TREES AND SPRINGS.
Tree-worship--Ygdrasil--Personality of Plants--Tree-ancestors--
"Wassailing"--Relics of Tree-worship--Connla's Well--Cutting down
Trees Unlucky--Spring at Monzie--Marriage Well--Pear-Tree Well
--Some Miraculous Trees--External Soul--Its Connection with
Trees, &c.--Arms of Glasgow.
Trees were at one time worshipped as well as fountains. Ygdrasil,
the world-tree of Scandinavian mythology, had three roots,
and underneath each, was a fountain of wonderful virtues. This
represents the connection between tree and well in the domain of
mythology. But the same superstition was connected with ordinary
trees and wells. Glancing back over the history of civilisation,
we reach a period, when vegetation was endowed with personality. As
plants manifested the phenomena of life and death like man and the
lower animals, they had a similar kind of existence attributed to
them. Among some savages to-day, the fragrance of a flower is thought
to be its soul. As there was thus no hard and fast line between man
and the vegetable kingdom, the one could be derived from the other;
in other words, men could have trees as their ancestors. Curious
survivals of such a belief lie both revealed and concealed in the
language of to-day. Though we are far separated from such a phase
of archaic religion, we speak of the branches of a family. At one
time such an expression represented a literal fact, and not a mere
metaphor. In like manner, we call a son, who resembles his father,
"a chip of the old block." But how few when using the phrase are alive
to its real force! Mr. Keary, in his "Outlines of Primitive Belief,"
observes, "Even when the literal notion of the descent from a tree
had been lost sight of, the close connection between the prosperity
of the tribe and the life of its fetish was often strictly held. The
village tree of the German races was originally a tribal tree with
whose existence the life of the village was involved."
The picturesque ceremony known as the "Wassailing of Apple-trees,"
kept up till lately in Devon and Cornwall, carries our thoughts back
to the time when tree-worship was a thriving cult in our land. It was
celebrated on the evening before Epiphany (January 6th). The farmer,
accompanied by his labourers, carried a pail of cider with roasted
apples in it into the orchard. The pail was placed on the ground,
and each one of the company took from it a cupful of the liquid. They
then stood before the trees and repeated the following lines:--
"Health to thee, good apple tree,
Well to bear pocket-fulls, hat-fulls,
Peck-fulls, bushel bag-fulls."
Part of the contents of the cup was then drunk, and the remainder was
thrown at the tree amid shouts from the by-standers. Relics of the
same cult can be traced in the superstitious regard for such trees as
the rowan, the elder, &c., and in the decoration of the May-pole and
the Christmas Tree. According to an ancient Irish legend, a certain
spring in Erin, called Connla's Well, had growing over it nine mystical
hazel trees. Year by year these trees produced their flowers and
fruit simultaneously. The nuts were of a brilliant crimson colour and
contained in some mysterious way the knowledge of all that was best
in poetry and art. Professor O'Curry, in his "Lectures on the Manners
and Customs of the Ancient Irish," refers to this legend, and says,
"No sooner were the beautiful nuts produced on the trees than they
always dropped into the well, raising by their fall a succession of
shining red bubbles. Now, during this time the water was always full of
salmon, and no sooner did the bubbles appear than these salmon darted
to the surface and ate the nuts, after which they made their way to
the river. The eating of the nuts produced brilliant crimson spots on
the bellies of these salmon, and to catch and eat these salmon became
an object of more than mere gastronomic interest among those who were
anxious to become distinguished in the arts and in literature without
being at the pains and delay of long study, for the fish was supposed
to have become filled with the knowledge which was contained in the
nuts, which, it was believed, would be transferred in full to those
who had the good fortune to catch and eat them."
In many cases it was counted unlucky to cut down trees, since the
spirits, inhabiting them, would resent the injury. In the sixteenth
century the parishioners of Clynnog, in Caernarvonshire, refrained
from destroying the trees growing in the grounds of St. Beyno. Even
though he was their patron saint, he was quite ready to harm anybody
who took liberties with his grove. Loch Siant Well, in Skye, was
noted for its power to cure headaches, stitches, and other ailments,
and was much frequented in consequence. Martin says, "There is a
small coppice near to the well, and there is none of the natives dare
venture to cut the least branch of it for fear of some signal judgment
to follow upon it." Martin also tells us that the same reverence
was for long paid to the peat on the island of Lingay. This island,
he says, "is singular in respect of all the lands of Uist, and the
other islands that surround it, for they are all composed of sand,
and this, on the contrary, is altogether moss covered with heath,
affording five peats in depth, and is very serviceable and useful,
furnishing the island Borera, &c., with plenty of good fuel. This
island was held as consecrated for several ages, insomuch that the
natives would not then presume to cut any fuel in it."
