OF HERBS CHIEFLY USED IN THE PAST
The wyfe of Bath was so wery, she had no wyl to walk;
She toke the Priores by the honde, “Madam, wol ye stalk
Pryvely into the garden to se the herbis growe?”
. . . And forth on they wend
Passing forth softly into the herbery.
_Prologue to Beryn_--URRY’S Edition.
ALEXANDERS (_Smyrnum Olusatrium_).
Alexanders, Allisanders, the black Pot-herb or Wild Horse-Parsley, as it
is variously called, grows naturally near the sea, and has often been
seen growing wild near old buildings. The Italians call it _Herba
Alexandrina_, according to some writers, because it was supposed
originally to have come from Alexandria; according to others, because
its[38] old name was _Petroselinum Alexandrinum_, or _Alexandrina_,
“so-called of _Alexander_, the finder thereof.” The leaves are “cut into
many parcells like those of Smallage,” but are larger; the seeds have an
“aromaticall and spicy smell”; the root is like a little radish and good
to be eaten, and if broken or cut “there issueth a juice that quickly
waxeth thicke, having in it a sharpe bitterness, like in taste unto
Myrrh.” The upper parts of the roots (being the tenderest) and leaves
were used in broth; the young tops make an “excellent Vernal Pottage,”
and may be eaten as salad, by themselves or “in composition in the
Spring, or, if they be blanched, in the Winter.” They were chiefly
recommended for the time of Lent, in a day when Lent was more strictly
kept than it is now, because they are supposed to go well with fish.
Alexanders resemble celery, by which it has been almost entirely
supplanted, and if desired as food should be sown every year, for though
it continues to grow, it produces nothing fit for the table after the
second year. Pliny says it should be “digged or delved over once or
twice, yea, and at any time from the blowing of the western wind
Favonius in Februarie, until the later Equinox in September be past.”
The reference to Favonius reminds one of those lines of exquisite
freshness translated from Leonidas.
’Tis time to sail--the swallow’s note is heard!
Who chattering down the soft west wind is come.
The fields are all a-flower, the waves are dumb,
Which ersts the winnowing blast of winter stirred.
Loose cable, friend, and bid your anchor rise,
Crowd all your canvas at Priapus’ hest,
Who tells you from your harbours, “Now, ’twere best,
Sailor, to sail upon your merchandise.”
[38] Britten, “Dictionary of English Plant-Names.”
[Illustration: ANGELICA]
ANGELICA (_Archangelica officinalis_).
Contagious aire, ingendring pestilence,
Infects not those that in their mouths have ta’en,
Angelica that happy Counterbane,
Sent down from heav’n by some celestial scout,
As well the name and nature both avow’t.
_Du Bartas_--SYLVESTER’S TRANSLATION, 1641.
And Master-wort, whose name Dominion wears,
With her, who an Angelick Title bears.
_Of Plants_, book ii.--COWLEY.
As these lines declare, Angelica was believed to have sprung from a
heavenly origin, and greatly were its powers revered. Parkinson says,
“All Christian nations likewise in their appellations hereof follow the
Latine name as near as their Dialect will permit, onely in Sussex
they call the wilde Kinde Kex, and the weavers wind their yarne on the
dead stalkes.” The Laplanders crowned their poets with it, believing
that the odour inspired them, and they also thought that the use of it
“strengthens life.” The roots hung round the neck “are available against
witchcraft and inchantments,” so Gerarde says, and thereby makes a
concession to popular superstition, which he very rarely does. A piece
of the root held in the mouth drives away infection of pestilence, and
is good against all poisons, mad dogs or venomous beasts! Parkinson puts
it first and foremost in a list of specially excellent medicinal herbs
that he makes “for the profit and use of Country Gentlewomen and
others,” and writes: “The whole plante, both leafe, roote, and seede is
of an excellent comfortable sent, savour and taste.” No wonder with such
powers that it gained its name. Angelica comes into a remedy for a wound
from an _arquebusade_ or arquebuse, called _Eau d’Arquebusade_, which
was first mentioned by Phillippe de Comines in his account of the battle
of Morat, 1476. “The French still prepare it very carefully from a great
number of aromatic herbs. In England, where it is the _Aqua Vulneria_ of
the Pharmacopœias, the formula is: Dried mint, angelica tops and
wormwood, angelica seeds, oil of juniper and spirit of rosemary
distilled with rectified spirit and water (Timbs).” It must be borne in
mind that Timbs wrote some time ago, and that the knowledge of modern
French scientists, like that of our own, has increased since then.
Although it is of no value in medicine (it is next to none when
cultivated) our garden angelica also grows wild, and can be safely
eaten. Gerarde is amusing on this point. He says it grows in an “Island
in the North called Island (Iceland?). It is eaten of the inhabitants,
the barke being pilled off, as we understand by some that have travelled
into Island, who were sometimes compelled to eate hereof for want of
other food; and they report that it hath a good and pleasant taste _to
them that are hungry_.” The last words are significant! Formerly, the
leaf-stalks were blanched, and eaten as celery is, but now they are
chiefly used, candied, for dessert. The art of candying seems to have
been brought closer to perfection abroad than at home in Turner’s time,
for he says: “The rootes are now condited in Danske, for a friend of
mine in London, called Maister Aleyne, a merchant man, who hath ventured
over to Danske, sent me a little vessel of these, well condited with
honey, very excellent good. Wherefore they that would have anye Angelica
maye speake to the Marchauntes of Danske, who can provide them enough.”
The fruit is used to flavour _Chartreuse_ and other “cordials.”
BLITES (_Blitum_).
Dr Prior confirms Evelyn, in calling _Bonus Henricus_ Blites, but the
older herbalists seem to have given this name to another plant of the
same tribe, the _Chenopodiaceæ_, because they treat of _Blites_ and
_Bonus Henricus_ in separate chapters. Parkinson is very uncomplimentary
to them. “Blitum are of the species Amaranthum, Flower Gentle. They are
used as arrach, eyther boyled of itself or stewed, which they call
Loblolly.... It is altogether insipid and without taste. The
unsavouriness whereof hath in many countries grown into a proverb, or
by-word, to call dull, slow or lazy persons by that name.” The context
points to the nickname coming from “Blites,” but no such term of
reproach now exists, though the contemptuous _sobriquet_ “Loblolly-boy”
is sometimes seen in old-fashioned nautical novels. Blites were said to
be hurtful to the eyes, a belief that draws a scathing remark from
Gerarde, “I have heard many old wives say to their servants, ‘Gather no
Blites to put in my pottage, for they are not good for the eyesight’;
whence they had those words I know not, it may be of some doctor that
never went to school.” Culpepper mentions that wild blites “the fishes
are delighted with, and it is a good and usual bait, for fishes will
bite fast enough at them if you have but wit enough to catch when they
bite.” Altogether this insipid vegetable gives scope for a good many
sharp things to be said.
_Blitum capitatum_, usually known as strawberry-spinach, is sometimes
grown in flower gardens.
BLOODWORT (_Lapathum Sanguineum_).
The modern Latin name for this dock is _Rumex Sanguineus_, but Gesner
had a more imposing title, _Sanguis draconis herba_ (Dragon’s blood
plant). These names are, of course, derived from the crimson colour of
its veins, and are the finest thing about it. The little notice it does
get is not unmixed praise. “Among the sorts of pot-herbes, Blood-worte
hath always been accounted a principall one, although I _doe not see any
great reason therein_.” This is Parkinson’s opinion, but the italics are
mine.
BUCK’S-HORNE (_Senebiera Coronopus_).
As true as steel,
As Plantage to the moon.
_Troilus and Cressida_, iii. 2.
And plantain ribb’d that heals the reaper’s wound,
And marg’ram sweet, in shepherds’ posies found.
_The School-Mistress._--SHENSTONE.
Buck’s-horne is distinct from Buckshorn Plantain (_Plantago Coronopus_),
but it is the latter which is chiefly interesting, and which is meant
here. In Evelyn’s day the Latin name was _Cornu Cervinum_, and other
names are _Herba Stella_, Herb Ivy and _Corne de Cerf_. Some kinds of
plantain were considered good for wounds, but the saying that “plantage”
is true to the moon is hard to solve. Buck’s-horne is a plant that has
gone altogether out of fashion. In 1577 Hill wrote, “What care and skil
is required in the sowing and ordering of the Buck’s-horne, Strawberries
and Mustardseede,”--and how odd it looks now to see it coupled with the
two other names, as a cherished object to spend pains upon! Le Quintinye
says that the leaves, when tender, were used in “Sallad Furnitures...
and the little Birds are very greedy of them.” It used to be held
profitable for agues if “the rootes, with the rest of the herb,” were
hung about the necke, “as nine to men and seven to women and children,
but this as many other are idle amulets of no worth or value... yet,
since, it hath been reported to me for a certaintie that the leaves of
Buck’shorne Plantane laid to their sides that have an ague, will
suddenly ease the fit, as if it had been done by witcherie; the leaves
and rootes also beaten with some bay salt and applied to the wrestes,
worketh the same effects, which I hold to be more reasonable and
proper.” Parkinson is very ready to lay down the law as to the limits of
empiricism. He is very severe about a superstition connected with
Mugwort, but though the same tradition exists of plantain, and (under
Mugwort) he quotes Mizaldus as mentioning it, he says nothing about this
folly here. Aubrey, however, gives an account of it in his
“Miscellanies.” “The last summer, on the day of St John Baptist, I
accidently was walking in the pasture behind Montague House; it was
twelve o’clock. I saw there about two or three and twenty young women,
most of them well habited, on their knees, very busie, as if they had
been weeding. I could not presently learn what the matter was; at last a
young man told me that they were looking for a coal under the root of a
plantain, to put under their heads that night, and they should dream
who would be their husbands. It was to be found that day and hour.”
This miraculous “coal” also preserved the wearer from all sorts of
diseases.
CAMOMILE (_Anthemis nobilis_).
Diana!
Have I (to make thee crowns) been gathering still,
Fair-cheek’d Eteria’s yellow camomile?
_Br. Pastorals._
Flowers of the field and windflowers springing glad
--In airs Sicilian, and the golden bough
Of sacred Plato, shining in its worth.
. . . With phlox of Phœdimas and chamomile,
The crinkled ox-eye of Antagoras.
_Trans. from Meleager._
The healthful balm and mint from their full laps do fly,
The scentful camomile.
_Polyolbion_, Song xv.
_Falstaff._ Though the Camomile the more it is trodden on the faster
it grows, yet youth the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.--_I.
Henry IV._ ii. 4.
The camomile is dedicated to St Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, and Mr
Friend thinks that the Latin name of wild camomile, _Matricaria_, comes
from a “fanciful derivation” of this word, from _mater_ and _cara_, or
“Beloved Mother.” The name camomile itself is derived from a Greek word
meaning “earth-apples,” and its pleasant, refreshing smell is rather
like that of ripe apples. The Spaniards call it _Manzanilla_, “a little
apple.” It was grown “both for pleasure and profit, both inward and
outward diseases, both for the sicke and the sound,” and was “planted of
the rootes in alleys, in walks, and on banks to sit on, for that the
more it is trodden upon and pressed down in dry weather, the closer it
groweth and the better it will thrive.” This was a common belief in
earlier days, as Falstaff’s remark shows.
