FOOTNOTES:

"They led the VineTo wed her Elm; she spoused, about him twinesHer marriageable arms, and with her bringsHer dower, the adopted clusters, to adornHis barren leaves."

And Browne—

"She, whose inclinationBent all her course to him-wards, let him knowHe was the Elm, whereby her Vine did grow."

Britannia's Pastorals, book i, song 1.

"An Elm embraced by a Vine,Clipping so strictly that they seemed to beOne in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree;Her boughs his arms; his leaves so mixed with hers,That with no wind he moved, but straight she stirs."

Ibid., ii, 4.

But I should think that neither Shakespeare, nor Browne, nor Milton ever saw an English Vine trained to an Elm; they were simply copying from the classical writers.

The Wych Elm is probably a true native, but the more common Elm of our hedgerows is a tree of Southern Europe and North Africa, and is of such modern introduction into England that in Evelyn's time it was rarely seen north of Stamford. It was probably introduced into Southern England by the Romans.

[87:1]Why Falstaff should be called a dead Elm is not very apparent; but the Elm was associated with death as producing the wood for coffins. Thus Chaucer speaks of it as "the piler Elme, the cofre unto careyne,"i.e., carrion ("Parliament of Fowles," 177).

Gerard tells us that Eringoes are the candied roots of the Sea Holly (Eryngium maritimum), and he gives the recipe for candying them. I am not aware that the Sea Holly is ever now so used, but it is a very handsome plant as it is seen growing on the sea shore, and its fine foliage makes it an ornamental plant for a garden. But as used by Falstaff I am inclined to think that the vegetable he wished for was the Globe Artichoke, which is a near ally of the Eryngium, was a favourite diet in Shakespeare's time, and was reputed to have certain special virtues which are not attributed to the Sea Holly, but which would more accord with Falstaff's character.[88:1]I cannot, however, anywhere find that the Artichoke was called Eringoes.

[88:1]For these supposed virtues of the Artichoke see Bullein's "Book of Simples."

The Fennel was always a plant of high reputation. The Plain of Marathon was so named from the abundance of Fennel (μαραθρον) growing on it.[89:1]And like all strongly scented plants, it was supposed by the medical writers to abound in "virtues." Gower, describing the star Pleiades, says—

"Eke his herbe in speciallThe vertuous Fenel it is."

Conf. Aman., lib. sept. (3, 129. Paulli.)

These virtues cannot be told more pleasantly than by Longfellow—

"Above the lowly plants it towers,The Fennel with its yellow flowers,And in an earlier age than oursWas gifted with the wondrous powers—Lost vision to restore.It gave men strength and fearless mood,And gladiators fierce and rudeMingled it with their daily food:And he who battled and subduedA wreath of Fennel wore."

"Yet the virtues of Fennel, as thus enumerated by Longfellow, do not comprise either of those attributes of the plant which illustrate the two passages from Shakespeare. The first alludes to it as an emblem of flattery, for which ample authority has been found by the commentators.[89:2]Florio is quoted for the phrase 'Dare finocchio,'to give fennel, as meaningto flatter. In the second quotation the allusion is to the reputation of Fennel as an inflammatory herb with much the same virtues as are attributed to Eringoes."—Mr.J. F. MarshinThe Garden.

The English name was directly derived from its Latin nameFœniculum, which may have been given it from its hay-like smell (fœnum), but this is not certain. We have another English word derived from the Giant Fennel of the South of Europe (ferula); this is the ferule, an instrument of punishment for small boys, also adopted from the Latin, theRoman schoolmaster using the stalks of the Fennel for the same purpose as the modern schoolmaster uses the cane.

The early poets looked on the Fennel as an emblem of the early summer—

"Hyt befell yn the month of JuneWhen the Fenell hangeth yn toun."

Libæus Diaconus.(1225).

As a useful plant, the chief use is as a garnishing and sauce for fish. Large quantities of the seed are said to be imported to flavour gin, but this can scarcely be called useful. As ornamental plants, the large Fennels (F. Tingitana, F. campestris, F. glauca, &c.) are very desirable where they can have the necessary room.

[89:1]"Fennelle or Fenkelle, feniculum maratrum."—Catholicon Anglicum.

[89:2]"Christophers.No, mygood lord.Count.Yourgood lord! O, how this smells of Fennel."Ben Jonson,The Case Altered, act ii, sc. 2.

[89:2]

There is a fashion in plants as in most other things, and in none is this more curiously shown than in the estimation in which Ferns are and have been held. Now-a-days it is the fashion to admire Ferns, and few would be found bold enough to profess an indifference to them. But it was not always so. Theocritus seems to have admired the Fern—

"Like Fern my tresses o'er my temples streamed."

