SOME FLOWERS OF FANCY.
That the lily should symbolize purity seems appropriate enough, but why
should parsley in olden times have been associated with death? It is
recorded that a few bundles of parsley once threw a whole Greek army
into panic, because in Greece the tombs of the dead were strewn with the
herb. With them 'to be in need of parsley' was equivalent to being
beyond hope.
The name itself offers little explanation of this superstition, for it
is derived from the Latin _petroselinum_, which, again, was taken from
the Greek name signifying the 'plant of the rocks.' According to the
myth, however, it sprang from the blood of Archemorus, or Orpheltes, the
son of Lycurgus, King of Nemaea. Archemorus was killed by a serpent while
his foster-mother was showing the soldiers of Adrastus where they might
find a fountain. On the place where he died there sprang up the parsley,
which the Greeks, in grief for his loss, wove into chaplets for the
victors at the Nemaean games. At these games it was always customary to
deliver a funeral oration in memory of Archemorus, while the
participators were dressed in mourning. Hence the association of parsley
with death among the Greeks, and the long-prevailing Western belief that
the plant is 'unlucky,' is only another instance of the marvellous
longevity of superstitions.
It is said by Mr. Thiselton-Dyer that in Devonshire to transplant
parsley is accounted a serious offence against the tutelary spirit of
the herb, and is certain to be punished within the year by some great
misfortune. In South Hampshire the country people will never give
parsley away, for fear of trouble; and in Suffolk it is believed that if
it be sown on any other day than Good Friday it will not grow double.
The _Folklore Record_, some years ago, gave the case of a gentleman near
Southampton whose gardener refused to sow some parsley-seed when
ordered, because 'it would be a bad day's work' for him to do so; the
most he would do was to bring a plant or two, and throw them down for
the master to pick up if he chose. To give them, however, the man
regarded as fatal.
But even to move parsley is regarded in some places to be unlucky, and
we have heard of a parish clerk in Devonshire who was bedridden, and who
was popularly supposed to owe his trouble to having moved some
parsley-beds. There is a similar superstition in Germany, and many
readers have probably often come across an old saying, that 'Parsley
fried will bring a man to his saddle and a woman to her grave.' The
allusion to the saddle is obscure; but it is obvious that all the
superstitious dread of parsley is a survival of the old Greek fable
immortalized in the Nemaean games.
That the rose should be associated with death may appear strange to
some, yet so it was. The Greeks certainly used the rose in their funeral
rites and for the decoration of their tombs. The Romans used it for
similar purposes, and often bequeathed legacies for the express purpose
of keeping their tombs adorned with the flower. Whether it was by them
that the practice was introduced into England is not capable of direct
proof, but it is worthy of note that at Ockley, a place where the Romans
were often located in large numbers, it was a custom of comparatively
recent experience for girls to plant roses upon the graves of their dead
lovers. Hence, no doubt, its origin in Gay's riddle:
'What flower is that which royal honour craves,
Adjoins the Virgin, and 'tis strewn on graves?'
The answer is 'Rosemary,' which, although sometimes understood to mean
the Rose of the Virgin Mary, is neither a rose, nor is it in any special
way associated with the Virgin.
On the other hand, the rose is associated by most Catholics with the
Mother of the Saviour, and in Italy especially, during the celebrations
of May, the rose is abundantly used. By some it has been thought that
the early association of the rose with death led to the expression
'under the rose,' applied to anything to be done in secret or silence.
Others, again, have ascribed the origin of that expression to the
perfect beauty of the flower, which, as language is unable to portray
it, may be a symbol of silence. Sir Thomas Browne, however, says the
origin was either in the old custom of wearing chaplets of roses during
the 'Symposiack meetings,' or else because the rose was the flower of
Venus, 'which Cupid consecrated unto Harpocrates, the god of silence.'
There is a basis of probability in both theories, and all know that the
rose was peculiarly the property of the Goddess of Love. Indeed,
according to the old fable, the flower was originally white until dyed
by the blood which flowed from the foot of Venus, pierced by a thorn as
she ran to the aid of her loved Adonis. Hence Spenser says:
'White as the native rose, before the change
Which Venus's blood did in her leaves impress.'
