Chapter II: Of Herbs Chiefly Used in the Past (2)

Ram-ciches, Ramshead, or Chick Pea, gains the two first names from the curious shape of the seed pods which are “puffed up as it were with winde in which do lie two, or at the most three seeds, small towards the end, with one sharp corner, not much unlike to a Ram’s head.” Turner says that the plant is very ill for newe fallowed ground and that “it killeth all herbes and most and sounest of all other ground thistel,” which seems a loss one could survive. According to Parkinson the seeds are “boyled and stewed as the most dainty kind of Pease there are, by the Spaniards,” and he adds that in his own opinion, “they are of a very good relish and doe nourish much.” They are still eaten and appreciated by the country people in the south of France and Spain. Like Borage, Ram-ciches is particularly interesting to students of chemistry; for it is said that “in very hot weather the leaves sparkle with very small tears of a viscous and very limpid liquid, extremely acid, and which has been discovered to be oxalic acid in its pure state.”[49]

[49] Hogg.

RAMPION (_Campanula Rapunculus_).

The Citrons, which our soil not easily doth afford,
The Rampions rare as that.

_Polyolbion Song_, xv.

De Gubernatis tells a most curious story from Calabria almost exactly that of Cupid and Psyche, but it begins by saying that the maiden, wandering alone in the fields, uprooted a rampion, and so discovered a stair-case leading to a palace in the depths of the earth.

One of Grimm’s fairy tales is called after the heroine, _Rapunzel_ (Rampion), for she was given this plant’s name, and the whole plot hangs on Rampions being stolen from a magician’s garden. There is an Italian tradition that the possession of a rampion (as that of strawberries, cherries, or red shoes), would excite quarrels among children, which would sometimes go as far as “murder.” Even in a land of quick passions and southern blood, it can hardly be thought that this tradition had much ground to spring from, and I have not heard of it as existing further north. Parkinson says that the roots may be eaten as salad or “boyled and stewed with butter and oyle, and some blacke or long pepper cast on them.” The distilled water of the whole plant is excellent for the complexion, and “maketh the face very splendent.” Evelyn thought Rampions “much more nourishing” than Radishes, and they are said to have a “pleasant, nutty flavour”; in the winter the leaves as well as the roots make a nice salad. Even if it is not grown for use, it might well, with its graceful spires of purple bells, be put for ornament in shrubberies. Parkinson has said of Honesty, that “some eate the young rootes before they runne up to flower, as Rampions are eaten with vinegar and oyle”; but Evelyn warns us _apropos_ of this very plant (with others) how cautiously the advice of the Ancient Authors should be taken by the sallet gatherer (Parkinson was probably quoting from the “Ancients” when he said this); “for however it may have been in their countries, in England _Radix Lunaria_ is accounted among the deadly poisons!” One cannot help wondering if Parkinson or Gerarde ever knew those hardy individuals they allude to as “some,” and who tried the experiment!

ROCAMBOLE (_Allium Scorodoprasum_).

Rocambole is a kind of garlic, but milder in flavour, and it is a native of Denmark. De la Quintinye seems to confuse it with Shallots (_Allium ascalonium_), as he writes of “Shallots or Rocamboles, otherwise Spanish Garlick.” Evelyn, speaking of Garlic as impossible--one cannot help feeling with a smothered wistfulness--says: “To be sure, ’tis not fit for Ladies’ Palates, nor those who court them, farther than to permit a light touch in the Dish, with a _Clove_ thereof, much better supplied by the gentler _Rocambole_.”

ROCKET (_Eruca sativa_).

Various plants claim the name of Rocket, but it was _Eruca sativa_ that was used as a salad herb. Parkinson explains the Italian name _Ruchetta_ and _Rucola Gentile_ thus: “This Rocket Gentle, so-called from the _Italians_, who by that title of Gentle understand anything that maketh one quicke and ready to jest, to play.” It is certainly not specially gentle in the ordinary sense of the words, for it has leaves “like those of Turneps, but not neere so great nor rough”; and if eaten alone, “it causeth head-ache and heateth too much.” It is, however, good in Salads of Lettuce, Purslane, “and such cold herbes,” and Turner observes that “some use the sede for sauce, the whiche that it may last the longer, they knede it with milke or vinegre, and make it into little cakes.” It has a strong peculiar smell, and is no longer used in England; though Loudon says that in some places on the Continent it makes “an agreeable addition to cresses and mustard in early spring.” Culpepper found that the common wild Rocket was hurtful used alone, as it has too much heat, but to “hot and choleric persons it is less harmful” (one would have imagined that it would have been the other way) and “for such we may say, a little doth but a little harm, for angry Mars rules them, and he sometimes will be rusty when he meets with fools.” This is altogether a dark saying, but it gives little encouragement to those who would make trial of Rocket.

LONDON ROCKET (_Sisymbrium Irio_).

