Some very weird superstitions exist in Ireland concerning the howlings
of dogs. If a dog is heard to howl near the house of a sick person,
all hope of his recovery is given up, and the patient himself sinks
into despair, knowing that his doom is sealed. But the Irish are not
alone in holding this superstition. The Egyptians, Hebrews, Greeks, and
Romans all looked on the howling of the dog as ominous. The very word
_howling_ may be traced in the Latin _ululu_, the Greek _holuluzo_, the
Hebrew _hululue_, and the Irish _ulluloo_. In Ireland the cry raised at
the funeral ceremony was called the _Caoin_, or keen, probably from
χυων, a dog. And this doleful lamentation was also common to other
nations of antiquity. The Hebrews, Greeks, and Romans had their hired
mourners, who, with dishevelled hair and mournful cadenced hymns, led
on the melancholy parade of death. Thus the Trojan women keened over
Hector, the chorus being led by the beautiful Helen herself.
The howling of the dog was considered by these nations as the first
note of the funeral dirge and the signal that the coming of death was
near.
But the origin of the superstition may be traced back to Egypt, where
dogs and dog-faced gods were objects of worship; probably because
Sirius, the Dog-star, appeared precisely before the rising of the
Nile, and thereby gave the people a mystic and supernatural warning to
prepare for the overflow.
The Romans held that the howling of dogs was a fatal presage of evil,
and it is noted amongst the direful omens that preceded the death of
Cæsar. Horace also says that Canidia by her spells and sorceries could
bring ghosts of dogs from hell; and Virgil makes the dog to howl at the
approach of Hecate.
It is remarkable that when dogs see spirits (and they are keenly
sensitive to spirit influence) they never bark, but only howl. The
Rabbins say that “when the Angel of Death enters a city the dogs do
howl. But when Elias appears then the dogs rejoice and are merry.” And
Rabbi Jehuda the Just states, that once upon a time when the Angel of
Death entered a house the dog howled and fled; but being presently
brought back he lay down in fear and trembling, and so died.
This strange superstition concerning the howling of dogs, when, as is
supposed, they are conscious of the approach of the Spirit of Death,
and see him though he is shrouded and invisible to human eyes, may be
found pervading the legends of all nations from the earliest period
down to the present time; for it still exists in full force amongst all
classes, the educated, as well as the unlettered peasantry; and to this
day the howling of a dog where a sick person is lying is regarded in
Ireland in all grades of society with pale dismay as a certain sign of
approaching death.
The Irish may have obtained the superstition through Egypt, Phœnicia,
or Greece, for it is the opinion of some erudite writers that the Irish
wolf-dog (_Canis gracius Hibernicus_) was descended from the dogs of
Greece.
It is strange and noteworthy that although the dog is so faithful to
man, yet it is never mentioned in the Bible without an expression
of contempt; and Moses in his code of laws makes the dog an unclean
animal, probably to deter the Israelites from the Egyptian worship of
this animal. It was the lowest term of offence—“Is thy servant a dog?”
False teachers, persecutors, Gentiles, unholy men, and others sunk in
sin and vileness were called dogs; while at the same time the strange
prophetic power of these animals was universally acknowledged and
recognized.
The Romans sacrificed a dog at the Lupercalia in February. And to meet
a dog with her whelps was considered in the highest degree unlucky. Of
all living creatures the name of “dog” applied to any one expressed the
lowest form of insult, contempt, and reproach. Yet, of all animals, the
dog has the noblest qualities, the highest intelligence, and the most
enduring affection for man.
* * * * *
The Irish wolf-dog had a lithe body, a slender head, and was fleet
as the wind. The form of the animal is produced constantly in Irish
ornamentation, but the body always terminates in endless twisted
convolutions. The great Fionn Ma-Coul had a celebrated dog called
“Bran,” who is thus described in the bardic legends: “A ferocious,
small-headed, white-breasted, sleek-haunched hound; having the eyes of
a dragon, the claws of a wolf, the vigour of a lion, and the venom of a
serpent.”
In the same poem Fionn himself is described in highly ornate bardic
language, as he leads the hound by a chain of silver attached to a
collar of gold: “A noble, handsome, fair-featured Fenian prince; young,
courteous, manly, puissant; powerful in action; the tallest of the
warriors; the strongest of the champions; the most beautiful of the
human race.”
Bran, like his master, was gifted in a remarkable degree with the
foreknowledge of evil, and thus he was enabled to give his young lord
many warnings to keep him from danger.
Once, when victory was not for the Fenian host, Bran showed the deepest
sorrow.
“He came to Fionn, wet and weary, and by this hand,” says the
chronicler, “his appearance was pitiful. He lay down before the chief,
and cried bitterly and howled.
“‘’Tis likely, my dog,’ saith Fionn, ‘that our heads are in great danger
this day.’”
Another time, the Fenian host having killed a huge boar, Ossian, the
bard and prophet, ordered it to be burnt as of demon race. Bran,
hearing this, went out readily and knowingly, and he brings in three
trees in his paw; no one knew from whence; but the trees were put into
the fire and the great pig was burnt, and the ashes of the beast were
cast into the sea.