According to others, however, it was the blood of Adonis which dyed the
flower. Thus Bion, in his Lament: 'A tear the Paphian sheds for each
blood-drop of Adonis, and tears and blood on the earth are turned to
flowers. The blood brings forth the rose, and the tears the wind-flower.
Woe, woe, for Adonis! he hath perished, the lovely Adonis!' This
tradition is preserved in the German name, _Adonis-blume_, which,
however, is usually applied to the anemone.
The rose being the emblem of love, and love having a natural abhorrence
of publicity, it is not difficult to conceive the connection with
silence. It is said that the Romans used to place a decoration of roses
in the centre of their dining-rooms, as a hint to the guests that all
that was said at the banqueting-table was in the nature of 'privileged
communications,' and in old Germany a similar custom long prevailed. In
the sixteenth century a rose was placed over confessionals, and the
inference is that the hint was then well understood.
There was also an obvious meaning in the adoption by the Jacobites of
this flower as the emblem of the Pretender, to whose service they were
secretly sworn. It was the white rose that was especially affected by
the Stuarts, and the Pretender's birthday, the 10th of June, was for
long known as 'White Rose Day,' much as 'Primrose Day' is now definitely
associated with the late Lord Beaconsfield. The story of the Wars of the
Roses is, of course, known to everybody, and how, in consequence of
these feuds, the rose became the emblem of England, as the thistle is of
Scotland, and the shamrock of Ireland.
In the East there is even more of poetic significance attached to the
rose than with us. It is related of Sadi, the Persian poet, that, when a
slave, he earned his freedom by the adroit use of the flower. One day he
presented a rose to his master, with the remark, made with all humility,
'Do good to thy servant whilst thou hast the power, for the season of
power is often as transient as the duration of this flower.' This was in
allusion to the Eastern fancy, which makes the white rose the emblem of
life--transient and uncertain. In Persia they have a festival called
'The Feast of the Roses,' which lasts during the blooming of the
flowers. One of their great works is called The Garden of Roses, and in
all their poems and tales they closely associate the rose with the
bulbul or nightingale. The belief is that the bird derives his melody
from the beauteous flower, and they say, 'You may place a handful of
fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, but he wants nothing
more than the odour of his beloved rose.'
Thomas Moore seizes, with happy effect, on this legend in Lalla Rookh,
which poem, indeed, is redolent of roses. But poetry generally is as
full of the rose as the rose is of poetry, and it would take a volume to
deal adequately with all the fancies and superstitious associations of
the queen of flowers. Before quitting the subject, however, we should
not overlook the Oriental traditions of how the rose received its
various colours. It is said that when Mohammed was journeying to heaven,
the sweat which fell from his forehead produced white roses, and that
which fell from Al Borak produced yellow roses. But an older tradition
is given by Sir John Mandeville. It is that of Zillah, the beauteous
maiden of Bethlehem, who, being falsely accused, was condemned to be
burned alive. At the stake the flames passed over her and shrivelled up
her accuser, while, on the spot where she stood, sprang up a garden of
roses--red where the fire had touched, and white where it had passed.
'And theise werein the first roseres that ever ony man saughe.'
Reference has been made to the lily as the emblem of purity, but,
curiously enough, this innocent-looking flower has its baleful
superstitions as well.
In Devonshire it is accounted unlucky to plant a bed of
lilies-of-the-valley, and to do so is to ensure misfortune, if not
death, within a year. Yet this flower has always been closely associated
with the Virgin Mary, and according to one legend, it sprang from some
of the milk which fell to the ground as she was nourishing the infant
Jesus. The Greeks, however, had a similar legend, ascribing the origin
of the flower to a drop of Juno's milk. The Greeks have always made a
favourite of the lily, and even to this day use it largely in making up
bridal wreaths, while the sacred significance which Christians have
found in the flower may be traceable to our Lord's use of it in imagery.
In this connection the legend of the budding lily of St. Joseph may be
recalled, and also the fact that the mediaeval painters generally
depicted the Madonna with a lily in her hand. There is a tradition that
the lily was the principal ornament in the crown of Solomon, and that it
typified love, charity, purity, and innocence--a combination of virtues
hardly to be found in the character of the wise King himself.