This plant gained its name in a singular way. It is said to have first appeared in London in the spring following the Great Fire, “when young Rockets were seen everywhere springing up among the ruins, where they increased so marvellously that in the summer the enormous crop crowding over the surface of London created the greatest astonishment and wonder.”[50]

[50] Folkard.

SAFFRON (_Crocus sativus_).

Nor Cyprus wild vine-flowers, nor that of Rhodes,
Nor Roses oil from Naples, Capua,
Saffron confected in Cilicia.
Nor that of Quinces, nor of Marjoram,
That ever from the Isle of Coös came,
Nor these, nor any else, though ne’er so rare
Could with this place for sweetest smells compare.

_Br. Pastorals_, Book I.

_Clown._ I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies.

_Winter’s Tale_, iv. 2.

You set Saffron and there came up Wolf’s bane. (Saying to express an
action which has an unexpected result.)

Saffron has been of great importance since the earliest days, and it is mentioned in a beautiful passage of the Song of Solomon. “Thy plants are an orchard of Pomegranates, with pleasant fruits, Camphire with Spikenard, Spikenard and Saffron, Calamus and Cinnamon, with all trees of Frankincense, Myrrh and Aloes, with all the chief spices,” iv. 13, 14.

Canon Ellacombe says that the Arabic name, _Al Zahafaran_ was the general name for all _Croci_, and extended to the _Colchicums_, which were called Meadow Saffrons. It is pointed out by Mr Friend that, further, the flower has given its name to a colour, and had given it in the days of Homer, and he remarks how much more exactly the expression “Saffron-robed” morning describes the particular tints seen sometimes before sunrise (or at sunset) than any other words can do. Saffron Walden in Essex, whose arms are given on page 101, and Saffron Hill in London (which once formed part of the Bishop of Ely’s garden), are also obviously named after it, and as is seen in the former case it has given arms to a borough. As to its introduction into England Hakluyt writes (1582): “It is reported at Saffron Walden that a pilgrim proposing to do good to his country, stole a head of Saffron, and hid the same in his Palmer’s Staffe, which he had made hollow before of purpose, and so he brought the root into this realme with venture of his life, for if he had been taken, by the law of the countrey from whence it came, he had died for the fact” (“English Voyages,” vol. ii.). Canon Ellacombe thinks that it was probably originally brought here in the days of the Romans, and found “in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the fourteenth century, ‘Hic Crocus, An^{ee} Safryn,’ so that I think the plant must have been in cultivation in England at that time.” In the work of “Mayster Ion Gardener,” written about 1440, one of the eight parts into which it is divided is wholly devoted to a discourse, “Of the Kynde of Saferowne,” which shows that Saffron must have been a good deal considered in his day. The Charity Commission of 1481 mentions two Saffron-gardens; and in the churchwarden’s accounts at Saffron Walden, in the second year of Richard III.’s reign, there is an entry, “Payd to John Rede for pyking of V unc Saffroni, xii.” The town accounts of Cambridge show that in 1531 Saffron was grown there; and at Barnwell in the next parish the prior of Barnwell had ten acres.

Some old wills, too, throw some light on the subject. In the will of Alyce Sheyne of Sawstone, in 1527, “a rood of Saffron” is left to her son. In 1530 (1533?) John Rede, also of Sawstone, leaves his godson a “rood of Saffron in Church Field,” and William Hockison of Sawstone, bequeathed in 1531, “to Joan, my wife, a rood of Saffron, and to my maid, Marger, and my son, John, half an acre.” As may be easily inferred from these legacies, Saffron was very largely grown at Sawstone, and the two adjoining parishes, as well as at Saffron Walden. The first man to introduce it into Saffron Walden to be cultivated on a really large scale was Thomas Smith, Secretary of State to Edward VI., and in 1565, it was grown in abundance. In 1557 Turner speaks of Saffron-growing, as if this was very general, but it must be remembered that he started life in Essex, farmed successively in Suffolk and Norfolk, and returned to his native county to a farm at Fairstead, and having never moved very far from the special home of the industry, he naturally took as an ordinary proceeding, what would have been very unusual in other parts of the country. It can never have been very widely cultivated; for Turner, whose “Herbal” gives an immense deal of information, and who wrote when the industry was in full swing, omits all mention of Saffron, though he speaks of, and evidently knew Meadow Saffron.

This is a strong sign that cultivation must have been confined to certain localities, chiefly in the eastern counties, though in the west it was grown at Hereford and surrounding districts to a very considerable extent. I do not mean to imply that none was grown in neighbouring counties, but the evidence is not easy to get, and I have not gone deeply enough into the subject to find it, but the Saffron of Hereford was famed.

At Black Marston in Herefordshire, in 1506 and again in 1528, leave was granted by the Prioress of Acornbury, to persons to cultivate Saffron extensively.

