In England the earliest notice of the need-fire seems to be contained in

the Chronicle of Lanercost for the year 1268. The annalist tells with

pious horror how, when an epidemic was raging in that year among the

cattle, "certain beastly men, monks in garb but not in mind, taught the

idiots of their country to make fire by the friction of wood and to set

up an image of Priapus, whereby they thought to succour the

animals."[720] The use of the need-fire is particularly attested for the

counties of Yorkshire and Northumberland. Thus in Yorkshire down to the

middle of the eighteenth century "the favourite remedy of the country

people, not only in the way of cure, but of prevention, was an odd one;

it was to smoke the cattle almost to suffocation, by kindling straw,

litter, and other combustible matter about them. The effects of this

mode of cure are not stated, but the most singular part of it was that

by which it was reported to have been discovered. An angel (says the

legend), descended into Yorkshire, and there set a large tree on fire;

the strange appearance of which or else the savour of the smoke, incited

the cattle around (some of which were infected) to draw near the

miracle, when they all either received an immediate cure or an absolute

prevention of the disorder. It is not affirmed that the angel staid to

speak to anybody, but only that he left a _written_ direction for the

neighbouring people to catch this supernatural fire, and to communicate

it from one to another with all possible speed throughout the country;

and in case it should be extinguished and utterly lost, that then new

fire, of equal virtue, might be obtained, not by any common method, but

by rubbing two pieces of wood together till they ignited. Upon what

foundation this story stood, is not exactly known, but it put the

farmers actually into a hurry of communicating flame and smoke from one

house to another with wonderful speed, making it run like wildfire over

the country."[721] Again, we read that "the father of the writer, who

died in 1843, in his seventy-ninth year, had a perfect remembrance of a

great number of persons, belonging to the upper and middle classes of

his native parish of Bowes, assembling on the banks of the river Greta

to work for need-fire. A disease among cattle, called the murrain, then

prevailed to a very great extent through that district of Yorkshire. The

cattle were made to pass through the smoke raised by this miraculous

fire, and their cure was looked upon as certain, and to neglect doing so

was looked upon as wicked. This fire was produced by the violent and

continued friction of two dry pieces of wood until such time as it was

thereby obtained. 'To work as though one was working for need-fire' is a

common proverb in the North of England."[722] At Ingleton, a small town

nestling picturesquely at the foot of the high hill of Ingleborough in

western Yorkshire, "within the last thirty years or so it was a common

practice to kindle the so-called 'Need-fire' by rubbing two pieces of

wood briskly together, and setting ablaze a large heap of sticks and

brushwood, which were dispersed, and cattle then driven through the

smoking brands. This was thought to act as a charm against the spread or

developement of the various ailments to which cattle are liable, and the

farmers seem to have had great faith in it."[723] Writing about the

middle of the nineteenth century, Kemble tells us that the will-fire or

need-fire had been used in Devonshire for the purpose of staying a

murrain within the memory of man.[724]

[The need-fire in Northumberland.]

So in Northumberland, down to the first half of the nineteenth century,

"when a contagious disease enters among cattle, the fires are

extinguished in the adjacent villages. Two pieces of dried wood are then

rubbed together until fire be produced; with this a quantity of straw is

kindled, juniper is thrown into the flame, and the cattle are repeatedly

driven through the smoke. Part of the forced fire is sent to the

neighbours, who again forward it to others, and, as great expedition is

used, the fires may be seen blazing over a great extent of country in a

very short space of time."[725] "It is strange," says the antiquary

William Henderson, writing about 1866, "to find the custom of lighting

'need-fires' on the occasion of epidemics among cattle still lingering

among us, but so it is. The vicar of Stamfordham writes thus respecting

it: 'When the murrain broke out among the cattle about eighteen years

ago, this fire was produced by rubbing two pieces of dry wood together,

and was carried from place to place all through this district, as a

charm against cattle taking the disease. Bonfires were kindled with it,

and the cattle driven into the smoke, where they were left for some

time. Many farmers hereabouts, I am informed, had the need-fire.'"[726]

[Martin's account of the need-fire in the Highlands of Scotland.]

In the earliest systematic account of the western islands of Scotland we

read that "the inhabitants here did also make use of a fire called

_Tin-egin, i.e._ a forced fire, or fire of necessity, which they used as

an antidote against the plague or murrain in cattle; and it was

performed thus: all the fires in the parish were extinguished, and then

eighty-one married men, being thought the necessary number for effecting

this design, took two great planks of wood, and nine of them were

employed by turns, who by their repeated efforts rubbed one of the

planks against the other until the heat thereof produced fire; and from

this forced fire each family is supplied with new fire, which is no

sooner kindled than a pot full of water is quickly set on it, and

afterwards sprinkled upon the people infected with the plague, or upon

the cattle that have the murrain. And this they all say they find

successful by experience: it was practised in the main land, opposite to

the south of Skie, within these thirty years."[727]

[The need-fire in the island of Mull; sacrifice of a heifer.]

In the island of Mull, one of the largest of the Hebrides, the need-fire

was kindled as late as 1767. "In consequence of a disease among the

black cattle the people agreed to perform an incantation, though they

esteemed it a wicked thing. They carried to the top of Carnmoor a wheel

and nine spindles of oakwood. They extinguished every fire in every

house within sight of the hill; the wheel was then turned from east to

west over the nine spindles long enough to produce fire by friction. If

the fire were not produced before noon, the incantation lost its effect.

They failed for several days running. They attributed this failure to

the obstinacy of one householder, who would not let his fires be put out

for what he considered so wrong a purpose. However, by bribing his

servants they contrived to have them extinguished and on that morning

raised their fire. They then sacrificed a heifer, cutting in pieces and

burning, while yet alive, the diseased part. They then lighted their own

hearths from the pile and ended by feasting on the remains. Words of

incantation were repeated by an old man from Morven, who came over as

master of the ceremonies, and who continued speaking all the time the

fire was being raised. This man was living a beggar at Bellochroy. Asked

to repeat the spell, he said, the sin of repeating it once had brought

him to beggary, and that he dared not say those words again. The whole

country believed him accursed."[728] From this account we see that in

Mull the kindling of the need-fire as a remedy for cattle disease was

accompanied by the sacrifice of one of the diseased animals; and though

the two customs are for the most part mentioned separately by our

authorities, we may surmise that they were often, perhaps usually,

practised together for the purpose of checking the ravages of sickness

in the herds.[729]

[The need-fire in Caithness.]

In the county of Caithness, forming the extreme northeast corner of the

mainland of Scotland, the practice of the need-fire survived down at

least to about 1788. We read that "in those days, when the stock of any

considerable farmer was seized with the murrain, he would send for one

of the charm-doctors to superintend the raising of a _need-fire_. It was

done by friction, thus; upon any small island, where the stream of a

river or burn ran on each side, a circular booth was erected, of stone

and turf, as it could be had, in which a semicircular or highland couple

of birch, or other hard wood, was set; and, in short, a roof closed on

it. A straight pole was set up in the centre of this building, the upper

end fixed by a wooden pin to the top of the couple, and the lower end in

an oblong _trink_ in the earth or floor; and lastly, another pole was

set across horizontally, having both ends tapered, one end of which was

supported in a hole in the side of the perpendicular pole, and the other

in a similar hole in the couple leg. The horizontal stick was called the

auger, having four short arms or levers fixed in its centre, to work it

by; the building having been thus finished, as many men as could be

collected in the vicinity, (being divested of all kinds of metal in

their clothes, etc.), would set to work with the said auger, two after

two, constantly turning it round by the arms or levers, and others

occasionally driving wedges of wood or stone behind the lower end of the

upright pole, so as to press it the more on the end of the auger: by

this constant friction and pressure, the ends of the auger would take

fire, from which a fire would be instantly kindled, and thus the

_needfire_ would be accomplished. The fire in the farmer's house, etc.,

was immediately quenched with water, a fire kindled from this needfire,

both in the farm-houses and offices, and the cattle brought to feel the

smoke of this new and sacred fire, which preserved them from the

murrain."[730]

[The need-fire in Caithness.]

The last recorded case of the need-fire in Caithness happened in 1809 or

1810. At Houstry, Dunbeath, a crofter named David Gunn had made for

himself a kail-yard and in doing so had wilfully encroached on one of

those prehistoric ruins called _brochs_, which the people of the

neighbourhood believed to be a fairy habitation. Soon afterwards a

murrain broke out among the cattle of the district and carried off many

beasts. So the wise men put their heads together and resolved to light a

_teine-eigin_ or need-fire as the best way of stopping the plague. They

cut a branch from a tree in a neighbouring wood, stripped it of bark,

and carried it to a small island in the Houstry Burn. Every fire in the

district having been quenched, new fire was made by the friction of wood

in the island, and from this sacred flame all the hearths of the houses

were lit afresh. One of the sticks used in making the fire was preserved

down to about the end of the nineteenth century; apparently the mode of

operation was the one known as the fire-drill: a pointed stick was

twirled in a hole made in another stick till fire was elicited by the

friction.[731]

[Another account of the need-fire in the Highlands.]

Another account of the use of need-fire in the Highlands of Scotland

runs as follows: "When, by the neglect of the prescribed safeguards

[against witchcraft], the seeds of iniquity have taken root, and a

person's means are decaying in consequence, the only alternative, in

this case, is to resort to that grand remedy, the _Tein Econuch_, or

'Forlorn Fire,' which seldom fails of being productive of the best

effects. The cure for witchcraft, called _Tein Econuch_, is wrought in

the following manner:--A consultation being held by the unhappy sufferer

and his friends as to the most advisable measures of effecting a cure,

if this process is adopted, notice is privately communicated to all

those householders who reside within the nearest of two running streams,

to extinguish their lights and fires on some appointed morning. On its

being ascertained that this notice has been duly observed, a

spinning-wheel, or some other convenient instrument, calculated to

produce fire by friction, is set to work with the most furious

earnestness by the unfortunate sufferer, and all who wish well to his

cause. Relieving each other by turns, they drive on with such

persevering diligence, that at length the spindle of the wheel, ignited

by excessive friction, emits 'forlorn fire' in abundance, which, by the

application of tow, or some other combustible material, is widely

extended over the whole neighbourhood. Communicating the fire to the

tow, the tow communicates it to a candle, the candle to a fir-torch, the

torch to a cartful of peats, which the master of the ceremonies, with

pious ejaculations for the success of the experiment, distributes to

messengers, who will proceed with portions of it to the different houses

within the said two running streams, to kindle the different fires. By

the influence of this operation, the machinations and spells of

witchcraft are rendered null and void."[732]

[Alexander Carmichael's account of the need-fire in the Highlands of

Scotland during the nineteenth century.]

In various parts of the Highlands of Scotland the needfire was still

kindled during the first half of the nineteenth century, as we learn

from the following account:--

"_Tein-eigin_, neid-fire, need-fire, forced fire, fire produced by the

friction of wood or iron against wood.

"The fire of purification was kindled from the neid-fire, while the

domestic fire on the hearth was re-kindled from the purification fire on

the knoll. Among other names, the purification fire was called _Teine

Bheuil_, fire of Beul, and _Teine mor Bheuil_, great fire of Beul. The

fire of Beul was divided into two fires between which people and cattle

rushed australly for purposes of purification. The ordeal was trying, as

may be inferred from phrases still current. _Is teodha so na teine

teodha Bheuil_, 'Hotter is this than the hot fire of Beul.' Replying to

his grandchild, an old man in Lewis said ... 'Mary! sonnie, it were

worse for me to do that for thee than to go between the two great fires

of Beul.'

"The neid-fire was resorted to in imminent or actual calamity upon the

first day of the quarter, and to ensure success in great or important

events.

[The needfire in Arran.]

"The writer conversed with several persons who saw the neid-fire made,

and who joined in the ceremony. As mentioned elsewhere, a woman in Arran

said that her father, and the other men of the townland, made the

neid-fire on the knoll on _La buidhe Bealltain_--Yellow Day of Beltane.

They fed the fire from _cuaile mor conaidh caoin_--great bundles of

sacred faggots brought to the knoll on Beltane Eve. When the sacred fire

became kindled, the people rushed home and brought their herds and drove

them through and round the fire of purification, to sain them from the

_bana bhuitseach mhor Nic Creafain Mac Creafain_--the great arch witch

Mac Crauford, now Crawford. That was in the second decade of this

century.

[The need-fire in North Uist.]

"John Macphail, Middlequarter, North Uist, said that the last occasion

on which the neid-fire was made in North Uist was _bliadhna an

t-sneachda bhuidhe_--the year of the yellow snow--1829 (?). The snow lay

so deep and remained so long on the ground, that it became yellow. Some

suggest that the snow was originally yellow, as snow is occasionally

red. This extraordinary continuance of snow caused much want and

suffering throughout the Isles. The people of North Uist extinguished

their own fires and generated a purification fire at Sail Dharaich,

Sollas. The fire was produced from an oak log by rapidly boring with an

auger. This was accomplished by the exertions of _naoi naoinear ciad

ginealach mac_--the nine nines of first-begotten sons. From the

neid-fire produced on the knoll the people of the parish obtained fire

for their dwellings. Many cults and ceremonies were observed on the

occasion, cults and ceremonies in which Pagan and Christian beliefs

intermingled. _Sail Dharaich_, Oak Log, obtained its name from the log

of oak for the neid-fire being there. A fragment of this log riddled

with auger holes marks a grave in _Cladh Sgealoir_, the burying-ground

of _Sgealoir_, in the neighbourhood.

