The Folk lore of Plants - T. F. Thiselton Dyer
A few years ago Dr. George Birwood contributed to the _Athenaeum_ some
interesting remarks on Persian flower-worship. Speaking of the Victoria
Gardens at Bombay, he says:--"A true Persian in flowing robe of blue,
and on his head his sheep-skin hat--black, glossy, curled, the fleece of
Kar-Kal--would saunter in, and stand and meditate over every flower he
saw, and always as if half in vision. And when the vision was fulfilled,
and the ideal flower he was seeking found, he would spread his mat and
sit before it until the setting of the sun, and then pray before it, and
fold up his mat again and go home. And the next night, and night after
night, until that particular flower faded away, he would return to it,
and bring his friends in ever-increasing troops to it, and sit and play
the guitar or lute before it, and they would all together pray there,
and after prayer still sit before it sipping sherbet, and talking the
most hilarious and shocking scandal, late into the moonlight; and so
again and again every evening until the flower died. Sometimes, by way
of a grand finale, the whole company would suddenly rise before the
flower and serenade it, together with an ode from Hafiz, and depart."
Tree-worship too has been more or less prevalent among the American
Indians, abundant illustrations of which have been given by travellers
at different periods. In many cases a striking similarity is noticeable,
showing a common origin, a circumstance which is important to the
student of comparative mythology when tracing the distribution of
religious beliefs. The Dacotahs worship the medicine-wood, so called
from a belief that it was a genius which protected or punished them
according to their merits or demerits.[21] Darwin[22] mentions a tree
near Siena de la Ventana to which the Indians paid homage as the altar
of Walleechu; offerings of cigars, bread, and meat having been suspended
upon it by threads. The tree was surrounded by bleached bones of horses
that had been sacrificed. Mr. Tylor[23] speaks of an ancient cypress
existing in Mexico, which he thus describes:--"All over its branches
were fastened votive offerings of the Indians, hundreds of locks of
coarse black hair, teeth, bits of coloured cloth, rags, and morsels of
ribbon. The tree was many centuries old, and had probably had some
mysterious influence ascribed to it, and been decorated with such simple
offerings long before the discovery of America."
Once more, the Calchaquis of Brazil[24] have been in the habit of
worshipping certain trees which were frequently decorated by the Indians
with feathers; and Charlevoix narrates another interesting instance of
tree-worship:--"Formerly the Indians in the neighbourhood of Acadia had
in their country, near the sea-shore, a tree extremely ancient, of which
they relate many wonders, and which was always laden with offerings.
After the sea had laid open its whole root, it then supported itself a
long time almost in the air against the violence of the winds and waves,
which confirmed those Indians in the notion that the tree must be the
abode of some powerful spirit; nor was its fall even capable of
undeceiving them, so that as long as the smallest part of its branches
appeared above the water, they paid it the same honours as whilst it
stood."
In North America, according to Franklin,[25] the Crees used to hang
strips of buffalo flesh and pieces of cloth on their sacred tree; and in
Nicaragua maize and beans were worshipped. By the natives of Carolina
the tea-plant was formerly held in veneration above all other plants,
and indeed similar phases of superstition are very numerous. Traces of
tree-worship occur in Africa, and Sir John Lubbock[26] mentions the
sacred groves of the Marghi--a dense part of the forest surrounded with
a ditch--where in the most luxuriant and widest spreading tree their
god, Zumbri, is worshipped. In his valuable work on Ceylon, Sir J.
Emerson Tennent gives some interesting details about the consecration of
trees to different demons to insure their safety, and of the ceremonies
performed by the kattadias or devil-priests. It appears that whenever
the assistance of a devil-dancer is required in extreme cases of
sickness, various formalities are observed after the following fashion.
An altar is erected, profusely adorned with garlands and flowers, within
sight of the dying man, who is ordered to touch and dedicate to the evil
spirit the wild flowers, rice, and flesh laid upon it.
Traces of plant-worship are still found in Europe. Before sunrise on
Good Friday the Bohemians are in the habit of going into their gardens,
and after falling on their knees before a tree, to say, "I pray, O green
tree, that God may make thee good," a formula which Mr. Ralston[27]
considers has probably been altered under the influence of Christianity
"from a direct prayer to the tree to a prayer for it." At night they run
about the garden exclaiming, "Bud, O trees, bud! or I will flog you." On
the following day they shake the trees, and clank their keys, while the
church bells are ringing, under the impression that the more noise they
make the more fruit will they get. Traces, too, of tree-worship, adds
Mr. Ralston,[28] may be found in the song which the Russian girls sing
as they go out into the woods to fetch the birch tree at Whitsuntide,
and to gather flowers for wreaths and garlands:
"Rejoice not, oaks;
Rejoice not, green oaks.
