GHOSTLY TIMES AND SEASONS
Shakespeare, quoting from an early legend, has reminded us that at
Christmastide 'no spirit dares stir abroad.' And yet, in spite of this
time-honoured belief, Christmas would seem to be one of the favourite
seasons of the year for ghosts to make their presence felt in all kinds
of odd ways. Many an old baronial hall, with its romantic associations
and historic legends, is occasionally, as Christmastime comes round,
disturbed by certain uncanny sounds, which timidity is only too ready
to invest with the most mysterious and unaccountable associations. One
reason for this nervous credulity may be ascribed to the fact that, as
numerous old country seats are supposed to be haunted, Christmas is
a fitting opportunity for the ghost to catch a glimpse of the family
revelry and mirth. But, judging from the many legendary tales which
have been handed down in connection with Christmas, it would seem that
these spirit-members of the family intrude their presence on their
relatives in the flesh in various ways. In Ireland, the ill-fated
Banshee has selected this season on more than one occasion, to warn the
family of coming trouble. According to one tale told from Ireland, one
Christmas Eve, when the family party were gathered round the festive
board in an old castle in the South of Ireland, the prancing of horses
was suddenly heard, and the sharp cracking of the driver's whip.
Imagining that one of the absent members of the family had arrived,
some of the young people moved to the door, but found that it was the
weird apparition of the 'headless coach and horseman.'
Many such stories might be enumerated, which, under one form or
another, have imparted a dramatic element to the season. With some of
our country peasantry, there is a deep-rooted dread of encountering
anything either bordering on, or resembling, the supernatural, as
sometimes spirits are supposed at Christmastide to be unfriendly
towards mankind. In Northamptonshire, for instance, there is a strange
notion that the ghosts of unfortunate individuals buried at cross-roads
have a particular license to wander about on Christmas Eve, at which
time they wreak their evil designs upon defenceless and unsuspecting
persons. But conduct of this kind seems to be the exception, and ghosts
are oftentimes invoked at Christmastide by those anxious to have a
foretaste of events in store for them. Thus, the anxious maiden, in her
eager desire to know something of her matrimonial prospects, has often
subjected herself to the most trying ordeal of 'courting a ghost.' In
many countries, at the 'witching hour of midnight, on Christmas Eve,'
the candidate for marriage goes into the garden and plucks twelve
sage leaves, 'under a firm conviction that she will be favoured with
a glimpse of the shadowy form of her future husband as he approaches
her from the opposite end of the garden.' But a ceremony observed in
Sweden, in years past, must have required a still more strong-minded
person to take advantage of its prophetic powers. It was customary
in the morning twilight of Christmas Day, to go into a wood, without
making the slightest noise, or uttering a word; total abstinence from
eating and drinking being another necessary requirement. If these rules
were observed, it was supposed that the individual as he went along
the path leading to the church, would be favoured with a sight of as
many funerals as would pass that way during the ensuing year. With
this practice may be compared one current in Denmark, where, it is
said, when a family are sitting together on Christmas Eve, if anyone is
desirous of knowing whether a death will occur amongst them during the
ensuing year, he must go outside, and peep silently through the window,
and the person who appears at table sitting without a head, will die
before Christmas comes round again. The feast of St. Agnes was formerly
held in high veneration by women who wished to know when and whom
they should marry. It was required that on this day they should not
eat--which was called 'fasting St. Agnes' fast'--if they wished to have
visions of delight, a piece of superstition on which Keats has founded
his poem, 'The Eve of St. Agnes:'
They told me how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
Young virgins might have visions of delight,
And soft adorings from their love receive,
Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
If ceremonies due they did aright;
As supperless to bed they must retire,
And couch supine their beauties, lily white,
Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
Of heaven, with upward eyes, for all that they desire.
Laying down on her back that night, with her hands under her head, the
anxious maiden was led to expect that her future spouse would appear
in a dream, and salute her with a kiss. Various charms have long been
observed on St. Valentine's Eve, and Poor Robin's Almanack tells us how:
On St. Mark's Eve, at twelve o'clock,
The fair maid will watch her smock,
To find her husband in the dark,
By praying unto good St. Mark.