In 1582, in spite of a continued demand for it, the cultivation of Saffron seems to have decreased, for Hakluyt writes in his “Remembrances for Master S.” [what to observe in a journey he is about to undertake]. “Saffron groweth in Syria.... But if a vent might be found, men would in Essex (about Saffron Walden) and in Cambridgeshire, revive the trade for the benefit of setting the poore on worke. So would they do in Herefordshire by Wales, where the best of all Englande is, in which place the soil yields the wilde “Saffron” commonly.” The soil there still yields the wilde Saffron so commonly that at the present moment it is regarded with disfavour, as being quite a drawback to some pasture lands, but it is no longer grown there for commercial purposes. Neither Gerarde (1596) nor Parkinson (1640) mention Saffron-growing as an industry, but in 1681 “I. W.” gives directions for cultivating and drying it. “English Saffron,” he says, “is esteemed the best in the world; it’s a plant very suitable to our climate and soil.” At Saffron Walden it continued to be grown for commerce for over two hundred years, but has now been uncultivated in that locality for more than a century. In Cambridgeshire, however, it flourished to a later date, and the last Saffron grower in England was a man named Knot, who lived at Duxford in Cambridgeshire, and who grew Saffron till the year 1816.

This is Turner’s advice for cultivating it.

When harvest is gone,
Then Saffron comes on.
A little of ground,
Brings Saffron a pound.

The pleasure is fine,
The profit is thine.
Keep colour in drying,
Well used, worth buying.

And also:--

Pare Suffron between the two St Mary’s days[51]
Or set or go shift it, that knoweth the ways...
In having but forty foot, workmanly dight
Take Saffron enough for a lord or a knight.

_August’s Husbandry._

From old records it seems to have been grown in small patches of less than an acre, and to have been a most profitable crop. “I. W.,” in his directions says, for drying it, “a small kiln made of clay, and with a very little Fire, and that with careful attendance,” is required. “Three Pounds thereof moist usually making one of dry. One acre may bear from seven to fifteen Pound, and hath been sold from 20s. a Pound to £5 a Pound.” The last price sounds as if it existed only in his imagination, and one cannot really think that it was given often! But on one occasion, Timbs says, an even higher sum was reached, for when Queen Elizabeth paid a visit to Saffron Walden, the Corporation paid five guineas for one pound of Saffron to present to her. Though this was exceptional, the usual prices for it were very high; and to show this, and also the enormous amount that was used in cooking, Miss Amherst quotes from some old accounts of the Monastery of Durham: “In 1531, half a pound of ‘Crocus’ or Saffron was bought in July, the same quantity in August and in November, a quarter of a pound in September, and a pound and a half in October.” So much for the quantity; as to the price, a merchant of Cambridgeshire charged them in 1539-1540 for 6½ lbs. Crocus, £7, 8s.

Saffron used to be much employed to colour and to flavour pies and cakes, and it was this reason that Perdita sent the “Clown” to fetch some, when she was making “Warden” (Pear) pies for the sheep-shearing. Saffron cakes still prevail in Cornwall, and come over the border into the next county, and a chemist, in Somerset, said quite lately, that thirty years since, he used to sell quantities of Saffron at Easter-time, but that much less is asked for now. It seems to have been specially used in the materials for feasting at this season. Evelyn tells us that the Germans made it into “little balls with honey, which afterwards they dry and reduce to powder, and then sprinkle over salads” for a “noble cordial.” For medicinal purposes Saffron is imported, for in spite of “I. W.’s” praise, that grown in England is far from equalling that of Greece and Asia Minor, though in any case it is only now used as a colouring matter. The saying which survives, “So dear as Saffron,” to express anything of worth, is a proof of how great its value once was; and it is true that the plant was credited with powers nothing short of miraculous. Perhaps Fuller tells us the most startling news: “In a word, the Sovereign Power of genuine _Saffron_ is plainly proved by the Antipathy of the _Crocodiles_ thereunto. For the _Crocodile’s tears_ are never _true_ save when he is forced where _Saffron_ groweth (whence he hath his name of γξοκό-ςτπλθ or the Saffron-fearer) knowing himselfe to be all Poison, and it all _Antidote_.”

After this, Gerarde’s assertion that for those whom consumption has brought “at death’s doore, and almost past breathing, that it bringeth breath againe,” sounds moderate. On the doctrine of Signatures, Saffron was prescribed for jaundice and measles, and it is also recommended to be put into the drinking water of canaries when they are moulting. Irish women are said to dye their sheets with Saffron, that it may give strength to their limbs. Saffron has long been much esteemed as a dye, and Ben Jonson tells us of this use for it in his days in lines that literally rollick:--

Give us bacon, rinds of walnuts,
Shells of cockles and of small nuts,
Ribands, bells, and saffron’d linen,
All the world is ours to win in.

