, 132, 208, 232, 252
Buxus sempervirens, 264
C
Calendula, 192
Calendula officinalis, 189
Call-Me-to-You, 202
Caltha, 192
Camomile, 74, 295, 244-246, 303
Campions, 83
Cantabrigia Illustrata, 301
Canterbury Bells, 131
Cardamine pratensis, 130
Carew, Thomas, quoted, 98-99
Carnations, 30, 35, 53, 84-85, 181-189, 199, 298, 304-305
Carol, Boar's Head, 226
Carols, 255-256, 258
Carraway, 14
Carthaginian Apple, 218
Cary, Walter, 34
Caryophyllus, 182
Cecil, Sir Robert, 22
Celandine, Lesser, 132
Century Book of Gardening, 302
Cerberus, 249
Ceres, 116, 218
Chalcedonian Lily, 162
Chaucer, 12, 101, 119, 121, 181, 191, 256
Cheese Bowl, 203
Cher feu, 179
Chèvre feuille, 179
Chives, 14
Christmas, 225, 253-255
Christmas Carols, 255-256
Christmas Flower, 81
Circe, 228
Clematis, 49, 50, 82
Clemence Isaure, 127
Clove Gilliflower, 181
Clover, 18
Clovis, 174
Clown, 237, 264
Clyte, 194
Colin Clout, quoted, 191
Colonna, Francesco, 16
Colors, flower, 42-43, 139-140
Colors, blending of, 42-43, 46-48
Columbine, 14, 18, 84, 137-143, 232, 252, 305
Complete Gardener, The, 303
Conduits of Water, 10
Conserves, flower, 153, 187, 192, 226
Cook, E. T., quoted, 320-321
Cookery, flowers in, 14, 210, 235, 237, 241
Cordials, 187, 192
Cornflowers, 22
Corona Imperialis, 70
Corn Rose, 203
Countess of Bedford, Garden of, 56-59
Country Farm, quoted, 68, 69-72
Cowdry, 23
Cowslips, 22, 62, 73, 83, 99-100, 101-107, 306
Cowslip of Jerusalem, 14
Crispin de Passe, 301
Crocus, 79, 166, 306
Crow-bells, 209
Crow-flowers, 132, 207-209, 307
Crowfoot, 82, 209
Crowfoot, winter, 81
Crown Imperial, 36, 79, 167-172, 307
Crown of Thorns, 154
Cuckoo-buds, 132, 214
Cuckoo-flowers, 131, 132, 213-214, 308
Cuckoo-pint, 209, 214
Cuckoo-pintle, 209
Cuddle-Me-to-You, 202
Cuirs, 41, 290
Cupid, 159
Cupid's Flower, 202
Cyclamen, 81
Cymbeline, 98, 104, 136, 190
Cytissus scoparius, 142
D
Daffodil, Daffodils, 78-79, 109-118, 308
Daffodil (Pastoral), 113-115
Daffy-down-dilly, 113, 296
Daisy. Daisies, 7, 14, 22, 62, 84, 118-122, 207, 308
Damask Rose, 146, 147, 152-153
Dame Quickly, 102
Dandelions, 10
Deceased Maiden's Lover, quoted, 208
Delphinium, 197
De Nature Rerum, 7
Dial, 73. See Sun-dials
Diana, 160, 167, 247
Diana's Bud, 246-248, 309
Dianthus, 181
Dianthus Caryophyllus, 181
Dickens, quoted, 259
Didymus Mountain, 34, 68, 300
Didymus Mountain, quoted, 193-194, 278-280
Dobell, Sydney, quoted, 103
Dog Rose, 321
Don Armado, 138
Don Juan, 153
Door in Wall, 9, 13, 40
Dove-cote, 287
Dove-plant, 138
Drayton, Michael, quoted, 113-115, 201
Drosidae, 165-167
Druids, 261
Dryden, quoted, 121
Duke, 123
Duke of Burgundy, 103
Duke of York, 230
Dumain, 138
E
Edging, 297, 299
Edward III., 174
Eglantine, 49, 50, 74, 150-151, 178, 321
Egyptians, 134, 164, 172, 213
Elements of Architecture, 47
Elizabeth. See Queen Elizabeth
Elizabeth of Bohemia, 47
Elizabethan estates, 276
Elizabethan housewife, 53-55
Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds, 22
Ellacombe, quoted, 182-183
Elves, 243
Ely Place, gardens of, 155
Elysian Fields, 113, 116, 166, 172
Endive, 14
English flowers, 83-85
Enna, Fields of, 129
Eros, 159
Essay on Gardening (Bacon), 55
Euphues and His England, quoted, 30, 245
Europa, 129
Exeter Book, quoted, 6
F
Fair Maid of France, 214
Fair Maid of Kent, 184
Fairies, 45, 101. See Elves
Fairy Cups, 101
Fairy Flowers, 175, 239
Falernian wine, 160
Falls, 172
Falstaff, 51, 102, 201, 234, 244
Fancy Flamey, 201
Fanshaw, Sir Henry, garden of, 47
Fennel, 9, 14, 137, 234-236, 309
Fern. Ferns, 175-177, 309
Fern-seed, 175-177
Fidele, 97, 98, 136
Fiori di ogni mese, 192
Fitzherbert, 34
Five Points of Good Husbandry, 34
Flag, 81, 173, 310
Flemish Painters, Gardens of, 18
Fletcher, John, 108, 120
Fleur-de-lis, 166, 167, 173-174
Floramour, 82
Floral Games, 127
Flore et Blancheflore, 4
Flor di prima vera, 93, 94, 101
Flor di prima vera, gentile, 122
Flos Adonis, 136
Flos Africanus, 196
Flos Sanguineus, 199
Flower of Africa, 196
Flower of Ajax, 197
Flower of Bristow, 83
Flower fanciers, 33-37
Flower-gentile, 82
Flower de luce, 81, 172-174, 309-310
Flower-of-the-Sun, 82, 213
Flower of Tunis, 196
Flowers, 71-72, 296-297
Flowers, Anglo-Saxon, 7
Flowers, Care of, 37-38
Flowers, Colors of, 42-43, 139-140
Flowers, Church, 18
Flowers for decoration, 52
Flowers, English, 83-85
Flowers, Fad for, 24-25
Flowers, Fifteenth Century, 14
Flowers, funeral, 224, 225
Flowers, love of, 6
Flowers, Mediæval, 10, 14
Flowers, Medicinal, 8, 14, 31, 46, 53-55, 100, 125, 153, 156, 179,
187, 192, 226, 228, 229-230, 231, 235, 241,
244, 246, 247
Flowers, Norman, 7
Flowers, perfumes of, 43
Flowers, outlandish, 24, 32, 78-83
Flowers, seasonable, 64-68
Flowers, Tudor, 22
Flowers, wedding, 221, 225
Flowers, in wine, 129, 181, 248
Fœniculum vulgare, 234
Forest of Arden, 256
Forthrights, 41, 42, 86
Fountain of Love, 10
Fountains, 42, 63, 285-287
Franklyn's Tale, quoted, 12
Frantic Foolish Cowslip, 107
French cowslip, 80
French marigold, 196
Freya, 130, 261
Friar, 225
Friar's Cowl, 209
Fritillaria imperialis, 167
Fruits, 8, 9, 21, 65, 73
Fruit-trees, 21
G
Gadshill, 175
Garden, Babar's, 19
Garden books, 35
Garden, Burleigh's, 34
Garden, Countess of Bedford's, 56-59
Garden, Curious Knotted, 41
Garden of Delight, 3-5, 8-10, 168, 199
Garden of Eden, 222
Garden, Earl of Salisbury's, 35
Garden, Elizabethan, 23-29, 31, 40-52, 86, 88-89
Garden, Sir Henry Fanshaw's, 47
Garden of Fidelity, 19, 20
Garden, Fifteenth Century, 15-18
Garden, Gerard's, 34
Garden, Hackney, 35-36
Garden, Hampton Court Palace, 274
Garden, Henry VIII.'s, 20, 21
Garden, Hatfield, 35
Garden, Havering-atte-Bower, 26
Garden, Herb, 72
Garden, House, 281
Garden, Italian Renaissance, 15-18
Garden, Kenilworth, 275
Garden, Kitchen, 31
Garden, lay-out (small), 41, 70, 277
Garden, lay-out (stately), 41, 70, 271-276