Not to you go the maidens;
Not to you do they bring pies,
Cakes, omelettes.
So, so, Semik and Troitsa [Trinity]!
Rejoice, birch trees, rejoice, green ones!
To you go the maidens!
To you they bring pies,
Cakes, omelettes."
The eatables here mentioned probably refer to the sacrifices offered in
olden days to the birch--the tree of the spring. With this practice we
may compare one long observed in our own country, and known as
"wassailing." At certain seasons it has long been customary in
Devonshire for the farmer, on the eve of Twelfth-day, to go into the
orchard after supper with a large milk pail of cider with roasted apples
pressed into it. Out of this each person in the company takes what is
called a clome--i.e., earthenware cup--full of liquor, and standing
under the more fruitful apple trees, address them in these words:
"Health to thee, good apple tree,
Well to bear pocket fulls, hat fulls,
Peck fulls, bushel bag fulls."
After the formula has been repeated, the contents of the cup are thrown
at the trees.[29] There are numerous allusions to this form of
tree-worship in the literature of the past; and Tusser, among his many
pieces of advice to the husbandman, has not omitted to remind him
that he should,
"Wassail the trees, that they may bear
You many a plum and many a pear;
For more or less fruit they will bring,
As you do them wassailing."
Survivals of this kind show how tenaciously old superstitious rites
struggle for existence even when they have ceased to be recognised as
worthy of belief.
Footnotes:
1. "Outlines of Primitive Belief," 1882, p. 54.
2. "Tree and Serpent Worship."
3. See Sir John Lubbock's "Origin of Civilisation," pp. 192-8.
4. _Fortnightly Review_, "The Worship of Animals and Plants," 1870,
vii. 213.
5. _Ibid._, 1869, vi. 408.
6. "Principles of Sociology," 1885, i. p. 359.
7. "The Origin of Civilisation and Primitive Condition of Man."
8. _Quarterly Review_, cxiv. 212.
9. Keary's "Primitive Brlief," pp. 332-3; _Edinburgh Review_, cxxx.
488-9.
10. "Du Culte des Dieux Fetiches," p. 169.
11. "Primitive Belief," pp. 332-3.
12. Fergusson's "Tree and Serpent Worship," p. 16.
13. cxxx. 492; see Tacitus' "Germania," ix.
14. See _Edinburgh Review_, cxxx. 490-1.
15. _Edinburgh Review_, cxxx. 491.
16. Mr. Fergusson's "Tree and Serpent Worship." See _Edinburgh
Review_, cxxx. 498.
17. See Lewin's "Hill Tracts of Chittagong," p. 10.
18. _Cornhill Magazine_, November 1872, p. 598.
19. An important tribe in Central India.
20. See Sherring's "Sacred City of the Hindus," 1868, p. 89.
21. Dorman's "Primitive Superstitions," p. 291.
22. See "Researches in Geology and Natural History," p. 79.
23. "Anahuac," 215, 265.
24. Dorman's "Primitive Superstitions." p. 292.
25. "Journeys to the Polar Sea." i. 221.
26. "The Origin of Civilisation."
27. "Songs of the Russian People." p. 219.
28. _Ibid._, p. 238.
29. See my "British Popular Customs." p. 21.
CHAPTER IV.
LIGHTNING PLANTS.
Amongst the legends of the ancient world few subjects occupy a more
prominent place than lightning, associated as it is with those myths of
the origin of fire which are of such wide distribution.[1] In examining
these survivals of primitive culture we are confronted with some of the
most elaborate problems of primeval philosophy, many of which are not
only highly complicated, but have given rise to various conjectures.
Thus, although it is easy to understand the reasons which led our
ancestors, in their childlike ignorance, to speak of the lightning as a
worm, serpent, trident, arrow, or forked wand, yet the contrary is the
case when we inquire why it was occasionally symbolised as a flower or
leaf, or when, as Mr. Fiske[2] remarks, "we seek to ascertain why
certain trees, such as the ash, hazel, white thorn, and mistletoe, were
supposed to be in a certain sense embodiments of it."
