Produced by Ruth Hart
[Note: the original text had two footnotes 160 and two
footnotes 396. I have indicated these by naming them 160a and b,
and 396a and b. In the Index, I changed the spelling of
"Aglonquins" to "Algonquins". All other spelling remains the same.]
[Illustration: moon01]
VOYAGING TO THE MOON
_From Domingo Gonsales [A.D. 1638]_
_See page_ 46.
MOON LORE
BY THE
REV. TIMOTHY HARLEY, F.R.A.S.
"And when the clear moon, with its soothing influences, rises full
in my view,--from the wall-like rocks, out of the damp underwood,
the silvery forms of past ages hover up to me, and soften the
austere pleasure of contemplation."
_Goethe's "Faust." Hayward's Translation, London_, 1855,
_p_. 100.
LONDON:
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LE BAS & LOWREY,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1885
BUTLER & TAYLOR
THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS
FROME, AND LONDON
"I beheld the moon walking in brightness."--_Job_ xxxi. 26.
"The moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained."--_Psalm_
viii. 3.
"Who is she that looketh forth, fair as the moon?"--_Solomon's
Song_ vi. 10.
"The precious things put forth by the moon."--_Deuteronomy_
xxxiii. 14.
"Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale."--Addison's _Ode_.
"In fall-orbed glory, yonder moon Divine
Rolls through the dark-blue depths."--Southey's _Thalaba_.
"Queen of the silver bow! by thy pale beam,
Alone and pensive, I delight to stray,
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream,
Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way;
And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast:
And oft I think-fair planet of the night--
That in thy orb the wretched may have rest;
The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go--
Released by death-to thy benignant sphere;
And the sad children of despair and woe
Forget in thee their cup of sorrow here.
Oh that I soon may reach thy world serene,
Poor wearied pilgrim in this toiling scene!"
--_Charlotte Smith_.
PREFACE
This work is a contribution to light literature, and to the literature
of light. Though a monograph, it is also a medley.
The first part is mythological and mirthsome. It is the original
nucleus around which the other parts have gathered. Some years
since, the writer was led to investigate the world-wide myth of the
Man in the Moon, in its legendary and ludicrous aspects; and one
study being a stepping-stone to another, the ball was enlarged as it
rolled.
The second part, dealing with moon-worship, is designed to show
that anthropomorphism and sexuality have been the principal factors
in that idolatry which in all ages has paid homage to the hosts of
heaven, as _heaved_ above the aspiring worshipper. Man adores
what he regards as higher than he. And if the moon is supposed to
affect his tides, that body becomes his water-god.
The third part treats of lunar superstitions, many of which yet live in
the vagaries which sour and shade our modern sweetness and light.
The fourth and final part is a literary essay on lunar inhabitation,
presenting _in nuce_ the present state of the enigma of "the plurality
of worlds."
Of the imperfections of his production the author is partly
conscious. Not _wholly_ so; for others see us often more
advantageously than we see ourselves. But a hope is cherished that
this work--a compendium of lunar literature in its least scientific
branches--may win a welcome which shall constitute the worker's
richest reward. To the innumerable writers who are quoted, the
indebtedness felt is inexpressible.
CONTENTS.
I _MOON SPOTS_
1 Introduction 1
2 The Man in the Moon 5
3 The Woman in the Moon 53
4 The Hare in the Moon 60
5 The Toad in the Moon 69
6 Other Moon Myths 71
II _MOON WORSHIP_
1 Introduction 77
2 The Moon Mostly a Male Deity 82
3 The Moon a World-Wide Deity 87
4 The Moon a Water Deity 132
III _MOON SUPERSTITIONS_
1 Introduction 145
2 Lunar Fancies 152
3 Lunar Influences 175
IV _MOON INHABITATION_
_APPENDIX_ 259
_NOTES_ 263
_INDEX_ 285
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
1 Voyaging to the Moon _Frontispiece_
From Domingo Gonsales, 1638
2 The Man in the Moon 9
From Hone's _Facetiae and Miscellanies_, 1821.
Drawn by George Cruikshank.
3 "The Man in the Moon Drinks Claret" 12
(From the _Bagford Ballads_, ii, 119, Brit. Mus.)
4 "Who'll Smoak with the Man in the Moon?" 13
(Banks Collection in Brit. Mus.)
5 The Man in the Moon 22
From Ludwig Richter's _Der Familienshatz_, Leipzig, p. 25
6 Seal 28
In the _Archaeological Journal_ for March, 1848, p. 68
7 Representation of the Sabbath-Breaker in Gyffyn Church,
Near Conway 32
From Baring-Gould's _Curious Myths_
8 The Hare in the Moon 63
From Colin de Plancy's _Dictionnaire Infernal_
MOON SPOTS.
I. INTRODUCTION.
With the invention of the telescope came an epoch in human
history. To Hans Lippershey, a Dutch optician, is accorded the
honour of having constructed the first astronomical telescope, which
he made so early as the 2nd of October, 1608. Galileo, hearing of
this new wonder, set to work, and produced and improved
instrument, which he carried in triumph to Venice, where it
occasioned the intensest delight. Sir David Brewster tells us that
"the interest which the exhibition of the telescope excited at Venice
did not soon subside: Sirturi describes it as amounting to frenzy.
