CHRISTMAS AND YULE-TIDE SUPERSTITIONS AND OBSERVANCES.
Here's merry Christmas come again,
With all it ever used to bring;
The mistletoe and carol strain,
The holly in the window pane,
And all the bloom from hill and plain
That Winter's chilly hand can fling.
. . . . .
It comes with roar of city bells;
It comes with many a village chime;
And many a village grand-dame tells
Of places where the white ghost dwells,
Of demon forms and robbers' cells,
And all the tales for Christmas time.
_Eliza Cook._
If there by any possibility existed a doubt that the religion of the
Messiah was one of _love_ and not of _gloom_, the sunny side of the
argument would be amply vindicated by the fact that, from the earliest
Christian times, the anniversary of the advent of the Saviour was always
celebrated with becoming social enjoyment. "Merrie Christmas," indeed,
in spite of hail and rain, and sleet, and snow, the blustering of old
Boreas, and the frigid embrace of "Jack Frost," has passed into a
proverb. The mass of the British people, notwithstanding their
characteristic constitutional phlegm, contrive to become conspicuously
social at Christmas tide. They appear to have been too closely occupied
with business affairs during the greater portion of the year to indulge
much in the hearty humour and frank good-will which unquestionably form
important elements in the national idiosyncrasy. Their habitual
taciturnity, however, influenced by some law whose action is
diametrically opposed to that which determines the elemental routine,
generally _thaws_ on the approach of Christmas. It is not too much to
say that, at this period of the year, the manly generous side of the
English character is seen to most advantage. Under the genial influence
of Christmas associations, even stern, plodding "men of business" leave
their well-worn official stools and well-thumbed ledgers, and enjoy
heartily the Christmas meal of roast beef and plum pudding in company
with their relatives and friends. Nay, at this festive season, we have
seen the veriest old "money-grubbers" of the city, the most cool and
calculating of the _habitués_ of the stock-exchange, dance and frolic,
and aid the juveniles of their social circles in the perpetration of
practical Christmas jokes, the compounding of "snap-dragon," the
fashioning of mistletoe bushes, etc., to the infinite delight of the
youngsters and their own evident personal gratification. There is,
undoubtedly, a time and a season for all things; and the British public
especially appear for ages to have resolved that "Christmas time" is the
season for the exercise of grateful memories, for the interchange of
social loudness, the propagation of the great principle of progressive
civilisation, "peace and good-will to man,"--yes, and likewise, for the
temperate indulgence in harmless mirth, and hearty, jovial laughter.
Christmas is the season in which pantomimes flourish. By the bye, who
ever heard of a pantomime that was not a "Christmas" one? I am certain I
would not myself,--and I feel certain the most boisterous of the young
imps who giggle themselves into a frightful condition of side-ache and
cheek-ache when witnessing the tricks and jokes, stale or otherwise, of
clown and pantaloon, and the perpetually unfortunate policeman, would
endorse the sentiment,--I would not walk two streets' length, no, not
two yards, to witness the best pantomime in the world on Midsummer's
eve! One would as soon think of asking the cook, as a special mark of
her personal regard, to give us a turn or two on the spit, accompanied
by a copious basting with rancid butter! But it is quite a different
affair on Christmas Eve, or "boxing night." The pantomime is, in every
sense, unquestionably the property of "dear old Christmas," and then,
and then only, can its rollicking fun, farce, fancy, and fairy marvels
be thoroughly understood or enjoyed.
Pantomime, among the Greeks and Romans, as well as the Chinese,
Persians, and other Oriental peoples, was a dramatic performance, in
which action and gesticulation formed the most prominent features. The
modern _ballet_ is, perhaps, its most legitimate descendant at the
present day. The name, however, is derived from two Greek words, which
signify mimicry or "imitation of everything." The modern pantomime,
therefore, with its universal hash of fun and frolic, of fairies and
fiends, deities and dragons, of ghosts, goblins, and giants, of
burlesque and ballet, painting and punning, of music and mountebanking,
responds most accurately to the classical etymon.
Although the profuse but somewhat indiscriminate hospitality, and some
of the ruder of the Christmas games and ceremonies of our mediæval
ancestors, have declined or fallen into general disuse, the anniversary
of the advent of the founder of the national religion yet remains the
chief season set apart especially for genial social intercourse, the
gathering together of relatives and friends, the interchange of mutual
good-will, and of festive enjoyment.
After discussing the various opinions, facts, and conjectures advanced
by others respecting the origin of "yule logs" and Christmas fires,
Brand says: "However this may be, I am pretty confident that the yule
block will be found, in its first use, to have been only a counterpart
of the Midsummer fires, made within doors because of the cold weather at
this winter solstice, as those in the hot season at the summer one, are
kindled in the open air."
