Chapter 13

An annual solemnity, called Hyacinthia, was held in Laconia in honor of Hyacinthus and Apollo. It lasted three days. So eagerly was this festival honored, that the soldiers of Laconia even when they had taken the field against an enemy would return home to celebrate it.

THE NARCISSUS

Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watery shore

_Spenser_

With respect to the NARCISSUS, whose name in the floral vocabulary is the synonyme of _egotism_, there is a story that must be familiar enough to most of my readers. Narcissus was a beautiful youth. Teresias, the Soothsayer, foretold that he should enjoy felicity until he beheld his own face but that the first sight of that would be fatal to him. Every kind of mirror was kept carefully out of his way. Echo was enamoured of him, but he slighted her love, and she pined and withered away until she had nothing left her but her voice, and even that could only repeat the last syllables of other people's sentences. He at last saw his own image reflected in a fountain, and taking it for that of another, he fell passionately in love with it. He attempted to embrace it. On seeing the fruitlessness of all his efforts, he killed himself in despair. When the nymphs raised a funeral pile to burn his body, they found nothing but a flower. That flower (into which he had been changed) still bears his name.

Here is a little passage about the fable, from the _Two Noble Kinsmen_ of Beaumont and Fletcher.

_Emilia_--This garden hath a world of pleasure in it, What flower is this?

_Servant_--'Tis called Narcissus, Madam.

_Em._--That was a fair boy certain, but a fool To love himself, were there not maids, Or are they all hard hearted?

_Ser_--That could not be to one so fair.

Ben Jonson touches the true moral of the fable very forcibly.

'Tis now the known disease That beauty hath, to hear too deep a sense Of her own self conceived excellence Oh! had'st thou known the worth of Heaven's rich gift, Thou would'st have turned it to a truer use, And not (with starved and covetous ignorance) Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem The glance whereof to others had been more Than to thy famished mind the wide world's store.

Gay's version of the fable is as follows:

Here young Narcissus o'er the fountain stood And viewed his image in the crystal flood The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms And the pleased image strives to meet his arms. No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued, Echo in vain the flying boy pursued Himself alone, the foolish youth admires And with fond look the smiling shade desires, O'er the smooth lake with fruitless tears he grieves, His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves, Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows, And in a short lived flower his beauty glows

Addison has given a full translation of the story of Narcissus from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book the third.

The common daffodil of our English fields is of the genus Narcissus. "Pray," said some one to Pope, "what is this _Asphodel_ of Homer?" "Why, I believe," said Pope "if one was to say the truth, 'twas nothing else but that poor yellow flower that grows about our orchards, and, if so, the verse might be thus translated in English

--The stern Achilles Stalked through a mead of daffodillies"

THE LAUREL

Daphne was a beautiful nymph beloved by that very amorous gentleman, Apollo. The love was not reciprocal. She endeavored to escape his godship's importunities by flight. Apollo overtook her. She at that instant solicited aid from heaven, and was at once turned into a laurel. Apollo gathered a wreath from the tree and placing it on his own immortal brows, decreed that from that hour the laurel should be sacred to his divinity.

THE SUN-FLOWER

Who can unpitying see the flowery race Shed by the morn then newflushed bloom resign, Before the parching beam? So fade the fair, When fever revels in their azure veins But one, _the lofty follower of the sun_, Sad when he sits shuts up her yellow leaves, Drooping all night, and when he warm return, Points her enamoured bosom to his ray

_Thomson_.

THE SUN-FLOWER (_Helianthus_) was once the fair nymph Clytia. Broken-hearted at the falsehood of her lover, Apollo, (who has so many similar sins to answer for) she pined away and died. When it was too late Apollo's heart relented, and in honor of true affection he changed poor Clytia into a _Sun-flower_.[073] It is sometimes called _Tourne-sol_--a word that signifies turning to the sun. Thomas Moore helps to keep the old story in remembrance by the concluding couplet of one of his sweetest ballads.