When he himself had succeeded in making one of these instruments,
he ascended the tower of St. Mark, where he might use it without
molestation. He was recognised, however, by a crowd in the street,
and such was the eagerness of their curiosity, that they took
possession of the wondrous tube, and detained the impatient
philosopher for several hours till they had successively witnessed its
effects." [1] it was in May, 1609, that Galileo turned his telescope
on the moon. "The first observations of Galileo," says Flammarion,
"did not make less noise than the discovery of America; many saw
in them another discovery of a new world much more interesting
than America, as it was beyond the earth. It is one of the most
curious episodes of history, that of the prodigious excitement which
was caused by the unveiling of the world of the moon." [2] Nor are
we astonished at their astonishment when they beheld mountains
which have since been found to be from 15,000 to 26,000 feet in
height--highlands of the moon indeed--far higher in proportion to
the moon's diameter than any elevations on the earth; when they saw
the surface of the satellite scooped out into deep valleys, or spread
over with vast walled plains from 130 to 140 miles across. No
wonder that the followers of Aristotle resented the explosion of their
preconceived beliefs; for their master had taught that the moon was
perfectly spherical and smooth, and that the spots were merely
reflections of our own mountains. Other ancient philosophers had
said that these patches were shadows of opaque bodies floating
between the sun and the moon. But to the credit of Democritus be it
remembered that he propounded the opinion that the spots were
diversities or inequalities upon the lunar surface; and thus
anticipated by twenty centuries the disclosures of the telescope. The
invention of this invaluable appliance we have regarded as marking
a great modern epoch; and what is usually written on the moon is
mainly a summary of results obtained through telescopic
observation, aided by other apparatus, and conducted by learned
men. We now purpose to go back to the ages when there were
neither reflectors nor refractors in existence; and to travel beyond
the bounds of ascertained fact into the regions of fiction, where
abide the shades of superstition and the dreamy forms of myth.
Having promised a contribution to light literature, we shall give to
fancy a free rein, and levy taxes upon poets and story-tellers, wits
and humorists wherever they may be of service. Much will have to
be said, in the first place, of the man in the moon, whom we must
view as he has been manifested in the mask of mirth, and also in the
mirror of mythology. Then we shall present the woman in the moon,
who is less known than the immortal man. Next a hare will be
started; afterwards a frog, and other objects; and when we reach the
end of our excursion, if we mistake not, it will be confessed that the
moon has created more merriment, more marvel, and more mystery,
than all of the other orbs taken together.
But before we forget the fair moon in the society of its famous man,
let us soothe our spirits in sweet oblivion of discussions and
dissertations, while we survey its argentine glories with poetic
rapture. Like Shelley, we are all in love with
"That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon." (_The Cloud_.)
Our little loves, who take the lowest seats in the domestic
synagogue, if they cannot have the moon by crying for it, will rush
out, when they ought to be in bed, and chant,
"Boys and girls come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day."
The young ladies of the family, without a tincture of affectation,
will languish as they gaze on the lovely Luna. Not, as a grumpy,
grisly old bear of a bachelor once said, "Because there's a man in
it!" No; the precious pets are fond of moonlight rather because they
are the daughters of Eve. They are in sympathy with all that is
bright and beautiful in the heavens above, and in the earth beneath;
and it has even been suspected that the only reason why they ever
assume that invisible round-about called crinoline is that, like the
moon, they may move in a circle. Our greatest men, likewise, are
susceptible to Luna's blandishments. In proof of this we may
produce a story told by Mark Lemon, at one time the able editor of
Punch. By the way, an irrepressible propensity to play upon words
has reminded some one that punch is always improved by the
essence of lemon. But this we leave to the bibulous, and go on with
the story. Lord Brougham, speaking of the salary attached to a new
judgeship, said it was all moonshine. Lord Lyndhurst, in his dry and
waggish way, remarked, "May be so, my Lord Harry; but I have a
strong notion that, moonshine though it be, you would like to see
the _first quarter_ of it." [3] That Hibernian was a discriminating
admirer of the moon who said that the sun was a coward, because he
always went away as soon as it began to grow dark, and never came
back till it was light again; while the blessed moon stayed with us
through the forsaken night. And now, feeling refreshed with these
exhilarating meditations, we, for awhile, leave this lovable orb to
those astronomical stars who have studied the heavens from their
earliest history; and hasten to make ourselves acquainted with the
proper study of mankind, the ludicrous and legendary lunar man.
II. THE MAN IN THE MOON.
We must not be misunderstood. By the man in the moon we do not
mean any public tavern, or gin-palace, displaying that singular sign.
The last inn of that name known to us in London stands in a narrow
passage of that fashionable promenade called Regent Street, close to
Piccadilly. Nor do we intend by the man in the moon the silvery
individual who pays the election expenses, so long as the elector
votes his ticket. Neither do we mean the mooney, or mad fellow
who is too fond of the cup which cheers and then inebriates; nor
even one who goes mooning round the world without a plan or
purpose. No; if we are not too scientific, we are too straightforward
to be allured by any such false lights as these. By the man in the
moon we mean none other than that illustrious personage, whose
shining countenance may be beheld many a night, clouds and fogs
permitting, beaming good-naturedly on the dark earth, and singing,
in the language of a lyric bard,
"The moon is out to-night, love,
Meet me with a smile."