_The Gipsies Metamorphosed._

Gerarde says: “The chives (stamens) steeped in water serve to illumine or (as we say) limme pictures and imagerie,” and Canon Ellacombe quotes from an eleventh century work, showing that it was employed for the same purpose then. “If ye wish to decorate your work in some manner, take tin, pure and finely scraped, melt it and wash it like gold, and apply it with the same glue upon letters or other places which you wish to ornament with gold or silver; and when you have polished it with a tooth, take Saffron with which Silk is coloured, moistening it with clear of egg without water; and when it has stood a night, on the following day, cover with a pencil the places which you wish to gild, the rest holding the place of silver.”--_Theophilus_, HENDRIE’S Translation.

Meadow-Saffron, or _Colchicum_, yields a drug still much prescribed, of which Turner uttered a caution in 1568. He says it is a drug to “isschew.” He warns those “syke in the goute” (for whom it was, and is, a standard remedy) that much of it is “sterke poyson, and will strongell a man and kill him in the space of one day.” Drugs must, indeed, have been administered in heroic measures at that time--if he really ever heard of such a case at first hand. It is from the corm, or bulb, of the plant that _Colchicum_ is extracted.

[51] July 22nd and August 15th.

SAMPHIRE (_Crithium maritimum_).

_Edgar._ Half way down
Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.

_King Lear_, iv. 6.

Samphire is St Peter’s Herb, and gains the distinction either because it grows on sea-cliffs, and so is appropriate to the patron of fishermen, or more probably, because it flourishes on rocks, and its roots strike deep into the crevices. The French call it _Herbe de St Pierre_ and _Pierce-Pierre_, from its peculiar way of growing; and the Italians have the same name, but call it _Finocchio marino_ as well; and this title, translated to Meer-finckell, was also the German and Dutch name, according to Parkinson. It is strongly aromatic, “being of smell delightfule and pleasant, and hath many fat and thicke leaves, somewhat like those of the lesser Purslane... of a spicie taste, with a certaine saltness.” Gerarde praises it pickled in salads. Edgar’s words show that it must have been popular in Elizabethan days, and so it was for more than a hundred years after as “the pleasantest Sauce”; and Evelyn considered it preferable to “most of our hotter herbs,” and “long wonder’d it has not long since been cultivated in the _Potagère_ as it is in France. It groweth on the rocks that are often moistened, at the least, if not overflowed with the sea water,” a verdict which tallies with the saying that Samphire grows out of reach of the waves, but within reach of the spray of every tide. I have found it growing in much that position on rocks on the seashore in Cornwall. Two other kinds of Samphire, Golden Samphire (_Inula Crithmifolia_) and Marsh Samphire (_Salicornia Herbacea_), are sometimes sold as the true Samphire, but neither of them have so good a flavour.

SKIRRETS (_Sium Sisarum_).

The Skirret and the leek’s aspiring kind,
The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind.

_The Salad._--COWPER.

“This is that siser or skirret which _Tiberius_ the Emperour commanded to be conveied unto him from Gelduba, a castle about the river of Rhine,” and which delighted him so much “that he desired the same to be brought unto him everye yeare out of Germanie.” Evelyn found them “hot and moist... exceedingly wholesome, nourishing and delicate... and so valued by the Emperor Tiberius that he accepted them for tribute”--a point that Gerarde’s statement hardly brought out. “This excellent root is seldom eaten raw, but being boil’d, stew’d, roasted under the Embers, bak’d in Pies whole, slic’d or in Pulp, is very acceptable to all Palates. ’Tis reported they were heretofore something bitter, see what culture and education effects.” On the top of these congratulations, perhaps it is unkind to say the reported bitterness has a very mythical sound, for long before Evelyn’s time, the Dutch name for skirret was Suycker wortelen (sugar root), and that Marcgrave has extracted “fine white sugar, little inferior to that of the cane” from it. But from Turner’s account there seems to have been formerly some confusion as to the identity of the plant, and one claimant to the title was somewhat bitter, so perhaps this was the cause of the remarks in _Acetaria_. In Scotland, Skirrets were called Crummock. Though few people seem to have appreciated them so much as did our ancestors, they were till lately sometimes boiled and sent to the table, but are now hardly ever seen.

SMALLAGE (_Apium graveolens_).

Smallage is merely wild celery, and all that is interesting about it is Parkinson’s description of his first making acquaintance with sweet smallage--our celery, which has been already quoted. He merely says of ordinary smallage that it is “somewhat like Parsley, but greater, greener and more bitter.” It grows wild in moist grounds, but is also planted in gardens, and although “his evil taste and savour, doth cause it not to be accepted unto meats as Parsley,” yet it has “many good properties both for inward and outward diseases.”

STONECROP (_Sedum_).

