Part 19
The same Jesuit relates, that St. Blase was scourged, and seven holy women anointed themselves with his blood; whereupon their flesh was combed with iron combs, their wounds ran nothing but milk, their flesh was whiter than snow, angels came visibly and healed their wounds as fast as they were made; and they were put into the fire, which would not consume them; wherefore they were ordered to be beheaded, and beheaded accordingly. Then St. Blase was ordered to be drowned in the lake; but he walked on the water, sat down on it in the middle, and invited the infidels to a sitting; whereupon threescore and eight, who tried the experiment, were drowned, and St. Blase walked back to be beheaded.
The “Golden Legend” says, that a wolf having run away with a woman’s swine, she prayed St. Blase that she might have her swine again, and St. Blase promised her, with a smile, she should, and the wolf brought the swine back; then she slew it, and offered the head and the feet, with some bread and a candle, to St. Blase. “And he thanked God, and ete thereof; and he sayd to her, that every yere she sholde offre in his chirche a candell. And she dyd all her lyf, and she had moche grete prosperyte. And knowe thou that to thee, and to all them that so shal do, shal well happen to them.”
It is observed in a note on Brand, that the candles offered to St. Blase were said to be good for the tooth-ache, and for diseased cattle.
* * * * *
“Then followeth good sir Blase, who doth a waxen Candell give, And holy water to his men, whereby they safely live I divers Barrels oft have seene, drawne out of water cleare, Through one small blessed bone of this same holy Martyr heare: And caryed thence to other townes and cities farre away, Ech superstition doth require such earnest kinde of play.”
The origin of St. Blase’s fame has baffled the inquiry of antiquaries; it seems to have rolled off with the darkness of former ages, never to be known again. To the _wool-combers_ this saint is indebted for the maintenance of his reputation in England, for no other trade or persons have any interest in remembering his existence; and this popularity with a body of so much consequence may possibly have been the reason, and the only reason, for the retention of his name in the church calendar at the Reformation. That it is not in the wane with them, is clear from a report in the _Leeds Mercury_, of the 5th of February, 1825. The article furnishes the very interesting particulars in the subjoined account:--
CELEBRATION OF
~Bishop Blase’s Festival,~
AT BRADFORD, 3d FEBRUARY, 1825.
The septennial festival, held in honour of bishop Blase, and of the invention of wool-combing attributed to that personage, was on this day celebrated at Bradford with great gaiety and rejoicing.
There is no place in the kingdom where the bishop is so splendidly commemorated as at Bradford. In 1811, 1818, and at previous septennial periods, the occasion was celebrated with great pomp and festivity, each celebration surpassing the preceding ones in numbers and brilliance. The celebration of 1825 eclipsed all hitherto seen, and it is most gratifying to know, that this is owing to the high prosperity of the worsted and woollen manufactures, which are constantly adding fresh streets and suburban villages to the town.
The different trades began to assemble at eight o’clock in the morning, but it was near ten o’clock before they all were arranged in marching order in Westgate. The arrangements were actively superintended by Matthew Thompson, Esq. The morning was brilliantly beautiful. As early as seven o’clock, strangers poured into Bradford from the surrounding towns and villages, in such numbers as to line the roads in every direction; and almost all the vehicles within twenty miles were in requisition. Bradford was never before known to be so crowded with strangers. Many thousands of individuals must have come to witness the scene. About ten o’clock the procession was drawn up in the following order:--
Herald bearing a flag. _Woolstaplers_ on horseback, each horse caparisoned with a fleece. _Worsted Spinners and Manufacturers_ on horseback, in white stuff waistcoats, with each a sliver over the shoulder, and a white stuff sash; the horses’ necks covered with nets made of thick yarn. _Merchants_ on horseback, with coloured sashes. Three Guards. Masters’ Colours. Three Guards. _Apprentices and Masters’ Sons_, on horseback, with ornamented caps, scarlet stuff coats, white stuff waistcoats, and blue pantaloons. _Bradford_ and _Keighley Bands_. _Mace-bearer_, on foot. Six Guards. KING. QUEEN. Six Guards. Guards. JASON. PRINCESS MEDEA. Guards. Bishop’s Chaplain. BISHOP BLASE. _Shepherd and Shepherdess._ _Shepherd Swains._ _Woolsorters_, on horseback, with ornamented caps, and various coloured slivers. _Comb Makers._ _Charcoal Burners._ _Combers’ Colours._ Band. _Woolcombers_, with wool wigs, &c. Band. _Dyers_, with red cockades, blue aprons, and crossed slivers of red and blue.