Oh! the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to its close As the sun flower turns on her god when he sets The same look that she turned when he rose

But Moore has here poetized a vulgar error. Most plants naturally turn towards the light, but the sun-flower (in spite of its name) is perhaps less apt to turn itself towards Apollo than the majority of other flowers for it has a stiff stem and a number of heavy heads. At all events it does not change its attitude in the course of the day. The flower-disk that faces the morning sun has it back to it in the evening.

Gerard calls the sun-flower "The Flower of the Sun or the Marigold of Peru". Speaking of it in the year 1596 he tells us that he had some in his own garden in Holborn that had grown to the height of fourteen feet.

THE WALL-FLOWER

The weed is green, when grey the wall, And blossoms rise where turrets fall

Herrick gives us a pretty version of the story of the WALL-FLOWER, (_cheiranthus cheiri_)("the yellow wall-flower stained with iron brown")

Why this flower is now called so List sweet maids and you shall know Understand this firstling was Once a brisk and bonny lass Kept as close as Danae was Who a sprightly springal loved, And to have it fully proved, Up she got upon a wall Tempting down to slide withal, But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and bruised and died Love in pity of the deed And her loving, luckless speed, Turned her to the plant we call Now, 'The Flower of the Wall'

The wall-flower is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, because it attaches itself to fallen towers and gives a grace to ruin. David Moir (the Delta of _Blackwood's Magazine_) has a poem on this flower. I must give one stanza of it.

In the season of the tulip cup When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up And scent thee on the breeze; The butterfly is then abroad, The bee is on the wing, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing.

Lord Bacon observes that wall-flowers are very delightful when set under the parlour window or a lower chamber window. They are delightful, I think, any where.

THE JESSAMINE.

The Jessamine, with which the Queen of flowers, To charm her god[074] adorns his favorite bowers, Which brides, by the plain hand of neatness dressed-- Unenvied rivals!--wear upon their breast; Sweet as the incense of the morn, and chaste As the pure zone which circles Dian's waist.

_Churchill._

The elegant and fragrant JESSAMINE, or Jasmine, (_Jasmimum Officinale_) with its "bright profusion of scattered stars," is said to have passed from East to West. It was originally a native of Hindustan, but it is now to be found in every clime, and is a favorite in all. There are many varieties of it in Europe. In Italy it is woven into bridal wreaths and is used on all festive occasions. There is a proverbial saying there, that she who is worthy of being decorated with jessamine is rich enough for any husband. Its first introduction into that sunny land is thus told. A certain Duke of Tuscany, the first possessor of a plant of this tribe, wished to preserve it as an unique, and forbade his gardener to give away a single sprig of it. But the gardener was a more faithful lover than servant and was more willing to please a young mistress than an old master. He presented the young girl with a branch of jessamine on her birth-day. She planted it in the ground; it took root, and grew and blossomed. She multiplied the plant by cuttings, and by the sale of these realized a little fortune, which her lover received as her marriage dowry.

In England the bride wears a coronet of intermingled orange blossom and jessamine. Orange flowers indicate chastity, and the jessamine, elegance and grace.

THE ROSE.

For here the rose expands Her paradise of leaves.

_Southey._

The ROSE, (_Rosa_) the Queen of Flowers, was given by Cupid to Harpocrates, the God of Silence, as a bribe, to prevent him from betraying the amours of Venus. A rose suspended from the ceiling intimates that all is strictly confidential that passes under it. Hence the phrase--_under the Rose_[075].

The rose was raised by Flora from the remains of a favorite nymph. Venus and the Graces assisted in the transformation of the nymph into a flower. Bacchus supplied streams of nectar to its root, and Vertumnus showered his choicest perfumes on its head.

The loves of the Nightingale and the Rose have been celebrated by the Muses of many lands. An Eastern poet says "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the Nightingale; yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved Rose."

