Part I
Let me adore with my thrice happy pen
The sweet and sole delight of mortal men;
The cornucopia of all earthly pleasure,
Where bankrupt nature hath consumed her treasure;
A worthy plant springing from Flora’s hand,
The blessed offspring of an uncouth land.
Beaumont.
In the early days of her advent in these isles St Nicotine stood high in the land. For she had come bearing credentials from France and Portugal testifying to her many virtues as a healer of the sick as well as a social comfort. And sober-minded folk would sit outside their doors, pipe in hand, placidly inhaling the grateful vapour of the precious herb a kind Providence had sent them to assuage the ills flesh is heir to. But the quick eye and ready wit of the city wags saw the matter in a different light. The Spanish fashion of smoking, namely, of drawing the smoke into the lungs and ejecting it through ‘the organs of the nose,’ afforded them endless amusement, and sportive jests were heard on all sides about the men who made chimneys of their noses. The important part the exotic played in life’s comedy led the youthful aspirant to literary fame, Sir John Beaumont, to think that he could not do better than soar on the wings of the weed to the Parnassus he had already in view. Barely twenty, full of exuberance and lofty ideals, he poured forth his musings in a grand imitation of heroic verse. His work is entitled, ‘The Metamorphosis of Tobacco,’[1] (1602) and is dedicated to his friend ‘Maister Michael Drayton,’ whom he asks to take up the lines,
Tobacco like, unto thy brain
And that divinely touched, puff out the smoke again.
Ambitious to excel and full of noble endeavour he exclaims,
Let me the sound of great Tobacco praise
A pitch above those love-sick poets raise.
He conceives the idea of a parliament of the elements assembled to hear the complaint of Prometheus that his work is imperfect. He calls for help, and the Earth is invoked. But ‘Grandame Ops her grieved head did shake.’ She declares however that,
A plant shall from my wrinkled forehead spring
Which once enflamed with the stolne heavenly fire
Shall breath into this lifeless corse inspire.
Despite of Fate the elements combine to form the plant. Their work accomplished, it is found that Tellus had tempered too much terrene corruption in its composition. But for this
The man that tasted it should never die
But stand in record of eternitie.
Jupiter is enraged at the daring attempt to usurp his divine prerogative and banishes the plant to an unknown region. After long searching the graces discover it in the palace of the great Montezuma. They are royally entertained and wish for no greater happiness than to remain eternally regaling themselves with the vapour of the divine herb. Another flight of fancy reveals the ‘sweet and sole delight of mortal men’ as a nymph of Virginia receiving the visits of Jupiter clad in the garb of a shepherd. Juno, ever watchful over the movements of her lord, discovers the intrigue, and with threatening gesture storms at the poor thing and transforms her into the Indian weed.
It may be that the divine afflatus which Drayton, speaking of Marlowe, says, ‘rightly should possess a poet’s brain,’ imaging ‘those brave translunary things that the first poets had,’ had not yet descended upon the young poet of Grace Dieu. But it cannot be denied him that his diction is stately, and that at times he displays flashes of grandeur. Chalmers remarks of him that he brought to his task ‘a genius uncommonly fertile and commanding.’ All through his brief career he had yearned after a true poet’s renown. ‘No earthly gift,’ he wrote, ‘lasts after death but fame.’ And he sighed over the thought that all his labour should be left incomplete—‘That’s my vexation, that’s my only grief.’ His longing for posthumous fame Drayton tenderly notices in the following lines:
Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath.
Brought on too soon thy much lamented death.
But heaven was kind and would not let thee see
The plagues that must upon this nation be.
It is hard to say what plagues Drayton refers to, but it does seem unkind of Elizabethan scholars to have so neglected Sir John Beaumont, the purity and simplicity of whose life and elevated tone of work place him in marked contrast to his more versatile and distinguished brother, Francis.
Leaving the domain of the poet let us turn our gaze for a moment towards the heavens. Night’s sable mantle shrouds a sleeping world, and all is repose save the spirit of our dreams. Freed from control the ever active one flits at will in the realms of fairy-land, overleaping all difficulties, revelling in phantasms new and wonderful till day dawns, when she returns to her abode in man’s heavy brain to lighten the labour of his daily toil, and to store up memories of a world closed to mortal eyes.
A distant murmur as of an approaching storm disturbs the stillness of the night, from gathering clouds serpent-tongued lightning flashes across the sky; the furies rage, the curtains of the heavens open and lo! Jupiter appears glowing with unwonted fire. He vows he will suffer no longer the flouting scorn of imperious Juno, and with anger-distended nostrils he sniffs the ethereal air. But what is this that steals over his heated senses? Subduing, soothing, consoling more sweetly than incense from Aphrodite’s favoured altars. It ascends in cloudy wavelets from the abodes of mortals. He determines to hold a council of the gods and summons thereto the heroes of Earth famed throughout Elysium for their knowledge of the odic essence whose spirit has entered his own and quelled the rising of a conjugal storm.
