The Brahmin, having diverted himself a while with my surprise and disappointment, then informed me, that the rose had ever been regarded in Morosofia, as the symbol of female purity, delicacy, and sweetness; which notion had grown into a popular superstition, that whenever a marriage is consummated on the earth, one of these flowers springs up in the moon; and that in colour, shape, size, or other property, it is a fit type of the individual whose change of state is thus commemorated.
"What, father," said I, "could have given rise to so strange an opinion?"
"I know not," said he; "but I have heard it thus explained:—That the roses generally spring up, as well as blow, in the course of their long nights, during which the earth's resplendent disc is the most conspicuous object in the heavens; which two facts stand, in the opinion of the multitude, in the relation of cause and effect. Attributing, then, the symbolical character of the rose to its tutelary planet, they regard the earth in the same light as the ancients did the chaste Diana, and believe that she plants this her favourite flower in the moon, whenever she loses a votary. The priesthood encourage this superstition, as they have grafted on it some mystical rites, which add to their power and profit, and which one of our Pundits thinks has a great resemblance to the Eleusinian mysteries. There is, however, my dear Atterley, little satisfaction in tracing the origin of vulgar superstitions. They grow up like a strange plant in a forest, without our being able to tell how the seed found its way there. It is generally believed in the east, that the moon, at particular periods of her revolution round the earth, has a great influence in causing rain; though every one must see, that, notwithstanding such influence must be the same in every part of the earth, it is invariably fair in one place, at the very time that it is rainy in another. Nay, we may safely aver that there is not a day, nor an hour, in the year, in which it is not dry and rainy, cloudy and clear, windy and calm, in hundreds of places at once."
I told the Brahmin that the same opinion prevailed in my country. That the vulgar also believe the moon, according to its age, to have particular effects on the flesh of slaughtered animals; and that all sailors distinguish between a wet and a dry day, according to the position of the crescent.
We then inquired of the warden of this flowery plain, if he had ever remarked any difference in the number of roses which sprung up in a given period of time. He said he thought they were more numerous about five and twenty or thirty years ago, than he had ever seen them before or since. With that exception, he said, the number appeared to be nearly the same every year.
The Brahmin happening to be in one of those pleasant moods which are occasionally experienced by amiable tempers, even when under the pressure of sorrow and age, now amused himself in pointing out the flowers which probably represented the different nations of the earth; and when he saw any one remarkably small, pale and delicate, he insisted that it belonged to his own country; which point, however, I, not yielding to him in nationality, warmly contested. I would here remark, that as the rose is called gul in the Persian language and the ancient Sanscrit, the name of this field furnished another argument in support of the Brahmin's hypothesis of the origin of the moon.
While thus oblivious of the past, and reckless of the future, we were enjoying the present moment in this badinage, and I was extolling the odour of the rose, as beyond every other grateful to the olfactory nerves of man, a lively, flippant little personage came up, and accosted the Brahmin with the familiarity of an acquaintance. My companion immediately introduced me to him, and at the same time gave me to understand that this was the great Reffei, one of the most distinguished literati of the country. Although his eye was remarkably piercing, I perceived in it somewhat of the wildness which always characterizes a Glonglim. He was evidently impatient for discussion; and having informed himself of the subject of my rhapsody when he joined our party, he vehemently exclaimed,—"I am surprised at your falling in with that popular prejudice; while it is easy to show, that but for some feeling of love, or pity, or admiration, with which the rose happens to be associated—some past pleasure which it brings to your recollection, or some future pleasure which it suggests,—any other flower would be equally sweet. You see the rose a very beautiful flower; and you have been accustomed, whenever you saw and felt its beauty, to perceive, at the same time, a certain odour. The beauty and the odour thus become associated in your mind, and the smell brings along with it the pleasure you feel in looking at it. But the chief part of the gratification you receive from smelling a rose, arises from some past scene of delight of which it reminds you; as, of the days of your innocence and childhood, when you ran about the garden—or when you were decorated with nosegays—or danced round a may-pole, (this is rather a free translation)—or presented a bunch of flowers to some little favourite." He said a great deal more on the subject, and spoke so prettily and ingeniously, as almost to make a convert of me; when, on bringing my nose once more to the flower, I found in it the same exquisite fragrance as ever.
"Why do we like," he continued, "the smell of a beef-steak, or of a cup of tea, except for the pleasure we receive from their taste?"
I mentioned, as an exception to his theory, the codfish, which is esteemed a very savoury dish by my countrymen, but which no one ever regarded as very fragrant. But he repelled my objection by an ingenious hypothesis, grounded on certain physiological facts, to show that this supposed disagreeable smell was also the effect of some early associations. I then mentioned to him assafoetida, the odour of which I believed was universally odious. He immediately replied, that we are always accustomed to associate with this drug, the disagreeable ideas of sickness, female weakness, hysterics, affectation, &c. Unable to continue the argument, I felt myself vanquished. I again stooped to the flower, and as I inhaled its perfume, "Surely," said I to myself, "this rose would be sweet if I were to lose my memory altogether:" but recollecting the great Reffei's argument, I mentally added thanks to divine philosophy, which always corrects our natural prejudices.