FAIRIES AND BOGGARTS.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your _philosophy_!
_Shakspere._
In my youthful imagination, some forty odd years ago, "boggarts,"
ghosts, or spirits of one kind or another, in Lancashire, appeared, to
use Falstaff's phrase, to be "as plentiful as blackberries." "Boggart,"
by some writers is regarded as the Lancashire cognomen for "Puck" or
"Robin Goodfellow." Certainly there are, or were, many boggarts whose
mischievous propensities and rude practical jokings remind us very
forcibly of the eccentric and erratic goblin page to the fairy king, so
admirably delineated by Shakspere in his "Midsummer Night's Dream":--
_Fairy_--Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite,
Called Robin Goodfellow; are you not he
That fright the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk; and sometimes labour in the quern,
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm;
Mislead night wanderers, laughing at their harm;
Those that hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?
_Puck_--Thou speakest aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night,
I jest to Oberon and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal;
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her withered dewlap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,
Sometimes for three-foot stool mistaketh me.
Ben Jonson makes Robin Goodfellow say--
"Sometimes I meet them like a man,
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound,
And to a horse I turn me can,
To trip and trot about them round.
But if to ride,
My back they stride,
More swift than wind away I go:
O'er edge and lands,
Through pools and ponds,
I whirry laughing, Ho! ho! ho!"
There is some diversity and variety of colouring in the various fairy
types presented in different localities, but they have sufficient in
common to justify perfect faith in their near relationship, whether they
are styled Peris, as in Persia, Pixies, as in Devonshire, Ginns, as in
Arabia, Gnomes or Elves, amongst the Teutons, or "the Leprachaun" or
"Good people," of the sister Island. The finest modern artistic
realisation of the fairy kingdom is unquestionably to be found in
Shakspere's "Midsummer Night's Dream." How strangely, yet how
beautifully and consistently, has he there woven together his ethereal
conceptions with the grosser, as well as with the more elevated aspect
of our common humanity! How exquisite is the poetry in which the visions
of his imaginations are embodied! The fairy-King Oberon thus describes
his queen, Titania's, bower:--
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxslips and the nodding violet grows;
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine;
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night,
Lulled in these flowers with dances and delight,
And there the snake throws her enamelled skin,
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in.
And again at the close of the play, Puck says--
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies that do run
By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic.
Witches, fairies, ghosts, and boggarts seem to have become intimately
amalgamated in the _repertoire_ of modern superstition. Doubtless many
of them have a common origin, and are but separate developments,
mythical or artistic, of the universal tendency of primitive peoples to
personify, or render more tangible to the ruder sense, their conceptions
of those forces of nature, the laws governing which are, to them, hidden
in the delusive gloom of ignorance. "Feeorin" is a general term for all
things of this character that create fear in the otherwise intrepid
heart of a "Lancashire lad." Mr. Edwin Waugh, whose songs in the dialect
are not more remarkable for their quaint humour and homely pathos than
for their idiomatic truthfulness, aptly illustrates the mingling of the
various supernatural terrors to which I have referred, in his admirable
ballad, "What ails thee, my son Robin." The mother, alarmed at the lad's
melancholy mood, says, inquiringly:--
Neaw, arto fairy-stricken;
Or arto gradely ill?
Or hasto bin wi' th' witches
I'th cloof, at deep o'th neet?
Robin replies--
'Tisn't lung o'th feeorin'
That han to do wi' th' dule;
There's nought at thus could daunt mo,
I'th cloof, by neet nor day;
It's yon blue een o' Mary's:
They taen my life away.
Queen Mab appears to have been equally as mischievous an elf as Puck.
Shakspere says,--
This is that very Mab
That plats the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the _elf-locks_ in foul sluttish hairs,
Which, once entangled, much misfortune bodes.
Mab, however, like Puck, seems to have had a large element of humour in
her composition, which is delineated with marvellous grace and
brilliancy in the celebrated speech of Mercutio, in "Romeo and Juliet."
Boggarts, in some cases, appear to have been anything but unwelcome
guests. King James I., in his "Dæmonologie," describes the spirit called
a "brownie" as something that "appeared like a rough man, and haunted
divers houses without doing any evile, but doing, as it were, necessarie
turnes up and downe the house; yet some were so blinded as to beleeve
that their house was all the sonsier, as they called it, that such
spirits resorted there."