Garden, Long Acre, garden at, 32
Garden, Mediæval, 11-13
Garden, Moor Park, 56-59
Garden, Nosegay, 71
Garden, Novelties, 20
Garden, Parkinson's, 32
Garden, pleasant flowers, 31
Garden, pleasures, 29
Garden, Small, 3-5
Garden, Terraced, 276
Garden, Theobald's, 27, 34, 39, 51, 301
Garden, Tuggie's, 35
Garden, Uses of, 52
Garden, Wolsey's, 20
Garden, Zouche's, 35-36
Gardens, Anglo-Saxon, 6-7
Gardens, Burleigh's, 27, 33, 34, 39, 51, 301
Gardens, Flemish painters, 18
Gardens, Indian, 18
Gardens, Italian painters, 18
Gardens, Ladies in, 13, 14
Gardens, Lay-out of, 76-77
Gardens, Locked, 13
Gardens, Mogul Emperors, 18-19
Gardens, Nonsuch Palace, 21, 273-274
Gardens, Norman, 7
Gardens, Rennaissance influence, 38-39
Gardens, Roman, 6
Gardens, Sixteenth Century, 20
Gardens, Tudor, 21, 23-29
Garlands. See Wreaths
Garofalo, Il, 187
Garth, 6-7
Gaskell, Mrs., quoted, 149
Gate, 40, 280
Gazebo, 281
Gentlemen's Magazine, quoted, 88-89
Gerade. See Gerard
Gerard, 33-34, 51, 109, 162, 218, 248
Gerard, Garden of, 34
Gerard, quoted, 128, 133, 168, 187, 201, 230, 231
George Gisze, 53
Germander, 62, 78
Gethsemane, Garden of, 170
Giardino segreto, 15
Gilliflowers, 7, 21, 22, 30, 35, 83, 84, 184, 186-187, 199, 296
Gilliflowers, names of, 184
Gladiolus, 166
Golden Apple, 219, 221
Golden Bough, 261
Gold Flower, 191, 192
Golds, 14
Gardener, business, 66-67
Gardener's Labyrinth, quoted, 34, 193-194, 278-280, 295, 299, 300
Gosse, Edmund, quoted, 156
Googe, Barnaby, 35
Great Harwich, 184, 185
Greek myths, 97, 115, 119, 129, 130, 134, 164, 174, 194, 213, 218-219,
221, 228, 234, 238, 259, 264
Grete Herbal, 34
Guillaume de Lorris, 8
Guirlande de Julie, 171
Gunpowder, 249
Gustavus Adolphus, 171
Grumio, 51
Gyllofre. See Gilliflowers
H
Hackney, garden at, 35-36
Haggard, Rider, quoted, 135-136
Hakluyt, quoted, 149, 152
Hamlet, 119, 137, 207
Hampton Court Palace, 20, 51
Hampton Court Palace, gardens, 274
Hampton Court Palace, Fountain, 286
Hampton Court Palace, Mount, 282
Handful of Pleasant Delights, quoted, 127-128, 225, 232
Hanging Gardens of Babylon, 5
Harebell, 136-137, 207, 266, 310
Harleian Mss., 11
Harpocrates, 159
Harrison, William, quoted, 24
Hatfield, garden, 35-36
Hathaway, Ann, 3
Havering-atte-Bower, garden, 26
Heartsease, 84, 202
Heath, 59, 62
Hebrews, 164
Hecate, 249
Hedera Helix, 257
Hedges, 40, 59, 63, 77, 293
Helena, 98
Heliotrope, 194
Henry II., 7
Henry V., 103
Henry VIII., garden, 20, 21, 274
Hentzner, Paul, quoted, 27-28, 285-287
Hepatica, 81
Hercules, 249
Herrick, quoted, 265-266
Herba leonis, 139
Herba Marguerita, 122
Herba Sanctæ Mariæ, 234
Herb of Grace, 48, 229-230, 237
Herb garden, 72
Herb Trinity, 201
Herbal, Gerard's, 34-35
Herbal, Great, 26
Herbals, 25-26
Herbals, List of, 34-35
Herbs, 14, 22, 46, 52, 72
Herbs, farsing, 241
Herbs, pot, 7
Herbs, medicinal, 8
Herbstrewer, 52
Hermia, 98
Hero, 49, 178
Hill, Thomas, 34, 68
Holbein, 53
