Flowers And Flower-Gardens Part 13

Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded: and while she saw with pleasure that it was unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river."

Moore prepared himself for the writing of Lalla Rookh by "long and laborious reading." He himself narrates that Sir James Mackintosh was asked by Colonel Wilks, the Historian of British India, whether it was true that the poet had never been in the East. Sir James replied, "_Never_." "Well, that shows me," said Colonel Wilks, "that reading over D'Herbelot is as good as riding on the back of a camel." Sir John Malcolm, Sir William Ouseley and other high authorities have testified to the accuracy of Moore's descriptions of Eastern scenes and customs.

The following lines were composed on the banks of the Hooghly at Cossipore, (many long years ago) just after beholding the river one evening almost covered with floating lamps.[054]

A HINDU FESTIVAL.

Seated on a bank of green, Gazing on an Indian scene, I have dreams the mind to cheer, And a feast for eye and ear.

At my feet a river flows, And its broad face richly glows With the glory of the sun, Whose proud race is nearly run

Ne'er before did sea or stream Kindle thus beneath his beam, Ne'er did miser's eye behold Such a glittering ma.s.s of gold 'Gainst the gorgeous radiance float Darkly, many a sloop and boat, While in each the figures seem Like the shadows of a dream Swiftly, pa.s.sively, they glide As sliders on a frozen tide.

Sinks the sun--the sudden night Falls, yet still the scene is bright Now the fire-fly's living spark Glances through the foliage dark, And along the dusky stream Myriad lamps with ruddy gleam On the small waves float and quiver, As if upon the favored river, And to mark the sacred hour, Stars had fallen in a shower.

For many a mile is either sh.o.r.e Illumined with a countless store Of l.u.s.tres ranged in glittering rows, Each a golden column throws To light the dim depths of the tide, And the moon in all her pride Though beauteously her regions glow, Views a scene as fair below

D.L.R.

Mrs. Carsh.o.r.e alludes, I suppose to the above lines, or the following sonnet, or both perhaps, when she speaks of my erroneous Orientalism--

SCENE ON THE GANGES.

The shades of evening veil the lofty spires Of proud Benares' fanes! A thickening haze Hangs o'er the stream. The weary boatmen raise Along the dusky sh.o.r.e their crimson fires That tinge the circling groups. Now hope inspires Yon Hindu maid, whose heart true pa.s.sion sways, To launch on Gungas flood the glimmering rays Of Love's frail lamp,--but, lo the light expires!

Alas! what sudden sorrow fills her breast!

No charm of life remains. Her tears deplore A lover lost and never, never more Shall hope's sweet vision yield her spirit rest!

The cold wave quenched the flame--an omen dread That telleth of the faithless--_or the dead_!

D.L.R.

Horace Hayman Wilson, a high authority on all Oriental customs, clearly alludes in the following lines to the launching of floating lamps by _Hindu_ females.

Grave in the tide the Brahmin stands, And folds his cord or twists his hands, And tells his beads, and all unheard Mutters a solemn mystic word With reverence the Sudra dips, And fervently the current sips, That to his humbler hope conveys A future life of happier days.

But chief do India's simple daughters a.s.semble in these hallowed waters, With vase of cla.s.sic model laden Like Grecian girl or Tuscan maiden, Collecting thus their urns to fill From gus.h.i.+ng fount or trickling rill, And still with pious fervour they To Gunga veneration pay And with pretenceless rite prefer, The wishes of their hearts to her The maid or matron, as she throws _Champae_ or lotus, _Bel_ or rose, Or sends the quivering light afloat In shallow cup or paper boat, Prays for a parent's peace and wealth Prays for a child's success and health, For a fond husband breathes a prayer, For progeny their loves to share, For what of good on earth is given To lowly life, or hoped in heaven,

H.H.W.

On seeing Miss Carsh.o.r.e's criticism I referred the subject to an intelligent Hindu friend from whom I received the following answer:--

My dear Sir,

The _Beara_, strictly speaking, is a Mahomedan festival. Some of the lower orders of the Hindus of the NW Provinces, who have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, celebrate the _Beara_. But it is not observed by the Hindus of Bengal, who have a festival of their own, similar to the _Beara_. It takes place on the evening of the _Saraswati Poojah_, when a small piece of the bark of the Plantain Tree is fitted out with all the necessary accompaniments of a boat, and is launched in a private tank with a lamp. The custom is confined to the women who follow it in their own house or in the same neighbourhood.