Culpepper is as trenchant as usual on the subject. “Nichersor, saith
the Egyptians, dedicated it to the sun, because it cured agues, and they
were like enough to do it, for they were the arrantest apes in their
religion I have ever read of.” Why his indignation is so much excited is
not clear, but probably it is because Agues (being watery diseases) were
under the moon, and therefore they should have dedicated a herb that
cured agues to the Moon. However, he holds to the view that camomile is
good for all agues, although it is an herb of the sun--who has nothing
to do with such diseases, as a rule. Turner criticises Amatus Lusitanus
with some shrewdness. This writer, who had apparently taken upon him to
teach “Spanyardes, Italians, Frenchmen and Germans the name of Herbes in
their tongues, writeth that Camomile is commonlye knowne,” and with this
bald statement contented himself. “Wherefore it is lykely he knoweth
nether of both [kinds of Camomile]. Wherefore he had done better to have
sayde, ‘I do knowe nether of both, then thus shortly to passe by them.’
Camomile is still officinal, and is used for fomentations. ‘If taken
internally it should be infused with cold water, as heat dissipates the
oil.’”
_Feverfew_ is so nearly related to camomile that it may be mentioned
here. Indeed some writers call it “a Wild Camomile,” and give it
_Matricaria Parthenum_ for a Latin name. Most botanists, however, place
it “in the genus _Pyrethrum_.” Mr Britten calls it _Pyrethrum
Parthenium_. “Feverfew” comes from “febrifuge,” for it was supposed to
have wonderful power to drive away fevers and agues; and it is still a
favourite remedy with village people. Nora Hopper brings it in among the
fairies:--
There’s many feet on the moor to-night,
And they fall so light as they turn and pass,
So light and true, that they shake no dew,
From the featherfew and the Hungry-Grass.
_The Fairy Music._
CARDOONS (_Cynara Cardunculus_).
This plant is also called Spanish Cardoon or Cardoon of Tours. It is a
kind of artichoke “which becomes a truly gigantic herbaceous vegetable.
The tender stalks of the inner leaves are sometimes blanched and stewed,
or used in soups and salads”; but it is much less used in England than
on the Continent. Cardoons are said to yield a good yellow dye.
CLARY (_Salvia Sclarea_).
Percely, clarey and eke sage,
And all other herbage.
JOHN GARDENER.
“Clary, or more properly Clear-eyes,” which indicates one of its
supposed chief virtues plainly enough. Wild Clary was called _Oculus
Christi_, and was even more valued than the garden kind. Clary was once
“used for making wine, which resembles Frontignac, and is remarkable for
its narcotic qualities.”[39] It was also added to “Ale and Beere in
these Northern regions (I think the Netherlands are meant here) to make
it the more heady.” The young plant itself was eaten, and an approved
way of dressing it was to put it in an omelette “made up with cream,
fried in sweet butter” and eaten with sugar and the juice of oranges or
lemons. It is now sometimes used to season soups, and Hogg tells us that
it was used “in Austria as a perfume; in confectionery, and to the
jellies of fruits, it communicates the flavour of pine-apple.” The
herbalists speak of a plant called Yellow Clary or “Jupiter’s Distaff,”
and Mr Britten suggests that this was _Phlomus fruticosa_.
[39] Timbs.
DITTANDER (_Lepidium Latifolium_).
Dittander or Pepperwort grows wild in a few places in England, but was
once cultivated. It was sometimes used as “a sauce or sallet to meate,
but is too hot, bitter and strong for everyone’s taste.” These qualities
have gained it the names of Poor Man’s Pepper, and from Tusser, Garden
Ginger. Culpepper’s opinion is briefly expressed: “Here is another
martial herb for you, make much of it.” It is so “hot and fiery sharpe”
that it is said to raise a blister on the hand of anyone who holds it
for a while, and _therefore_ (on homœopathic principles) it was
recommended “to take away marks, scarres... and the marks of burning
with fire or Iron.”
ELECAMPANE (_Inula Helenium_).
Elecampane, the beauteous Helen’s flower,
Mingles among the rest her silver store.
RAPIN.
“Some think it took the name from the teares of _Helen_, from whence it
sprang, which is a fable; others that she had her hands full of this
herbe when _Paris_ carried her away; others say it was so called because
Helen first found it available against the bitings and stingings of
venomous beasts; and others thinke that it tooke the name from the
Island Helena, where the best was found to grow.” Parkinson gives a wide
choice for opinions on the origin of Elecampane, the two first “fables”
are very picturesque. The radiant gold of the flowers would be gorgeous
but beautiful, in a loose bunch, in a meadow, though in-doors they would
be apt to look big and glaring. Gerarde speaks of them being “in their
braverie in June and July,” and adds that the root “is marvellous good
for many things.” Since the days of Helen the fairies have laid hold of
the plant, and another name for it (in Denmark) is Elf-Dock. Elecampane
has had a great reputation since the days of Pliny, and was considered
specially good for coughs, asthma and shortness of breath. Elecampane
lozenges were much recommended, and the root was candied and eaten as a
sweetmeat till comparatively lately. It is said to have antiseptic
qualities, and according to Dr Fernie has been used in Spain as a
surgical dressing.
FENUGREEK (_Trigonella fœnum græcum_).
Fenugreek “hath many leaves, but three alwayes set together on a
foot-stalke, almost round at the ends, a little dented about the sides,
greene above and grayish underneath; from the joynts with the leaves
come forth white flowers, and after them, crooked, flattish long hornes,
small pointed, with yellowish cornered seedes within them.” This
description is very exact, and, indeed, the conspicuous horn-like pods,
singularly large for the size of the plant, are its most marked
characteristic. Turner says: “This herbe is called in Greek Keratitis,
y^{t} is horned, aigō keros y^{t} is gotes horne, and ŏ onkeros, that is
cows horne.” Fenugreek was a Favourite of the “antients,” and Folkard
gives an account of a festival held by Antiochus Epiphanus, the Syrian
king, of which one feature was a procession, where boys carried golden
dishes containing frankincense, myrrh and saffron, and two hundred
women, out of golden watering-pots, sprinkled perfume on the assembled
guests. All who went to watch the games in the gymnasium were anointed
with some perfume from fifteen gold dishes, which held saffron,
amaracus, lilies, cinnamon, spikenard, fenugreek, etc. In England it was
used for more prosaic purposes, “Galen and others say that they were
eaten as Lupines, and the Egyptians and others eate the seedes yet to
this day as Pulse or meate.” The herb, he continues, he has never heard
of as being used in England, because it was very little grown, but the
seed was used in medicine. Gerarde gives us one of its pleasantest
preparations as a drug. In old diseases of the chest, without a fever,
fat dates are to be boiled with it, with a great quantitie of honey. In
1868 Rhind[40] writes that the seeds are no longer given in medicine,
and but rarely used in “fomentations and cataplasms.” Since that date, I
should imagine, it is even more rarely used. Fenugreek was at one time
prescribed by veterinary surgeons for horses.
[40] “History of the Vegetable Kingdom.”
GOOD KING HENRY (_Chenopodium Bonus Henricus_).
This plant is otherwise known as Fat Hen, Shoemaker’s Heels, English
Mercury, or as Evelyn says, Blite. He begins with praise: “The Tops may
be eaten as Sparagus or sodden in Pottage, and as a very salubrious
Esculent. There is both a white and red, much us’d in Spain and Italy”;
but he finishes lamely for all his praise: “’tis insipid enough.”
Gerarde says: “It is called of the Germans _Guter Heinrick_, of a
certaine good qualitie it hath,” and its name is much the most
interesting thing about it. Various writers have tried to attach it to
our successive kings of that name, with a want of ingenuousness and
ingenuity equally deplorable. Grimm[41] traces it back till he finds
that this was one of the many plants appropriated to Heinz or
Heinrich--the “household goblin,” who plays tricks on the maids or helps
them with their work, and asks no more than a bowl of cream set
over-night for his reward--who, in fact, holds much the same place as
our Robin Goodfellow holds here.
[41] Teutonic Mythology.
HERB-PATIENCE (_Rumex Patienta_).
Sequestered leafy glades,
That through the dimness of their twilight show
Large dock-leaves, spiral fox-gloves, or the glow
Of the wild cat’s-eyes, or the silvery stems
Of delicate birch trees, in long grass which hems
A little brook.
_Calidore_--KEATS.
La _tulipe_ est pour la fierté,
Pour le malheur la _patience_.
_La Petite Corbeille._
The Herb-Patience does not grow in every man’s garden.
_Proverb._
Herb-Patience was also called Patience-Dock or Monk’s Rhubarb. The
French call Water-Dock, _Patience d’eau_ and _Parelle des Marais_, so
the name of the quality that is, in nursery rhyme, a “virtue,” and a
“grace,” clings to this dock! Parkinson compares it unfavourably with
Bastard Rhubarb, though he says the root is often used in “diet beere”;
but Gerarde calls it an “excellent, wholesome pot-herbe,” and relates a
tale, in which responsibilities are treated with such delightful
airiness that it must be repeated here. He begins by saying that he
himself is “no graduate, but a country scholler,” but hopes his “good
meaning will be well taken, considering I doe my best, not doubting but
some of greater learning will perfect that which I have begun, according
to my small skill, especially the ice being broken unto him and the wood
rough-hewed to his hands.” Nevertheless, he (who dictates on these
matters, to a great extent, through his Herbal) thinks that the learned
may gain occasionally from his knowledge. “One _John Bennet_, a
chirurgion, of Maidstone in Kent, a man as slenderly learned as
myselfe,” undertook to cure a butcher’s boy of an ague. “He promised him
a medicine, and for want of one for the present (he himselfe confessed
unto me) he tooke out of his garden three or four leaves of this plant”
and administered them in ale, with entire success. “Whose blunt attempt
may set an edge upon some sharper wit and greater judgment in the
faculties of plants.” Any anticipation that his experiment might lead to
disaster does not seem to have troubled him! The root of Patience-Dock
“boiled in the water of _Carduus Benedictus_” was also given at a
venture for an ague, and this experiment was tried by “a worshipfull
gentlewoman, mistresse Anne Wylbraham, upon divers of her poore
Neighbours, with good success.” Mistress Anne Wylbraham must have been a
woman of temerity!
