Chapter 1

_THE PLANT-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE._

_Perdita._ Here's flowers for you.

_Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4.

_Duke._ Away before me to sweet beds of flowers.

_Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 1.

ACONITUM.

_K. Henry._

The united vessel of their blood, Mingled with venom of suggestion-- As, force perforce, the age will pour it in-- Shall never leak, though it do work as strong As Aconitum or rash gunpowder.

_2nd King Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 4 (44).

There is another place in which it is probable that Shakespeare alludes to the Aconite; he does not name it, but he compares the effects of the poison to gunpowder, as in the passage above.

_Romeo._

Let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

_Romeo and Juliet_, act v, sc. 1 (59).

The plant here named as being as powerful in its action as gunpowder is the Aconitum Napellus (the Wolf's bane or Monk's-hood). It is a member of a large family, all of which are more or less poisonous, and the common Monk's-hood as much so as any. Two species are found in America, but, for the most part, the family is confined to the northern portion of the Eastern Hemisphere, ranging from the Himalaya through Europe to Great Britain. It is now found wild in a few parts of England, but it is certainly not indigenous; it was, however, very early introduced into England, being found in all the English vocabularies of plants from the tenth century downwards, and frequently mentioned in the early English medical recipes.

Its names are all interesting. In the Anglo-Saxon Vocabularies it is called _thung_, which, however, seems to have been a general name for any very poisonous plant;[10:1] it was then called Aconite, as the English form of its Greek and Latin name, but this name is now seldom used, being, by a curious perversion, solely given to the pretty little early-flowering Winter Aconite (_Eranthis hyemalis_), which is not a true Aconite, though closely allied; it then got the name of Wolf's-bane, as the direct translation of the Greek _lycoctonum_, a name which it had from the idea that arrows tipped with the juice, or baits anointed with it, would kill wolves and other vermin; and, lastly, it got the expressive names of Monk's-hood[10:2] and the Helmet-flower, from the curious shape of the upper sepal overtopping the rest of the flower.

As to its poisonous qualities, all authors agree that every species of the family is very poisonous, the A. ferox of the Himalaya being probably the most so. Every part of the plant, from the root to the pollen dust, seems to be equally powerful, and it has the special bad quality of being, to inexperienced eyes, so like some harmless plant, that the poison has been often taken by mistake with deadly results. This charge against the plant is of long standing, dating certainly from the time of Virgil--_miseros fallunt aconita legentes_--and, no doubt, from much before his time. As it was a common belief that poisons were antidotes against other poisons, the Aconite was supposed to be an antidote against the most deadly one--

"I have heard that Aconite Being timely taken hath a healing might Against the scorpion's stroke."

BEN JONSON, _Sejanus_, act iii, sc. 3.

Yet, in spite of its poisonous qualities, 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 favourite. Nearly all the species are worth growing, the best, perhaps, being A. Napellus, both white and blue, A. paniculatum, A. japonicum, and A. autumnale. All the species grow well in shade and under trees. In Shakespeare's time Gerard grew in his London garden four species--A. lycoctonum, A. variegatum, A. Napellus, and A. Pyrenaicum.

FOOTNOTES:

[10:1] "_Aconita_, thung." Ælfric's "Vocabulary," 10th century.

"_Aconitum_, thung." Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary, 11th century.

"_Aconita_, thung." "Durham Glossary of the names of Worts," 11th century.

The ancient Vocabularies and Glossaries, to which I shall frequently refer, are printed in

I. Wright's "Volume of Vocabularies," 1857.

II. "Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England," by Rev. O. Cockayne, published under the direction of the Master of the Rolls, 3 vols., 1866.

III. "Promptorium Parvulorum," edited by Albert Way, and published by the Camden Society, 3 vols., 1843-65.

IV. "Catholicon Anglicum," edited by S. J. Hertage, and published by the Early English Text Society, 1881, and by the Camden Society, 1882.

[10:2] This was certainly its name in Shakespeare's time--

"And with the Flower Monk's-hood makes a coole."

CUTWODE, _Caltha Poetarum_, 1599 (st. 117).