But some sceptic may assail us with a note of interrogation, saying,
"Is there a man in the moon?" "Why, of course, there is!" Those
who have misgivings should ask a sailor; he knows, for the punsters
assure us that he has been to _sea_. Or let them ask any _lunatic_;
he should know, for he has been so _struck_ with his acquaintance,
that he has adopted the man's name. Or ask any little girl in the
nursery, and she will recite, with sweet simplicity, how
"The man in the moon
Came down too soon,
And asked the way to Norwich."
The darling may not understand why he sought that venerable city,
nor whether he ever arrived there, but she knows very well that
"He went by the south,
And burnt his mouth
With eating hot pease porridge."
But it is useless to inquire of any stupid joker, for he will idly say
that there is no such man there, because, forsooth, a certain single
woman who was sent to the moon came back again, which she
would never have done if a man had been there with whom she
could have married and remained, Nor should any one be misled by
those blind guides who darkly hint that it is all moonshine. There is
not an Indian moonshee, nor a citizen of the Celestial Empire, some
of whose ancestors came from the nocturnal orb, who does not
know better than that. Perhaps the wisest course is to inquire within.
Have not we all frequently affirmed that we knew no more about
certain inscrutable matters than the man in the moon? Now we
would never have committed ourselves to such a comparison had
we not been sure that the said man was a veritable and creditable,
though somewhat uninstructed person. But our feelings ought not to
be wrought upon in this way. We "had rather be a dog, and bay the
moon, than such a Roman" as is not at least distantly acquainted
with that brilliant character in high life who careers so
conspicuously amid the constellations which constitute the upper
ten thousand of super-mundane society. And now some inquisitive
individual may be impatient to interrupt our eloquence with the
question, "What are you going to make of the man in the moon?"
Well, we are not going to make anything of him. For, first, he is a
man; therefore incapable of improvement. Secondly, he is in the
moon, and that is out of our reach. [*] All that we can promise just
now is, to furnish a few particulars of the man himself; some
account of calls which he is reported to have made to his friends
here below; and also some account of visits which his friends on
earth have paid him in return.
[*] Besides, as old John Lilly says in the prologue to his _Endymion_
(1591), "There liveth none under the sunne, that knows what to
make of the man in the moone."
We know something of his residence, whenever he is at home: what
do we know of the man? We have been annoyed at finding his lofty
name desecrated to base uses. If "imagination may trace the noble
dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung-hole," literature
traces the man in the moon, and discovers him pressed into the
meanest services. Our readers need not be disquieted with details;
though our own equanimity has been sorely disturbed as we have
seen scribblers dragging from the skies a "name at which the world
grows pale, to point a moral, or adorn a tale." Political squibs, paltry
chapbooks, puny satires, and penny imbecilities, too numerous for
mention here, with an occasional publication of merit, have been
printed and sold at the expense of the man in the moon. For the sake
of the curious we place the titles and dates of some of these in an
appendix and pass on. We have not learned very many particulars
relating to the domestic habits or personal character of the man in
the moon, consequently our smallest biographical contributions will
be thankfully received. We must not be pressed for his photograph,
at present. We certainly wish it could have been procured; but
though photography has taken some splendid views of the
[Illustration: moon02]
_Geo. Cruikshank_. Hone's "_Facetiae_," 1821.
THE MAN IN THE MOON
"If Caesar can hide the sun with a blanket, or put the moon
in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light" (_Cymbeline_).
face of the moon, it has not yet produced any perfect picture of the
physiognomy of the man. It should always be borne in mind that, as
Stilpo says in the old play of _Timon_, written about 1600, "The
man in the moone is not in the moone superficially, although he bee
in the moone (as the Greekes will have it) catapodially,
specificatively, and quidditatively." [4] This beautiful language, let
us explain for the behoof of any foreign reader, simply means that
he is not always where we can get at him; and therefore his
venerable visage is missing from our celestial portrait gallery. One
fact we have found out, which we fear will ripple the pure water
placidity of some of our best friends; but the truth must be told.
"Our man in the moon drinks clarret,
With powder-beef, turnep, and carret.
If he doth so, why should not you
Drink until the sky looks blew?" [5]
Another old ballad runs:
"The man in the moon drinks claret,
But he is a dull Jack-a-Dandy;
Would he know a sheep's head from a carrot,
He should learn to drink cyder and brandy."
In a _Jest Book of the Seventeenth Century_ we came across the
following story: "A company of gentlemen coming into a tavern,
whose signe was the Moone, called for a quart of sacke. The drawer
told them they had none; whereat the gentlemen wondring were told
by the drawer that the man in the moon always drunke claret." [6]
Several astronomers assert the absence of water in the moon; if this
be the case, what is the poor man to drink? Still, it is an
unsatisfactory announcement to us all; for we are afraid that it is the
claret which makes him look so red in the face sometimes when he
is full, and gets a little fogged. We have ourselves seen
[Illustration: moon03]
"THE MAN IN THE MOON DRINKS CLARET."
"_Bagford Ballads_," ii. 119.
him actually what sailors call "half-seas over," when we have been
in mid-Atlantic. We only hope that he imbibes nothing stronger,
though it is said that moonlight is but another name for smuggled
spirits. The lord of Cynthia must not be too hastily suspected, for, at
most, the moon fills her horn but once a month. Still, the earth itself
being so invariably sober, its satellite, like Caesar's wife, should be
above suspicion. We therefore hope that our lunar hero may yet take
a ribbon of sky-blue from the milky way, and become a staunch
abstainer; if only for example's sake.