[The need-fire in Reay, Sutherland.]

"Mr. Alexander Mackay, Edinburgh, a native of Reay, Sutherland,

says:--'My father was the skipper of a fishing crew. Before beginning

operations for the season, the crew of the boat met at night in our

house to settle accounts for the past, and to plan operations for the

new season. My mother and the rest of us were sent to bed. I lay in the

kitchen, and was listening and watching, though they thought I was

asleep. After the men had settled their past affairs and future plans,

they put out the fire on the hearth, not a spark being allowed to live.

They then rubbed two pieces of wood one against another so rapidly as to

produce fire, the men joining in one after the other, and working with

the utmost energy and never allowing the friction to relax. From this

friction-fire they rekindled the fire on the hearth, from which all the

men present carried away a kindling to their own homes. Whether their

success was due to their skill, their industry, their perseverance, or

to the neid-fire, I do not know, but I know that they were much the most

successful crew in the place. They met on Saturday, and went to church

on Sunday like the good men and the good Christians they were--a little

of their Pagan faith mingling with their Christian belief. I have reason

to believe that other crews in the place as well as my father's crew

practised the neid-fire.'

"A man at Helmsdale, Sutherland, saw the _tein-eigin_ made in his

boyhood.

"The neid-fire was made in North Uist about the year 1829, in Arran

about 1820, in Helmsdale about 1818, in Reay about 1830."[733]

[The Beltane fire a precaution against witchcraft.]

From the foregoing account we learn that in Arran the annual Beltane

fire was regularly made by the friction of wood, and that it was used to

protect men and cattle against a great witch. When we remember that

Beltane Eve or the Eve of May Day (Walpurgis Night) is the great

witching time of the year throughout Europe, we may surmise that

wherever bonfires have been ceremonially kindled on that day it has been

done simply as a precaution against witchcraft; indeed this motive is

expressly alleged not only in Scotland, but in Wales, the Isle of Man,

and many parts of Central Europe.[734] It deserves, further, to be

noticed that in North Uist the wood used to kindle the need-fire was

oak, and that the nine times nine men by whose exertions the flame was

elicited were all first-born sons. Apparently the first-born son of a

family was thought to be endowed with more magical virtue than his

younger brothers. Similarly in the Punjaub "the supernatural power

ascribed to the first born is not due to his being unlucky, but the idea

underlying the belief seems to be that being the first product of the

parents, he inherits the spiritual powers (or magnetism) in a high

degree. The success of such persons in stopping rain and hail and in

stupefying snakes is proverbial. It is believed that a first child born

with feet forward can cure backache by kicking the patient in the back,

on a crossing."[735]

[The need-fire in Aberdeenshire.]

In the north-east of Aberdeenshire and the neighbourhood, when the

cattle-disease known as the "quarter-ill" broke out, "the 'muckle wheel'

was set in motion and turned till fire was produced. From this virgin

flame fires were kindled in the byres. At the same time, if neighbours

requested the favour, live coals were given them to kindle fires for the

purification of their homesteads and turning off the disease. Fumigating

the byres with juniper was a method adopted to ward off disease. Such a

fire was called 'needfyre.' The kindling of it came under the censure of

the Presbytery at times."[736]

[The need-fire in Perthshire.]

In Perthshire the need-fire was kindled as a remedy for cattle-disease

as late as 1826. "A wealthy old farmer, having lost several of his

cattle by some disease very prevalent at present, and being able to

account for it in no way so rationally as by witchcraft, had recourse to

the following remedy, recommended to him by a weird sister in his

neighbourhood, as an effectual protection from the attacks of the foul

fiend. A few stones were piled together in the barnyard, and woodcoals

having been laid thereon, the fuel was ignited by _will-fire_, that is

fire obtained by friction; the neighbours having been called in to

witness the solemnity, the cattle were made to pass through the flames,

in the order of their dignity and age, commencing with the horses and

ending with the swine. The ceremony having been duly and decorously gone

through, a neighbouring farmer observed to the enlightened owner of the

herd, that he, along with his family, ought to have followed the example

of the cattle, and the sacrifice to Baal would have been complete."[737]

[The need-fire in Ireland.]

In County Leitrim, Ireland, in order to prevent fever from spreading,

"all the fires on the townland, and the two adjoining (one on each

side), would be put out. Then the men of the three townlands would come

to one house, and get two large blocks of wood. One would be set in the

ground, and the other one, fitted with two handles, placed on the top of

it. The men would then draw the upper block backwards and forwards over

the lower until fire was produced by friction, and from this the fires

would be lighted again. This would prevent the fever from

spreading,"[738]

[The use of the need-fire a relic of a time when all fires were kindled

by the friction of wood.]

Thus it appears that in many parts of Europe it has been customary to

kindle fire by the friction of wood for the purpose of curing or

preventing the spread of disease, particularly among cattle. The mode of

striking a light by rubbing two dry sticks against each other is the one

to which all over the world savages have most commonly resorted for the

sake of providing themselves with fire;[739] and we can scarcely doubt

that the practice of kindling the need-fire in this primitive fashion is

merely a survival from the time when our savage forefathers lit all

their fires in that way. Nothing is so conservative of old customs as

religious or magical ritual, which invests these relics of the past with

an atmosphere of mysterious virtue and sanctity. To the educated mind it

seems obvious that a fire which a man kindles with the sweat of his brow

by laboriously rubbing one stick against each other can possess neither

more nor less virtue than one which he has struck in a moment by the

friction of a lucifer match; but to the ignorant and superstitious this

truth is far from apparent, and accordingly they take infinite pains to

do in a roundabout way what they might have done directly with the

greatest ease, and what, even when it is done, is of no use whatever for

the purpose in hand. A vast proportion of the labour which mankind has

expended throughout the ages has been no better spent; it has been like

the stone of Sisyphus eternally rolled up hill only to revolve eternally

down again, or like the water poured for ever by the Danaids into broken

pitchers which it could never fill.

[The belief that the need-fire cannot kindle if any other fire remains

alight in the neighbourhood.]

The curious notion that the need-fire cannot kindle if any other fire

remains alight in the neighbourhood seems to imply that fire is

conceived as a unity which is broken up into fractions and consequently

weakened in exact proportion to the number of places where it burns;

hence in order to obtain it at full strength you must light it only at a

single point, for then the flame will burst out with a concentrated

energy derived from the tributary fires which burned on all the

extinguished hearths of the country. So in a modern city if all the gas

were turned off simultaneously at all the burners but one, the flame

would no doubt blaze at that one burner with a fierceness such as no

single burner could shew when all are burning at the same time. The

analogy may help us to understand the process of reasoning which leads

the peasantry to insist on the extinction of all common fires when the

need-fire is about to be kindled. Perhaps, too, it may partly explain

that ceremonial extinction of all old fires on other occasions which is

often required by custom as a preliminary to the lighting of a new and

sacred fire.[740] We have seen that in the Highlands of Scotland all

common fires were extinguished on the Eve of May-day as a preparation

for kindling the Beltane bonfire by friction next morning;[741] and no

doubt the reason for the extinction was the same as in the case of the

need-fire. Indeed we may assume with a fair degree of probability that

the need-fire was the parent of the periodic fire-festivals; at first

invoked only at irregular intervals to cure certain evils as they

occurred, the powerful virtue of fire was afterwards employed at regular

intervals to prevent the occurrence of the same evils as well as to

remedy such as had actually arisen.

[The needfire among the Iroquois of North America.]

The need-fire of Europe has its parallel in a ceremony which used to be

observed by the Iroquois Indians of North America. "Formerly when an

epidemic prevailed among the Iroquois despite the efforts to stay it, it

was customary for the principal shaman to order the fires in every cabin

to be extinguished and the ashes and cinders to be carefully removed;

for it was believed that the pestilence was sent as a punishment for

neglecting to rekindle 'new fire,' or because of the manner in which the

fire then in use had been kindled. So, after all the fires were out, two

suitable logs of slippery elm (_Ulmus fulva_) were provided for the new

fire. One of the logs was from six to eight inches in diameter and from

eight to ten feet long; the other was from ten to twelve inches in

diameter and about ten feet long. About midway across the larger log a

cuneiform notch or cut about six inches deep was made, and in the

wedge-shaped notch punk was placed. The other log was drawn rapidly to

and fro in the cut by four strong men chosen for the purpose until the

punk was ignited by the friction thus produced. Before and during the

progress of the work of igniting the fire the shaman votively sprinkled

_tcar-hu'-eñ-we_, 'real tobacco,' three several times into the cuneiform

notch and offered earnest prayers to the Fire-god, beseeching him 'to

aid, to bless, and to redeem the people from their calamities.' The

ignited punk was used to light a large bonfire, and then the head of

every family was required to take home 'new fire' to rekindle a fire in

his or her fire-place."[742]

§ 9. _The Sacrifice of an Animal to stay a Cattle-Plague_

[The burnt sacrifice of a calf in England and Wales; burnt sacrifice a

pig in Scotland.]

Sometimes apparently in England as well as in Scotland the kindling of a

need-fire was accompanied by the sacrifice of a calf. Thus in

Northamptonshire, at some time during the first half of the nineteenth

century, "Miss C---- and her cousin walking saw a fire in a field and a

crowd round it. They said, 'What is the matter?' 'Killing a calf.' 'What

for?' 'To stop the murrain.' They went away as quickly as possible. On

speaking to the clergyman he made enquiries. The people did not like to

talk of the affair, but it appeared that when there is a disease among

the cows or the calves are born sickly, they sacrifice (i.e. kill and

burn) one 'for good luck.'"[743] It is not here said that the fire was a

need-fire, of which indeed the two horrified ladies had probably never

heard; but the analogy of the parallel custom in Mull[744] renders it

probable that in Northamptonshire also the fire was kindled by the

friction of wood, and that the calf or some part of it was burnt in the

fire. Certainly the practice of burning a single animal alive in order

to save all the others would seem to have been not uncommon in England

down to the nineteenth century. Thus a farmer in Cornwall about the year

1800, having lost many cattle by disease, and tried many remedies in

vain, consulted with some of his neighbours and laying their heads

together "they recalled to their recollections a tale, which tradition

had handed down from remote antiquity, that the calamity would not cease

until he had actually burned alive the finest calf which he had upon his

farm; but that, when this sacrifice was made, the murrain would afflict

his cattle no more." Accordingly, on a day appointed they met, lighted a

large fire, placed the best calf in it, and standing round the blazing

pile drove the animal with pitchforks back into the flames whenever it

attempted to escape. Thus the victim was burned alive to save the rest

of the cattle.[745] "There can be no doubt but that a belief prevailed

until a very recent period, amongst the small farmers in the districts

remote from towns in Cornwall, that a living sacrifice appeased the

wrath of God. This sacrifice must be by fire; and I have heard it argued

that the Bible gave them warranty for this belief.... While correcting

these sheets I am informed of two recent instances of this superstition.

One of them was the sacrifice of a calf by a farmer near Portreath, for

the purpose of removing a disease which had long followed his horses and

his cows. The other was the burning of a living lamb, to save, as the

farmer said, 'his flocks from spells which had been cast on 'em.'"[746]

In a recent account of the fire-festivals of Wales we read that "I have

also heard my grandfather and father say that in times gone by the

people would throw a calf in the fire when there was any disease among

the herds. The same would be done with a sheep if there was anything the

matter with a flock. I can remember myself seeing cattle being driven

between two fires to 'stop the disease spreading.' When in later times

it was not considered humane to drive the cattle between the fires, the

herdsmen were accustomed to force the animals over the wood ashes to

protect them against various ailments."[747] Writing about 1866, the

antiquary W. Henderson says that a live ox was burned near Haltwhistle

in Northumberland "only twenty years ago" to stop a murrain.[748] "About

the year 1850 disease broke out among the cattle of a small farm in the

parish of Resoliss, Black Isle, Ross-shire. The farmer prevailed on his

wife to undertake a journey to a wise woman of renown in Banffshire to

ask a charm against the effects of the 'ill eye.' The long journey of

upwards of fifty miles was performed by the good wife, and the charm was

got. One chief thing ordered was to burn to death a pig, and sprinkle

the ashes over the byre and other farm buildings. This order was carried

out, except that the pig was killed before it was burned. A more

terrible sacrifice was made at times. One of the diseased animals was

rubbed over with tar, driven forth, set on fire, and allowed to run till

it fell down and died."[749] "Living animals have been burnt alive in

sacrifice within memory to avert the loss of other stock. The burial of

three puppies 'brandise-wise' in a field is supposed to rid it of weeds.

Throughout the rural districts of Devon witchcraft is an article of

current faith, and the toad is thrown into the flames as an emissary of

the evil one."[750]

[The calf is burnt in order to break a spell which has been cast on the

herd.]

But why, we may ask, should the burning alive of a calf or a sheep be

supposed to save the rest of the herd or the flock from the murrain?