But St. Mark's Eve was a great day for apparitions. Allusion has been
made in a previous chapter to watching in the church porch for the
ghosts of those who are to be buried in the churchyard during the
following months; and Jamieson tells us of a practice kept up in the
northern counties, known as 'ash-ridlin.' The ashes being sifted, or
riddled, on the hearth, if any one of the family 'be to die within the
year, the mark of the shoe, it is supposed, will be impressed on the
ashes; and many a mischievous wight has made some of the credulous
family miserable, by slyly coming downstairs after the rest have
retired to bed, and marking the ashes with the shoe of one of the
members.'
In Peru it is interesting to trace a similar superstitious usage. As
soon as a dying man draws his last breath, ashes are strewed on the
floor of the room, and the door is securely fastened. Next morning
the ashes are carefully examined to ascertain whether they show any
impression of footsteps, and imagination readily traces marks, which
are alleged to have been produced by the feet of birds, dogs, cats,
oxen, or llamas. The destiny of the dead person is construed by the
footmarks which are supposed to be discernible. The soul has assumed
the form of that animal whose tracks are found.[318]
There is St. John's, or Midsummer Eve, around which many weird and
ghostly superstitions have clustered. Grose informs us that if anyone
sit in the church porch, he will see the spirits of those destined to
die that year come and knock at the church door in the order of their
decease. In Ireland there is a popular belief that on St. John's Eve
the souls of all persons leave their bodies, and wander to the place,
by land or sea, where death shall finally separate them from the
tenement of the clay. The same notion of a temporary liberation of the
soul gave rise to a host of superstitious observances at this time,
resembling those connected with Hallow Eve. Indeed, this latter night
is supposed to be the time of all others when supernatural influences
prevail. 'It is the night,' we are told, 'set apart for a universal
walking abroad of spirits, both of the visible and invisible world; for
one of the special characteristics attributed to this mystic evening is
the faculty conferred on the immaterial principle in humanity to detach
itself from its corporeal tenement and wander abroad through the realms
of space. Divination is then believed to attain its highest power,
and the gift asserted by Glendower of calling spirits "from the vast
deep" becomes available to all who choose to avail themselves of the
privileges of the occasion.'[319] Similarly, in Germany on St. Andrew's
Eve, young women try various charms in the hope of seeing the shadow of
their sweethearts; one of the rhymes used on the occasion being this:
St. Andrew's Eve is to-day;
Sleep all people,
Sleep all children of men
Who are between heaven and earth,
Except this only man,
Who may be mine in marriage.
The story goes that a girl once summoned the shadow of her future
husband. Precisely as the clock struck twelve he appeared, drank some
wine, laid a three-edged dagger on the table and vanished. The girl
put the dagger into her trunk. Some years afterwards there came a man
from a distant part to the town where the girl dwelt, bought property
there, and married her. He was, in fact, the identical person whose
form had appeared to her. Some time after their marriage the husband by
chance opened the trunk, and there found the dagger, at the sight of
which he became furious. 'Thou art the girl,' said he, 'who years ago
forced me to come hither from afar in the night, and it was no dream.
Die, therefore!' and with these words he thrust the dagger into her
heart.[320]
It may be added, that by general consent night-time is the season when
spirits wander abroad. The appearance of morning is the signal for
their dispersion.
The flocking shadows pale,
Troop to the infernal jail;
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave,
And the yellow skirted fays,
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their noon-loved maze.
The ghost of Hamlet's father says, 'Methinks I scent the morning air,'
and adds:
'Fare thee well at once!
The glow-worm shows the matins to be near.'
According to a popular notion formerly current, the presence of
unearthly beings was announced by an alteration in the tints of the
lights which happened to be burning--a superstition alluded to in
'Richard III.' (Act v. sc. 3)--where the tyrant exclaims as he awakens:
'The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight,
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
* * * * *
Methought the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent.'
So in 'Julius Cæsar' (Act iv. sc. 3), Brutus, on seeing the ghost of
Cæsar, exclaims:
'How ill this taper burns. Ha! who comes here?'
FOOTNOTES:
[318] Dorman's _Primitive Superstitions_, p. 48.
[319] See _Book of Days_, ii. pp. 519-521.
[320] See Thorpe's _Northern Mythology_, iii. p. 144.