Idyllxx. (Calverley.)

"Come here and trample dainty Fern and Poppy blossom."

Idyllv. (Calverley.)

But Virgil gives it a bad character, speaking of it as "filicem invisam." Horace is still more severe, "neglectis urenda filix innascitur agris." The Anglo-Saxon translation of Boethius spoke contemptuously of the "Thorns, and the Furzes, and the Fern, and all the weeds" (Cockayne). And so it was in Shakespeare's time. Butler spoke of it as the—

"Fern, that vile, unuseful weed,That grows equivocably without seed."

Cowley spoke the opinion of his day as if the plant had neither use nor beauty—

"Nec caulem natura mihi, nec Floris honorem,Nec mihi vel semen dura Noverca dedit—Nec me sole fovet, nec cultis crescere in hortisConcessum, et Foliis gratia nulla meis—Herba invisa Deis poteram cœloque videri,Et spurio Terræ nata puerperio."

Plantarum, lib. i.

And later still Gilpin, who wrote so much on the beauties of country scenery at the close of the last century, has nothing better to say for Ferns than that they are noxious weeds, to be classed with "Thorns and Briers, and other ditch trumpery." The fact, no doubt, is that Ferns were considered something "uncanny and eerie;" our ancestors could not understand a plant which seemed to them to have neither flower nor seed, and so they boldly asserted it had neither. "This kinde of Ferne," says Lyte in 1587, "beareth neither flowers nor sede, except we shall take for sede the black spots growing on the backsides of the leaves, the whiche some do gather thinking to worke wonders, but to say the trueth it is nothing els but trumperie and superstition." A plant so strange must needs have strange qualities, but the peculiar power attributed to it of making persons invisible arose thus:—It was the age in which the doctrine of signatures was fully believed in; according to which doctrine Nature, in giving particular shapes to leaves and flowers, had thereby plainly taught for what diseases they were specially useful.[91:1]Thus a heart-shaped leaf was for heart disease, a liver-shaped for the liver, a bright-eyed flower was for the eyes, a foot-shaped flower or leaf would certainly cure the gout, and so on; and then when they found a plant which certainly grew and increased, but of which the organs of fructification were invisible, it was a clear conclusion that properly used the plant would confer the gift of invisibility. Whether thepeople really believed this or not we cannot say,[92:1]but they were quite ready to believe any wonder connected with the plant, and so it was a constant advertisement with the quacks. Even in Addison's time "it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement thrust into your hand of a doctor who had arrived at the knowledge of the Green and Red Dragon, and had discovered the female Fern-seed. Nobody ever knew what this meant" ("Tatler," No. 240). But to name all the superstitions connected with the Fern would take too much space.

The name is expressive; it is a contraction of the Anglo-Saxonfepern, and so shows that some of our ancestors marked its feathery form; and its history as a garden plant is worth a few lines. So little has it been esteemed as a garden plant that Mr. J. Smith, the ex-Curator of the Kew Gardens, tells us that in the year 1822 the collection of Ferns at Kew was so extremely poor that "he could not estimate the entire Kew collection of exotic Ferns at that period at more than forty species" (Smith's "Ferns, British and Exotic," introduction). Since that time the steadily increasing admiration of Ferns has caused collectors to send them from all parts of the world, so that in 1866 Mr. Smith was enabled to describe about a thousand species, and now the number must be much larger; and the closer search for Ferns has further brought into notice a very large number of most curious varieties and monstrosities, which it is still more curious to observe are, with very few exceptions, confined to the British species.

[91:1]See Brown's "Religio Medici," p. ii. 2.

[92:1]It probably was the real belief, as we find it so often mentioned as a positive fact; thus Browne—"Poor silly fool! thou striv'st in vain to knowIf I enjoy or love where thou lov'st so;Since my affection ever secret triedBlooms like the Fern, and seeds still unespied."Poems, p. 26 (Sir E. Brydges' edit. 1815).

[92:1]It probably was the real belief, as we find it so often mentioned as a positive fact; thus Browne—

"Poor silly fool! thou striv'st in vain to knowIf I enjoy or love where thou lov'st so;Since my affection ever secret triedBlooms like the Fern, and seeds still unespied."

Poems, p. 26 (Sir E. Brydges' edit. 1815).

In some of these passages (as5,6,7, and perhaps in more) the reference is to a grossly insulting and indecent gesture called "making the fig." It was a most unpleasant custom, which largely prevailed throughout Europe in Shakespeare's time, and on which I need not dwell. It is fully described in Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," i, 492.

