CHAPTER V.

THE DEVIL'S CANDLE.

So much legendary lore and so many strange fables have had their origin

in the mandrake, or the 'Devil's Candle,' as the Arabians call it, that

it is worth while to endeavour to trace if any, and what, analogy there

be between it and the mandragoras of the Greeks and the Soma of the

Indian mythology.

The mandrake is so called from the German _Mandragen_, 'resembling

man'--at least, so says Mr. Thiselton-Dyer; but this derivation is not

quite satisfactory. The botanical name is _Mandragora officinalis_, and

sometimes the May-apple, or _Podophyllum peltatum_, is also called

mandrake; but the actual plant of fact and fancy belongs to the

_Solanum_, or potato family.

Although one may doubt if the English name be really derived from the

German _Mandragen_, it is certain that the Germans have long regarded

the plant as something uncanny. Other names which they have for it are

_Zauberwurzel_, or Sorcerer's Root, and _Hexenmaennchen_, or Witch's

Mannikin, while they made little dolls or idols from it, which they

regarded with superstitious veneration, and called _Erdmann_, or

Earth-man.

Yet in other places, according to one authority, the mandrake was

popularly supposed to be 'perpetually watched over by Satan; and if it

be pulled up at certain holy times and with certain invocations, the

evil spirit will appear to do the bidding of the practitioner.' A

superstition once common in the South of England was that the mandrake

had a human heart at its root, and, according to Timbs, it was generally

believed that the person who pulled it would instantaneously fall dead;

that the root shrieked or groaned whenever separated from the earth; and

that whoever heard the shriek would either die shortly afterwards or

become afflicted with madness.

To this last superstition there is direct reference made by Shakespeare

in Romeo and Juliet:

'And shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth,

That living mortals hearing them run mad.'

Frequent allusions to this superstition are to be found in the old

poets, although it is held by some that the effects claimed for

decoctions of the mandrake really refer to those of the nightshade. This

confusion has certainly arisen at times, but the most general idea

concerning the mandrake was that it was a stimulant rather than a

narcotic. It is true that Shakespeare regarded mandragora as an opiate,

for he makes Cleopatra to exclaim:

'Give me to drink mandragora,

That I might sleep out this great gap of time

My Antony is away.'

And, again, when in Othello he makes Iago say:

'Nor poppy, nor mandragora,

Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world

Can ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep

Which thou owedst yesterday.'

But, on the other hand, we find Apuleius--himself, by the way, not

unsuspected of magical arts--writing that when the root of the mandrake

is steeped in wine it produces vehement intoxication. The same idea is

reflected in Mrs. Browning's Dead Pan:

'In what revels are ye sunken

In old Ethiopia?

Have the Pygmies made you drunken,

Bathing in mandragora,

Your divine pale lips that shiver

Like the lotus in the river?'

And there can be little doubt that the mysterious 'Lhasis,' referred to

by Sir William Davenant[5]--a word whose etymology is so obscure--is

nothing else than the mandrake or mandragora; if so, then we see that

the plant was valued for its exciting and stimulating effects rather

than as an opiate.

Many commentators and most dictionaries dispose of Reuben's mandrakes as

something altogether different from the plant now known by the name; but

there is really no warrant for such a conclusion. The _Mandragora

officinalis_ is quite common in Celicia, Syria, and elsewhere in the

East, and is easily identifiable with the root of Baaras, which Josephus

describes in the Wars of the Jews. This root, he says, is in colour like

to that of flame, and towards the evening it sends out a certain ray

like lightning. It is not easily to be pulled, it will not yield

quietly, and it is certain death to anyone who dares pull it, unless he

hangs it with the head downwards. As to the uses of the root, Josephus

continues: 'After all his pains in getting it, it is only valuable on

account of one virtue it hath: that if it only be brought to sick

persons, it quickly drives away those called Demons, which are no other

than the spirits of the wicked, which enter into men that are alive and

kill them, unless they can obtain some help against them'; and the root

was esteemed a useful stimulant, although in Baaras, at any rate, it

seems to have lost its reputation as a love-philtre. It is noteworthy

that Josephus also tells how Solomon had great skill in enchantments,

and cast out devils by means of this root--an accomplishment he is said

to have learned from some of the numerous foreign ladies with whom he

surrounded himself.

