From what enchanted Eden came thy leaves
That hide such subtle spirits of perfume?
Did eyes preadamite first see the bloom,
Luscious nepenthe of the soul that grieves?
By thee the tired and torpid mind conceives
Fairer than roses brightening life's gloom,
Thy protean charm can every form assume
And turn December nights to April eves.
Thy amber-tinted drops bring back to me
Fantastic shapes of great Mongolian towers,
Emblazoned banners, and the booming gong;
I hear the sound of feast and revelry,
And smell, far sweeter than the sweetest flowers,
The kiosks of Pekin, fragrant of Oolong!
_LITTLE CUPS OF CHINESE AND JAPANESE TEA_
Although the legend credits the pious East Indian with the
discovery of tea, there is no evidence extant that India is really
the birthplace of the plant.
Since India has no record of date, or facts, on stone or tablet, or
ever handed down a single incident of song or story--apart from
the legend--as to the origin of tea, one is loath to accept the
claim--if claim they assert--of a people who are not above
practising the "black art" at every turn of their fancy.
Certain it is that China, first in many things, knew tea as soon as
any nation of the world. The early Chinese were not only more
progressive than other peoples, but linked with their progress
were important researches, and invaluable discoveries, which
the civilized world has long ago recognized. Then, why not add
tea to the list?
At any rate, it is easy to believe that the Chinese were first in
the tea fields, and that undoubtedly the plant was a native of
both China and Japan when it was slumbering on the slopes of
India, unpicked, unsteeped, undrunk, unhonored, and unsung.
A celebrated Buddhist, St. Dengyo Daishai, is credited with
having introduced tea into Japan from China as early as the
fourth century. It is likely that he was the first to teach the
Japanese the use of the herb, for it had long been a favorite
beverage in the mountains of the Celestial Kingdom. The plant,
however, is found in so many parts of Japan that there can be
little doubt but what it is indigenous there as well.
The word TEA is of Chinese origin, being derived from the
Amoy and Swatow reading, "Tay," of the same character, which
expresses both the ancient name of tea, "T'su," and the more
modern one, "Cha." Japanese tea, "Chiya"--pronounced Châ.
Tea was not known in China before the Tang dynasty, 618-906
A.D. An infusion of some kind of leaf, however, was used as
early as the Chow dynasty, 1122-255 B.C., as we learn from the
Urh-ya, a glossary of terms used in ancient history and poetry.
This work, which is classified by subjects, has been assigned as
the beginning of the Chow dynasty, but belongs more properly
to the era of Confucius, K'ung Kai, 551-479 B.C.
Although known in Japan for more than a thousand years, tea
only gradually became the national beverage as late as the
fourteenth century.
In the first half of the eighth century, 729 A.D., there was a
record made of a religious festival, at which the forty-fifth
Mikado---"Sublime Gate"--Shommei Tenno, entertained the Buddhist
priests with tea, a hitherto unknown beverage from Corea,
which country was for many years the high-road of Chinese
culture to Japan.
After the ninth century, 823 A.D., and for four centuries
thereafter, tea fell into disuse, and almost oblivion, among the
Japanese. The nobility, and Buddhist priests, however, continued
to drink it as a luxury.
During the reign of the eighty-third Emperor, 1199-1210 A.D.,
the cultivation of tea was permanently established in Japan. In
1200, the bonze, Yei-Sei, brought tea seeds from China, which
he planted on the mountains in one of the most northern provinces.
Yei-Sei is also credited with introducing the Chinese custom
of ceremonious tea-drinking. At any rate, he presented tea
seeds to Mei-ki, the abbot of the monastery of To-gano (to
whom the use of tea had been recommended for its stimulating
properties), and instructed him in the mystery of its cultivation,
treatment, and preparation. Mei-ki, who laid out plantations
near Uzi, was successful as a pupil, and even now the tea-growers
of that neighborhood pay tribute to his memory by annually
offering at his shrine the first gathered tea-leaves.
After that period, the use of tea became more and more in
fashion, the monks and their kindred having discovered its
property of keeping them awake during long vigils and nocturnal
prayers.