Silently there glides into view a host of genial witnesses to St Nicotine’s balmy influence over the troubled spirits of mortals. Leading the spectral throng are Ben Jonson and Drummond, Beaumont and Fletcher, Dekker and Overbury, swathed in clouds of vapour as if comforting themselves with the old delectable pastime. A little to the rear, pale in the majesty of thought, are Shakespeare and Bacon, Spenser and Newton. Leaning to his friend Shakespeare, Bacon whispers, ‘No doubt the weed hath power to lighten the body of mortals and enable them to shake off uneasiness. But where is Raleigh? He paid devotion to his divinity most constantly, and ought to be able to speak of what return he got for all his worship.’
‘You know, Drummond, as well as I do, that I always did love the weed, in spite of all that King James said against it. Did I not make my prince of swaggerers, Captain Bobadil (who was to me what Falstaff was to Will Shakespeare) descant on the fragrant theme, thus:—
‘“I have been in the Indies where neither myself nor a dozen gentlemen more of my knowledge have received the taste of any other nutriment in the world for over a space of one-and-twenty weeks, but the juice of this simple only. Therefore it cannot be but ’tis divine—especially your Trinadado; your Nicotian is good also. By Hercules! I do hold it before any prince in Europe to be the most sovereign and precious herb that ever the earth tendered for the use of man.”’
‘But, O worthy Ben, did not the master over-charge his ‘prentice when he allowed the braggart to lay on the tinsel with so heavy a hand?’
‘Listen to me, my masters, let Ben Jonson read the Untrussing of the Humorous Poet without blenching if he can, for that might advance him in merit; he would acknowledge that Thomas Dekker can kick.’
‘Hist! feather-brained gossip; proclaim not so loudly thy kinship with the asinine family.’
Advancing with measured step the noble Raleigh appears and is greeted with the cry:—
Hail, mighty Raleigh! to whose name we owe
The use and knowledge of this sovereign plant.
To which the illustrious knight made answer, ‘Not so, gentle spirits of the past; to me it was not given to be the discoverer, or the first to bring to my countrymen a knowledge of the blessed herb whose sobering and soothing virtues lend man strength to bear with tranquility the injustice of the powerful. The honour you would do unto me belongs of right to others who were before me in the fray of battle and adventure. Humble service have I rendered at her shrine, receiving thereby sweet refreshment unstinted, even when on the threshold of thy domain, O mighty Jupiter.
‘Yet, by your leave, I will relate something of the wonderful tales told of this weed by the adventurers who first brought tidings of it to Europe, and of the New World and its people they had discovered in the far-off western seas.
Sir Walter Raleigh.
‘The chiefs and headmen of the Indians avow that the herb is a most precious gift of the Great Spirit who created them, and who rules over the affairs of their daily lives. He it was in ages long past, when all the different tribes were warring one against another, had taught them the peace-inspiring virtues of the plant. He it was who, out of a fragment broken from the red rock, had fashioned for their guidance the first peace-pipe. And it came to pass in this wise: The Master of Life, the Great Spirit that broods over creation, descended to the summit of the mountain; he called his children together, and they obedient to the divine command assembled in infinite numbers to hearken to his will. Then there came forth from the mountain a voice, crying, “Listen, O children of the redskin, to the words of your Great Father. Let your deliberations, domestic as well as public, be conducted under the soothing influence of the herb of life, the divine uppówoc. Let the pipe be to you a symbol of peace between you yourselves and all the tribes of men. In loving brotherhood let it be passed from the lips of those famous in the war of words as in the strife of battle; from those seated on the front bench in the possession of treasure to those of the hungry of the assembled senators who have nought but who fain would have all. Let the smoke-cloud that ascends from the calumet be to you a pledge of peace, of personal amity and good-will. Then shall your compacts one with another be held sacred before me, and the war-club be buried deep in the earth. Henceforward shall friendship and fraternity be yours for evermore—till, alas, they of the pale face have grabbed from you your lands, and the red man hath become a stranger and an outcast in the country of his birth.”