Precisely so; yet, as the Midsummer fires were not kindled for the sake
of the warmth they afforded, but as a kind of incantation or a
propitiatory sacrifice to the fire-god or the elements generally, if the
two had a common origin, we may reasonably expect to find a similar
principle or motive at the root of the Christmas observances. At the
summer solstice the sun's heat parched the earth and burnt the
vegetation. Hence the propitiatory ceremony of the fire worshippers. At
the winter solstice his feeble rays were insufficient to the
requirements of vegetable existence, and the severe cold added to the
privations of both and man and beast. Hence the existence of a
corresponding sentiment and corresponding ceremonial observances.
Brand further says: "On the night of this eve our ancestors were wont to
light up candles of _an uncommon size_, called Christmas candles, and
lay a log of wood upon the fire, called a yule-clog or Christmas block,
to illuminate the house, and, as it were, turn night into day. This
custom is, in some measure, still kept up in the north of England."
The early Christians were, and the learned of more modern times are,
divided in opinion as to the precise day of the Nativity. The feast of
the Passover and that of the Tabernacles have each found powerful
advocates. According to St. Chrysostom, the primitive Christians
celebrated the Christmas and Epiphany feasts at one and the same time.
They were not separated till the council of Nice, in the year 325.
Amongst the Armenians, notwithstanding, the two feasts were jointly
celebrated till as recently as the thirteenth century. It has been urged
by some that, as shepherds were watching their flocks by night in the
open air, the birth of Christ could scarcely have occurred in the
winter season. But so long as one time was accepted by the universal
Church, it appeared to be of little moment which theory was adopted. Sir
Isaac Newton, in his "Commentary on the Prophecies of Daniel," accounts
for the choice of the 25th December on the ground of its being the
winter solstice. He shows, likewise, that other feasts were originally
fixed at the cardinal points of the year. "The first calendars having
been so arranged by mathematicians at pleasure, without any ground in
tradition, the Christians afterwards took up what they found in the
calendars."
There can be little doubt that this view of the question is correct, and
that many of the curious customs and ceremonies, which were for
centuries religiously observed throughout the land, and many of which
still linger about the holiday celebrations of remote districts, have an
origin older than Christianity itself. The most orthodox and exemplary
writers of the middle ages acknowledge this, and contend that the
practice of the early Christians of appropriating the festive seasons of
their heathen converts was productive of good results.
The testimony of Thomas Warmstry, whose now rare tract, entitled "A
Vindication of the Solemnity of the Nativity of Christ," was published
in 1648, is strongly in favour of this view. He says: "If it doth
appeare that the time of this festival doth comply with the time of the
heathen's _Saturnalia_, this leaves no charge of impiety upon it: for
since things are best cured by their contraries, it was both wisdom and
piety in the ancient Christians (whose work it was to convert the
heathens from such as well as other superstitions and miscarriages) to
vindicate such times from the service of the devill, by appointing them
to the more solemne and especiall service of God. The _blazes_ are
foolish and vain, not countenanced by the church."
The "blazes" here referred to are evidently the yule logs and immense
candles, which the worthy pastor denounces with orthodox precision.
"Blazes" and "Pandemonium" are yet synonymous terms, in vulgar mouths,
in many parts of Lancashire. Some of the ceremonies of this period,
however, meet with his somewhat qualified approval. He says: "_Christmas
Kariles_, if they be such as are fit for the time, and of holy and sober
composures, and used with Christian sobriety and piety, they are not
unlawfull, and may be profitable if they be sung with grace in the
heart. _New Yeare's gifts_, if performed without superstition, may be
harmless provocations to Christian love and mutuall testimonies thereof
to good purpose, and never the worse because the heathens have had them
at the like times."
One important attribute of the Yule log resulted from the fact that each
succeeding brand received its kindling fire from the remains of its
predecessor; hence its supposed supernatural influences. Herrick
sings:--
_With the last year's brand
Light the new block_, and
For good success in his spending,
On your psaltries play,
That sweet luck may
Come while the log is a _teending_.
Etymologists have laboured hard to get at the root of the word Yule;
some of them, however, with but indifferent success. Brand says:--"I
have met with no word of which there are so many and such different
etymologies as this of Yule, of which there seems nothing certain but
that it means Christmas." Some writers, including the venerable Bede,
derive it from _hveol_, the Anglo-Saxon form of our modern English word
wheel, which, as I have already shown, is one of the Aryan types of the
sun. Bede, I think, assigns the true meaning to the term when he says it
is so named "because of the return of the sun's annual course, after the
winter solstice." According to Mr. Davies (Cel. Res. p. 191), the god
Bel or Beli was called Hu. Mallet in his "Northern Antiquities,"
says:--"All Celtic nations have been accustomed to the worship of the
sun; either as distinguished from Thor," (? Bel) "or as considered his
symbol. It was a custom that everywhere prevailed in ancient times to
celebrate a feast at the winter solstice, by which men testified their
joy at seeing this great luminary return again to this part of the
heavens. This was the greatest solemnity in the year. They called it in
many places _Yole_ or _Yuul_, from the word _Hiaul_ and _Houl_, which,
even at this day, signifies the SUN in the languages of Bass-Britagne
and Cornwall."