Mr. T. T. Wilkinson relates some good stories of Lancashire goblins, who
are believed to have determined the sites of Rochdale, Burnley,
Samlesbury, and some other churches, by removing the stones and
scaffolding of the builders in the night time. There is likewise a
legend of this class in connection with the church at Winwich, near
Warrington, and another at Whaley-bridge, in Derbyshire. Indeed, these
goblin church builders are very common throughout the land. In some
cases the sprite assumes the form of the arch-fiend himself. Referring
to the famous boggart of Syke Lumb farm, near Blackburn, Mr. Wilkinson
says:--
"When in a good humour, this noted goblin will milk the cows, pull the
hay, fodder the cattle, harness the horses, load the carts, and stack
the crops. When irritated by the utterance of some unguarded expression
or marked disrespect, either from the farmer or his servants, the cream
mugs are then smashed to atoms; no butter can be obtained by churning;
the horses and other cattle are turned loose, or driven into the woods;
two cows will sometimes be found fastened in the same stall; no hay can
be pulled from the mow; and all the while the wicked imp sits grinning
with delight upon one of the cross beams in the barn. At other times the
horses are unable to draw the empty carts across the farm yard; if
loaded they are upset; whilst the cattle tremble with fear, without any
visible cause. Nor do the inmates of the house experience any better or
gentler usage. During the night the clothes are said to be violently
torn from off the beds of the offending parties, whilst, by invisible
hands, they themselves are dragged down the stone stairs by the legs,
one step at a time, after a more uncomfortable manner than we need
describe."
Mr. Wilkinson relates an anecdote of a near relation of his own, who,
although, "not more imbued with superstition than the majority," firmly
believed that he had once seen "a real dwarf or fairy, without the use
of any incantation. He had been amusing himself one summer evening on
the top of Mellor Moor, near Blackburn, close to the remains of the
Roman encampment, when his attention was arrested by the appearance of a
dwarf-like man, attired in full hunting costume, with top boots and
spurs, a green jacket, red hairy cap, and a thick hunting whip in his
hand. He ran briskly along the moor for a considerable distance, when,
leaping over a low stone wall, he darted down a steep declivity, and was
soon lost to sight."
One of the best descriptions of a Lancashire boggart or bargaist[26]
that I have met with, was written by the late Crofton Croker, and
published in Roby's "Traditions of Lancashire." I may just remark, _en
passant_, that the word "traditions," as applied to nearly the whole of
these stories, is a sad misnomer. The tales might, perhaps with
propriety, be termed _nouvelletes_, or little novels; but when put forth
as "traditions," in the true acceptation of the term, they are worse
than useless, for they are calculated equally to mislead both the
antiquary and the collector of "folk lore." Croker makes the scene of
his story what was once a retired and densely wooded dell, or deep
valley, in the township of Blackley, near Manchester, called to this
day, "Boggart Ho' Clough." This boggart sadly pestered a worthy farmer,
named George Cheetham, by "scaring his maids, worrying his men, and
frightening the poor children out of their senses, so that, at last, not
even a mouse durst shew himself indoors at the farm, as he valued his
whiskers, after the clock had struck twelve." This same boggart,
however, had some jolly genial qualities. His voice, when he joined the
household laughter, on merry tales being told and practical jokes
indulged in, around the hearth at Christmastide, is described as "small
and shrill," and as easily "heard above the rest, _like a baby's penny
trumpet_." He began to regard himself at last as a "privileged inmate"
and conducted himself in the most extraordinary manner, snatching the
children's bread and butter out of their hands, and interfering with
their porridge, milk, and other food. His "invisible hand" knocked the
furniture about in the most approved modern style of goblin or spiritual
manifestation. Yet, this mischievous propensity did not prevent him from
occasionally performing some kindly acts, such as churning the cream and
scouring the pans and kettles! Truly, he was a "tricksty sprite." Croker
refers to one circumstance which he regards as "remarkable," and which
will remind modern readers very distinctly of a "spiritual" exhibition
which recently attracted much public attention. He says--"the stairs
ascended from the kitchen; a partition of boards covered the ends of the
steps, and formed a _closet_ beneath the staircase. From one of the
boards of this partition a large round knot was accidently displaced,
and one day the youngest of the children, while playing with the
shoe-horn, stuck it into this knot-hole. Whether or not the aperture had
been formed by the boggart as a peep-hole to watch the motions of the
family, I cannot pretend to say. Some thought it was, for it was called
the boggart's peep-hole; but others said that they had remembered it
before the shrill laugh of the boggart was heard in the house. However
this may have been, it is certain that the horn was ejected with
surprising precision at the head of whoever put it there; and either in
mirth or in anger the horn was darted forth with great velocity, and
struck the poor child over the ear." To say the least of it, it is
rather remarkable that the mere substitution of the words _structure_ or
_cabinet_ for _closet_, and _trumpet_ for _horn_, to say nothing of the
peculiar quality of the boggart's voice, should make the whole so
eloquently suggestive of the doings of a certain "Mr. Ferguson" and his
friends the Davenport Brothers, and other "spiritual manifestations"
recently so much in vogue. All this supernatural mountebanking was, it
appears, taken in good part by Mr. Cheetham's family, and when the
children or neighbours wished for a little excitement they easily found
it in "laking," that is, playing, with this eccentric and pugnacious
disembodied spirit.[27]
But Mr. Boggart eventually returned to his old avocations, and midnight
noises again disturbed the repose of the inmates of the haunted house.