The Turks say that the rose owes its origin to a drop of perspiration that fell from the person of their prophet Mahommed.

The classical legend runs that the rose was at first of a pure white, but a rose-thorn piercing the foot of Venus when she was hastening to protect Adonis from the rage of Mars, her blood dyed the flower. Spenser alludes to this legend:

White as the native rose, before the change Which Venus' blood did on her leaves impress.

_Spenser_.

Milton says that in Paradise were,

Flowers of all hue, and _without thorns the rose_.

According to Zoroaster there was no thorn on the rose until Ahriman (the Evil One) entered the world.

Here is Dr. Hooker's account of the origin of the red rose.

To sinless Eve's admiring sight The rose expanded snowy white, When in the ecstacy of bliss She gave the modest flower a kiss, And instantaneous, lo! it drew From her red lip its blushing hue; While from her breath it sweetness found, And spread new fragrance all around.

This reminds me of a passage in Mrs. Barrett Browning's _Drama of Exile_ in which she makes Eve say--

--For was I not At that last sunset seen in Paradise, When all the westering clouds flashed out in throngs Of sudden angel-faces, face by face, All hushed and solemn, as a thought of God Held them suspended,--was I not, that hour The lady of the world, princess of life, Mistress of feast and favour? _Could I touch A Rose with my white hand, but it became Redder at once?_

Another poet. (Mr. C. Cooke) tells us that a species of red rose with all her blushing honors full upon her, taking pity on a very pale maiden, changed complexions with the invalid and became herself as white as snow.

Byron expressed a wish that all woman-kind had but one _rosy_ mouth, that he might kiss all woman-kind at once. This, as some one has rightly observed, is better than Caligula's wish that all mankind had but one head that he might cut it off at a single blow.

Leigh Hunt has a pleasant line about the rose:

And what a red mouth hath the rose, the woman of the flowers!

In the Malay language the same word signifies _flowers_ and _women_.

Human beauty and the rose are ever suggesting images of each other to the imagination of the poets. Shakespeare has a beautiful description of the two little princes sleeping together in the Tower of London.

Their lips were four red roses on a stalk That in their summer beauty kissed each other.

William Browne (our Devonshire Pastoral Poet) has a _rosy_ description of a kiss:--

To her Amyntas Came and saluted; never man before More blest, nor like this kiss hath been another But when two dangling cherries kist each other; Nor ever beauties, like, met at such closes, But in the kisses of two damask roses.

Here is something in the same spirit from Crashaw.

So have I seen Two silken sister-flowers consult and lay Their bashful cheeks together; newly they Peeped from their buds, showed like the garden's eyes Scarce waked, like was the crimson of their joys, Like were the tears they wept, so like that one Seemed but the other's kind reflection.

Loudon says that there is a rose called the _York and Lancaster_ which when, it comes true has one half of the flower red and the other half white. It was named in commemoration of the two houses at the marriage of Henry VII. of Lancaster with Elizabeth of York.

Anacreon devotes one of his longest and best odes to the laudation of the Rose. Such innumerable translations have been made of it that it is now too well known for quotation in this place. Thomas Moore in his version of the ode gives in a foot-note the following translation of a fragment of the Lesbian poetess.

If Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers The Rose would be the choice of Jove, And blush the queen of every grove Sweetest child of weeping morning, Gem the vest of earth adorning, Eye of gardens, light of lawns, Nursling of soft summer dawns June's own earliest sigh it breathes, Beauty's brow with lustre wreathes, And to young Zephyr's warm caresses Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, Till blushing with the wanton's play Its cheeks wear e'en a redder ray.

From the idea of excellence attached to this Queen of Flowers arose, as Thomas Moore observes, the pretty proverbial expression used by Aristophanes--_you have spoken roses_, a phrase adds the English poet, somewhat similar to the _dire des fleurettes_ of the French.