The following were the numbers of the different bodies, as nearly as could be estimated:--24 _woolstaplers_, 38 _spinners_ and _manufacturers_, 6 _merchants_, 56 _apprentices_ and _masters’ sons_, 160 _wool-sorters_, 30 _combmakers_, 470 _wool-combers_, and 40 _dyers_. The KING, on this occasion, was an old man, named _Wm. Clough_, of Darlington, who had filled the regal station at four previous celebrations. Jason (the celebrated legend of the Golden Fleece of Colchis, is interwoven with the commemoration of the bishop,) was personated by _John Smith_; and the fair MEDEA, to whom he was indebted for his spoils, rode by his side.--BISHOP BLASE was a personage of very becoming gravity, also named _John Smith_; and he had enjoyed his pontificate several previous commemorations; his chaplain was _James Beethom_. The ornaments of the spinners and manufacturers had a neat and even elegant appearance, from the delicate and glossy whiteness of the finely combed wool which they wore. The apprentices and masters’ sons, however, formed the most showy part of the procession, their caps being richly adorned with ostrich feathers, flowers, and knots of various coloured yarn, and their stuff garments being of the gayest colours; some of these dresses, we understand, were very costly, from the profusion of their decorations. The shepherd, shepherdess, and swains, were attired in light green. The wool-sorters, from their number and the height of their plumes of feathers, which were, for the most part, of different colours, and formed in the shape of _fleur-de-lis_, had a dashing appearance. The combmakers carried before them the instruments here so much celebrated, raised on standards, together with golden fleeces, rams’ heads with gilded horns, and other emblems. The combers looked both neat and comfortable in their flowing wigs of well-combed wool; and the garb of the dyers was quite professional. Several well-painted flags were displayed, one of which represented on one side the venerable BISHOP _in full robes_, and on the other a shepherd and shepherdess under a tree. Another had a painting of MEDEA _giving up the golden fleece to_ JASON: a third had a portrait of the KING: and a fourth appeared to belong to some association in the trade. The whole procession was from half a mile to a mile in length.
When the procession was ready to move, _Richard Fawcett, Esq._ who was on horseback at the head of the spinners, pronounced, uncovered, and with great animation, the following lines, which it had long been customary to repeat on these occasions, and which, if they have not much poetical elegance, have the merit of expressing true sentiments in simple language:--
Hail to the day, whose kind auspicious rays Deign’d first to smile on famous bishop Blase! To the great author of our combing trade, This day’s devoted, and due honour’s paid; To him whose fame thro’ Britain’s isle resounds, To him whose goodness to the poor abounds; Long shall his name in British annals shine, And grateful ages offer at his shrine! By this our trade are thousands daily fed, By it supplied with means to earn their bread. In various forms our trade its work imparts, In different methods, and by different arts, Preserves from starving, indigents distress’d As combers, spinners, weavers, and the rest. We boast no gems, or costly garments vain, Borrow’d from India, or the coast of Spain; Our native soil with wool our trade supplies, While foreign countries envy us the prize. No foreign broil our common good annoys, Our country’s product all our art employs; Our fleecy flocks abound in every vale, Our bleating lambs proclaim the joyful tale. So let not Spain with us attempt to vie, Nor India’s wealth pretend to soar so high; Nor Jason pride him in his Colchian spoil, By hardships gain’d, and enterprising toil, Since Britons all with ease attain the prize, And every hill resounds with golden cries. To celebrate our founder’s great renown Our shepherd and our shepherdess we crown; For England’s commerce, and for George’s sway, Each loyal subject give a loud HUZZA. HUZZA!
These lines were afterwards several times repeated, in the principal streets and roads through which the cavalcade passed. About five o’clock they dispersed.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Great water moss. _Fontinalis Antepyretica._ Dedicated to _St. Blase_.
