_SCOTTISH SUPERSTITIONS: HALLOWEEN._
The imaginative element in the character of the Celtic race naturally
predisposes them to the reception and retention of fanciful ideas in
connection with our relations to the unseen. Keenly sensible of the
existence of supernatural influences, they are morbidly curious as to the
mode in which they act upon humanity, and ever desirous to propitiate or
guard against them. There is something in the presence of the sea and the
mountains which fosters a habit of reverie; and the mind, awed and
perplexed by the vastness of the forces of Nature, is led to give them an
actual and definite embodiment, and to associate them directly with the
incidents of our mortal life. Granted the existence of invisible
creatures, there is no reason why man, who looks upon the universe as a
circle of which he is the centre, should not suppose them to be interested
in all that interests himself; and when this is once admitted, it follows
as an inevitable result, that he will endeavour to make them the agents of
his inclination or his will, unless he fears them as powers whose anger
must be reverently deprecated. It will be found that most of the popular
superstitions to which we refer are based upon these motives; that most of
them originate in the desire to bribe and cajole Fortune, or to command
and defeat it. Others will be found to have had their rise, as we have
hinted, in the feelings of awe and wonder awakened by the mystery or the
grandeur of Nature. The wail of waters against a rocky coast has suggested
the cries of the ocean maiden who seeks to lure the mariner to his
destruction; the wreathing mists floating in fantastic shapes across the
mountain valleys, has peopled their depths with a world of spirits or
friendly or inimical to mortals. The imagination, which has been quickened
by Nature, proceeds in turn to breathe into Nature a new life.
To some of the superstitions which haunt the glens, and peaks, and
torrents of the Scottish Highlands, the poet Collins has alluded in one of
his most beautiful odes. He speaks of the North as fancy’s land, where
still, it is said, the fairy people meet, beneath the shade of the
graceful birches, upon mead or hill. To the belief in a tribe of
hobgoblins, tiny creatures, visiting the peasant’s hut in the silence of
the night, he also refers:--
“There, each trim lass, that skims the milky store,
To the swart tribes their creamy bowls allots;
By night they sip it round the cottage door,
While airy minstrels warble jocund notes.”
The malicious disposition of the elves is thus insisted upon:--
“There every herd, by sad experience, knows
How, wing’d with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly,
When the sick ewe her summer food foregoes,
Or, stretch’d on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie.”
To superstitions of higher import the poet alludes in the following noble
lines:--
“’Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells,
In Skye’s lone isle, the gifted wizard seer,
Lodged in the wintry cave with fate’s fell spear,
Or in the depth of Uist’s dark forest dwells:
How they, whose sight such dreary dreams engross,
With their own vision oft astonished droop,
When, o’er the watery strath, or quaggy moss.
They see the gliding ghosts’ unbodied troop.
Or, if in sports, or on the festive green,
Their destined glance some fated youth descry,
Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen,
And rosy health, shall soon lamented die.
For them the viewless forms of air obey;
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair:
They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.”
We may allow ourselves one more quotation, in which the poet accumulates
instances of the “second sight,” or power of divination, to which the
Highland seers laid claim:--
“To monarchs dear, some hundred miles astray,
Oft have they seen fate give the fatal blow!
The sea, in Skye, shrieked as the blood did flow,
When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay!
As Boreas threw his young Aurora forth,
In the first year of the first George’s reign,
And battles raged in welkin of the North,
They mourned in air, fell, fell rebellion slain!
And as, of late, they joyed in Preston’s fight,
Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crowned!
They raved, divining through their second sight,
Pale-red Culloden where these hopes were drowned.”
This same power of second sight forms the groundwork of Campbell’s poem of
“Lochiel’s Warning,” in which the poet represents the aged seer or
soothsayer in the act of warning the ferocious Highland chieftain against
the consequences of joining Prince Charles Edward’s expedition of the
’45:--
“Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array.
The sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before!”