Pewter pots and earthen dishes were dashed to the floor, and yet, in the
morning they were found perfectly uninjured, and in their usual places.
To such a pitch at last did matters reach, that George Cheetham and his
family were observed one day by neighbour John Marshall sullenly
following a cart that contained their household goods and chattels. What
transpired is best told in Mr. Croker's own words:--
"'Well, Georgy, and soa you're leaving th'owd house at last,' said
Marshall.
"'Heigh, Johnny, my lad, I'm in a manner forced to it, thou sees,'
replied the other, 'for that wearyfu' boggart torments us soa, we can
neither rest neet nor day for't. It seems loike to have a malice agains
t' young uns, an' it ommost kills my poor dame at thoughts on't, and
soa, thou sees, we're forced to flit like.'
"He had got thus far in his complaint when, behold, a shrill voice, from
a deep upright _churn_, the topmost utensil on the cart, called out,
'Ay, ay, neighbour, we're flitting, you see.'
"'Od rot thee,' exclaimed George, 'If I'd known thou'd been flitting
too, I wadn't ha' stirred a peg. Nay, nay, it's no use, Mally,' he
continued, turning to his wife, 'we may as weel turn back again to
th'owd house, as be tormented in another not so convenient.'"
In Florence of Worcester's Chronicle, under the date, 1138, a singular
story is related, which explains "how the devil, in the shape of a black
dwarf, was made a monk." From some of the details, it appears to embody,
in no slight degree, the popular superstition regarding the mischievous
Puck. On three distinct occasions the cellars of a monastery at Prum, in
the arch-diocese of Treves, had been invaded, bungs wantonly withdrawn
from casks, and good wine spilled on the floor. The abbot, in despair,
at length ordered the bungholes to be "anointed round with chrism." On
the following morning "a wonderfully dwarfish black boy" was found
"clinging by the hands to one of the bungs." He was released, dressed in
a monk's habit, and made to associate with the other boys. He, however,
never uttered a word, either in public or private, or tasted food of any
kind. A neighbouring abbot pronounced him to be a devil lurking in human
form; and, the chronicle informs us, "while they were in the act of
stripping off his monastic dress, he vanished from their hands like
smoke."
This sort of superstition was devotedly respected by even such men as
Martin Luther. He tells us of a demon who officiated as _famulus_ in a
monastery. He was a good hand at an earthly bargain too, and insisted on
having full measure for his money, when employed to fetch beer for the
monks.
I remember in my youth hearing a story of a headless boggart that
haunted Preston streets and neighbouring lanes. Its presence was often
accompanied by the rattling of chains. I forget now what was its special
mission. It frequently changed its form, however, but whether it
appeared as a woman or a black dog, it was always headless. The story
went that this boggart or ghost was at length "laid" by some magical or
religious ceremony in Walton Church yard. I have often thought that the
story told by Weaver, a Preston antiquary, in his "Funerall Monuments,"
printed in 1631, and which I have transcribed at page 149 of the
"History of Preston and its Environs," may have had some remote
connection with this tradition. He relates how Michael Kelly, the
celebrated Dr. Dee's companion, together with one Paul Wareing,
"invocated some of the infernal regiment, to know certain passages in
the life, as also what might bee knowne by the devils foresight, of the
manner and the time of the death of a noble young gentleman then in his
wardship." He further relates how, on the following evening they dug up
in Law (Walton) Church yard, the corpse of a man recently buried, when,
"by their incantations, they made him (or rather some evil spirit
through his organs) to speake, who delivered strange predictions
concerning the said gentleman." From the whole of this narration, it is
evident that Weaver honestly believed some special sorcery or
_diablerie_ had been perpetrated in the localities referred to.
This belief that the devil made use of other organs than his own, in
giving expression to his thoughts or opinions was shared in by the
learned. Melanchthon tells us of an Italian girl who was "possessed"
with a devil, and who, although she knew no Latin, quoted Virgil
fluently (at least Satan did through her organ of speech), when
questioned by a Bolognese professor. This anecdote is rather
unpleasantly suggestive of certain recent clairvoyant exhibitions.
Amongst other youthful terrors to which I remember being subjected, one
had reference to a mythic monster styled "raw head and bloody bones."
This boggart appeared to partake of the cannibal nature of some of the
giants and ogres in our nursery tales, one of which, on the approach of
the redoubtable "Jack, the Giant-killer," called out to his wife, "I
smell fresh meat!" or according to the popular rhyme--
Fee, fo, fam, I smell the blood of an Englishman!