Hole, Dean, quoted, 151
Holly, 253-257, 311
Holly, song, 257
Hollyhock, 22, 85
Homer, 228
Honey of Mount Hymettus, 240
Honeysuckle, 7, 49, 50, 82, 293, 311
Hood, quoted, 158
Horse-blobs, 132
Hortorum Viridariorumque, 301
Hortus Floridus, 301
Hulfeere, 256
Hungary water, 226
Huon of Bordeaux, 4
Hyacinth, 79, 136, 166
Hybla, 240
Hymen, 213
Hypernotomachia, 15
Hyssop, 78
I
Italian painters, gardens of, 18
Ilex aquifolium, 253
Imogen, 98, 136
Importation of flowers, 24-25
Iris, 22, 172, 309-310
Iris pseudacorus, 172
Ironmongers, Worshipful Company of, 37
Isaiah, quoted, 265
Ivy, 255-256, 257-260, 311
Ivy Green, The, 259-260
J
Jabberwocky, 289
Jachimo, 104
Jacinth, 136
Jack-an-Apes-on-Horseback, 84, 107
Jack-in-the-Pulpit, 209, 315
James I., 51
Jami, quoted, 159
Jars, 41, 284-285
Jasmine, 22, 82
Jessica, 86
Jesus Christ, legend, 171
Jews, 217
Joan's Silver Pin, 203
John de Garlande, quoted, 8
Johnny-Jump-Ups, 200, 201, 203
Johnson's Gardeners Dictionary, 302
Jonquil, 115
Juliet, 86, 215
July flowers, 187, 189
Juno's Rose, 162
Junquilia, 110
Jupiter, 160
K
Kate Greenaway, 40
Katharine of Aragon, 218
Keeler, Harriet L., quoted, 140-141
Kenilworth, 29
Kenilworth, garden of, 39, 275
Keats, quoted, 148, 196
Kingcups, 132
King Eteocles, 219
King Henry IV., 175, 234, 244, 248
King Henry VI., 155, 174
King John, 123
King Lear, 213
King Richard II., 230
Kiss-Me-at-the-Garden-Gate, 202
Kiss-Me-Quick, 202
Knight's Spur, 197
Knots, 20, 41, 46, 63, 78, 298-301
Knotted Garden, Curious, 41
L
Labyrinth, 41, 51
Ladies, skill in cookery, 14
Ladies, skill in simples, 14
Lady's Bower, 49, 82
Lady-Smocks, 130-133, 214, 311
Laertes, 234
Lamb, Charles, quoted, 288
Landor, quoted, 179
Laneham, Robert, quoted, 275
Lark's claws, 197
Lark's heels, 84, 197
Larkspur, 81, 197-200, 252, 312
Lark's toes, 197
Lavender, 22, 231-233, 237, 312
Lavender Spica, 231
Law, Ernest, quoted, 274, 338-345
Lawson, William, 35, 73
Lawson, William, quoted, 245, 296, 297, 299-300
Leate, Nicholas, 33, 36, 37
Lee, Vernon, quoted, 15-18
Leicester, Earl of, 29, 275
Leminius, Dr., quoted, 52-53
Lent Lily, 115
Lete, Nicholas. See Leate
Levant Company, 36
Lewis Carroll, 287
Liébault, John, 68
Lilac, 35
Lily. Lilies, 7, 8, 14, 18, 22, 78, 79, 160-167
Lily, Annunciation, 313-315
Lily Conally, 22, 71, 161, 314
Lily, Lent, 115
Lily Madonna, 165, 167
Lily Martagon, 36, 79, 162-163
Lily, Scarlet Martagon, 162
Lily Tiger, 163
Lily-of-the-Valley, 22, 71, 161, 314
Lilium album, 162
Lilium candidum, 161
Lilium convallium, 62
Lilium Perticum, 170
Liverwort, 81
Lobel, Mathias de, 36
Lobelia, 36
Locker-Lampson, 46
Locker-Lampson, quoted, 181
Loggan, David, 301
London Pride, 188, 189, 298
London Tufts, 189
Long Acre, garden at, 32
Long Purples, 207, 209-210, 315
Longueville, 138
Love-in-Idleness, 200, 202, 247
Love's Labour's Lost, 41, 118, 133, 145
Lords-and-Ladies, 209, 210
Lorenzo, 86
Louis VII., 174