A curious superstition respecting “the non-giving of fire” lingers still
in some parts of Scotland, more particularly in the North, and seems to be
connected with the old sun-worship: a survival of the Pagan past which is
strange enough in this matter-of-fact and prosaic Present of ours. “At
Craigmillar, near Edinburgh, a woman, not long ago, refused to give a
neighbour ‘a bit peat’ to light her fire, because she was supposed to be
uncanny. The old woman muttered, as she turned away, that her churlish
neighbour might yet repent of her unkindness. This speech the other
repeated to her husband on his return from work, whereupon he went
straight to the old woman’s house, and gave her a sharp cut on the
forehead, for which he was duly called to account, and pleaded his belief
that scoring the witch above the breath would destroy her glamour.”
On certain days, such as Beltane (or S. John’s Eve,) Midsummer, Halloween,
and New Year’s Day, it is regarded as most unlucky to allow a neighbour to
take a brand from your hearth, or even to light his pipe.
Evil-disposed persons, desirous of doing their neighbours an ill turn,
will apply to them for “a kindling.” Thus, in Ross-shire, an old beldame
repaired to a neighbour’s house with this intent. There was only a child
of eight years old at home, but she was thoroughly acquainted with the
popular superstition, and stoutly refused the applicant tinder, match, or
lighted stick. When the old woman had departed, the girl fetched two
friends, who straightway followed her home, to find there a blazing fire
and a boiling pot. “See you,” exclaimed the lassie, “gin the _cailliach_
had gotten the kindling, my father would not get a herring this year.”
A poor tinker’s wife walked one morning into a house in Applecross--this
was as late as July, 1868--and snatched a live peat from the hearth to
kindle her own fire. Before she had gone any distance, she was observed,
and the gudewife sped after her, overtook her, and snatched away her
prize. To a stranger who remonstrated with her for the unkindness, the
gudewife exclaimed, “Do you think I am to allow my cow to be dried up? If
I allowed her to carry away the fire, I would not have a drop of milk
to-night to wet the bairns’ mouths.” And she flung the peat into a pail of
water in order to undo the evil charm so far as possible.
Allusions to this “non-giving of fire” abound in the old legends, but a
single illustration will suffice. Of old two brother giants, Akin and
Rhea, who dwelt on the Scottish mainland, were wont to pay frequent visits
to the Isle of Skye by leaping across the Straits. They reared for
themselves two strong towers in the Glenelg country, and there they lived
in peace and good fellowship, until one day, the younger brother,
returning from one of his excursions, found his hearth dark and cheerless,
and passed on therefore, to his brother’s castle. Stirring the smouldering
fire into a hearty blaze, he warmed himself luxuriously, and then returned
to his own tower, carrying with him a burning peat. Unhappily, at this
moment, his elder brother came in from the chase, and discovering the
theft, broke out into a violent passion. Off sped the culprit, and after
him went his brother, hurling rock after rock in his rage, until he
perceived that further pursuit was useless. The truth of this story is
attested by the boulders which to this day lie strewn all over the
valley-side.
A survival of the old Paganism is, undoubtedly, this apprehension of
ill-luck connected with the giving or stealing of fire; and it recalls to
us the days when every mountain-peak was as an altar raised to Baal, and
Sun and Moon were worshipped with solemn mysterious rites. On the great
Fire-festival the priests kindled fire by friction, and the people carried
it to their cottages, where it was kept alive all round the year and
extinguished only when a new supply was ready. “As the purchase of the
fire was a source of profit to the priests, it would naturally be
considered criminal for one neighbour to give it to another at the seasons
when every man was bound to purchase it for himself. Of course, though the
old customs are still retained, their original meaning is utterly
forgotten; and the man who throws a live peat after a woman who is about
to increase the population, or he who on Halloween throws a lighted brand
over his own shoulder without looking at whom he aims, little dreams
whence sprang these time-honoured games.” It is said that in many parts of
the remote glens of Perthshire there are women still living who on Beltane
morn always throw ashes and a live peat over their heads, repeating a
certain formula of words to bring them back. But the strictest secrecy is
observed, lest such practices should reach the ear of “the minister:” so
the stronger their belief, the less willing are they to confess to any
knowledge of such matters.
We cannot pass from this subject without an allusion to the Fire-Churn or
Need-Fire, which is held a sovereign charm against cattle-plague. When in
a Highland district an invasion of murrain was apprehended, a small shanty
or hut was erected near loch or river, and in it were placed various
wooden posts, vertical and horizontal: the horizontal were provided with
several spokes, and being rapidly turned round against the upright,
quickly generated a flame by the friction. Then all other fires upon the
farm were extinguished, to be re-lighted from the Need-fire, which all the
cattle were afterwards made to smell, until the charm was complete.