Brand objects to this etymology, on the ground that it "is giving a
Celtic derivation of a Gothic word (two languages extremely different.)"
This objection, however, falls to the ground with the discovery of the
fact that both languages have a common origin, and that the several
races and their superstitions are but separate developments of Aryan
blood and Aryan mythology. In modern Welsh _gwyl_ means a festival or
holiday, and this may be the true root of the word _gule_, in the phrase
"the _gule_ of August," or Lammas-day. But the Welsh _gwyl_ may itself
be derived from the same root as _yule_, which, to our ears, now only
signifies, as Brand says, "Christmas," or the festive season. _Heulo_,
in modern Welsh, means to "shine as the sun." In India the term _Huli_
festival is applied to the ceremonies attendant upon the sun's entering
into the spring quarter at the vernal equinox.
In ordinary life we meet with very few persons who are aware of the fact
that the practice of regarding the first of January as the commencement
of a new year is of very modern origin, in England, at least. Prior to
1752, in most legal or official matters, and in private records, the
year commenced on the 25th of March. At this time an Act of Parliament
was passed which "directed that the legal year which then commenced in
some parts of this country in March, and in others in January, should
universally be deemed to begin on the first of January." This will
appear to many as a strange species of legislation, savouring somewhat
of the vanity and irreverence for which Canute, the great Danish King of
England, rebuked his courtiers, when he ironically commanded the tide to
cease flowing, lest, forsooth, it should damp his royal shoe-leather.
The commencement of the year, as has been before observed, being not a
fact in physics, but a conventional or civil arrangement for human
convenience, is therefore a legitimate subject for legislative
interference, with the view to arrive at a uniformity of style, and so
facilitate business operations and the enquiries of historians and
students of science.
The practice of celebrating the new year's advent on the first of
January appears to have obtained to a considerable extent in England
long prior to its legal recognition. The famous Puritan writer, Prynne,
in his "Histrio-Mastrix, or a Scourge for Stage Players," published in
1632, has the following slashing tirade against the festive observances
of this period:--
"If we now parallel our grand disorderly Christmases with these Roman
Saturnals and heathen festivals, or our New Yeare's Day (a chiefe part
of Christmas), with their festivity of Janus, which was spent in
mummeries, stageplays, dancing, and such like enterludes, wherein
fidlers and others acted lascivious effeminate parts, and went about
their towns and cities in women's apparel; whence the whole Catholicke
Church (as Alchuvinus and others write), appointed a solemn publike
faste upon this our New Yeare's day (which fast it seems is now
forgotten), to bewail these heathenish enterludes, sports, and lewd
idolatrous practices which have been used on it; _prohibiting all
Christians, under pain of excommunication, from observing the calends,
or first of January (which we now call New Yeare's Day), as holy, and
from sending abroad New Yeare's Gifts upon it (a custom now too
frequent), it being a mere relique of paganisme and idolatry, derived
from the heathen Romans' feast of two-faced Janus_, and a practice so
execrable unto Christians that not only the whole Catholicke Church, but
even four famous Councils" [and an enormous quantity of other
authorities which it is useless to quote] "have positively _prohibited
the solemnization of New Yeare's Day, and the sending abroad of New
Yeare's Gifts, under an anathema and excommunication_."
Although there can be no doubt that the practices referred to were in
existence prior to the introduction of Christianity, yet the threat of
excommunication and anathema failed to root them out of the heart of the
mass of the population, and they survive to the present day. Some of the
gifts made to sovereign princes on the advent of the new year were not
only valuable, but often quaint in device, and sometimes, according to
modern ideas, in singularly bad taste. The accomplished scholar,
soldier, and courtier, Sir Philip Sidney, on the New Year's Day of 1578,
presented to Queen Elizabeth a "cambric chemise, its sleeves and collar
wrought with black work and edged with a small bone lace of gold and
silver. With it was a pair of ruffs interlaced with gold and silver, and
set with spangles which alone weighed four ounces." His friend Fulke
Greville likewise presented an embroidered chemise. On another occasion
of a similar character, (1581), "Sidney made three characteristic
presents--a gold-handled whip, a golden chain, a heart of gold, as
though in token of his entire subservience to her Majesty, and his
complete surrender of himself to the royal keeping." On one occasion,
the Earl of Ormond presented to the Queen "a golden ph[oe]nix, whose
wings and feet glittered with rubies and diamonds, and which rested on a
branch covered with other precious stones. Sir Christopher Hatton
tendered a cross of diamonds, furnished with a suitable motto; also a
gold fancy, imaging a dog leading a man over a bridge, and garnished
with many gems." Lord and Lady Cobham each presented a satin petticoat
elaborately ornamented. Her Majesty, on New Year's Day, it appears, did
not disdain to receive presents from her servants and tradesmen.
