ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE.
'Doth not Rosemary and Romeo both begin with a letter?' asks Juliet's
nurse. Yes, but what did she mean by the query, and by the further
remark that 'Juliet hath the prettiest sententions of it, of you and
rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it'? For answer we must make
some search into the beliefs and customs of the past.
Rosemary is the 'Ros-marinus' of the old herbalists, but it is not a
native of Britain, and there is no exact record of when it was
introduced here from the South of Europe. Mention of 'Ros-marinus'
occurs in an Anglo-Saxon vocabulary of the eleventh century, where it is
translated Feld-madder and Sun-dew. There is some doubt whether this has
reference to the actual plant now known to us as rosemary, but in no
case was it the Rose of Mary, as some have supposed. It is not a rose,
and the 'Mary' is from 'marinus,' or 'maris.' The old English spelling
was Rosmarin, or Rosmarine; in these forms one finds the word used by
Gower, and Shenstone, and other old poets.
In the South of Europe the rosemary has long had magic properties
ascribed to it. The Spanish ladies used to wear it as an antidote
against the evil eye, and the Portuguese called it the Elfin plant, and
dedicated it to the fairies. The idea of the antidote may have been due
to a confusion of the name with that of the Virgin; but as a matter of
fact the 'Ros-marinus' is frequently mentioned by old Latin writers,
including Horace and Ovid. The name came from the fondness of the plant
for the sea-shore, where it often gets sprinkled with the 'ros,' or dew
of the sea, that is to say, sea-spray. Another cause of confusion,
perhaps, was that the leaves of the plant somewhat resemble those of the
juniper, which in mediaeval times was one of the plants held sacred to
the Virgin Mary. In the island of Crete, it is said, a bride dressed for
the wedding still calls last of all for a sprig of rosemary to bring her
luck.
And thus we come to find rosemary in close association with both
marriage and death, just as the hyacinth was, and perhaps still is,
among the Greeks. It is interesting to trace the connection by which the
same plant came to have two such different uses.
One of the earliest mentions of rosemary in English literature is in a
poem of the fourteenth century called 'The Gloriouse Rosemaryne,' which
begins thus:
'This herbe is callit rosemaryn,
Of vertu that is gode and fyne;
But all the vertues tell I ne can,
Nor, I trowe, no erthely man.'
Nevertheless, the poet proceeds to record at great length many
astounding virtues, including the restoration of youth to the aged by
bathing in rosemary water.
The 'cheerful rosemarie' and 'refreshing rosemarine' of Spenser was once
a great favourite in England, although now it is hardly allowed garden
space. Sir Thomas More said: 'I let it run all over my garden walls, not
only because my bees love it, but because 'tis the herb sacred to
remembrance, and therefore to friendship: whence a sprig of it hath a
dumb language that maketh it the chosen emblem at our funeral wakes and
in our burial grounds.'
The popularity of the plant was doubtless due to the long-enduring scent
and verdure of the leaves. It is one of the most lasting of evergreens,
and the pleasant aromatic odour lingers very long after the leaves have
been gathered.
Fragrance and endurance, then, are the characteristics of a plant which
came to be commonly accepted as an emblem of constancy, and also of
loving remembrance. Thus it is that Herrick sings of it:
'Grow for two ends, it matters not at all,
Be't for my bridal or my burial.'
Thus it is that we find Friar Laurence over Juliet's body, saying:
'Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse,'
which is certainly not what the nurse meant when she told Romeo of the
'prettiest sententions.'
High medicinal properties were ascribed to the rosemary, so much so that
old Parkinson writes: 'Rosemary is almost as great use as bayes, both
for outward and inward remedies, and as well for civill as physicall
purposes; inwardly for the head and heart, outwardly for the sinews and
joynts; for civill uses, as all do know, at weddings, funerals, etc., to
bestow among friends; and the physicall are so many that you might as
well be tyred in the reading as I in the writing, if I should set down
all that might be said of it.'
One of the 'physicall' uses was in stirring up the tankard of ale or
sack, and at weddings a sprig was usually dipped in the loving-cup to
give it fragrance as well as luck.
The virtues of the plant are celebrated in a curious wedding sermon
quoted by Hone:
'The rosemary is for married men, the which by name, nature, and
continued use, man challengeth as properly belonging to himself. It
overtoppeth all the flowers in the garden boasting man's rule; it
helpeth the brain, strengtheneth the memory, and is very medicinal for
the head. Another property is, it affects the heart. Let this
ros-marinus, this flower of man, ensign of your wisdom, love, and
loyalty, be carried not only in your hands but in your heads and
hearts.'
One does not easily reconcile this laudation with the popular
superstition that wherever the rosemary flourished there should the
woman be the ruling power. And to this superstition, be it noted, has
been ascribed the disfavour into which the plant has fallen among
gardeners since Shakespeare's time.