Garden-patience used to be a good deal cultivated as spinach, but is now
very much ignored, partly because few people know how to cook it. The
leaves should be used early in the spring while they are still tender,
and the flavour will be very much improved if about a fourth part of
common sorrel is added to them. This way of dressing patience-dock was
very popular in Sweden, and is described as “forming an excellent
spinach dish.” Patience is sometimes spoken of as “passions,” but this
name properly belongs to _Polygonum Bistorta_, the leaves of which were
the principal ingredient in a herb-pudding, formerly eaten on Good
Friday in the North of England. Parkinson also speaks in this chapter of
the “true rhubarb of Rhapontick,” which has “leaves of sad or
dark-greene colour... of a fine tart or sourish taste, much more
pleasant than the garden or wood sorrell.” Dr Thornton, however, says
that Parkinson was mistaken, and that the first seeds of true rhubarb
were sent “by the great Boerhaave to our famous gardener, Miller, in
1759”--more than a hundred years later. Very soon after Miller had it,
rhubarb was cultivated in many parts of England and in certain
localities in Scotland.
[Illustration: A FIELD OF ENGLISH RHUBARB]
HOREHOUND (_Marrubium vulgare_).
Here hore-hound ’gainst the mad dog’s ill
By biting, never failing.
_Muses Elysium._
Pale hore-hound, which he holds of most especiall use.
_Polyolbion_, Song xiii.
Folkard says that horehound is one of the five plants stated by the
Mishna to be the “bitter herbs,” which the Jews were ordered to take for
the Feast of the Passover, the other four being coriander, horse-radish,
lettuce and nettle. The name _Marrubium_ is supposed to come from the
Hebrew _Marrob_, a bitter juice. De Gubernatis writes that horehound was
once regarded as a “contre-poison magique,” but very little is said
about it on the whole, and it is an uninteresting plant to look at, and
much like many others of the labiate tribe. Long ago the Apothecaries
sold “sirop of horehound” for “old coughs” and kindred disorders, and
horehound tea and candied horehound are still made to relieve the same
troubles. Candied horehound is made by boiling down the fresh leaves and
adding sugar to the juice thus extracted, and then again boiling the
juice till it has become thick enough to pour into little cases made of
paper.
LADY’S-SMOCK (_Cardamine pratensis_).
Then comes Daffodil beside
Our ladye’s smock at our Ladye-tide.
_An Early Calendar of English Flowers._
When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight.
_Love’s Labour Lost_, v. 2.
And some to grace the show,
Of lady-smocks do rob the neighbouring mead.
Wherewith their looser locks most curiously they braid.
_Polyolbion_, Song xx.
And now and then among, of eglantine a spray,
By which again a course of lady-smocks they lay.
Song xv.
The honeysuckle round the porch has wov’n its wavy bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint, sweet cuckoo flowers,
And the wild march-marigold shines like fire on swamps and hollows
gray.
_The May Queen._--TENNYSON.
“Cuckoo-flower” is a name laid claim to by many flowers, and authorities
differ as to which one Shakespeare meant by it. Certainly not the plant
under discussion, which is the one we most generally call Cuckoo-flower
to-day, for there can be no doubt that this is the “lady’s-smocks” of
the line above,--letting alone the fact that the “cuckoo-buds” in the
song being of “yellow hue” put the idea out of court. Lord Tennyson’s
lines point equally clearly to the _Cardamine pratensis_. Lady’s-smock
is said to be a corruption of “Our Lady’s Smock,” and to be one of the
plants dedicated to the Virgin, because it comes into blossom about
Ladytide; though as a matter of fact the flower is seldom seen so early.
It is remarkable how many attentions this graceful, but humble and
scentless flower has received; and besides all the poets Isaac Walton
mentions it twice: “Look! down at the bottom of the hill there, in that
meadow, chequered with water-lilies and lady-smocks.”[42] And later:
“Looking on the hills, I could behold them spotted with wood and
groves--looking down in the meadow, could see there a boy gathering
lilies and lady’s-smocks, and there, a girl cropping culverkeys and
cowslips, all to make garlands suitable to this present month of May.”
It is difficult to be positive about culverkeys. Columbines, bluebells,
primroses and an orchis have all been called by this name at different
times. The primrose is cut out of the question here by its colour, for
in the poem which has been quoted a little while before Davors sings of
“azure culverkeys.” The columbine is rarely found in a wild state and
flowers later in the year, the orchis is hardly “azure,” so on the whole
it looks as if the likeliest flower would be the wild hyacinth. To
return to the lady’s-smocks, Gerarde says they are of “a blushing, white
colour,” and like the “white sweet-john.” In the seventeenth century
their titles were various and he gives some of them, and in doing so he
shows an ingenuous, very pleasing clinging to the names familiar to his
youth. “In English, cuckowe flowers, in Northfolke, Canterbury bells, at
Namptwich in Cheshire, where I had my beginning, ladiesmocks which hath
given me cause to christen it after my country fashion.” Parkinson finds
that “these herbes are seldom used eyther as sauce or sallet or in
physick, but more for pleasure to decke up the garlands of the
country-people, yet divers have reported them to be as affectuall in the
scorbute or scurvy as the water-cresses.” The plant was regarded as an
excellent remedy for these evils by the inhabitants of those northern
countries where salted fish and flesh are largely eaten. The leaves are
slightly pungent and somewhat bitter; and in the early part of the
nineteenth century it was regarded as an ordinary salad herb, so that
its reputation in that respect must have risen since Parkinson’s days.
[42] Complete Angler.
LANGDEBEEFE (_Helminthia echoides_).
Langdebeefe is mentioned with scanty praise. “The leaves are onely used
in all places that I knew or ever could learne, for an herbe for the pot
among others.” It is difficult to be absolutely certain as to the
identity of the plant, for Gerarde places it with Bugloss, and
Parkinson, among the Hawkweeds. Mr Britten says, however, that both
writers referred to _Helminthia echoides_, but that _Echium vulgare_,
Viper’s Bugloss, is the plant that Turner called Langdebeefe, and
Viper’s Bugloss is still called Langdebeefe in Central France. Near
Paris, however, _Langue de bœuf_ means _Anchusa Italica_. “The leaves,”
says Gerarde, “are like the rough tongue of an oxe or cow, whereof it
took its name,” and he gives another instance of the _insouciance_ of
contemporary physicians. They “put them both into all kindes of
medicines indifferently, which are of force and vertue to drive away
sorrow and pensiveness of the minde, and to comfort and strengthen the
heart.” “Both” refers to Bugloss and “little wilde Buglosse,” which he
has just informed us grows upon “the drie ditch bankes about
Pickadilla.” Times change!
LIQUORICE (_Glycyrrhiza glabra_).
Gerarde describes two kinds of Liquorice: the first has “woody
branches... beset with leaves of an overworne greene colour, and small
blew floures of the colour of an English Hyacinth.” From the peculiar
shape and roughness of the seed-pods it was distinguished by the name of
“Hedge-hogge Licorice.” This kind was very little used. Common Liquorice
resembles it very closely, but has less peculiar seed-vessels.
The cultivation of _licorish_ in England began about the year of Queen
Elizabeth’s reign, and it has been much grown at Pontefract (whence
Pontefract lozenges are named), Worksop, Godalming and Mitcham. It must
have been once an extremely profitable crop. “There hath been made from
fifty Pound to an hundred Pound of an Acre, as some affirm.” The caution
expressed in the last three words is rather nice. “I. W.,” the author of
this bit of information (he gives no other signature), published his
book in 1681, and was evidently of a very patriotic disposition. He is
indignant that “although our English Liquorice exceeds any Foreign
whatsoever,” yet we “yearly buy of other Nations,” and Parkinson is of
much the same opinion: “The root grown in England is of a fame more
weake, sweete taste, yet far more pleasing to us than Licorice that is
brought us from beyond Sea,” which is stronger and more bitter. A later
writer prefers English roots on the ground that those imported are often
“mouldy and spoiled.” “With the juice of Licorice, Ginger and other
spices there is made a certaine bread or cakes called Gingerbread, which
is very good against the cough.” It is not the light in which
Gingerbread is usually looked upon. Liquorice administered in many ways
was a great remedy against coughs. Boiled in faire water, with
Maiden-haire and Figges, it made a “good ptisane drinke for them that
have any dry cough,” and the “juice of Licoris, artificially made with
Hyssoppe water,” was recommended against shortness of breath. Extract of
Liquorice is to be found in the Pharmacopœia, and it is imported as
“Spanish juice.” The extract must be made from the _dried_ root, or else
it will not be so bright when it is strained. Dr Fernie says that
Liquorice is added to porter and stout to give thickness and blackness.
LOVAGE (_Ligusticum Scoticum_).
Mr Britten says: In Lyte and other early works, this [name] is applied
to _Levisticum officinale_, but in modern British books it is assigned
to _Ligusticum Scoticum_. It grows wild near the sea-shore in Scotland
and Northumberland. Lovage “has many long and great stalkes of large,
winged leaves, divided into many parts, ... and with the leaves come
forth towards the toppes, long branches, bearing at their toppes large
umbells of yellow flowers. The whole plant and every part of it smelleth
somewhat strongly and aromatically, and of an hot, sharpe, biting
taste. The _Germans_ and other Nations in times past used both the roote
and seede instead of Pepper to season their meates and brothes, and
found them as comfortable and warming.”[43] Turner mentions Lovage
amongst his medical herbs and Culpepper says: “It is an herb of the Sun,
under the sign Taurus. If Saturn offend the throat... this is your
cure.”
[43] Parkinson.
MALLOW (_Malva_).
With many a curve my banks I fret,
By many a field and fallow
And many a fair by foreland set,
With willow, weed and mallow.
_The Brook._--TENNYSON.
The spring is at the door,
She bears a golden store,
Her maund with yellow daffodils runneth o’er.
* * * * *
After her footsteps follow
The mullein and the mallow,
She scatters golden powder on the sallow.
_Spring Song._--N. HOPPER.
Parkinson praises mallows both for beauty and virtue. “The double ones,
which for their Bravery are entertained everywhere into every
Countrywoman’s garden. The Venice Mallow is called Good-night-at-noone,
though the flowers close so quickly that you shall hardly see a flower
blowne up in the day-time after 9 A.M.” Some medical advice follows, in
which “All sorts of Mallowes” are praised. “Those that are of most use
are most common. The rest are but _taken upon credit_.” The last remark
comes quite casually, and apparently those that were “but taken upon
credit,” would be comprehended in the “all sorts” and administered
without hesitation. French Mallows (_Malva crispa_) is most highly
recommended as an excellent pot-herb! indeed all wild mallows may be
used in that capacity, and the Romans are said to have considered them a
delicacy.
Marsh Mallow (_Althæa officinalis_) has very soothing qualities, and
was, and is, much used by country people for inflammation outwardly and
inwardly. It contains a great deal of mucilage, in the root
particularly. Timbs says: “Dr Sir John Floyer mentions a posset (hot
milk curdled by some infusion) in which althœa roots are boiled”; and it
must have been a “comforting” one. In France, the young tops and leaves
are used in spring salads. “Many of the poorer inhabitants of Syria,
especially the Fellahs, the Greeks, and the Armenians, subsist for weeks
on herbs, of which the Marsh Mallow is one of the most common. When
boiled first, and then fried with onions and butter, they are said to
form a palatable dish, and in times of scarcity, consequent upon the
failure of the crops, all classes may be seen striving with eagerness to
obtain the much desired plant, which fortunately grows in great
abundance.”[44] In Job xxx. 3, 4 we read: “For want and famine they were
solitary, fleeing into the wilderness in former time desolate and waste.
