Birth is thus an essential part of death, and death of birth—both forming, by their inseparable action, the highest and first intelligible stage of the inscrutable mystery of the active power of Nature. 'This,' the reader may say, 'is, however, only the old theme, worn threadbare by poet and moralist.' Let him look more earnestly into it—let him master it, and he will find it the germ of a deeper, a bolder, and a more genial Art than the world has known for ages. It is no slander on the intellect or sensibility of this day to say that its admiration for Nature is really at a low ebb, and that, with thousands even of the educated, nothing gives so little solid satisfaction as lovely scenery or other inartificially beautiful phenomena. The reason is that Poetry—the hymn which should elevate the soul in Nature-worship—instead of reflecting in every simile, every image, directly or indirectly, the deep mystery of life which intuitively associates with itself that of love and all loveliness, is satisfied with mere comparisons based on casual and petty resemblance. The reader or critic of modern times, when the poet speaks of 'rosy-fingered dawn,' or of 'cheeks like damask roses,' is quite satisfied with the accuracy of the simile as to delicate color, and with the refined, vague association of perfume and of individual memories attached to the flower. But if we could realize by even the dimmest hint that the mind of the poet was penetrated and filled by the knowledge that the rose was a flower-favorite of man in all lands in primeval ages, and, as Geology asserts, literally coeval with him; that its points of resemblance to woman properly gave it place in the oldest mythology as the floral type of the female godhead; that it was the earth-born reflection of the morning star, and rose from the foam with it when the Aphrodite-Astarte-Venus-Anadyomeno came to life; that, as the nearest symbol of beautiful virginity expanding into womanhood and maternity, it was appropriately allied to dawning life and light, and consequently to the rosy Aurora and to blushing youth; and that finally, in withered age, set around by sharp thorns, it is a striking likeness of wounding death, yet from which new roses may spring—we should find that in a knowledge of all these interchangable symbolisms lies a music and a color, a perfume and a feeling, as of a perfectly satisfactory Thought. Let it be observed that each of these rose-correspondences is directly based on Nature, and that, to a mind familiar with the antithetic identity of life and death, all are promptly soluble and mutually convertible, as by mental-magic alchemy. There is a truth and earnestness in them which, while stimulating the joyous sentiment, gives to every allusion to the rose the value of genius, and not of accident or the chic of a 'happy idea.'
But with the rose there are a thousand beautiful objects all consecrated by myth and legend, based on deeply-seated affinities, all reflecting the solemn mystery of birth and death in unity, all expressing love and pleasure, and all mutually convertible one into the other. All the differently-named Venuses, yes, all the goddesses of ancient mythology, are but one Venus and one goddess—all gods blend in one Arch-Bel, or 'Belerus old,' of myriad names—he, the inscrutable Abyss, self-developing into male and female—who is reflected again in every object which springs from them. All mountains meet in 'the solemn mystery of the guarded mount'—the lily teaches the same lessons as the rose and the sea shell—each and all are seen in the light ark which skims the waves, or floats high in heaven as the pearly-horned moon; and then the dew of the morning and the foaming sea become the wine of life and the honey of the flower, and they are found again in the CUP. So on through all beautiful forms, whether of nature or of the simpler creations of man—wherever we meet one, there, to the eye of him who has studied the purely natural science of symbolism, is a full garden of flowers of thought. Once master the primary solution of the great problem, once learn the method of its application, and every flower and simple attribute of life becomes invested with deep significance and earnest, passionate beauty. But this can be no half-way study, to be modified or qualified by prejudices. Do you seek, thirst for Truth, O reader? Dare you grasp it without blanching, without blushing? Then cast away all the loathsome littleness which has rusted and fouled around you, and look at Nature as she literally is, in her naked beauty, conceiving and forming, quickening and warming into infinitely varied and lovely life, and then forming once again with the strong and harsh influences of death, pain and decay. It avails nothing to be squeamish and timid in the tremendous laboratory of Truth. There is but little account taken of your parlor-propriety in the depths of ocean, where wild sea-monsters engender, where the million-tonned coral-rock rises to be crowned with palms, amid swaying tides and currents which cast up in a night leagues of sandy peninsulas. Little heed is taken of your prudish scruples or foul follies, where the screaming eagle chases his mate on the road of the mad North-wind; little care for your pitiful perversions of health and truth into scurvy jests or still scurvier blushes, wherever life takes new form as life, ever begetting through the endless chain of being. There is no learning a little and leaving the rest, for him who would explore the fountain-springs of Poetry and of Nature. The true poet, like the true man of science, cannot limit vision and thought to a handful of twigs or a cluster of leaves. In the minutest detail he recalls the roots, trunk, and branches—the smallest part is to him a reflection of the whole, and formed by the same laws.