Stone-crop, Stone-hot, Prick-Madam or Trick-Madam is a _Sedum_, but which _Sedum_ the old Herbalists called by these names is not absolutely clear, it was probably _Sedum Telephium_ or _Sedum Album_. Evelyn speaks of “Tripe-Madam, _Vermicularis Insipida_,” which seems to point to the latter, as that used to be called Worm-grass. He says Tripe-madam is “cooling and moist,” but there is another Stone-crop of as pernicious qualities as the former are laudable, Wall-pepper, _Sedum Minus Causticum_ (most likely our _Sedum Acre_). This is called by the French, Tricque-Madame, and he cautions the “Sallet-Composer, if he be not botanist sufficiently skilful” to distinguish them by the eye, to “consult his palate,” and taste them before adding them to the other ingredients.

SWEET CICELY (_Myrrhis odorata_).

Sweet Cicely or Sweet Chervil was apparently less of a favourite than its romantic name would seem to warrant, for I can find no traditions concerning it. “Chervil” (of which this is a variety) says Gerarde, “is thought to be so called because it delighteth to grow with many leaves, or rather that it causeth joy and gladness.” There does not seem much connection between these two interpretations. He continues that “the name _Myrrhus_ is also called Myrrha, taken from his pleasant flavour of Myrrh.” Sweet Cicely has a very pleasant flavour, with this peculiarity, that the leaves taste exactly as if sugar had just been powdered over them, but personally I have never been able to recognise myrrh in it. It is a pretty plant, with “divers great and fair spread wing leaves, very like and resembling the leaves of Hemlocke... but of sweet pleasant and spice-hot taste. Put among herbes in a sallet it addeth a marvellous good rellish to all the rest. Some commend the green seeds sliced and put in a sallet of herbes. The rootes are eyther boyled and eaten with oyle and vinegare or preserved or candid.” Sweet Cicely is very attractive to bees, and was often “rubbed over the insides of the hives before placing them before newly-cast swarms to induce them to enter,” and in the North of England Hogg says the seeds are used to polish and scent oak floors and furniture.

TANSY (_Tanacetum vulgare_).

_Lelipa_--Then burnet shall bear up with this
Whose leaf I greatly fancy,
Some camomile doth not amiss
With savory and some tansy.

_Muses’ Elysium._

The hot muscado oil, with milder maudlin cast
Strong tansey, fennel cool, they prodigally waste.

_Polyolbion_, Song xv.

The name Tansy comes from _Athanasia_, Immortality, because its flower lasts so long, and it is dedicated to St Athanasius. It is connected with various interesting old customs, and especially with some observed at Easter time. Brand quotes several old rhymes in reference to this.

Soone at Easter cometh Alleluya.
With butter, cheese and a tansay.

From _Douce’s Collection of Carols_.

On Easter Sunday be the pudding seen
To which the Tansey lends her sober green.

_The Oxford Sausage._

Wherever any grassy turf is view’d,
It seems a tansie all with sugar strew’d.

From _Shipman’s Poems_.

The last lines occur in a description of the frost in 1654. None of these quotations refer to the plant alone; but to that kind of cake or fritter called taansie, and of which Tansy leaves formed an ingredient. Tansy must be “eaten young, shred small with other herbes, or else, the juiyce of it and other herbes, fit for the purpose beaten with egges and fried into cakes (in Lent and in the Spring of the year) which are usually called Tansies.” Though Parkinson speaks of their being eaten in Lent (as they no doubt were), the special day that they were in demand was Easter Day, and of this practice Culpepper has a good deal to say. Tansies were then eaten as a remembrance of the bitter herbs eaten by the Jews at the Passover. “Our Tansies at Easter have reference to the bitter herbs, though at the same time ’twas always the fashion for a man to have a gammon of bacon, to show himself to be no Jew.” This little glimpse of an old practice comes from Selden’s _Table Talk_ and the idea of taking this means to declare one’s self a Christian is really delightful. I must quote again from Brand to show another very extraordinary Easter Day custom. “Belithus, a ritualist of ancient times, tells us that it was customary in some churches for the Bishops and Archbishops themselves to play with the inferior clergy at hand-ball, and this, as Durand asserts, even on Easter Day itself. Why they should play at hand-ball at this time rather than any other game, Bourne tells us he has not been able to discover; certain it is, however, that the present custom of playing at that game on Easter Holidays for a tansy-cake has been derived from thence.” Stool-ball was apparently a most popular amusement and Lewis in his _English Presbyterian Eloquence_ criticises the tenets of the Puritans, and observes with disapproval that all games where there is “any hazard of loss are strictly forbidden; not so much as a game of stool-ball for a tansy is allowed.” From a collection of poems called “A Pleasant Grove of New Fancies,” 1657, Brand extracts the following verses:--

At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play
For sugar, cakes and wine
Or for a tansey let us pay,
The loss be thine or mine.

If thou, my dear, a winner be,
At trundling of the ball,
The wager thou shalt have and me,
And my misfortunes all.

