The disagreement between Shakespeare and Anne Shirley and what it means for my garden
Okay, I’m going to go down a rabbit hole before I talk about today’s holiday. Bear with me.
William Shakespeare and L. M. Montgomery’s beloved character from Anne of Green Gables didn’t always see eye to eye. Never mind that they were separated by nearly 300 years… and Shakespeare was a real person whereas Anne is only real in the hearts of those who have read the timeless novel… so having a debate between the two would have been tricky to orchestrate in-person. Nonetheless, the record of the disagreement has outlasted Montgomery by more than 80 years.
Thing is, there is plenty of philosophy in Shakespeare’s works that is worth debating. Take for instance, the fascinating assertions he made in Hamlet in the famous “to be or not to be” speech about the conscience, which “makes cowards of us all.” He also said that thinking something through before doing it, has a tendency to—i’ll translate what he said into modern English—sicken a person’s resolve and turn aside great enterprises that would have been put into action if it hadn’t been for all the overthinking. If that wouldn’t make for a great debate topic, I don’t know what would.
But it wasn’t this—or any number of other assertions—that Anne Shirley questioned. It was an assertion that he made in Romeo and Juliet. I’ll let her explain it in her own words: “I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I’ve never been able to believe it. I don’t believe a rose would be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.”
As much as I love Anne—i practically grew up with her—i’m prone to agree with Shakespeare. From my experience, a label doesn’t change nature. But that being said, I’ve never actually smelled a rose that was called a thistle or skunk cabbage, so I can’t say definitively that Anne was wrong. It’s kind of like the age-old question about whether or not a tree makes noise if it falls in the forest and no one’s around to hear it.
Okay, I’ll climb off my soap box now, and thank you for your patience. I feel better for getting that off my chest. But, what does that have to do with anything? Well, the month of June is National Rose Month. As the rose has always been my favorite flower, I couldn’t resist writing about it.
There’s an incredible amount of variety in the rose genus. At the American Rose Center near Shreveport, Louisiana alone there are over 400 of varieties of roses over a 60-acre garden! (Road trip, anyone?) Although there are several ways to classify roses—height, color, number of petals, etc.—there are three categories that are pretty much accepted by horticulturists: modern, old garden, and wild.
Modern roses are a fairly large category. Basically, if it’s a hybrid dating back to 1867, it’s modern. Why 1867? That was the year that the first hybrid, a tea rose called “La France,” was introduced to society. I’ve seen pictures, and it is a quintessential cotton candy pink rose that reminds me of a rose bush that grew in my yard as a child but with more thorns.
No one really knows how La France came to be, though some think that it was a happenstance seedling from “Madame Falcot,” “Mme. Victor Verdier,” “Mme. Bravy” or “Socrates,” all of which were popular rose varieties at the time. One source I read contributed the flower to Jean-baptiste Andre Guillot, saying that not even he knew where it came from. “I have seen some of their nurseries—beds of thousands of seedlings without a tally amongst them; the hips have been gathered promiscuously, and the seed sown without any reference to the plants from whence they have come,” said the historian. However La France was developed, about 80% of all modern roses are in some way descended from La France.
From my understanding, La France was not the first hybrid attempt but it was the first that really took root in society at large (sorry, couldn’t resist). In any case, all roses before La France are considered to be old garden varieties. Although they only bloom once per season and don’t have the same slightly curled petals like what we’re used to today, these types of roses are living history. They include the roses that the American Founding Fathers grew in their hothouses, like Thomas Jefferson’s Noisette, and date back to antiquity, like the Gallica roses favored by the ancient Greeks and Romans. Really, an entire article could be written about them alone.
Then there’s the wild rose. These are the woodland cousins of the flowerbed roses. Normally, they are pink and have five petals. Around here, however, most of the wild flowers I’ve seen are white with pink stripes. Most of the ones I’ve found grow in huge bushes that are seven or eight feet tall and very thorny. But the flowers are so beautiful that it’s worth it. I also appreciate the rose hips, which are edible and have a fantastic plummy flavor after the first frost (just as a disclaimer, always do your due research before eating a wild plant. Unless you develop superhero powers from eating a weed in the woods, I accept responsibility for only my own rogue snacking).
So, then, what does the disagreement between Shakespeare and Anne Shirley have to do with my garden? Ultimately, nothing. But I can’t deny a certain desire to go home and put a plant label by the rosebush with “Bob” written on it. Ya know, just to test the theory. Then again, using an actual name might not be a good option. Maybe it would only—potentially— smell different if I actually labeled it “skunk cabbage.” Only one way to find out, I guess!
Cheers!