Who cut up mallows by the bushes.” Smith’s “Dictionary of the Bible,”
however, casts doubt on this mallow being a mallow at all, and though
admitting that it would be quite possible, decides that the evidence
points most clearly to _Atriplex Halimus_.
Gerarde says the Tree Mallow “approacheth nearer the substance and
nature of wood than any of the others; wherewith the people of Olbia and
Narbone in France doe make hedges, to sever or divide their gardens and
vineyards which continueth long;” and these hedges must have been a
beautiful sight when in flower.
The Hollyhock, of course, belongs to this tribe, and was once
apparently eaten as a pot-herb, and found to be an inferior one. It has
been put to other uses, for Hogg says that the stalks contain a fibre,
“from which a good strong cloth has been manufactured, and in the year
1821 about 280 acres of land near Flint in Wales were planted with the
Common Holyhock, with the view of converting the fibre to the same uses
as hemp or flax.” It was also discovered in the process of manufacture,
that the plant “yields a blue dye, equal in beauty and permanence to
that of the best indigo.” This experiment however successful in results,
cannot have been justified from a commercial point of view, and was not
often repeated, and there is now no trace of its having been ever tried.
In other languages, the Hollyhock has very pretty names; “in low Dutch,
it was called _Winter Rosen_, and in French, _Rose d’outremer_.”
[44] Hogg.
MARIGOLD (_Calendula Officinalis_).
Hark! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings
And Phœbus ’gins to rise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic’d flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
_Cymbeline_, ii. 3.
The marigold that goes to bed wi’ the sun,
And with him rises weeping.
_Winter’s Tale_, iv. 3.
The purple Violets and Marigolds
Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave
While summer days do last.
_Pericles_, iv. 1.
Marigolds on death-beds blowing.
_Two Noble Kinsmen._ Introd. Song.
The Marigold observes the sun,
More than my subjects me have done.
So shuts the marigold her leaves
At the departure of the sun;
So from the honeysuckle sheaves
The bee goes when the day is done.
_Br. Pastorals_, book iii.
But, maiden, see the day is waxen old,
And ’gins to shut in with the marigold.
_Br. Pastorals_, book i.
Open afresh your round of starry folds
Ye ardent marigolds!
Dry up the moisture from your golden lids
For great Apollo bids
That in these days your praises should be sung.
I stood tiptoe, etc.--KEATS.
The marigold above, t’ adorn the arched bar,
The double daisy, thrift, the button batchelor,
Sweet William, sops-in-wine, the campion.
_Polyolbion_, Song xv.
The crimson darnel flower, the blue bottle and _gold_.
Which though esteemed but weeds, yet for their dainty hues
And for their scent not ill, they for this purpose choose.
_Ibid._
The yellow kingcup Flora then assigned.
To be the badges of a jealous mind,
The orange-tawny marigold.
_Br. Pastorals._
The Marigold has enjoyed great and lasting popularity, and though the
flower does not charm by its loveliness, the indomitable courage, with
which, after even a sharp frost, it lifts up its hanging head, and shows
a cheerful countenance, leads one to feel for it affection and respect.
In the end of January (1903) here in Devon there were some flowers and
opening buds, though ten days before the ice bore for skating. The Latin
name refers to its reputed habit of blossoming on the first days of
every month in the year, and in a fairly mild winter this is no
exaggeration. Marigolds are dedicated to the Virgin, but this fact is
not supposed to have had anything to do with the giving of their name,
which had probably been bestowed on them before the Festivals in her
honour were kept in England, “Though doubtless,” says Mr Friend, “the
name of Mary had much to do with the alterations in the name of
Marigold, which may be noticed in its history.” There is an idea that
they were appropriated to her because they were in flower at all of her
Festivals; but on this notion other authorities throw doubt. In ancient
days Marigolds were often called Golds, or Goules, or Ruddes; in
Provence, a name for them was “_Gauche-fer_[45] (left-hand iron)
probably from its brilliant disc, suggestive of a shield worn on the
left arm.” Chaucer describes Jealousy as wearing this flower: “Jealousy
that werede of yelwe guides a garland”; and Browne calls the
“orange-tawny marigold” its badge.
There was a very strong belief that the flowers followed the sun, and
many allusions are made to this; amongst them, two melancholy lines
which are said to have been drawn from some “Meditations” by Charles I.,
written at Carisbrooke Castle.
“The marigold observes the sun,
More than my subjects me have done.”
Shakespeare refers often to this idea, and the flower was obviously “to
earlier writers the emblem of constancy in affection and sympathy in joy
and sorrow, though it was also the emblem of the fawning courtier who
could only shine when everything is bright.” (Canon Ellacombe).
Marigolds have figured in heraldry, for Marguerite of Valois,
grandmother of Henri IV., chose for her armorial device a marigold
turning towards the sun, with the motto, _Je ne veux suivre que lui
seul_. About the fifteenth century the Marigold was called _Souvenir_,
and ladies wore posies of marigolds and heartsease mingled, that is, a
bunch of “happiness stored in recollections,” a very pretty allegorical
meaning. But it has been the symbol of memories anything but happy, for
curiously enough, this sun’s flower means Grief in the language of
flowers, and in many countries is connected with the idea of death. This
thought occurs in Pericles and in the song in “Two noble Kinsmen.” In
America, one name for them is death-flowers, because there is a
tradition that they “sprang upon ground stained by the life-blood of
these unfortunate Mexicans who fell victims to the love of gold and
arrogant cruelty of the early Spanish settlers in America.”[46] However,
to restore the balance of happiness, one learns that to dream of
Marigolds augurs wealth, prosperity, success, and a rich and happy
marriage! In Fuller’s “Antheologia, or the Speech of Flowers”--a most
amusing tale--the Marigold occupies a prominent place. The scene opens
with a dispute in the Flowers’ Parliament between the Tulip and the
Rose. “Whilst this was passing in the _Upper House of Flowers_, no less
were the transactions in the _Lower House_ of the _Herbs_; where there
was a general acclamation against _Wormwood_. Wormwood’s friends were
casually absent that day, making merry at an entertainment, her enemies
(let not that sex be angry for making Wormwood feminine) appeared in
full body and made so great a noise, as if some mouths had two tongues
in them.” Wormwood and the Tulip were eventually both cast out of the
garden, and lying by the roadside addressed themselves to a passing Wild
Boar, telling him of a hole in the hedge, by which he may creep into the
garden and revenge them, and amuse himself by destroying the flowers. At
the moment he enters, “Thrift, a Flower-Herb, was just courting Marigold
as follows: ‘Mistress of all Flowers that grow on Earth, give me leave
to profess my sincerest affections to you.... I have taken signal notice
of your accomplishments, and among other rare qualities, particularly
of this, your loyalty and faithfulness to the Sun, ... but we all know
the many and sovereign virtues in your leaves, the _Herb Generall_ in
all pottage.” He then proceeds to praise himself, “I am no gamester to
shake away with a quaking hand what a more fixed hand did gain and
acquire. I am none of those who in vanity of clothes bury my quick
estate as in a winding sheet.” The Marigold demurely hung her head and
replied, “I am tempted to have a good opinion of myself, to which all
people are prone, and we women most of all, if we may believe your
opinions of us, which herein I am afraid are too true.” But she is not
deceived by his flattery. “The plain truth is you love me not for
myself, but for your advantage. It is _Golden_ the arrear of my _name_,
which maketh _Thrift_ to be my suitor. How often and how unworthily have
you tendered your affections even to a _Penny royal_ itself, had she not
scorned to be courted by you. But I commend the girl that she knew her
own worth, though it was but a _penny_, yet it is a _Royal_ one, and
therefore not a match for every base _Suitor_, but knew how to value
herself; and give me leave to tell you that _Matches_ founded on
_Covetousness_ never succeed.” At this point in her spirited reply the
Boar approached. “There is no such teacher as extremity; necessity hath
found out more Arts than ever ingenuity invented. The Wall Gillyflower
ran up to the top of the Wall of the Garden, where it hath grown ever
since, and will never descend till it hath good security for its own
safety.” Other thrilling scenes follow, and finally the Boar is put an
end to by the gardener and “a _Guard_ of Dogs.”
Marigolds stood as a standard of comparison, and Isaac Walton uses the
common saying, “As yellow as a Marigold.” Among the various titles of
different kinds of Marigold Gerarde gives the oddest, for he calls one
variety Jackanapes-on-horseback; Fuller calls it the “Herb-Generall of
all pottage,” and it was much esteemed in this capacity. Gay says:
Fair is the gillyflour, for gardens sweet,
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
_The Squabble._
“The yellow leaves of the flowers are dried and kept throughout
Dutchland against winter, to put into broths, in physical potions, and
for divers other purposes in such quantity that in some Grocers or Spice
Sellers houses are to be found barrels filled with them and retailed by
the penny more or less, insomuch that no broths are well made without
Marigolds.” One is reminded of the childish heroine in Miss Edgeworth’s
charming story “Simple Susan” and how she added the petals of Marigolds,
as the last touch, to the broth she had made for her invalid mother!
Parkinson observes that the flowers “green or dryed are often used in
possets, broths and drinks as a comforter to the heart and spirits,” and
that Syrup and Conserve are made of the fresh flowers; also “the flowers
of Marigold pickt clean from the heads and pickled up against winter
make an excellent Sallet when no flowers are to be had in a garden,
which Sallet is nowadays in the highest esteem with Gentles and Ladies
of the greatest note.” There is a tone of patronage in this last remark
which is rather irritating. “Some used to make their heyre yellow with
the floure of this herbe,” says Turner, and severely censures the
impiousness of such an act. A hundred years ago, according to
Abercromby, the flowers were chiefly used to flavour broth and to
adulterate Saffron, but they must be even less employed now than then.
Dr Fernie says that the flowers of Marigold were much used by American
surgeons during the Civil War, in treating wounds, and with admirable
results. “_Calendula_ owes its introduction and first use altogether to
homœopathic practice, as signally valuable for healing wounds, ulcers,
burns, and other breaches of the skin surface.” Personal experience
leads me to suggest that it is an excellent household remedy.
THE CORN MARIGOLD (_Chrysanthemum segetum_) used to be called Guildes,
and it was once so rampant that a law was passed by the Scottish
Parliament to fine negligent farmers who allowed it to overrun their
lands. Hence the old Scots saying--
The Gordon, the Guild, and the Watercraw
Are the three worst ills the Moray ever saw.
[45] Ingram, “Flora Symbolica.”
[46] Folkard.
PENNYROYAL (_Mentha pulegium_).