Now, it is interesting to turn from the old Jewish historian to the old

English herbalist, Gerarde, who in 1597 wrote in his Herball pointing

out how, by 'the corruption of time and the errour of some,' mandragora

has been mistaken for what he calls Circaea, or Enchanter's Nightshade.

But of the mandrake, or mandragoras, Gerarde says: 'There hath been many

ridiculous tales brought up of this plant, whether of old wives, or some

runagate surgeons, or physickemongers, I know not; but sure some one or

more that sought to make themselves famous or skillful above others were

the first brochers of the errour'--that the root resembles a man. 'They

add further,' he says, 'that it is never, or very seldome, to be found

growing naturally, but under a gallowes, where the matter that hath

fallen from the dead body hath given it the shape of a man, and the

matter of a woman the substance of a female plant, with many other such

doltish dreames. The fable further affirms that he who would take up a

plant thereof ... he should surely die in short space after.'

This is clearly Josephus's 'root of Baaras' over again. Gerarde further

holds it to be the identical mandragoras of the Greeks, and called

Circaea because it was used by Circe for love-potions and enchantments.

If this be so, then what was the 'moly' given to Odysseus by Hermes

wherewith to counteract the charms of Circe? Was it a totally different

plant, or was it merely the same applied on the homoeopathic principle?

Mr. Andrew Lang thinks they cannot be the same, because the 'moly' is

described by Homer as having a black root and a white flower, while the

mandragoras is described by Pliny as having a yellow flower and white,

fleshy roots. But we know that Homer is somewhat confusing in the matter

of colours, and it is possible that various shades of the purplish

flower of the true mandrake might appear to one observer as white, and

to another as yellow. Upon the whole, the probability is that the two

names meant one and the same plant, for the characteristics are too

peculiar to be alike possessed by different species. If the moly were

not mandragoras there is nothing else known to modern botany that it

could be, unless it were rue, with which some scholars have sought to

identify it, but not very successfully.

The learned author of Pseudosia Epidemica, or Vulgar Errors, at any

rate, was clearly of opinion that moly and mandragoras were one and the

same. He quotes also from Pliny that the ancient way of pulling the root

was to get on the windward side of the plant, and with a sword to

describe three circles about it, whilst the operator kept his face

turned to the west. The dangers attending the plucking of mandrakes are

shrewdly disposed of by Sir Thomas Browne with the remark that it is

'derogatory unto the Providence of God ... to impose so destructive a

quality on any plant ... whose parts are usefull unto many.' The same

author mentions the superstition that the mandrake grows under gallows,

fructified by the decaying bodies of criminals, that it grows both male

and female, and that it shrieks upon eradication. This last idea he

derides as 'false below confute, arising perhaps from a small and

stridulous noise which, being firmly rooted, it maketh upon divulsion of

parts.' 'A slender foundation,' he remarks, 'for such a vast conception;

for such a noise we sometimes observe in other plants--in parsnips,

liquorish, eringium, flags, and others.'

The belief that the root of the mandrake resembles the human figure is

characterized by the writer last quoted, as a 'conceit not to be made

out by ordinary inspection, or any other eyes than such as regarding the

clouds behold them in shapes conformable to pre-apprehensions.' It is

traceable to the bifurcation of the root; a formation, however, which

is frequently found 'in carrots, parsnips, briony, and many others.'

There is no other importance, therefore, to be attached to 'the epithet

of Pythagoras, who calls it anthropomorphon, and that of Columella, who

terms it semihomo;' nor to Albertus, 'when he affirmed that mandrakes

represent mankind with the distinction of either sex.' The roots, which

were commonly sold in various parts of Europe 'unto ignorant people,

handsomely made out the shape of man or woman. But these are not

productions of nature but contrivances of art, as divers have noted....