In some of the other quotations the reference is simply to the proverbial likeness of a Fig to a matter of the leastimportance.[94:1]But in the others the dainty fruit, the green Fig, is noticed.

The Fig tree, celebrated from the earliest times for the beauty of its foliage and for its "sweetness and good fruit" (Judges ix. 11), is said to have been introduced into England by the Romans; but the more reliable accounts attribute its introduction to Cardinal Pole, who is said to have planted the Fig tree still living at Lambeth Palace. Botanically, the Fig is of especial interest. The Fig, as we eat it, is neither fruit nor flower, though partaking of both, being really the hollow, fleshy receptacle enclosing a multitude of flowers, which never see the light, yet come to full perfection and ripen their seed. The Fig stands alone in this peculiar arrangement of its flowers, but there are other plants of which we eat the unopened or undeveloped flowers, as the Artichoke, the Cauliflower, the Caper, the Clove, and the Pine Apple.

[94:1]This proverbial worthlessness of the Fig is of ancient date. Theocritus speaks ofσυκινοι ανδρες, useless men; Horace, "Olim truncus eram ficulnus, inutile lignum;" and Juvenal, "Sterilis mala robora ficus."

We now commonly call the Iris a Flag, and in Shakespeare's time the Iris pseudoacorus was called the Water Flag, and so this passage might, perhaps, have been placedunder Flower-de-luce. But I do not think that the Flower-de-luce proper was ever called a Flag at that time, whereas we know that many plants, especially the Reeds and Bulrushes, were called in a general way Flags. This is the case in the Bible, the language of which is always a safe guide in the interpretation of contemporary literature. The mother of Moses having placed the infant in the ark of Bulrushes, "laid it in the Flags by the river's brink," and the daughter of Pharaoh "saw the ark among the Flags." Job asks, "Can the Flag grow without water?" and Isaiah draws the picture of desolation when "the brooks of defence shall be emptied and dried up, and the Reeds and the Flags shall wither." But in these passages, not only is the original word very loosely translated, but the original word itself was so loosely used that long ago Jerome had said it might mean any marsh plant,quidquid in palude virens nascitur. And in the same way I conclude that when Shakespeare named the Flag he meant any long-leaved waterside plant that is swayed to and fro by the stream, and that therefore this passage might very properly have been placed under Rushes.

The Flax of commerce (Linum usitatissimum) is not a true native, though Turner said: "I have seen flax or lynt growyng wilde in Sommerset shyre" ("Herbal," part ii. p. 39); but it takes kindly to the soil, and soon becomes naturalized in the neighbourhood of any Flax field or mill. We have, however, three native Flaxes in England, of which the smallest, the Fairy Flax (L. catharticum), is one of the most graceful ornaments of our higher downs and hills.[96:1]The Flax of commerce, which is the plant referred to by Shakespeare, is supposed to be a native of Egypt, and we have early notice of it in the Book of Exodus; and the microscope has shown that the cere-cloths of the most ancient Egyptian mummies are made of linen. It was very early introduced into England, and the spinning of Flax was the regular occupation of the women of every household, from the mistress downwards, so that even queens are represented in the old illuminations in the act of spinning, and "the spinning-wheel was a necessary implement in every household, from the palace to the cottage."—Wright,Domestic Manners. The occupation is now almost gone, driven out by machinery, but it has left its mark on our language, at least on our legal language, which acknowledges as the only designation of an unmarried woman that she is "a spinster."

A crop of Flax is one of the most beautiful, from the rich colour of the flowers resting on their dainty stalks. But it is also most useful; from it we get linen, linseed oil, oilcake, and linseed-meal; nor do its virtues end there, for "SirJohn Herschel tells us the surprising fact that old linen rags will, when treated with sulphuric acid, yield more than their own weight of sugar. It is something even to have lived in days when our worn-out napkins may possibly reappear on our tables in the form of sugar."—Lady Wilkinson.

As garden plants the Flaxes are all ornamental. There are about eighty species, some herbaceous and some shrubby, and of almost all colours, and in most of the species the colours are remarkably bright and clear. There is no finer blue than in L. usitatissimum, no finer yellow than in L. trigynum, or finer scarlet than in L. grandiflorum.

[95:1]"Juniper.Go get white of egg and a little Flax, and close the breach of the head; it is the most conducible thing that can be."—Ben Jonson,The Case Altered, act ii, sc. 4.

[96:1]"From the abundant harvests of this elegant weed on the upland pastures, prepared and manufactured by supernatural skill, 'the good people' were wont, in the olden time, to procure the necessary supplies of linen!"—Johnston.