The medical properties may have been over-rated by old Parkinson, but
some are recognised even to this day. Thus rosemary is used as an
infusion to cure headaches, and is believed to be an extensive
ingredient in hair-restorers. It is also one of the ingredients in the
manufacture of Eau-de-Cologne, and has many other uses in the form of
oil of rosemary. It is said that bees which feed on rosemary blossoms
produce a very delicately-flavoured honey. Perfumers are greatly
indebted to it. According to De Gubernatis, the flowers of the plant are
proof against rheumatism, nervous indisposition, general debility,
weakness of sight, melancholy, weak circulation, and cramp. Almost as
comprehensive a cure as some of our modern universal specifics!
The medicinal properties of rosemary have been held by some to account
for its funeral uses. At all events, an ingenious writer of the
seventeenth century held that the custom of carrying a sprig at a
funeral had its rise from a notion of an 'alexipharmick' or preservative
virtue in the herb which would protect the wearer from 'pestilential
distempers,' and be a powerful defence 'against the morbid effluvias of
the corpse.' For the same reason, this writer asserts, it was customary
to burn rosemary in the chambers of the sick, just like frankincense,
'whose odour is not much different from rosemary, which gave the Greeks
occasion to call it Libanotis, from Libanos (frankincense).'
The hyssop of the Bible is believed by some to be rosemary, and it is
said that in the East it was customary to hang up a bunch in the house
as a protection against evil spirits, and to use it in various
ceremonies against enchantment. Perhaps there was some connection
between this custom and that of the Greeks referred to by Aristotle, who
regarded indigestion as the effect of witchcraft, and who used rue as an
antidote. The dispelling of the charm was just the natural physical
action of the herb.
In Devonshire, however, there was a more mystic use for rosemary in
dispelling the charms of witches. A bunch of it had to be taken in the
hand and dropped bit by bit on live coals, while the two first verses of
the sixty-eighth psalm were recited, followed by the Lord's Prayer.
Bay-leaves were sometimes used in the same manner; but if the afflicted
one were suffering physically, he had also to take certain prescribed
medicines. Rosemary worn about the body was believed to strengthen the
memory and to add to the success of the wearer in anything he might
undertake.
It is as an emblem of remembrance that rosemary is most frequently used
by the old poets. Thus Ophelia:
'There is rosemary for you, that's for remembrance;
I pray you, love, remember.'
And in The Winter's Tale:
'For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long;
Grace and remembrance be with you both.'
And thus Drayton:
'He from his lass him lavender hath sent,
Showing her love, and doth requital crave;
Him rosemary his sweetheart, whose intent
Is that he her should in remembrance have.'
Quotations might be easily multiplied, but the reader will find in
Brand's Popular Antiquities numerous references to the plant by writers
of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
As an emblem of rejoicing, rosemary was also often used. Hone quotes a
contemporary account of the joyful entry of Queen Elizabeth into London
in 1558, wherein occurs this passage: 'How many nosegays did her Grace
receive at poor women's hands? How often times stayed she her chariot
when she saw any simple body offer to speak to her Grace? A branch of
rosemary given to her Grace, with a supplication by a poor woman about
Fleet Bridge, was seen in her chariot till her Grace came to
Westminster.' The object of the particular floral offering in this case
is not very obvious, unless as an emblematic tribute to the maiden
queen.
Rosemary used to be carried in the hand at weddings, as well as strewed
on the ground and dipped in the cup. Thus Stow narrates of a wedding in
1560, that 'fine flowers and rosemary were strewed for them coming
home'; and Brand cites numerous instances from old plays. In one, 'the
parties enter with rosemary, as if from a wedding'; and in Beaumont and
Fletcher's Scornful Lady, the question is asked about a wedding, 'Were
the rosemary branches dipped?' This dipping, moreover, was in scented
water as well as in the loving-cup, and hence the allusion in Dekker's
Wonderful Year to a bride who had died on her wedding-night:
'Here is a strange alteration; for the rosemary that was washed in sweet
water to set out the bridal is now wet in tears to furnish her burial.'
It is on record that Anne of Cleves wore rosemary at her wedding with
Henry the Eighth; and in an account of some marriage festivities at
Kenilworth, attended by Queen Elizabeth, there is frequent mention of
the plant. An idea of how it was sometimes used is given in a
description of a sixteenth century wedding quoted by the Rev. Hilderic
Friend: 'The bride being attired in a gown of sheep's russet and a
kirtle of fine worsted, attired with abillement of gold' (milliner's
French even then!); 'and her hair, yellow as gold, hanging down behind
her, which was curiously combed and plaited' she was led to church
between two sweet boys, with bride-laces and rosemary tied about her
silken sleeves. There was a fair bride-cup of silver-gilt carried before
her, wherein was a goodly branch of rosemary gilded very fair, and hung
about with silken ribands of all colours.'
Coles says that the garden rosemary was called _Rosmarinus coronarium_,
because the women made crowns and garlands of it. Ben Jonson says that
it was customary for the bridesmaids to present the bridegroom next
morning with a bunch of rosemary. And Brand says that as late as 1698
the custom still prevailed in England of decking the bridal bed with
sprigs of rosemary.