According to one writer, as we have seen, the burnt sacrifice was

thought to appease the wrath of God.[751] The idea of appeasing the

wrath of a ferocious deity by burning an animal alive is probably no

more than a theological gloss put on an old heathen rite; it would

hardly occur to the simple mind of an English bumpkin, who, though he

may be stupid, is not naturally cruel and does not conceive of a

divinity who takes delight in the contemplation of suffering. To his

thinking God has little or nothing to do with the murrain, but witches,

ill-wishers, and fairies have a great deal to do with it. The English

farmer who burned one of his lambs alive said that he did it "to save

his flocks from spells which had been cast on them"; and the Scotch

farmer who was bidden to burn a pig alive for a similar purpose, but who

had the humanity to kill the animal first, believed that this was a

remedy for the "evil eye" which had been cast upon his beasts. Again, we

read that "a farmer, who possessed broad acres, and who was in many

respects a sensible man, was greatly annoyed to find that his cattle

became diseased in the spring. Nothing could satisfy him but that they

were bewitched, and he was resolved to find out the person who had cast

the evil eye on his oxen. According to an anciently-prescribed rule, the

farmer took one of his bullocks and bled it to death, catching all the

blood on bundles of straw. The bloody straw was then piled into a heap,

and set on fire. Burning with a vast quantity of smoke, the farmer

expected to see the witch, either in reality or in shadow, amidst the

smoke."[752] Such reasons express the real beliefs of the peasants.

"Cattle, like human beings, were exposed to the influences of the evil

eye, of forespeaking, and of the casting of evil. Witches and warlocks

did the work of evil among their neighbours' cattle if their anger had

been aroused in any way. The fairies often wrought injury amongst

cattle. Every animal that died suddenly was killed by the dart of the

fairies, or, in the language of the people, was 'shot-a-dead.' Flint

arrows and spear-heads went by the name of 'faery dairts....' When an

animal died suddenly the canny woman of the district was sent for to

search for the 'faery dairt,' and in due course she found one, to the

great satisfaction of the owner of the dead animal."[753]

[Mode in which the burning of a bewitched animal is supposed to break

the spell.]

But how, we must still ask, can burning an animal alive break the spell

that has been cast upon its fellows by a witch or a warlock? Some light

is thrown on the question by the following account of measures which

rustic wiseacres in Suffolk are said to have adopted as a remedy for

witchcraft. "A woman I knew forty-three years had been employed by my

predecessor to take care of his poultry. At the time I came to make her

acquaintance she was a bedridden toothless crone, with chin and nose all

but meeting. She did not discourage in her neighbours the idea that she

knew more than people ought to know, and had more power than others had.

Many years before I knew her it happened one spring that the ducks,

which were a part of her charge, failed to lay eggs.... She at once took

it for granted that the ducks had been bewitched. This misbelief

involved very shocking consequences, for it necessitated the idea that

so diabolical an act could only be combated by diabolical cruelty. And

the most diabolical act of cruelty she could imagine was that of baking

alive in a hot oven one of the ducks. And that was what she did. The

sequence of thought in her mind was that the spell that had been laid on

the ducks was that of preternaturally wicked wilfulness; that this spell

could only be broken through intensity of suffering, in this case death

by burning; that the intensity of suffering would break the spell in the

one roasted to death; and that the spell broken in one would be

altogether broken, that is, in all the ducks.... Shocking, however, as

was this method of exorcising the ducks, there was nothing in it

original. Just about a hundred years before, everyone in the town and

neighbourhood of Ipswich had heard, and many had believed, that a witch

had been burnt to death in her own house at Ipswich by the process of

burning alive one of the sheep she had bewitched. It was curious, but it

was as convincing as curious, that the hands and feet of this witch were

the only parts of her that had not been incinerated. This, however, was

satisfactorily explained by the fact that the four feet of the sheep, by

which it had been suspended over the fire, had not been destroyed in the

flames that had consumed its body."[754] According to a slightly

different account of the same tragic incident, the last of the "Ipswitch

witches," one Grace Pett, "laid her hand heavily on a farmer's sheep,

who, in order to punish her, fastened one of the sheep in the ground and

burnt it, except the feet, which were under the earth. The next morning

Grace Pett was found burnt to a cinder, except her feet. Her fate is

recorded in the _Philosophical Transactions_ as a case of spontaneous

combustion."[755]

[In burning the bewitched animal you burn the witch herself.]

This last anecdote is instructive, if perhaps not strictly authentic. It

shows that in burning alive one of a bewitched flock or herd what you

really do is to burn the witch, who is either actually incarnate in the

animal or perhaps more probably stands in a relation of sympathy with it

so close as almost to amount to identity. Hence if you burn the creature

to ashes, you utterly destroy the witch and thereby save the whole of

the rest of the flock or herd from her abominable machinations; whereas

if you only partially burn the animal, allowing some parts of it to

escape the flames, the witch is only half-baked, and her power for

mischief may be hardly, if at all, impaired by the grilling. We can now

see that in such matters half-measures are useless. To kill the animal

first and burn it afterwards is a weak compromise, dictated no doubt by

a well-meant but utterly mistaken kindness; it is like shutting the

stable-door when the steed is stolen, for obviously by leaving the

animal's, and therefore the witch's, body nearly intact at the moment of

death, it allows her soul to escape and return safe and sound to her own

human body, which all the time is probably lying quietly at home in bed.

And the same train of reasoning that justifies the burning alive of

bewitched animals justifies and indeed requires the burning alive of the

witches themselves; it is really the only way of destroying them, body

and soul, and therefore of thoroughly extirpating the whole infernal

crew.

[Practice of burning cattle and sheep as sacrifices in the Isle of Man.]

In the Isle of Man the practice of burning cattle alive in order to stop

a murrain seems to have persisted down to a time within living memory.

On this subject I will quote the evidence collected by Sir John Rhys: "A

respectable farmer from Andreas told me that he was driving with his

wife to the neighbouring parish of Jurby some years ago, and that on the

way they beheld the carcase of a cow or an ox burning in a field, with a

woman engaged in stirring the fire. On reaching the village to which

they were going, they found that the burning beast belonged to a farmer

whom they knew. They were further told it was no wonder that the said

farmer had one of his cattle burnt, as several of them had recently

died. Whether this was a case of sacrifice or not I cannot say. But let

me give you another instance: a man whom I have already mentioned, saw

at a farm nearer the centre of the island a live calf being burnt. The

owner bears an English name, but his family has long been settled in

Man. The farmer's explanation to my informant was that the calf was

burnt to secure luck for the rest of the herd, some of which were

threatening to die. My informant thought there was absolutely nothing

the matter with them, except that they had too little to eat. Be that as

it may, the one calf was sacrificed as a burnt-offering to secure luck

for the rest of the cattle. Let me here also quote Mr. Moore's note in

his _Manx Surnames_, p. 184, on the place name _Cabbal yn Oural Losht_,

or the Chapel of the Burnt Sacrifice. 'This name,' he says, 'records a

circumstance which took place in the nineteenth century, but which, it

is to be hoped, was never customary in the Isle of Man. A farmer, who

had lost a number of his sheep and cattle by murrain, burned a calf as a

propitiatory offering to the Deity on this spot, where a chapel was

afterwards built. Hence the name.' Particulars, I may say, of time,

place, and person could be easily added to Mr. Moore's statement,

excepting, perhaps as to the deity in question; on that point I have

never been informed, but Mr. Moore is probably right in the use of the

capital _d_, as the sacrificer is, according to all accounts, a highly

devout Christian. One more instance: an octogenarian woman, born in the

parish of Bride, and now living at Kirk Andreas, saw, when she was a

'lump of a girl' of ten or fifteen years of age, a live sheep being

burnt in a field in the parish of Andreas, on May-day, whereby she meant

the first of May reckoned according to the Old Style. She asserts very

decidedly that it was _son oural_, 'as a sacrifice,' as she put it, and

'for an object to the public': those were her words when she expressed

herself in English. Further, she made the statement that it was a custom

to burn a sheep on old May-day for a sacrifice. I was fully alive to the

interest of this evidence, and cross-examined her so far as her age

allows of it, and I find that she adheres to her statement with all

firmness."[756]

[By burning a bewitched animal you compel the witch to appear.]

But Manxmen burn beasts when they are dead as well as when they are

alive; and their reasons for burning the dead animals may help us to

understand their reasons for burning the living animals. On this subject

I will again quote Sir John Rhys: "When a beast dies on a farm, of

course it dies, according to the old-fashioned view of things, as I

understand it, from the influence of the evil eye or the interposition

of a witch. So if you want to know to whom you are indebted for the loss

of the beast, you have simply to burn its carcase in the open air and

watch who comes first to the spot or who first passes by; that is the

criminal to be charged with the death of the animal, and he cannot help

coming there--such is the effect of the fire. A Michael woman, who is

now about thirty, related to me how she watched while the carcase of a

bewitched colt was burning, how she saw the witch coming, and how she

remembers her shrivelled face, with nose and chin in close proximity.

According to another native of Michael, a well-informed middle-aged man,

the animal in question was oftenest a calf, and it was wont to be burnt

whole, skin and all. The object, according to him, is invariably to

bring the bewitcher on the spot, and he always comes; but I am not clear

what happens to him when he appears. My informant added, however, that

it was believed that, unless the bewitcher got possession of the heart

of the burning beast, he lost all his power of bewitching."[757]

[Magic sympathy between the witch and the bewitched animal.]

These statements shew that in the Isle of Man the sympathetic relation

between the witch and his or her animal victim is believed to be so

close that by burning the animal you compel the witch to appear. The

original idea may have been that, by virtue of a magic sympathy which

binds the two together, whatever harm you do to the animal is felt by

the witch as if it were done to herself. That notion would fully explain

why Manx people used also to burn bewitched animals alive; in doing so

they probably imagined that they were simultaneously burning the witch

who had cast the spell on their cattle.

[Parallel belief in magic sympathy between the animal shape of a

were-wolf and his or her ordinary human shape: by wounding the wolf you

simultaneously wound the man or woman.]

This explanation of the reason for burning a bewitched animal, dead or

alive, is confirmed by the parallel belief concerning were-wolves. It is

commonly supposed that certain men and women can transform themselves by

magic art into wolves or other animals, but that any wound inflicted on

such a transformed beast (a were-wolf or other were-animal) is

simultaneously inflicted on the human body of the witch or warlock who

had transformed herself or himself into the creature. This belief is

widely diffused; it meets us in Europe, Asia, and Africa. For example,

Olaus Magnus tells us that in Livonia, not many years before he wrote, a

noble lady had a dispute with her slave on the subject of were-wolves,

she doubting whether there were any such things, and he maintaining that

there were. To convince her he retired to a room, from which he soon

appeared in the form of a wolf. Being chased by the dogs into the forest

and brought to bay, the wolf defended himself fiercely, but lost an eye

in the struggle. Next day the slave returned to his mistress in human

form but with only one eye.[758] Again, it happened in the year 1588

that a gentleman in a village among the mountains of Auvergne, looking

out of the window one evening, saw a friend of his going out to hunt. He

begged him to bring him back some of his bag, and his friend said that

he would. Well, he had not gone very far before he met a huge wolf. He

fired and missed it, and the animal attacked him furiously, but he stood

on his guard and with an adroit stroke of his hunting knife he cut off

the right fore-paw of the brute, which thereupon fled away and he saw it

no more. He returned to his friend, and drawing from his pouch the

severed paw of the wolf he found to his horror that it was turned into a

woman's hand with a golden ring on one of the fingers. His friend

recognized the ring as that of his own wife and went to find her. She

was sitting by the fire with her right arm under her apron. As she

refused to draw it out, her husband confronted her with the hand and the

ring on it. She at once confessed the truth, that it was she in the form

of a were-wolf whom the hunter had wounded. Her confession was confirmed

by applying the severed hand to the stump of her arm, for the two fitted

exactly. The angry husband delivered up his wicked wife to justice; she

was tried and burnt as a witch.[759] It is said that a were-wolf,

scouring the streets of Padua, was caught, and when they cut off his

four paws he at once turned into a man, but with both his hands and feet

amputated.[760] Again, in a farm of the French district of Beauce, there

was once a herdsman who never slept at home. These nocturnal absences

naturally attracted attention and set people talking. At the same time,

by a curious coincidence, a wolf used to prowl round the farm every

night and to excite the dogs in the farmyard to fury by thrusting his

snout derisively through the cat's hole in the great gate. The farmer

had his suspicions and he determined to watch. One night, when the

herdsman went out as usual, his master followed him quietly till he came

to a hut, where with his own eyes he saw the man put on a broad belt and

at once turn into a wolf, which scoured away over the fields. The farmer

smiled a sickly sort of smile and went back to the farm. There he took a

stout stick and sat down at the cat's hole to wait. He had not long to

wait. The dogs barked like mad, a wolf's snout shewed through the hole,

down came the stick, out gushed the blood, and a voice was heard to say

without the gate, "A good job too. I had still three years to run." Next

day the herdsman appeared as usual, but he had a scar on his brow, and

he never went out again at night.[761]

[Werewolves in China.]

In China also the faith in similar transformation is reflected in the

following tale. A certain man in Sung-yang went into the mountains to

gather fuel. Night fell and he was pursued by two tigers, but scrambled

up a tree out of their reach. Then said the one tiger to the other

tiger, "If we can find Chu-Tu-shi, we are sure to catch this man up the

tree." So off went one of them to find Chu-Tu-shi, while the other kept

watch at the foot of the tree. Soon after that another tiger, leaner and

longer than the other two, appeared on the scene and made a grab at the

man's coat. But fortunately the moon was shining, the man saw the paw,

and with a stroke of his axe cut off one of its claws. The tigers roared

and fled, one after the other, so the man climbed down the tree and went

home. When he told his tale in the village, suspicion naturally fell on

the said Chu-Tu-shi; next day some men went to see him in his house.