Let us hope that the stake was handsomer than it sounds! Brand quotes another very curious practice in which Tansies have a share, once existing in the North. On Easter Sunday, the young men of the village would steal the buckles off the maidens’ shoes. On Easter Monday, the young men’s shoes and buckles were taken off by the young women. On Wednesday, they are redeemed by little pecuniary forfeits, out of which an entertainment, called a Tansey Cake, is made, with dancing. One cannot help wondering how this cheerful, if somewhat peculiar custom originated! In course of time Tansies came to be eaten only about Easter-time and the practice seems to have acquired at one period the lustre almost of a religious rite in which superstition had a considerable share. Coles (1656) and Culpepper (1652) rebel against this and show with force and clearness the advantages of eating Tansies throughout the spring. Coles ignores the ceremonial reasons and says that the origin of eating it in the spring is because Tansy is very wholesome after the salt fish consumed during Lent, and counteracts the ill-effects which “the moist and cold constitution of winter” has made on people... “though many understand it not and some simple people take it for a matter of superstition to do so.” This shows plainly that the idea of eating Tansies only at Easter, was pretty widely spread. Culpepper as usual is more incisive. He first gives the same reason that Coles does for eating Tansies in the spring; then: “At last the world being over-run with Popery, a monster called superstition pecks up his head, and... obscures the bright beams of knowledge by his dismal looks; (physicians seeing the Pope and his imps, selfish, began to do so too), and now, forsooth, Tansies must be eaten only on Palm and Easter Sundays and their neighbour days. At last superstition being too hot to hold, and the selfishness of physicians walking in the clouds; after the friars and monks had made the people ignorant, the superstition of the time, was found out by the virtue of the herb hidden and now is almost, if not altogether left off. Scarcely any physicians are beholden to none so much as they are to monks and friars; for wanting of eating this herb in spring, maketh people sickly in summer, and that makes work for the physician. If it be against any man or woman’s conscience to eat Tansey in the spring, I am as unwilling to burthen their conscience, as I am that they should burthen mine; they may boil it in wine and drink the decoction, it will work the same effect.” “The Pope and his imps” is a grand phrase! A more militant Protestant than Culpepper it would be difficult to find, even in these days.

From other writers, it seems that the phase of associating Tansies exclusively with Easter, must have worn itself out, for we find many descriptions of them on distinctly secular occasions. At the Coronation Feast of James II. and his Queen, a Tansie was served among the 1445 “Dishes of delicious Viands” provided for it, and I must quote some of the others:--“Stag’s tongues, cold; Andolioes; Cyprus Birds, cold and Asparagus; a pudding, hot; Salamagundy; 4 Fawns; 10 Oyster pyes, hot; Artichokes; an Oglio, hot; Bacon, Gammon and Spinnage; 12 Stump Pyes; 8 Godwits; Morels; 24 Puffins; 4 dozen Almond Puddings, hot; Botargo; Skirrets; Cabbage Pudding; Lemon Sallet; Taffeta Tarts; Razar Fish; and Broom Buds, cold.”[52] These are only a very few out of an immense variety that are also named.

Many recipes for a “Tansy” exist, and very often have only the slightest resemblance to one another, but this is rather a nice one and is declared by its transcriber to be “the most agreeable of all the boiled Herbaceous Dishes.” It consists of: “Tansey, being qualify’d with the juices of other fresh Herbs; _Spinach_, _green Corn_, _Violet_, _Primrose Leaves_, etc., at entrance of the spring, and then fry’d brownish, is eaten hot, with the Juice of Orange and Sugar.” Isaac Walton speaks of a “Minnow Tansy,” which is made of Minnows “fried with yolks of eggs; the flowers of cowslips and of primroses and a little tansy; thus used they make a dainty dish of meat.” Our ancestors seem to have had a great love of “batter,” for it is a prominent part in very many of their dishes. Mrs Milne Home says, “In Virginia the Negroes make Tansy-tea for colds and at a pinch, Mas’r’s cook will condescend to use it in a sauce,” but in English cookery, it has absolutely disappeared.

Tansy had many medicinal virtues. Sussex people used to say that to wear Tansy-leaves in the shoe, was a charm against ague.

Wild Tansy looks handsome when it grows in abundance on marshy ground; and, indeed, its feathery leaves are beautiful anywhere, and it has a more refreshing scent than the Garden-Tansy. “In some parts of Italy people present stalks of Wild Tansy to those whom they mean to insult,”[53] a proceeding for which there seems neither rhyme nor reason. Turner tells tales of the vanity of his contemporaries, masculine as well as feminine, for he says:

“Our weomen in Englande and some men that be sunneburnt and would be fayre, eyther stepe this herbe in white wyne and wash their faces with the wyne or ellis with the distilled water of the same.”

[52] Complete Account of the Coronations of the Kings and Queens of
England, J. Roberts.

[53] Folkard.