* * * * *
It was on Halloween, or All Hallows’ Eve--the evening of the 31st of
October--that Superstition ran riot, because on that particular evening
the supernatural influences of the other world were supposed to be
specially prevalent, and the power of divination was likewise believed to
be at its height. Spirits then walked about with unusual freedom, and
readily responded to the call of those armed with due authority. In the
prehistoric past, the Druids at this time celebrated their great autumn
Fire-Festival, insisting that all fires, except their own, should be
extinguished, so as to compel men to purchase the sacred fire at a certain
price. This sacred fire was fed with the peeled wood of a certain tree,
and that it might not be polluted, was never blown with human breath.
Needless to say that the sacred fire has vanished with the Druids, but the
Halloween customs which still survive may be traced back to a hoar
antiquity. For instance, various kinds of divination are practised, and
chiefly with apples and nuts. Apples are a relic of the old Celtic fairy
lore. They are thrown into a tub of water, and you endeavour to catch one
in your mouth as they bob round and round in provoking fashion. When you
have caught one, you peel it carefully, and pass the long strip of peel
thrice, _sunwise_, round your head; after which you throw it over your
shoulder, and it falls to the ground in the shape of the initial letter of
your true love’s name.
As for the nuts, they would naturally suggest themselves to the dwellers
in mighty woods, such as covered the land of old. Brand says it is a
custom in Iceland, when the maiden would know if her lover be faithful, to
put three nuts upon the bar of the grate, naming them after her lover and
herself. If a nut crack or jump, the lover will prove faithless; if it
begin to blaze or burn, it’s a sign of the fervour of his affection. If
the nuts named after the girl and her swain burn together, they will be
married.
This lover’s divination is practised in Scotland, as everybody knows who
has read Burns’s poem of “Halloween:”--
“The auld guidwife’s weel hoordet nits
Are round and round divided,
An’ monie lads and lasses’ fates
Are there that night decided:
Some kindle, couthie, side by side,
An’ burn thegither trimly;
Some start awa wi’ saucy pride,
And jump out-owre the chimlie
Fu’ high that night.
“Jean slips in twa wi’ tentie e’e;
Wha ’twas, she wadna tell;
But this is _Jock_, an’ this is _me_,
She says in to hersel’:
He bleez’d owre her an’ she owre him,
As they wad never mair part;
Till, fuff! he started up the lum,
An’ Jean had e’en a sair heart
To see’t that night.”
In some places, on this mystic night, a stick is suspended horizontally
from the ceiling, with a candle at one end, and an apple at the other.
While it is made to revolve rapidly, the revellers successively leap up
and endeavour to grasp the apple with their teeth--the hands must not be
used--if they fail, the candle generally swings round in time to salute
them disagreeably. The reader will note the resemblance between this
pastime and the game of quintain, to which our forefathers were partial.
Another amusement is to dive for apples in a tub of water.
In Strathspey, a lass will steal away from the kitchen fire, make her way
to the kiln where the corn is dried, throw a ball of thread into it, and
wind it up slowly, while uttering certain words. The form of her future
lover will take hold of the end of the thread, and reveal itself to her.
The most arduous part of this charm is, that no speaking is allowed either
on the outward journey or the return.
Another mode of lover’s divination is for the young people, after being
duly blindfolded, to go forth into the kailyard, or garden, and pull the
first stalks they meet with. Returning to the fireside, they determine,
according as the stalk is big or little, straight or crooked, what the
future wife or husband will be. The quantity of earth adhering to the root
is emblematic of the dowry to be expected; and the temper is indicated by
the sweet or bitter taste of the _motoc_ or pith. Lastly, the stalks are
placed in order, over the door, and the Christian names of persons
afterwards entering the house signify in the same order those of the wives
and husbands _in futuris_.
Burns describes another custom:
“In order on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies[61] three are ranged,
And every time great care is ta’en
To see them duly changed:
And uncle John wha wedlock’s joys
Sin’ Mar’s-year did desire,
Because he gat the toom-dish[62] thrice,
He heav’d them on the fire
In wrath that night.”