Some old authors and artists have represented the
[Illustration: moon04]
BANKS' COLLECTION OF SHOP BILLS.
man in the moon as an inveterate smoker, which habit surprises us,
who supposed him to be
"Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Which men call Earth,"
as the magnificent Milton has it. His tobacco must be bird's-eye, as
he takes a bird's-eye view of things; and his pipe is presumably a
meer-sham, whence his "sable clouds turn forth their silver lining on
the night." Smoking, without doubt, is a bad practice, especially
when the clay is choked or the weed is worthless; but fuming
against smokers we take to be infinitely worse.
We are better pleased to learn that the man in the moon is a poet.
Possibly some uninspired groveller, who has never climbed
Parnassus, nor drunk of the Castalian spring, may murmur that this
is very likely, for that all poetry is "moonstruck madness." Alas if
such an antediluvian barbarian be permitted to "revisit thus the
glimpses of the moon, making night hideous" as he mutters his
horrid blasphemy! We, however, take a nobler view of the matter.
To us the music of the spheres is exalting as it is exalted; and the
music of earth is a "sphere-descended maid, friend of pleasure,
wisdom's aid." We are therefore disposed to hear the following
lines, which have been handed down for publication. Their title is
autobiographical, and, for that reason, they are slightly egotistical.
"A SHREWD OLD FELLOW'S THE MAN IN THE MOON."
"From my palace of light I look down upon earth,
When the tiny stars are twinkling round me;
Though centuries old, I am now as bright
As when at my birth Old Adam found me.
Oh! the strange sights that I have seen,
Since earth first wore her garment of green!
King after king has been toppled down,
And red-handed anarchy's worn the crown!
From the world that's beneath me I crave not a boon,
For a shrewd old fellow's the Man in the Moon.
And I looked on 'mid the watery strife,
When the world was deluged and all was lost
Save one blessed vessel, preserver of life,
Which rode on through safety, though tempest tost.
I have seen crime clothed in ermine and gold,
And virtue shuddering in winter's cold.
I have seen the hypocrite blandly smile,
While straightforward honesty starved the while.
Oh! the strange sights that I have seen,
Since earth first wore her garment of green!
I have gazed on the coronet decking the brow
Of the villain who, breathing affection's vow,
Hath poisoned the ear of the credulous maiden,
Then left her to pine with heart grief laden.
Oh! oh! if this, then, be the world, say I,
I'll keep to my home in the clear blue sky;
Still to dwell in my planet I crave as a boon,
For the earth ne'er will do for the Man in the Moon." [7]
This effusion is not excessively flattering to our "great globe," and
"all which it inherit"; and we surmise that the author was in a
misanthropic mood when it was written. Yet it is serviceable
sometimes to see ourselves as others see us. On the other hand, we
have but little liking for those who "hope to merit heaven by making
earth a hell," in any sense. We prefer to believe that the tide is
rising though the waves recede, and that our dark world is waxing
towards the full-orbed glory "to which the whole creation moves."
Here for the present we part company with the man in the moon as
material for amusement, that we may track him through the mythic
maze, where, in well-nigh every language, he has left some traces of
his existence. As there is a side of the moon which we have never
seen, and according to Laplace never shall see, there is also an
aspect of the matter in hand that remains to be traversed, if we
would circumambulate its entire extent. Our subject must now be
viewed in the magic mirror of mythology. The antiquarian Ritson
shall state the question to be brought before our honourable house of
inquiry. He denominates the man in the moon "an imaginary being,
the subject of perhaps one of the most ancient, as well as one of the
most popular, superstitions of the world." [8] And as we must
explore the vestiges of antiquity, Asiatic and European, African and
American, and even Polynesian, we bespeak patient forbearance and
attention. One little particular we may partly clear up at once,
though it will meet us again in another connection. It will serve as a
sidelight to our legendary scenes. In English, French, Italian, Latin,
and Greek, the moon is feminine; but in all the Teutonic tongues the
moon is masculine. Which of the twain is its true gender? We go
back to the Sanskrit for an answer. Professor Max Mueller rightly
says, "It is no longer denied that for throwing light on some of the
darkest problems that have to be solved by the student of language,
nothing is so useful as a critical study of Sanskrit." [9] Here the
word for the moon is _mas_, which is masculine. Mark how even
what Hamlet calls "words, words, words" lend their weight and
value to the adjustment of this great argument. The very moon is
masculine, and, like Wordsworth's child, is "father of the man."