Nichols, in his "Royal Progresses," records that a laundress solicited
the Queen's acceptance of three pocket handkerchiefs and a "tooth
cloth." One domestic sought favour with a linen and another with a
cambric nightcap. Apothecaries presented packets of green ginger, orange
candy, and "that kind of stuff." A butler's offering consisted of a meat
knife, "with a bone handle and a motto carved thereon," while the
dustman tendered "two bolts of cambric," the head gardener a silver-gilt
porringer, with a "snail sticking to an oak-leaf for handle," and the
"sergeant of the pastry" a "great quince pie with gilt ornaments." The
Queen, in return, presented her courtiers, etc., with "gilt plate,
showing her esteem by the quantity of the article" apportioned to each
recipient. In his preface Nichols remarks that "the only remains of this
custom at court now is that the two chaplains in waiting, on New Year's
Day, have each a crown piece laid under their plates at dinner."
Old Thomas Warmstry, as we have seen, held much milder language on this
subject than Prynne. He regarded the gifts as "harmless provocations to
Christian love, and mutual testimonies thereof to good purpose,"
notwithstanding their heathen origin. The practice is by no means
extinct at the present time. In many towns shopkeepers present their
customers, on New Year's Day, with candles, nutmegs, spices, etc., in
token of good will.
Brand speaks of an ancient custom, which is yet retained in many places
on New Year's Eve: "Young women went about with a Wassail Bowl of spiced
ale, with some sort of verses that were sung by them as they went from
door to door." This liquor was sometimes called "Lamb's Wool," although
it is difficult to conjecture now for what reason. In the "olden time"
it appears to have been compounded of ale, sugar, nutmeg, toast, and
roasted apples or crabs. The wassail bowl originally meant a
health-drinking vessel, and is of very ancient origin. The name is
derived from two Anglo-Saxon words _wæs hæl_, which signify "be in
health," "wax (grow) in health," or in modern phrase, "good health."
Geoffrey of Monmouth refers to the Saxon practice of health drinking on
important occasions, when describing the visit of the British King
Vortigern to the palace of Hengist, the chieftain of the Teutonic
warriors then recently arrived in Britain. During the banquet, Rowena,
the beautiful daughter of Hengist, "came out of her chamber bearing a
golden cup of wine, with which she approached the King, and making a low
courtsey, said to him, 'Lanerd' (lord) 'King, wacht heil!' The King, at
the sight of the lady's face, was on a sudden both surprised and
inflamed with her beauty, and, calling to his interpreter, asked him
what she said, and what answer he should make her. 'She called you _Lord
King_,' said the interpreter, 'and offered to drink your health. Your
answer to her must be, '_Drinc heil_!' Vortigern accordingly answered
'Drinc heil!' and bade her drink; after which he took the cup from her
hand, kissed her, and drank himself. From that time to this it has been
the custom in Britain, that he who drinks to anyone says 'Wacht heil!'
and he that pledges him answers '_Drinc heil_?'"
In process of time, the practice of drinking healths on solemn or
festive occasions was confounded with ordinary tippling, and the term
wassail became applied indiscriminately to all festive intemperance.
Hamlet says, speaking of the drinking habits of the usurper, Claudius--
The King doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse,
Keeps wassel and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out
The triumph of his pledge.
The Antiquarian Repertory (1775) contains a rude wood-cut of a bowl
carved on an oaken beam, which had formed a portion of an ancient
chimney recess. The vessel rests on the branches of an apple tree,
alluding perhaps, Sir Henry Ellis suggests, to "part of the materials of
which the liquor was composed." On one side the word _Wass-heil_ is
inscribed, and on the other _Drinc-heile_. A commentator on this relic
informs us that it represents a Wassel Bowl, so beloved of yore by our
hardy ancestors, "who, on the vigil of the New Year, never failed to
assemble round the glowing hearth with their cheerful neighbours, and
then, in the spicy Wassel Bowl (which testified the goodness of their
hearts) drowned every former animosity--an example worthy of modern
imitation. _Wassel_ was the word, Wassel every guest returned, as he
took the circling goblet from his friend, whilst song and civil mirth
brought in the infant year."