ACORN, _see_ OAK.

ALMOND.

_Thersites._

The parrot will not do more for an Almond.

_Troilus and Cressida_, act v, sc. 2 (193).

"An Almond for a parrot" seems to have been a proverb for the greatest temptation that could be put before a man. The Almond tree is a native of Asia and North Africa, but it was very early introduced into England, probably by the Romans. It occurs in the Anglo-Saxon lists of plants, and in the "Durham Glossary" (11th century) it has the name of the "Easterne nutte-beam." The tree was always a favourite both for the beauty of its flowers, which come very early in the year, and for its Biblical associations, so that in Shakespeare's time the trees were "in our London gardens and orchards in great plenty" (Gerard). Before Shakespeare's time, Spenser had sung its praises thus--

"Like to an Almond tree ymounted hye On top of greene Selinis all alone With blossoms brave bedecked daintily; Whose tender locks do tremble every one At everie little breath that under Heaven is blowne."

_F. Q._, i. 7, 32.

The older English name seems to have been Almande--

"And Almandres gret plente,"

_Romaunt of the Rose_;

"Noyz de l'almande, nux Phyllidis,"

ALEXANDER NECKAM;

and both this old name and its more modern form of Almond came to us through the French _amande_ (Provençal, _amondala_), from the Greek and Latin _amygdalus_. What this word meant is not very clear, but the native Hebrew name of the plant (_shaked_) is most expressive. The word signifies "awakening," and so is a most fitting name for a tree whose beautiful flowers, appearing in Palestine in January, show the wakening up of Creation. The fruit also has always been a special favourite, and though it is strongly imbued with prussic acid, it is considered a wholesome fruit. By the old writers many wonderful virtues were attributed to the fruit, but I am afraid it was chiefly valued for its supposed virtue, that "five or six being taken fasting do keepe a man from being drunke" (Gerard).[12:1] This popular error is not yet extinct.

As an ornamental tree the Almond should be in every shrubbery, and, as in Gerard's time, it may still be planted in town gardens with advantage. There are several varieties of the common Almond, differing slightly in the colour and size of the flowers; and there is one little shrub (Amygdalus nana) of the family that is very pretty in the front row of a shrubbery. All the species are deciduous.

FOOTNOTES:

[12:1] "Plutarch mentions a great drinker of wine who, by the use of bitter almonds, used to escape being intoxicated."--_Flora Domestica_, p. 6.

ALOES.

And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, The Aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

_A Lover's Complaint_, st. 39.

Aloes have the peculiarity that they are the emblems of the most intense bitterness and of the richest and most costly fragrance. In the Bible Aloes are mentioned five times, and always with reference to their excellence and costliness.[13:1] Juvenal speaks of it only as a bitter--

"Animo corrupta superbo Plus Aloes quam mellis habet" (vi. 180).

Pliny describes it very minutely, and says, "Strong it is to smell unto, and bitter to taste" (xxvii. 4, Holland's translation). Our old English writers spoke of it under both aspects. It occurs in several recipes of the Anglo-Saxon Leechdoms, as a strong and bitter purgative. Chaucer notices its bitterness only--

"The woful teres that they leten falle As bittre weren, out of teres kynde, For peyne, as is ligne Aloes or galle."

_Troilus and Cryseide_, st. 159.

But the author of the "Remedie of Love," formerly attributed to Chaucer, says--

"My chambre is strowed with myrrhe and incense With sote savouring Aloes and sinnamone, Breathing an aromaticke redolence."

Shakespeare only mentions the bitter quality.

The two qualities are derived from two very different plants. The fragrant ointment is the product of an Indian shrub, Aquilaria agallochum; and the bitter purgative is from the true Aloes, A. Socotrina, A. vulgaris, and others. These plants were well known in Shakespeare's time, and were grown in England. Turner and Gerard describe them as the Sea Houseleek; and Gerard tells us that they were grown as vegetable curiosities, for "the herbe is alwaies greene, and likewise sendeth forth branches, though it remaine out of the earth, especially if the root be covered with lome, and now and then watered; for so being hanged on the seelings and upper posts of dining-roomes, it will not onely continue a long time greene, but it also groweth and bringeth forth new leaves."[14:1]

FOOTNOTES:

[13:1] Numbers xxiv. 6; Psalms xlv. 8; Proverbs vii. 17; Canticles iv. 14; John xix. 39.