THISTLE (_Carduus Marianus and Carduus Benedictus_).

_Margaret._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay
it to your heart, it is the only thing for a qualm.

_Hero._ There thou prick’st her with a thistle.

_Beatrice._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in this
Benedictus.

_Margaret._ Moral! no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning; I meant
plain holy thistle.

_Much Ado about Nothing_, iii, 4.

That thence, as from a garden without dressing
She these should ever have, and never want.
Store from an orchard without tree or plant...
And for the chiefest cherisher she lent
The royal thistle’s milky nourishment.

_Br. Pastorals_, Book i.

The history, legends, and traditions surrounding Thistles in general, make far too large a subject to be entered on here, and only these two varieties can be considered. _Carduus Marianus_, the Milk or Dappled Thistle, has sometimes been called the Scotch Thistle, and announced to be the Thistle of Scotland. As a matter of fact, I believe, that after long and stormy controversy, that honour has been awarded to _Carduus Acanthioides_, but the Milk Thistle’s claims have received very strong support, and so it seems most probable, considering the context, that when Browne referred to the “Royal Thistle,” it was this one that he meant. This supposition is borne out by Hogg, who writes: “As Ray says, it is more a garden vegetable than a medicinal plant. The young and tender stalks of the root leaves when stripped of their spiny part, are eaten like cardoon, or when boiled, are used as greens. The young stalks, peeled and soaked in water to extract their bitterness, are excellent as a salad. The scales of the involucre are as good as those of the artichoke, and the roots in early spring are good to eat.” The seeds supply food to many small birds, and it is from the gold-finch feeding so extensively on them that it has been called _Carduelis_. This partiality of the gold-finch must have been observed in several lands, for the same name occurs in different tongues. In England, it has been called Thistlefinch; in French, _Chardonneret_, and in Italian, _Cardeletto_, _Cardeto_ being a waste covered with thistles. One cannot help remembering the charming line:--

“As the thistle shakes,
When three gray linnets wrangle for the seed,”

with the reflection that other birds besides gold-finches have a deep appreciation of it.

But to go back to the Thistle itself, after all these uses made of every part, no wonder that Browne called it a “chiefest cherisher of vital power!” Although, latterly, its reputation in medicine has fallen, in old days, on account of its numerous prickles (Doctrine of Signatures), it was thought good for stitches in the side. Culpepper has further advice: “In spring, if you please to boil the tender plant (but cut off the prickles, unless you have a mind to choke yourself), it will change your blood as the season changeth, and that is the way to be safe.”

_Carduus Benedictus_, called the Holy, or the Blessed Thistle, was considered a great preservative against the plague, and that it was also given for a sudden spasm is shown in the delightful scene between Beatrice and her friends in “Much Ado About Nothing.” It follows the _ruse_ that they have just played upon her, to persuade her that Benedict is already in love with her, in the hope that she may become enamoured of him, and the play upon the name is very charming. Culpepper says that _Carduus Benedictus_ was good against “diseases of melancholy,” which is additional evidence that Shakespeare did not go out of his way to find an imaginary remedy that would suit that occasion, but with exquisite skill took a remedy that would have been natural in his time, and surrounded it with wit. Less than a hundred years ago a decoction used to be made from its leaves, which are remarkable for their “intense bitterness,” and it was said to be an excellent tonic; but, like the Milk Thistle, the Holy Thistle’s virtues in medicine are now discredited. The thistle was once dedicated to Thor, and the bright colour of the flower was supposed to come from the lightning, and therefore lightning could not hurt any person or building protected by the flower. It was used a good deal in magic, and there is an old rite to help a maiden to discover which, of several suitors, really loves her best. She must take as many thistles as there are lovers, cut off their points, give each thistle the name of a man, and lay them under her pillow, and the thistle which has the name of the most faithful lover will put forth a fresh sprout! In East Prussia, says Mr Friend, there is a strange but simple cure for any domestic animal which may have an open wound. It is to gather four red thistle blossoms before the break of day, and to put one in each of the four points of the compass with a stone in the middle of them.

Here ends the list of Herbs, but before finishing the chapter I must add a few names of buds and berries which, though not herbs, were often employed as such, especially to garnish, or to flavour dishes. Evelyn includes many of these in his _Acetaria_. “The Capreols, Tendrils and Claspers of Vines,” very young, may be “eaten alone or mingled with other sallet. So may the ‘buds and young Turiones of the Tendrils’ of Hops, either raw, ‘but more conveniently being boil’d’ and cold, like asparagus.” Elder Flowers, infused in vinegar, are recommended, and “though the leaves are somewhat rank of smell, and so not commendable in sallet... they are of the most sovereign virtue, and spring buds and tender leaves excellent and wholesome in pottage at that season of the year.” Evelyn experimented with “the large _Heliotrope_ or Sunflower (e’er it comes to expand and show its golden face), which, being dress’d as the artichoak, is eaten for a dainty. This I add as a new discovery: I once made macaroons with ripe blanch’d seed, but the _Turpentine_ did so domineer over all that it did not answer expectation.” This must have been a disappointment to his adventurous spirit! Broom buds appeared on three separate tables at King James II.’s Coronation feast, and seem to have been popular, when pickled.