Be he alive or be he dead, I'll grind his bones to salt and bread!
The said "raw head and bloody bones," I was seriously informed,
preferred to breakfast on the bodies of naughty children, nicely
roasted! I can likewise remember well being told that boggarts
especially loved to haunt and otherwise annoy those who refused to
_believe_ in their existence. After experience, I need scarcely say, has
demonstrated the contrary to be much nearer the truth.
Mr. Edwin Waugh, in his "Grave of Grislehurst Boggart," gives a vivid
picture of this species of superstition as it still exists in
Lancashire. The story is admirably told in a conversation between the
author, an old weaver and his dame, and is replete with characteristic
traits. It seems this boggart, although it was supposed to be "laid" in
the most orthodox manner, still troubled the neighbourhood. The old dame
declares--"It's a good while sin it were laid; an' there were a cock
buried wi' it, we a stoop (a stake) driven through it. It 're nooan
settled with a little, aw'll uphowd yo."
"'And do you really think,' said the author, 'that this place has been
haunted by a boggart?'
"'Has bin--be far!' replied the dame. 'It is neaw! Yodd'n soon find it
eawt, too, iv yo live't oppo th' spot. It's very mich iv it wouldn't may
yor yure fair ston of an end, othur with one marlock or another.
There's noan so mony folk oppo this country side at likes to go deawn
yon lone at after delit (daylight), aw con tell yo.'
"'But it's laid and buried,' replied the author, 'it surely doesn't
trouble you much now.'
"'Oh, well,' said the old woman, 'iv it doesn't, it doesn't; so there
needs no moor. Aw know some folk winnut believe sich things; there is
some at'll believe naught at o' iv it isn't fair druven into um, wilto,
shalto; but this is a different case, mind yo. Eh, never name it; thoose
at has it to dhyel wi knows what it is; but thoose at knows naught
abeawt sich like--whau, it's like summat an' nawt talkin' to 'um abeawt
it; so we'n e'en lap it up where it is.'"
This boggart, from its doings, appears to have been an exact counterpart
of George Cheetham's plague. On Mr. Waugh inquiring if the weaver never
thought of digging into the grave in order to satisfy his curiosity on
the matter, the old lady broke in with--"Naw; he'll delve noan theer,
nut iv aw know it.... Nor no mon elze dar lay a finger oppo that
greawnd. Joseph Fenton's a meeterly bowd chap, an' he's ruvven
everything up abeawt this country side, welly, but he dar not touch
Gerzlehus' Boggart for his skin! An' I howd his wit good, too, mind yo!"
The Grislehurst dame seems to have placed some emphasis on the fact,
when their ghost or boggart was "laid," that "there was a cock buried
wi' it." This ceremony resulted, doubtless, from a lingering remnant of
the ancient and almost universal superstition that the soul departeth
from the body in the form of a bird. This Dr. Kuhn regards as intimately
connected with the Aryan belief respecting birds being soul-bringers. I
am not aware, however, whether the barn-door fowl is included amongst
the numerous lightning birds, which Kelly describes as having "nestled
in the fire-bearing tree," of which the clouds formed the foliage, and
the sun, moon, and stars the fruit.
In Willsford's "Nature's Secrets" (1658), is, however, the following
passage, which shows the connection of the common fowl with stormy
weather:--
"The vigilant cock, the bird of Mars, the good housewife's clock and the
Switzer's alarum, if he crows in the day-time very much, or at
sun-setting, or when he is at roost at unusual hours, as at nine or ten,
expect some change of weather, and that suddenly, and that from fair to
foul, or the contrary; but when the hen crows, good men _expect a storm
within doors and without_. If the hen or chickens in the morning come
late from their roosts (as if they were constrained by hunger), it
presages much rainy weather."
The Romans used fowls in divination. Mohammed, too, is said to have
included amongst his domestic pets a white cock, which he regarded as
his friend, and considered that it protected him from the machinations
of witchcraft, of genii and devils, and of the evil eye.
Mr. T. T. Wilkinson relates a curious anecdote, which he had, a few
years ago, from a respectable gentleman, in the neighbourhood of
Burnley, about "killing a witch." His informant was one of the farmers
engaged in the mystical ceremony, the object of which was the
destruction of a wizard who had wrought sad havoc amongst his
neighbours' cattle. He says:--"They met at the house of one of their
number, whose cattle were then supposed to be under the influence of the
wizard; and, having procured a live cock chicken, they stuck him full of
pins and burnt him alive, whilst repeating some magical incantation....