A work entitled "Naogeorgus," but generally styled the "Popish Kingdom,"
published in 1570, and translated by Barnabe Googe, thus refers to the
New Year's Day ceremonies of the time:--
The next to this is New Yeare's Day, whereon to every frende
They costly presents in do bring, and Newe Yeare's giftes do sende;
These giftes the husband gives his wife, and father eke the child,
And maister on his men bestowes the like with favour milde;
And good beginning of the yeare they wishe and wishe againe,
According to the auncient guise of heathen people vaine.
These eight days no man doth require his dettes of any man,
Their tables do they furnish out with all the meate they can;
With march paynes, tartes, and custards great, they drink with
staring eyes,
They rowte and revell, feede and feaste, as merry all as pyes;
As if they should at th' entrance of this New Yeare hap to die,
Yet would they have their bellies full, and auncient friends allie.
I remember, very recently, at the conclusion of a public jubilee dinner,
within a very few miles from Manchester, one of the guests suddenly died
of apoplexy. This sad event, of course, caused the adjournment of the
festive gathering. The reason I refer to it here is merely to state
that I heard, to my surprise, one of the country visitors say, in a very
consolatory tone, "Well, poor Joe, God rest his soul! He has, at least,
gone to his long rest wi' a bally full o' good me-at, and that's some
consolation." This seems to illustrate the meaning of the last couplet
in the quotation from "Naogeorgus," the sentiment in which appears to
have some affinity to the Greek and Roman notions of providing the dead
with food and money to aid their passage across the Styx.
The Rev. S. Baring-Gould, in his "Curious Myths of the Middle Ages,"
says "it is a singular fact that only the other day I heard of a man in
Cleveland (Yorkshire) being buried two years ago with a candle, a penny,
and a bottle of wine in his coffin: the candle to light him along the
road, the penny to pay the ferry, and the wine to nourish him as he went
to the New Jerusalem. I was told this, and this explanation was given to
me by some rustics who professed to have attended the funeral. This
looks to me as though the shipping into the other land were not regarded
merely as a figure of speech, but as a reality."
One writer says the "high feast of Yule lasted until the twelve days be
passed," and consequently included our new year and twelfth night
festivities. During this period a strong superstition yet obtains in
Lancashire and Yorkshire respecting fire. A singular instance of this
recently occurred to a friend of mine within three miles of Manchester.
Seeing a cottage door open, he entered, and asked the good woman of the
house to give him a light for his cigar. He was somewhat astonished at
her inhospitable response: "Nay, nay, I know better than that." "Better
than what?" he inquired. "Why, better than give a light out of the house
on New Year's Day!" He contrived, notwithstanding, to ignite his cigar
without the woman's assistance, and she seemed content. She had
forgotten the best half of the condition, however, and committed the
very blunder she sought to avoid. According to Sir Henry Ellis, in the
North of England the superstition ordains that you "never allow any to
take a light out of your house on New Year's Day; a death in the
household, before the expiration of a year, is sure to occur if it be
allowed."
Sir Henry Ellis likewise mentions a curious superstition still existing
in Lincolnshire. It is considered unlucky to let anything be taken out
of the house on New Year's Day, before something has been brought into
it. The importation of the most insignificant article, even a piece of
coal, is, it appears, sufficient to prevent the misfortunes occurring,
which the contrary action, it is believed, would render inevitable
during some portion of the year. This sentiment is expressed in the
following popular rhyme:--
Take out, then take in,
Bad luck will begin;
Take in, then take out,
Good luck comes about.
A remarkable instance of the strength of the superstitious reverence for
this day, or rather of the popular belief in the prophetic character of
any incident occurring thereon, recently happened in Manchester. A
publican, name Tilley, refused to serve a glass of whisky _on credit_
during the New Year's Day's festivities, on the score that it was
"unlucky" so to do. He said he preferred making the man a present of the
liquor to the committal of any such act. The refusal so exasperated the
thirsty customer that he stabbed the landlord in the abdomen, and, as
the wound proved fatal, he was condemned to death for wilful murder, but
the sentence was afterwards commuted to penal servitude for life. Thus
the faith in the tradition produced a more tragic result than the most
superstitious could have dreaded from its ignoration. Singularly enough,
owing to the first day of the year happening on Sunday, the usual
festival was postponed till the following day; so it appears in this
instance the superstition accompanied the merry-making without reference
to the date.
This practice of "bringing in the New Year" with festive rejoicing is
still a very common one, especially in the north of England. A singular
superstition in connection with it is evidently of very ancient origin.
It is considered to be an unlucky omen if the first person who enters a
house on the morning of the first of January happens to be a female.