[14:1] In the emblems of Camerarius (No. 92) is a picture of a room with an Aloe suspended.

ANEMONE.

By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd Was melted like a vapour 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.

_Venus and Adonis_ (1165).

Shakespeare does not actually name the Anemone, and I place this passage under that name with some doubt, but I do not know any other flower to which he could be referring.

The original legend of the Anemone as given by Bion was that it sprung from the tears of Venus, while the Rose sprung from Adonis' blood--

+aima rodon tiktei, ta de dakrya tan anemônan.+

_Bion Idyll_, i, 66.

"Wide as her lover's torrent blood appears So copious flowed the fountain of her tears; The Rose starts blushing from the sanguine dyes, And from her tears Anemones arise."

POLWHELE'S _Translation_, 1786.

But this legend was not followed by the other classical writers, who made the Anemone to be the flower of Adonis. Theocritus compares the Dog-rose (so called also in his day, +kynosbatos+) and the Anemone with the Rose, and the Scholia comment on the passage thus--"Anemone, a scentless flower, which they report to have sprung from the blood of Adonis; and again Nicander says that the Anemone sprung from the blood of Adonis."

The storehouse of our ancestors' pagan mythology was in Ovid, and his well-known lines are--

"Cum flos e sanguine concolor ortus Qualem, quæ; lento celant sub cortice granum Punica ferre solent; brevis est tamen usus in illis, Namque male hærentem, et nimiâ brevitate caducum Excutiunt idem qui præstant nomina, venti,"--

Thus translated by Golding in 1567, from whom it is very probable that Shakespeare obtained his information--

"Of all one colour with the bloud, a flower she there did find, Even like the flower of that same tree, whose fruit in tender rind Have pleasant graines enclosede--howbeit the use of them is short, For why, the leaves do hang so loose through lightnesse in such sort, As that the windes that all things pierce[15:1] with everie little blast Do shake them off and shed them so as long they cannot last."[15:2]

I feel sure that Shakespeare had some particular flower in view. Spenser only speaks of it as a flower, and gives no description--

"In which with cunning hand was pourtrahed The love of Venus and her Paramoure, The fayre Adonis, turned to a flowre."

_F. Q._, iii, 1, 34.

"When she saw no help might him restore Him to a dainty flowre she did transmew."

_F. Q._, iii, 1, 38.

Ben Jonson similarly speaks of it as "Adonis' flower" (Pan's Anniversary), but with Shakespeare it is different; he describes the flower minutely, and as if it were a well-known flower, "purple chequered with white," and considering that in his day Anemone was supposed to be Adonis' flower (as it was described in 1647 by Alexander Ross in his "Mystagogus Poeticus," who says that Adonis "was by Venus turned into a red flower called Anemone"), and as I wish, if possible, to link the description to some special flower, I conclude that the evidence is in favour of the Anemone. Gerard's Anemone was certainly the same as ours, and the "purple" colour is no objection, for "purple" in Shakespeare's time had a very wide signification, meaning almost any bright colour, just as _purpureus_ had in Latin,[16:1] which had so wide a range that it was used on the one hand as the epithet of the blood and the poppy, and on the other as the epithet of the swan ("purpureis ales oloribus," Horace) and of a woman's white arms ("brachia purpurea candidiora nive," Albinovanus). Nor was "chequered" confined to square divisions, as it usually is now, but included spots of any size or shape.