~February 4.~
_St. Andrew Corsini_, A. D. 1373. _St. Phileas._ _St. Gilbert._ _St. Jane, or Joan_, Queen, A. D. 1505. _St. Isidore_, of Pelusium, A. D. 449. _St. Rembert_, Archbishop of Bremen, A. D. 888. _St. Modan_, of Scotland. _St. Joseph_, of Leonissa, A. D. 1612.
Goe plow in the stubble, for now is the season For sowing of fitches, of beanes, and of peason. Sow runciuals timely, and all that be gray, But sow not the white, till St Gregorie’s day.
_Tusser_
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Goldilocks. _Polytricum Commune._ Dedicated to _St. Jane_. Indian Bay. _Laurus Indica._ Dedicated to _St. Margaret of England_.
~February 5.~
Holiday at the Exchequer.
_St. Agatha._ _The Martyrs of Japan._ _The Martyrs of China._ _St. Avitus_, Archbishop, A. D. 525. _St. Alice_, or _Adelaide_, A. D. 1015. _St. Abraamius_, Bishop of Arbela.
_St. Agatha._
This saint, who is in the calendar of the church of England, was a Sicilian martyr about the year 251. Butler relates, that before her death she was tortured, and being refused physicians, St. Peter himself came from heaven, healed her wounds, and filled her prison with light. He also as gravely states, that several times when Catana was in danger from the eruptions of mount Ætna, her veil carried in procession averted the volcanic matter from the city.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Common Primrose. _Primula vulgaris._ Dedicated to _St. Agatha_. Red Primrose. _Primula aculis._ Dedicated to _St. Adelaide_.
~February 6.~
Sexagesima Sunday.
_St. Dorothy_, A. D. 308. _St. Vedast_, Bishop, A. D. 539. _St. Amandus_, A. D. 675. _St. Barsanuphius._
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Blue Jacinth. _Hyacinthus Orientalis cœruleus._ Dedicated to _St. Dorothy_.
~February 7.~
_St. Romuald_, A. D. 1027. _St. Richard_, King of the West Saxons, A. D. 722. _St. Theodorus_ of Heraclea, A. D. 319. _St. Tresain_, 6th Cent. _St. Augulus_, Bishop.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Roundleaved Cyclamen. _Cyclamen Coum._ Dedicated to _St. Romuald_.
~February 8.~
_St. John_ of Matha, A. D. 1213. _St. Stephen_ of Grandmont, A. D. 1124. _St. Paul_, Bishop of Verdun, A. D. 631. _St. Cuthman._
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Narrow Spring Moss. _Mnium Androgynum._ Dedicated to _St. John of Matha_.
~February 9.~
_St. Apollonia_, A. D. 249. _St. Nicephorus_, A. D. 260. _St. Theliau_, Bishop, A. D. 580. _St. Ansbert_, Abp. of Rouen, A. D. 695. _St. Attracta or Tarahata_ of Ireland. _St. Herard_ or _Eberhard_.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Roman Narcissus. _Narcissus Romanus._ Dedicated to _St. Apollonia_.
~February 10.~
_St. Scholastica_, A. D. 543. _St. Coteris_, 4th Cent. _St. William_ of Maleval, A. D. 1157. _St. Erlulph_, Scotch Bishop.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Mezereon. _Daphne Mezereon._ Dedicated to _St. Scholastica_. Silky Fork Moss. _Mnium heteomallum._ Dedicated to _St. Coteris_.
~February 11.~
_St. Saturninus Dativus, &c._ of Africa, A. D. 304. _St. Severinus_, A. D. 507, _The Empress Theodora_, A. D. 867.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Red Primrose. _Primula Verna rubra._ Dedicated to _St. Theodora_.
~February 12.~
_St. Benedict_ of Anian, A. D. 821. _St. Meletius_ of Antioch. A. D. 381. _St. Eulalia_ of Barcelona. _St. Anthony Cauleas_, A. D. 896.
HILARY TERM _ends_.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Noble Liverwort. _Anemone hepatica_. Dedicated to _St. Eulalia_.
~February 13.~
_St. Catherine de Ricci._ A. D. 1589. _St. Licinius_, Bishop, A. D. 618. _St. Polyeuctus_, A. D. 257. _St. Gregory II._ Pope. _St. Martinianus._ _St. Modomnoc_ or _Dominick_ of Ossory, 6th Cent. _St. Stephen_, Abbot, 6th Cent. _Roger_, Abbot, A. D. 1175.