Another unlucky omen is yet very commonly respected in Lancashire and
elsewhere, even amongst comparatively educated people, at this festive
season. It is considered to bode misfortune if the first person who
enters your house on New Year's morning has a fair complexion and light
hair. I have never heard this very popular prejudice satisfactorily
accounted for. I can only suggest that it most probably arose from the
fact that amongst the Keltic tribes, or the earliest Aryan immigrants,
dark hair prevailed, as amongst the Welsh, Cornish, and Irish of the
present day; and that when they afterwards came in contact with the
Teutonic branch, as enemies, they found their mortal foes to possess
fair skins and light hair. They consequently regarded the intrusion into
their household, at the commencement of the year, of one of the hated
race, as a sinister omen. The beards and hair of the ancient Aryan gods
were golden or red, or fire-coloured. The Teutonic Thor, in this
respect, was the counterpart of Indra and Agni. Red hair, no doubt,
would have its admirers, where these gods were worshipped; and, of
course, it would fall into contempt when the reverse was the case. The
German early Christians, it appears, not only condemned Thor to the
lower regions, but carried their dislike to the very colour of his hair.
Hence the proverb, "Rother-bart, Teufelsart," or "Red-beard,
devil-steered." They went so far, indeed, as to assert, without any
other authority than the speciality of his personal character, that the
beard of the arch-traitor, Judas Iscariot, was of this obnoxious colour.
Dryden refers to it in the triplet which he despatched to Jacob Tonson,
as a specimen of his power as a satirist, and which caused the
celebrated publisher to deal more liberally than previously with the
poor and angry poet. Dryden's lines are:
With leering look, bull-faced, and freckled fair,
With two left legs, with _Judas_-coloured hair,
And frowsy pores that taint the ambient air.
Kelly says the prejudice is of German and not of Eastern origin. Hence
it is not improbable that the dethronement of the red-haired gods may
have been at the root of the German antipathy. But the true Kelt does
not simply abhor, on New Year's Day, the red hair of the Dane, but the
brown or flaxen, or amber locks of the German as well. Indeed, black or
dark hair and complexion are the chief objects of his concern in the
individual who first enters his domicile on the dawn of the New
Year.[18] Many householders feast their friends on New Year's Eve, and
send out shortly before midnight one of the party, with dark hair,
expressly "to bring in the New Year," as it is termed. I remember, some
time ago, the landlady of one of the Preston hotels, being unmarried,
was in the habit of rewarding the fortunate dark-haired gentleman with a
kiss for his propitious entrance into her hostelry on the morning of
this festivity. Of course, the fair one had nothing but frowns and harsh
words if a light-haired interloper happened to first cross her
threshold.
Mr. T. T. Wilkinson, in his "Popular Customs and Superstitions in
Lancashire," referring to the practice of divination at this season of
the year, says:--"When a Lancashire damsel desires to know what sort of
a husband she will have, on New Year's Eve she pours some melted lead
into a glass of water and observes what forms the drops assume. When
they resemble scissors, she concludes that she must rest satisfied with
a tailor; if they appear in the form of a hammer, he will be a smith or
a carpenter; and so of the others. I have met with many instances of
this class in which the example given did not admit of easy
contradiction."
The prophetic character of the weather during this period is a
superstition common to all the Aryan tribes. So strongly is this
characteristic of the season felt in Lancashire, at the present day,
that many country people may be met with who habitually found their
"forecast," as the late Admiral Fitzroy would term the operation, on the
appearance of the heavens on Old Christmas Day. Mr. T. T. Wilkinson
relates a singular instance of this superstition, which shows the
stubbornness of traditional lore, even when subjected to the power and
influence of legislative enactments. He says:--"The _use_ of the _old
style_ in effect is not yet extinct in Lancashire. The writer knows an
old man, R. H., of Habergham, about 77 years of age, who always reckons
the changes of the seasons in this manner. He alleges the practice of
his grandfather and father in support of his method, and states with
much confidence that 'Perliment didn't change t' seasons wen they
chang'd day o' t' month.'"
The New Year's advent is still believed to be a period especially
favourable for divination of various kinds. A work named the "Shepherd's
Kalender," published in 1709, soberly informs us that "if New Year's Day
in the morning open with dusky red clouds, it denotes strifes and
debates among great ones, and many robberies to happen that year."