Peniriall is to print your love,
So deep within my heart,
That when you look this nosegay on
My pain you may impart,
And when that you have read the same,
Consider wel my woe.
Think ye then how to recompense
Even him that loves you so.
A Handful of Pleasant Delites.
C. ROBINSON.
Then balm and mint helps to make up
My chapter, and for trial,
Costmary, that so likes the cup,
And next it, pennyroyal.
_Muses’ Elysium._
Lavender, Corn-rose, Pennyroyal sate,
And that which cats[47] esteem so delicate
After a while slow-pac’d with much ado,
Ground pine, with her short legs, crept hither too.
_Of Plants_, book ii.--COWLEY.
In France, Italy, and Spain, the children make a _crêche de noël_ at
Christmas time; that is, they make a shed with stones and moss, and
surround it with evergreens powdered with flour and cotton-wool, to make
a little landscape. In and about this shed are placed the _gens de la
crêche_; little earthen figures representing the Holy Family, and the
Three Kings with their camels, and the Shepherds with their flocks, the
sheep being disposed among the miniature rocks and bushes. On Christmas
eve, or else sometimes on Twelfth Night, I think, these are saluted with
the music of pipes and carol singing. De Gubernatis says that the
children of Sicily always put pennyroyal amongst the green things in
their _crêches_, and believe that exactly at midnight it bursts into
flower for Christmas Day.
Other names for it are Pulioll Royal and Pudding-grasse, “and in the
west parts, as about _Exeter_, Organs.” It is still called organs in the
“West parts,” and organ-tea used to be a favourite drink to take out to
the harvesters. In Italy pennyroyal is a protection against the Evil
Eye, and in Sicily, they tie it to the branches of the fig-tree,
thinking that this will prevent the figs falling before they are ripe.
It is there also offered to husbands and wives who are in the habit of
“falling out” with each other. “The Ancients said that it causeth Sheepe
and Goates to bleate when they are eating of it.” To produce all those
wonderful effects, it must have a great deal of magic about it. Gerarde
says it grows “in the Common neare London, called Miles End, about the
holes and ponds thereof in sundry places, from whence poore women bring
plentie to sell in London markets.” Would that it could be found at
“Miles End” now! He gives in passing a sidelight on the comfort in
travelling, in the good old days: “If you have when you are at the sea
Penny Royal in great quantitie, drie and cast it into corrupt water, it
helpeth it much, neither will it hurt them that drinke thereof.” This
inevitable state of things, in making a voyage, is faced with
philosophic calm. “A Garland of Pennie Royal made and worne on the head
is good against headache and giddiness.”
[47] Cat-mint.
PURSLANE (_Portulaca_).
The worts, the purslane and the mess
Of water-cress.
_Thanksgiving._--HERRICK.
De la Quintinye thought Purslane “one of the prettiest _plants_ in a
_kitchen-garden_, the _red_ or _golden_ being the most agreeable to the
eye and the more delicate and difficult to raise than the green. The
thick stalks of Purslain that is to run to seed, are good to pickle in
Salt and Vinegar for Winter Sallads.” I do not agree with him; the
leaves are pretty enough, but thick, fleshy, and of no special charm.
The graceful Coriander or the lace-like leaves of Sweet Cicely are far
more to be admired. But even Purslane, which looks quite prosaic, was
mixed up with magic long ago, for strewn about a bed, it used[48] “in
olden times to be considered a protection against evil spirits.” Among a
vast number of diseases, for all of which it is highly recommended,
“blastings by lightening, or planets, and for burning of gunpowder” are
named and Turner says, “It helpeth the teeth when they are an edged,” so
it had many uses!
Evelyn finds that “familiarly eaten alone with Oyl and Vinegar,”
moderation should be used, but remarks that it is eminently moist and
cooling “especially the golden,” and is “generally entertained in all
our sallets. Some eate of it cold, after it has been boiled, which Dr
Muffit would have in wine for nourishment.” Not a tempting dish, by the
sound of it! The Purslanes are found from the Cape of Good Hope and
South America to the “frozen regions of the North.” The root of one
variety _Leuisia redeviva_, called Tobacco root (because it has the
smell of tobacco when cooked), has great nutritive qualities. It is a
native of North America, and is boiled and eaten by the Indians, and on
long journeys it is of special use, “two or three ounces a day being
quite sufficient for a man, even while undergoing great fatigue.”
(Hogg.)
[48] Folkard.
RAM-CICHES (_Cicer Arietinum_).
Ram-ciches, Ramshead, or Chick Pea, gains the two first names from the
curious shape of the seed pods which are “puffed up as it were with
winde in which do lie two, or at the most three seeds, small towards the
end, with one sharp corner, not much unlike to a Ram’s head.” Turner
says that the plant is very ill for newe fallowed ground and that “it
killeth all herbes and most and sounest of all other ground thistel,”
which seems a loss one could survive. According to Parkinson the seeds
are “boyled and stewed as the most dainty kind of Pease there are, by
the Spaniards,” and he adds that in his own opinion, “they are of a very
good relish and doe nourish much.” They are still eaten and appreciated
by the country people in the south of France and Spain. Like Borage,
Ram-ciches is particularly interesting to students of chemistry; for it
is said that “in very hot weather the leaves sparkle with very small
tears of a viscous and very limpid liquid, extremely acid, and which has
been discovered to be oxalic acid in its pure state.”[49]
[49] Hogg.
RAMPION (_Campanula Rapunculus_).
The Citrons, which our soil not easily doth afford,
The Rampions rare as that.
_Polyolbion Song_, xv.
De Gubernatis tells a most curious story from Calabria almost exactly
that of Cupid and Psyche, but it begins by saying that the maiden,
wandering alone in the fields, uprooted a rampion, and so discovered a
stair-case leading to a palace in the depths of the earth.
One of Grimm’s fairy tales is called after the heroine, _Rapunzel_
(Rampion), for she was given this plant’s name, and the whole plot hangs
on Rampions being stolen from a magician’s garden. There is an Italian
tradition that the possession of a rampion (as that of strawberries,
cherries, or red shoes), would excite quarrels among children, which
would sometimes go as far as “murder.” Even in a land of quick passions
and southern blood, it can hardly be thought that this tradition had
much ground to spring from, and I have not heard of it as existing
further north. Parkinson says that the roots may be eaten as salad or
“boyled and stewed with butter and oyle, and some blacke or long pepper
cast on them.” The distilled water of the whole plant is excellent for
the complexion, and “maketh the face very splendent.” Evelyn thought
Rampions “much more nourishing” than Radishes, and they are said to have
a “pleasant, nutty flavour”; in the winter the leaves as well as the
roots make a nice salad. Even if it is not grown for use, it might well,
with its graceful spires of purple bells, be put for ornament in
shrubberies. Parkinson has said of Honesty, that “some eate the young
rootes before they runne up to flower, as Rampions are eaten with
vinegar and oyle”; but Evelyn warns us _apropos_ of this very plant
(with others) how cautiously the advice of the Ancient Authors should be
taken by the sallet gatherer (Parkinson was probably quoting from the
“Ancients” when he said this); “for however it may have been in their
countries, in England _Radix Lunaria_ is accounted among the deadly
poisons!” One cannot help wondering if Parkinson or Gerarde ever knew
those hardy individuals they allude to as “some,” and who tried the
experiment!
ROCAMBOLE (_Allium Scorodoprasum_).
Rocambole is a kind of garlic, but milder in flavour, and it is a native
of Denmark. De la Quintinye seems to confuse it with Shallots (_Allium
ascalonium_), as he writes of “Shallots or Rocamboles, otherwise Spanish
Garlick.” Evelyn, speaking of Garlic as impossible--one cannot help
feeling with a smothered wistfulness--says: “To be sure, ’tis not fit
for Ladies’ Palates, nor those who court them, farther than to permit a
light touch in the Dish, with a _Clove_ thereof, much better supplied by
the gentler _Rocambole_.”
ROCKET (_Eruca sativa_).
Various plants claim the name of Rocket, but it was _Eruca sativa_ that
was used as a salad herb. Parkinson explains the Italian name _Ruchetta_
and _Rucola Gentile_ thus: “This Rocket Gentle, so-called from the
_Italians_, who by that title of Gentle understand anything that maketh
one quicke and ready to jest, to play.” It is certainly not specially
gentle in the ordinary sense of the words, for it has leaves “like those
of Turneps, but not neere so great nor rough”; and if eaten alone, “it
causeth head-ache and heateth too much.” It is, however, good in Salads
of Lettuce, Purslane, “and such cold herbes,” and Turner observes that
“some use the sede for sauce, the whiche that it may last the longer,
they knede it with milke or vinegre, and make it into little cakes.” It
has a strong peculiar smell, and is no longer used in England; though
Loudon says that in some places on the Continent it makes “an agreeable
addition to cresses and mustard in early spring.” Culpepper found that
the common wild Rocket was hurtful used alone, as it has too much heat,
but to “hot and choleric persons it is less harmful” (one would have
imagined that it would have been the other way) and “for such we may
say, a little doth but a little harm, for angry Mars rules them, and he
sometimes will be rusty when he meets with fools.” This is altogether a
dark saying, but it gives little encouragement to those who would make
trial of Rocket.
LONDON ROCKET (_Sisymbrium Irio_).
This plant gained its name in a singular way. It is said to have first
appeared in London in the spring following the Great Fire, “when young
Rockets were seen everywhere springing up among the ruins, where they
increased so marvellously that in the summer the enormous crop crowding
over the surface of London created the greatest astonishment and
wonder.”[50]
[50] Folkard.
SAFFRON (_Crocus sativus_).
Nor Cyprus wild vine-flowers, nor that of Rhodes,
Nor Roses oil from Naples, Capua,
Saffron confected in Cilicia.
Nor that of Quinces, nor of Marjoram,
That ever from the Isle of Coös came,
Nor these, nor any else, though ne’er so rare
Could with this place for sweetest smells compare.
_Br. Pastorals_, Book I.
_Clown._ I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies.
_Winter’s Tale_, iv. 2.
You set Saffron and there came up Wolf’s bane. (Saying to express an
action which has an unexpected result.)
Saffron has been of great importance since the earliest days, and it is
mentioned in a beautiful passage of the Song of Solomon. “Thy plants are
an orchard of Pomegranates, with pleasant fruits, Camphire with
Spikenard, Spikenard and Saffron, Calamus and Cinnamon, with all trees
of Frankincense, Myrrh and Aloes, with all the chief spices,” iv. 13,
14.