‘Thus spoke the Master of Life to his children of the redskin. Having fashioned with wondrous curves the emblem of happiness out of stone of the red rock, he filled the bowl with the leaves of the sacred herb, and commanded the lightning to kindle it into flame. High up on the mountain over their heads he smoked the first great symbol of peace among the nations. He told the assembled multitude that the rock, out of which the pipe was made, was formed of the flesh of their grandfathers, long ages ago, when the world was deluged and the people of the earth destroyed. Seeing the gathering of the waters, the children of the forest and of the prairie fled to the high lands, thinking thus to save themselves. The waters pursued them; they were overwhelmed in one mighty mass and their bodies were converted into the red sandstone rock of the mountain, therefore is it good medicine.
‘Yet one escaped the flood. A maiden, Kwaptahw, finding herself bereft of kindred, lay disconsolate on the mountain ridge. Then it came to pass that espying her from afar, the great war-eagle came to her side. She clung to the lord of the air, and he carried her to a place of safety high up on an adjacent cliff.
‘Then like the murmur of distant waters, the voice of the great spirit gradually melted away.
“—The Master of Life ascending
Through the opening of cloud curtains,
Through the doorways of the heaven,
Vanished from before their faces,
In the smoke that rolled around him
The pukwana of the peace-pipe.”’
The shadowy form of great Elizabeth’s gallant courtier gives place to the Shepherd of the Muse, who, as he passes, beams upon his friend a countenance of supernal sweetness. Then in a voice of dreamy reverie the genius of the Faërie Queene addresses the Olympian deity after this manner:—
‘While musing on the loves and adventures of chivalrous knights and ladies fair, away from the busy haunts of men in the wilds of Kilcolman,
Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar,
Keeping my sheep among the cooly shade
Of the green alders, by the Mulla’s shore;
There a strange shepherd chanced to find me out;
Whether allurèd with my pipe’s delight
Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about,
Or thither led by chance, I know not right;
Whom, when I askèd from what place he came,
And how he hight, himself he did ycleepe
The shepherd of the ocean by name,
And said he came from main-sea deep.
He, sitting me beside in that same shade,
Provokèd me to play some pleasant fit,
And when he heard the music that I made,
He found himself full greatly pleased at it;
Yet, æmuling my pipe, he took it in hond
My pipe—before that æmulèd of many—
And played thereon (for well that skill he conned):
Himself as skilful in that art as any.
He piped, I sung; and when he sung, I piped;
By change of turns each making other merry;
Neither envying other nor envied,
So piped we, until we both were weary.
‘Thus, O Jupiter, and you my fellow-denizens of Elysium, would we hold sweet communion of soul. And then it was I learnt of the right noble and valorous knight, the exceeding comfort of the “soverane weed,” which the elements in aforetime had formed for the solace of men and gods; for nothing loth am I to say that I drew from the pipe a foretaste of the peaceful joys of the blessed, and therefore did I recognise in the divine herb a gift from heaven, treasured up for mortals in Nature’s bounteous store. It seemeth, however, that the immortal powers swayed by imperious Juno had disowned the Virginian nymph and had lost the healing balm she breathes upon the chafed and fretful; yet, methinks, even Juno might find a piquant pleasure in a few whiffs of the weed.
‘But if Raleigh denies himself the renown of being the first to bring the Indian’s herb to his native country, he can fairly lay claim to the pleasure of having first planted it in Ireland. When he was Mayor of Youghall, and his abode the manor-house, he smoked his first pipe of tobacco in his garden, sheltered by the spreading branches of four yew trees that still may be seen forming a thatch-like covering for a summer-house. And in this Youghall garden he planted Ireland’s first instalment of the Indian weed. Ever foremost among the high-souled and adventurous, he neglected not other like humble things that he thought would be of service to his fellow-creatures, for here, too, he planted and cultivated Ireland’s greatest blessing, the potato, which fostered by prudence, rapidly gave to that wild and lawless land an abundance of food for the impoverished peasantry. He planted likewise, the affane cherry, and the sweetly perfumed wall-flower, which he had brought from the Azores, and which may still be seen growing on the banks of the Blackwater.
‘Much doubting me if aught I have said can profit this goodly company, I will call upon one who has seen the plant in its native soil and can describe its uses among the Indians. For the herb, which is commonly called tobacco, hath many names and divers virtues.’ Then rose before the recumbent throng, the historian of England’s first colony in the New World, Thomas Harriot, mathematician and astronomer. He began:—
‘A brief and true report I will render you of what I learned of the herb, the truth of which can be attested by Ralf Lane, the worthy governor of the new found land of Virginia. It befel me that I went out with a number of my countrymen to that far-off land in the Western Seas the great Columbus had discovered, that I might make record of all that happened concerning us on that perilous venture. It was undertaken by the orders of Sir Walter Raleigh, and was under the command of Sir Richard Grenville. Soon after we had made our peace with the natives, and they were of a peaceful race, not caring for bloody strife or for plunder, we found them making a fume of a dried leaf, which they rolled up in a leaf of maize, of the bigness of a man’s finger. By rubbing a stone with a stick, in a cunning way they had learned from some divine power, they contrived to kindle fire and putting a light to the leaf they smoked it, as is done by mortals in these days. It was the leaf of an herb which is sowed apart by itself and is called by the inhabitants uppówoc. They use it also in powder. The leaves thereof being dried and crushed small, they take the fumes or smoke thereof by sucking it through pipes made of clay into their stomach and head, from whence it purgeth superfluous humours, and it openeth all the pores and passages of the body, by which means the use thereof preserveth the body in health, and they know not many grievous diseases, wherewithal people in England were oftentimes affected.