If a bisexous moon seem an anomaly, perhaps the suggestion of
Jamieson will account for the hermaphrodism: "The moon, it has
been said, was viewed as of the masculine gender in respect of the
earth, whose husband he was supposed to be; but as a female in
relation to the sun, as being his spouse." [10] Here, also, we find a
clue to the origin of this myth. If modern science, discovering the
moon's inferiority to the sun, call the former feminine, ancient
nescience, supposing the sun to be inferior to the moon, called the
latter masculine. The sun, incomparable in splendour, invariable in
aspect and motion, to the unaided eye immaculate in surface, too
dazzling to permit prolonged observation, and shining in the
daytime, when the mind was occupied with the duties of pastoral,
agricultural, or commercial life, was to the ancient simply an object
of wonder as a glory, and of worship as a god. The moon, on the
contrary, whose mildness of lustre enticed attention, whose phases
were an embodiment of change, whose strange spots seemed
shadowy pictures of things and beings terrestrial, whose appearance
amid the darkness of night was so welcome, and who came to men
susceptible, from the influences of quiet and gloom, of superstitious
imaginings, from the very beginning grew into a familiar spirit of
kindred form with their own, and though regarded as the
subordinate and wife of the sun, was reverenced as the superior and
husband of the earth. With the transmission of this myth began its
transmutation. From the moon being a man, it became a man's
abode: with some it was the world whence human spirits came; with
others it was the final home whither human spirits returned. Then it
grew into a penal colony, to which egregious offenders were
transported; or prison cage, in which, behind bars of light, miserable
sinners were to be exposed to all eternity, as a warning to the
excellent of the earth. One thing is certain, namely, that, during
some phases, the moon's surface strikingly resembles a man's
countenance. We usually represent the sun and the moon with the
faces of men; and in the latter case the task is not difficult. Some
would say that the moon is so drawn to reproduce some lunar deity:
it would be more correct to say that the lunar deity was created
through this human likeness. Sir Thomas Browne remarks, "The sun
and moon are usually described with human faces: whether herein
there be not a pagan imitation, and those visages at first implied
Apollo and Diana, we may make some doubt." [11] Brand, in
quoting Browne, adds, "Butler asks a shrewd question on this head,
which I do not remember to have seen solved:--
"Tell me but what's the natural cause,
Why on a Sign no Painter draws
The _Full Moon_ ever, but the _Half_?"
(Hudibras, B. II., c. iii.) [12]
Another factor in the formation of our moon-myth was the
anthropomorphism which sees something manlike in everything, not
only in the anthropoid apes, where we may find a resemblance more
faithful than flattering, but also in the mountains and hills, rivers
and seas of earth, and in the planets and constellations of heaven.
Anthropomorphism was but a species of personification, which also
metamorphosed the firmament into a menagerie of lions and bears,
with a variety of birds, beasts, and fishes. Dr. Wagner writes: "The
sun, moon, and stars, clouds and mists, storms and tempests,
appeared to be higher powers, and took distinct forms in the
imagination of man. As the phenomena of nature seemed to
resemble animals either in outward form or in action, they were
represented under the figure of animals." [13] Sir George W. Cox
points out how phrases ascribing to things so named the actions or
feelings of living beings, "would grow into stories which might
afterwards be woven together, and so furnish the groundwork of
what we call a legend or a romance. This will become plain, if we
take the Greek sayings or myths about Endymion and Selene. Here,
besides these two names, we have the names Protogenia and
Asterodia. But every Greek knew that Selene was a name for the
moon, which was also described as Asterodia because she has her
path among the stars, and that Protogenia denoted the first or early
born morning. Now Protogenia was the mother of Endymion, while
Asterodia was his wife; and so far the names were transparent. Had
all the names remained so, no myth, in the strict sense of the word,
could have sprung up; but as it so happened, the meaning of the
name Endymion, as denoting the sun, when he is about to plunge or
dive into the sea, had been forgotten, and thus Endymion became a
beautiful youth with whom the moon fell in love, and whom she
came to look upon as he lay in profound sleep in the cave of
Latmos." [14] To this growth and transformation of myths we may
return after awhile; meanwhile we will follow closely our man in
the moon, who, among the Greeks, was the young Endymion, the
beloved of Diana, who held the shepherd passionately in her
embrace. This fable probably arose from Endymion's love of
astronomy, a predilection common in ancient pastors. He was, no
doubt, an ardent admirer of the moon; and soon it was reported that
Selene courted and caressed him in return. May such chaste
enjoyment be ours also! We may remark, in passing, that classic
tales are pure or impure, very much according to the taste of the
reader. "To the jaundiced all things seem yellow," say the French;
and Paul said, "To the pure all things are pure: but unto them that
are defiled is nothing pure." According to Serapion, as quoted by
Clemens Alexandrinus, the tradition was that the face which appears
in the moon is the soul of a Sibyl. Plutarch, in his treatise, _Of the
Face appearing in the roundle of the Moone_, cites the poet
Agesinax as saying of that orb,
"All roundabout environed
With fire she is illumined:
And in the middes there doth appeere,
Like to some boy, a visage cleere;
Whose eies to us doe seem in view,
Of colour grayish more than blew:
The browes and forehead tender seeme,
The cheeks all reddish one would deeme." [15]
The story of the man in the moon as told in our British nurseries is
supposed to be founded on Biblical fact. But though the Jews have a
Talmudic tradition that Jacob is in the moon, and though they
believe that his face is plainly visible, the Hebrew Scriptures make
no mention of the myth. Yet to our fireside auditors it is related that
a man was found by Moses gathering sticks on the Sabbath, and that
for this crime he was transferred to the moon, there to remain till the
end of all things. The passage cited in support of this tale is
_Numbers_ xv. 32-36. Upon referring to the sacred text, we
certainly find a man gathering sticks upon the Sabbath day, and the
congregation gathering stones for his merciless punishment, but we
look in vain for any mention of the moon. _Non est inventus_. Of
many an ancient story-teller we may say, as Sheridan said of
Dundas, "the right honourable gentleman is indebted to his memory
for his jests and to his imagination for his facts."
Mr. Proctor reminds us that "according to German nurses, the day
was not the Sabbath, but Sunday. Their tale runs as follows: Ages
ago there went one Sunday an old man into the woods to hew sticks.