Indeed, however satisfactory our explanations may apparently seem, in
many cases they can only be regarded as ingenious theories based on the
most probable theories which the science of comparative folk-lore may
have suggested. In analysing, too, the evidence for determining the
possible association of ideas which induced our primitive forefathers to
form those mythical conceptions that we find embodied in the folk-tales
of most races, it is necessary to unravel from the relics of the past
the one common notion that underlies them. Respecting the origin of
fire, for instance, the leading idea--as handed down to us in myths of
this kind--would make us believe that it was originally stolen. Stories
which point to this conclusion are not limited to any one country, but
are shared by races widely remote from one another. This circumstance is
important, as helping to explain the relation of particular plants to
lightning, and accounts for the superstitious reverence so frequently
paid to them by most Aryan tribes. Hence, the way by which the Veda
argues the existence of the palasa--a mystic tree with the Hindus--is
founded on the following tradition:--The demons had stolen the heavenly
soma, or drink of the gods, and cellared it in some mythical rock or
cloud. When the thirsty deities were pining for their much-prized
liquor, the falcon undertook to restore it to them, although he
succeeded at the cost of a claw and a plume, of which he was deprived by
the graze of an arrow shot by one of the demons. Both fell to the earth
and took root; the claw becoming a species of thorn, which Dr. Kuhn
identifies as the "_Mimosa catechu_," and the feather a "palasa tree,"
which has a red sap and scarlet blossoms. With such a divine origin--for
the falcon was nothing less than a lightning god[3]--the trees naturally
were incorporations,[4] "not only of the heavenly fire, but also of the
soma, with which the claw and feather were impregnated."
It is not surprising, therefore, that extraordinary virtues were
ascribed to these lightning plants, qualities which, in no small degree,
distinguish their representatives at the present day. Thus we are told
how in India the mimosa is known as the imperial tree on account of its
remarkable properties, being credited as an efficacious charm against
all sorts of malignant influences, such as the evil eye. Not unlike in
colour to the blossom of the Indian palasa are the red berries of the
rowan or mountain-ash (_Pyrus aucuparia_), a tree which has acquired
European renown from the Aryan tradition of its being an embodiment of
the lightning from which it was sprung. It has acquired, therefore, a
mystic character, evidences of which are numerously represented
throughout Europe, where its leaves are reverenced as being the most
potent talisman against the darker powers. At the present day we still
find the Highland milkmaid carrying with her a rowan-cross against
unforeseen danger, just as in many a German village twigs are put over
stables to keep out witches. Illustrations of this kind support its
widespread reputation for supernatural virtues, besides showing how
closely allied is much of the folk-lore of our own with that of
continental countries. At the same time, we feel inclined to agree with
Mr. Farrer that the red berries of the mountain-ash probably singled it
out from among trees for worship long before our ancestors had arrived
at any idea of abstract divinities. The beauty of its berries, added to
their brilliant red colour, would naturally excite feelings of
admiration and awe, and hence it would in process of time become
invested with a sacred significance. It must be remembered, too, that
all over the world there is a regard for things red, this colour having
been once held sacred to Thor, and Grimm suggests that it was on this
account the robin acquired its sacred character. Similarly, the Highland
women tie a piece of red worsted thread round their cows' tails previous
to turning them out to grass for the first time in spring, for, in
accordance with an old adage:
"Rowan-ash, and red thread,
Keep the devils from their speed."
In the same way the mothers in Esthonia put some red thread in their
babies' cradles as a preservative against danger, and in China something
red is tied round children's wrists as a safeguard against evil spirits.
By the aid of comparative folk-lore it is interesting, as in this case,
to trace the same notion in different countries, although it is by no
means possible to account for such undesigned resemblance. The common
ash (_Fraxinus excelsior_), too, is a lightning plant, and, according to
an old couplet:
"Avoid an ash,
It counts the flash."
Another tree held sacred to Thor was the hazel (_Corylus avellana_),
which, like the mountain-ash, was considered an actual embodiment of the
lightning. Indeed, "so deep was the faith of the people in the relation
of this tree to the thunder god," says Mr. Conway,[5] "that the Catholics
adopted and sanctioned it by a legend one may hear in Bavaria, that on
their flight into Egypt the Holy Family took refuge under it from a
storm."
