Looking round the library one day, to see if I could see any more
books about gardening, I found the Book of Paradise.
It is a very old book, and very queer. It has a brown leather
back--not russia--and stiff little gold flowers and ornaments all the
way down, where Miller's Dictionary has gold swans in crowns, and
ornaments.
There are a good many old books in the library, but they are not
generally very interesting--at least not to us. So when I found that
though this one had a Latin name on the title page, it was written in
English, and that though it seemed to be about Paradise, it was really
about a garden, and quite common flowers, I was delighted, for I
always have cared more for gardening and flowers than for any other
amusement, long before we found Miller's Gardener's Dictionary. And
the Book of Paradise is much smaller than the dictionary, and easier
to hold. And I like old, queer things, and it is very old and queer.
The Latin name is, "_Paradisi in sole, Paradisus terrestris_," which
we do not any of us understand, though we are all learning Latin; so
we call it the Book of Paradise. But the English name is--"Or a Garden
of all sorts of pleasant flowers which our English ayre will permitt
to be noursed up;" and on the top of every page is written "The Garden
of Pleasant Flowers," and it says--"Collected by John Parkinson,
Apothecary of London, and the King's Herbarist, 1629."
I had to think a minute to remember who was the king then, and it was
King Charles I.; so then I knew that it was Queen Henrietta to whom
the book was dedicated. This was the dedication:--
"TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY."
"_Madame_,--Knowing your Majesty so much delighted with all the
fair flowers of a Garden, and furnished with them as far beyond
others as you are eminent before them; this my Work of a Garden
long before this intended to be published, and but now only
finished, seemed as it were destined to be first offered into
your Highness's hands as of right, challenging the propriety of
Patronage from all others. Accept, I beseech your Majesty, this
speaking Garden, that may inform you in all the particulars of
your store as well as wants, when you cannot see any of them
fresh upon the ground: and it shall further encourage him to
accomplish the remainder; who in praying that your Highness may
enjoy the heavenly Paradise, after many years' fruition of this
earthly, submitteth to be your Majesties,"
"In all humble devotion,"
"JOHN PARKINSON."
We like queer old things like this, they are so funny! I liked the
Dedication, and I wondered if the Queen's Garden really was an Earthly
Paradise, and whether she did enjoy reading John Parkinson's book
about flowers in the winter time, when her own flowers were no longer
"fresh upon the ground." And then I wondered what flowers she had, and
I looked out a great many of our chief favorites, and she had several
kinds of them.
We are particularly fond of Daffodils, and she had several kinds of
Daffodils, from the "Primrose Peerlesse,"[1] "of a sweet but stuffing
scent," to "the least Daffodil of all,"[2] which the book says "was
brought to us by a Frenchman called Francis le Vean, the honestest
root-gatherer that ever came over to us."
[Footnote 1: _Narcissus media lutens vulgaris._]
[Footnote 2: _Narcissus minimus_, Parkinson. _N. minor_, Miller.]
The Queen had Cowslips too, though our gardener despised them when he
saw them in my garden. I dug mine up in Mary's Meadow before Father
and the Old Squire went to law; but they were only common Cowslips,
with one Oxlip, by good luck. In the Earthly Paradise there were
"double Cowslips, one within another." And they were called
Hose-in-Hose. I wished I had Hose-in-Hose.
Arthur was quite as much delighted with the Book of Paradise as I. He
said, "Isn't it funny to think of Queen Henrietta Maria gardening. I
wonder if she went trailing up and down the walks looking like that
picture of her we saw when you and I were in London with Mother about
our teeth, and went to see the Loan Collection of Old Masters. I
wonder if the Dwarf picked the flowers for her. I do wonder what
Apothecary John Parkinson looked like when he offered his Speaking
Garden into her Highnesses' hands. And what beautiful hands she had!
Do you remember the picture, Mary? It was by Vandyke."
I remembered it quite well.
That afternoon the others could not amuse themselves, and wanted me to
tell them a story. They do not like old stories too often, and it is
rather difficult to invent new ones. Sometimes we do it by turns. We
sit in a circle and one of us begins, and the next must add something,
and so we go on. But that way does not make a good plot. My head was
so full of the Book of Paradise that afternoon that I could not think
of a story, but I said I would begin one. So I began:
"Once upon a time there was a Queen--"
"How was she dressed?" asked Adela, who thinks a good deal about
dress.
"She had a beautiful dark-blue satin robe."
"Princesse shape?" inquired Adela.
"No; Queen's shape," said Arthur. "Drive on, Mary."
"And lace ruffles falling back from her Highness' hands--"
"Sweet!" murmured Adela.
"And a high hat, with plumes, on her head, and--"
"A very low dwarf at her heels," added Arthur.
"Was there really a dwarf, Mary?" asked Harry.
"There was," said I.
"Had he a hump, or was he only a plain dwarf?"
"He was a very plain dwarf," said Arthur.
"Does Arthur know the story, Mary?"
"No, Harry, he doesn't; and he oughtn't to interfere till I come to a
stop."
"Beg pardon, Mary. Drive on."
"The Queen was very much delighted with all fair flowers, and she had
a garden so full of them that it was called the Earthly Paradise."
There was a long-drawn and general "Oh!" of admiration.
"But though she was a Queen, she couldn't have flowers in the winter,
not even in an Earthly Paradise."
"Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by-the-bye, Mary?" said
Arthur.
"Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know
it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses
or anything like we have now."
"And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John
Parkinson--"
"I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like that,"
said Harry.
"Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela.
"Well, I can't help it; his name _was_ John Parkinson."
"Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur.
"And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there
were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she
could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about
them, and think about them, and count up how many she had."
"Ah, but she couldn't tell. Some of them might have died in the
winter," said Adela.
"Ah, but some of the others might have got little ones at their
roots," said Harry. "So that would make up."
I said nothing. I was glad of the diversion, for I could not think
how to go on with the story. Before I quite gave in, Harry luckily
asked, "Was there a Weeding Woman in the Earthly Paradise?"
"There was," said I.
"How was she dressed?" asked Adela.
"She had a dress the color of common earth."
"Princesse shape?" inquired Arthur.
"No; Weeding Woman shape. Arthur, I wish you wouldn't--"
"All right, Mary. Drive on."
"And a little shawl, that had partly the color of grass, and partly
the color of hay."
"_Hay, dear!_" interpolated Arthur, exactly imitating a well-known
sigh peculiar to Bessy's aunt.
"Was her bonnet like our weeding woman's bonnet?" asked Adela, in a
disappointed tone.
"Much larger," said I, "and the color of a Marigold."
Adela looked happier. "Strings the same?" she asked.
"No. One string canary color, and the other white."
"And a basket?" asked Harry.
"Yes, a basket, of course. Well, the Queen had all sorts of flowers in
her garden. Some of them were natives of the country, and some of them
were brought to her from countries far away, by men called
Root-gatherers. There were very beautiful Daffodils in the Earthly
Paradise, but the smallest of all the Daffodils--"
"A Dwarf, like the Hunchback?" said Harry.
"The Dwarf Daffodil of all was brought to her by a man called Francis
le Vean."
"That was a _much_ nicer name than John Parkinson," said Harry.
"And he was the honestest Root-gatherer that ever brought foreign
flowers into the Earthly Paradise."
"Then I love him!" said Harry.