He cut a faggot and slung it on a stout staff, cast it over his shoulder,
and began to trudge home with his burthen. On his way he met a
handsome man in Sunday suit, walking towards the church. The
man stopped, and asked the faggot-bearer, 'Do you know that this is
Sunday on earth, when all must rest from their labours?' 'Sunday on
earth, or Monday in heaven, it's all one to me!' laughed the
woodcutter. 'Then bear your bundle for ever!' answered the stranger.
'And as you value not Sunday on earth, yours shall
[Illustration: moon05]
be a perpetual moon-day in heaven; you shall stand for eternity in
the moon, a warning to all Sabbath-breakers.' Thereupon the
stranger vanished, and the man was caught up with his staff and
faggot into the moon, where he stands yet." [16]
In Tobler's account the man was given the choice of burning in the
sun, or of freezing in the moon; and preferring a lunar frost to a
solar furnace, he is to be seen at full moon seated with his bundle of
sticks on his back. If "the cold in clime are cold in blood," we may
be thankful that we do not hibernate eternally in the moon and in the
nights of winter, when the cold north winds blow, "we may look up
through the casement and "pity the sorrows of this poor old man."
Mr. Baring-Gould finds that "in Schaumberg-lippe, the story goes,
that a man and a woman stand in the moon: the man because he
strewed brambles and thorns on the church path, so as to hinder
people from attending mass on Sunday morning; the woman
because she made butter on that day. The man carries his bundle of
thorns, the woman her butter tub. A similar tale is told in Swabia
and in Marken. Fischart says that there 'is to be seen in the moon a
mannikin who stole wood'; and Praetorius, in his description of the
world, that 'superstitious people assert that the black flecks in the
moon are a man who gathered wood on a Sabbath, and is therefore
turned into stone.'" [17]
The North Frisians, among the most ancient and pure of all the
German tribes, tell the tale differently. "At the time when wishing
was of avail, a man, one Christmas Eve, stole cabbages from his
neighbour's garden. When just in the act of walking off with his
load, he was perceived by the people, who conjured (wished) him
up in the moon. There he stands in the full moon, to be seen by
everybody, bearing his load of cabbages to all eternity. Every
Christmas Eve he is said to turn round once. Others say that he stole
willow-boughs, which he must bear for ever. In Sylt the story goes
that he was a sheep-stealer, that enticed sheep to him with a bundle
of cabbages, until, as an everlasting warning to others, he was
placed in the moon, where he constantly holds in his hand a bundle
of cabbages. The people of Rantum say that he is a giant, who at the
time of the flow stands in a stooping posture, because he is then
taking up water, which he pours out on the earth, and thereby causes
the flow; but at the time of the ebb he stands erect and rests from his
labour, when the water can subside again." [18]
Crossing the sea into Scandinavia, we obtain some valuable
information. First, we find that in the old Norse, or language of the
ancient Scandinavians, the sun is always feminine, and the moon
masculine. In the _Voelu-Spa_, a grand, prophetic poem, it is
written--
"But the sun had not yet learned to trace
The path that conducts to her dwelling-place
To the moon arrived was not the hour
When he should exert his mystic power
Nor to the stars was the knowledge given,
To marshal their ranks o'er the fields of heaven." [19]
We also learn that "the moon and the sun are brother and sister; they
are the children of Mundilfoeri, who, on account of their beauty,
called his son Mani, and his daughter Sol." Here again we observe
that the moon is masculine. "Mani directs the course of the moon,
and regulates Nyi (the new moon) and Nithi (the waning moon). He
once took up two children from the earth, Bil and Hiuki, as they
were going from the well of Byrgir, bearing on their shoulders the
bucket Soeg, and the pole Simul." [20] These two children, with
their pole and bucket, were placed in the moon, "where they could
be seen from earth"; which phrase must refer to the lunar spots.
Thorpe, speaking of the allusion in the _Edda_ to these spots, says
that they "require but little illustration. Here they are children
carrying water in a bucket, a superstition still preserved in the
popular belief of the Swedes." [21] We are all reminded at once of
the nursery rhyme--
"Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after."
Little have we thought, when rehearsing this jingle in our juvenile
hours, that we should some day discover its roots in one of the
oldest mythologies of the world. But such is the case. Mr.
Baring-Gould has evolved the argument in a manner which, if not
absolutely conclusive in each point, is extremely cogent and clear.
"This verse, which to us seems at first sight nonsense, I have no
hesitation in saying has a high antiquity, and refers to the Eddaic
Hjuki and Bil. The names indicate as much. Hjuki, in Norse, would
be pronounced Juki, which would readily become Jack; and Bil, for
the sake of euphony and in order to give a female name to one of the
children, would become Jill. The fall of Jack, and the subsequent
fall of Jill, simply represent the vanishing of one moon spot after
another, as the moon wanes. But the old Norse myth had a deeper
signification than merely an explanation of the moon spots. Hjuki is
derived from the verb jakka, to heap or pile together, to assemble
and increase; and Bil, from bila, to break up or dissolve. Hjuki and
Bil, therefore, signify nothing more than the waxing and waning of
the moon, and the water they are represented as bearing signifies the
fact that the rainfall depends on the phases of the moon. Waxing and
waning were individualized, and the meteorological fact of the
connection of the rain with the moon was represented by the
children as water-bearers. But though Jack and Jill became by
degrees dissevered in the popular mind from the moon, the original
myth went through a fresh phase, and exists still under a new form.