The wind suddenly rose to a tempest, and threatened the destruction of
the house. Dreadful moanings, as of some one in intense agony, were
heard from without, whilst a sense of horror seized upon all within. At
the moment when the storm was at the wildest, the wizard knocked at the
door, and, in piteous tones, desired admittance. They had previously
been warned, by the 'wise man' they had consulted, that such would be
the case, and had been charged not to yield to their feelings of
humanity by allowing him to enter." The violent death of the cock, it
appears, was necessary _to raise the storm_. The sequel of the story
informs us that exposure to its violence killed the presumed wizard in
the course of a week.
There is a superstition in Cornwall that the crowing of a cock at
midnight indicates that the angel of death is passing over the house.
Mr. Hunt relates the following anecdote, from which it appears that
chanticleer is largely credited in that district with supernatural
attributes:--
"A farmer in Towednack having been robbed of some property of no great
value, was resolved, nevertheless, to employ a test which he had heard
the 'old people' resorted to for the purpose of catching a thief. He
invited all his neighbours into his cottage, and when they were
assembled, he placed a cock under the 'brandice' (an iron vessel
formerly much employed by the peasantry in baking, when this process was
carried out on the hearth, the fuel being furze and ferns). Every one
was directed to touch the brandice with his, or her third finger, and
say, 'In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, speak.' Every one
did as they were directed, and no sound came from beneath the brandice.
The last person was a woman, who occasionally laboured for the farmer
in his fields. She hung back, hoping to pass unobserved amidst the
crowd. But her very anxiety made her a suspected person. She was forced
forward, and most unwillingly she touched the brandice, when, before she
could utter the words prescribed, the cock crew. The woman fell faint on
the floor, and, when she recovered, she confessed herself to be the
thief, restored the stolen property, and became, it is said, 'a changed
character from that day.'"
Shakspere appears to have been fully aware of the prevalence of a
superstition which attributed to ghosts and wandering spirits a
wholesome dread of the sonorous tones of chanticleer's early morning
song. In the first scene in Hamlet, on the departure of the ghost,
Bernardo says:--
It was about to speak when the cock crew.
Horatio answers:--
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard
The cock that is the trumpet of the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat,
Awake the god of day; and, at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation.
To which Marcellus adds:--
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes,
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
This bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad.
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
And again, Puck, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, referring to the morning
star or early dawn, which awakeneth chanticleer, says:--
My fairy lord, this must be done with haste;
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger;
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all,
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-browed night.
Not so, however, with the fairies, for Oberon rejoins:--
But we are spirits of another sort:
I with the morning's love have oft made sport;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red,
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.
The cock was one of the attendants or emblems of Æsculapius or
Asclêpius, the god of medicine of the Greek mythology, and this fowl was
commonly sacrificed to him. In addition to his knowledge in the art of
healing disease, he possessed the power of raising the dead to life. He
was believed to be the son of Apollo. According to Plato, the last words
of Socrates were, "Criton, we owe a cock to Asclêpius." This bird, as
well as the serpent, was one of his sacred emblems.
The Roman god Janus is regarded by many to be in some respects a Latin
form of the Greek Asclêpius. He opens the year and the daily morning,
and is the porter of heaven. One of his peculiar emblems was a cock, by
the means of whose matutinal song he was supposed to announce the
approach of the dawn.
The crowing of a cock of the colour of gold is to be the signal of the
dawn of _Ragnarock_, "the great day of arousing," according to
Scandinavian mythology. A black cock is likewise said to crow in the
_Niflheim_, or "land of gloom."
J. Bossewell, in "Workes of Armourie" (1597), says:--"The lyon dreadeth
the white cocke, because he breedeth a precious stone called
allectricium, like to the stone that bright Calcedonius, and for that
the cocke beareth such a stone, the lyon specially abhorreth him." The
stone referred to was said to be similar to a dark crystal, and about
the size of a bean.
A most astounding story affirming the supernatural attributes of
chanticleer is related in Pinkerton's "General Collection of Voyages and
Travels." In the "Voyage to Congo," a Capuchin "missioner," named Father
Morolla, relates the following remarkable incident with the utmost
gravity and evidently with perfect faith in the veracity of the
story:--On the capture of a certain town by the army of Sogno, a large
cock was found with an iron ring attached to one of its legs. The
unfortunate rooster was speedily placed in the pot and boiled in the
most orthodox fashion. When, however, his captors were about to commence
their improvised feast, to their astonishment the cooked "pieces of the
cock, though sodden and near dissolved, began to move about, and unite
into the form they were in before, and being so united, the restored
cock immediately raised himself up, and jumped out of the platter upon
the ground, where he walked about as well as when he was first taken.