Its supposed immunity from all damage by lightning has long caused
special reverence to be attached to it, and given rise to sundry
superstitious usages. Thus, in Germany, a twig is cut by the
farm-labourer, in spring, and on the first thunderstorm a cross is made
with it over every heap of grain, whereby, it is supposed, the corn will
remain good for many years. Occasionally, too, one may see hazel twigs
placed in the window frames during a heavy shower, and the Tyroleans
regard it as an excellent lightning conductor. As a promoter of
fruitfulness it has long been held in high repute--a character which it
probably derived from its mythic associations--and hence the important
part it plays in love divinations. According to a Bohemian belief, the
presence of a large number of hazel-nuts betokens the birth of many
illegitimate children; and in the Black Forest it is customary for the
leader of a marriage procession to carry a hazel wand. For the same
reason, in many parts of Germany, a few nuts are mingled with the seed
corn to insure its being prolific. But leaving the hazel with its host
of superstitions, we may notice the white-thorn, which according to
Aryan tradition was also originally sprung from the lightning. Hence it
has acquired a wide reverence, and been invested with supernatural
properties. Like, too, the hazel, it was associated with marriage rites.
Thus the Grecian bride was and is still decked with its blossoms,
whereas its wood formed the torch which lighted the Roman bridal couple
to their nuptial chamber on the wedding day. It is evident, therefore,
that the white-thorn was considered a sacred tree long before Christian
tradition identified it as forming the Crown of Thorns; a medieval
belief which further enhanced the sanctity attached to it. It is not
surprising, therefore, that the Irish consider it unlucky to cut down
this holy tree, especially as it is said to be under the protection of
the fairies, who resent any injury done to it. A legend current in
county Donegal, for instance, tells us how a fairy had tried to steal
one Joe M'Donough's baby, but the poor mother argued that she had never
affronted the fairy tribe to her knowledge. The only cause she could
assign was that Joe, "had helped Mr. Todd's gardener to cut down the old
hawthorn tree on the lawn; and there's them that says that's a very bad
thing to do;" adding how she "fleeched him not to touch it, but the
master he offered him six shillings if he'd help in the job, for the
other men refused." The same belief prevails in Brittany, where it is
also "held unsafe to gather even a leaf from certain old and solitary
thorns, which grow in sheltered hollows of the moorland, and are the
fairies' trysting-places."[6]
Then there is the mistletoe, which, like the hazel and the white-thorn,
was also supposed to be the embodiment of lightning; and in consequence
of its mythical character held an exalted place in the botanical world.
As a lightning-plant, we seem to have the key to its symbolical nature,
in the circumstance that its branch is forked. On the same principle, it
is worthy of note, as Mr. Fiske remarks[7] that, "the Hindu commentators
of the Veda certainly lay great stress on the fact that the palasa is
trident-leaved." We have already pointed out, too, how the red colour of
a flower, as in the case of the berries of the mountain-ash, was
apparently sufficient to determine the association of ideas. The Swiss
name for mistletoe, _donnerbesen_, "thunder besom," illustrates its
divine origin, on account of which it was supposed to protect the
homestead from fire, and hence in Sweden it has long been suspended in
farm-houses, like the mountain-ash in Scotland. But its virtues are by
no means limited, for like all lightning-plants its potency is displayed
in a variety of ways, its healing properties having from a remote period
been in the highest repute. For purposes also of sorcery it has been
reckoned of considerable importance, and as a preventive of nightmare
and other night scares it is still in favour on the Continent. One
reason which no doubt has obtained for it a marked degree of honour is
its parasitical manner of growth, which was in primitive times ascribed
to the intervention of the gods. According to one of its traditionary
origins, its seed was said to be deposited on certain trees by birds,
the messengers of the gods, if not the gods themselves in disguise, by
which this plant established itself in the branch of a tree. The mode of
procedure, say the old botanists, was through the "mistletoe thrush."
This bird, it was asserted, by feeding on the berries, surrounded its
beak with the viscid mucus they contain, to rid itself of which it
rubbed its beak, in the course of flying, against the branches of trees,
and thereby inserted the seed which gave birth to the new plant. When
the mistletoe was found growing on the oak, its presence was attributed
specially to the gods, and as such was treated with the deepest
reverence. It was not, too, by accident that the oak was selected, as
this tree was honoured by Aryan tradition with being of lightning
origin. Hence when the mistletoe was found on its branches, the
occurrence was considered as deeply significant, and all the more so as
its existence in such a locality was held to be very rare[8]. Speaking
of the oak, it may be noted, that as sacred to Thor, it was under his
immediate protection, and hence it was considered an act of sacrilege to
mutilate it in ever so small a degree. Indeed, "it was a law of the
Ostrogoths that anybody might hew down what trees he pleased in the
common wood, except oaks and hazels; those trees had peace,_ i.e._, they
were not to be felled[9]." That profanity of this kind was not treated
with immunity was formerly fully believed, an illustration of which is
given us by Aubrey,[10] who says that, "to cut oakwood is unfortunate.