The Norse superstition attributed _theft_ to the moon, and the
vulgar soon began to believe that the figure they saw in the moon
was the thief. The lunar specks certainly may be made to resemble
one figure, but only a lively imagination can discern two. The girl
soon dropped out of popular mythology, the boy oldened into a
venerable man, he retained his pole, and the bucket was transformed
into the thing he had stolen--sticks or vegetables. The theft was in
some places exchanged for Sabbath-breaking, especially among
those in Protestant countries who were acquainted with the Bible
story of the stick-gatherer." [22]
The German Grimm, who was by no means a grim German, but a
very genial story-teller, also maintains this transformation of the
original myth. "Plainly enough the water-pole of the heathen story
has been transformed into the axe's shaft, and the carried pail into
the thornbush; the general idea of theft was retained, but special
stress laid on the keeping of the Christian holiday, the man suffers
punishment not so much for cutting firewood, as because he did it
on a Sunday." [23] Manifestly "Jack and Jill went up the hill" is
more than a Runic rhyme, and like many more of our popular strains
might supply us with a most interesting and instructive
entertainment; but we must hasten on with the moon-man.
We come next to Britain. Alexander Neckam, a learned English
abbot, poet, and scholar, born in St. Albans, in 1157, in commenting
on the dispersed shadow in the moon, thus alluded to the vulgar
belief: "Nonne novisti quid vulgus vocet rusticum in luna portantem
spinas? Unde quidam vulgariter loquens ait,
Rusticus in Luna
Quem sarcina deprimit una
Monstrat per spinas
Nulli prodesse rapinas." [24]
This may be rendered, "Do you not know what the people call the
rustic in the moon who carries the thorns? Whence one vulgarly
speaking says,
The Rustic in the moon,
Whose burden weighs him down,
This changeless truth reveals,
He profits not who steals."
Thomas Wright considers Neckam's Latin version of this popular
distich "very curious, as being the earliest allusion we have to the
popular legend of the man in the moon." We are specially struck
with the reference to theft; while no less noteworthy is the absence
of that sabbatarianism, which is the "moral" of the nursery tale.
In the British Museum there is a manuscript of English poetry of the
thirteenth century, containing an old song composed probably about
the middle of that century. It was first printed by Ritson in his
_Ancient Songs_, the earliest edition of which was published in
London, in 1790. The first lines are as follows:
"Mon in the mone stond ant strit,
On is bot-forke is burthen he bereth
Hit is muche wonder that he na down slyt,
For doute leste he valle he shoddreth and shereth." [25]
[Illustration: moon06]
In the _Archaeological Journal_ we are presented with a relic from
the fourteenth century. "Mr. Hudson Taylor submitted to the
Committee a drawing of an impression of a very remarkable
personal seal, here represented of the full size. It is appended to a
deed (preserved in the Public Record Office) dated in the ninth year
of Edward the Third, whereby Walter de Grendene, clerk, sold to
Margaret, his mother, one messuage, a barn and four acres of
ground in the parish of Kingston-on-Thames. The device appears to
be founded on the ancient popular legend that a husbandman who
had stolen a bundle of thorns from a hedge was, in punishment of
his theft, carried up to the moon. The legend reading _Te Waltere
docebo cur spinas phebo gero_, 'I will teach you, Walter, why I
carry thorns in the moon,' seems to be an enigmatical mode of
expressing the maxim that honesty is the best policy." [26]
About fifty years later, in the same century, Geoffrey Chaucer, in
his _Troylus and Creseide_ adverts to the subject in these lines:
"(Quod Pandarus) Thou hast a full great care
Lest the chorl may fall out of the moone."
(Book i. Stanza 147.)
And in another place he says of Lady Cynthia, or the moon:
"Her gite was gray, and full of spottis blake,
And on her brest a chorl painted ful even,
Bering a bush of thornis on his backe,
Whiche for his theft might clime so ner the heaven."
Whether Chaucer wrote the _Testament and Complaint of
Creseide_, in which these latter lines occur, is doubted, though it is
frequently ascribed to him. [27]
Dr. Reginald Peacock, Bishop of Chichester, in his _Repressor_,
written about 1449, combats "this opinioun, that a man which stale
sumtyme a birthan of thornis was sett in to the moone, there for to
abide for euere."
Thomas Dekker, a British dramatist, wrote in 1630: "A starre? Nay,
thou art more than the moone, for thou hast neither changing
quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thornes."
[28]
And last, but not least, amid the tuneful train, William Shakespeare,
without whom no review of English literature or of poetic lore could
be complete, twice mentions the man in the moon. First, in the
_Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act iii. Scene 1, Quince the carpenter
gives directions for the performance of Pyramus and Thisby, who
"meet by moonlight," and says, "One must come in with a bush of
thorns and a lanthorn, and say he comes to disfigure, or to present,
the person of Moonshine." Then in Act v. the player of that part
says, "All that I have to say is, to tell you that the lanthorn is the
moon; I, the man in the moon; this thorn-bush, my thorn-bush; and
this dog, my dog." And, secondly, in the _Tempest_, Act ii., Scene
2, Caliban and Stephano in dialogue:
"_Cal_. Hast thou not dropp'd from heaven?
_Ste_. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee. I was the man i' the
moon, when time was.
_Cal_. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: my mistress
show'd me thee, thy dog, and bush."