Afterwards he leaped upon an adjoining wall, where he became
new-feathered all of a sudden, and then took his flight to a tree hard
by, where, fixing himself, he, after three claps of his wings, made a
most hideous noise, and then disappeared. Every one may imagine what a
terrible fright the spectators were in at this sight, who, leaping with
a thousand Ave-Marias in their mouths from the place where this had
happened, were contented to observe most of the particulars at a
distance."
The fabulous animal, the cockatrice, was believed to result from a
"venomous egg" laid by an aged cock, and hatched by a toad. The monster
had the head and breast of the dunghill champion, and "thence downwards
the body of a serpent." Toads are frequently referred to by old writers
in connection with witches and witchcraft.
In a MS. "Medycine Boke," belonging to Dr. Sampson Jones, of Bettws,
Monmouthshire (1650-90), is the following strange recipe, entitled,
"Cock water for a consumption and cough of the lungs":--"Take a running
cock and pull (pluck) him alive, then kill him and cutt him in pieces
and take out his intrals and wipe him cleane, breake the bones, then put
him into an ordinary still with a pottle of sack and a pottle of red
cow's milk," etc., etc.
The mythical character and medical qualities of red cow's milk have been
referred to in the previous chapter.
Lightning birds were supposed to come "down to earth either as
incorporations of the lightning, or bringing with them a branch charged
with latent or invisible fire." The eagle or the falcon was the form
which Agni, the fire-god, assumed on such occasions. The fire-birds were
very numerous, and included the woodpecker, the robin, the wren, the
owl, the cuckoo, the stork, the swallow, and the hoopoe. Kelly quotes
the Herefordshire rhyme as evidence that the ancient superstition
respecting the wren is still alive in England, as well as in France,
Scotland, Wales, and the Isle of Man. The peasants there say:--
Robin Redbreast and Jenny Wren
Are God Almighty's cock and hen.
In Lancashire, however, the rhyme is:--
A robin and a wren
Are God's cock and hen.
And it is generally followed by the intimation that
A spink and a sparrow
Are the devil's bow and arrow.
To kill or rob the nests of these sacred birds was supposed to hazard
the destruction of the culprit's residence by lightning. A Cornish rhyme
says:--
Those who kill a robin or a wran
Will never prosper, boy or man.
In the "laying" of the redoubted Grislehurst boggart, it is not
improbable, as ghosts are not easily coffined in a corporeal sense, that
some superannuated old rooster, who had disturbed the bodily rest, and
scared the wits of the neighbouring rustics by some untoward
cock-a-doodle-doing, furnished all that was really "laid" in the
mysterious grave referred to. An impression may have been entertained
that the troublesome elf who had turned the household topsy-turvy had
made the said rooster's corpus his temporary earthly tabernacle. Perhaps
the "wise men" of the hamlet vainly imagined that nought was required
but the driving of a "stoop" through the feathered repository to utterly
"squelch" its ghostly occupant.
Since the above was written, a paragraph from the _Carnatic Telegraph_
has "gone the round of the press," relating to the "casting out of
devils," as at present practised in India. From this, it appears that
the cock is, with the Hindoos as with the Lancashire peasant, a most
potent instrument in the subjugation of troublesome spirits. The Hindoo
exorcist tied his patient's hair in a knot, and then with a nail
attached it to a tree. Muttering some "incantatory" stanzas, he seized a
live cock, and, holding it over the poor girl's head with one hand, he,
with the other, cut its throat. The blood-stained knot of hair was left
attached to the tree, which was supposed to detain the demon. It is
firmly believed that one "or a legion thus exorcised will haunt that
tree till he or they shall choose to take possession of some other
unfortunate."
In a work published in 1869, entitled "Count Teleki; a Story of Modern
Jewish Life and Customs, by Eca," the author describes a ceremony called
the "Keparoth or atoning sacrifice," in which the common barn-door fowl
plays an important part. The penitent "whirled a cock around his head,
saying, 'This is my atonement, this is my ransom. This cock goeth to
death, but may I be gathered and enter into a long and happy life and
into peace.' This he repeated three times.... The sacrifice consists of
a cock for the male, and a hen for a female. A white fowl is preferred
to any other, in allusion to the words of the prophet, 'Though your sins
be as scarlet they shall become white as snow.' A pregnant woman takes
three, two hens and one cock, one hen for herself and the other two for
the unborn infant--the hen lest it should be a girl, and the cock lest
it should be a boy." The fowls are immediately afterwards handed over to
the Jewish butcher to be killed.
A yet very prevalent superstition asserts that a person at the point of
death finds serious difficulty in "shuffling off this mortal coil"
should there happen to be any game cock feathers in the bed on which he
lies. Pigeons' feathers are likewise said to prolong the agonies of
death.
In France, a black cock is the chief instrument employed to raise the
devil, and extract from the fiend sums of money. The incantation must be
performed at a locality where four roads meet or two cross each other.