Nor must we forget that the sacred flower of the East--the lotus--is a
lily, and that even to name it seems to carry ineffable consolation to
the Buddhist. Thus, the universal prayer of the Buddhists--that prayer
which is printed on slips and fastened on cylinders which are
incessantly revolving in Thibet--'Om mani padme hum!' means simply, 'Oh,
the jewel in (or of) the lotus! Amen!' So Sir Edwin Arnold, in The
Light of Asia:
'Ah, Lover! Brother! Guide! Lamp of the Law!
I take my refuge in Thy name and Thee!
I take my refuge in Thy Law of Good!
I take my refuge in Thy Order! Om!
The dew is on the lotus. Rise, Great Sun,
And lift my leaf, and mix me with the wave.
"Om mani padme hum," the sunrise comes.
The dewdrop slips into the shining sea!'
The lily, or lotus, was held sacred also in ancient Egypt, and the
capitals of many of the buildings bear the form of an open lotus-flower.
And naturally, in a land of Buddhism like China, the lotus occupies
there an important place, both in art, in poetry, and in popular fancy.
It is recorded that the old Jews regarded the lily, or lotus (_Lilium
candidum_), as a protection against enchantment, and it is said that
Judith wore a wreath of lilies when she went to visit Holofernes, by way
of counteractant charm.
The lotus which is the sacred lily of the East must not be confounded
with the mysterious plant mentioned by Ulysses, and of which Tennyson
has sung--the plant of oblivion and sensuousness. That there is an
element of enchantment about the lily we have seen is still believed in
our own country, but the association of misfortune with it is not
universal. On the contrary, in some parts the leaf of the lily is
supposed to have curative virtues in cases of cuts and wounds, and
Gerarde, the old herbalist, even says that 'the flowers of
lily-of-the-valley, being close stopped up in a glass, put into an
ant-hill, and taken away again a month after, ye shall find a liquor in
the glass, which being outwardly applied, helpeth the gout.' One hears,
perhaps, of no modern experiments having been made with this remedy. But
if not to cure gout, the flower has, it appears, been used to pay rents,
for Grimm says that some lands in Hesse were held upon the condition of
presenting a bunch of lily-of-the-valley every year. This, of course,
would not be the whole burden, and the custom had, no doubt, a religious
origin and significance.
The flower is often associated with the sword of justice, and both the
Dominicans and the Cistercians held it in high honour. It is worth
noting, too, that some traditions make the lily the favourite flower of
St. Cecilia, although the popular legend makes the angel bring her a
bouquet of roses every night from Paradise.
But how did the lily become the badge of France? One tradition is that
it was adopted by the French kings because it was the emblem of purity,
and closely associated with both Christ and Solomon. One old legend has
it that after one of the great battles of the Crusaders, the French
banners were found covered with lilies. According to others, the Fleur
de lys is merely a corruption of Fleur de Luce, or Fleur de Louis, and
was not a lily at all, but the purple iris, which Louis the Seventh
adopted for his emblem on his departure to the Holy Land. On the other
hand, there is a legend that a shield of azure bearing the device of
three golden lilies was presented by an angel to Clothilde, the wife of
Clovis, and it is claimed that the lily has been the true national
emblem of France ever since the time of that Sovereign. Whatever the
origin, however, of Fleur de lys, it certainly means lily now, and the
Lily of France is a symbol as definite as the Rose of England, as the
Shamrock of Ireland, or as the Thistle of Scotland.
It is curious how much superstition and romance have clustered round the
humble clover-leaf. Not one of us, perhaps, but has in childhood spent
hours in looking for the four-leaved clover that was to bring untold
luck. What trouble to find it! What joy when found! And what little
profit beyond the joy of the search! As the old couplet has it, somewhat
inconsequently:
'With a four-leav'd clover, double-topp'd ash, and green-topp'd seave,
You may go before the queen's daughter without asking leave.'
