A further post in my series republishing The Folklore of Herbs (1946), a book by Katherine Oldmeadow, who was a significant figure in the British pagan revival.

CHAPTER II

HERBS AND THE STARS

The virtues of herbs were known to the ancients and books on them were written in England in pre-Christian days, but mixed up with all the knowledge of medicine these contained there was a vast amount of superstitious beliefs.

Some of these linger in remote country districts to this day.

In Christian times the monks re-wrote the old herbals. They left out the heathen rites and ceremonies connected with the picking of plants and substituted prayers and psalms.

They taught the people that herbs were God’s gift, given to them for their health and well-being, and that while gathering them it would be holy to say a few paternosters, a psalm or the salutation:

“Hail thou holy herb

Growing in the ground.”

In spite of the efforts of the monks, however, it took centuries to put an end to pagan rites and stamp out certain superstitions.

Most people clung to the belief that the stars had a strong influence over human destinies; and the oldest astrologers had taught that the seven planets, the Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Saturn and Jupiter, had influence over plant life and that they all had their own trees, herbs and flowers which resembled them in special ways. This meant that physicians must be learned in astronomy; and from a book written by a sixteenth-century doctor we learn: “Above all things next to grammar a physician must have surely his Astronomye, to know how, when and at what time every medicine ought to be administered.”

No wonder that apothecaries and housewives kept the medicines most in demand ready to hand, for if anyone fell ill and needed a dose in a hurry it would have been difficult to obtain it, judging by an extract from an old herbal: “Angelica is a herb of the Sun in Leo; let it be gathered when he is there, the Moon applying to his good aspect; let it be gathered in his hour, or in the hour of Jupiter; let Sol be angular; observe the like in gathering the herbs of other planets and you may happen to do wonders!”

The sun, shining, warm and benevolent, owned all the bright, flaunting blossoms with cheerful countenances.

Sunflowers were his; gay dahlias, St. John’s wort and such warm, astringent herbs as saffron and rue. The sun’s rays have always been credited with the virtue of healing by ancients and moderns; but it was said in the past that, although English people had many sunless days, they remained gay and sprightly because they ate the sun’s warm herb, saffron, in great quantities.

Marigolds, true flowers of the sun, were often prettily called “the sun’s brides” or the “sun’s herb.”

The moon’s herbs were usually white and cool, and nearly all the water plants, forget-me-nots, water lilies, and even the green scum of the duck pond were hers. The saxifrages too, the little mouse ear and the sleepy white poppy.

The astrologers taught that all plants belonging to king sun and lady moon were beautiful, wholesome and good, and those belonging to the great Jupiter, fortunate. The sun owned the ash, famous for its healing properties and known as the tree of life. The bay tree was his too, and of the bay it was said: “All the evils old Saturn can do to the body of man, and they are not a few; yet neither witch, nor devil, thunder nor lightning, will hurt a man where a bay tree is.”

White roses belonged to the moon; but the red ones, except the damask, were Jupiter’s and meadow sweet and jessamine were his. The king of forest trees, the oak, was Jupiter’s; perhaps that was why it proved a fortunate hiding place for Charles the Second; and the house-leek, so often seen on cottage roofs because it is said to bring good luck, was also one of his plants.

Thistles, nettles, brambles, and all uncomfortable, prickly things belonged to Mars; and all hot, biting herbs like the mustards and peppers. These plants would naturally be the favourites of the god of war.

It is said that the Romans brought nettles into England and that the Roman soldiers used to rub their bodice vigorously with them to keep themselves warm in a climate they considered cold and uncongenial. Or it might have been that they thought a dose of the herbs of Mars would turn them into good soldiers. 

Strange to say, the homely onion belonged to Mars; but perhaps this was because it was supposed to have the virtue of killing infections.

Saturn, believed to be the evil planet, had dominion over most poisonous plants, cold herbs, to be used with caution. Hemlock, henbane, deadly nightshade were all his; also the mischievous darnel, once the plague of the cornfields. Sometimes the seeds of this noxious weed were ground up with the corn, which caused illness, and sometimes death, to those who ate the bread made from it. But even Saturn was allowed some innocent children, and the guileless pansy was his. Every one loves the pansy, and Shakespeare called it “Cupid’s flower.” But although sentimental songs have been written about “pretty little pansy faces,” to the imagination of some of us there is something slightly impish in a pansy’s face, especially in the darker ones, which sets one wondering if they really may not be among Saturn’s mischievous children.

The planet Mercury owned fewer plants, but those under his dominion were worth having and healing to the brain. Lilies-of-the-valley, the charming little speedwell, whose blue eyes carry such a pretty message to travellers, lavender, sweet marjoram, the homely dill, so soothing to babes and so abhorrent to witches, were his. Carraway seeds, used for cakes, fennel, with which very poor people in mediaeval days loved to flavour their food, and parsley, graceful and decorative, and once considered worthy to weave into garlands for Greek heroes.

Mercury’s herbs were mild and comforting.

The plants that belonged to Venus, the goddess of love, were usually the flowers specially dedicated to lovers. Dark damask roses, violets, primroses and all the vineyards with their rich, purple fruit.

The astrologers taught that all plants gathered for medicines or charms must be taken from the ground at a moment when the planet governing them was in a favourable position in the heavens, and they insisted that some plants were more potent if dug at night:

“Roots of hemlock digg’d i’ the dusk,

Slips of yew, slivered in the moon’s eclipse,”

were two of the things needed to make a witch’s curse really effective.

The moon played an important part in the gathering of simples, and farmers and gardeners who wanted good crops were careful to sow seeds at the new moon and to harvest them when the moon was on the wane.

Timber must be cut down with the old moon, too, unless the house and furniture built with it were to crumble away and rot. Old country people still say that mushrooms grow with the moon, and that they are only wholesome when the moon is waxing.

Even the dew on the herby grass, the gift of the gods, would give health and beauty to the plainest face if used at the dawn of May day. Right up to the nineteenth century lovely ladies believed in this beauty hint, and would rise at dawn to wash their faces in May dew. In his diary Pepys often mentions that his wife has gone off to wash her face in May dew, and once he seems a little bit indignant about it and records: “Troubled about three in the morning with my wife calling her maid up, and rising herself to go with her in her coach abroad to gather May dew.”

It was not until the seventeenth century that a learned herbalist, named William Coles, wrote a book which shocked, by its modern ideas, the physicians and apothecaries, who still firmly believed that astrology and medicine went together.

In this book William Coles flouted the ancient belief that celestial bodies had anything at all to do with plants, taking as his argument that plants were in existence before planets; or, to put it in his own quaint words: “Herbes are more ancient than the Sunne, or Moone, or Starres, they being created on the fourth day, whereas plants were the third.”

Thus, with the scriptures as his authority, did this old herbalist light a candle in the dark age of ignorance.