This is vain and fabulous, which ignorant people and simple women

believe; for the roots which are carried about by impostors are made of

the roots of canes, briony, and other plants.' And the method of

manufacture is then explained by the erudite doctor. It is evident from

what has been cited that the prevalence of the superstition, and the

existence of the German _erdmann_, were matters of common knowledge in

the latter half of the seventeenth century.

But the superstition can be traced still later, for as recently as 1810

some of these root-images were to be seen on sale in certain parts of

France, and were purchased as love-charms. It is said that even now at

this very day bits of the _Mandragoras officinalis_ are worn by the

young men and maidens of Greece to bring them fortune in their

love-affairs.

In some parts of England--viz., in Oxfordshire, Buckinghamshire, and

Somersetshire--the briony is called mandrake, and a small portion of the

root is frequently given to horses among their food to make them sleek

and improve their condition, and it is still also sold 'for medicinal

and other purposes.' Yet in other places it is called 'Devil's Food,'

because Satan is supposed to be perpetually watching over it and to

jealously guard its magical properties. It is partly on this account,

and partly because of its supposed effect in stimulating the passions,

that the Arabs sometimes call the mandrake Tuphacel-sheitan, or Devil's

Apple, although it is otherwise known as the Stone Apple. In many parts

of Europe the mandrake is believed to possess, in common with some other

plants, the power of opening locks and unshoeing horses.

The belief that the mandrake had some peculiar association with the

devil has made it a favourite plant with sorcerers and workers of

enchantment in all ages. Lord Bacon refers to it as a favourite in his

time, 'whereof witches and impostors make an ugly image, giving it the

form of a face at the top of the root,' and leaving the natural threads

of the root 'to make a broad beard down to the foot.' Mr. Moncure

Conway, however, says that the superstition rightly belonging to the

mandrake was often transferred to other roots--probably in ignorance as

to the identity of the real plant.

'Thus,' he says, 'the author of Secrets du Petit Albert says that a

peasant had a bryonia root of human shape, which he received from a

gipsy. He buried it at a lucky conjunction of the moon with Venus' (the

reader will not fail to note the reference to the Goddess of Love) 'in

spring, and on a Monday, in a grave, and then sprinkled it with milk in

which three field-mice had been drowned. In a month it became more

humanlike than ever. Then he placed it in an oven with vervain, wrapped

it afterwards in a dead man's shroud, and so long as he kept it he never

failed in luck at games or work.'

Then we learn from the same author that a German horse-dealer, of

Augsburg, once lost a horse, and being poor, wandered in despair to an

inn. There some men gave him a mandrake, and on his return home he found

a bag of ducats on the table. His wife, however, did not like the

business, and persuaded the man to return to give back the root to those

from whom he got it. But he could not find the men again, and soon after

the house was burned down, and both horse-dealer and wife perished.

The only suggestion from this story is that the mandrake was supposed to

bring 'devil's luck,' although, if so, it is difficult to understand why

the _erdmanns_ were so carefully preserved from generation to

generation. One German writer, Rist, says that he has seen one more than

a century old, which had been kept in a coffin, on which was a cloth

bearing a picture of a thief on the gallows and a mandrake growing

underneath.

Coles, who wrote The Art of Simpling, in 1656, says the witches use the

mandrake-roots, 'according to some, or, as I rather suppose, the roots

of briony, which simple people take for the true mandrake, and make

thereof an ugly image, by which they represent the person on whom they

intend to exercise their witchcraft.' But their professions must at

times have been even larger, for it is on record that a witch was

executed near Orleans, in France, about 1605, who was charged with

having kept a living mandrake-fiend, having the form of a female ape!

So much for the mandrake, of which, however, a good deal more might be

said. But what has been said serves to establish that it was identical

with the mandragora, and with the mandragoras of the Greeks; that it was

probably also the briony; that superstitions have attached to it in all

countries and from time immemorial, which ascribed to it occult virtues;

that the powers it exercised varied a good deal according to locality

and time, but that two main conceptions have almost universally

prevailed, viz., that it was a stimulant, and a potent instrument in

affairs of the heart.

