all unclean spirits. First of all it puts forth buds, which afterwards
expand, then open, and finally change into flowers of a dark red hue.
At midnight the flower opens to its fullest extent and illuminates
everything around. But at that precise moment a demon plucks it from
its stalk. Whoever wishes to procure this flower must be in the forest
before midnight, locate himself near the fern and trace a circle
around it. When the Devil approaches and calls, feigning the voice of
a parent, sweetheart, etc., no attention must be paid, nor must the
head be turned; for if it is, it will remain so. Whoever becomes the
happy possessor of the flower has nothing to fear; by its means he can
recover lost treasure, become invisible, rule on earth and under water
and defy the Devil.
Because the fern was so powerful against evil and because it was sacred
to St. John the Baptist, witches detested it.
Pliny stated that the fern had neither flower nor seed; and some of
the old English writers believed this. William Turner, however, went
to work to investigate matters. In his famous "Herbal," published in
1562,[57] he says:
[57] See p. 34.
"Not only the common people say that the fern hath seed, but that
was also the opinion of a Christian physician named Hieronymus Tragus,
who doth not only say that the fern hath seed, but writeth that he
found upon Midsummer Even seed upon brakes.[58] Although all they that
have written of herbs have affirmed and holden that the brake doth
neither seed nor fruit, yet have I divers times proved the contrary,
which thing I will testify here in this place for their sakes that be
students of herbs. I have, four years together, one after another, upon
the Vigil of St. John the Baptist, which we call in English Midsummer
Even, sought for this seed of brakes upon the night; and, indeed, I
found it early in the morning before day-break. The seed was small,
black, and like unto poppy. I went about this business all figures,
conjurings, saunters, charms, witchcraft, sorceries, taking with me
two or three honest men. When I sought this seed all the village about
did shine with bonfires that the people made there; and sometime when
I sought the seed I found it, and sometimes I found it not. Sometime I
found much and sometime I found little; but what should be the cause of
this diversitie, or what Nature meaneth in this thing, surely I cannot
tell."
[58] Brake, or bracken, fern.
[Illustration: WILTON, FROM DE CAUX]
[Illustration: WILTON GARDENS TO-DAY]
HONEYSUCKLE (_Lonicera perfolium_). Delicious name--honeysuckle! And
truly this is one of "the sweetest flowers for scent that blows." It
takes its name because of the honey dew found on it, so old writers
say. Romantic is its other name, "woodbine," suggesting sylvan spots
and mossy beds, where cool-rooted flowers grow, such as the "nodding
violet." Shakespeare knew what he was about when he enwreathed and
entwined _Titania's_ canopy with "luscious woodbine" in loving union
with the equally delicious eglantine. The honeysuckle is a flower that
belongs particularly to moonlight and to fairy-time.
In "Much Ado About Nothing" _Hero_ gives the command:[59]
Good Margaret, run into the parlor and whisper to Beatrice
And bid her steal into the pleachèd bower,
Where honeysuckles ripened by the sun,
Forbid the sun to enter.
[59] Act III, Scene I.
A bower covered with the intense, yet subtle, perfume of the
honeysuckle, doubly sweet in the hot sun that had ripened the blossoms
and drawn out their inmost sweetness, was just the place to send "saucy
Beatrice" for the purpose of lighting the flame of love for _Benedick_,
and just the place to send, a little later, the cynical _Benedick_
for the purpose of awakening his interest in the "Lady Disdain."
Shakespeare evidently knew that the honeysuckle is the flower of ardent
lovers, and so he framed his pleachèd bower with these sweet-scented
blossoms. The French have a tender name for the flower, _cher feu_
(dear flame), because it is given by lovers to one another. The other
French name, _chèvre feuille_, is derived from the Latin _caprifolium_
(goat-leaf), which may have been given to it because the plant leaps
over high rocks and precipices, where only goats and others of the
cloven-footed tribe dare venture. The honeysuckle in Shakespeare's day
was a favorite remedy for wounds in the head. Witches also valued it
for their sorcery. According to sorcerers and astrologers this plant
was under the rule of Mercury.
It is hard to decide when the honeysuckle is at its best. Whether at
hot noontide when the clusters of pale buff and white horns of plenty
tipped with their long, feathery threads pour their incense into the
golden sunlight, or when the less pungent, but equally intoxicating,
perfume floats upon the silvery blue air of a moonlit night.
"How sweetly smells the Honeysuckle, in the hush'd night as if the
world were one of utter peace and love and gentleness."