Canon Ellacombe says that the Arabic name, _Al Zahafaran_ was the
general name for all _Croci_, and extended to the _Colchicums_, which
were called Meadow Saffrons. It is pointed out by Mr Friend that,
further, the flower has given its name to a colour, and had given it in
the days of Homer, and he remarks how much more exactly the expression
“Saffron-robed” morning describes the particular tints seen sometimes
before sunrise (or at sunset) than any other words can do. Saffron
Walden in Essex, whose arms are given on page 101, and Saffron Hill in
London (which once formed part of the Bishop of Ely’s garden), are also
obviously named after it, and as is seen in the former case it has given
arms to a borough. As to its introduction into England Hakluyt writes
(1582): “It is reported at Saffron Walden that a pilgrim proposing to do
good to his country, stole a head of Saffron, and hid the same in his
Palmer’s Staffe, which he had made hollow before of purpose, and so he
brought the root into this realme with venture of his life, for if he
had been taken, by the law of the countrey from whence it came, he had
died for the fact” (“English Voyages,” vol. ii.). Canon Ellacombe thinks
that it was probably originally brought here in the days of the Romans,
and found “in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the fourteenth century, ‘Hic
Crocus, An^{ee} Safryn,’ so that I think the plant must have been in
cultivation in England at that time.” In the work of “Mayster Ion
Gardener,” written about 1440, one of the eight parts into which it is
divided is wholly devoted to a discourse, “Of the Kynde of Saferowne,”
which shows that Saffron must have been a good deal considered in his
day. The Charity Commission of 1481 mentions two Saffron-gardens; and in
the churchwarden’s accounts at Saffron Walden, in the second year of
Richard III.’s reign, there is an entry, “Payd to John Rede for pyking
of V unc Saffroni, xii.” The town accounts of Cambridge show that in
1531 Saffron was grown there; and at Barnwell in the next parish the
prior of Barnwell had ten acres.
Some old wills, too, throw some light on the subject. In the will of
Alyce Sheyne of Sawstone, in 1527, “a rood of Saffron” is left to her
son. In 1530 (1533?) John Rede, also of Sawstone, leaves his godson a
“rood of Saffron in Church Field,” and William Hockison of Sawstone,
bequeathed in 1531, “to Joan, my wife, a rood of Saffron, and to my
maid, Marger, and my son, John, half an acre.” As may be easily inferred
from these legacies, Saffron was very largely grown at Sawstone, and the
two adjoining parishes, as well as at Saffron Walden. The first man to
introduce it into Saffron Walden to be cultivated on a really large
scale was Thomas Smith, Secretary of State to Edward VI., and in 1565,
it was grown in abundance. In 1557 Turner speaks of Saffron-growing, as
if this was very general, but it must be remembered that he started life
in Essex, farmed successively in Suffolk and Norfolk, and returned to
his native county to a farm at Fairstead, and having never moved very
far from the special home of the industry, he naturally took as an
ordinary proceeding, what would have been very unusual in other parts of
the country. It can never have been very widely cultivated; for Turner,
whose “Herbal” gives an immense deal of information, and who wrote when
the industry was in full swing, omits all mention of Saffron, though he
speaks of, and evidently knew Meadow Saffron.
This is a strong sign that cultivation must have been confined to
certain localities, chiefly in the eastern counties, though in the west
it was grown at Hereford and surrounding districts to a very
considerable extent. I do not mean to imply that none was grown in
neighbouring counties, but the evidence is not easy to get, and I have
not gone deeply enough into the subject to find it, but the Saffron of
Hereford was famed.
At Black Marston in Herefordshire, in 1506 and again in 1528, leave was
granted by the Prioress of Acornbury, to persons to cultivate Saffron
extensively.
In 1582, in spite of a continued demand for it, the cultivation of
Saffron seems to have decreased, for Hakluyt writes in his “Remembrances
for Master S.” [what to observe in a journey he is about to undertake].
“Saffron groweth in Syria.... But if a vent might be found, men would in
Essex (about Saffron Walden) and in Cambridgeshire, revive the trade for
the benefit of setting the poore on worke. So would they do in
Herefordshire by Wales, where the best of all Englande is, in which
place the soil yields the wilde “Saffron” commonly.” The soil there
still yields the wilde Saffron so commonly that at the present moment it
is regarded with disfavour, as being quite a drawback to some pasture
lands, but it is no longer grown there for commercial purposes. Neither
Gerarde (1596) nor Parkinson (1640) mention Saffron-growing as an
industry, but in 1681 “I. W.” gives directions for cultivating and
drying it. “English Saffron,” he says, “is esteemed the best in the
world; it’s a plant very suitable to our climate and soil.” At Saffron
Walden it continued to be grown for commerce for over two hundred years,
but has now been uncultivated in that locality for more than a century.
In Cambridgeshire, however, it flourished to a later date, and the last
Saffron grower in England was a man named Knot, who lived at Duxford in
Cambridgeshire, and who grew Saffron till the year 1816.
This is Turner’s advice for cultivating it.
When harvest is gone,
Then Saffron comes on.
A little of ground,
Brings Saffron a pound.
The pleasure is fine,
The profit is thine.
Keep colour in drying,
Well used, worth buying.
And also:--
Pare Suffron between the two St Mary’s days[51]
Or set or go shift it, that knoweth the ways...
In having but forty foot, workmanly dight
Take Saffron enough for a lord or a knight.
_August’s Husbandry._
From old records it seems to have been grown in small patches of less
than an acre, and to have been a most profitable crop. “I. W.,” in his
directions says, for drying it, “a small kiln made of clay, and with a
very little Fire, and that with careful attendance,” is required. “Three
Pounds thereof moist usually making one of dry. One acre may bear from
seven to fifteen Pound, and hath been sold from 20s. a Pound to £5 a
Pound.” The last price sounds as if it existed only in his imagination,
and one cannot really think that it was given often! But on one
occasion, Timbs says, an even higher sum was reached, for when Queen
Elizabeth paid a visit to Saffron Walden, the Corporation paid five
guineas for one pound of Saffron to present to her. Though this was
exceptional, the usual prices for it were very high; and to show this,
and also the enormous amount that was used in cooking, Miss Amherst
quotes from some old accounts of the Monastery of Durham: “In 1531, half
a pound of ‘Crocus’ or Saffron was bought in July, the same quantity in
August and in November, a quarter of a pound in September, and a pound
and a half in October.” So much for the quantity; as to the price, a
merchant of Cambridgeshire charged them in 1539-1540 for 6½ lbs. Crocus,
£7, 8s.
Saffron used to be much employed to colour and to flavour pies and
cakes, and it was this reason that Perdita sent the “Clown” to fetch
some, when she was making “Warden” (Pear) pies for the sheep-shearing.
Saffron cakes still prevail in Cornwall, and come over the border into
the next county, and a chemist, in Somerset, said quite lately, that
thirty years since, he used to sell quantities of Saffron at
Easter-time, but that much less is asked for now. It seems to have been
specially used in the materials for feasting at this season. Evelyn
tells us that the Germans made it into “little balls with honey, which
afterwards they dry and reduce to powder, and then sprinkle over salads”
for a “noble cordial.” For medicinal purposes Saffron is imported, for
in spite of “I. W.’s” praise, that grown in England is far from
equalling that of Greece and Asia Minor, though in any case it is only
now used as a colouring matter. The saying which survives, “So dear as
Saffron,” to express anything of worth, is a proof of how great its
value once was; and it is true that the plant was credited with powers
nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps Fuller tells us the most startling
news: “In a word, the Sovereign Power of genuine _Saffron_ is plainly
proved by the Antipathy of the _Crocodiles_ thereunto. For the
_Crocodile’s tears_ are never _true_ save when he is forced where
_Saffron_ groweth (whence he hath his name of γξοκό-ςτπλθ or the
Saffron-fearer) knowing himselfe to be all Poison, and it all
_Antidote_.”
After this, Gerarde’s assertion that for those whom consumption has
brought “at death’s doore, and almost past breathing, that it bringeth
breath againe,” sounds moderate. On the doctrine of Signatures, Saffron
was prescribed for jaundice and measles, and it is also recommended to
be put into the drinking water of canaries when they are moulting. Irish
women are said to dye their sheets with Saffron, that it may give
strength to their limbs. Saffron has long been much esteemed as a dye,
and Ben Jonson tells us of this use for it in his days in lines that
literally rollick:--
Give us bacon, rinds of walnuts,
Shells of cockles and of small nuts,
Ribands, bells, and saffron’d linen,
All the world is ours to win in.
_The Gipsies Metamorphosed._
Gerarde says: “The chives (stamens) steeped in water serve to illumine
or (as we say) limme pictures and imagerie,” and Canon Ellacombe quotes
from an eleventh century work, showing that it was employed for the same
purpose then. “If ye wish to decorate your work in some manner, take
tin, pure and finely scraped, melt it and wash it like gold, and apply
it with the same glue upon letters or other places which you wish to
ornament with gold or silver; and when you have polished it with a
tooth, take Saffron with which Silk is coloured, moistening it with
clear of egg without water; and when it has stood a night, on the
following day, cover with a pencil the places which you wish to gild,
the rest holding the place of silver.”--_Theophilus_, HENDRIE’S
Translation.
Meadow-Saffron, or _Colchicum_, yields a drug still much prescribed, of
which Turner uttered a caution in 1568. He says it is a drug to
“isschew.” He warns those “syke in the goute” (for whom it was, and is,
a standard remedy) that much of it is “sterke poyson, and will strongell
a man and kill him in the space of one day.” Drugs must, indeed, have
been administered in heroic measures at that time--if he really ever
heard of such a case at first hand. It is from the corm, or bulb, of the
plant that _Colchicum_ is extracted.
[51] July 22nd and August 15th.
[Illustration: TITLE-PAGE OF GERARD’S “HERBAL”]
SAMPHIRE (_Crithium maritimum_).
_Edgar._ Half way down
Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
_King Lear_, iv. 6.
Samphire is St Peter’s Herb, and gains the distinction either because
it grows on sea-cliffs, and so is appropriate to the patron of
fishermen, or more probably, because it flourishes on rocks, and its
roots strike deep into the crevices. The French call it _Herbe de St
Pierre_ and _Pierce-Pierre_, from its peculiar way of growing; and the
Italians have the same name, but call it _Finocchio marino_ as well; and
this title, translated to Meer-finckell, was also the German and Dutch
name, according to Parkinson. It is strongly aromatic, “being of smell
delightfule and pleasant, and hath many fat and thicke leaves, somewhat
like those of the lesser Purslane... of a spicie taste, with a certaine
saltness.” Gerarde praises it pickled in salads. Edgar’s words show that
it must have been popular in Elizabethan days, and so it was for more
than a hundred years after as “the pleasantest Sauce”; and Evelyn
considered it preferable to “most of our hotter herbs,” and “long
wonder’d it has not long since been cultivated in the _Potagère_ as it
is in France. It groweth on the rocks that are often moistened, at the
least, if not overflowed with the sea water,” a verdict which tallies
with the saying that Samphire grows out of reach of the waves, but
within reach of the spray of every tide. I have found it growing in much
that position on rocks on the seashore in Cornwall. Two other kinds of
Samphire, Golden Samphire (_Inula Crithmifolia_) and Marsh Samphire
(_Salicornia Herbacea_), are sometimes sold as the true Samphire, but
neither of them have so good a flavour.
SKIRRETS (_Sium Sisarum_).