For this amusement three dishes are taken: one filled with clean and one
with dirty water, and the other empty. They are set upon the hearth, and
the parties, blindfolded, advance in succession to dip their fingers. If
they chance upon the clean water, it is understood that they will marry a
maiden; if upon the foul, they will marry a widow; if upon the empty dish,
they will not marry at all.
Again: if a damsel eat an apple in front of a looking-glass, she will
shortly see her future husband peeping over her shoulder. So Burns:
“Wee Jenny to her Grannie says,
‘Will ye go wi’ me, Grannie?
I’ll eat the apple at the glass
I gat frae uncle Johnie.’
She fuff’t[63] her pipe wi’ sic a lunt,
In wrath she was sae vap’rin’,
She notic’t na an aizle[64] brunt,
Her braw new worset apron,
Out thro’ that night.
“‘Ye little skelpie limmer’s[65] face!
How daur you try sic sportin’,
As seek the foul thief ony place,
For him to spae your fortune:
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!
Great cause ye hae to fear it;
For mony a ane has gotten a fright,
An’ liv’d an’ di’d deleeret,
On sic a night.’”
A shirt-sleeve may be wetted, and hung before the fire to dry: then if
_he_ or _she_ lie in bed and watch it until midnight, _he_ or _she_ will
behold _his_ or _her_ future partner’s phantasm come in and turn it!
Children born on Halloween were formerly supposed to be gifted with
certain mysterious endowments, such as the power of perceiving and
conversing with the “dwellers on the threshold,” the inhabitants of the
World Invisible.
Once upon a time, all over Scotland a bonfire was lighted on every farm;
and often the bonfire was surrounded by a circular trench, symbolical of
the sun. Every year these bonfires decrease in number; but within the
recollection of living men no fewer than thirty could be seen on the high
hilltops between Dunkeld and Abergeldy. And a strange weird sight it was,
worthy of the pencil of a Rembrandt,--the dusky figures of the lads and
lasses dancing wildly around them, to the hoarse music of their own
voices! Miss Cumming writes that in the neighbourhood of Crieff, the
bale-fires, as the people call them, still blaze as brightly as ever; and
from personal observation we can assert that they are still lighted in
many parts of Argyllshire.
A remarkable Halloween story is recorded in Dr. Robert Chambers’s valuable
miscellany, “The Book of Days.” Mr. and Mrs. M., we are told, were a happy
young couple, who, in the middle of the last century, resided on their own
estate, in a pleasant part of the province of Leinster. Possessed of a
handsome fortune, they spent their time in various rural avocations, until
the birth of a child, a little girl, seemed to crown their felicity. On
the Halloween following this notable event, the parents retired to rest at
their usual hour, Mrs. M. cradling her infant on her bosom that she might
be roused if it showed the least sign of uneasiness. From teething or some
other ailment, the child, about midnight, became very restless, and not
receiving the usual attention from its mother, woke up Mr. M. by its
cries. He at once called his wife, and told her the baby was unwell; she
made no answer. She seemed in an uneasy slumber, and in spite of all her
husband’s efforts continued to sleep on, until he was compelled to take
the child himself and endeavour to soothe it to rest. From sheer
exhaustion it at last sank into silence, while the mother slumbered until
a much later hour than usual. When she at last awoke, her husband told her
of what had happened, and of the extent to which his night’s rest had been
disturbed. “I, too,” she replied, “have passed the most miserable night I
ever experienced: I now see that sleep and rest are two different things,
for I never felt so unrefreshed in my life. How I wish you had been able
to awake me--it would have spared me some of my fatigue and anxiety! I
thought I was dragged against my will into a strange part of the country,
where I had never been before, and, after what appeared to me a long and
weary journey on foot, I arrived at a comfortable looking house. I went in
longing to rest, but had no power to sit down, although there was a nice
supper laid out before a good fire, and every appearance of preparations
for an expected visitor. Exhausted as I felt, I was only allowed to stand
for a minute or two, and then hurried away by the same road back again;
but now it is over, and after all it was only a dream.”
Her husband listened with deep interest to this strange narrative, and
then, sighing deeply, said, “My dear Sarah, you will not long have me
beside you; whoever is to be your second husband played last night some
evil trick, of which you have been the victim.”