In Jonson's Tale of a Tub, one of the characters assembled to await the
intended bridegroom says: 'Look an' the wenches ha' not found un out,
and do present un with a van of rosemary and bays, enough to vill a
bow-pott or trim the head of my best vore-horse; we shall all ha'
bride-laces and points, I see.' And again, a country swain assures his
sweetheart at their wedding: 'We'll have rosemary and bayes to vill a
bow-pott, and with the same I'll trim the vorehead of my best
vore-horse'--so that it would seem the decorative use was not confined
to the bride, the guests, and the banquet.
As a love-charm the reputation of rosemary seems to have come from the
South. There is an old Spanish proverb which runs:
'Who passeth by the rosemarie,
And careth not to take a spray,
For woman's love no care has he,
Nor shall he, though he live for aye.'
Mr. Thiselton-Dyer says that rosemary is used in some parts of the
country, as nut-charms are on Halloween, to foretell a lover; only, St.
Agnes' Eve is the occasion on which to invoke with a sprig of rosemary,
or thyme, with this formula:
'St. Agnes, that's to lovers kind,
Come, ease the troubles of my mind.'
For love-potions, decoctions of rosemary were much employed.
As to funereal uses, those who are familiar with Hogarth's drawings will
remember one of a funeral party with sprigs of rosemary in their hands.
Misson, a French traveller (_temp._ William the Third), thus describes
English funeral ceremonies: 'When they are ready to set out, they nail
up the coffin, and a servant presents the company with sprigs of
rosemary. Everyone takes a sprig and carries it in his hand till the
body is put into the grave, at which time they all throw their sprigs in
after it.' Hence Gay:
'To show their love, the neighbours far and near,
Follow'd with wistful looks the damsel's bier;
Sprigg'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore,
While dismally the parson walk'd before.
Upon her grave the rosemary they threw.'
Whether the fact that the rosemary buds in January has anything to do
with its funereal uses admits of conjecture, as Sir Thomas Browne would
say; but that fact was certainly present to the writer of the following
verses, which were worthily rescued by Hone from a 'fugitive copy,'
although the writer's name has been lost:
'Sweet-scented flower! who art wont to bloom
On January's front severe,
And o'er the wintry desert drear
To waft thy waste perfume!
Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now,
And I will bind thee round my brow;
And, as I twine the mournful wreath,
I'll weave a melancholy song,
And sweet the strain shall be, and long--
The melody of death.
'Come, funeral flower! who lov'st to dwell
With the pale corse in lonely tomb,
And throw across the desert gloom
A sweet decaying smell.
Come, pressing lips, and lie with me
Beneath the lonely alder-tree,
And we will sleep a pleasant sleep,
And not a care shall dare intrude
To break the marble solitude,
So peaceful and so deep.
'And hark! the wind-god, as he flies,
Moans hollow in the forest trees,
And, sailing on the gusty breeze,
Mysterious music dies.
Sweet flower! the requiem wild is mine.
It warns me to the lonely shrine--
The cold turf-altar of the dead.
My grave shall be in yon lone spot,
Where, as I lie by all forgot,
A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed.'
In South Wales, in Cheshire, and in Bucks, the custom still obtains,
according to Mr. Hilderic Friend, for each mourner to carry a sprig of
rosemary to the grave, into which it is thrown. For weddings, rosemary
was dipped in scented water, but for funerals in plain water. Hence the
reference in an old play, quoted by Hone:
'If there be
Any so kind as to accompany
My body to the earth, let them not want
For entertainment. Prythee, see they have
A sprig of rosemary, dipp'd in common water,
To smell at as they walk along the streets.'
In Dekker's Wonderful Year there is a description of a charnel-house
pavement strewed with withered rosemary, hyacinth, cypress, and yew.
During the Plague rosemary was in such demand for funerals that, says
Dekker, what 'had wont to be sold for twelvepence an armfull went now at
six shillings a handfull.' Certainly a remarkable rise. What the price
was in 1531 we know not; but in an account of the funeral expenses of a
Lord Mayor of London, who died in that year, appears an item, 'For
yerbes at the bewyral L0 1 0'--which presumably refers to rosemary.
'Cypresse garlands,' wrote Coles, 'are of great account at funeralls
among the gentiler sort; but Rosemary and Bayes are used by the commons
both at funeralls and weddings. They are all plants which fade not a
good while after they are gathered and used, as I conceive, to intimate
unto us that the remembrance of the present solemnity might not die
presently, but be kept in minde for many yeares.'
We have now seen something of the many significations of rosemary, and
find an explanation of why the same plant was used for both weddings and
funerals, in the fact that it emblemised remembrance by its evergreen
and fragrant qualities. One may have doubts about the truth of the story
of the man of whom it is recorded that he wanted to be married again on
the day of his wife's funeral because the rosemary which had been used
at her burial would come in usefully and economically for the wedding
ceremony. But if the story is too good to be true, there is suggestion
enough in the circumstance referred to by Shakespeare, that
'Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corpse.'