* * * * *
FLORAL DIRECTORY.
Polyanthus. _Primula polyantha._ Dedicated to _St. Catherine de Ricci_.
~February 14.~
VALENTINE’S DAY.
_St. Valentine._ _St. Maro_, A. D. 433. _St. Abraames_, A. D. 422. _St. Augentius_, 5th Cent. _St. Conran_, Bishop of Orkney.
_St. Valentine._
Of this saint, so celebrated among young persons, little is known, except that he was a priest of Rome, and martyred there about 270.
It was a custom with the ancient Roman youth to draw the names of girls in honour of their goddess Februata-Juno on the 15th of February, in exchange for which certain Roman catholic pastors substituted the names of saints in billets given the day before, namely, on the 14th of February.
Where _can_ the postman be, I say? He ought to _fly_--on such a day! Of _all_ days in the year, you know, It’s monstrous rude to be so _slow_: The fellow’s so _exceeding_ stupid-- Hark!--_there_ he is!--oh! the _dear_ CUPID!
Two hundred thousand letters beyond the usual daily average, annually pass through the twopenny post-office in London on St. Valentine’s Day. “Two hundred thousand twopences,” said an old gentleman as he read this in a March newspaper, “are four hundred thousand pence,”--and he was going to cast up the amount--“Why, papa,” said his daughter, “that’s just the number of young folks there must be in love with each other--that’s the way to reckon.” “Ah, my child, that’s _not_ the way to reckon; you have taken something into the _account_ that has no _business_ there: all Valentine-writers are not in love, nor are all lovers Valentine-writers; and remember, my dear girl, that as smiles on the face sometimes conceal cruel dispositions, so there are some who write Valentines, and trifle with hearts for the mere pleasure of inflicting pain.” “I will show you what I mean,” said the old gentleman, and taking a paper from a drawer, he held up this exemplification:
Just then an unmarried gentleman, “of a _certain_ age,” entered the room. On becoming acquainted with the topic, he drew from his pocket a small packet, and said, with a merry smile, “Here was _my_ Valentine.” It contained a rib of some small animal completely enveloped with white satin ribbon, ornamented by a true lover’s knot at each end, and another in the middle. Father and daughter both had a laugh at the “old bachelor,” and he, laughing with them, put into the young lady’s hand the poetical address that accompanied his _rib_:
Go contemplate this lovely sign! Haste thee away to reason’s shrine, And listen to her voice; No more illusive shades pursue, To happiness this gives the clue, Make but a prudent choice.
’Till Adam had a partner given, Much as fair Eden bloom’d like heaven, His bliss was incomplete; No social friend those joys to share, Gave the gay scene a vacant air! She came--’twas all replete.
And could not genuine Paradise, The most extensive wish suffice, Its guiltless lord possest? No--not without a kindred mate; How then in this degen’rate state, Can man, alone be blest?
But now the Muse withdraws her aid; Enough, thy folly to upbraid; Enough to make thee wise: No more of pensive hours complain, No more, that all life’s joys are vain, If thou this hint despise.
Feb. 13, 182--.
_A Friend._
“Well now, this is capital!” exclaimed the laughing lass. “After _such_ a Valentine, you _must_ take the hint, my dear sir, it’s really a shame that so good-natured a man should remain a bachelor. I recollect, that when I could only just run about, you used to be _so_ kind to me; besides, how you dandled and played with me! and since then, how you have read to me and instructed me till I grew up! Such a man is the very man to be married: you are every way domestic, and it’s _settled_; you _must_ get married.”--“Well, then, will _you_ have me?” he inquired, with a cheerful laugh. “_I_ have you? No! Why, you are too old; but not too old to find a wife: there are many ladies whom we know, of your age, wholly disengaged; but you don’t pay them any _particular_ attention.” Her father interposed; and the gentleman she addressed playfully said, “It is a little hard, indeed, that I should have these fine compliments and severe reproaches at the same time: however,” taking her by the hand, “you will understand, that it _is_ possible I _may_ have paid _particular_ attention to a lady at an age when the affections are warmer; I did; and I reconciled myself to rejection by courting my books and the pleasures of solitude--
Hast thou been ever waking From slumbers soft and light, And heard sweet music breaking The stillness of the night;
When all thy soul was blending With that delightful strain, And night her silence lending To rivet fancy’s chain;
Then on a sudden pausing, Those strains have ceas’d to play A painful absence causing Of bliss that died away!