Landor has thus expressed what the delicious honeysuckle makes us feel.
"The monthly honeysuckle," writes Celia Thaxter, "is most divine. Such
vigor of growth I have never seen in any other plant. It climbs the
trellis on my piazza and spreads its superb clusters of flowers from
time to time all summer. Each cluster is a triumph of beauty, flat in
the center and curving out to the blossoming edge in joyous lines of
loveliness, most like a wreath of heavenly trumpets breathing melodies
of perfume to the air. Each trumpet of lustrous white deepens to a
yellower tint in the center where the small ends meet; each blossom
where it opens at the lips is tipped with fresh pink; each sends out
a group of long stamens from its slender throat like rays of light;
and the whole circle of radiant flowers has an effect of gladness and
glory indescribable: the very sight of it lifts and refreshes the human
heart. And for its odor, it is like the spirit of romance, sweet as
youth's tender dreams. It is summer's very soul."
Enchanting season of fern and honeysuckle, perfumed stars that shine
through green leaves and bells that send forth peals of incense instead
of sound!
She show'd me her ferns and woodbine sprays
Fox-glove and jasmine stars,
A mist of blue in the beds, a blaze
Of red in the celadon jars,
And velvety bees in convolvulus beds
And roses of bountiful June--
Oh, who would think that the summer spells
Could die so soon?[60]
[60] Locker-Lampson.
V
_Carnations and Gilliflowers_
CARNATIONS (_Dianthus caryophyllus_). _Perdita_ calls carnations and
streak'd gilliflowers "the fairest flowers o' the season." Carnation
was originally spelled coronation, because the flower was used to make
crowns, garlands, and wreaths. In the days of Pliny it was called
_dianthus_, or flower of Jove, and was also worn in wreaths and crowns.
From Chaucer we know that it was cultivated as the "Clove Gilliflower"
in English gardens; and because it was used to add a spicy flavor to
wine and ale, it acquired the popular name of "sops in wine." Hence
Spenser in his "Shepherd's Calendar" sings:
Bring hither the pink and purple Columbine
With Gillyflowers;
Bring Coronations and Sops-in-wine
Worn of paramours.
And again:
Youth's folk now flocken everywhere
To gather May baskets and smelling Brere,[61]
And home they hasten the posts to dight
And all the kirk pillars in daylight
With Hawthorn budes and sweet Eglantine
And garlands of Roses and Sops-in-wine.
[61] Brier.
"Its second specific name," writes Ellacombe, "_Caryophyllus_, i.e.,
nut-leaved, seems at first very inappropriate for a grassy-leaved
plant; but the name was first given to the Indian Clove tree and from
it transferred to the Carnation on account of its fine clove scent.
Its popularity as an English plant is shown by its many names--Pink,
Carnation, Gilliflower (an easily-traced and well-ascertained
corruption, from _Caryophyllus_), Clove Picotee[62] and Sops-in-wine
from the flowers being used to flavor wine and beer.
[62] From the French _picot_, a pinked edge. We still use the word
"pinked" for a cut edge, and "pinking-iron" is the word for that with
which the edge is cut.
"There is an historical interest also in the flowers. All our
Carnations, Picotees and Cloves came originally from the single
_Dianthus caryophyllus_. This is not a true British plant; but it holds
a place in the English flora, being naturalized on Rochester and other
castles. It is abundant in Normandy; and I found it in 1874 covering
the old castle of Falaise, in which William the Conqueror was born. I
have found that it grows on the old castles of Dover, Deal and Cardiff,
all of them of Norman construction, as was Rochester, which was built
by Gandulf, the special friend of William. Its occurrence on these
several Norman castles makes it very possible that it was introduced
by the Norman builders, perhaps as a pleasant memory of their Norman
homes, though it may have been incidentally introduced with the Norman
(Caen) stone, of which parts of the castles are built. How soon it
became a florist's flower we do not know; but it must have been early,
for in Shakespeare's time the sorts of Cloves, Carnations and Pinks
were so many that Gerard says: 'A great and large volume would not
suffice to write of every one at large in particular, considering
how infinite they are, and how every year, every climate and country
bringeth forth new sorts and such as have not heretofore been written
of.'"