Shocked as she naturally was by this assertion, she sought to subdue her
own emotion, and to rally her husband’s spirits, hoping that the
impression would pass from his mind as soon as he entered into the
every-day work of life.
Months passed away, and both husband and wife had almost forgotten the
Halloween dream, when Mr. M.’s health began to fail, and to fail so
rapidly, that in spite of loving care and the best medical skill, he sank
into a premature grave. His wife mourned him sincerely, but her natural
energy and activity prevented her from yielding to a hopeless sorrow. She
continued to farm her husband’s estate, and in this employment, and in the
education of her little girl was able to divert her thoughts. Not less
admired for her conspicuous ability, than beloved for her benevolence and
amiability, she was more than once solicited to lay aside her widow’s
weeds; but she persisted in a calm refusal. Her uncle, a man of much
kindness of heart and clearness of judgment, frequently visited her,
inspected her farm, and gave her advice and assistance. He had a nephew,
whom we will call C., a prudent and energetic young man, in whom he had
every confidence, and whenever they met, he would strongly recommend him
to take to himself a wife, and “settle.” On one occasion C. replied that
it was not his fault he still remained a bachelor, but he had never yet
met with any woman whom he would care to call his wife. “Well, C.,” said
his uncle, “you seem difficult to please, but I think I know a lady who
would approve herself even to _your_ fastidious taste.” After a
good-humoured exchange of quip and repartee, the uncle invited the nephew
to ride over with him next day, and be introduced to his niece, whom C.
had never yet seen.
The invitation was accepted; the two friends set out early on the
following morning, and after a pleasant ride drew near their destination.
At a short distance they caught sight of Mrs. M. retiring towards her
house after her usual daily inspection of her farm. Mr. C. started
violently, and displayed a considerable agitation. Pointing towards the
lady, he exclaimed, “Uncle, we need go no further, for if ever I am to be
married, yonder goes my wife!” “Well, C.,” replied his uncle, “that is
fortunate, for yonder lady is my niece, to whom I am about to introduce
you. But tell me,” he continued, “is this what you call love at first
sight? Or what do you mean by such a sudden decision in favour of a lady
with whom you have never exchanged a word?” “Well, sir,” was the reply,
“as I have betrayed myself, it is well that I should make full confession.
A year or two ago, I was foolish enough to try a Halloween spell,--and sat
up all night to watch the result. I declare to you most solemnly that the
figure of that lady, as I now see her, entered my room, and looked at me.
She stood a minute or two by the fire, and then disappeared as suddenly
and as silently as she had entered. I was wide awake, and felt
considerable remorse at having thus ventured to tamper with the powers of
the Unseen World; but I assure you that every particular of her features,
dress, and figure have been so present to my mind ever since, that I could
not possibly make a mistake, and the moment I saw your niece I was
convinced that she was indeed the woman whose image I saw on that
never-forgotten Halloween.”
It is unnecessary to say that the uncle was considerably astonished at
this extraordinary narrative, but he forbore to comment upon it, as by
this time they had arrived at Mrs. M.’s house. The lady was delighted to
see her uncle, and made his friend heartily welcome, discharging the
duties of hostess with a simplicity and grace that fascinated her guest.
After her visitors had rested and refreshed themselves, her uncle walked
out with her to inspect the farm, and seized the opportunity, in the
absence of Mr. C., to bespeak for him his niece’s favourable
consideration. Many words were unnecessary, for the impression produced
had been mutually agreeable. Before leaving the house Mr. C. obtained Mrs.
M.’s permission to visit her in the character of a suitor for her
hand,--and after a brief courtship they were married. The story ends, as
all such stories _should_ end, with the affirmation that they lived long
and happily together, and it was from their daughter that Dr. Chambers’s
informant derived his knowledge of the preceding remarkable episode in
their career.
Dr. Chambers assures us that the leading incidents of the narrative may be
relied on as correct; but we think the reader will exercise a wise
incredulity: that at all events his belief will not go beyond the
admission of some possible resemblance, entirely accidental, between Mrs.
M. and the lady whom the imaginative Mr. C. had seen in his Halloween
dream, and whose image he had so carefully treasured in his memory.