Prom this time on the development and progress of the plant are
interwoven with the histories and customs of these countries.
_ON TEA_
The following short poem by Edmund Waller is believed
to be the first one written in praise of the "cup that
does not inebriate":
Venus her myrtle, Phoebus has her bays;
Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise.
The best of Queens, and best of herbs, we owe
To that bold nation, which the way did show
To the fair region where the sun doth rise,
Whose rich productions we so justly prize.
The Muse's friend, tea does our fancy aid,
Repress those vapors which the head invade,
And keep the palace of the soul serene,
Tit on her birthday to salute the Queen.
Waller was born in 1605, and died in 1687, aged eighty-two.
_SOME ENGLISH TEA HISTORY_
Tea was brought into Europe by the DUTCH EAST INDIA COMPANY,
in 1610. It was at least forty, and perhaps forty-seven,
years later that England woke up to the fascinations of the
new drink. Dr. Johnson puts it at even a later date, for he
claims that tea was first introduced into England by Lords
Arlington and Ossory, in 1666, and really made its debut into
society when the wives of these noblemen gave it its vogue.
If Dr. Johnson's statement is intended to mean that nothing is
anything until the red seal of the select says, "Thus shall it be,"
he is right in the year he has selected. If, on the other hand, the
Doctor had in mind society at large, he is "mixed in his dates,"
or leaves, for tea was drawn and drunk in London nine years
before that date.
Garway, the founder of Garraway's coffee house, claimed the
honor of being first to offer tea in leaf and drink for public sale,
in 1657. It is pretty safe to fix the entrance of tea into Europe
even a few years ahead of his announcement, for merchants in
those days did not advertise their wares in advance.
However, this date is about the beginning of TEA TIME, for in
the _Mercurius Politicius_ of September, 1658, appeared the
following advertisement:
That excellent and by all Physitians approved China drink,
called by the Chineans, Tcha, by other nations, Tay, or
Tea, is sold at the Sultana's Head, a Copphee House,
in Sweetings Rents, by the Royal Exchange, London.
Like all new things, when they have fastened on to the public's
favor, tea was on everybody's lips and in everybody's mouth. It
was lauded to the skies, and was supposed to be good for all the
ills of the flesh. It would cure colds and consumption, clear the
sight, remove lassitude, purify the liver, improve digestion,
create appetite, strengthen the memory, and cure fever and ague.
One panegyrist says, while never putting the patient in mind of
his disease, it cheers the heart, without disordering the head;
strengthens the feet of the old, and settles the heads of the
young; cools the brain of the hard drinker, and warms that of the
sober student; relieves the sick, and makes the healthy better.
Epicures drink it for want of an appetite; _bon vivants_, to
remove the effects of a surfeit of wine; gluttons, as a remedy for
indigestion; politicians, for the vertigo; doctors, for drowsiness;
prudes, for the vapors; wits, for the spleen; and beaux to
improve their complexions; summing up, by declaring tea to be
a treat for the frugal, a regale for the luxurious, a successful
agent for the man of business, and a bracer for the idle.
Poets and verse-makers joined the chorus in praise of tea, in
Greek and Latin. One poet pictures Hebe pouring the delightful
cup for the goddesses, who, finding it made their beauty
brighter and their wit more brilliant, drank so deeply as to
disgust Jupiter, who had forgotten that he, himself,
"Drank tea that happy morn,
When wise Minerva of his brain was born."
Laureant Tate, who wrote a poem on tea in two cantos,
described a family jar among the fair deities, because each
desired to become the special patroness of the ethereal drink
destined to triumph over wine. Another versifier exalts it at the
expense of its would-be rival, coffee:
"In vain would coffee boast an equal good,
The crystal stream transcends the flowing mud,
Tea, even the ills from coffee spring repairs,
Disclaims its vices and its virtues shares."
Another despairing enthusiast exclaims:
"Hail, goddess of the vegetable, hail!
To sing thy worth, all words, all numbers, fail!"