The Skirret and the leek’s aspiring kind,
The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind.
_The Salad._--COWPER.
“This is that siser or skirret which _Tiberius_ the Emperour commanded
to be conveied unto him from Gelduba, a castle about the river of
Rhine,” and which delighted him so much “that he desired the same to be
brought unto him everye yeare out of Germanie.” Evelyn found them “hot
and moist... exceedingly wholesome, nourishing and delicate... and so
valued by the Emperor Tiberius that he accepted them for tribute”--a
point that Gerarde’s statement hardly brought out. “This excellent root
is seldom eaten raw, but being boil’d, stew’d, roasted under the Embers,
bak’d in Pies whole, slic’d or in Pulp, is very acceptable to all
Palates. ’Tis reported they were heretofore something bitter, see what
culture and education effects.” On the top of these congratulations,
perhaps it is unkind to say the reported bitterness has a very mythical
sound, for long before Evelyn’s time, the Dutch name for skirret was
Suycker wortelen (sugar root), and that Marcgrave has extracted “fine
white sugar, little inferior to that of the cane” from it. But from
Turner’s account there seems to have been formerly some confusion as to
the identity of the plant, and one claimant to the title was somewhat
bitter, so perhaps this was the cause of the remarks in _Acetaria_. In
Scotland, Skirrets were called Crummock. Though few people seem to have
appreciated them so much as did our ancestors, they were till lately
sometimes boiled and sent to the table, but are now hardly ever seen.
SMALLAGE (_Apium graveolens_).
Smallage is merely wild celery, and all that is interesting about it is
Parkinson’s description of his first making acquaintance with sweet
smallage--our celery, which has been already quoted. He merely says of
ordinary smallage that it is “somewhat like Parsley, but greater,
greener and more bitter.” It grows wild in moist grounds, but is also
planted in gardens, and although “his evil taste and savour, doth cause
it not to be accepted unto meats as Parsley,” yet it has “many good
properties both for inward and outward diseases.”
STONECROP (_Sedum_).
Stone-crop, Stone-hot, Prick-Madam or Trick-Madam is a _Sedum_, but
which _Sedum_ the old Herbalists called by these names is not absolutely
clear, it was probably _Sedum Telephium_ or _Sedum Album_. Evelyn speaks
of “Tripe-Madam, _Vermicularis Insipida_,” which seems to point to the
latter, as that used to be called Worm-grass. He says Tripe-madam is
“cooling and moist,” but there is another Stone-crop of as pernicious
qualities as the former are laudable, Wall-pepper, _Sedum Minus
Causticum_ (most likely our _Sedum Acre_). This is called by the French,
Tricque-Madame, and he cautions the “Sallet-Composer, if he be not
botanist sufficiently skilful” to distinguish them by the eye, to
“consult his palate,” and taste them before adding them to the other
ingredients.
SWEET CICELY (_Myrrhis odorata_).
Sweet Cicely or Sweet Chervil was apparently less of a favourite than
its romantic name would seem to warrant, for I can find no traditions
concerning it. “Chervil” (of which this is a variety) says Gerarde, “is
thought to be so called because it delighteth to grow with many leaves,
or rather that it causeth joy and gladness.” There does not seem much
connection between these two interpretations. He continues that “the
name _Myrrhus_ is also called Myrrha, taken from his pleasant flavour of
Myrrh.” Sweet Cicely has a very pleasant flavour, with this peculiarity,
that the leaves taste exactly as if sugar had just been powdered over
them, but personally I have never been able to recognise myrrh in it.
It is a pretty plant, with “divers great and fair spread wing leaves,
very like and resembling the leaves of Hemlocke... but of sweet pleasant
and spice-hot taste. Put among herbes in a sallet it addeth a marvellous
good rellish to all the rest. Some commend the green seeds sliced and
put in a sallet of herbes. The rootes are eyther boyled and eaten with
oyle and vinegare or preserved or candid.” Sweet Cicely is very
attractive to bees, and was often “rubbed over the insides of the hives
before placing them before newly-cast swarms to induce them to enter,”
and in the North of England Hogg says the seeds are used to polish and
scent oak floors and furniture.
TANSY (_Tanacetum vulgare_).
_Lelipa_--Then burnet shall bear up with this
Whose leaf I greatly fancy,
Some camomile doth not amiss
With savory and some tansy.
_Muses’ Elysium._
The hot muscado oil, with milder maudlin cast
Strong tansey, fennel cool, they prodigally waste.
_Polyolbion_, Song xv.
The name Tansy comes from _Athanasia_, Immortality, because its flower
lasts so long, and it is dedicated to St Athanasius. It is connected
with various interesting old customs, and especially with some observed
at Easter time. Brand quotes several old rhymes in reference to this.
Soone at Easter cometh Alleluya.
With butter, cheese and a tansay.
From _Douce’s Collection of Carols_.
On Easter Sunday be the pudding seen
To which the Tansey lends her sober green.
_The Oxford Sausage._
Wherever any grassy turf is view’d,
It seems a tansie all with sugar strew’d.
From _Shipman’s Poems_.
The last lines occur in a description of the frost in 1654. None of
these quotations refer to the plant alone; but to that kind of cake or
fritter called taansie, and of which Tansy leaves formed an ingredient.
Tansy must be “eaten young, shred small with other herbes, or else, the
juiyce of it and other herbes, fit for the purpose beaten with egges and
fried into cakes (in Lent and in the Spring of the year) which are
usually called Tansies.” Though Parkinson speaks of their being eaten in
Lent (as they no doubt were), the special day that they were in demand
was Easter Day, and of this practice Culpepper has a good deal to say.
Tansies were then eaten as a remembrance of the bitter herbs eaten by
the Jews at the Passover. “Our Tansies at Easter have reference to the
bitter herbs, though at the same time ’twas always the fashion for a man
to have a gammon of bacon, to show himself to be no Jew.” This little
glimpse of an old practice comes from Selden’s _Table Talk_ and the idea
of taking this means to declare one’s self a Christian is really
delightful. I must quote again from Brand to show another very
extraordinary Easter Day custom. “Belithus, a ritualist of ancient
times, tells us that it was customary in some churches for the Bishops
and Archbishops themselves to play with the inferior clergy at
hand-ball, and this, as Durand asserts, even on Easter Day itself. Why
they should play at hand-ball at this time rather than any other game,
Bourne tells us he has not been able to discover; certain it is,
however, that the present custom of playing at that game on Easter
Holidays for a tansy-cake has been derived from thence.” Stool-ball was
apparently a most popular amusement and Lewis in his _English
Presbyterian Eloquence_ criticises the tenets of the Puritans, and
observes with disapproval that all games where there is “any hazard of
loss are strictly forbidden; not so much as a game of stool-ball for a
tansy is allowed.” From a collection of poems called “A Pleasant Grove
of New Fancies,” 1657, Brand extracts the following verses:--
At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play
For sugar, cakes and wine
Or for a tansey let us pay,
The loss be thine or mine.
If thou, my dear, a winner be,
At trundling of the ball,
The wager thou shalt have and me,
And my misfortunes all.
Let us hope that the stake was handsomer than it sounds! Brand quotes
another very curious practice in which Tansies have a share, once
existing in the North. On Easter Sunday, the young men of the village
would steal the buckles off the maidens’ shoes. On Easter Monday, the
young men’s shoes and buckles were taken off by the young women. On
Wednesday, they are redeemed by little pecuniary forfeits, out of which
an entertainment, called a Tansey Cake, is made, with dancing. One
cannot help wondering how this cheerful, if somewhat peculiar custom
originated! In course of time Tansies came to be eaten only about
Easter-time and the practice seems to have acquired at one period the
lustre almost of a religious rite in which superstition had a
considerable share. Coles (1656) and Culpepper (1652) rebel against this
and show with force and clearness the advantages of eating Tansies
throughout the spring. Coles ignores the ceremonial reasons and says
that the origin of eating it in the spring is because Tansy is very
wholesome after the salt fish consumed during Lent, and counteracts the
ill-effects which “the moist and cold constitution of winter” has made
on people... “though many understand it not and some simple people take
it for a matter of superstition to do so.” This shows plainly that the
idea of eating Tansies only at Easter, was pretty widely spread.
Culpepper as usual is more incisive. He first gives the same reason
that Coles does for eating Tansies in the spring; then: “At last the
world being over-run with Popery, a monster called superstition pecks up
his head, and... obscures the bright beams of knowledge by his dismal
looks; (physicians seeing the Pope and his imps, selfish, began to do so
too), and now, forsooth, Tansies must be eaten only on Palm and Easter
Sundays and their neighbour days. At last superstition being too hot to
hold, and the selfishness of physicians walking in the clouds; after the
friars and monks had made the people ignorant, the superstition of the
time, was found out by the virtue of the herb hidden and now is almost,
if not altogether left off. Scarcely any physicians are beholden to none
so much as they are to monks and friars; for wanting of eating this herb
in spring, maketh people sickly in summer, and that makes work for the
physician. If it be against any man or woman’s conscience to eat Tansey
in the spring, I am as unwilling to burthen their conscience, as I am
that they should burthen mine; they may boil it in wine and drink the
decoction, it will work the same effect.” “The Pope and his imps” is a
grand phrase! A more militant Protestant than Culpepper it would be
difficult to find, even in these days.
From other writers, it seems that the phase of associating Tansies
exclusively with Easter, must have worn itself out, for we find many
descriptions of them on distinctly secular occasions. At the Coronation
Feast of James II. and his Queen, a Tansie was served among the 1445
“Dishes of delicious Viands” provided for it, and I must quote some of
the others:--“Stag’s tongues, cold; Andolioes; Cyprus Birds, cold and
Asparagus; a pudding, hot; Salamagundy; 4 Fawns; 10 Oyster pyes, hot;
Artichokes; an Oglio, hot; Bacon, Gammon and Spinnage; 12 Stump Pyes; 8
Godwits; Morels; 24 Puffins; 4 dozen Almond Puddings, hot; Botargo;
Skirrets; Cabbage Pudding; Lemon Sallet; Taffeta Tarts; Razar Fish; and
Broom Buds, cold.”[52] These are only a very few out of an immense
variety that are also named.
Many recipes for a “Tansy” exist, and very often have only the slightest
resemblance to one another, but this is rather a nice one and is
declared by its transcriber to be “the most agreeable of all the boiled
Herbaceous Dishes.” It consists of: “Tansey, being qualify’d with the
juices of other fresh Herbs; _Spinach_, _green Corn_, _Violet_,
_Primrose Leaves_, etc., at entrance of the spring, and then fry’d
brownish, is eaten hot, with the Juice of Orange and Sugar.” Isaac
Walton speaks of a “Minnow Tansy,” which is made of Minnows “fried with
yolks of eggs; the flowers of cowslips and of primroses and a little
tansy; thus used they make a dainty dish of meat.” Our ancestors seem to
have had a great love of “batter,” for it is a prominent part in very
many of their dishes. Mrs Milne Home says, “In Virginia the Negroes make
Tansy-tea for colds and at a pinch, Mas’r’s cook will condescend to use
it in a sauce,” but in English cookery, it has absolutely disappeared.