The advantage here suggested is not very obvious, but the Devonshire
people had a more defined idea of the virtue of the double clover, and
they state it thus:
'An even-leaved ash,
And a four-leaved clover;
You'll see your true lover
Before the day's over.'
But in Cambridgeshire it seems that the two-leaved clover is the object
of desire, for there the saying goes:
'A clover, a clover of two,
Put it on your right shoe;
The first young man you meet,
In field, or lane, or street,
You shall have him,
Or one of his name.'
This, while presenting a considerable amount of uncertainty in the
result has, at least, the merit of presaging something.
In other parts, however, and in more ancient days, the carrying of the
four-bladed clover was believed to bring luck in play and in business,
safety on a journey, and the power of detecting evil spirits. In Germany
the clover was held almost sacred whenever it had two or four blades.
Now, as to luck, a curious thing is stated by the author of the Plant
Lore of Shakespeare. He says that clover is a corruption of _clava_, a
club, and that to this day we preserve the emblem of luck on our
playing-cards in painting the suit of clubs. Somehow the etymology does
not seem very satisfying; but at any rate we all know what 'living in
clover' means.
Yet, perhaps, everyone does not know that in rural districts the clover
is looked upon as a capital barometer, the leaves becoming rough to the
feel when a storm is impending. A writer, quoted by Mr. Thiselton-Dyer,
says that when tempestuous weather is coming the clover will 'start and
rise up as if it were afraid of an assault.'
It is probable that the association of good luck with the four-bladed
clover arose from its fancied resemblance to the cross. Support is given
to this hypothesis by the traditional origin of the shamrock as the
badge of Ireland. In the account given of St. Patrick in The Book of
Days, it is stated that once when the Saint wanted to illustrate the
doctrine of the Trinity to his pagan hearers, he plucked a piece of the
common white clover. Now, it seems that the trefoil is called
_shamrakh_ in Arabic, and was held sacred in Persia. And it is
remarkable that Pliny says the trefoil is an antidote against the bites
of snakes and scorpions. It is not by any means certain that the common
clover was the original shamrock of Ireland; and even to this day many
claim the title for the wood-sorrel. Still, for fifty years, at any
rate, the popular belief has been that the trefoil-clover is the plant
which was plucked by St. Patrick, who drove out the snakes from Ireland,
who is still her patron-saint, and whose badge is worn to this day.
But how did the name come from Arabia, and what is the connection
between Pliny's theory and the legend, of St. Patrick's victory over the
vermin? These remain among the unsolved mysteries of folk-lore.
With the emblem of Scotland--the thistle--not so many classical
associations and active superstitions are to be found, but yet it is not
devoid of folk-lore. Of course opinions differ as to what was or is the
true Scotch thistle, but of the several varieties of thistles many
beliefs are entertained. One variety--the Carline--is esteemed in some
parts as a barometer, as it closes up when rain is approaching. In
Tartary there is a variety which grows to such a size that it is planted
for shelter on the windward side of the huts on the Steppes. This
thistle is called the 'Wind Witch,' because, after the heat of the
summer is past, the dried portions take the form of a ball, with which
the spirits are supposed to make merry in the autumnal gales.
The origin of the name thistle is probably Scandinavian, and associated
with Thor. The plant was, at any rate, sacred to the Scandinavian god,
and was believed by the old Vikings to receive the colour of the
lightning into its blossom, which thereupon became endowed with high
curative and protective virtues. There was a species of thistle on
Dartmoor which used to be called Thormantle, and was used in that
district as a febrifuge. Some writers have said that in Poland some
infantile disorders are supposed to be the work of mischievous spirits
using thistle-seed.
The Lady's Thistle, which some believe to be the true Scotch thistle, is
one of the many plants associated with the Virgin. The tradition,
according to Brand, is that the white spots on the leaves are due to the
falling of some drops of the Holy Mother's milk, a legend we have seen
to be attached also to the lily. Then the great Emperor Charlemagne's
name is blended with that of the Carline Thistle, the story being that
during the prevalence of an epidemic among his troops he prayed to God
for help. An angel appeared, and indicated, by firing an arrow, a plant
which would allay the disease. This was the _Carlina acaulis_, which, of
course, cured all the sick soldiers, and possibly may have some of the
febrifuge virtues which the Dartmoor people fancied existed in another
kind of thistle. Nettle-soup is still a familiar housewife's remedy for
some childish ailments.
In some parts of Germany there is a superstition that sores upon horses'
backs may be cured by gathering four red thistle-blossoms before
daybreak, and placing them in the form of a square upon the ground with
a stone in the middle. It is not easy to trace the probable origin of
this belief, but many of the old herbalists mention the thistle as
efficacious in cases of vertigo, headache, jaundice, and 'infirmities of
the gall.' Says one, 'It is an herb of Mars, and under the sign Aries.'
Therefore, 'it strengthens the attractive faculty in man and clarifies
the blood, because the one is ruled by Mars. The continual drinking the
decoction of it helps red faces, tetters, and ringworms, because Mars
causeth them. It helps the plague, sores, boils, itches, the bitings of
mad dogs and venomous beasts, all which infirmities are under Mars.'
This same writer agrees with Dioscorides that the root of a thistle
carried about 'doth expel melancholy and removes all diseases connected
therewith.' In other words, the thistle was held to possess all the
virtues now claimed for podophyllum, blue-pill, and dandelion--a
universal antibilious agent!
But how did the thistle become the emblem of Scotland? Well, there are
as many traditions on the subject as there are opinions as to which
variety of the plant is the true Scottish thistle. It would be tedious
here to refer to all, so let us just note that although the _Carduus
Marianus_, or the Blessed or Lady's Thistle--the origin of whose name we
have given--is very commonly accepted, so competent an authority on
Scottish lore as the author of Nether Lochaber rejects both that and all
other varieties in favour of the _Cnicus acaulis_, or the stemless
thistle. In doing this, he founds his belief upon the following
tradition: Once, during the invasion of Scotland by the Norsemen, the
invaders were stealing a march in the dark upon the Scots, when one of
the barefooted scouts placed his foot upon a thistle, which caused him
to cry out so loudly that the Scots were aroused, and, flying to their
horses, drove back the Danes with great slaughter. Now, this could not
happen, says Dr. Stewart, with any of the tall thistles, but only with
the stemless thistle, which has sharp, fine spikes, and grows close on
the ground.
This, at least, is as reasonable an explanation as any of the great
national badge of Scotland. It but remains to add that the first mention
of the thistle as a national emblem occurs in an inventory of the jewels
and other effects of James the Third, about 1467, and its first mention
in poetry is in a poem by Dunbar, written about 1503, to commemorate the
marriage of James the Fourth with Margaret Tudor, and called The
Thrissell and the Rois. The Order of the Thistle dates from James the
Seventh of Scotland and Second of England, about 1687.
And now, as we began with the wreath of parsley, which symbolized death,
let us end with the crown of orange-blossoms, which, among us, now
symbolizes the twofold life of the married state. Among the Greeks, the
brides used to wear garlands of myrtle and roses, because both of these
plants were associated with the Goddess of Love. In China the orange
has, from time immemorial, been an emblem of good luck, and is freely
used to present to friends and guests. But although the orange is said
to have been first brought by the Portuguese from China in 1547,
nevertheless this fruit is supposed to have been the golden apple of
Juno, which grew in the Garden of Hesperides. As the golden apple was
presented to the Queen of Heaven upon her marriage with Jupiter, we may
find here a definite explanation of the meaning attached to the fruit.
But, besides this, it seems that orange-blossom was used centuries ago
by Saracen brides in their personal decorations on the great day of
their lives. It was meant to typify fruitfulness, and it is to be noted
that the orange-tree bears both fruit and blossom at the same time, and
is remarkable for its productiveness. It is possible, then, that the
idea of orange-blossom for bridal decoration was brought from the East
by the Crusaders; but it is uncertain at what date the custom began to
be followed in England. However introduced, and whether retained as a
symbol or merely for the exquisite beauty of the flower, it will
continue to hold its place in the affections of the maiden-bride, to
whom it seems to sing:
'Honour, riches, marriage-blessing,
Long continuance and increasing,
Hourly joys be still upon you,
Juno sings her blessings on you.'