The great minds of the early mythologic and hitherto Unknown Age had this advantage in shaping that stupendous Lehre or lore which embraced under the same laws, mythology, language, science, poetry, and art—they modified nothing and avoided nothing for fear of shocking conventional and artificial feelings. Nature was to them what she was to herself—literal. The great law of reproduction, around whose primary stage gathers all that is attractive or beautiful in organic life; the 'moment' toward which everything blossoms, and from which everything fades, was not by them ignored as non-existent, or treated in paltry equivoque, as though it were a secondary consequence and a vile corruption, instead of a healthy cause. Their science was, it is true, only founded on observation (and therefore easily warped to error by apparent analogies) instead of induction, while their æsthetics had the same illusive basis; and yet, by fearlessly following the great manifest laws of organic life, they were enabled to lay the foundations of all which in later ages came to perfection in the Hindu Mahabarata, and Sacrintala—in Greek statues, and, it may be, in Greek humanity—in Norse Eddas, and Druidic mysteries. All of these, and, with them, all that Phoenician, Etruscan, and Egyptian gave to beauty, owe their origin to the fearless incarnation in early times of the manifest laws of Nature in myth, song, and legend. He who would feel Nature as they felt it—a real, quickening presence, a thrilling, wildly beautiful life, inspiring the Moerad to madness by the intensity of rushing mountain torrent and passionately rustling leaves, a spirit breathing a god into every gray old rock and an exquisite love into every flower—should take up the clue which these old myths afford, and follow it to the end. Then the Hidden in forgotten lore will be revealed to him, the Orgie and Mystery will yield to him all, and more than all, they gave to Pythagoras of old. He will hold the key to every faith—nay more, he will form and feel new faiths for himself in studying mountains and seas. To him the cliff, high-rising above the foaming tide, the serpent gliding through the summer grass, the cool dark woodland path winding into arching leafy shadows, the brook and the narrow rocky pass, the red sunset and the crimson flower, gnarled roots and caverns, lakes, promontories, and headlands, will all have a strange meaning—not vague and mystical, but literal and expressive—a mutual and self-reflecting meaning, embodying all of the Beautiful that man loves best in life, and consecrated by the exquisite fables of a joyous mythology.
I have long thought that a work devoted to the natural poetry and antique mystery of such objects as occur most prominently in Nature would be acceptable to all lovers of the Beautiful. It would be worth the while, I should think, to all such, to know that every object, by land or sea, was once the subject of a myth, that this myth had a meaning founded in the deepest laws of life, and that all were curiously connected and mutually reflected in one vast system. It would be worth while to know, not only that dove and goblet, flower and ring were each the 'motive' of a graceful fable, but also that this fable was something more than merely fanciful or graceful—that it had a deep meaning, and that each and all were essential parts of one vast whole. And it would be pleasant, I presume, to see these myths and meanings somewhat illustrated by poem or proverb, or other literary ornament. What is here offered is, indeed, little more than a beginning—for the actual completion of such a work would involve the learning and labor, not of a man, but of an age. I trust, however, that these chapters may induce some curiosity and research into the marvels and mysteries of antique symbolism, and perhaps invest with a new interest many objects hitherto valued more for their external attractions than for their associations.
The reading world has for many years received with favor works purporting to teach with poetic illustration the Language of Flowers. But we learn from ancient lore that there is a secret language and a symbolism, not only of flowers, but of all natural objects. These objects, on one side, or from one point of view, all stand for each other, and are, in fact, synonymes—the whole representing singly the Venus-mystery of love and generation, or life. That is to say, this is what they do positively—for negatively, at the same time, and under the same forms, they also typify death, repulsion, darkness—even as the same word in Hebrew often means unity or harmony when read backward, and the reverse when taken forward. Why they represent opposites (the great opposites of existence, life and death, lust and loathing, darkness and light) is evident enough to any one who will reflect that each was intended to represent in itself all Nature, and that in Nature the great mystery of mysteries is the springing of death from life and of life from death by means of the agency of sexual action through vitality and light.
I would beg the reader to constantly bear in mind this fact when studying the symbolism and mythology of Nature—that among the ancients every object, beginning with the serpent, typified all that is, or all Nature, and consequently the opposites of Death and Life, united in one, as also the male and female principle, darkness and light, sleep and waking, and, in fact, all antagonisms. Even when, as in the case of the goat, the wild boar, or the Typhon serpent of the waters, destruction is more peculiarly implied, the fact that destruction is simply a preparation for fresh life was never forgotten. The destroying, undulating, wavy serpent of the waters was also the type of life, and wound around the staff of Escalapius as a healing emblem, recalling the brazen serpent of Moses. In like manner the Tree of Life or of Knowledge was the tree also of Death, or of Good and of Evil, arbor cogniti boni et mali, and, according to the Rabbis, of sexual generation, from eating of which the first parents became self-conscious. Beans, which were symbols of impurity and peculiarly identified with evil (Menke, De Leguminibus Veterum, Gottingen, 1814), were also typical of supporting life and of reviving spring and light. To see all reflected in each, and each in all, is, in fact, the key to all the mysteries of symbolism and the clue to the whole poetry of Nature.
I propose in the following chapters to discuss the poetry and mystery of flowers, herbs, and other objects, and give not only their ancient signification, but also their more modern meaning, as set forth in song and in tradition.
THE ROSE.
'I felix Rosa, mollibusque sertis
Nostri cinge comas Apollinaris.
Quas tu nectere candidas, sed olim,
Sic te semper amet Venus, memento!'
Martial, Epig. 88, lib. 7.
Among the most exquisite outbreathings of feeling in Nature we have the Rose. Many flowers are in certain senses more beautiful, but as, among women, she who charms is not always the most highly gifted with conventional attractions, so it is with the Queen of the Garden, whose proud simplicity is delicately blended with a familiar, friendly grace, which wins by the tenderest spell of association.
Of all flowers, of all ages, in every land, the Rose has ever been most intimately connected with humanity—a sentiment so earnestly expressed and so lovingly repeated in the poetry, art, and myths of the olden time, that it would seem as if tradition had once recorded what science has only recently discovered, that this plant was coeval with Man. Inferior, indeed, to the sacred Lotus as a religious symbol, the Rose has always been superior to her sister of the silent waters as expressing the most delicate mysteries of Beauty and of Love. The Lotus, the only rival of the Rose in the early Nature-worship,[B] furnished indeed in its name alone a solemn formula of faith which has been more frequently repeated than any other on earth. It was the flower of mystery, the primeval emblem of Pantheism in beauty, the blossom of the Morning Land. But the Rose belongs to the revellers and lovers in Persia, to the worship and banquets of the joyous Greeks, to those who meet in gardens by moonlight beside fountains, the children of Aphrodite the Foam-born.