Tansy had many medicinal virtues. Sussex people used to say that to wear
Tansy-leaves in the shoe, was a charm against ague.
Wild Tansy looks handsome when it grows in abundance on marshy ground;
and, indeed, its feathery leaves are beautiful anywhere, and it has a
more refreshing scent than the Garden-Tansy. “In some parts of Italy
people present stalks of Wild Tansy to those whom they mean to
insult,”[53] a proceeding for which there seems neither rhyme nor
reason. Turner tells tales of the vanity of his contemporaries,
masculine as well as feminine, for he says:
“Our weomen in Englande and some men that be sunneburnt and would be
fayre, eyther stepe this herbe in white wyne and wash their faces with
the wyne or ellis with the distilled water of the same.”
[52] Complete Account of the Coronations of the Kings and Queens of
England, J. Roberts.
[53] Folkard.
THISTLE (_Carduus Marianus and Carduus Benedictus_).
_Margaret._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay
it to your heart, it is the only thing for a qualm.
_Hero._ There thou prick’st her with a thistle.
_Beatrice._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this
Benedictus.
_Margaret._ Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant
plain holy thistle.
_Much Ado about Nothing_, iii, 4.
That thence, as from a garden without dressing
She these should ever have, and never want.
Store from an orchard without tree or plant...
And for the chiefest cherisher she lent
The royal thistle’s milky nourishment.
_Br. Pastorals_, Book i.
The history, legends, and traditions surrounding Thistles in general,
make far too large a subject to be entered on here, and only these two
varieties can be considered. _Carduus Marianus_, the Milk or Dappled
Thistle, has sometimes been called the Scotch Thistle, and announced to
be the Thistle of Scotland. As a matter of fact, I believe, that after
long and stormy controversy, that honour has been awarded to _Carduus
Acanthioides_, but the Milk Thistle’s claims have received very strong
support, and so it seems most probable, considering the context, that
when Browne referred to the “Royal Thistle,” it was this one that he
meant. This supposition is borne out by Hogg, who writes: “As Ray says,
it is more a garden vegetable than a medicinal plant. The young and
tender stalks of the root leaves when stripped of their spiny part, are
eaten like cardoon, or when boiled, are used as greens. The young
stalks, peeled and soaked in water to extract their bitterness, are
excellent as a salad. The scales of the involucre are as good as those
of the artichoke, and the roots in early spring are good to eat.” The
seeds supply food to many small birds, and it is from the gold-finch
feeding so extensively on them that it has been called _Carduelis_. This
partiality of the gold-finch must have been observed in several lands,
for the same name occurs in different tongues. In England, it has been
called Thistlefinch; in French, _Chardonneret_, and in Italian,
_Cardeletto_, _Cardeto_ being a waste covered with thistles. One cannot
help remembering the charming line:--
“As the thistle shakes,
When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed,”
with the reflection that other birds besides gold-finches have a deep
appreciation of it.
But to go back to the Thistle itself, after all these uses made of every
part, no wonder that Browne called it a “chiefest cherisher of vital
power!” Although, latterly, its reputation in medicine has fallen, in
old days, on account of its numerous prickles (Doctrine of Signatures),
it was thought good for stitches in the side. Culpepper has further
advice: “In spring, if you please to boil the tender plant (but cut off
the prickles, unless you have a mind to choke yourself), it will change
your blood as the season changeth, and that is the way to be safe.”
_Carduus Benedictus_, called the Holy, or the Blessed Thistle, was
considered a great preservative against the plague, and that it was also
given for a sudden spasm is shown in the delightful scene between
Beatrice and her friends in “Much Ado About Nothing.” It follows the
_ruse_ that they have just played upon her, to persuade her that
Benedict is already in love with her, in the hope that she may become
enamoured of him, and the play upon the name is very charming. Culpepper
says that _Carduus Benedictus_ was good against “diseases of
melancholy,” which is additional evidence that Shakespeare did not go
out of his way to find an imaginary remedy that would suit that
occasion, but with exquisite skill took a remedy that would have been
natural in his time, and surrounded it with wit. Less than a hundred
years ago a decoction used to be made from its leaves, which are
remarkable for their “intense bitterness,” and it was said to be an
excellent tonic; but, like the Milk Thistle, the Holy Thistle’s virtues
in medicine are now discredited. The thistle was once dedicated to Thor,
and the bright colour of the flower was supposed to come from the
lightning, and therefore lightning could not hurt any person or building
protected by the flower. It was used a good deal in magic, and there is
an old rite to help a maiden to discover which, of several suitors,
really loves her best. She must take as many thistles as there are
lovers, cut off their points, give each thistle the name of a man, and
lay them under her pillow, and the thistle which has the name of the
most faithful lover will put forth a fresh sprout! In East Prussia, says
Mr Friend, there is a strange but simple cure for any domestic animal
which may have an open wound. It is to gather four red thistle blossoms
before the break of day, and to put one in each of the four points of
the compass with a stone in the middle of them.
Here ends the list of Herbs, but before finishing the chapter I must add
a few names of buds and berries which, though not herbs, were often
employed as such, especially to garnish, or to flavour dishes. Evelyn
includes many of these in his _Acetaria_. “The Capreols, Tendrils and
Claspers of Vines,” very young, may be “eaten alone or mingled with
other sallet. So may the ‘buds and young Turiones of the Tendrils’ of
Hops, either raw, ‘but more conveniently being boil’d’ and cold, like
asparagus.” Elder Flowers, infused in vinegar, are recommended, and
“though the leaves are somewhat rank of smell, and so not commendable in
sallet... they are of the most sovereign virtue, and spring buds and
tender leaves excellent and wholesome in pottage at that season of the
year.” Evelyn experimented with “the large _Heliotrope_ or Sunflower
(e’er it comes to expand and show its golden face), which, being dress’d
as the artichoak, is eaten for a dainty. This I add as a new discovery:
I once made macaroons with ripe blanch’d seed, but the _Turpentine_ did
so domineer over all that it did not answer expectation.” This must have
been a disappointment to his adventurous spirit! Broom buds appeared on
three separate tables at King James II.’s Coronation feast, and seem to
have been popular, when pickled.
Violets were also used, and Miss Amherst quotes from an old cookery book
the recipe of a pudding called “Mon amy,” which directs the cook to
“plant it with flowers of violets and serve it forth.” Another recipe is
for a dish called “Vyolette!” “Take flowrys of vyolet, boyle hem, presse
hem, bray (pound) hem smal.” After this they are to be mixed with milk,
‘floure of rys,’ and sugar or honey, and finally to be coloured with
violets. Pine-kernels were sometimes eaten. Shelley says of _Marenghi_:
“His food was the wild fig or strawberry;
The milky pine-nuts which the autumn blast
Shakes into the tall grass.”
And in England Parkinson writes, “The cones or apples are used of divers
Vintners in this city, being painted to express a bunch of grapes,
whereunto they are very like and are hung up on their bushes, as also to
fasten keyes unto them, as is seene in many places. The kernels with the
hard shels, while they are fresh, or newly taken out, are used by
Apothecaries, Comfitmakers, and Cookes. Of them are made Comfits,
Marchpanes and such like, and with them a cunning cook can make divers
kech-choses for his master’s table.” Barberries were used as a garnish
to salads and other dishes and sometimes as an ingredient. Evelyn
mentions them as an item in “Sallet All-sorts,” and Gervase Markham
describes the making of “Paste of Genoa,” a confection of Quince, and
adds, “In this sort you now make paste of Peares, Apples, Wardens,
Plummes of all kindes, Cherries, Barberries or whatever fruit you
please.” He adds this fruit to the ingredients required in making
aromatic vinegar, and also directs that a good quantity of whole
Barberries, both branches and others, be served with Pike “or any fresh
fish whatsoever.” Parkinson says, “The leaves are sometimes used in the
stead of Sorrell to make sauce for meate, and by reason of their
sournesse are of the same quality.” The “delicious _confitures d’épine
vinette_, for which Rouen is famous,” are prepared from them, says Dr
Fernie, and there is no doubt that they make an excellent jelly.
Formerly they were so much prized that, as Miss Amherst quotes from Le
Strange’s “Household Accounts,” in 1618, 3s. was paid for one pound of
them.
Strawberry leaves were used as a garnish and for their flavour.
Parkinson tells us that they were “alwayes used among other herbes in
cooling drinks,” and Markham mentions both them and Violet leaves in his
directions to “Smoar a Mallard,” and “to make an excellent _Olepotrige_,
which is the only principall dish of boyled meate, which is esteemed in
all _Spaine_. “For dessert”: The berries are often brought to the table
as a rare service, whereunto Cleret wine, creame or milke is added with
sugar. The water distilled of the berries is good for the passions of
the heart, caused by the perturbation of the spirits being eyther drunk
alone or in wine, and maketh the heart mery.” Such a pleasant and easy
remedy against the evils arising from “perturbation of spirits” is worth
remembering! Gerarde and Parkinson both speak of the prickly strawberry;
a plant which is “of no use for meate” but which has “a small head of
greene leaves, many set thick together like unto a double ruffe, and is
fit for a gentlewoman to wear on her arme, etc. as a raritie instead of
a flower.” Gerarde has a curious little note on its discovery. “Mr John
Tradescant hath told me that he was the first that took notice of this
Strawberry and that in a woman’s garden at Plimouth, whose daughter had
gathered and set the roots in her garden, instead of the common
Strawberry, but she finding the fruit not answer her expectation,
intended to throw it away, which labour he spared her, in taking it and
bestowing it among the lovers of such vanities.” The custom of
transplanting wild strawberries was very general.
Wife, unto thy garden and set me a plot,
With strawberry rootes of the best to be got.
Such growing abroade, among thorns in the wood,
Wel chosen and picked proove excellent food.
_September’s Husbandry._--TUSSER.
Miss Amherst says that in the Hampton Court Accounts there are “several
entries of money paid for strawberry roots, brought from the wood to the
King’s garden.” The fact that this is no longer the custom, may explain
the disappointment that some have experienced, who, in the hope of
enjoying “the most excellent cordial smell” described by Sir Francis
Bacon, have haunted their kitchen gardens when the strawberry leaves are
dying, and without reward. The strawberries grown there at present are
not, as in his day, natives, subjected to civilisation, but are chiefly
of American or Asiatic origin (the first foreign strawberry cultivated
in England was _Fragaria virginiana_, and was introduced from North
America in 1629; four years after the Essay on Gardens was first
published), and if their leaves have any fragrance, it must be of the
faintest possible description. Anyone, however, who passes through a
wood, towards evening, especially if it is a mild and slightly damp day
in October, may speedily realise how true and admirable was this counsel
given by the Great Lord Chancellor.
[Illustration: THE ARMS OF SAFFRON WALDEN.]