Mr. Wilkinson, referring to the Hothersall Hall boggart, says it "is
understood to have been '_laid_' under the roots of a large laurel tree,
at the end of the house, and will not be able to molest the family so
long as that tree exists. It is a common opinion in that part of the
country that the roots have to be moistened with milk on certain
occasions, in order to prolong its existence, and also to preserve the
power of the spell under which the goblin is laid."
The laurel here appears to be invested with the mythical properties of
the ash and the rowan trees, which were supposed to possess irresistible
power over "witches, fairies, and other imps of darkness." The author of
"Choice Notes" quotes an Aberdeenshire couplet, which asserts that
Rowan, ash, and red thread
Keep the devils frae their speed.
and further adds:--"It is a common practice with the housewives in the
same district to tie a piece of red worsted thread round their cows'
tails previous to turning them out to grass for the first time in the
spring. It secures their cattle, they say, from an evil eye, from being
elfshot by fairies, etc." The red thread is here, like the berries of
the rowan, the mutch of the woodpecker, the red breast of the robin,
etc., in the Aryan myths, typical of the lightning.
In many nooks and corners of Lancashire, and some other parts of
England, other stories may be found, many of which point to the Puck or
Robin Goodfellow of the fairy mythology as their most probable
prototype.
Roby says:--"The English Puck (the Lancashire Boggart), the Scotch
Bogie, the French Goblin, the Gobelinus of the Middle Ages, and the
German Kobold, are probably only varied names for the Grecian
Khobalus,--whose sole delight consists in perplexing the human race, and
evoking those harmless terrors that constantly hover round the minds of
the timid. So, also, the German Spuck, and the Danish Spogel, correspond
to the northern Spog; whilst the German Hudkin, and the Icelandic Puki,
exactly answer to the character of the English Robin Goodfellow."
These English domestic sprites or elves that seem to claim a species of
kinship to those they alternately torment and render substantial aid,
clearly find their counterparts in the ghost and fairy lore of other
nations. Kelly says, "Many similar tales are told of the German Zwergs,
or dwarfs, who are the same race of little people as the elves and
fairies that live in the hearts of green hills and mounds in Great
Britain and Ireland. Often does it happen that a whole colony of these
Zwergs effects an exodus from a German district, because the people have
given them some offence, or 'have become too knowing for them;' and on
these occasions there is always a river to be crossed." This was ever a
difficulty, but not an unconquerable one, with the German elves. In
England and Scotland a certain class of goblin or ghost found a running
stream an impassable barrier. Poor Tam O'Shanter's mare Meg demonstrated
the truth of this by the sacrifice of her caudal appendage. Grimm says
that many facts tend to show a near relationship between elves of this
class and the souls of men. The ordinary ghosts of the present day,
whether voluntary visitors or obedient servants of "spirit mediums," are
supposed to be the souls of the departed. Kelly says, on the authority
of Kuhn and Schwartz, "Some of the many names by which the Zwergs are
known in North Germany mean the 'ancients' or the 'ancestors,' and mark
the analogy between the beings so designated and the Hindoo Pitris or
Fathers; whilst other names--Holden (_i.e._, good, kind) in Germany;
good people, good neighbours, in Ireland and Scotland--connect the same
elves with the Manes of the Romans." The Pitris of the Hindoos seem to
furnish the germ of "good fairies," the fairy godmother, the Persian
Peris, the Arabic Ginns, the chief of the followers of Oberon and
Titania, and of the kindlier phase in the character of Puck, Robin
Goodfellow, or the Lancashire bogie, or domestic boggart, but the
larking propensity of this sprite may possibly have resulted from a more
modern addition to the spirit lore of the Northern Aryan people.
Mr. Jno. Aubrey, Fellow of the Royal Society, in his "Miscellanies,"
published in 1696, gives what he styles "a Collection of Hermetic
Philosophy," which exhibits an astonishing amount of superstition, even
amongst the presumedly learned men of the age. Amongst other things he
informs his readers, on the authority of a letter from a "learned
friend," in Scotland, that a certain Lord Duffin was suddenly
transported, by fairies, from his residence in Morayshire, and that he
was "found the next day in Paris, in the French king's cellar, with a
silver cup in his hand!" Such a feat was worthy of the sprite who could
put a "girdle round the earth in forty minutes." Truly, as Ben Johnson's
Puck says, he could "travel swifter than the wind with a load of
humanity on his back."