Out of these five passages four relate to the Fleur-de-luce as the cognizance of France, and much learned ink has been spilled in the endeavour to find out what flower, if any, was intended to be represented, so that Mr. Planché says that "next to the origin of heraldry itself, perhaps nothing connected with it has given rise to so much controversy as the origin of this celebrated charge." It has been at various times asserted to be an Iris, a Lily, a sword-hilt, a spearhead, and a toad, or to be simply the Fleur de St. Louis.Adhuc sub judice lis est—and it is never likely to be satisfactorily settled. I need not therefore dwell on it, especially as my present business is to settle not what the Fleur-de-luce meant in the arms of France, but what it meant in Shakespeare's writings. But here the same difficulty at once meets us, some writers affirming stoutly that it is a Lily, others as stoutly that it is an Iris. For the Lily theory there are the facts that Shakespeare calls it one of the Lilies, and that the other way of spelling it is Fleur-de-lys. I find also a strong confirmation of this in the writings of St. Francis de Sales (contemporary with Shakespeare). "Charity," he says, "comprehends the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, and resembles a beautiful Flower-de-luce, which has six leaves whiter than snow, and in the middle the pretty little golden hammers" ("Philo," book xi., Mulholland's translation). This description will in no way fit the Iris, but it may very well be applied to the White Lily. Chaucer, too, seems to connect the Fleur-de-luce with the Lily—

"Her nekke was white as the Flour de Lis."

These are certainly strong authorities for saying that the Flower-de-luce is the Lily. But there are as strong or stronger on the other side. Spenser separates the Lilies from the Flower-de-luces in his pretty lines—

"Strow mee the grounde with Daffadown-Dillies,And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lovéd Lillies;The Pretty PawnceAnd the ChevisaunceShall match with the fayre Floure Delice."

Shepherd's Calendar.

Ben Jonson separates them in the same way—

"Bring rich Carnations, Flower-de-luces, Lillies."

Lord Bacon also separates them: "In April follow the double White Violet, the Wall-flower, the Stock-Gilliflower, the Cowslip, the Flower-de-luces, and Lilies of all Natures;" and so does Drayton—

"The Lily and the Flower de LisFor colours much contenting."

Nymphal V.

In heraldry also the Fleur-de-lis and the Lily are two distinct bearings. Then, from the time of Turner in 1568, through Gerard and Parkinson to Miller, all the botanical writers identify the Iris as the plant named, and with this judgment most of our modern writers agree.[99:1]We may, therefore, assume that Shakespeare meant the Iris as the flower given by Perdita, and we need not be surprised at his classing it among the Lilies. Botanical classification was not very accurate in his day, and long after his time two such celebrated men as Redouté and De Candolle did not hesitate to include in the "Liliacæ," not only Irises, but Daffodils, Tulips, Fritillaries, and even Orchids.

What Iris Shakespeare especially alluded to it is useless to inquire. We have two in England that are indigenous—one the rich golden-yellow (I. pseudacorus), which in some favourable positions, with its roots in the water of a brook, is one of the very handsomest of the tribe; the other the Gladwyn (I. fœtidissima), with dull flowers and strong-smelling leaves, but with most handsome scarlet fruit, which remain on the plant and show themselves boldly all through the winter and early spring. Of other sorts there is a large number, so that the whole family, according to the latest account by Mr. Baker, of Kew, contains ninety-six distinct species besides varieties. They come from all parts of the world, from the Arctic Circle to the South of China; they are of all colours, from the pure white Iris Florentina to the almost black I. Susiana; and of all sizes, from a few inches to four feet or more. They are mostly easy of cultivation and increase readily, so that there are few plants better suited for the hardy garden or more ornamental.

[99:1]G. Fletcher's Flower-de-luce was certainly the Iris—"The Flower-de-Luce and the round specks of dewThat hung upon the azure leaves did shewLike twinkling stars that sparkle in the evening blue."The "leaves" here must be the petals.

[99:1]G. Fletcher's Flower-de-luce was certainly the Iris—

"The Flower-de-Luce and the round specks of dewThat hung upon the azure leaves did shewLike twinkling stars that sparkle in the evening blue."

The "leaves" here must be the petals.

