As plants were among the objects most familiar to primitive man, they
naturally came to be considered good or evil, according as their
properties were found to be beneficial or injurious. The imaginative and
pure reverence, however, which originally linked plant life with the
personifications of natural phenomena, soon degenerated into a
superstitious worship and became associated with the mummery of various
kinds of impostors. The plants, through the manipulations of the quacks
and witches, who largely composed the fraternity of the early
herbalists, became endowed with powers to kill or heal, to control the
weather, to gain or hold friends, and many other associations that have
clung to them ever since. The Thistle appears to have been especially
favored in this regard. It appears that an eagle had stolen the sacred
Soma from the Hindu tree of life. Barely had he departed with the
immortalizing draught before he was overtaken by a lightning bolt and
stretched lifeless upon the earth. From the eagle’s feathers sprang up
the bramble, while the Thistle grew from his claws. About this time
Loki, the evil spirit of the Norse Asgard, passed that way, bent upon
mischief. The unpleasant qualities of the two plants at once appealed to
him. Loki immediately gathered the seed and proceeded to sow them in the
fields of his enemies, the result being that all the good seed was
killed. This Aryan myth has given rise to the expression, “Sowing wild
oats,” and is believed to be the origin of the biblical story of the
tares and the wheat, coming into Hebrew literature by means of the
Indo-Iranians at the time of the Israelitish exile.
Now, Thor observed what Loki had done; so he hurled his hammer at the
brambles and a bolt of lightning at the Thistles. For this reason the
thistle blossoms are colored red and the plants became lightning plants.
But the end was not yet. The beautiful goddess Freya, seeing the
Thistles drooping under the chastisement of the god, took compassion and
gave them to drink of the mead from the sacred goat of Valhalla, by
virtue of which the plants became invested with immortality. Thus it
came to pass that the Thistle has a dual life. It is a lightning plant,
in which, in common with similar forms, like the vervain, the hazel, and
the ash is never injured by lightning or approached by serpents. On the
other hand, it being a protege of Freya, the goddess of Love, it
straightway became a powerful love charm, and doubtless has done much
execution in Cupid’s lists.
The Thistle group is the most primitive of the Composite family, and it
bears evidence of a vast evolutionary history. There are one hundred and
seventy-five living species which are distributed over Europe, Asia,
Africa, North and South America. The plants seem able to adapt
themselves to almost any conditions, and their unpleasant spines are
found bidding defiance to the reindeer near the Arctic circle, as well
as successfully measuring strength with the prickly cactus and acacias
of the tropics. On our own prairies only plants thus armed stand much
show to survive the herds of cattle that wander over them, and this
protection, together with their great productiveness, have rendered
Thistles such a nuisance and menace to agricultural interests as to
necessitate legislative action looking to their extermination. The
Russian and Canada thistles are the worst offenders, and where they once
obtain a foothold they, as a rule, remain. The unpleasant qualities of
the Thistle, however, served to bring about its adoption as the national
emblem of Scotland. The story relates that during the eighth century the
invading Danes, while stealing up to the Scotch camp under cover of
darkness, passed over a patch of cotton thistle, and the sudden cries of
the injured men warned the guards, and thus the army was saved. Achaius,
King of Scotland, adopted the plant as his emblem in recognition of this
service, but it was not made a part of the national arms until the
middle of the fifteenth century.
[Illustration: BUR OR SPEAR THISTLE.
(Carduus lanceolatus.)
PASTURE OR FRAGRANT THISTLE.
(Carduus odoratus.)
FROM “NATURE’S GARDEN”]
The origin of the Scottish order of the Thistle, or St. Andrew, is
somewhat uncertain. In 1687 it was restored to favor by James II of
England and was given much prominence during the reign of Queen Anne.
The membership was limited to from twelve to sixteen peers of the realm,
the insignia being a golden collar composed of sixteen thistles, from
which hung a St. Andrew’s cross.
What is known as the purple star thistle was named for Chiron the
Centaur. The great spines on the calyx suggested the military caltrop,
an iron star of four points, which was used in battle to annoy horses.
Among other incidents in which Thistles have been in evidence may be
mentioned the confusion into which the army of Charles the Bold was
thrown, in 1465, because of the deceptive appearance of the plants. The
Burgundians were beseiging Paris, and while the army slept scouts
brought word that great numbers of spears were assembled outside the
city walls. A panic was narrowly averted, and later it was discovered
that the stems and spines of some very tall Thistles had produced the
deception. The leaves of the Thistles were commonly employed by the
Roman soldiers to shade their helmets, and it is stated that when Hugh
Spencer, favorite of Edward II, was hanged, the mob, in derision, placed
a crown of thistle spines upon his head.
Thistles seem to have figured in peace as well as war. In England the
teasel is indispensable in the cloth mills, in which it is employed to
dress the nap of the fabrics, and Virgil tells of the vest of Helen,
which was embroidered to represent the plants, while the handles of the
Cup of Eurymedon were entwined with them. Probably the crowning glory of
the Thistle, if the story be true, lies in its contribution to
architecture, in which capacity it deserves no less consideration than
the Egyptian lotus. It appears from the narrative that a young girl of
Corinth dying, her nurse placed on her grave a basket containing her
toys, covering them with a large tile in order to shield the childish
treasures from the weather. The basket was set by chance on the root of
a Thistle. When the springtime came the plant grew until, meeting the
tile, it was forced to turn downwards in graceful folds, which, catching
the eye of Callimachus, he conceived the capital of the Corinthian
columns.
Charles S. Raddin.
The smallest effort is not lost;
Each wavelet on the ocean toss’d
Aids in the ebb-tide of the flow;
Each rain drop makes some flow’ret blow
Each struggle lessens human woe.
—Charles MacKay in the Chicago Record-Herald.