Robert Chambers refers the following singular lines to the man in
the moon: adding, "The allusion to Jerusalem pipes is curious;
Jerusalem is often applied, in Scottish popular fiction, to things of a
nature above this world":
"I sat upon my houtie croutie (hams),
I lookit owre my rumple routie (haunch),
And saw John Heezlum Peezlum
Playing on Jerusalem pipes." [29]
Here is an old-fashioned couplet belonging probably to our northern
borders:
"The man in the moon
Sups his sowins with a cutty spoon."
Halliwell explains _sowins_ to be a Northumberland dish of coarse
oatmeal and milk, and a _cutty_ spoon to be a very _small_ spoon.
[30]
Wales is not without a memorial of this myth, for Mr. Baring-Gould
tells us that "there is an ancient pictorial representation of our friend
the Sabbath-breaker in Gyffyn Church, near Conway. The roof of
the chancel is divided into compartments, in four of which are the
evangelistic symbols, rudely, yet effectively painted. Besides these
symbols is delineated in each compartment an orb of heaven. The
sun, the moon, and two stars, are placed at the feet of the Angel, the
Bull, the Lion, and the Eagle. The representation of the moon is as
follows: in the disk is the conventional man with his bundle of
sticks, but without the dog." [31] Mr. Gould says, "our friend the
Sabbath-breaker" perhaps the artist would have said "the thief," for
stealing appears to be more antique.
[Illustration: moon07]
REPRESENTATION IN GYFFYN CHURCH, NEAR CONWAY.
A French superstition, lingering to the present day, regards the man
in the moon as Judas Iscariot, transported to the moon for his
treason. This plainly is a Christian invention. Some say the figure is
Isaac bearing a burthen of wood for the sacrifice of himself on
Mount Moriah. Others that it is Cain carrying a bundle of thorns on
his shoulder, and offering to the Lord the cheapest gift from the
field. [32] This was Dante's view, as the succeeding passages will
show:
"For now doth Cain with fork of thorns confine
On either hemisphere, touching the wave
Beneath the towers of Seville. Yesternight
The moon was round."
(_Hell_. Canto xx., line 123.)
"But tell, I pray thee, whence the gloomy spots
Upon this body, which below on earth
Give rise to talk of Cain in fabling quaint?"
(_Paradise_, ii. 50.) [33]
When we leave Europe, and look for the man in the moon under
other skies, we find him, but with an altogether new aspect. He is
the same, and yet another; another, yet the same. In China he plays a
pleasing part in connubial affairs. "The Chinese 'Old Man in the
Moon' is known as _Yue-lao_, and is reputed to hold in his hands
the power of predestining the marriages of mortals--so that
marriages, if not, according to the native idea, exactly made in
heaven, are made somewhere beyond the bounds of earth. He is
supposed to tie together the future husband and wife with an
invisible silken cord, which never parts so long as life exists." [34]
This must be the man of the Honey-moon, and we shall not meet his
superior in any part of the world. Among the Khasias of the
Himalaya Mountains "the changes of the moon are accounted for by
the theory that this orb, who is a man, monthly falls in love with his
wife's mother, who throws ashes in his face. The sun is female."
[35] The Slavonic legend, following the Himalayan, says that "the
moon, King of night and husband of the sun, faithlessly loves the
morning Star, wherefore he was cloven through in punishment, as
we see him in the sky." [36]
"One man in his time plays many parts," and the man in the moon is
no exception to the rule. In Africa his _role_ is a trying one; for "in
Bushman astrological mythology the moon is looked upon as a man
who incurs the wrath of the sun, and is consequently pierced by the
knife (_i.e._ rays) of the latter. This process is repeated until almost
the whole of the moon is cut away, and only a little piece left; which
the moon piteously implores the sun to spare for his (the moon's)
children. (The moon is in Bushman mythology a male being.) From
this little piece, the moon gradually grows again until it becomes a
full moon, when the sun's stabbing and cutting processes
recommence." [37]
We cross the Atlantic, and among the Greenlanders discover a myth,
which is _sui generis_. "The sun and moon are nothing else than
two mortals, brother and sister. They were playing with others at
children's games in the dark, when _Malina_, being teased in a
shameful manner by her brother _Anninga_, smeared her hands
with the soot of the lamp, and rubbed them over the face and hands
of her persecutor, that she might recognise him by daylight. Hence
arise the spots in the moon. Malina wished to save herself by flight,
but her brother followed at her heels. At length she flew upwards,
and became the sun. Anninga followed her, and became the moon;
but being unable to mount so high, he runs continually round the
sun, in hopes of some time surprising her. When he is tired and
hungry in his last quarter, he leaves his house on a sledge harnessed
to four huge dogs, to hunt seals, and continues abroad for several
days. He now fattens so prodigiously on the spoils of the chase, that
he soon grows into the full moon. He rejoices on the death of
women, and the sun has her revenge on the death of men; all males
therefore keep within doors during an eclipse of the sun, and
females during that of the moon." [38] This Esquimaux story, which
has some interesting features, is told differently by Dr. Hayes, the
Arctic explorer, who puts a lighted taper into the sun's hands, with
which she discovered her brother, and which now causes her bright
light, "while the moon, having lost his taper, is cold, and could not
be seen but for his sister's light." [39] This belief prevails as far
south as Panama, for the inhabitants of the Isthmus of Darien have a
tradition that the man in the moon was guilty of gross misconduct
towards his elder sister, the sun. [40]