Lucrece, 118
Luini, 141
Lupton, quoted, 190
Lychnis Flos cuculi, 213
Lyly, John, quoted, 30, 245
Lyte, quoted, 100, 190, 226
M
Madame Plantier, 320
Madonna of the Melagrana, 219
Madonna of the Rose, 160
Madonna of the Rose Bush, 160
Madonna of the Rose Garden, 160
Madonna of the Rose Hedge, 160
Madonna Lily, 165, 167
Maiden's Blush, 320
Maison Rustique, La, 68
Mallows, 14
Malvolio, 86, 264
Marathon, 235
Margaret of Orleans, 195
Marguerite, 121, 122
Margueritons, 122
Maria, 86, 264
Marigold. Marigolds, 7, 8, 22, 82-84, 189-196, 315-316
Marina, 124
Marjoram, 14, 22, 236-239, 316
Markham, Gervase, 68, 69
Markham, Gervase, quoted, 50, 299
Marshall, William, 34
Martagon Lily, 36, 162-163
Martagons, 79
Marvel of Peru, 35, 82
Mary-buds, 190
Maske of Flowers, 325-330
Maudelyn, 121
Maudlin, 121
Mausoleum of Artemisia, 248
May flower, 131
May Lady, masque of, 23
May weed, 136
Mazes, 41, 50-51, 74, 300
Meadow cress, 131
Measure for Measure, 220
Meet-Me-at-the-Garden-Gate, 202
Melissa officinalis, 243
Menthe, 234
Menthe de Notre Dame, 234
Merry Wives of Windsor, 102, 174, 243
Mezerion, 64, 63
Middleton and Rowley, quoted, 191
Midsummer Daisy, 121
Midsummer Night, 175-176, 200
Midsummer Night's Dream, 98, 101, 102, 108, 247, 257
Milton, 201, 237
Milton, quoted, 98, 120
Mint. Mints, 9, 14, 22, 233-236, 317
Mistletoe, 261-264
Mistletoe Bough, 261, 262
Mistress Ford, 103
Mogul Emperors, gardens of, 18-19
Mohammed, 115
Mohammedans, quotation from, 129
Moly, 228
Monk's Cane, 250
Monk's hood, 197, 199, 232, 248-252, 317
Montacute, 281
Montacute, lay-out of, 272-273
Montausier, Duc de, 171
Moon, 160
Moon daisy, 121
Moor Park, garden at, 56-59
More the Merrier, quoted, 245
More, Sir Thomas, quoted, 21, 48, 224
Mort de Garin, La, 12
Mounts, 20, 73, 282
Much Ado About Nothing, 153, 178
Mugwort, 248
Musk Rose, 44, 45, 73, 148-150, 320
Myrtle, 160, 219-223
Myrtus latifolia, 219
N
Narcissus, 22, 115
Narcissus pseudo narcissus, 109
Nash, 259
Nasturtium, 81, 318
Nasturtium Indicum, 199
Neckan, Alexander, quoted, 78
Nettle red, 14
Nettles, 207
New Orchard and Garden, 35
New Orchard and Garden, quoted, 72-73, 75, 245
Noisette, 321
Nonesuch, 83
Nonesuch Palace, fountain at, 286
Nonesuch Palace, gardens of, 21, 39
Nonesuch Palace, lay-out of, 273-274
Nonesuch orange color, 32
Nosegay, 43, 128, 199, 232, 236
Nosegay garden, 71
Norman Castle, 183
Norman Kings, gardens of, 7
O
Oberon, 45, 175, 200, 247
Oceanides, 174
Œdipus Coloneus, 116
Oleander, 82
Olivia, garden of, 86, 264
Ophelia, 119, 121, 124, 137, 200, 207, 208, 214, 224, 230, 234
Orange-trees 20
Orchard, 8, 31, 51, 73, 74, 75
Order of Genest, 144
Orchis mascula, 209
Orris root, 81, 173
Ort-garth, 6
Orto, 16
Othello, 203
Our Lady's flowers, 130
Outlandish flowers, 24, 32, 78-83
Ovid, quoted, 250
Ox-eye daisy, 121
Oxlip. Oxlips, 107-108, 318
Oxonia Illustrata, 301
P
Pæstum, 159
Palsieworts, 107