The new beverage did not have the field all to itself, however,
for, while it was generally admitted that
Tea was fixed, and come to stay.
It could not drive good meat and drink away.
Lovers of the old and conservative customs of the table were
not anxious to try the novelty. Others shied at it; some flirted
with it, in tiny teaspoonfuls; others openly defied and attacked it.
Among the latter were a number of robust versifiers and
physicians.
"'Twas better for each British virgin,
When on roast beef, strong beer and sturgeon,
Joyous to breakfast they sat round,
Nor were ashamed to eat a pound."
The fleshly school of doctors were only too happy to disagree
with their brethren respecting the merits and demerits of the
new-fangled drink; and it is hard to say which were most bitter,
the friends or the foes of tea.
Maria Theresa's physician, Count Belchigen, attributed the
discovery of a number of new diseases to the debility born of
daily tea-drinking. Dr. Paulli denied that it had either taste or
fragrance, owing its reputation entirely to the peculiar vessels
and water used by the Chinese, so that it was folly to partake of
it, unless tea-drinkers could supply themselves with pure water
from the Vassie and the fragrant tea-pots of Gnihing. This
sagacious sophist and dogmatizer also discovered that, among
other evils, tea-drinking deprived its devotees of the power of
expectoration, and entailed sterility; wherefore he hoped
Europeans would thereafter keep to their natural beverages--
wine and ale--and reject coffee, chocolate, and tea, which were
all equally bad for them.
In spite of the array of old-fashioned doctors, wits, and lovers of
the pipe and bottle, who opposed evil effects, sneered at the
finely bred men of England being turned into women, and
grumbled at the stingy custom of calling for dish-water after
dinner, the custom of tea-drinking continued to grow. By 1689
the sale of the leaf had increased sufficiently to make it politic
to reduce the duty on it from eight pence on the decoction to
five shillings a pound on the leaf. The value of tea at this time
may be estimated from a customhouse report of the sale of a
quantity of divers sorts and qualities, the worst being equal to
that "used in coffee-houses for making single tea," which, being
disposed of by "inch of candle," fetched an average of twelve
shillings a pound.
During the next three years the consumption of tea was greatly
increased; but very little seems to have been known about it by
those who drank it--if we may judge from the enlightenment
received from a pamphlet, given gratis, "up one flight of stairs,
at the sign of the Anodyne Necklace, without Temple Bar." All it
tells us about tea is that it is the leaf of a little shoot growing
plentifully in the East Indies; that Bohea--called by the French
"Bean Tea"--is best of a morning with bread and butter, being
of a more nourishing nature than the green which may be used
when a meal is not wanted. Three or four cups at a sitting are
enough; and a little milk or cream renders the beverage smoother
and more powerful in blunting the acid humors of the stomach.
The satirists believed that tea had a contrary effect upon the acid
humors of the mind, making the tea-table the arena for the
display of the feminine capacity for backbiting and scandal.
Listen to Swift describe a lady enjoying her evening cups of tea:
"Surrounded with the noisy clans
Of prudes, coquettes and harridans.
Now voices over voices rise,
While each to be the loudest vies;
They contradict, affirm, dispute,
No single tongue one moment mute;
All mad to speak, and none to hearken,
They set the very lapdog barking;
Their chattering makes a louder din
Than fish-wives o'er a cup of gin;
Far less the rabble roar and rail
When drunk with sour election ale."
Even gentle Gay associated soft tea with the temper of women
when he pictures Doris and Melanthe abusing all their bosom
friends, while--
"Through all the room
From flowery tea exhales a fragrant fume."
But not all the women were tea-drinkers in those days. There
was Madam Drake, the proprietress of one of the three private
carriages Manchester could boast. Few men were as courageous
as she in declaring against the tea-table when they were but
invited guests. Madam Drake did not hesitate to make it known
when she paid an afternoon's visit that she expected to be
offered her customary solace--a tankard of ale and a pipe of
tobacco.