Parkinson speaks of "Carnations, Pinks and Gilloflowers." "The number
of them is so great," he says, "that to give several descriptions to
them were endless." He therefore mentions a few favorites. Among the
Carnations we find the Great Harwich, or old English Carnation; the
Red, or Clove Gilloflower; the Yellow, or Orange Tawny Gilloflower; the
Gray Hulo; the Red Hulo; the Blue Hulo; the Grimelo, or Prince; the
White Carnation, or Delicate; the French Carnation; the Crystal, or
Chrystalline; the Fragrant; the Striped Savage; the Oxford Carnation;
the King's Carnation; the Granado; the Grand Père; and the Great
Lombard. His Gilliflowers include the Lustie Gallant, or Westminster;
the Bristow Blue; the Bristow Blush; the Red Dover; the Fair Maid of
Kent, or Ruffling Robin; the Queen's Gilloflower; the Dainty; the
Brassill Gilloflower; the Turkie Gilloflower; the Pale Pageant; the Sad
Pageant; Master Bradshawe his Dainty Lady; John Witte his great Tawny
Gilloflower; the Striped Tawny; the Marbled Tawny; Master Tuggie his
Princess; the Feathered Tawny; and Master Tuggie his Rose Gilloflower.
The Tuggies had a superb garden at Westminster in which they made a
specialty of Carnations, Gilliflowers, and Pinks. The flower upon which
Parkinson spends his most loving description is the Great Harwich. The
enthusiasm of this old flower-fancier, who writes so delightfully,
makes us feel that the Great Harwich is an English institution,
just as important as the Roast Beef of Old England or the English Plum
Pudding.
[Illustration: A GARDEN OF DELIGHT]
"I take this goodly great old English Carnation," he writes, "as a
precedent for the description of all the rest, which for his beauty
and stateliness is worthy of a prime place. It riseth up with a great
thick, round stalk divided into several branches somewhat thickly set
with joints, and at every joint two long green (rather than whitish)
leaves, turning, or winding, two or three times round. The flowers
stand at the tops of the stalks in long great and round green husks,
which are divided into five points, out of which rise many long and
broad pointed leaves, deeply jagged at the ends, set in order, round
and comely, making a gallant, great double Flower of a deep Carnation
color, almost red, spotted with many blush spots and streaks, some
greater and some lesser, of an excellent soft, sweet scent, neither too
quick, as many others of these kinds are, nor yet too dull; and with
two whitish crooked threads, like horns, in the middle. This kind never
beareth many flowers; but as it is slow in growing, so in bearing,
not to be often handled, which showeth a kind of stateliness fit to
preserve the opinion of magnificence."
What a delightful idea Parkinson gives of the conscious dignity of the
flower! How vividly he brings the Great Harwich before us and makes
us love its green husk, its mottled leaves, its rich scent, and its
curling horns!
"Gilloflowers," Parkinson continues, "grow like unto Carnations, but
not so thick set with joints and leaves. The stalks are more, the
leaves are narrower and whiter, for the most part, and in some, do as
well a little turn.[63] The flowers are smaller, yet very thick and
double in most; and the green husks in which they stand are smaller
likewise. The ends of the leaves are dented and jagged. Some also have
two small white threads, crooked at the ends like horns in the middle
of the flower; others have none.
[63] "Do a little turn" is charming, suggesting a quaint little waltz.
"Most of our later writers do call them by one general name,
_Caryophyllus sativus_ and _Flos Caryophyllus_, adding thereto
_maximus_ when we mean Carnations, and _major_ when we would express
Gilloflowers, which name is taken from Cloves in that the scent of the
ordinary red Gilloflower especially doth resemble them. Divers other
several names have been formerly given them, as _Vetonica_, or _Betonia
altera_ or _Vetonica altibus_ and _coronaria_, _Herba Tunica_, _Viola
Damascena_, _Ocellus Damascenus_ and _Barbarieus_. Of some _Cantabrica
Pliny_. Some think they were unknown to the Ancients and some would
have them be _Iphium_ of Theophrastus, whereof he maketh mention in his
sixth and seventh chapters of his sixth book among garland and summer
flowers; others to be his _Dios anthos_ or _Louis flos_. We call them
in English, the greatest kinds, Carnations, and the other Gilloflowers
(quasi July Flowers). The Red, or Clove, Gilloflower is most used in
physic in our apothecaries' shops (none of the others being accepted,
or used) and is accounted to be a very cordial."
Some writers say that the gilliflower was a cure for pestilential
fevers. Gerard writes: "Conserve made of the flowers of the Clove
Gilloflower and sugar is exceeding cordial and wonderfully above
measure, doth comfort the heart, being eaten now and then."
The Italian painter, Benvenuto Tisio, always painted a gilliflower
in the corner of his pictures as his emblem, from which he is always
called _Il Garofalo_.