They were told that they could not see him; for he had been out the

night before and had hurt his hand, and he was now ill in bed. So they

put two and two together and reported him to the police. The police

arrived, surrounded the house, and set fire to it; but Chu-Tu-shi rose

from his bed, turned into a tiger, charged right through the police, and

escaped, and to this day nobody ever knew where he went to.[762]

[Werewolves among the Toradjas of Central Celebes.]

The Toradjas of Central Celebes stand in very great fear of werewolves,

that is of men and women, who have the power of transforming their

spirits into animals such as cats, crocodiles, wild pigs, apes, deer,

and buffaloes, which roam about battening on human flesh, and especially

on human livers, while the men and women in their own proper human form

are sleeping quietly in their beds at home. Among them a man is either

born a were-wolf or becomes one by infection; for mere contact with a

were-wolf, or even with anything that has been touched by his spittle,

is quite enough to turn the most innocent person into a were-wolf; nay

even to lean your head against anything against which a were-wolf has

leaned his head suffices to do it. The penalty for being a were-wolf is

death; but the sentence is never passed until the accused has had a fair

trial and his guilt has been clearly demonstrated by an ordeal, which

consists in dipping the middle finger into boiling resin. If the finger

is not burnt, the man is no were-wolf; but if it is burnt, a werewolf he

most assuredly is, so they take him away to a quiet spot and hack him to

bits. In cutting him up the executioners are naturally very careful not

to be bespattered with his blood, for if that were to happen they would

of course be turned into were-wolves themselves. Further, they place his

severed head beside his hinder-quarters to prevent his soul from coming

to life again and pursuing his depredations. So great is the horror of

were-wolves among the Toradjas, and so great is their fear of

contracting the deadly taint by infection, that many persons have

assured a missionary that they would not spare their own child if they

knew him to be a were-wolf.[763] Now these people, whose faith in

were-wolves is not a mere dying or dead superstition but a living,

dreadful conviction, tell stories of were-wolves which conform to the

type which we are examining. They say that once upon a time a were-wolf

came in human shape under the house of a neighbour, while his real body

lay asleep as usual at home, and calling out softly to the man's wife

made an assignation with her to meet him in the tobacco-field next day.

But the husband was lying awake and he heard it all, but he said nothing

to anybody. Next day chanced to be a busy one in the village, for a roof

had to be put on a new house and all the men were lending a hand with

the work, and among them to be sure was the were-wolf himself, I mean to

say his own human self; there he was up on the roof working away as hard

as anybody. But the woman went out to the tobacco-field, and behind went

unseen her husband, slinking through the underwood. When they were come

to the field, he saw the were-wolf make up to his wife, so out he rushed

and struck at him with a stick. Quick as thought, the were-wolf turned

himself into a leaf, but the man was as nimble, for he caught up the

leaf, thrust it into the joint of bamboo, in which he kept his tobacco,

and bunged it up tight. Then he walked back with his wife to the

village, carrying the bamboo with the werewolf in it. When they came to

the village, the human body of the were-wolf was still on the roof,

working away with the rest. The man put the bamboo in a fire. At that

the human were-wolf looked down from the roof and said, "Don't do that."

The man drew the bamboo from the fire, but a moment afterwards he put it

in the fire again, and again the human were-wolf on the roof looked down

and cried, "Don't do that." But this time the man kept the bamboo in the

fire, and when it blazed up, down fell the human were-wolf from the roof

as dead as a stone.[764] Again, the following story went round among the

Toradjas not so very many years ago. The thing happened at Soemara, on

the Gulf of Tomori. It was evening and some men sat chatting with a

certain Hadji Mohammad. When it had grown dark, one of the men went out

of the house for something or other. A little while afterwards one of

the company thought he saw a stag's antlers standing out sharp and clear

against the bright evening sky. So Hadji Mohammad raised his gun and

fired. A minute or two afterwards back comes the man who had gone out,

and says he to Hadji Mohammad, "You shot at me and hit me. You must pay

me a fine." They searched him but found no wound on him anywhere. Then

they knew that he was a were-wolf who had turned himself into a stag and

had healed the bullet-wound by licking it. However, the bullet had found

its billet, for two days afterwards he was a dead man.[765]

[Were-wolves in the Egyptian Sudan.]

In Sennar, a province of the Egyptian Sudan, the Hammeg and Fungi enjoy

the reputation of being powerful magicians who can turn themselves into

hyaenas and in that guise scour the country at night, howling and

gorging themselves. But by day they are men again. It is very dangerous

to shoot at such human hyaenas by night. On the Jebel Bela mountain a

soldier once shot at a hyaena and hit it, but it dragged itself off,

bleeding, in the darkness and escaped. Next morning he followed up the

trail of blood and it led him straight to the hut of a man who was

everywhere known for a wizard. Nothing of the hyaena was to be seen, but

the man himself was laid up in the house with a fresh wound and died

soon afterwards. And the soldier did not long survive him.[766]

[The were-wolf story in Petronius.]

But the classical example of these stories is an old Roman tale told by

Petronius. It is put in the mouth of one Niceros. Late at night he left

the town to visit a friend of his, a widow, who lived at a farm five

miles down the road. He was accompanied by a soldier, who lodged in the

same house, a man of Herculean build. When they set out it was near

dawn, but the moon shone as bright as day. Passing through the outskirts

of the town, they came amongst the tombs, which lined the highroad for

some distance. There the soldier made an excuse for retiring behind a

monument, and Niceros sat down to wait for him, humming a tune and

counting the tombstones to pass the time. In a little he looked round

for his companion, and saw a sight which froze him with horror. The

soldier had stripped off his clothes to the last rag and laid them at

the side of the highway. Then he performed a certain ceremony over them,

and immediately was changed into a wolf, and ran howling into the

forest. When Niceros had recovered himself a little, he went to pick up

the clothes, but found that they were turned to stone. More dead than

alive, he drew his sword, and, striking at every shadow cast by the

tombstones on the moonlit road, he tottered to his friend's house. He

entered it like a ghost, to the surprise of the widow, who wondered to

see him abroad so late. "If you had only been here a little ago," said

she, "you might have been of some use. For a wolf came tearing into the

yard, scaring the cattle and bleeding them like a butcher. But he did

not get off so easily, for the servant speared him in the neck." After

hearing these words, Niceros felt that he could not close an eye, so he

hurried away home again. It was now broad daylight, but when he came to

the place where the clothes had been turned to stone, he found only a

pool of blood. He reached home, and there lay the soldier in bed like an

ox in the shambles, and the doctor was bandaging his neck. "Then I

knew," said Niceros, "that the man was a were-wolf, and never again

could I break bread with him, no, not if you had killed me for it."[767]

[Witches like were-wolves can temporarily transform themselves into

animals.]

These stories may help us to understand the custom of burning a

bewitched animal, which has been observed in our own country down to

recent times, if indeed it is even now extinct. For a close parallel may

be traced in some respects between witches and were-wolves. Like

were-wolves, witches are commonly supposed to be able to transform

themselves temporarily into animals for the purpose of playing their

mischievous pranks;[768] and like were-wolves they can in their animal

disguise be compelled to unmask themselves to any one who succeeds in

drawing their blood. In either case the animal-skin is conceived as a

cloak thrown round the wicked enchanter; and if you can only pierce the

skin, whether by the stab of a knife or the shot of a gun, you so rend

the disguise that the man or woman inside of it stands revealed in his

or her true colours. Strictly speaking, the stab should be given on the

brow or between the eyes in the case both of a witch and of a

were-wolf;[769] and it is vain to shoot at a were-wolf unless you have

had the bullet blessed in a chapel of St. Hubert or happen to be

carrying about you, without knowing it, a four-leaved clover; otherwise

the bullet will merely rebound from the were-wolf like water from a

duck's back.[770] However, in Armenia they say that the were-wolf, who

in that country is usually a woman, can be killed neither by shot nor by

steel; the only way of delivering the unhappy woman from her bondage is

to get hold of her wolf's skin and burn it; for that naturally prevents

her from turning into a wolf again. But it is not easy to find the skin,

for she is cunning enough to hide it by day.[771] So with witches, it is

not only useless but even dangerous to shoot at one of them when she has

turned herself into a hare; if you do, the gun may burst in your hand or

the shot come back and kill you. The only way to make quite sure of

hitting a witch-animal is to put a silver sixpence or a silver button in

your gun.[772] For example, it happened one evening that a native of the

island of Tiree was going home with a new gun, when he saw a black sheep

running towards him across the plain of Reef. Something about the

creature excited his suspicion, so he put a silver sixpence in his gun

and fired at it. Instantly the black sheep became a woman with a drugget

coat wrapt round her head. The man knew her quite well, for she was a

witch who had often persecuted him before in the shape of a cat.[773]

[Wounds inflicted on an animal into which a witch has transformed

herself are inflicted on the witch herself.]

Again, the wounds inflicted on a witch-hare or a witch-cat are to be

seen on the witch herself, just as the wounds inflicted on a were-wolf

are to be seen on the man himself when he has doffed the wolfs skin. To

take a few instances out of a multitude, a young man in the island of

Lismore was out shooting. When he was near Balnagown loch, he started a

hare and fired at it. The animal gave an unearthly scream, and then for

the first time it occurred to him that there were no real hares in

Lismore. He threw away his gun in terror and fled home; and next day he

heard that a notorious witch was laid up with a broken leg. A man need

be no conjuror to guess how she came by that broken leg.[774] Again, at

Thurso certain witches used to turn themselves into cats and in that

shape to torment an honest man. One night he lost patience, whipped out

his broadsword, and put them to flight. As they were scurrying away he

struck at them and cut off a leg of one of the cats. To his astonishment

it was a woman's leg, and next morning he found one of the witches short

of the corresponding limb.[775] Glanvil tells a story of "an old woman

in Cambridge-shire, whose astral spirit, coming into a man's house (as

he was sitting alone at the fire) in the shape of an huge cat, and

setting her self before the fire, not far from him, he stole a stroke at

the back of it with a fire-fork, and seemed to break the back of it, but

it scambled from him, and vanisht he knew not how. But such an old

woman, a reputed witch, was found dead in her bed that very night, with

her back broken, as I have heard some years ago credibly reported."[776]

In Yorkshire during the latter half of the nineteenth century a parish

clergyman was told a circumstantial story of an old witch named Nanny,

who was hunted in the form of a hare for several miles over the

Westerdale moors and kept well away from the dogs, till a black one

joined the pack and succeeded in taking a bit out of one of the hare's

legs. That was the end of the chase, and immediately afterwards the

sportsmen found old Nanny laid up in bed with a sore leg. On examining

the wounded limb they discovered that the hurt was precisely in that

part of it which in the hare had been bitten by the black dog and, what

was still more significant, the wound had all the appearance of having

been inflicted by a dog's teeth. So they put two and two together.[777]

The same sort of thing is often reported in Lincolnshire. "One night,"

said a servant from Kirton Lindsey, "my father and brother saw a cat in

front of them. Father knew it was a witch, and took a stone and hammered

it. Next day the witch had her face all tied up, and shortly afterwards

died." Again, a Bardney bumpkin told how a witch in his neighbourhood

could take all sorts of shapes. One night a man shot a hare, and when he

went to the witch's house he found her plastering a wound just where he

had shot the hare.[778] So in County Leitrim, in Ireland, they say that

a hare pursued by dogs fled to a house near at hand, but just as it was

bolting in at the door one of the dogs came up with it and nipped a

piece out of its leg. The hunters entered the house and found no hare

there but only an old woman, and her side was bleeding; so they knew

what to think of her.[779]

[Wounded witches in the Vosges.]

Again, in the Vosges Mountains a great big hare used to come out every

evening to take the air at the foot of the Mont des Fourches. All the

sportsmen of the neighbourhood tried their hands on that hare for a

month, but not one of them could hit it. At last one marksman, more

knowing than the rest, loaded his gun with some pellets of a consecrated

wafer in addition to the usual pellets of lead. That did the trick. If

puss was not killed outright, she was badly hurt, and limped away

uttering shrieks and curses in a human voice. Later it transpired that

she was no other than the witch of a neighbouring village who had the

power of putting on the shape of any animal she pleased.[780] Again, a

hunter of Travexin, in the Vosges, fired at a hare and almost shot away

one of its hind legs. Nevertheless the creature contrived to escape into

a cottage through the open door. Immediately a child's cries were heard

to proceed from the cottage, and the hunter could distinguish these

words, "Daddy, daddy, come quick! Poor mammy has her leg broken."[781]

[Wounded witches in Swabia.]

In Swabia the witches are liable to accidents of the same sort when they

go about their business in the form of animals. For example, there was a

soldier who was betrothed to a young woman and used to visit her every

evening when he was off duty. But one evening the girl told him that he

must not come to the house on Friday nights, because it was never

convenient to her to see him then. This roused his suspicion, and the

very next Friday night he set out to go to his sweetheart's house. On

the way a white cat ran up to him in the street and dogged his steps,

and when the animal would not make off he drew his sword and slashed off

one of its paws. On that the cat bolted. The soldier walked on, but when

he came to his sweetheart's house he found her in bed, and when he asked

her what was the matter, she gave a very confused reply. Noticing stains

of blood on the bed, he drew down the coverlet and saw that the girl was

weltering in her gore, for one of her feet was lopped off. "So that's

what's the matter with you, you witch!" said he, and turned on his heel

and left her, and within three days she was dead.[782] Again, a farmer

in the neighbourhood of Wiesensteig frequently found in his stable a

horse over and above the four horses he actually owned. He did not know

what to make of it and mentioned the matter to the smith. The smith said

quietly, "The next time you see a fifth horse in the stable, just you

send for me." Well, it was not long before the strange horse was there

again, and the farmer at once sent for the smith. He came bringing four

horse-shoes with him, and said, "I'm sure the nag has no shoes; I'll

shoe her for you." No sooner said than done. However, the smith

overreached himself; for next day when his friend the farmer paid him a

visit he found the smith's own wife prancing about with horse-shoes

nailed on her hands and feet. But it was the last time she ever appeared

in the shape of a horse.[783]

[The miller's wife and the two grey cats.]