When trees beside wells had rags hung on them as offerings,
they would naturally be reverenced, as the living altars for the
reception of the gifts. But even when not used for this purpose,
they were sometimes thought to have a mysterious connection with
the springs they overshadowed. In the parish of Monzie, Perthshire,
is a mineral well held in much esteem till about the year 1770. At
that time two trees, till then the guardians of the spring, fell,
and with their fall its virtue departed. On the right bank of the
Clyde, about three-quarters of a mile from Carmyle village, is the
once sylvan district of Kenmuir. There, at the foot of a bank, is a
spring locally known as "The Marriage Well," the name being derived,
it is said, from two curiously united trees beside its margin. These
trees were recently cut down. In former times, it was customary for
marriage parties, the day after their wedding, to visit the spring,
and there pledge the bride and bridegroom in draughts of its sparkling
water. On the banks of the Kelvin, close to the Glasgow Botanic
Gardens, once flowed a spring styled the Pear-Tree, Pea-Tree, or
Three-Tree Well, the last name being probably the original one. In
former times it was a recognised trysting-place for lovers. A tragic
story is told in connection with it by Mr. James Napier in his "Notes
and Reminiscences of Partick." A maiden, named Catherine Clark,
arranged to meet her lover there by night,
"nor did she ever dream
But that he was what he did ever seem."
She never returned to her home. "A few days after," remarks Mr. Napier,
"her body was found buried near a large tree which stood within a
few yards of the Pea-Tree Well. This tree was afterwards known as
'Catherine Clark's Tree,' and remained for many years an object
of interest to the visitors to this far-famed well, and many a
sympathising lover carved his name in rude letters on its bark. But
the tree was also an object of terror to those who had to pass it in
dark and lonely nights, and many tales were told of people who had
seen a young female form dressed in white, and stained with blood,
standing at the tree foot." The tree was removed many years ago. The
spring too is gone, the recent extension of the Caledonian Railway
to Maryhill having forced it to quit the field.
Near the moat of Listerling, in county Kilkenny, Ireland, is a
holy well dedicated to St. Mullen, who is said to have lived for
a while in its neighbourhood. A fine hawthorn, overshadowing it,
grew--if we can believe a local legend--from the staff of the saint,
which he there stuck into the ground. This reminds one of the famous
Glastonbury Thorn, produced from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea,
who fixed it in the ground one Christmas Day. The staff took root at
once, put forth branches, and next day was covered with milk-white
blossoms. St. Servanus's staff, too, had a miraculous ending. He threw
it across the Firth of Forth, and when it fell on the Fife coast,
it took root and became an apple-tree. A group of thorn-bushes, near
Aghaboe, in Queen's County, Ireland, was dedicated to St. Canice. The
spring, overshadowed by them, was much resorted to for the purposes
of devotion. At Rearymore, in the same county, some hawthorns,
growing beside St. Finyan's spring, were, and doubtless still are,
religiously preserved by the natives. In the Isle of Man is Chibber
Unjin, signifying The Well of the Ash. Beside it grew an ash tree,
formerly decorated with votive offerings.
What has been called the external soul has an important place in
folklore, and forms the theme of many folk-tales. Primitive man does
not think of the soul as spiritual, but as material--as something
that can be seen and felt. It can take different shapes. It can leave
the body during sleep, and wander about in the guise of an animal,
such as a mouse. Considerable space is devoted to this problem in
Mr. J. G. Frazer's "Golden Bough." Mr. Frazer there remarks, "There
may be circumstances in which, if the life or soul remains in the man,
it stands a greater chance of sustaining injury than if it were stowed
away in some safe and secret place. Accordingly, in such circumstances,
primitive man takes his soul out of his body and deposits it for
security in some safe place, intending to replace it in his body when
the danger is past; or, if he should discover some place of absolute
security, he may be content to leave his soul there permanently. The
advantage of this is, that so long as the soul remains unharmed in the
place where he has deposited it, the man himself is immortal; nothing
can kill his body, since his life is not in it." Sometimes the soul is
believed to be stowed away in a tree, injury to the latter involving
disaster to the former. The custom of planting trees, and calling
them after certain persons may nowadays have nothing to do with this
notion; but, undoubtedly, a real connection was at one time believed
to exist between the partners in the transaction. A certain oak,
with mistletoe growing on it, was mysteriously associated with the
family of Hay. The superstition is explained in the following lines:--
"While the mistletoe bats on Errol's oak
And that oak stands fast,
The Hays shall flourish, and their good grey hawk
Shall not flinch before the blast.