Pansy, names of, 202
Pansy. Pansies, 22, 84, 200-203, 298, 318
Papaver somniferum, 203
Paquerette, 121, 122
Paradisi in Sole, 32, 35, 83
Pasque flowers, 135
Paralyses, 99
Paralysis vulgare pratensis, 101
Paris, 219, 221
Parkinson, John, 31, 32, 35, 75, 151, 156, 196
Parkinson, garden of, 32-33
Parkinson, quoted, 38, 75-78, 80, 81, 82-83, 84-85, 99-100, 106-107,
109-111, 121-122, 134-135, 137, 138, 146-147,
149-150, 150-151, 152-153, 161, 162-163, 168-170,
173, 183, 185, 186, 186-187, 188, 192-193, 197-198,
199, 203, 211, 214, 215-216, 220, 227, 229,
231-232, 235, 238, 240-241, 242, 243-244, 245-246,
250-252, 321
Parsley, 14
Paths, 9, 294
Peacock, 288
Pensée, 200
Penshurst, 292
Pensioners, 102
Peony. Peonies, 22, 85
Peony, Roman, 14
Perdita, 3, 72, 86, 98, 108, 111, 129, 160, 162, 167, 168, 172, 181,
190, 225, 231, 233, 237, 242
Perennials, 46
Perfume, 43, 44, 45, 46, 153, 231, 232, 239, 244.
See Scent.
Pericles, 124
Periwinkle, 7, 22, 62
Persian Lily, 170
Peruvian Sunflower, 196
Petruchio, 52
Petty Mullins, 107
Pheasant's Eye, 117
Pheidippides, 236
Phoradendron, 263
Phosphorescent flowers, 199
Pickwick Papers, 259
Picotee, 182
Pink. Pinks, 18, 85, 187-189
Pinks, names of, 188
Pink of My John, 202
Pinkster, 187
Pipe tree, 82
Plantagenesta, 143-144
Plantagenets, The, 144
Plashing, 50
Pleached alley, 50, 292
Pleaching, 50
Pleasance, 4, 11
Pliny, 134, 148, 176, 181, 218, 234, 259
Pliny, garden of, 6
Pliny, quoted, 234-235
Pluto, 218, 234, 249, 264
Poet's Hyacinth, 197
Poet's Narcissus, 117-118
Poison, 249-250
Polyanthus, 107
Pomegranate, 35, 215-219, 319
Pomegranate-trees, 20
Poppy. Poppies, 14, 22, 84, 203-206, 319
Portia, 87
Potpourri, 156, 324
Prickly Coral Tree, 83
Primerolles, 101
Primevera, 93
Primrose. Primroses, 21, 22, 30, 62, 73, 83, 93-101, 319
Primula eliator, 107
Primula veris, 122
Primula vulgaris, 93
Prior, Dr., quoted, 100-101
Proserpine, 116, 123, 129, 218, 234
Prospero, 268
Pseudo narcissus, 110
Pteris aquilina, 175
Puck, 101, 144, 200, 247
Pulsatillas, 135
Punica, 215, 218
Pyracantha, 77, 83
Q
Queen Elizabeth, 22, 102
Queen Elizabeth, gardens of, 26
R
Ragged Robin, 214, 208
Rails for beds, 20
Rambouillet, Julie de, 171
Ranunculus, 17, 82, 198, 208, 266
Rape of Lucrece, 118, 191
Rapin, quoted, 119, 221, 224-228, 238-239
Renaissance, Influence on English Gardens, 38-39
Richard Cœur de Lion, quoted, 12
Richmond Green, 245
Richmond Palace, Garden of, 26
Rimmon, 217
Rocket, 22
Rock-garden, 302
Roman de Berte, 12
Roman de la Rose, 4, 8-9, 19
Romans, 4-13
Romaunt of the Rose, 4, 8-9, 19
Romeo, 86, 248
Romeo and Juliet, 31, 225, 248
Rosarubie, 136
Rosa alba, 147-148
Rosa Anglica alba, 147
Rosa Anglica rubra, 146
Rosa canina, 153
Rosa centifolia, 151, 159
Rosa damascene, 152
Rosa eglanteria, 150
Rosa Junonis, 162
Rosa Moschata, 148
Rosa versicolor, 154
Rosary, 160
Rose. Roses, 7, 8, 10, 14, 18, 21, 22, 30, 49, 50, 73, 78, 145-160,