The "weatherwise" placed much reliance on the prophetic aspect of the
heavens at this period. A clergyman at Kirkmichæl, quoted by Sir John
Sinclair, says, with reference to the practices of some of his
parishioners,--"On the first night of January they observe with anxious
attention the disposition of the atmosphere. As it is calm or
boisterous; as the wind blows from the north or the south, from the east
or the west, they prognosticate the nature of the weather till the
conclusion of the year. The first night of the new year when the wind
blows from the west they call _dar-na-coille_, the night of the
fecundation of the trees; and from the circumstance has been derived the
name in the Gaelic language. Their faith in the above signs is couched
in verses thus translated:--'The wind of the south will produce heat and
fertility; the wind of the west milk and fish; the wind of the north
cold and storm; the wind from the east fruit on the trees.'"
A curious custom of this class is mentioned by Sir Henry Ellis, termed
"Apple-howling," as being well known in Sussex, Devon, and elsewhere.
Troops of boys gather round the orchards on New Year's Eve, and chant
the following ditty:--
Stand fast root, bear well top,
Pray God send us a howling crop;
Every twig, apples big;
Every bough, apples enow;
Hats full, caps full,
Full quarter sacks full.
The practice of divining or "fore-casting" the character of the weather,
and influencing the vegetation of the coming year, by ceremonies and
observations of atmospheric effects, at its commencement, or on New
Year's Day, appears to be prefigured in the ancient Aryan mythology. On
this subject Walter Kelly says:--"In the gloomy season of the winter
solstice the Ribhus" (demi-gods, who aid in the ruling of the lightning
and storms) "sleep for twelve days in the house of the sun-god Savitar;
then they wake up and prepare the earth to clothe itself anew with
vegetation, and the frozen waters to flow again. It appears certain,
from some passages in the Vedas, that twelve nights about the winter
solstice were regarded as prefiguring the character of the weather for
the whole year. A Sanscrit text is noticed by Weber, which says
expressly, 'The twelve nights are an image of the year.' The very same
belief exists at this day in Northern Germany. The peasants say that the
calendar for the whole year is made in the twelve days between Christmas
and Epiphany, and that as the weather is on each of these days so will
it be on the corresponding month of the ensuing year. They believe also
that whatever one dreams on any of the twelve nights will come to pass
within the next year."
Before the introduction of the New Style, previously referred to, this
weather fore-casting was indulged in at the end of March. Brand gives an
old rhyme which demonstrates the truth of this:
March said to Aperill,
I see three hogs upon a hill;
But lend your first three days to me,
And I'll be bound to gar them dee.
The first it sall be wind an' weet,
The next it sall be snaw an' sleet,
The third it sall be sic a freeze,
Sall gar the birds stick to the trees.
But when the borrowed days were gane,
The three silly hogs came hirplin hame.
Mr. Henderson, in his recent work on the "Folk-Lore of the Northern
Counties," says, "Old people presage the weather of the coming season by
that of the last three days of March, which they call the 'borrowing
days,' and thus rhyme about:
"March borrowed from April
Three days, and they were ill;
The first o' them war wind an' weet,
The next o' them war snaw an' sleet,
The last o' them war wind an' rain,
Which gaed the silly pair ewes come toddling hame."
The mistletoe and the oak were both of sacred, or "lightning" origin
amongst the Aryans, and the medicinal, mythical, or magical character
yet attributed to the former both by the Teutons and Kelts, had,
doubtless, one common origin. Walter Kelly says the mistletoe
"possesses, in a high degree, all the virtues proper to botanic
lightning, as is implied in its Swiss name, _donnerbesen_,
'thunderbesom,' and its mode of growth is conformable in all particulars
to its exalted mythical character. It is a parasite, and like the
asvattha and the rowan, it is everywhere believed to spring from seed
deposited by birds on trees. When it was found on the oak, the Druids
ascribed its growth directly to the gods; they _chose_ the tree; and the
bird was their messenger, perhaps a god in disguise." The mistletoe was
supposed to protect the homestead from fire and other disaster; and,
like many other mysterious things, it was believed to be potent in
matters relating to courtship and matrimony. It is to this sentiment we
owe the practice of kissing under the bush formed of holly and mistletoe
during the Christmas festivities.
This matrimonial element in the mysticism which attaches to the
mistletoe is artistically presented in the Scandinavian mythology.
Freyja, the mother of Baldr, had rendered him invulnerable against all
things formed out of the then presumed four elements, fire, air, earth,
and water. The mistletoe was believed to grow from none of these
elements. Another version is that she swore all created things never to
hurt this the "whitest" and most loved of all the Æsir; but she
overlooked one insignificant branch of the mistletoe, and it was by an
arrow fashioned from it that the bright day-god, Baldr, the Scandinavian
counterpart of Apollo and Bel, was killed by the blind Hodr or Helder.
The gods, however, restored him to life, and dedicated the mistletoe to
his mother, who is regarded as the counterpart of the classical Venus.