There was at Norwood one oak that had mistletoe, a timber tree, which
was felled about 1657. Some persons cut this mistletoe for some
apothecaries in London, and sold them a quantity for ten shillings each
time, and left only one branch remaining for more to sprout out. One
fell lame shortly after; soon after each of the others lost an eye, and
he that felled the tree, though warned of these misfortunes of the other
men, would, notwithstanding, adventure to do it, and shortly afterwards
broke his leg; as if the Hamadryads had resolved to take an ample
revenge for the injury done to their venerable and sacred oak." We can
understand, then, how the custom originated of planting the oak on the
boundaries of lands, a survival of which still remains in the so-called
gospel oaks of many of our English parishes. With Thor's tree thus
standing our forefathers felt a sense of security which materially added
to the peace and comfort of their daily life.
But its sacred attributes were not limited to this country, many a
legend on the Continent testifying to the safety afforded by its
sheltering branches. Indeed, so great are its virtues that, according to
a Westphalian tradition, the Wandering Jew can only rest where he shall
happen to find two oaks growing in the form of a cross. A further proof
of its exalted character may be gathered from the fact that around its
roots Scandinavian mythology has gathered fairyland, and hence in
Germany the holes in its trunk are the pathways for elves. But the
connection between lightning and plants extends over a wide area, and
Germany is rich in legends relative to this species of folk-lore. Thus
there is the magic springwort, around which have clustered so many
curious lightning myths and talismanic properties. By reason of its
celestial origin this much-coveted plant, when buried in the ground at
the summit of a mountain, has the reputation of drawing down the
lightning and dividing the storm. It is difficult, however, to procure,
especially as there is no certainty as to the exact species of plants to
which it belongs, although Grimm identifies it with the _Euphorbia
lathyris_. At any rate, it is chiefly procurable by the woodpecker--a
lightning-bearer; and to secure this much-prized treasure, its nest must
be stopped up, access to which it will quickly gain by touching it with
the springwort. But if one have in readiness a pan of water, a fire, or
a red cloth, the bird will let the plant fall, which otherwise it would
be a difficult work to obtain, "the notion, no doubt, being that the
bird must return the mystic plant to the element from which it springs,
that being either the water of the clouds or the lightning fire enclosed
therein."[11]
Professor Gubernatis, referring to the symbolical nature of this
tradition, remarks that, "this herb may be the moon itself, which opens
the hiding-place of the night, or the thunderbolt, which opens the
hiding-places of the cloud." According to the Swiss version of the story
it is the hoopoe that brings the spring-wort, a bird also endowed with
mystic virtues,[12] while in Iceland, Normandy, and ancient Greece it is
an eagle, a swallow, or an ostrich. Analogous to the talismanic
properties of the springwort are those of the famous luck or key-flower
of German folk-lore, by the discovery of which the fortunate possessor
effects an entrance into otherwise inaccessible fairy haunts, where
unlimited treasures are offered for his acceptance. There then, again,
the luck-flower is no doubt intended to denote the lightning, which
reveals strange treasures, giving water to the parched and thirsty land,
and, as Mr. Fiske remarks, "making plain what is doing under cover of
darkness."[13] The lightning-flash, too, which now and then, as a lesson
of warning, instantly strikes dead those who either rashly or
presumptuously essay to enter its awe-inspiring portals, is exemplified
in another version of the same legend. A shepherd, while leading his
flock over the Ilsentein, pauses to rest, but immediately the mountain
opens by reason of the springwort or luck-flower in the staff on which
he leans. Within the cavern a white lady appears, who invites him to
accept as much of her wealth as he choses. Thereupon he fills his
pockets, and hastening to quit her mysterious domains, he heeds not her
enigmatical warning, "Forget not the best," the result being that as he
passes through the door he is severed in twain amidst the crashing of
thunder. Stories of this kind, however, are the exception, legendary
lore generally regarding the lightning as a benefactor rather than a
destroyer. "The lightning-flash," to quote Mr. Baring-Gould's words,
"reaches the barren, dead, and thirsty land; forth gush the waters of
heaven, and the parched vegetation bursts once more into the vigour of
life restored after suspended animation."