293, 319-322
Rose canker, 153
Rose, damask, 146, 147, 152-153, 160, 297
Rose, dog, 153
Rose, Hundred Leaf, 151-152
Rose, musk, 44, 45, 73, 148-150, 320
Rose, Provençal, 151-152
Rose, red, 146-147
white, 147-148, 160
variegated, 154-155
yellow, 156
yellow, double, 37
York and Lancaster, 154-155
Rose of Sharon, 115
Rose-water, 156, 159
Rosemary, 14, 22, 48, 72, 74, 241, 322
Rosmarinus officinalis, 224
Roxburgh Ballad, quoted, 222
Rue, 14, 72, 225-228, 322
Rushes, 52
Ruskin, quoted, 158, 165-167, 203-204
Ruta graveolus, 228
S
Sable Flag, 35
Sable Flower, 81
Saffron, 14, 210
Saffron Crocus, 210
Saffron flowers, 79
Saffron Hill, 212
Saffron lily, 115
Saffron Walden, 212
Sage, 14
Salads, 237
Salisbury, Earl of, garden of, 35
Sappho, 157
Satureia, 242
Saturnalia, 253
Savory, 237, 242, 322
Scent, 72, 55, 106, 108, 124, 125, 126, 128, 153, 156, 159, 161, 193,
199, 227, 232, 237, 239, 241, 245, 264.
See Perfume
Scilla nutans, 136, 207
Seats, garden, 284
Seeds, 67-68, 278-279
Sejanus, 249
Semele, 259
Serving-man's Joy, 230
Seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit, 18, 142
Shallow, 51
Shakespeare, 3, 33, 41, 43, 80, 94, 98, 101, 103, 104, 109, 111, 118,
123, 124, 125, 132, 133, 143, 145, 148, 153, 157, 162,
172, 174, 178, 203, 207-208, 215, 219, 230, 248, 256,
257, 264
Shakespeare, quoted, 44, 45, 49, 51, 97, 98, 101, 103, 108, 109, 111,
118, 120, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 129, 131, 132,
135, 136, 137, 143, 145, 155, 161, 174, 175, 178,
190, 191, 207, 225, 230, 231, 237, 239, 244, 247,
257, 258
Shelley, quoted, 124, 158, 161
Shepherd's Calendar, 181, 182
Sidney, Philip, 23
Sidney, Philip, quoted, 28
Simples, 14
Sir Andrew Aguecheek, 86, 264
Sir Toby Belch, 86, 264
Sir John Lubbock, 139
Skeat, 106
Smilax, 213
Snapdragon. Snapdragons, 22, 84
Soil, 278
Solomon, quoted, 18
Sonnet, XCIX, 125, 237
Sonnet, LIV, 157
Sops-in-Wine, 30, 182, 183
Sops-in-Wine, yellow, 36
Sophocles, quoted, 116
Sorcery, plants associated with, 176, 177, 179, 228, 247
Sowbread, 81
Spanish Gipsy, 191
Spenser, Edmund, 48, 143, 224
Spenser, Edmund, quoted, 22-23, 50, 181-182, 191
Sphinx, 172
Spinks, 131
Sports, 37
St. Barnabas, 214
St. Catharine, 219
St. Clotilde, 174
St. Dominick, 160
St. Francis de Sales, quoted, 126, 194
St. John the Baptist, 176, 267
St. John's Eve, 175
Stage-Setting, elaborate, 327
Star of Bethlehem, 166
Stevens, Charles, 68
Still-room, 54
Stock gilliflowers, 22
Strand, gardens in, 33
Strawberry. Strawberries, 18, 62
Strawberry leaves, 44
Strewing, 52
Strewing-plants, 225, 233
Summer's Last Will and Testament, 259
Sun-dials, 21, 274, 286, 288-289, 292
Sun-flower, 7, 196
Sun, flowers associated with, 190, 226, 230
Surflet, Richard, 68, 226
Sweet Balm, 243-244, 323
Sweetbrier, 62, 150-151, 321
Sweet Johns, 30, 85, 188, 189
Sweet Marjoram, 238
Sweet-williams, 21, 22, 62, 85, 188, 189, 298, 323