It is called the _Sooa Dooa Breta_.

Yours truly,

Mrs. Carsh.o.r.e it would seem is partly right and partly wrong. She is right in calling the _Beara_ a _Moslem_ Festival. It is so; but we have the testimony of Horace Hayman Wilson to the fact that _Hindu maids and matrons also launch their lamps upon the river_. My Hindu friend acknowledges that his countrymen in the North West Provinces have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, and though he is not aware of it, it may yet be the case, that some of the Hindus of _Bengal_, as elsewhere, have done the same, and that they set lamps afloat upon the stream to discover by their continued burning or sudden extinction the fate of some absent friend or lover. I find very few Natives who are able to give me any exact and positive information concerning their own national customs. In their explanations of such matters they differ in the most extraordinary manner amongst themselves.

Two most respectable and intelligent Native gentlemen who were proposing to lay out their grounds under my directions, told me that I must not cut down a single cocoa-nut tree, as it would be dreadful sacrilege--equal to cutting the throats of seven brahmins! Another equally respectable and intelligent Native friend, when I mentioned the fact, threw himself back in his chair to give vent to a hearty laugh. When he had recovered himself a little from this risible convulsion he observed that his father and his grandfather had cut down cocoa-nut trees in considerable numbers without the slightest remorse or fear. And yet again, I afterwards heard that one of the richest Hindu families in Calcutta, rather than suffer so sacred an object to be injured, piously submit to a very serious inconvenience occasioned by a cocoa-nut tree standing in the centre of the carriage road that leads to the portico of their large town palace. I am told that there are other sacred trees which must not be removed by the hands of Hindus of inferior caste, though in this case there is a way of getting over the difficulty, for it is allowable or even meritorious to make presents of these trees to Brahmins, who cut them down for their own fire-wood. But the cocoa-nut tree is said to be too sacred even for the axe of a Brahmin.

I have been running away again from my subject;--I was discoursing upon May-day in England. The season there is still a lovely and a merry one, though the most picturesque and romantic of its ancient observances, now live but in the memory of the "oldest inhabitants," or on the page of history.[055]

See where, amidst the sun and showers, The Lady of the vernal hours, Sweet May, comes forth again with all her flowers.

_Barry Cornwall_.

The _May-pole_ on these days is rarely seen to rise up in English towns with its proper floral decorations[056]. In remote rural districts a solitary May-pole is still, however, occasionally discovered. "A May-pole," says Was.h.i.+ngton Irving, "gave a glow to my feelings and spread a charm over the country for the rest of the day: and as I traversed a part of the fair plains of Ches.h.i.+re, and the beautiful borders of Wales and looked from among swelling hills down a long green valley, through which the Deva wound its wizard stream, my imagination turned all into a perfect Arcadia. One can readily imagine what a gay scene old London must have been when the doors were decked with hawthorn; and Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, Morris dancers, and all the other fantastic dancers and revellers were performing their antics about the May-pole in every part of the city. I value every custom which tends to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners without destroying their simplicity."

Another American writer--a poet--has expressed his due appreciation of the pleasures of the season. He thus addresses the merrie month of MAY.[057]

MAY.

Would that thou couldst laugh for aye, Merry, ever merry May!

Made of sun gleams, shade and showers Bursting buds, and breathing flowers, Dripping locked, and rosy vested, Violet slippered, rainbow crested; Girdled with the eglantine, Festooned with the dewy vine Merry, ever Merry May, Would that thou could laugh for aye!

_W.D. Gallagher._

I must give a dainty bit of description from the poet of the poets--our own romantic Spenser.

Then comes fair May, the fayrest mayde on ground, Decked with all dainties of the season's pryde, And throwing flowres out of her lap around.

Upon two brethren's shoulders she did ride, The twins of Leda, which, on eyther side, Supported her like to their Sovereign queene Lord! how all creatures laught when her they spide, And leapt and danced as they had ravisht beene!

And Cupid's self about her fluttred all in greene.

Here are a few lines from Herrick.

Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appeare Re-clothed in freshe and verdant diaper; Thawed are the snowes, and now the l.u.s.ty spring Gives to each mead a neat enameling, The palmes[058] put forth their gemmes, and every tree Now swaggers in her leavy gallantry.

The Queen of May--Lady Flora--was the British representative of the Heathen G.o.ddess Flora. May still returns and ever will return at her proper season, with all her bright leaves and fragrant blossoms, but men cease to make the same use of them as of yore. England is waxing utilitarian and prosaic.