We have transferred the Greek name of Anemone to the English language, and we have further kept the Greek idea in the English form of "wind-flower." The name is explained by Pliny: "The flower hath the propertie to open but when the wind doth blow, wherefore it took the name Anemone in Greeke" ("Nat. Hist." xxi. 11, Holland's translation). This, however, is not the character of the Anemone as grown in English gardens; and so it is probable that the name has been transferred to a different plant than the classical one, and I think no suggestion more probable than Dr. Prior's that the classical Anemone was the Cistus, a shrub that is very abundant in the South of Europe; that certainly opens its flowers at other times than when the wind blows, and so will not well answer to Pliny's description, but of which the flowers are bright-coloured and most fugacious, and so will answer to Ovid's description. This fugacious character of the Anemone is perpetuated in Sir William Jones' lines ("Poet. Works," i, 254, ed. 1810)--

"Youth, like a thin Anemone, displays His silken leaf, and in a morn decays;"

but the lines, though classical, are not true of the Anemone, though they would well apply to the Cistus.[17:1]

Our English Anemones belong to a large family inhabiting cold and temperate regions, and numbering seventy species, of which three are British.[17:2] These are A. Nemorosa, the common wood Anemone, the brightest spring ornament of our woods; A. Apennina, abundant in the South of Europe, and a doubtful British plant; and A. pulsatilla, the Passe, or Pasque flower, _i.e._, the flower of Easter, one of the most beautiful of our British flowers, but only to be found on the chalk formation.

FOOTNOTES:

[15:1] Golding evidently adopted the reading "qui perflant omnia," instead of the reading now generally received, "qui præstant nomina."

[15:2] Gerard thought that Ovid's Anemone was the Venice Mallow--_Hibiscus trionum_--a handsome annual from the South of Europe.

[16:1] In the "Nineteenth Century" for October, 1877, is an interesting article by Mr. Gladstone on the "colour-sense" in Homer, proving that Homer, and all nations in the earlier stages of their existence, have a very limited perception of colour, and a very limited and loosely applied nomenclature of colours. The same remark would certainly apply to the early English writers, not excluding Shakespeare.

[17:1] Mr. Leo Grindon also identifies the classical Anemone with the Cistus. See a good account of it in "Gardener's Chronicle," June 3, 1876.

[17:2] The small yellow A. ranunculoides has been sometimes included among the British Anemones, but is now excluded. It is a rare plant, and an alien.

APPLE.

(1) _Sebastian._

I think he will carry this island home and give it his son for an Apple.

_Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (91).

(2) _Malvolio._

Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a Squash is before 'tis a Peascod, or a Codling when 'tis almost an Apple.

_Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 5 (165).

(3) _Antonio._

An Apple, cleft in two, is not more twin Than these two creatures.

_Ibid._, act 5, sc. 1 (230).

(4) _Antonio._

An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly Apple rotten at the heart.

_Merchant of Venice_, act i, sc. 3 (100).

(5) _Tranio._

He in countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

_Biondello._

As much as an Apple doth an oyster, and all one.

_Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 2 (100).

(6) _Orleans._

Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten Apples.

_Henry V_, act iii, sc. 7 (153).

(7) _Hortensio._

Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten Apples.

_Taming of the Shrew_, act i, sc. 1 (138).

(8) _Porter._

These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight for bitten Apples.

_Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 4 (63).

(9) _Song of Winter._

When roasted Crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl.

_Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (935).

(10) _Puck._

And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl In very likeness of a roasted Crab; And when she drinks, against her lips I bob, And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.

_Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (47).

(11) _Fool._

Shal't see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though she's as like this as a Crab's like an Apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.

_Lear._

Why, what can'st thou tell, my boy?

_Fool._

She will taste as like this as a Crab does to a Crab.

_King Lear_, act i, sc. 5 (14).

(12) _Caliban._

I prithee, let me bring thee where Crabs grow.

_Tempest_, act ii, sc. 2 (171).

(13) _Petruchio._

Nay, come, Kate, come, you must not look so sour.

_Katherine._

It is my fashion, when I see a Crab.

_Petruchio._

Why, here's no Crab, and therefore look not sour.

_Taming of the Shrew_, act ii, sc. 1 (229).

(14) _Menonius._

We have some old Crab-trees here at home that will not Be grafted to your relish.

_Coriolanus_, act ii, sc. 1 (205).

