The Tansy
Tanacetum vulgare.
OBVIOUS etymologies, as we observed while discussing the origin of the name "snowdrop," are, indeed, sometimes right, but they are wrong often enough to prove the folly of any general declaration. How very Teutonic does the word "tansy" appear to the casual eye, and how very far from the tongue of the Teuton is its beginning in the verbal world! Although a bitter plant, it bears no relation by name to the process of tanning, but represents in reality the Athanasia of Olympus. Thus we must make a lofty flight to settle the etymology of this cottage garden herb, that to-day gives flavour (and a very unpleasant flavour) to a pudding, and to-morrow is employed to make a nauseous draught which ranks in fame with salts and senna as an agony incidental to the spring-time of our mortal life, when bitters are bitter indeed. It is a fact, for which there is abundant book evidence, that tansy was sold as athanasia, and it acquired that name from the supposition that a plant was employed by the gods to render favoured mortals immortal, and fit society for the celestial highnesses by whom human destinies were governed. King Jupiter said to Mercury, "Take away this Ganymede; give him a draught of athanasia to render him immortal, and bring him back to serve here as cup-bearer." You will find the story in Lucian. It is only necessary to knock out the first letter, and the name is seen to be fully prepared for degradation; in fact, that small change starts it on the journey down the steep sides of Olympus into the smoky valleys where mortal men are to be found. The botanical name Tanacetum is quite modern, and gives one the idea of a great mass of tansy. Thus with the name of the plant we are quite out of the region of common sense. For garden use, tansy ranks with golden rod and other such second-rate plants. Nevertheless a mass of tansy in flower is a fine sight in its way even in a garden; but when met with by the seaside, or in some half-wild waste where it has been long undisturbed, it may be described as noble, for the foliage is peculiarly rich, while the golden button glitter gloriously in the sunshine. As a garden plant, however, the tansy rises high above the commonplace, for it has enjoyed a degree of fame in connection with the so-called "leaf bedding" that has been in fashion of late years, since its delicious tone of green gives relief to the purple, bronze, and golden leafage of other and less hardy plants that are in request for planting in masses. The common tansy answers for this purpose fairly well; but a variety known as crispum is far better. This variety is of dwarf, compact growth, and the colour of the leaves is brilliant emerald green; they are most elegantly cut, and delicately crisped and frizzled. To insure full appreciation of the beauty of this variety we should have to represent it as rare and costly; in which case, were the declaration accepted as true, the plant would be regarded as wonderful and unique. But it is a hard task to work up a rapture about the qualities of anything that is "common," and so we shall close this paragraph by saying that the variety crispum should not be allowed to flower, and that each plant should be somewhat isolated, so as to display its beauties advantageously, for when overcrowded these do not properly appear.
Tansy puddings, tansy cakes, and tansy omelettes are, perhaps, out of fashion. But they were certainly relished in days gone by, for Gerarde speaks of them as "pleasant in taste," and he recommends tansy sweetmeats as "an especial thing against the gout, if every day for a certain space a reasonable quantitie thereof be eaten fasting."
One of the most curious uses of the plant in olden times, perhaps, was that of rubbing it on joints of meat to prevent the attacks of flies; but how the flavour that was thereby imparted to the meat was got rid of we do not know. Perhaps, as the plant was commonly used in cookery, a tansy-flavoured joint of meat was always welcome, as in some parts of Europe it is customary to insert a clove of garlie in the top end of a leg of mutton, that in the process of cooking the entire joint may acquire the flavour of the vegetable that it is almost a sin to think of in polite society.
Here is a picture of an old-fashioned garden with the tansy in full glory in the midst thereof:- "And where the marjoram once, and sage, and rue, And balm, and mint, with curl'd-leaf parsley grew, And double marigolds, and silver thyme, And pumpkins 'neath the window climb; And where I often, when a child, for hours Tried through the pales to get the tempting flowers, As lady's laces, everlasting peas, True-love-lies-bleeding, with the hearts-at-ease, And golden rods, and tansy running high, That o'er the pale-tops smiled on passers-by."