Sylva, 249
Symbolism, 19
Symbols, floral, 18, 19
Syringa, 82
T
Taming of the Shrew, 52
Tamora, 264
Tempest, 144, 258
Temple garden, 155
Temple, Sir William, quoted, 56-59
Tennyson, quoted, 103, 209
Terrace, 39, 40, 272-273, 289-292
Thaxter, Celia, quoted, 180, 204-206
Theobald's garden, 27, 33, 39, 51, 301
Thomas, H. H., quoted, 278, 282-284, 294, 295, 315
Thornbury, quoted, 53-55
Thorpe, John, 23
Three-Faces-Under-a-Hood, 201
Thrift, 78, 295, 298
Thyme, 14, 45, 62, 233, 239-241, 295, 323
Thymus serpyllum, 239
Tiger lilies, 163
Tisio, Benvenuto, 187
Titania, 45, 49, 101, 102, 108, 123, 148, 178, 200, 239, 247, 257
Titus Andronicus 264
Tools, gardener's, 8
Topiary work, 15, 39, 48
Tradescant, John, 35, 110, 216
Traveris, Peter, 34
Tricolor, 201
Trinity (clover), 18
Trouvères, 3, 11
Twelfth Night, 44, 86, 123
Two Noble Kinsmen, 94, 108, 120, 197, 239
Tubs, 284-285
Tudor mansions, 23
Tuggie, Mistress, 35
Tuggie, Ralph, 33, 35
Tuggie, Ralph, gardens of, 184
Tuggie, carnation named for, 184
Tuggy. See Tuggie
Tulips, 80
Turkey cocks, 149
Turk's Cap, 36, 162
Turner, William, Dean of Wells, 26, 34
Turner, William, quoted, 176-177, 250
Tusser, Thomas, 34
Tusser, Thomas, quoted, 100, 211, 258
Tussie Mussie, 43, 199
U
Ulysses, 228
Underworld, 116, 218, 264
Urns, 41
V
Vases, 41, 284-285
Vegetables, 7
Venus, 119, 133, 159, 160, 219, 221, 234, 238
Venus and Adonis, 133
Vermouth, 248
Viola odorata, 122
Viola tricolor, 200
Violet. Violets, 7, 8, 10, 14, 18, 21, 22, 30, 62, 73, 84, 122-129,
158, 178, 323
Virgil, 261
Virgin, flowers associated with, 130, 160, 164, 190, 234
Viscum album, 261
Vredeman de Vries, 301
W
Wake Robin, 209, 210
Walks, 41
Wall, 19, 40
Wall flowers, 22, 83
Walpole, Horace, 56
Wanstead, 23
Ware Park, 47
Warden pies, 210
Wars of the Roses, 38
Water-lilies, 166
Watson, Forbes, quoted, 95-97, 104-106, 108, 116-118, 126, 158-159,
171, 212
Whitehill, Fountain at, 286
Windflower, 80, 133
Windsor Castle, 243
Wine, flowers in, 129, 181, 248
Winter cherry, 22
Winter's Tale, 98, 108, 109, 111, 123, 152, 190, 225, 237
Wither, George, quoted, 195
Wolfsbane, 81, 248, 250
Wolsey Cardinal, 274
Wolsey, Cardinal, garden of, 20
Woodbine, 50, 73, 74, 178
Wordsworth, 132
Wordsworth, quoted, 112
Wormwood, 8, 248
Wotton, Sir Henry, quoted, 47, 158, 276
Wreaths and garlands, 13, 128, 181, 221, 234, 265
Y
Yellow Rose of Constantinople, 37
Yellow Lark's heels, 199
York and Lancaster rose, 154
York and Lancaster song, 155
Z
Zouche, Lord, garden of, 35-36
Transcribers Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Small capitals have been capitalised.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
Obvious typos were silently corrected.
Katharine of Arragon was corrected to Katharine of
Aragon in the Index.
Rosemarinus was corrected to Rosmarinus and placed accordingly
in the index.
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