Hence its importance in affairs of love and courtship. It is not
improbable that the far-famed dart of Cupid may have some relationship
to the mistletoe arrow to which the beautiful Baldr succumbed. In a
Vedic incantation, translated by Dr. Kuhn, this death-dealing power of
the mistletoe is ascribed to a branch of the _asvattha_.
The medicinal qualities of the mistletoe were also in high repute. "This
healing virtue, which the mistletoe shares with the ash," says Kelly,
"is a long-descended tradition, for '_the kustha the embodiment of the
soma_,' a healing plant of the highest renown among the Southern Aryans,
was one of those that grew beneath the heavenly asvattha." This heavenly
asvattha is the _ficus religiosa_, or "world tree," "out of which the
immortals shaped the heavens and the earth;" and it is supposed to be
the prototype of the yggdrasil, the cloud-tree of the Norsemen, "an ash
(Norse _askr_), the tree out of which the gods formed the first man, who
was thence called Askr. The ash was also among the Greeks, an image of
the clouds, and the mother of men." The Christmas tree of the Germans,
recently imported into this country, no doubt originated in these
ancient mythical superstitions.
The wide-spread traditionary belief in this world-overspreading tree is
confirmed by a passage in Merlin's celebrated prophecy. The magician
says, "After this shall be produced a tree upon the Tower of London,
which, having no more than three branches, shall overshadow the surface
of the whole island." Of course Merlin is speaking figuratively of the
future prospects of Britain, and refers to the domination of London as
the metropolitan city of the British empire. Nevertheless, the origin of
the mythical language used for this purpose appears to admit of no
doubt.
The famous bean-stalk up which the renowned "Jack," of nursery story,
climbed till he reached cloud-land, the abode of fairies and giants, is,
unquestionably, a remnant of the Scandinavian yggdrasil, or cloud-tree.
Beans and peas, as will be hereafter shown, in the Aryan myths, were
connected with celestial fire, and with departed spirits. This Gothic
skiey realm has likewise its counterpart in the Greek Phæakian domain,
or "cloudland geography," as Mr. Cox aptly expresses it.
A certain reverence for both the oak and the ash exists yet in the minds
of others better educated than the peasantry of England. The phrase,
"Our hearts of oak," may shortly be superseded by "Our iron-clads," but
the figure of speech, as applied to the fighting sailor, and not to the
craft, will long survive the era of the conversion of the ships. The oak
and the ash are weather-prophets at this day. An old rhyme says:--
If the oak's before the ash,
We shall only get a splash;
If the ash precede the oak,
We shall surely get a soak.
This, of course, refers to the priority in the time of budding or coming
into leaf.
Other Christmas customs and superstitions appear to distinctly exhibit
an Aryan origin. The white-thorn is supposed to possess supernatural
power, and certain trees of this class, in Lancashire called Christmas
thorns, are believed to blossom only on Old Christmas Day. Mr. Wilkinson
says that, in the neighbourhood of Burnley, many persons will yet travel
a considerable distance "at midnight, in order to witness the
blossoming." In the Arboretum at Kew gardens, Miss Pratt informs us, in
her "Flowers, and their Associations," there is a tree of this kind
which "is often covered with its clusters while the snow surrounds it."
The thorn, as I shall afterwards show, was an Aryan "lightning plant,"
and, therefore, supposed to be endowed with supernatural properties.
The boar's head yet forms a prominent object amongst the traditionary
dishes of Christmas festivities. Amongst the impersonations of natural
phenomena in the Aryan mythology, the wild boar represented the "ravages
of the whirlwind that tore up the earth." The boar is an animal
connected with the storm and lightning, in all the Indo-European
mythologies. Kelly says:--"Boars are winds, and their white flashing
tusks were looked upon by the southern Aryans and the Greeks, as well as
by the Germans, as images of the lightning." There exists yet a
traditionary superstition very prevalent in Lancashire and its
neighbourhood to the effect that pigs can "_see the wind_." I
accidentally heard the observation made not long ago, in the city of
Manchester, in what is termed "respectable society," and no one present
audibly dissented. One or two individuals, indeed, remarked that they
had often heard such was the case, and seemed to regard the phenomenon
as related to the strong scent and other instincts peculiar to animals
of the chase. Indeed, Dr. Kuhn says that in Westphalia this phase of the
superstition is the prevalent one. There pigs are said to smell the
wind. No one except myself, in the Manchester instance referred to,
appeared to have any knowledge of the origin of the tradition, or that
it was, _at least_, between three and four thousand years old, and, in
all probability, very much older.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] Since the above was written, I have learned that, in some
localities, light-haired men are preferred. This superstition may,
therefore, perhaps, arise, as I have suggested, from prejudice of race,
and equally apply to Teuton and Kelt, and, consequently, subject to
local modification.