Once more, in Silesia they tell of a miller's apprentice, a sturdy and

industrious young fellow, who set out on his travels. One day he came to

a mill, and the miller told him that he wanted an apprentice but did not

care to engage one, because hitherto all his apprentices had run away in

the night, and when he came down in the morning the mill was at a stand.

However, he liked the looks of the young chap and took him into his pay.

But what the new apprentice heard about the mill and his predecessors

was not encouraging; so the first night when it was his duty to watch in

the mill he took care to provide himself with an axe and a prayer-book,

and while he kept one eye on the whirring, humming wheels he kept the

other on the good book, which he read by the flickering light of a

candle set on a table. So the hours at first passed quietly with nothing

to disturb him but the monotonous drone and click of the machinery. But

on the stroke of twelve, as he was still reading with the axe lying on

the table within reach, the door opened and in came two grey cats

mewing, an old one and a young one. They sat down opposite him, but it

was easy to see that they did not like his wakefulness and the

prayer-book and the axe. Suddenly the old cat reached out a paw and made

a grab at the axe, but the young chap was too quick for her and held it

fast. Then the young cat tried to do the same for the prayer-book, but

the apprentice gripped it tight. Thus balked, the two cats set up such a

squalling that the young fellow could hardly say his prayers. Just

before one o'clock the younger cat sprang on the table and fetched a

blow with her right paw at the candle to put it out. But the apprentice

struck at her with his axe and sliced the paw off, whereupon the two

cats vanished with a frightful screech. The apprentice wrapped the paw

up in paper to shew it to his master. Very glad the miller was next

morning when he came down and found the mill going and the young chap at

his post. The apprentice told him what had happened in the night and

gave him the parcel containing the cat's paw. But when the miller opened

it, what was the astonishment of the two to find in it no cat's paw but

a woman's hand! At breakfast the miller's young wife did not as usual

take her place at the table. She was ill in bed, and the doctor had to

be called in to bind up her right arm, because in hewing wood, so they

said, she had made a slip and cut off her own right hand. But the

apprentice packed up his traps and turned his back on that mill before

the sun had set.[784]

[The analogy of were-wolves confirms the view that the reason for

burning bewitched animals is either to burn the witch or to compel her

to appear.]

It would no doubt be easy to multiply instances, all equally well

attested and authentic, of the transformation of witches into animals

and of the damage which the women themselves have sustained through

injuries inflicted on the animals.[785] But the foregoing evidence may

suffice to establish the complete parallelism between witches and

were-wolves in these respects. The analogy appears to confirm the view

that the reason for burning a bewitched animal alive is a belief that

the witch herself is in the animal, and that by burning it you either

destroy the witch completely or at least unmask her and compel her to

reassume her proper human shape, in which she is naturally far less

potent for mischief than when she is careering about the country in the

likeness of a cat, a hare, a horse, or what not. This principle is still

indeed clearly recognized by people in Oldenburg, though, as might be

expected, they do not now carry out the principle to its logical

conclusion by burning the bewitched animal or person alive; instead they

resort to a feeble and, it must be added, perfectly futile subterfuge

dictated by a mistaken humanity or a fear of the police. "When anything

living is bewitched in a house, for example, children or animals, they

burn or boil the nobler inwards of animals, especially the hearts, but

also the lungs or the liver. If animals have died, they take the inwards

of one of them or of an animal of the same kind slaughtered for the

purpose; but if that is not possible they take the inwards of a cock, by

preference a black one. The heart, lung, or liver is stuck all over with

needles, or marked with a cross cut, or placed on the fire in a tightly

closed vessel, strict silence being observed and doors and windows well

shut. When the heart boils or is reduced to ashes, the witch must

appear, for during the boiling she feels the burning pain. She either

begs to be released or seeks to borrow something, for example, salt or a

coal of fire, or she takes the lid off the pot, or tries to induce the

person whose spell is on her to speak. They say, too, that a woman comes

with a spinning-wheel. If it is a sheep that has died, you proceed in

the same way with a tripe from its stomach and prick it with needles

while it is on the boil. Instead of boiling it, some people nail the

heart to the highest rafter of the house, or lay it on the edge of the

hearth, in order that it may dry up, no doubt because the same thing

happens to the witch. We may conjecture that other sympathetic means of

destruction are employed against witchcraft. The following is expressly

reported: the heart of a calf that has died is stuck all over with

needles, enclosed in a bag, and thrown into flowing water before

sunset."[786]

[There is the same reason for burning bewitched things; similarly by

burning alive a person whose form a witch has assumed, you compel the

witch to disclose herself.]

And the same thing holds good also of inanimate objects on which a witch

has cast her spell. In Wales they say that "if a thing is bewitched,

burn it, and immediately afterwards the witch will come to borrow

something of you. If you give what she asks, she will go free; if you

refuse it, she will burn, and a mark will be on her body the next

day."[787] So, too, in Oldenburg, "the burning of things that are

bewitched or that have been received from witches is another way of

breaking the spell. It is often said that the burning should take place

at a cross-road, and in several places cross-roads are shewn where the

burning used to be performed.... As a rule, while the things are

burning, the guilty witches appear, though not always in their own

shape. At the burning of bewitched butter they often appear as

cockchafers and can be killed with impunity. Victuals received from

witches may be safely consumed if only you first burn a portion of

them."[788] For example, a young man in Oldenburg was wooing a girl, and

she gave him two fine apples as a gift. Not feeling any appetite at the

time, he put the apples in his pocket, and when he came home he laid

them by in a chest. Two or three days afterwards he remembered the

apples and went to the chest to fetch them. But when he would have put

his hand on them, what was his horror to find in their stead two fat

ugly toads in the chest. He hastened to a wise man and asked him what he

should do with the toads. The man told him to boil the toads alive, but

while he was doing so he must be sure on no account to lend anything out

of the house. Well, just as he had the toads in a pot on the fire and

the water began to grow nicely warm, who should come to the door but the

girl who had given him the apples, and she wished to borrow something;

but he refused to give her anything, rated her as a witch, and drove her

out of the house. A little afterwards in came the girl's mother and

begged with tears in her eyes for something or other; but he turned her

out also. The last word she said to him was that he should at least

spare her daughter's life; but he paid no heed to her and let the toads

boil till they fell to bits. Next day word came that the girl was

dead.[789] Can any reasonable man doubt that the witch herself was

boiled alive in the person of the toads?

[The burning alive of a supposed witch in Ireland in 1895.]

Moreover, just as a witch can assume the form of an animal, so she can

assume the form of some other human being, and the likeness is sometimes

so good that it is difficult to detect the fraud. However, by burning

alive the person whose shape the witch has put on, you force the witch

to disclose herself, just as by burning alive the bewitched animal you

in like manner oblige the witch to appear. This principle may perhaps be

unknown to science, falsely so called, but it is well understood in

Ireland and has been acted on within recent years. In March 1895 a

peasant named Michael Cleary, residing at Ballyvadlea, a remote and

lonely district in the county of Tipperary, burned his wife Bridget

Cleary alive over a slow fire on the kitchen hearth in the presence of

and with the active assistance of some neighbours, including the woman's

own father and several of her cousins. They thought that she was not

Bridget Cleary at all, but a witch, and that when they held her down on

the fire she would vanish up the chimney; so they cried, while she was

burning, "Away she goes! Away she goes!" Even when she lay quite dead on

the kitchen floor (for contrary to the general expectation she did not

disappear up the chimney), her husband still believed that the woman

lying there was a witch, and that his own dear wife had gone with the

fairies to the old _rath_ or fort on the hill of Kylenagranagh, where he

would see her at night riding a grey horse and roped to the saddle, and

that he would cut the ropes, and that she would stay with him ever

afterwards. So he went with some friends to the fort night after night,

taking a big table-knife with him to cut the ropes. But he never saw his

wife again. He and the men who had held the woman on the fire were

arrested and tried at Clonmel for wilful murder in July 1895; they were

all found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to various terms of penal

servitude and imprisonment; the sentence passed on Michael Cleary was

twenty years' penal servitude.[790]

[Sometimes bewitched animals are buried alive instead of being burned.]

However, our British peasants, it must be confessed, have not always

acted up to the strict logical theory which seems to call for death by

fire as the proper treatment both of bewitched animals and of witches.

Sometimes, perhaps in moments of weakness, they have merely buried the

bewitched animals alive instead of burning them. For example, in the

year 1643, "many cattle having died, John Brughe and Neane Nikclerith,

also one of the initiated, conjoined their mutual skill for the safety

of the herd. The surviving animals were drove past a tub of water

containing two enchanted stones: and each was sprinkled from the liquid

contents in its course. One, however, being unable to walk, 'was by

force drawin out at the byre dure; and the said Johnne with Nikclerith

smelling the nois thereof said it wald not leive, caused are hoill to be

maid in Maw Greane, quhilk was put quick in the hole and maid all the

rest of the cattell theireftir to go over that place: and in that

devillische maner, be charmeing,' they were cured."[791] Again, during

the prevalence of a murrain about the year 1629, certain persons

proposed to stay the plague with the help of a celebrated "cureing

stane" of which the laird of Lee was the fortunate owner. But from this

they were dissuaded by one who "had sene bestiall curet be taking are

quik seik ox, and making are deip pitt, and bureing him therin, and be

calling the oxin and bestiall over that place." Indeed Issobell Young,

the mother of these persons, had herself endeavoured to check the

progress of the distemper by taking "ane quik ox with ane catt, and ane

grit quantitie of salt," and proceeding "to burie the ox and catt quik

with the salt, in ane deip hoill in the grund, as ane sacrifice to the

devill, that the rest of the guidis might be fred of the seiknes or

diseases."[792] Writing towards the end of the eighteenth century, John

Ramsay of Ochtertyre tells us that "the violent death even of a brute is

in some cases held to be of great avail. There is a disease called the

_black spauld_, which sometimes rages like a pestilence among black

cattle, the symptoms of which are a mortification in the legs and a

corruption of the mass of blood. Among the other engines of superstition

that are directed against this fatal malady, the first cow seized with

it is commonly buried alive, and the other cattle are forced to pass

backwards and forwards over the pit. At other times the heart is taken

out of the beast alive, and then the carcass is buried. It is remarkable

that the leg affected is cut off, and hung up in some part of the house

or byre, where it remains suspended, notwithstanding the seeming danger

of infection. There is hardly a house in Mull where these may not be

seen. This practice seems to have taken its rise antecedent to

Christianity, as it reminds us of the pagan custom of hanging up

offerings in their temples. In Breadalbane, when a cow is observed to

have symptoms of madness, there is recourse had to a peculiar process.

They tie the legs of the mad creature, and throw her into a pit dug at

the door of the fold. After covering the hole with earth, a large fire

is kindled upon it; and the rest of the cattle are driven out, and

forced to pass through the fire one by one."[793] In this latter custom

we may suspect that the fire kindled on the grave of the buried cow was

originally made by the friction of wood, in other words, that it was a

need-fire. Again, writing in the year 1862, Sir Arthur Mitchell tells us

that "for the cure of the murrain in cattle, one of the herd is still

sacrificed for the good of the whole. This is done by burying it alive.

I am assured that within the last ten years such a barbarism occurred in

the county of Moray."[794]

[Calves killed and buried to save the rest of the herd.]

Sometimes, however, the animal has not even been buried alive, it has

been merely killed and then buried. In this emasculated form the

sacrifice, we may say with confidence, is absolutely useless for the

purpose of stopping a murrain. Nevertheless, it has been tried. Thus in

Lincolnshire, when the cattle plague was so prevalent in 1866, there

was, I believe, not a single cowshed in Marshland but had its wicken

cross over the door; and other charms more powerful than this were in

some cases resorted to. I never heard of the use of the needfire in the

Marsh, though it was, I believe, used on the wolds not many miles off.

But I knew of at least one case in which a calf was killed and solemnly

buried feet pointing upwards at the threshold of the cowshed. When our

garthman told me of this, I pointed out to him that the charm had

failed, for the disease had not spared that shed. But he promptly

replied, "Yis, but owd Edwards were a soight too cliver; he were that

mean he slew nobbutt a wankling cauf as were bound to deny anny road; if

he had nobbutt tekken his best cauf it wud hev worked reight enuff;

'tain't in reason that owd skrat 'ud be hanselled wi' wankling

draffle."[795]

Notes:

[262] See Jacob Grimm, _Deutsche Mythologie_*[4] (Berlin, 1875-1878), i.

502, 510, 516.

[263] W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus der Germanen und ihrer

Nachbarstämme_ (Berlin, 1875), pp. 518 _sq._

[264] In the following survey of these fire-customs I follow chiefly W.

Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, kap. vi. pp. 497 _sqq._ Compare also J.