The Festival of the Rose is still kept up in many villages of France and Switzerland. On a certain day of every year the young unmarried women assemble and undergo a solemn trial before competent judges, the most virtuous and industrious girl obtains a crown of roses. In the valley of Engandine, in Switzerland, a man accused of a crime but proved to be not guilty, is publicly presented by a young maiden with a white rose called the Rose of Innocence.

Of the truly elegant Moss Rose I need say nothing myself; it has been so amply honored by far happier pens than mine. Here is a very ingenious and graceful story of its origin. The lines are from the German.

THE MOSS ROSE

The Angel of the Flowers one day, Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay, The spirit to whom charge is given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven, Awaking from his light repose The Angel whispered to the Rose "O fondest object of my care Still fairest found where all is fair, For the sweet shade thou givest to me Ask what thou wilt 'tis granted thee" "Then" said the Rose, "with deepened glow On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused in silent thought What grace was there the flower had not? 'Twas but a moment--o'er the rose A veil of moss the Angel throws, And robed in Nature's simple weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed?

Madame de Genlis tells us that during her first visit to England she saw a moss-rose for the first time in her life, and that when she took it back to Paris it gave great delight to her fellow-citizens, who said it was the first that had ever been seen in that city. Madame de Latour says that Madame de Genlis was mistaken, for the moss-rose came originally from Provence and had been known to the French for ages.

The French are said to have cultivated the Rose with extraordinary care and success. It was the favorite flower of the Empress Josephine, who caused her own name to be traced in the parterres at Malmaison with a plantation of the rarest roses. In the royal rosary at Versailles there are standards eighteen feet high grafted with twenty different varieties of the rose.

With the Romans it was no metaphor but an allusion to a literal fact when they talked of sleeping upon beds of roses. Cicero in his third oration against Verres, when charging the proconsul with luxurious habits, stated that he had made the tour of Sicily seated upon roses. And Seneca says, of course jestingly, that a Sybarite of the name of Smyrndiride was unable to sleep if one of the rose-petals on his bed happened to be curled! At a feast which Cleopatra gave to Marc Antony the floor of the hall was covered with fresh roses to the depth of eighteen inches. At a fete given by Nero at Baiae the sum of four millions of sesterces or about 20,000_l_. was incurred for roses. The Natives of India are fond of the rose, and are lavish in their expenditure at great festivals, but I suppose that no millionaire amongst them ever spent such an amount of money as this upon flowers alone.[076]

I shall close the poetical quotations on the Rose with one of Shakespeare's sonnets.

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet Roses do not so; Of then sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth.

There are many hundred acres of rose trees at Ghazeepore which are cultivated for distillation, and making "attar." There are large fields of roses in England also, for the manufacture of rose-water.

There is a story about the origin of attar of Roses. The Princess Nourmahal caused a large tank, on which she used to be rowed about with the great Mogul, to be filled with rose-water. The heat of the sun separating the water from the essential oil of the rose, the latter was observed to be floating on the surface. The discovery was immediately turned to good account. At Ghazeepoor, the _essence_, _atta_ or _uttar_ or _otto_, or whatever it should be called, is obtained with great simplicity and ease. After the rose water is prepared it is put into large open vessels which are left out at night. Early in the morning the oil that floats upon the surface is skimmed off, or sucked up with fine dry cotton wool, put into bottles, and carefully sealed. Bishop Heber says that to produce one rupee's weight of atta 200,000 well grown roses are required, and that a rupee's weight sells from 80 to 100 rupees. The atta sold in Calcutta is commonly adulterated with the oil of sandal wood.