Our ordinary stories of churchyard ghosts, and other apparitions and
"spiritual manifestations," have much more in common with the
"folk-lore" of classical antiquity than is generally known. There is a
story told by Pliny the younger, which so much resembles many that we
have heard in youth, that nothing is required but a change of name,
place, and date, to thoroughly domesticate it amongst us. It is related
as follows, in Melmoth's translation of Pliny's letters:
"There was at Athens a large and spacious house which lay under the
disrepute of being haunted. In the dead of the night a noise resembling
the clashing of iron was frequently heard, which, if you listened more
attentively, sounded like the rattling of chains; at first it seemed at
a distance, but approached nearer by degrees; immediately afterwards a
spectre appeared in the form of an old man, extremely meagre and
ghastly, with a long beard and dishevelled hair, rattling the chains on
his feet and hands.... By this means the house was at last deserted,
being judged by everybody to be absolutely uninhabitable; so that it was
now entirely abandoned to the ghost. However, in hopes that some tenant
might be found who was ignorant of this great calamity which attended
it, a bill was put up giving notice that it was either to be let or
sold. It happened that the philosopher Athenodorus came to Athens at
this time, and, reading the bill, inquired the price. The extraordinary
cheapness raised his suspicion; nevertheless, when he heard the whole
story, he was so far from being discouraged that he was more strongly
inclined to hire it, and, in short, actually did so. When it drew
towards evening, he ordered a couch to be prepared for him in the fore
part of the house, and, after calling for a light, together with his pen
and tablets, he directed all his people to retire. But that his mind
might not, for want of employment, be open to the vain terrors of
imaginary noises and spirits, he applied himself to writing with the
utmost attention. The first part of the night passed with usual silence,
when at length the chains began to rattle; however he neither lifted up
his eyes nor laid down his pen, but diverted his observation by pursuing
his studies with greater earnestness. The noise increased, and advanced
nearer, till it seemed at the door, and at last in the chamber. He
looked up, and saw the ghost exactly in the manner it had been described
to him; it stood before him, beckoning with his finger. Athenodorus made
a sign with his hand that it should wait a little, and then threw his
eyes again upon his papers; but, the ghost still rattling his chains in
his ears, he looked up, and saw him beckoning as before. Upon this he
immediately arose, and, with the light in his hand, followed it. The
ghost slowly stalked along, as if encumbered with his chains, and
turning into the area of the house, suddenly vanished. Athenodorus,
being thus deserted, made a mark, with some grass and leaves, where the
spirit left him. The next day he gave information to the magistrates,
and advised them to order that spot to be dug up. This was accordingly
done, and the skeleton of a man in chains was there found; for the body
having lain for a considerable time in the ground, was putrefied and
mouldered away from the fetters. The bones, being collected together,
were publicly buried, and thus, after the ghost was appeased by the
proper ceremonies, the house was haunted no more."
I was forcibly struck with the peculiarly Eastern character of a
traditionary observance related to me during my investigation of the
remains found in the ancient British tumulus at Over Darwen, in
Lancashire, in November, 1864. I was informed that the country people
spoke of the mound as a locality haunted by "boggarts," and that
children were in the habit of taking off their clogs or shoes, under the
influence of some such superstitious feeling, when walking past it in
the night time.
Keppel, in his "Visit to the Indian Archipelago," refers to a somewhat
similar superstition in Northern Australia. The natives will not
willingly approach graves at night alone; "but when they are obliged to
pass them, they carry a fire stick to keep off the spirit of darkness."
It is perhaps scarcely necessary that I should refer to the fact that
recent naturalists have satisfactorily demonstrated that the green
circles termed "fairy rings," have nothing "supernatural" in their
character, being simply a result of the growth of a species of fungus.
Not long ago, "the learned" contended that they resulted from some
obscure kind of electric action. Sir Walter Scott, who held this
opinion, sneeringly refers to them as "electrical rings, which vulgar
credulity supposes to be traces of fairy revels." Thousands of English
peasants, yes, and many presumedly much wiser people, nevertheless, yet
firmly adhere to the ancient faith. Singularly enough, Shakspere seems
almost to have intuitively guessed at their true origin. When Prospero,
for the last time invokes the aid of the supernatural, he exclaims:--
Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves;
And ye that on the sands with printless feet
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets, that
By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make _midnight mushrooms_.
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Sir Walter Scott thought _bargaist_ to be the German _bahrgeist_,
the spirit of the bier, alluding to its presence foretelling death. The
word is variously written, _barguest_ and _boguest_ being amongst its
forms. A very slight provincial change would make the latter _boguerst_,
from whence, probably, the Lancashire boggart. The Cymric word bwg,
which represents, according to Mr. Garnett, the modern bug, bugbear, and
hobgoblin, has evidently intimate relation to the root of the word. This
sprite is often confounded with others, and is subjected to much local
variation.
[27] QUERY.--Has the Lancashire and Yorkshire word "lake," meaning "to
play," anything in common with the modern word "larking," now so much in
vogue?