Of Fumitories we have five species in England, all of them weeds in cultivated grounds and in hedgerows. None of them can be considered garden plants, but they are closely allied to the Corydalis, of which there are several pretty species, and to the very handsome Dielytras, of which one species—D. spectabilis—ranks among the very handsomest of our hardy herbaceous plants. How the plant acquired its name of Fumitory—fume-terre, earth-smoke—is not very satisfactorily explained, though many explanations have been given; but that the name was an ancient one we know from the interesting Stockholm manuscript of the eleventh century published by Mr. J. Pettigrew, and of which a few lines are worth quoting. (The poem is published in the "Archæologia," vol. xxx.)—

"Fumiter is erbe, I say,Yt spryngyth ī April et in May,In feld, in town, in yard, et gate,Yer lond is fat and good in state,Dun red is his flourYe erbe smek lik in colowur."

We now call the Ulex Europæus either Gorse, or Furze, or Whin; but in the sixteenth century I think that the Furze and Gorse were distinguished (seeGorse), and that the brown Furze was the Ulex. It is a most beautiful plant, and with its golden blossoms and richly scented flowers is the glory of our wilder hill-sides. It is especially a British plant, for though it is found in other parts of Europe, and even in the Azores and Canaries, yet I believe it is nowhere found in such abundance or in such beauty as in England. Gerard says, "The greatest and highest that I did ever see do grow about Excester, in the West Parts of England;" and those that have seen it in Devonshire will agree with him. It seems to luxuriate in the damp, mild climate of Devonshire, and to see it in full flower as it covers the low hills that abut upon the Channel between Ilfracombe and Clovelly is a sight to be long remembered. It is, indeed, a plant that we may well be proud of. Linnæus could only grow it in a greenhouse, and there is a well-known story of Dillenius that when he first saw the Furze in blossom in England he fell on his knees and thanked God for sparing his life to see so beautiful a part of His creation. The story may be apocryphal, but we have a later testimony from another celebrated traveller who had seen the glories of tropical scenery, and yet was faithful to the beauties of the wild scenery of England. Mr. Wallace bears this testimony: "I have never seen in the tropics such brilliant masses of colour as even England can show in her Furze-clad commons, her glades of Wild Hyacinths, her fields of Poppies, her meadows of Buttercups and Orchises, carpets of yellow, purple, azure blue, and fiery crimson, which the tropics can rarely exhibit. We have smaller masses of colour in our Hawthorns and Crab trees, our Holly and Mountain Ash, our Broom, Foxgloves, Primroses, and purple Vetches, which clothe with gay colours the length and breadth of our land" ("Malayan Archipelago," ii. 296).

As a garden shrub the Furze may be grown either as a single lawn shrub or in the hedge or shrubbery. Everywhere it will be handsome both in its single and double varieties, and as it bears the knife well, it can be kept within limits. The upright Irish form also makes an elegant shrub, but does not flower so freely as the typical plant.

There is something almost mysterious in the Garlick that it should be so thoroughly acceptable, almost indispensable, to many thousands, while to others it is so horribly offensive as to be unbearable. The Garlick of Egypt was one of the delicacies that the Israelites looked back to with fond regret, and we know from Herodotus that it was the daily food of the Egyptian labourer; yet, in later times, the Mohammedan legend recorded that "when Satan stepped out from the Garden of Eden after the fall of man, Garlick sprung up from the spot where he placed his left foot, and Onions from that which his right foot touched, on which account, perhaps, Mohammed habitually fainted at the sight of either." It was the common food also of the Roman labourer, but Horace could only wonder at the "dura messorum illia" that could digest the plant "cicutis allium nocentius." It was, and is the same with its medical virtues. According to some it was possessed of every virtue,[102:1]so that it had the name of Poor Man's Treacle(the word treacle not having its present meaning, but being the Anglicised form of theriake, or heal-all[103:1]); while, on the other hand, Gerard affirmed "it yieldeth to the body no nourishment at all; it ingendreth naughty and sharpe bloud."

Bullein describes it quaintly: "It is a grosse kinde of medicine, verye unpleasant for fayre Ladies and tender Lilly Rose colloured damsels which often time profereth sweet breathes before gentle wordes, but both would do very well" ("Book of Simples"). Yet if we could only divest it of its evil smell, the wild Wood Garlick would rank among the most beautiful of our British plants. Its wide leaves are very similar to those of the Lily of the Valley, and its starry flowers are of the very purest white. But it defies picking, and where it grows it generally takes full possession, so that I have known several woods—especially on the Cotswold Hills—that are to be avoided when the plant is in flower. The woods are closely carpeted with them, and every step you take brings out their fœtid odour. There are many species grown in the gardens, some of which are even very sweet smelling (as A. odorum and A. fragrans); but these are the exceptions, and even these have the Garlick scent in their leaves and roots. Of the rest many are very pretty and worth growing, but they are all more or less tainted with the evil habits of the family.

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