Another female opponent of tea was the _Female Spectator_,
which declared the use of the fluid to be not only expensive, but
pernicious; the utter destruction of all economy, the bane of
good housewifery, and the source of all idleness. Tradesmen
especially suffered from the habit. They could not serve their
customers because their apprentices were absent during the
busiest hours of the day drumming up gossips for their mistresses'
tea-tables.
This same censor says that the most temperate find themselves
obliged to drink wine freely after tea, or supplement their Bohea
with rum and brandy, the bottle and glass becoming as necessary
to the tea-table as the slop-basin.
Although Jonas Hanway, the father of the umbrella, was successful
in keeping off water, he was not successful in keeping out tea.
All he did accomplish in his essay on the subject was to call
forth a reply from Dr. Johnson, who, strange to say, instead of
vigorously defending his favorite tipple, rather excuses it as
an amiable weakness; confessing that tea is a barren superfluity,
fit only to amuse the idle, relax the studious, and dilute the
meals of those who cannot take exercise, and will not practise
abstinence. His chief argument in tea's favor is that it is
drunk in no great quantity even by those who use it most,
and as it neither exhilarates the heart nor stimulates the palate,
is, after all, but a nominal entertainment, serving as a pretence
for assembling people together, for interrupting business,
diversifying idleness; admitting that, perhaps, while gratifying
the taste, without nourishing the body, it is quite unsuited to the
lower classes.
It is a singular fact, too, that at that period there was no other
really vigorous defender of the beverage. All the best of the
other writers did was to praise its pleasing qualities, associations,
and social attributes.
Still, tea grew in popular favor, privately and publicly. The
custom had now become so general that every wife looked upon
the tea-pot, cups, and caddy to be as much her right by marriage
as the wedding-ring itself. Fine ladies enjoyed the crowded
public entertainments with tea below stairs and ventilators
above. Citizens, fortunate enough to have leaden roofs to their
houses, took their tea and their ease thereon. On Sundays,
finding the country lanes leading to Kensington, Hampstead,
Highgate, Islington, and Stepney, "to be much pleasanter than
the paths of the gospel," the people flocked to those suburban
resorts with their wives and children, to take tea under the trees.
In one of Coleman's plays, a Spitalfield's dame defines the acme
of elegance as:
"Drinking tea on summer afternoons
At Bagnigge Wells with china and gilt spoons."
London was surrounded with tea-gardens, the most popular
being Sadlier's Wells, Merlin's Cave, Cromwell Gardens, Jenny's
Whim, Cuper Gardens, London Spa, and the White Conduit House,
where they used to take in fifty pounds on a Sunday afternoon
for sixpenny tea-tickets.
One D'Archenholz was surprised by the elegance, beauty, and
luxury of these resorts, where, Steele said, they swallowed
gallons of the juice of tea, while their own dock leaves were
trodden under foot.
The ending of the East India Company's monopoly of the trade,
coupled with the fact that the legislature recognized that tea had
passed out of the catalogue of luxuries into that of necessities,
began a new era for the queen of drinks destined to reign over
all other beverages.
[Illustration of woman]
_O TEA!_
In the drama of the past
Thou art featured in the cast;
(O Tea!)
And thou hast played thy part
With never a change of heart,
(O Tea!)
For 'mid all the ding and dong
Waits a welcome--soothing song,
For fragrant Hyson and Oolong.
. . .
A song of peace, through all the years,
Of fireside fancies, devoid of fears,
Of mothers' talks and mothers' lays,
Of grandmothers' comforts--quiet ways.
Of gossip, perhaps--still and yet--
What of Johnson? Would we forget
The pictured cup; those merry times,
When round the board, with ready rhymes
Waller, Dryden, and Addison--Young,
Grave Pope to Gay, when Cowper sung?
Sydney Smith, too; gentle Lamb brew,
Tennyson, Dickens, Doctor Holmes knew.
The cup that cheered, those sober souls,
And tiny tea-trays, samovars, and bowls.
. . .
So here's a toast to the queen of plants,
The queen of plants--Bohea!
Good wife, ring for your maiden aunts,
We'll all have cups of tea.
--ARTHUR GRAY.
_TEA TERMS_