The word "pink" is derived from the Dutch word _Pinkster_
(Whitsuntide), the season a certain "Whitsuntide Gilliflower" was
in bloom. The pink was regarded as an antidote for epilepsy; and a
vinegar made of pinks was used as a valued remedy for the plague. The
Elizabethans also thought "if a conserve be composed of it, it is the
life and delight of the human race."
Our old friend Parkinson describes Pinks as "wild, or small,
Gilloflowers, some bearing single and some double flowers, some smooth,
almost without any deep dents on the edges, and some jagged, or, as it
were, feathered. Some growing upright, like unto Gilloflowers, others
creeping, or spreading, some of one color, some of another, and many of
divers colors."
He gives Double and Single Pinks, Feathered or Jagged Pinks, Star
Pinks, Great Sea Gilloflower, or Great Thrift, "often used in gardens
to empale or border a knot, because it abideth green in Winter and
Summer and that by cutting it may grow thick and be kept in what form
one list." We also find Single Red Sweet John, Single White Sweet John;
Double Sweet John; Single Red Sweet William; Double Red Sweet William;
Speckled Sweet William, or London Pride; Deep Red, or Murrey Color,
Sweet William; and Single White Sweet William.
"These," he adds, "are all generally called _Armerius_ or _Armeria_,
yet some have called them, _Vetonica agrestis_ and others _Herba
Tunica_, _Scarlatea_ and _Carophyllus silvestris_. We do in English,
in most places call the first, or narrower-leaved kinds, Sweet Johns
and all the rest Sweet Williams; yet in some places they call the
broader-leaved kinds that are not spotted _Tolmeiners_ and London
Tufts; but the speckled kind is termed by our English Gentlewomen, for
the most part, London Pride. We have not known of any of these used in
physic."
These spicy pinks and luscious July flowers and the simple Sweet-Johns
and Sweet-Williams as well recall the lovely lines of Matthew Arnold:
Soon will the high midsummer pomp come on.
Soon will the musk carnations break and swell,
Soon shall we have gold-dusted Snapdragon,
Sweet-william with his homely cottage smell,
And stocks in fragrant blow;
Roses that down the alleys shine afar,
And open jasmine in muffled lattices
And groups under the dreaming garden trees
And the pale moon and the white dreaming star.
VI
_Marigold and Larkspur_
MARIGOLD (_Calendula officinalis_). Shakespeare was devoted to the
marigold. He always speaks of it with poetic rapture.
The marigold that goes to bed with the sun
And with him rises, weeping,
is _Perdita's_ idea of the shining flower, which in these few words she
tells us closes its petals in the evening and at dawn awakens wet with
dew.[64]
[64] "The Winter's Tale"; Act IV, Scene III.
Then in the beautiful dawn-song in "Cymbeline"[65] "winking Mary-buds"
remind us that the gold-flower is consecrated to the Virgin Mary.
This song, so full of the freshness of early morning and the sweet
perfume of flowers holding in their deep cups sufficient dew to water
the horses of the sun just appearing above the horizon, is one of the
loveliest of lyrics:
Hark! Hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phœbus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes;
With everything that pretty is--My lady, sweet, arise:
Arise, arise.
[65] Act II, Scene III.
"The Marygold," says Lyte, "hath pleasant, bright and shining yellow
flowers, the which do close at the setting down of the Sun and do
spread and open again at the Sun rising."
And Lupton writes: "Some do call it _Spousa Solis_, the Spowse of the
Sun, because it sleeps and is awakened with him."
In "The Rape of Lucrece" Shakespeare also mentions the flower:
Her eyes, like marigolds, hath sheathed their light
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay
Till they might open to adorn the day.
Very prettily the flower is introduced in Middleton and Rowley's
"Spanish Gipsy":
You the Sun to her must play,
She to you the Marigold,
To none but you her leaves unfold.
Another old English name for the marigold was ruddes and a prettier one
was the gold-flower, often called simply the gold or goold. Chaucer
talks of "yellow Goldes." The name was still used in Elizabeth's day.
"Colin Clout" has:
But if I her like ought on earth might read,
I would her liken to a crown of lilies,
Upon a Virgin bride's adorned head,
With roses dight and goolds and daffodillies.
