William Fiennes: As soon as I had its name in my head, I started to notice the plant

I was nine when Dad pointed to a small plant at the front of the Battlement Border and said the words “Alchemilla mollis.” I’d heard him use botanical names before but this was the first time he’d yoked the strange words so deliberately to a thing. He got me to say the words after him: Alchemilla mollis. At first I couldn’t get them right. The words knotted and snarled in my mouth; we had to work through them syllable by syllable, the names a technique my lips and tongue needed to master by practice. But as soon as I said them once, it was easy. Alchemilla mollis. Alchemilla mollis. I looked down at the plant, leaf rims crimped in pleats, the small yellow-green flowers, and said the plant’s own name back to it as if in greeting. The words slid fluently, a musical pleasure in that procession of l’s and m’s, the see-saw rhythm of Alchemilla mollis. As soon as I had its name in my head I started to notice the plant all over the garden: at the front of borders, seeded in cracks between flagstones. The name was a kind of recognition. Now Alchemilla mollis stood out from other, anonymous plants.

William Fiennes, The Music Room (2009)

Charles Lamb: Choosing a name

Choosing A Name

I have got a new-born sister;
I was nigh the first that kissed her.
When the nursing woman brought her
to papa, his infant daughter,
how papa’s dear eyes did glisten!-
She will shortly be to christen:
and papa has made the offer,
I shall have the naming of her.

Now I wonder what would please her,
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa.
Ann and Mary, they’re too common;
Joan’s too formal for a woman;
Jane’s a prettier name beside;
but we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if ’twas Rebecca,
that she was a little Quaker.
Edith’s pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books;
Ellen’s left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.

None that I have named as yet
are so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine.
What do you think of Caroline?
How I’m puzzled and perplext
what to choose or think of next!
I am in a little fever.
Lest the name that I shall give her
should disgrace her or defame her,
I will leave papa to name her.

Charles Lamb (1775-1834)

Ambrosius-names in Britain

Oral and written tradition has preserved something of Ambrosius. His name passed into Welsh legend as Emrys, and spread thence into modern usage. One or two sites in Wales, and perhaps in Cornwall, bear his name. Features of the landscape named after heroes, like Dinas Emrys or “Arthur’s seat,” are never by themselves evidence that the hero had anything to do with the place. What they show is that when they were so named the local population knew and loved stories told about those heroes, and liked to imagine that their exploits were performed in their own familiar countryside….

Places named after stories of Ambrosius are fewer than those inspired by the Arthur legend, and are evidence of when and where the stories were told. The Arthur names derive almost entirely from the Norman romances of the 12th and later centuries; but they are fewer in Wales than in England, and in Wales the legend of Ambrosius was well established by the eighth century, though it was not long-lived. It may be that during the sixth and seventh centuries the name of Ambrosius was as well loved as that of Arthur.

It is also possible that Ambrosius’ name survives in England for reasons that owe nothing to legend. “Ambros” or “Ambres” is considerably commoner in English place names than is Emrys in Welsh. Strenuous efforts to find an English origin for these names have failed; since they are not English, they are names that were used before the English came. The syllables have no meaning in any relevant language; the early spellings suggest that they usually represent the name of a person, and probably always do so.

The Ridgeway is an ancient road across the highlands of southern England. It passes near Amesbury.

In late Roman usage, cities often bore the names of emperors, but lesser places were rarely so distinguished, save in one particular context. Army units often named the places that they garrisoned, and in the late empire army units commonly bore the names of the emperors who raised them; the “Theodosiani” and the “Honoriaci” were regiments raised by the emperors Theodosius and Honorius. It is likely that any units raised by Ambrosius were known as “Ambrosiaci,” and possible that they named the places where they were garrisoned, in lands they had recovered and pacified. The English towns and villages called Ambrosden, Amberley, Amesbury and the like are found only in one part of the country, in the south and south midlands, between the Severn and East Anglia, on the edges of the war zone between the Cotswold heartlands of the Combrogi and the powerful English kingdoms of the east. Half of these places are suitably sited to defend Colchester and London against Kent and the East Angles, and three more border on South Saxon territory. Several of them are the names of earthworks. If garrisons were there stationed, they were established when the Thames basin was securely held, and they stayed long enough to leave their names behind, into and beyond the time of Arthur.

John Morris (1913-1977) in The Age of Arthur: A History of the British Isles from 350 to 650 (1973), ch. 6

Shakespeare: What is a name?

[Romeo and Juliet come from feuding families, the Montagues and the Capulets. But they fall in love at a ball, and Romeo, sneaking into her garden, overhears Juliet talking to herself on her balcony]

Juliet. Oh, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;
or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
and I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

Romeo. [Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

Juliet.‘Tis but thy name that is mine enemy;
thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What is Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet;
so Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,
retain that dear perfection which he owes
without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
and for that name which is no part of thee
take all myself.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Romeo and Juliet (ca 1595), Act II, Scene 2.

Oscar Wilde: “My ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Ernest”


[Jack Worthing is about to propose to Gwendolen. She thinks his name is Ernest.]

Gwendolen. …Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you.  [Jack looks at her in amazement.]  … my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Ernest.  There is something in that name that inspires absolute confidence.  The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you.

Jack. You really love me, Gwendolen?

Gwendolen.  Passionately!

Jack. Darling!  You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.

Gwendolen. My own Ernest!

Jack.  But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my name wasn’t Ernest?

Gwendolen. But your name is Ernest.

Jack. Yes, I know it is.  But supposing it was something else?  Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me then?

Gwendolen.  [Glibly.]  Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.

Jack. Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don’t much care about the name of Ernest . . . I don’t think the name suits me at all.

Gwendolen.  It suits you perfectly.  It is a divine name.  It has a music of its own.  It produces vibrations.

Jack. Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names.  I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.

Gwendolen. Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed.  It does not thrill.  It produces absolutely no vibrations . . . I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain.  Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John!  And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John.  She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment’s solitude.  The only really safe name is Ernest.

Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), The Importance of Being Earnest (1895), Act I