‘This herb is of so precious estimation amongst them that they think their gods are marvellously delighted therewith. Whereupon they sometimes make hallowed fires and cast some of the powder therein for a sacrifice; being in a storm upon the waters, to pacify their gods they cast some into the air and into the water: so a wear for fish being newly set up they cast some therein and into the air; also after an escape from danger they cast some into the air likewise; but all is done with strange gestures, stamping, sometimes dancing, clapping of hands, holding up hands, and staring up into the heavens, uttering therewithal and chattering strange words and noises.
‘We ourselves, during the time we were there, used to smoke it after their manner, as also we did when we returned home and found many rare and wonderful experiments of the virtues thereof, of which the relation would require a volume by itself. The use of it by men and women of great calling as else, and many learned physicians bore testimony to its exceeding good qualities as a healer of the sick and a comforter in adversity.’
Then rose England’s unexampled smoker, Dr. Parr, renowned throughout Europe for his profound learning, theology and Greek. Smiling benignantly under the voluminous wig which furnished Sydney Smith with a droll figure of speech, he recounts the story of how his smoking had caused royalty to sneeze. This had happened on the occasion of a dinner given in honour of the Duke of Gloucester at Trinity College, Cambridge. Immediately the cloth had been removed the doctor began his usual practice of smoking his pipe. In the warmth of conversation he blew clouds so vigorously that a general rising in revolt took place led by his Royal Highness sneezing and holding his nose.
As to its effect upon the learned doctor, his physician, Dr. John Johnstone, explains that tobacco-smoking acted upon his patient like a charm, allaying his abnormally irritable nervous system. ‘It soothed him and assisted his private ruminations; it was his consoler in anxiety, and helpmate in composition. All who knew him had seen the air darkened with the fumes from his pipe when his mind was labouring with thought. Yet he lived the span of years allotted to mortals, falling ripe at the age of seventy eight.’ Thereupon a voice was heard protesting against the practice of smoking, in all hours and all occasions, even in the presence of ladies. ‘Were you then the divine who refused to dine out or spend an evening with a friend unless privileged to smoke when and where you pleased, even in the drawing-room of ladies, nay, would oftentimes single out the handsomest one to light your pipe?’
‘Truly your apprehension in this is in no wise at fault, nor would I mislead you as to pressing the ladies into the service of my pipe. I recognised that it was nature’s behest to woman to impart to duller mortals light and leading, and by watchful eye and ready wit to keep the flame aglow. You did not profit by observation or experience, else you would have learned this lesson.’
‘Your pardon, Dr. Parr, but I cannot conceive that you properly maintained the dignity of your calling by such discourtesy to the ladies. Of this am I conceived that had you so behaved in the presence of my wife she would have called you to better manners, unless, indeed, you had been entreated by the ladies to smoke as you did and blow fumes into their faces.’
‘Gently, gently, my sapient critic, mistake not the significance of the argument, which is this: Woman by divine command is man’s companion and helpmate through their earthly career. Shut her out from all participation in man’s social enjoyments, particularly one which like the Indian weed brings to the ruffled mind solace and an abiding peace, and there will spring up in her heart a feeling of resentment, as of a rival, which may find vent in lost tobacco or broken pipes. Therefore is it not well to teach the ladies to take pleasure in your smoking habit rather than leave them to find pleasure in putting your pipe out? And to thee, O troubled one, whose throne is the mighty Olympus, would I say that in St Nicotine’s soothing charm dwells an antidote to Juno’s censorious tongue, and in her clouds a shield against Aphrodite’s gracious influence.’
A smile plays across the countenance of Jupiter, but scorn flashes from Juno’s lustrous eyes. And Aphrodite flutters her wings in dissent, for already she feels her sway over mortals yielding to the rising power of St Nicotine of the peace-pipe. Casting her longing gaze towards the place of her birth.
To the Cyprian shores the goddess moves
To visit Paphos and her blooming groves,
Where to the Power an hundred altars rise,
And fragrant odours scent the balmy skies.