Grimm, _Deutsche Mythologie_,*[4] i. 500 _sqq._; Walter E. Kelly,

_Curiosities of Indo-European Tradition and Folk-lore_ (London, 1863),

pp. 46 _sqq._; F. Vogt, "Scheibentreiben und Frühlingsfeuer,"

_Zeitschrift des Vereins für Volkskunde_, iii. (1893) pp. 349-369;

_ibid._ iv. (1894) pp. 195-197.

[265] _The Scapegoat_, pp. 316 _sqq._

[266] The first Sunday in Lent is known as _Invocavit_ from the first

word of the mass for the day (O. Frh. von Reinsberg-Düringsfeld,

_Fest-Kalender aus Böhmen_, p. 67).

[267] Le Baron de Reinsberg-Düringsfeld, _Calendrier Belge_ (Brussels,

1861-1862), i. 141-143; E. Monseur, _Le Folklore Wallon_ (Brussels,

N.D.), pp. 124 _sq._

[268] Émile Hublard, _Fêtes du Temps Jadis, les Feux du Carême_ (Mons,

1899), pp. 25. For the loan of this work I am indebted to Mrs. Wherry of

St. Peter's Terrace, Cambridge.

[269] É. Hublard, _op. cit._ pp. 27 _sq._

[270] A. Meyrac, _Traditions, coutumes, légendes et contes des Ardennes_

(Charleville, 1890), p. 68.

[271] L.F. Sauvé, _Le Folk-lore des Hautes-Vosges_ (Paris, 1889), p. 56.

The popular name for the bonfires in the Upper Vosges (_Hautes-Vosges_)

is _chavandes_.

[272] E. Cortet, _Essai sur les fêtes religieuses_ (Paris, 1867), pp.

101 _sq._ The local name for these bonfires is _bures_.

[273] Charles Beauquier, _Les mois en Franche-Comté_ (Paris, 1900), pp.

33 _sq._ In Bresse the custom was similar. See _La Bresse Louhannaise,

Bulletin Mensuel, Organe de la Société d'Agriculture et d'Horticulture

de l'Arrondissement de Louhans_, Mars, 1906, pp. 111 _sq._; E. Cortet,

_op. cit._ p. 100. The usual name for the bonfires is _chevannes_ or

_schvannes_; but in some places they are called _foulères, foualères,

failles_, or _bourdifailles_ (Ch. Beauquier, _op. cit._ p. 34). But the

Sunday is called the Sunday of the _brandons, bures, bordes_, or

_boidès_, according to the place. The _brandons_ are the torches which

are carried about the streets and the fields; the bonfires, as we have

seen, bear another name. A curious custom, observed on the same Sunday

in Franche-Comté, requires that couples married within the year should

distribute boiled peas to all the young folks of both sexes who demand

them at the door. The lads and lasses go about from house to house,

making the customary request; in some places they wear masks or are

otherwise disguised. See Ch. Beauquier, _op. cit._ pp. 31-33.

[274] Curiously enough, while the singular is _granno-mio_, the plural

is _grannas-mias_.

[275] Dr. Pommerol, "La fête des Brandons et le dieu Gaulois Grannus,"

_Bulletins et Mémoires de la Société d'Anthropologie de Paris_, v.

Série, ii. (1901) pp. 427-429.

[276] _Op. cit._ pp. 428 _sq._

[277] H. Dessau, _Inscriptiones Latinae Selectae_, vol. ii. Pars i.

(Berlin, 1902) pp. 216 _sq._, Nos. 4646-4652.

[278] (Sir) John Rhys, _Celtic Heathendom_ (London, 1888), pp. 22-25.

[279] Émile Hublard, _Fêtes du Temps Jadis, les Feux du Carême_ (Mons,

1899), p. 38, quoting Dom Grenier, _Histoire de la Province de

Picardie_.

[280] É. Hublard, _op. cit._ p. 39, quoting Dom Grenier.

[281] M. Desgranges, "Usages du Canton de Bonneval," _Mémoires de la

Société Royale des Antiquaires de France_, i. (Paris, 1817) pp. 236-238;

Felix Chapiseau, _Le folk-lore de la Beauce et du Perche_ (Paris, 1902),

i. 315 _sq._

[282] John Brand, _Popular Antiquities of Great Britain_ (London,

1882-1883), i. 100.

[283] E. Cortet, _Essai sur les fêtes religieuses_ (Paris, 1867), pp. 99

_sq.; La Bresse Louhannaise_, Mars, 1906, p. 111.

[284] A. de Nore, _Coutumes, mythes et traditions des provinces de

France_ (Paris and Lyons, 1846), pp. 283 _sq._ A similar, though not

identical, custom prevailed at Valenciennes (_ibid._ p. 338).

[285] A. de Nore, _op. cit._ p. 302.

[286] Désiré Monnier, _Traditions populaires comparées_ (Paris, 1854),

pp. 191 _sq._

[287] Laisnel de la Salle, _Croyances et légendes du centre de la

France_ (Paris, 1875). i. 35 _sqq._

[288] Jules Lecoeur, _Esquisses du Rocage Normand_ (Condé-sur-Noireau,

1887), ii. 131 _sq._ For more evidence of customs of this sort observed

in various parts of France on the first Sunday in Lent, see Madame

Clément, _Histoire des Fêtes civiles et religieuses_, etc., _du

Département du Nord_*[2] (Cambrai, 1836), pp. 351 _sqq._; Émile Hublard,

_Fêtes du Temps Jadis, les Feux du Carême_ (Mons, 1899), pp. 33 _sqq._

[289] J.H. Schmitz, _Sitten und Sagen, Lieder, Sprüchwörter und Räthsel

des Eifler Volkes_ (Trèves, 1856-1858), i. 21-25; N. Hocker, in

_Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie und Sittenkunde_, i. (1853) p. 90;

W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus der Germanen und ihrer Nachbarstämme_

(Berlin, 1875), p. 501.

[290] N. Hocker, _op. cit._ pp. 89 _sq._; W. Mannhardt, _l.c._

[291] F.J. Vonbun, _Beiträge zur deutschen Mythologie_ (Chur, 1862), p.

20; W. Mannhardt, _l.c._

[292] Ernst Meier, _Deutsche Sagen, Sitten und Gebräuche aus Schwaben_

(Stuttgart, 1852), pp. 380 _sqq._; Anton Birlinger, _Volksthümliches aus

Schwaben_ (Freiburg im Breisgau, 1861-1862), ii. 56 _sqq._, 66 _sqq._;

_Bavaria, Landes-und Volkskunde des Königreichs Bayern_ (Munich,

1860-1867), ii. 2, pp. 838 _sq._; F. Panzer, _Beitrag zur deutschen

Mythologie_ (Munich, 1848-1855), i. 211, § 232; W. Mannhardt, _l.c._ One

of the popular German names for the first Sunday in Lent is White

Sunday, which is not to be confused with the first Sunday after Easter,

which also goes by the name of White Sunday (E. Meier, _op. cit._ p.

380; A. Birlinger, _op. cit._ ii. 56).

[293] H. Gaidoz, "Le dieu gaulois du soleil et le symbolisme de la

roue," _Revue Archéologique_, iii. série, iv. (1884) pp. 139 _sq._

[294] August Witzschel, _Sagen, Sitten und Gebräuche aus Thüringen_

(Vienna, 1878), p. 189; F. Panzer, _Beitrag zur deutschen Mythologie_

(Munich, 1848-1855), ii. 207; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus,_ pp. 500

_sq._

[295] W. Kolbe, _Hessiche Volks-Sitten und Gebräuche_*[2] (Marburg,

1888), p. 36.

[296] Adalbert Kuhn, _Die Herabkunft des Feuers und des

Göttertranks_*[2] (Gütersloh, 1886), p. 86, quoting Hocker, _Des

Mosellandes Geschichten, Sagen und Legenden_ (Trier, 1852), pp. 415

_sqq._ Compare W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 501; and below, pp.

163 _sq._ Thus it appears that the ceremony of rolling the fiery wheel

down hill was observed twice a year at Konz, once on the first Sunday in

Lent, and once at Midsummer.

[297] H. Herzog, _Schweizerische Volksfeste, Sitten und Gebräuche_

(Aarau, 1884), pp. 214-216; E. Hoffmann-Krayer, "Fruchtbarkeitsriten im

schweizerischen Volksbrauch," _Schweizerisches Archiv für Volkskunde_,

xi. (1907) pp. 247-249; _id., Feste und Bräuche des Schweizervolkes_

(Zurich, 1913), pp. 135 _sq._

[298] Theodor Vernaleken, _Mythen und Bräuche des Volkes in Oesterreich_

(Vienna, 1859), pp. 293 _sq._; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 498.

See _The Dying God_, p. 239.

[299] J. H. Schmitz, _Sitten und Sagen, Lieder, Sprüchwörter und Räthsel

des Eifler Volkes_ (Treves, 1856-1858), i. 20; W. Mannhardt, _Der

Baumkultus_, p. 499.

[300] L. Strackerjan, _Aberglaube und Sagen aus dem Herzogthum

Oldenburg_ (Oldenburg, 1867), ii. 39, § 306; W. Mannhardt, _Der

Baumkultus_, p. 498.

[301] W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 499.

[302] W. Mannhardt, _op. cit._ pp. 498 _sq._

[303] W. Mannhardt, _op. cit._ p. 499.

[304] Christian Schneller, _Märchen und Sagen aus Wälschtirol_

(Innsbruck, 1867), pp. 234 _sq._; W. Mannhardt, _op. cit._ pp. 499 _sq._

[305] John Brand, _Popular Antiquities of Great Britain_ (London,

1882-1883), i. 157 _sq._; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, pp. 502-505;

Karl Freiherr von Leoprechting, _Aus dem Lechrain_ (Munich, 1855), pp.

172 _sq._; Anton Birlinger, _Volksthümliches aus Schwaben_ (Freiburg im

Breisgau, 1861-1862), i. 472 _sq._; Montanus, _Die deutschen Volksfeste,

Volksbräuche und deutscher Volksglaube_ (Iserlohn, N.D.), p. 26; F.

Panzer, _Beitrag zur deutschen Mythologie_ (Munich, 1848-1855), ii. 241

_sq._; Ernst Meier, _Deutsche Sagen, Sitten und Gebräuche aus Schwaben_

(Stuttgart, 1852), pp. 139 _sq._; _Bavaria, Landes- und Volkskunde des

Königreichs Bayern_ (Munich, 1860-1867), i. 371; A. Wuttke, _Der

deutsche Volksaberglaube_*[2] (Berlin, 1869), pp. 68 _sq._, § 81; Ignaz

V. Zingerle, _Sitten, Bräuche und Meinungen des Tiroler Volkes_*[2]

(Innsbruck, 1871), p. 149, §§ 1286-1289; W. Kolbe, _Hessische

Volks-Sitten und Gebräuche_*[2] (Marburg, 1888), pp. 44 _sqq._; _County

Folk-lore, Printed Extracts, Leicestershire and Rutland_, collected by

C.J. Billson (London, 1895), pp. 75 _sq._; A. Tiraboschi, "Usi pasquali

nel Bergamasco," _Archivio per lo Studio delle Tradizione Popolari_, i.

(1892) pp. 442 _sq._ The ecclesiastical custom of lighting the Paschal

or Easter candle is very fully described by Mr. H.J. Feasey, _Ancient

English Holy Week Ceremonial_ (London, 1897), pp. 179 _sqq._ These

candles were sometimes of prodigious size; in the cathedrals of Norwich

and Durham, for example, they reached almost to the roof, from which

they had to be lighted. Often they went by the name of the Judas Light

or the Judas Candle; and sometimes small waxen figures of Judas were

hung on them. See H.J. Feasey, _op. cit._ pp. 193, 213 _sqq._ As to the

ritual of the new fire at St. Peter's in Rome, see R. Chambers, _The

Book of Days_ (London and Edinburgh, 1886), i. 421; and as to the early

history of the rite in the Catholic church, see Mgr. L. Duchesne,

_Origines du Culte Chrétien_*[3] (Paris, 1903), pp. 250-257.]

[306] _Bavaria, Landes und Volkskunde des Königreichs Bayern_ (Munich,

1860-1867), i. 1002 _sq._

[307] Gennaro Finamore, _Credenze, Usi e Costumi Abruzzesi_ (Palermo,

1890), pp. 122 _sq._

[308] G. Finamore, _op. cit._ pp. 123 _sq._

[309] Vincenzo Dorsa, _La Tradizione Greco-Latina negli Usi e nelle

Credenze Popolari della Calabria Citeriore_ (Cosenza, 1884), pp. 48

_sq._

[310] Alois John, _Sitte, Brauch und Volksglaube im deutschen

Westböhmen_ (Prague, 1905), pp. 62 _sq._

[311] K. Seifart, _Sagen, Märchen, Schwänke und Gebräuche aits Stadt und

Stift Hildesheim_*[2] (Hildesheim, 1889), pp. 177 _sq._, 179 _sq._

[312] M. Lexer, "Volksüberlieferungen aus dem Lesachthal in Karnten,"

_Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie und Sittenkunde_, iii. (1855) p.

31.

[313] _The Popish Kingdome or reigne of Antichrist, written in Latin

verse by Thomas Naogeorgus and Englyshed by Barnabe Googe_, 1570, edited

by R.C. Hope (London, 1880), p. 52, _recto._ The title of the original

poem was _Regnum Papisticum_. The author, Thomas Kirchmeyer (Naogeorgus,

as he called himself), died in 1577. The book is a satire on the abuses

and superstitions of the Catholic Church. Only one perfect copy of

Googe's translation is known to exist: it is in the University Library

at Cambridge. See Mr. R.C. Hope's introduction to his reprint of this

rare work, pp. xv. _sq._ The words, "Then Clappers ceasse, and belles

are set againe at libertée," refer to the custom in Catholic countries

of silencing the church bells for two days from noon on Maundy Thursday

to noon on Easter Saturday and substituting for their music the harsh

clatter of wooden rattles. See R. Chambers, _The Book of Days_ (London

and Edinburgh, 1886), i, 412 _sq._ According to another account the

church bells are silent from midnight on the Wednesday preceding Maundy

Thursday till matins on Easter Day. See W. Smith and S. Cheetham,

_Dictionary of Christian Antiquities_ (London, 1875-1880), ii. 1161,

referring to _Ordo Roman_. i. _u.s._

[314] R. Chambers, _The Book of Days_ (London and Edinburgh, 1886), i.

421.

[315] Miss Jessie L. Weston, "The _Scoppio del Carro_ at Florence,"

_Folk-lore_, xvi. (1905) pp. 182-184; "Lo Scoppio del Carro,"

_Resurrezione, Numero Unico del Sabato Santo_ (Florence, April, 1906),

p. 1 (giving a picture of the car with its pyramid of fire-works). The

latter paper was kindly sent to me from Florence by my friend Professor

W.J. Lewis. I have also received a letter on the subject from Signor

Carlo Placci, dated 4 (or 7) September, 1905, 1 Via Alfieri, Firenze.

[316] Frederick Starr, "Holy Week in Mexico," _The Journal of American

Folk-lore_, xii. (1899) pp. 164 _sq._; C. Boyson Taylor, "Easter in Many

Lands," _Everybody's Magazine_, New York, 1903, p. 293. I have to thank

Mr. S.S. Cohen, of 1525 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, for sending me a

cutting from the latter magazine.

[317] K. von den Steinen, _Unter den Naturvölkern Zentral-Brasiliens_

(Berlin, 1894), pp. 458 _sq._; E. Montet, "Religion et Superstition dans

l'Amérique du Sud," _Revue de l'Histoire des Religions_, xxxii. (1895)

p. 145.

[318] J.J. von Tschudi, _Peru, Reiseskizzen aus den Jahren 1838-1842_

(St. Gallen, 1846), ii. 189 _sq._

[319] H. Candelier, _Rio-Hacha et les Indiens Goajires_ (Paris, 1893),

p. 85.

[320] Henry Maundrell, "A Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem at Easter,

A.D. 1697," in Bohn's _Early Travellers in Palestine_ (London, 1848),

pp. 462-465; Mgr. Auvergne, in _Annales de la Propagation de la Foi_, x.

(1837) pp. 23 _sq._; A.P. Stanley, _Sinai and Palestine_, Second Edition

(London, 1856), pp. 460-465; E. Cortet, _Essai sur les Fêtes

Religieuses_ (Paris, 1867), pp. 137-139; A.W. Kinglake, _Eothen_,

chapter xvi. pp. 158-163 (Temple Classics edition); Father N. Abougit,

S.J., "Le feu du Saint-Sépulcre," _Les Missions Catholiques_, viii.

(1876) pp. 518 _sq._; Rev. C.T. Wilson, _Peasant Life in the Holy Land_

(London, 1906), pp. 45 _sq._; P. Saint-yves, "Le Renouvellement du Feu

Sacré," _Revue des Traditions Populaires_, xxvii. (1912) pp. 449 _sqq._

The distribution of the new fire in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is

the subject of a picture by Holman Hunt. From some printed notes on the

picture, with which Mrs. Holman Hunt was so kind as to furnish me, it

appears that the new fire is carried by horsemen to Bethlehem and Jaffa,

and that a Russian ship conveys it from Jaffa to Odessa, whence it is

distributed all over the country.

[321] Father X. Abougit, S.J., "Le feu du Saint-Sépulcre," _Les Missions

Catholiques_, viii. (1876) pp. 165-168.

[322] I have described the ceremony as I witnessed it at Athens, on

April 13th, 1890. Compare _Folk-lore_, i. (1890) p. 275. Having been

honoured, like other strangers, with a place on the platform, I did not

myself detect Lucifer at work among the multitude below; I merely

suspected his insidious presence.

[323] W.H.D. Rouse, "Folk-lore from the Southern Sporades," _Folk-lore_,

x. (1899) p. 178.

[324] Mrs. A.E. Gardner was so kind as to send me a photograph of a

Theban Judas dangling from a gallows and partially enveloped in smoke.

The photograph was taken at Thebes during the Easter celebration of

1891.

[325] G.F. Abbott, _Macedonian Folklore_ (Cambridge, 1903) p. 37.

[326] Cirbied, "Mémoire sur la gouvernment et sur la religion des

anciens Arméniens," _Mémoires publiées par la Société Royale des

Antiquaires de France_, ii. (1820) pp. 285-287; Manuk Abeghian, _Der

armenische Volksglaube_ (Leipsic, 1899), pp. 72-74. The ceremony is said

to be merely a continuation of an old heathen festival which was held at

the beginning of spring in honour of the fire-god Mihr. A bonfire was

made in a public place, and lamps kindled at it were kept burning

throughout the year in each of the fire-god's temples.

[327] _The Magic Art and the Evolution of Kings_, i. 32, ii. 243;

_Spirits of the Corn and of the Wild_, ii. 65, 74, 75, 78, 136.

[328] Garcilasso de la Vega, _Royal Commentaries of the Yncas_

translated by (Sir) Clements R. Markham (Hakluyt Society, London,

1869-1871), vol. ii. pp. 155-163. Compare Juan de Velasco, "Histoire du

Royaume de Quito," in H. Ternaux-Compans's _Voyages, Relations et

Mémoires originaux pour servir à l'Histoire de la Découverte de

l'Amérique_, xviii. (Paris, 1840) p. 140.

[329] B. de Sahagun, _Histoire Générale des Choses de la Nouvelle

Espagne_, traduite par D. Jourdanet et R. Simeon (Paris, 1880), bk. ii.

chapters 18 and 37, pp. 76, 161; Brasseur de Bourbourg, _Histoire des

Nations civilisées du Mexique et de l'Amérique-Centrale_ (Paris,

1857-1859), iii. 136.

[330] Mrs. Matilda Coxe Stevenson, "The Zuñi Indians," _Twenty-third

Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology_ (Washington, 1904),

pp. 108-141, 148-162, especially pp. 108, 109, 114 _sq._, 120 _sq._, 130

_sq._, 132, 148 _sq._, 157 _sq._ I have already described these

ceremonies in _Totemism and Exogamy_, iii. 237 _sq._ Among the Hopi

(Moqui) Indians of Walpi, another pueblo village of this region, new

fire is ceremonially kindled by friction in November. See Jesse Walter

Fewkes, "The Tusayan New Fire Ceremony," _Proceedings of the Boston

Society of Natural History_, xxvi. 422-458; _id._, "The Group of Tusayan

Ceremonials called _Katcinas," Fifteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of

Ethnology_ (Washington, 1897), p. 263; _id._, "Hopi _Katcinas,"

Twenty-first Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology_

(Washington, 1903), p. 24.

[331] Henry R. Schoolcraft, _Notes on the Iroquois_ (Albany, 1847), p.

137. Schoolcraft did not know the date of the ceremony, but he

conjectured that it fell at the end of the Iroquois year, which was a

lunar year of twelve or thirteen months. He says: "That the close of the

lunar series should have been the period of putting out the fire, and

the beginning of the next, the time of relumination, from new fire, is

so consonant to analogy in the tropical tribes, as to be probable" (_op.

cit._ p. 138).

[332] C.F. Hall, _Life with the Esquimaux_ (London, 1864), ii. 323.

[333] Franz Boas, "The Eskimo of Baffin Land and Hudson Bay," _Bulletin

of the American Museum of Natural, History_, xv. Part i. (New York,

1901) p. 151.

[334] G. Nachtigal, _Saharâ und Sûdân_, iii. (Leipsic, 1889) p. 251.

[335] Major C. Percival, "Tropical Africa, on the Border Line of

Mohamedan Civilization," _The Geographical Journal_, xlii. (1913) pp.

253 _sq._

[336] Adrien Germain, "Note sur Zanzibar et la côte orientale de

l'Afrique," _Bulletin de la Société de Géographie_ (Paris), v. Série

xvi. (1868) p. 557; _Les Missions Catholiques_, iii. (1870) p. 270;

Charles New, _Life, Wanderings, and Labours in Eastern Africa_ (London,

1873), p. 65; Jerome Becker, _La Vie en Afrique_ (Paris and Brussels,

1887), ii. 36; O. Baumann, _Usambara und seine Nachbargebiele_ (Berlin,

1891), pp. 55 _sq._; C. Velten, _Sitten und Gebräucheaer Suaheli_

(Göttingen,1903), pp. 342-344.

[337] Duarte Barbosa, _Description of the Coasts of East Africa and

Malabar_ (Hakluyt Society, London, 1866), p. 8; _id._, in _Records of

South-Eastern Africa_, collected by G. McCall Theal, vol. i. (1898) p.

96; Damião de Goes, "Chronicle of the Most Fortunate King Dom Emanuel,"

in _Records of South-Eastern Africa_, collected by G. McCall Theal, vol.

iii. (1899) pp. 130 _sq._ The name Benametapa (more correctly

_monomotapa_) appears to have been the regular title of the paramount

chief, which the Portuguese took to be the name of the country. The

people over whom he ruled seem to have been the Bantu tribe of the

Makalanga in the neighbourhood of Sofala. See G. McCall Theal, _Records

of South-Eastern Africa_, vii. (1901) pp. 481-484. It is to their custom

of annually extinguishing and relighting the fire that Montaigne refers

in his essay (i. 22, vol. i. p. 140 of Charpentier's edition), though he

mentions no names.

[338] Sir H.H. Johnson, _British Central Africa_ (London, 1897), pp.

426, 439.

[339] W.H.R. Rivers, _The Todas_ (London, 1906), pp. 290-292.

[340] Lieut. R. Stewart, "Notes on Northern Cachar," _Journal of the

Asiatic Society of Bengal_ xxiv. (1855) p. 612.

[341] A. Bastian, _Die Völker des östlichen Asien_, ii. (Leipsic, 1866)

pp. 49 _sq._; Shway Yoe, _The Burman_ (London, 1882), ii. 325 _sq._

[342] G. Schlegel, _Uranographie Chinoise_ (The Hague and Leyden, 1875),

pp. 139-143; C. Puini, "Il fuoco nella tradizione degli antichi Cinesi,"

_Giornale della Società Asiatica Italiana_, i. (1887) pp. 20-23; J.J.M.

de Groot, _Les Fétes annuellement célébrées à Émoui (Amoy)_ (Paris,

1886), i. 208 _sqq._ The notion that fire can be worn out with age meets

us also in Brahman ritual. See the _Satapatha Brahmana_, translated by

Julius Eggeling, Part i. (Oxford, 1882) p. 230 (_Sacred Books of the

East_, vol. xii.).

[343] W.G. Aston, _Shinto, The Way of the Gods_ (London, 1905), pp. 258

_sq._, compare p. 193. The wands in question are sticks whittled near

the top into a mass of adherent shavings; they go by the name of

_kedzurikake_ ("part-shaved"), and resemble the sacred _inao_ of the

Aino. See W.G. Aston, _op. cit._ p. 191; and as to the _inao_, see

_Spirits of the Corn and of the Wild_, ii. 185, with note 2.

[344] Ovid, _Fasti_, iii. 82; Homer, _Iliad_, i. 590, _sqq._

[345] Philostiatus, _Heroica_, xx. 24.

[346] Ovid, _Fasti_, iii. 143 _sq._; Macrobius, _Saturn_, i. 12. 6.

[347] Festus, ed. C.O. Müller (Leipsic, 1839), p. 106, _s.v._ "Ignis."

Plutarch describes a method of rekindling the sacred fire by means of

the sun's rays reflected from a hollow mirror (_Numa_, 9); but he seems

to be referring to a Greek rather than to the Roman custom. The rule of

celibacy imposed on the Vestals, whose duty it was to relight the sacred

fire as well as to preserve it when it was once made, is perhaps

explained by a superstition current among French peasants that if a girl

can blow up a smouldering candle into a flame she is a virgin, but that

if she fails to do so, she is not. See Jules Lecoeur, _Esquisses du

Bocage Normand_ (Condé-sur-Noireau, 1883-1887), ii. 27; B. Souché,

_Croyances, Présages et Traditions diverses_ (Niort, 1880), p. 12. At

least it seems more likely that the rule sprang from a superstition of

this sort than from a simple calculation of expediency, as I formerly

suggested (_Journal of Philology_, xiv. (1885) p. 158). Compare _The

Magic Art and the Evolution of Kings>_ ii. 234 _sqq._

[348] Geoffrey Keating, D.D., _The History of Ireland, translated from

the original Gaelic, and copiously annotated_, by John O'Mahony (New

York, 1857), p. 300, with the translator's note. Compare (Sir) John

Rhys, _Celtic Heathendom_ (London, 1888), pp. 514 _sq._

[349] W.R.S. Ralston, _Songs of the Russian People_, Second Edition

(London, 1872), pp. 254 _sq._

[350] A. Kuhn und W. Schwartz, _Norddeutsche Sagen, Märchen und

Gebräuche_ (Leipsic, 1848), p. 373; A. Kuhn, _Sagen, Gebräuche und

Märchen aus Westfalen_ (Leipsic, 1859), ii. 134 _sqq.; id., Märkische

Sagen und Märchen_ (Berlin, 1843), pp. 312 _sq._; J.D.H. Temme, _Die

Volkssagen der Altmark_ (Berlin, 1839), pp. 75 _sq._; K. Lynker,

_Deutsche Sagen und Sitten in hessischen Gauen_*[2] (Cassel and

Göttingen, 1860), p. 240; H. Pröhle, _Harzbilder_ (Leipsic, 1855), p.