The poets, let others neglect her as they will, must ever do fitting observance, in songs as lovely and fresh as the flowers of the hawthorn,

To the lady of the vernal hours.

Poor Keats, who was pa.s.sionately fond of flowers, and everything beautiful or romantic or picturesque, complains, with a true poet's earnestness, that in _his_ day in England there were

No crowds of nymphs, soft-voiced and young and gay In woven baskets, bringing ears of corn, Roses and pinks and violets, to adorn The shrine of Flora in her early May.

The Floral Games--_Jeux Floraux_--of Toulouse--first celebrated at the commencement of the fourteenth century, are still kept up annually with great pomp and spirit. Clemence Isaure, a French lady, bequeathed to the Academy of Toulouse a large sum of money for the annual celebration of these games. A sort of College Council is formed, which not only confers degrees on those poets who do most honor to the G.o.ddess Flora, but sometimes grants them more substantial favors. In 1324 the poets were encouraged to compete for a golden violet and a silver eglantine and pansy. A century later the prizes offered were an amaranthus of gold of the value of 400 livres, for the best ode, a violet of silver, valued at 250 livres, for an essay in prose, a silver pansy, worth 200 livres, for an eclogue, elegy or idyl, and a silver lily of the value of sixty livres, for the best sonnet or hymn in honor of the Virgin Mary,--for religion is mixed up with merriment, and heathen with Christian rites.

He who gained a prize three times was honored with the t.i.tle of Doctor _en gaye science_, the name given to the poetry of the Provencal troubadours. A ma.s.s, a sermon, and alms-giving, commence the ceremonies.

The French poet, Ronsard who had gained a prize in the floral games, so delighted Mary Queen of Scots with his verses on the Rose that she presented him with a silver rose worth 500, with this inscription--"_A Ronsard, l'Apollon de la source des Muses_."

At Ghent floral festivals are held twice a year when amateur and professional florists a.s.semble together and contribute each his share of flowers to the grand general exhibition which is under the direct patronage of the public authorities. Honorary medals are awarded to the possessors of the finest flowers.

The chief floral festival of the Chinese is on their new year's day, when their rivers are covered with boats laden with flowers, and gay flags streaming from every mast. Their homes and temples are richly hung with festoons of flowers. Boughs of the peach and plum trees in blossom, enkianthus quinque-flra, camelias, c.o.c.ks...o...b.., magnolias, jonquils are then exposed for sale in all the streets of Canton. Even the Chinese ladies, who are visible at no other season, are seen on this occasion in flower-boats on the river or in the public gardens on the sh.o.r.e.

The Italians, it is said, still have artificers called _Festaroli_, whose business it is to prepare festoons and garlands. The ancient Romans were very tasteful in their nosegays and chaplets. Pliny tells us that the Sicyonians were especially celebrated for the graceful art exhibited in the arrangement of the varied colors of their garlands, and he gives us the story of Glycera who, to please her lover Pausias, the painter of Sicyon, used to send him the most exquisite chaplets of her own braiding, which he regularly copied on his canvas. He became very eminent as a flower-painter. The last work of his pencil, and his master-piece, was a picture of his mistress in the act of arranging a chaplet. The picture was called the _Garland Twiner_. It is related that Antony for some time mistrusting Cleopatra made her taste in the first instance every thing presented to him at her banquets. One day "the Serpent of old Nile" after dipping her own coronet of flowers into her goblet drank up the wine and then directed him to follow her example. He was off his guard. He dipped his chaplet in his cup. The leaves had been touched with poison. He was just raising the cup to his lips when she seized his arm, and said "Cease your jealous doubts, for know, that if I had desired your death or wished to live without you, I could easily have destroyed you." The Queen then ordered a prisoner to be brought into their presence, who being made to drink from the cup, instantly expired.[059]

Some of the nosegays made up by "flower-girls" in London and its neighbourhood are sold at such extravagant prices that none but the very wealthy are in the habit of purchasing them, though sometimes a poor lover is tempted to present his mistress on a ball-night with a bouquet that he can purchase only at the cost of a good many more leaves of bread or substantial meals than he can well spare. He has to make every day a banian-day for perhaps half a month that his mistress may wear a nosegay for a few hours. However, a lover is often like a cameleon and can almost live on air--_for a time_--"promise-crammed." 'You cannot feed capons so.'