But when the root of the oak decays
And the mistletoe dwines on its withered breast,
The grass shall grow on the Earl's hearthstone,
And the corbies craw in the falcon's nest."
At Finlarig Castle, near Killin, in Perthshire, are several trees,
believed to be linked with the lives of certain individuals, connected
by family ties with the ruined fortress. Aubrey gives an example
of this superstition, as it existed in England in the seventeenth
century. He says, "I cannot omit taking notice of the great misfortune
in the family of the Earl of Winchelsea, who, at Eastwell, in Kent,
felled down a most curious grove of oaks near his own noble seat, and
gave the first blow with his own hands. Shortly after, the countess
died in her bed suddenly, and his eldest son, the Lord Maidstone,
was killed at sea by a cannon bullet." In the grounds of Dalhousie
Castle, about two miles from Dalkeith, on the edge of a fine spring
is the famous Edgewell Oak. Sir Walter Scott, in his "Journal," under
date May 13th, 1829, writes, "Went with the girls to dine at Dalhousie
Castle, where we were very kindly received. I saw the Edgewell Tree,
too fatal, says Allan Ramsay, to the family from which he was himself
descended." According to a belief in the district, a branch fell from
this tree, before the death of a member of the family. The original oak
fell early in last century, but a new one sprang from the old root. An
editorial note to the above entry in the "Journal" gives the following
information:--"The tree is still flourishing (1889), and the belief in
its sympathy with the family is not yet extinct, as an old forester,
on seeing a branch fall from it on a quiet still day in July, 1874,
exclaimed, 'The laird's deed, noo!' and, accordingly, news came soon
after that Fox Maule, eleventh Earl of Dalhousie, had died."
The external soul was sometimes associated with objects other than
living trees. Dr. Charles Rogers tells us that "a pear, supposed
to have been enchanted by Hugh Gifford, Lord of Yester, a notable
magician in the reign of Alexander III., is preserved in the family
of Brown of Colston, as heirs of Gifford's estate." The prosperity
of the family is believed to be linked with the preservation of the
pear. Even an inanimate object would serve the purpose. The glass
drinking-cup, known as the "Luck of Edenhall," is connected with
the fortunes of the Musgrave family, and great care is taken to
preserve it from injury. Tradition says that a company of fairies
were making merry beside a spring near the mansion-house, but that,
being frightened by some intruder, they vanished, leaving the cup in
question, while one of them exclaimed:--
"If this cup should break or fall,
Farewell the luck of Edenhall."
Some living object, however, either vegetable or animal, was the
usual repository of the external soul. A familiar folk-tale tells of a
giant whose heart was in a swan, and who could not be killed while the
swan lived. Hunting was a favourite occupation among the inhabitants
of the Western Isles; but on the mountain Finchra, in Rum, no deer
was killed by any member of the Lachlan family, as it was believed
that the life of that family was in some way linked with the life of
these animals. A curious superstition is mentioned by Camden in his
"Britannia." In a pond near the Abbey of St. Maurice, in Burgundy,
were put as many fish as there were monks. When any monk was taken
ill, one of the fish was seen to float half-dead on the surface of
the pond. If the fish died the monk died too, the death of the former
giving warning of the fate of the latter. In this case the external
soul was thought of as stowed away in a fish. As is well known,
the Arms of the City of Glasgow are a bell, a tree, a fish with
a ring in its mouth, and a bird. The popular explanation of these
emblems connects them with certain miracles, wrought by Kentigern,
the patron saint of the burgh. May we not hold that an explanation
of their symbolism is to be sought in a principle, that formed an
article in the beliefs of men, long before Kentigern was born, as well
as during his time and since? The bell, it is true, had, doubtless, an
ecclesiastical association; but the other three symbols point, perhaps,
to some superstitious notion like the above. In various folk-tales,
as well as in Christian art, the soul is sometimes typified by a
bird. As we have just seen, it has been associated with trees and
fish. We are entitled therefore to ask whether the three symbols
may not express one and the same idea under different forms. It is,
of course, open to anyone to say that there were fish in the river,
on whose banks Kentigern took up his abode, and quite a forest with
birds singing in it around his cell, and that no further explanation
of the symbolism need be sought. All these, it is true, existed
within the saint's environment, but may they not have been regarded
as types of the soul under the guise of objects familiar to all, and
afterwards grouped together in the burgh Arms? On this hypothesis,
the symbols have survived the belief that gave them birth, and serve
to connect the practical life of to-day, with the vague visions and
crude conjectures of the past.