(15) _Suffolk._

Noble stock Was graft with Crab-tree slip.

_2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (213).

(16) _Porter._

Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree staves, and strong ones.

_Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 4 (7).

(17) _Falstaff._

My skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am withered like an old Apple-john.

_1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 3 (3).

(18) _1st Drawer._

What the devil hast thou brought there? Apple-johns? Thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an Apple-john.

_2nd Drawer._

Mass! thou sayest true; the prince once set a dish of Apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns; and putting off his hat, said, I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.

_2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (1).

(19) _Shallow._

Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year's Pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of Caraways, and so forth.

* * * * *

_Davey._

There's a dish of Leather-coats for you.

_Ibid._, act v, sc. 3 (1, 44).

(20) _Evans._

I pray you be gone; I will make an end of my dinner. There's Pippins and cheese to come.

_Merry Wives of Windsor_, act i, sc. 2 (11).

(21) _Holofernes._

The deer was, as you know, _sanguis_, in blood; ripe as the Pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of _coelo_--the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a Crab on the face of _terra_--the soil, the land, the earth.

_Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 2 (3).

(22) _Mercutio._

Thy wit is a very Bitter Sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

_Romeo._

And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

_Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 4 (83).

(23) _Petruchio._

What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon. What! up and down, carved like an Apple-tart?

_Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 3 (88).

(24)

How like Eve's Apple doth thy beauty grow, If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!

_Sonnet_ xciii.

Here Shakespeare names the Apple, the Crab, the Pippin, the Pomewater, the Apple-john, the Codling, the Caraway, the Leathercoat, and the Bitter-Sweeting. Of the Apple generally I need say nothing, except to notice that the name was not originally confined to the fruit now so called, but was a generic name applied to any fruit, as we still speak of the Love-apple, the Pine-apple,[20:1] &c. The Anglo-Saxon name for the Blackberry was the Bramble-apple; and Sir John Mandeville, in describing the Cedars of Lebanon, says: "And upon the hills growen Trees of Cedre, that ben fulle hye, and they beren longe Apples, and als grete as a man's heved"[20:2] (cap. ix.). In the English Bible it is the same. The Apple is mentioned in a few places, but it is almost certain that it never means the Pyrus malus, but is either the Orange, Citron, or Quince, or is a general name for a tree fruit. So that when Shakespeare (24) and the other old writers speak of Eve's Apple, they do not necessarily assert that the fruit of the temptation was our Apple, but simply that it was some fruit that grew in Eden. The Apple (_pomum_) has left its mark in the language in the word "pomatum," which, originally an ointment made of Apples, is now an ointment in which Apples have no part.

The Crab was held in far more esteem in the sixteenth century than it is with us. The roasted fruit served with hot ale (9 and 10) was a favourite Christmas dish, and even without ale the roasted Crab was a favourite, and this not for want of better fruit, for Gerard tells us that in his time "the stocke or kindred of Apples was infinite," but because they were considered pleasant food.[20:3] Another curious use of Crabs is told in the description of Crab-wake, or "Crabbing the Parson," at Halesowen, Salop, on St. Kenelm's Day (July 17), in Brand's "Popular Antiquities" (vol. i. p. 342, Bohn's edition). Nor may we now despise the Crab tree, though we do not eat its fruit. Among our native trees there is none more beautiful than the Crab tree, both in flower and in fruit. An old Crab tree in full flower is a sight that will delight any artist, nor is it altogether useless; its wood is very hard and very lasting, and from its fruit verjuice is made, not, however, much in England, as I believe nearly all the verjuice now used is made in France.

The Pippin, from being originally a general name for any Apple raised from pips and not from grafts, is now, and probably was in Shakespeare's time, confined to the bright-coloured, long-keeping Apples (Justice Shallow's was "last year's Pippin"), of which the Golden Pippin ("the Pippin burnished o'er with gold," Phillips) is the type.

The Bitter-Sweeting (22) was an old and apparently a favourite Apple. It is frequently mentioned in the old writers, as by Gower, "Conf. Aman."