So from my soul has vanish’d The dream of youthful days; So Hope and Love are banish’d, And _Truth_ her pow’r displays.”
* * * * *
The origin of so pleasant a day, the first pleasant day in the year, whether its season be regarded, or the mode of its celebration, requires some little investigation; nor must some of its past and present usages be unrecorded here.
_St. Valentine’s Morning._
Hark! through the sacred silence of the night Loud chanticleer doth sound his clarion shrill, Hailing with song the first pale gleam of light Which floats the dark brow of yon eastern hill.
Bright star of morn, oh! leave not yet the wave To deck the dewy frontlet of the day; Nor thou, Aurora, quit Tithonus’ cave, Nor drive retiring darkness yet away.
Ere these my rustic hands a garland twine, Ere yet my tongue endite a single song, For her I mean to hail my Valentine, Sweet maiden, fairest of the virgin throng.
_Dodsley’s Miscell._
Attend we upon ELIA. Hark, how triumphantly that noble herald of the college of kindness proclaims the day!
“Hail to thy returning festival, old Bishop Valentine! Great is thy name in the rubric, thou venerable arch-flamen of Hymen! Immortal Go-between! who and what manner of person art thou? Art thou but a name, typifying the restless principle which impels poor humans to seek perfection in union? or wert thou indeed a mortal prelate, with thy tippet and thy rochet, thy apron on, and decent lawn sleeves? Mysterious personage! like unto thee, assuredly, there is no other mitred father in the calendar.--Thou comest attended with thousands and ten thousands of little Loves, and the air is
Brush’d with the hiss of rustling wings;
singing Cupids are thy choristers, and thy precentors; and instead of the crosier, the mystical arrow is borne before thee.
“In other words, this is the day on which those charming little missives, ycleped Valentines, cross and intercross each other at every street and turning. The weary and all for-spent twopenny postman sinks beneath a load of delicate embarrassments, not his own. It is scarcely credible to what an extent this ephemeral courtship is carried on in this loving town, to the great enrichment of porters, and detriment of knockers and bell-wires. In these little visual interpretations, no emblem is so common as the _heart_,--that little three-cornered exponent of all our hopes and fears,--the bestuck and bleeding heart; it is twisted and tortured into more allegories and affectations than an opera-hat. What authority we have in history or mythology for placing the head-quarters and metropolis of god Cupid in this anatomical seat rather than in any other, is not very clear; but we have got it, and it will serve as well as any other thing. Else we might easily imagine, upon some other system which might have prevailed for any thing which our pathology knows to the contrary, a lover addressing his mistress, in perfect simplicity of feeling, ‘Madam, my _liver_ and fortune are entirely at your disposal;’ or putting a delicate question, ‘Amanda, have you a _midriff_ to bestow?’ But custom has settled these things, and awarded the seat of sentiment to the aforesaid triangle, while its less fortunate neighbours wait at animal and anatomical distance.
“Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a _knock at the door_. It ‘gives a very echo to the throne where Hope is seated.’ But its issues seldom answer to this oracle within. It is so seldom that just the person we want to see comes. But of all the clamorous visitations, the welcomest in expectation is the sound that ushers in, or seems to usher in, a Valentine. As the raven himself was hoarse that announced the fatal entrance of Duncan, so the knock of the postman on this day is light, airy, confident, and befitting one that ‘bringeth good tidings.’ It is less mechanical than on other days; you will say, ‘That is not the post, I am sure.’ Visions of Love, of Cupids, of Hymens, and all those delightful, eternal common-places, which ‘having been, will always be;’ which no schoolboy nor schoolman can write away; having their irreversible throne in the fancy and affections; what are your transports, when the happy maiden, opening with careful finger, careful not to break the emblematic seal, bursts upon the sight of some well-designed allegory, some type, some youthful fancy, not without verses--
Lovers all, A madrigal,
or some such device, not over abundant in sense--young Love disclaims it,--and not quite silly--something between wind and water, a chorus where the sheep might almost join the shepherd, as they did, or as I apprehend they did, in Arcadia.