The Fenian princes generally went to the hunt accompanied altogether by
about three thousand hounds; Bran leading, the wisest and fleetest of
all. The chiefs formed a goodly army, a thousand knights or more—each
wearing a silken shirt and a _chotan_ of fine silk, a green mantle and
fine purple cloak over to protect it; a golden diademed helmet on the
head, and a javelin in each man’s hand.
Once, a chief, being jealous of the splendour of the Fenian princes,
became their bitter enemy, and set himself to curse Bran above all
hounds in the land.
But Fionn answered, “If thou shouldest curse Bran, my wise, intelligent
dog, not a room east or west in thy great mansion but I will burn with
fire.”
So Bran rested on the mountain with Fionn, his lord and master, and was
safe from harm.
Yet, so fate decreed, Bran finally met his death by means of a woman.
One day a snow-white hart, with hoofs that shone like gold, was scented
on the hill, and all the hounds pursued, Bran leading. Hour after hour
passed by, and still the hart fled on, the hounds following, till one
by one they all dropped off from weariness, and not one was left save
Bran. Then the hart headed for the lake, and reaching a high cliff, she
plunged from it straight down into the water; the noble hound leaped
in at once after her, and seized the hart as she rose to the surface;
but at that instant she changed into the form of a beautiful lady, and
laying her hand upon the head of Bran, she drew him down beneath the
water, and the beautiful lady and Fionn’s splendid hound disappeared
together and were seen no more. But in memory of the event the cliff
from which he leaped is called Coegg-y-Bran; while the lake and the
castle beside it are called _Tiernach Bran_ (the lordship of Bran) to
this day. So the name and memory of Fionn’s hound, and his wisdom and
achievements are not forgotten by the people; and many dogs of the
chase are still called after him, for the name is thought to bring luck
to the hunter and sportsman. But the _Cailleach Biorar_ (the Hag of the
Water) is held in much dread, for it is believed that she still lives
in a cave on the hill, and is ready to work her evil spells whenever
opportunity offers, and her house is shown under the cairn, also the
beaten path she traversed to the lake. Many efforts have been made to
drain the lake, but the Druid priestess, the Hag of the Water, always
interferes, and casts some spell to prevent the completion of the work.
The water of the lake has, it is said, the singular property of turning
the hair a silvery white; and the great Fionn having once bathed
therein, he emerged a withered old man, and was only restored to youth
by means of strong spells and incantations.
* * * * *
In Cormac’s Glossary there is an interesting account of how the
first lapdog came into Ireland, for the men of Britain were under
strict orders that no lapdog should be given to the Gael, either of
solicitation or of free will, for gratitude or friendship.
Now it happened that Cairbré Musc went to visit a friend of his in
Britain, who made him right welcome and offered him everything he
possessed, save only his lapdog, for that was forbidden by the law.
Yet this beautiful lapdog was the one only possession that Cairbré
coveted, and he laid his plans cunningly to obtain it.
There was a law at that time in Britain to this effect: “Every criminal
shall be given as a forfeit for his crime to the person he has injured.”
Now Cairbré had a wonderful dagger, around the haft of which was an
adornment of silver and gold. It was a precious jewel, and he took fat
meat and rubbed it all over the haft, with much grease. Then he set it
before the lapdog, who began to gnaw at the haft, and continued gnawing
all night till the morning, so that the haft was spoiled and was no
longer beautiful.
Then on the morrow, Cairbré made complaint that his beautiful dagger
was destroyed, and he demanded a just recompense.
“That is indeed fair,” said his friend, “I shall pay a price for the
trespass.”
“I ask no other price,” said Cairbré, “than what the law of Britain
allows me, namely, the criminal for his crime.”
So the lapdog was given to Cairbré, and it was called ever after
_Mug-Eimé_, the slave of the haft, which name clung to it because it
passed into servitude as a forfeit for the trespass.
Now when Cairbré brought it back to Erin with him, all the kings of
Ireland began to wrangle and contend for possession of the lapdog, and
the contention at last ended in this wise—it was agreed that the dog
should abide for a certain time in the house of each king. Afterwards
the dog littered, and each of them had a pup of the litter, and from
this stock descends every lapdog in Ireland from that time till now.
After a long while the lapdog died, and the bare skull being brought
to the blind poet Maer to try his power of divination, he at once
exclaimed, through the prophetic power and vision in him, “O Mug-Eimé!
this is indeed the head of Mug-Eimé, the slave of the haft, that was
brought into Ireland and given over to the fate of a bondsman, and to
the punishment of servitude as a forfeit.”
* * * * *
The word hound entered into many combinations as a name for various
animals. Thus the rabbit was called, “the hound of the brake;” the hare
was the “brown hound;” the moth was called “the hound of fur,” owing
to the voracity with which it devoured raiment. And the otter is still
called by the Irish _Madradh-Uisgue_ (the dog of the water).
The names of most creatures of the animal kingdom were primitive, the
result evidently of observation. Thus the hedgehog was named “the ugly
little fellow.” The ant was the “slender one.” The trout, _Breac_, or
“the spotted,” from the skin. And the wren was called “the Druid bird,”
because if any one understood the chirrup, they would have a knowledge
of coming events as foretold by the bird.