63; R. Andree, _Braunschweiger Volkskunde_ (Brunswick, 1896), pp.

240-242; W. Kolbe, _Hessische Volks-Sitten und Gebräuche_ (Marburg,

1888), pp. 44-47; F.A. Reimann, _Deutsche Volksfeste_ (Weimar, 1839), p.

37; "Sitten und Gebräuche in Duderstadt," _Zeitschrift für deutsche

Mythologie und Sitten-kunde_, ii. (1855) p. 107; K. Seifart, _Sagen,

Märchen, Schwänke und Gebräuche aus Stadt und Stift Hildesheim_*[2]

(Hildesheim, 1889), pp. 177, 180; O. Hartung, "Zur Volkskunde aus

Anhalt," _Zeitschrift des Vereins für Volkskunde_, vii. (1897) p. 76.

[351] L. Strackerjan, _Aberglaube und Sagen aus dem Herzogthum

Oldenburg_ (Oldenburg, 1867), ii. p. 43 _sq._, §313; W. Mannhardt, _Der

Baumkultus der Germanen und ihrer Nachbarstämme_ (Berlin, 1875), pp. 505

_sq._

[352] L. Strackerjan, _op. cit._ ii. p. 43, §313.

[353] J. Grimm, _Deutsche Mythologie_,*[4] (Berlin, 1875-1878), i. 512;

W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus der Germanen und ihrer Nachbarstämme_, pp.

506 _sq._

[354] H. Pröhle, _Harzbilder_ (Leipsic, 1855), p. 63; _id._, in

_Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie und Sittenkunde_, i. (1853) p. 79;

A. Kuhn und W. Schwartz, _Norddeutsche Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche_

(Leipsic, 1848), p. 373; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 507.

[355] A. Kuhn, _Märkische Sagen und Märchen_ (Berlin, 1843), pp. 312

_sq._; W. Mannhardt, _l.c._

[356] W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_ p. 508. Compare J.W. Wolf,

_Beiträge zur deutschen Mythologie_ (Göttingen, 1852-1857), i. 74; J.

Grimm, _Deutsche Mythologie_,*[4] i. 512. The two latter writers only

state that before the fires were kindled it was customary to hunt

squirrels in the woods.

[357] A. Kuhn, _l.c._; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 508.

[358] _Bavaria, Landes- und Volkskunde des Königreichs Bayern_ (Munich,

1860-1867), iii. 956.

[359] See above, pp. 116 _sq._, 119.

[360] F. Panzer, _Beitrag zur deutschen Mythologie_ (Munich, 1848-1855),

i. pp. 211 _sq._, § 233; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, pp. 507 _sq._

[361] _Bavaria, Landes- und Volkskunde des Königreichs Bayern_, iii.

357.

[362] F. Panzer, _Beitrag zur deutschen Mythologie_ (Munich, 1848-1855),

i. pp. 212 _sq._, § 236.

[363] F. Panzer, _op. cit._ ii. pp. 78 _sq._, §§ 114, 115. The customs

observed at these places and at Althenneberg are described together by

W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 505.

[364] A. Birlinger, _Volksthümliches aus Schwaben_ (Freiburg im

Breisgau, 1861-1862), ii. p. 82, § 106; W. Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_,

p. 508.

[365] Elard Hugo Meyer, _Badisches Volksleben_ (Strasburg, 1900), pp. 97

_sq._

[366] _The Magic Art and the Evolution of Kings_, ii. 349 _sqq._ See

further below, vol. ii. pp. 298 _sqq._

[367] J.W. Wolf, _Beiträge sur deutschen Mythologie_, i. 75 _sq._; W.

Mannhardt, _Der Baumkultus_, p. 506.

[368] L. Lloyd, _Peasant Life in Sweden_ (London, 1870), p. 228.

[369] W. Müller, _Beiträge sur Volkskunde der Deutschen in Mahren_

(Vienna and Olmütz, 1893), pp. 321, 397 _sq._ In Wagstadt, a town of

Austrian Silesia, a boy in a red waistcoat used to play the part of

Judas on the Wednesday before Good Friday. He was chased from before the

church door by the other school children, who pursued him through the

streets with shouts and the noise of rattles and clappers till they

reached a certain suburb, where they always caught and beat him because

he had betrayed the Redeemer. See Anton Peter, _Volksthümliches aus

österreichisch-Schlesien_ (Troppau, 1865-1867), ii. 282 _sq._; Paul

Drechsler, _Sitte, Brauch und Volksglaube in Schlesien_ (Leipsic,

1903-1906), i. 77 _sq._

[370] _Scotland and Scotsmen in the Eighteenth Century_, from the MSS.

of John Ramsay, Esq., of Ochtertyre, edited by Alexander Allardyce

(Edinburgh and London, 1888), ii. 439-445. As to the _tein-eigin_ or

need-fire, see below, pp. 269 _sqq_. The etymology of the word Beltane

is uncertain; the popular derivation of the first part from the

Phoenician Baal is absurd. See, for example, John Graham Dalyell, _The

Darker Superstitions of Scotland_ (Edinburgh, 1834), pp. 176 _sq._: "The

recognition of the pagan divinity Baal, or Bel, the Sun, is discovered

through innumerable etymological sources. In the records of Scottish

history, down to the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries, multiplied

prohibitions were issued from the fountains of ecclesiastical

ordinances, against kindling _Bailfires_, of which the origin cannot be

mistaken. The festival of this divinity was commemorated in Scotland

until the latest date." Modern scholars are not agreed as to the

derivation of the name Beltane. See Rev. John Gregorson Campbell,

_Witchcraft and Second Sight in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland_

(Glasgow, 1902), pp. 268 _sq._; J.A. MacCulloch, _The Religion of the

Ancient Celts_ (Edinburgh, 1911), p. 264.

[371] "_Bal-tein_ signifies the _fire of Baal. Baal_ or _Ball_ is the

only word in Gaelic for _a globe_. This festival was probably in honour

of the sun, whose return, in his apparent annual course, they

celebrated, on account of his having such a visible influence, by his

genial warmth, on the productions of the earth. That the Caledonians

paid a superstitious respect to the sun, as was the practice among many

other nations, is evident, not only by the sacrifice at Baltein, but

upon many other occasions. When a Highlander goes to bathe, or to drink

waters out of a consecrated fountain, he must always approach by going

round the place, _from east to west on the south side_, in imitation of

the apparent diurnal motion of the sun. When the dead are laid in the

earth, the grave is approached by going round in the same manner. The

bride is conducted to her future spouse, in the presence of the

minister, and the glass goes round a company, in the course of the sun.

This is called, in Gaelic, going round the right, or the _lucky way_.

The opposite course is the wrong, or the _unlucky_ way. And if a

person's meat or drink were to affect the wind-pipe, or come against his

breath, they instantly cry out _deisheal_! which is an ejaculation

praying that it may go by the right way" (Rev. J. Robertson, in Sir John

Sinclair's _Statistical Account of Scotland_, xi. 621 note). Compare

J.G. Campbell, _Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland_

(Glasgow, 1900), pp. 229 _sq._: "_The Right-hand Turn_ (_Deiseal_).--

This was the most important of all the observances. The rule is

'_Deiseal_ (i.e. the right-hand turn) for everything,' and consists in

doing all things with a motion corresponding to the course of the sun,

or from left to right. This is the manner in which screw-nails are

driven, and is common with many for no reason but its convenience. Old

men in the Highlands were very particular about it. The coffin was taken

_deiseal_ about the grave, when about to be lowered; boats were turned

to sea according to it, and drams are given to the present day to a

company. When putting a straw rope on a house or corn-stack, if the

assistant went _tuaitheal_ (i.e. against the course of the sun), the old

man was ready to come down and thrash him. On coming to a house the

visitor should go round it _deiseal_ to secure luck in the object of his

visit. After milking a cow the dairy-maid should strike it _deiseal_

with the shackle, saying 'out and home' (_mach 'us dachaigh_). This

secures its safe return. The word is from _deas_, right-hand, and _iul_,

direction, and of itself contains no allusion to the sun." Compare M.

Martin, "Description of the Western Islands of Scotland," in J.

Pinkerton's _Voyages and Travels_, iii. 612 _sq._: "There was an ancient

custom in the island of Lewis, to make a fiery circle about the houses,

corn, cattle, etc., belonging to each particular family: a man carried

fire in his right hand, and went round, and it was called _dessil_, from

the right hand, which in the ancient language is called _dess_.... There

is another way of the _dessil_, or carrying fire round about women

before they are churched, after child-bearing; and it is used likewise

about children until they are christened; both which are performed in

the morning and at night. This is only practised now by some of the

ancient midwives: I enquired their reason for this custom, which I told

them was altogether unlawful; this disobliged them mightily, insomuch

that they would give me no satisfaction. But others, that were of a more

agreeable temper, told me that fire-round was an effectual means to

preserve both the mother and the infant from the power of evil spirits,

who are ready at such times to do mischief, and sometimes carry away the

infant; and when they get them once in their possession, return them

poor meagre skeletons; and these infants are said to have voracious

appetites, constantly craving for meat. In this case it was usual with

those who believed that their children were thus taken away, to dig a

grave in the fields upon quarter-day, and there to lay the fairy

skeleton till next morning; at which time the parents went to the place,

where they doubted not to find their own child instead of this skeleton.

Some of the poorer sort of people in these islands retain the custom of

performing these rounds sun-ways about the persons of their benefactors

three times, when they bless them, and wish good success to all their

enterprizes. Some are very careful when they set out to sea that the

boat be first rowed about sun-ways; and if this be neglected, they are

afraid their voyage may prove unfortunate." Probably the superstition

was based entirely on the supposed luckiness of the right hand, which

accordingly, in making a circuit round an object, is kept towards the

centre. As to a supposed worship of the sun among the Scottish

Highlanders, compare J.G. Campbell, _Witchcraft and Second Sight in the

Highlands and Islands of Scotland_, p. 304: "Both the sun (_a Ghrian_)

and moon (_a Ghealach_) are feminine in Gaelic, and the names are simply

descriptive of their appearance. There is no trace of a Sun-God or

Moon-Goddess." As to the etymology of Beltane, see above, p. 149 note.

[372] Rev. James Robertson (Parish Minister of Callander), in Sir John

Sinclair's _Statistical Account of Scotland_ (Edinburgh, 1791-1799), xi.

620 _sq._

[373] Pennant's "Tour in Scotland," in John Pinkerton's _Voyages and

Travels_ (London, 1808-1814), iii. 49.

[374] Rev. Dr. Thomas Bisset, in Sir John Sinclair's _Statistical

Account of Scotland_, v. 84.

[375] Rev. Allan Stewart, in Sir John Sinclair's _Statistical Account of

Scotland_, xv. 517 note.

[376] Rev. Walter Gregor, "Notes on Beltane Cakes," _Folk-lore_, vi.

(1895) pp. 2 _sq._ The Beltane cakes with the nine knobs on them remind

us of the cakes with twelve knobs which the Athenians offered to Cronus

and other deities (see _The Scapegoat_, p. 351). The King of the Bean on

Twelfth Night was chosen by means of a cake, which was broken in as many

pieces as there were persons present, and the person who received the

piece containing a bean or a coin became king. See J. Boemus, _Mores,

leges et ritus omnium gentium_ (Lyons, 1541), p. 222; John Brand,

_Popular Antiquities of Great Britain_ (London, 1882-1883), i. 22 _sq.;

The Scapegoat_, pp. 313 _sqq._

[377] Shaw, in Pennant's "Tour in Scotland," printed in J. Pinkerton's

_Voyages and Travels_, iii. 136. The part of Scotland to which Shaw's

description applies is what he calls the province or country of Murray,

extending from the river Spey on the east to the river Beauly on the

west, and south-west to Loch Lochy.

[378] Rev. Walter Gregor, _Notes on the Folk-lore of the North-East of

Scotland_ (London, 1881), p. 167.

[379] A. Goodrich-Freer, "More Folklore from the Hebrides," _Folk-lore_,

xiii. (1902) p. 41. The St. Michael's cake (_Strùthan na h'eill

Micheil_), referred to in the text, is described as "the size of a

quern" in circumference. "It is kneaded simply with water, and marked

across like a scone, dividing it into four equal parts, and then placed

in front of the fire resting on a quern. It is not polished with dry

meal as is usual in making a cake, but when it is cooked a thin coating

of eggs (four in number), mixed with buttermilk, is spread first on one

side, then on the other, and it is put before the fire again. An earlier

shape, still in use, which tradition associates with the female sex, is

that of a triangle with the corners cut off. A _strùhthan_ or

_strùhdhan_ (the word seems to be used for no other kind of cake) is

made for each member of the household, including servants and herds.

When harvest is late, an early patch of corn is mown on purpose for the

_strùthan_" (A. Goodrich-Freer, _op. cit._ pp. 44. _sq._.)

[380] Marie Trevelyan, _Folk-lore and Folk-stories of Wales_ (London,

1909), pp. 22-24.