Violets were also used, and Miss Amherst quotes from an old cookery book the recipe of a pudding called “Mon amy,” which directs the cook to “plant it with flowers of violets and serve it forth.” Another recipe is for a dish called “Vyolette!” “Take flowrys of vyolet, boyle hem, presse hem, bray (pound) hem smal.” After this they are to be mixed with milk, ‘floure of rys,’ and sugar or honey, and finally to be coloured with violets. Pine-kernels were sometimes eaten. Shelley says of _Marenghi_:

“His food was the wild fig or strawberry;
The milky pine-nuts which the autumn blast
Shakes into the tall grass.”

And in England Parkinson writes, “The cones or apples are used of divers Vintners in this city, being painted to express a bunch of grapes, whereunto they are very like and are hung up on their bushes, as also to fasten keyes unto them, as is seene in many places. The kernels with the hard shels, while they are fresh, or newly taken out, are used by Apothecaries, Comfitmakers, and Cookes. Of them are made Comfits, Marchpanes and such like, and with them a cunning cook can make divers kech-choses for his master’s table.” Barberries were used as a garnish to salads and other dishes and sometimes as an ingredient. Evelyn mentions them as an item in “Sallet All-sorts,” and Gervase Markham describes the making of “Paste of Genoa,” a confection of Quince, and adds, “In this sort you now make paste of Peares, Apples, Wardens, Plummes of all kindes, Cherries, Barberries or whatever fruit you please.” He adds this fruit to the ingredients required in making aromatic vinegar, and also directs that a good quantity of whole Barberries, both branches and others, be served with Pike “or any fresh fish whatsoever.” Parkinson says, “The leaves are sometimes used in the stead of Sorrell to make sauce for meate, and by reason of their sournesse are of the same quality.” The “delicious _confitures d’épine vinette_, for which Rouen is famous,” are prepared from them, says Dr Fernie, and there is no doubt that they make an excellent jelly. Formerly they were so much prized that, as Miss Amherst quotes from Le Strange’s “Household Accounts,” in 1618, 3s. was paid for one pound of them.

Strawberry leaves were used as a garnish and for their flavour. Parkinson tells us that they were “alwayes used among other herbes in cooling drinks,” and Markham mentions both them and Violet leaves in his directions to “Smoar a Mallard,” and “to make an excellent _Olepotrige_, which is the only principall dish of boyled meate, which is esteemed in all _Spaine_. “For dessert”: The berries are often brought to the table as a rare service, whereunto Cleret wine, creame or milke is added with sugar. The water distilled of the berries is good for the passions of the heart, caused by the perturbation of the spirits being eyther drunk alone or in wine, and maketh the heart mery.” Such a pleasant and easy remedy against the evils arising from “perturbation of spirits” is worth remembering! Gerarde and Parkinson both speak of the prickly strawberry; a plant which is “of no use for meate” but which has “a small head of greene leaves, many set thick together like unto a double ruffe, and is fit for a gentlewoman to wear on her arme, etc. as a raritie instead of a flower.” Gerarde has a curious little note on its discovery. “Mr John Tradescant hath told me that he was the first that took notice of this Strawberry and that in a woman’s garden at Plimouth, whose daughter had gathered and set the roots in her garden, instead of the common Strawberry, but she finding the fruit not answer her expectation, intended to throw it away, which labour he spared her, in taking it and bestowing it among the lovers of such vanities.” The custom of transplanting wild strawberries was very general.

Wife, unto thy garden and set me a plot,
With strawberry rootes of the best to be got.
Such growing abroade, among thorns in the wood,
Wel chosen and picked proove excellent food.

_September’s Husbandry._--TUSSER.

Miss Amherst says that in the Hampton Court Accounts there are “several entries of money paid for strawberry roots, brought from the wood to the King’s garden.” The fact that this is no longer the custom, may explain the disappointment that some have experienced, who, in the hope of enjoying “the most excellent cordial smell” described by Sir Francis Bacon, have haunted their kitchen gardens when the strawberry leaves are dying, and without reward. The strawberries grown there at present are not, as in his day, natives, subjected to civilisation, but are chiefly of American or Asiatic origin (the first foreign strawberry cultivated in England was _Fragaria virginiana_, and was introduced from North America in 1629; four years after the Essay on Gardens was first published), and if their leaves have any fragrance, it must be of the faintest possible description. Anyone, however, who passes through a wood, towards evening, especially if it is a mild and slightly damp day in October, may speedily realise how true and admirable was this counsel given by the Great Lord Chancellor.