LINNAEA BOREALIS

The LINNAEA BOREALIS, or two horned Linnaea, though a simple Lapland flower, is interesting to all botanists from its association with the name of the Swedish Sage. It has pretty little bells and is very fragrant. It is a wild, unobtrusive plant and is very averse to the trim lawn and the gay flower-border. This little woodland beauty pines away under too much notice. She prefers neglect, and would rather waste her sweetness on the desert air, than be introduced into the fashionable lists of Florist's flowers. She shrinks from exposure to the sun. A gentleman after walking with Linnaeus on the shores of the lake near Charlottendal on a lovely evening, writes thus "I gathered a small flower and asked if it was the _Linnaea borealis_. 'Nay,' said the philosopher, 'she lives not here, but in the middle of our largest woods. She clings with her little arms to the moss, and seems to resist very gently if you force her from it. She has a complexion like a milkmaid, and ah! she is very, very sweet and agreeable!"

THE FORGET-ME-NOT

The dear little FORGET-ME-NOT, (_myosotis palustris_)[077] with its eye of blue, is said to have derived its touching appellation from a sentimental German story. Two lovers were walking on the bank of a rapid stream. The lady beheld the flower growing on a little island, and expressed a passionate desire to possess it. He gallantly plunged into the stream and obtained the flower, but exhausted by the force of the tide, he had only sufficient strength left as he neared the shore to fling the flower at the fair one's feet, and exclaim "_Forget-me-not!_" (_Vergiss-mein-nicht_.) He was then carried away by the stream, out of her sight for ever.

THE PERIWINKLE.

The PERIWINKLE (_vinca_ or _pervinca_) has had its due share of poetical distinction. In France the common people call it the Witch's violet. It seems to have suggested to Wordsworth an idea of the consciousness of flowers.

Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The Periwinkle trailed its wreaths, _And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes._

Mr. J.L. Merritt, has some complimentary lines on this flower.

The Periwinkle with its fan-like leaves All nicely levelled, is a lovely flower Whose dark wreath, myrtle like, young Flora weaves; There's none more rare Nor aught more meet to deck a fairy's bower Or grace her hair.

The little blue Periwinkle is rendered especially interesting to the admirers of the genius of Rousseau by an anecdote that records his emotion on meeting it in one of his botanical excursions. He had seen it thirty years before in company with Madame de Warens. On meeting its sweet face again, after so long and eventful an interim, he fell upon his knees, crying out--_Ah! voila de la pervanche!_ "It struck him," says Hazlitt, "as the same little identical flower that he remembered so well; and thirty years of sorrow and bitter regret were effaced from his memory."

The Periwinkle was once supposed to be a cure for many diseases. Lord Bacon says that in his time people afflicted with cramp wore bands of green periwinkle tied about their limbs. It had also its supposed moral influences. According to Culpepper the leaves of the flower if eaten by man and wife together would revive between them a lost affection.

THE BASIL.

Sweet marjoram, with her like, _sweet basil_, rare for smell.

_Drayton._

The BASIL is a plant rendered poetical by the genius which has handled it. Boccaccio and Keats have made the name of the _sweet basil_ sound pleasantly in the ears of many people who know nothing of botany. A species of this plant (known in Europe under the botanical name of _Ocymum villosum_, and in India as the _Toolsee_) is held sacred by the Hindus. Toolsee was a disciple of Vishnu. Desiring to be his wife she excited the jealousy of Lukshmee by whom she was transformed into the herb named after her.[078]

THE TULIP.

Tulips, like the ruddy evening streaked.

_Southey_.

The TULIP (_tulipa_) is the glory of the garden, as far as color without fragrance can confer such distinction. Some suppose it to be 'The Lily of the Field' alluded to in the Sermon on the Mount. It grows wild in Syria.

The name of the tulip is said to be of Turkish origin. It was called Tulipa from its resemblance to the tulipan or turban.

What crouds the rich Divan to-day With turbaned heads, of every hue Bowing before that veiled and awful face Like Tulip-beds of different shapes and dyes, Bending beneath the invisible west wind's sighs?

_Moore_.

The reader has probably heard of the Tulipomania once carried to so great an excess in Holland.

With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart, At a vast price, with one loved root to part.

_Crabbe_.