In Medieval times the monks gave to the gold-flower the prefix Mary,
with the legend that the Virgin Mary loved to wear the flower in
her bosom. Hence Shakespeare calls it "Mary-buds." Of Shakespeare's
Marigolds Parkinson writes:
"They are called _Caltha_ of divers and taken to be that _Caltha_
whereof both Virgil and Columella have written. Others do call them
_Calendula of the Kalends_, that is the first day of the months,
wherein they are thought chiefly to flower. And thereupon the Italians
call them _Fiori di ogni mese_, that is the Flowers of Every Month. We
call them in English generally Golds, or Marigolds.
"The herb and flowers are of great use with us among other pot-herbs,
and the flowers, either green or dyed, are often used in possets,
broths and drinks; as a comforter of the heart and spirits; and to
expel any malignant, or pestilential quality, gathered near thereunto.
The Syrup and Conserve made of the fresh flowers are used for the same
purpose to good effect."
[Illustration: SIR THOMAS MORE'S GARDEN, CHELSEA]
Parkinson divides marigolds unto two classes: single and double.
"The garden Marigold," he says, "hath round green stalks, branching
out from the ground into many parts, whereon are set long, flat green
leaves, broader and rounder at the point than anywhere else. The
flowers are sometimes very thick and double (breaking out of a scaly,
clammy green head), composed of many rows of leaves, set so close
together, one within another, that no middle thrum can be seen; and
sometimes less double, having a small brown spot of a thrum in the
middle; and sometimes but of two or three rows of leaves with a large
brown thrum in the middle: every one whereof is somewhat broader at the
point and nicked in two or three corners, of an excellent fair, deep,
gold-yellow color in some, and paler in others, and of a pretty strong
and resinous sweet scent.
"There is no difference between this and the single Marigold but that
the flowers are single, consisting of one row of leaves of the same
color; either paler or deeper yellow, standing about a great brown
thrum in the middle. Our gardens are the chief places for the double
flowers to grow in."
Another description is contained in the famous "Gardener's Labyrinth"
by Didymus Mountain (Thomas Hill):[66]
"The Marigold, named of the herbarians _Calendula_, is so properly
termed for that in every Calend and in each month this reneweth of the
own accord and is found to bear flowers as well in Winter as Summer,
for which cause the Italians name the same the flower of every month.
But some term it the Sun's Spowse, or the follower of the Sun; and is
of some named the Husbandman's Dial, in that the same showeth to them
both the morning and evening tide. Others name it the Sun's Bride and
Sun's Herb, in that the flowers of the same follow the Sun as from the
rising by the South into the West; and by a notable turning obeying
to the Sun, in such manner that what part of Heaven he possesseth
they unto the same turned behold, and that in a cloudy and thick air
like directed, as if they should be revived, quickened and moved with
the spirit of him. Such is the love of it knowen to be toward that
royal Star, being in the night time for desire of him as pensive and
sad, they be shut or closed together; but at the noontime of the day
fully spread abroad as if they with spread arms longed, or diligently
attended, to embrace their Bridegroom. This Marigold is a singular kind
of herb, sown in gardens as well for the pot as for the decking of
garlands, beautifying of Nosegays and to be worn in the bosom."
[66] See p. 68.
The Marigold is supposed to be the Chrysanthemum or gold-flower of the
Greeks, the _Heliotrope-solsequium_; and the story goes that the flower
was originally the nymph Clytie, who gazed all day upon the Sun with
whom she had fallen in love. At length she was turned into the flower.
"All yellow flowers," said St. Francis de Sales, "and above all those
that the Greeks call Heliotrope and we call Sunflower, not only rejoice
at the sight of the sun, but follow with loving fidelity the attraction
of its rays, gazing at the Sun and turning towards it from its rising
to its setting."
Very charmingly does George Wither, a contemporary of Shakespeare,
refer to this:
When with a serious musing I behold
The grateful and obsequious Marigold,
How duly every morning she displays
Her open breast when Phœbus spreads his rays;
How she observes him in his daily walk,
Still bending towards him her small slender stalk;
How when he down declines she droops and mourns,
Bedewed, as 'twere, with tears till he returns;
And how she veils her flowers when he is gone.
When this I meditate methinks the flowers
Have spirits far more generous than ours.
Margaret of Orleans, grandmother of Henri IV, knowing well the legend
of the flower, chose for her device a marigold with the motto, _je ne
veux suivre que lui seul_.
In the reign of Henry VIII the marigold was often called "Souvenir" and
sentimental ladies wore wreaths of marigolds mixed with the heartsease.
To dream of marigolds denoted prosperity, riches, success, and a happy
and a wealthy marriage. As the marigold was a solar flower, the
astrologers placed it under the sign and care of Leo.
In a wholly Elizabethan spirit Keats sang: