Part 113 (1/2)

_Ibid._ xxi.

(19)

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die; But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

_Ibid._ xciv.

(20)

Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.

_Ibid._ xcviii.

”Of all the vain a.s.sumptions of these c.o.xcombical times, that which arrogates the pre-eminence in the true science of gardening is the vainest. True, our conservatories are full of the choicest plants from every clime: we ripen the Grape and the Pine-apple with an art unknown before, and even the Mango, the Mangosteen, and the Guava are made to yield their matured fruits; but the real beauty and poetry of a garden are lost in our efforts after rarity, and strangeness, and variety.” So, nearly forty years ago, wrote the author of ”The Poetry of Gardening,” a pleasant, though somewhat fantastic essay, first published in the ”Carthusian,” and afterwards re-published in Murray's ”Reading for the Rail,” in company with an excellent article from the ”Quarterly” by the same author under the t.i.tle of ”The Flower Garden;” and I quote it because this ”vain a.s.sumption” is probably stronger and more widespread now than when that article was written. We often hear and read accounts of modern gardening in which it is coolly a.s.sumed, and almost taken for granted, that the science of horticulture, and almost the love of flowers, is a product of the nineteenth century. But the love of flowers is no new taste in Englishmen, and the science of horticulture is in no way a modern science. We have made large progress in botanical science during the present century, and our easy communications with the whole habitable globe have brought to us thousands of new and beautiful plants in endless varieties; and we have many helps in gardening that were quite unknown to our forefathers. Yet there were brave old gardeners in our forefathers' times, and a very little acquaintance with the literature of the sixteenth century will show that in Shakespeare's time there was a most healthy and manly love of flowers for their own sake, and great industry and much practical skill in gardening. We might, indeed, go much further back than the fifteenth century, and still find the same love and the same skill. We have long lists of plants grown in times before the Conquest, with treatises on gardening, in which there is much that is absurd, but which show a practical experience in the art, and which show also that the gardens of those days were by no means ill-furnished either with fruit or flowers. Coming a little later, Chaucer takes every opportunity to speak with a most loving affection for flowers, both wild and cultivated, and for well-kept gardens; and Spenser's poems show a familiar acquaintance with them, and a warm admiration for them. Then in Shakespeare's time we have full records of the gardens and gardening which must have often met his eye; and we find that they were not confined to a few fine places here and there, but that good gardens were the necessary adjunct to every country house, and that they were cultivated with a zeal and a skill that would be a credit to any gardener of our own day. In Harrison's description of ”England in Shakespeare's Youth,” recently published by the new Shakespeare Society, we find that Harrison himself, though only a poor country parson, ”took pains with his garden, in which, though its area covered but 300ft. of ground, there was 'a simple' for each foot of ground, no one of them being common or usually to be had.” About the same time Gerard's Catalogues show that he grew in his London garden more than a thousand species of hardy plants; and Lord Bacon's famous ”Essay on Gardens” not only shows what a grand idea of gardening he had himself, but also that this idea was not Utopian, but one that sprang from personal acquaintance with stately gardens, and from an innate love of gardens and flowers. Almost at the same time, but a little later, we come to the celebrated ”John Parkinson, Apothecary of London, the King's Herbarist,”

whose ”Paradisus Terrestris,” first published in 1629, is indeed ”a choise garden of all sorts of rarest flowers.” His collection of plants would even now be considered an excellent collection, if it could be brought together, while his descriptions and cultural advice show him to have been a thorough practical gardener, who spoke of plants and gardens from the experience of long-continued hard work amongst them. And contemporary with him was Milton, whose numerous descriptions of flowers are nearly all of cultivated plants, as he must have often seen them in English gardens.

And so we are brought to the conclusion that in the pa.s.sages quoted above in which Shakespeare speaks so lovingly and tenderly of his favourite flowers, these expressions are not to be put down to the fancy of the poet, but that he was faithfully describing what he daily saw or might have seen, and what no doubt he watched with that carefulness and exactness which could only exist in conjunction with a real affection for the objects on which he gazed, ”the fresh and fragrant flowers,”

”the pretty flow'rets,” ”the sweet flowers,” ”the beauteous flowers,”

”the sweet summer buds,” ”the blossoms pa.s.sing fair,” ”the darling buds of May.”

II.--GARDENS.

(1) _King_ (reads).

It standeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner of thy curious-knotted Garden.

_Loves Labour's Lost_, act i, sc. 1 (248).

(2) _Isabella._

He hath a Garden circ.u.mmured with brick, Whose western side is with a Vineyard back'd; And to that Vineyard is a planched gate That makes his opening with this bigger key: The other doth command a little door Which from the Vineyard to the garden leads.

_Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 1 (28).

(3) _Antonio._

The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of mine.

_Much Ado About Nothing_, act i, sc. 2 (9).

(4) _Iago._

Our bodies are our Gardens, &c.

(_See_ HYSSOP.) _Oth.e.l.lo_, act i, sc. 3 (323).