What, then, is the Soma, or Homa, of the Hindu mythology--the ambrosia

of the Indian gods? It has been the subject of much discussion and some

difference among comparative mythologists. Soma was the chief deity

among the ancient Hindus--the author of life, the giver of health, the

protector of the weak, and the guide to immortality. Once he took upon

himself the form of man, but was slain by men and braised in a mortar.

The similarity with the Christian legend is remarkable, and the method

of death should be borne in mind. After his death, Soma rose in flame to

heaven, 'to be the benefactor of the world and the mediator between God

and man.'

One of the articles of faith with the Hindus, therefore, is that they

must hold communion with Soma, and they are taught thus to pray to him:

'O Soma! thou art the strength of our heroes and the death of our

enemies, invincible in war! Fulfil our vows in battle, fight for us!

None can resist thee; give us superiority! O Soma immortal! May we drink

to thee and be immortal like thee!' Mr. Baring-Gould says that the whole

legend of Soma is but the allegorical history of the plant _Sarcostemma

viminalis_, which is associated with passionate love 'because of the

intoxicating liquor which is derived from its juice. It is regarded as a

godsend. The way in which it is prepared is by crushing it in a mortar;

the juice is then thrown on the sacrificial flame and so rises to

heaven.' The same writer tells us that a similar worship prevailed among

the Iranians, who called the juice Homa, but they did not ferment it,

and although they ascribed to it divine attributes, they did not make

Homa a supreme deity. But both with them and with the Hindus, 'the

partaking of the juice was regarded as a sacramental act, by virtue of

which the receiver was embued with a portion of the divine nature.'

Another writer, the author of Bible Folklore, says that the 'old Soma

was the same as the Persian Homa, a brilliant god, who gives sons to

heroes, and husbands to maidens. The juice of the plant, pounded in an

iron mortar, is greenish in colour, and is strained through a cloth and

mixed with the sap of a pomegranate branch; the yellow juice is then

strained through a vessel with nine holes. Among the Parsees it is

drunk, not as by the Brahmins in large quantities by sixteen priests,

but in small quantities by the two chief priests, and is thus not

intoxicating.'

The symbol is confused with the deity, and 'Soma is at once the

life-giving spring of the juice of immortality, and the juice itself'--a

confusion not without analogy in some of the superstitions narrated of

the mandrake. But of old Soma was drunk as mead was drunk by the

Scandinavians, before and after battle. It gave power and good fortune

as well as light and happiness, and when elevated into a god was

supposed to be the origin of all creation.

Now, of the _Sarcostemma_ it is to be noted that it belongs to the

family of _Asclepiadaceae_, which have all something more or less

'fleshy' looking about some parts of them, which, like the _Apocyneae_,

were in the old world credited with medicinal properties, and which are

generally acrid, stimulating, and astringent. There are many poisonous

members of the family, such as the dog's-bane and wolf's-bane of our own

country, favourite plants with the enchanters, while the cowplant of

Ceylon is of the same species.

In Garrett's Dictionary of India it is stated that the Soma of the Vedas

is no longer known in India, and the same statement is repeated by many

writers. It is certainly not indubitable that the _Sarcostemma

viminalis_ was the plant of wondrous virtues that was deified. On the

other hand, we find that these ascribed virtues closely resemble those

attributed to the mandrake, and it is known that the Aryan people

received many of their ideas and superstitions from the old Jewish

tribes.

We have seen, further, that belief in the peculiar power of the mandrake

in certain directions was a settled belief at a very early period of the

Jewish history, and we thus arrive at the very probable suggestion that

the original Soma was neither more nor less than the mandrake of Reuben,

the 'Baaras root' of Josephus, the mandragoras of the Greeks, the moly

of Homer, the mandragora of Shakespeare, the mandragen of Germany, and

the mandrake, again, of England.

Storyology: Essays in Folk-Lore, Sea-Lore, and Plant-Lore · 第 5 / 14 章